Waking Lazarus
Page 26
The doctor kept his gaze fixed on Jude a few more moments, then moved to the phone. He handed it to Jude, and Jude immediately dialed. He still remembered the phone number.
‘‘Thanks for calling the Stumble Inn. How can I help you?’’ the voice on the line said.
‘‘Could I get room 305, please?’’
A pause.
‘‘I’m sorry, sir, could you say that again?’’
‘‘Room 305.’’
‘‘Well, sir, we don’t have a room 305. Could it be another room?’’
Jude paused. ‘‘You’re telling me there’s no such room?’’
‘‘That’s what I’m telling you. We only have two floors.’’
‘‘Okay, thanks.’’
‘‘Sorry I couldn’t help, sir.’’
Jude smiled. ‘‘Actually, you have helped. Quite a bit.’’ Jude hung up the phone and handed it back to the doctor.
‘‘Out of curiosity,’’ he said to the doctor, ‘‘what room am I in right now?’’
‘‘I was just thinking of that while you talked,’’ the doctor said. ‘‘A strange coincidence that you’re in patient room 305.’’
Of course. ‘‘Coincidence,’’ Jude said with a smile. ‘‘That’s me. Mr.
Coincidence.’’ Jude somehow knew inside that every time he had been in the hospital, he had always been in room 305. He didn’t know the significance of the number, and maybe there was nothing horribly significant about the number itself. But it was a sign. One of those infamous signs Kristina had referred to, big as life and glaring in front of his face.
‘‘One more thing,’’ the doctor said. ‘‘I did some tests because, well—’’
‘‘Yeah?’’
‘‘Anyway, I’d like you to start taking an iron supplement.’’
‘‘Why?’’
‘‘You’re anemic. Happens more often to women, but sometimes in men, too. If you don’t get your iron up, you might experience some disorientations—strange smells, maybe—’’ ‘‘Strange tastes?’’
‘‘Yeah, I suppose. If it gets serious enough, it might even cause memory lapses.’’
Jude thought about it. The copper taste, the blackouts, the visions . . . could they all be symptoms of anemia? It seemed good old science was trying to explain everything for him now.
Trying.
Jude smiled and leaned back against his pillow. ‘‘Does this bed go back any farther? Like flat?’’
‘‘Sure it does,’’ the doctor said. ‘‘You want to lie down?’’
‘‘Yeah. Yeah, I do.’’
Jude pulled on his first shoe, then reached down to tie it. He stopped, closed his eyes for a moment, concentrated on all the sounds filtering in around him. He heard a doctor being paged out in the hallway. A low cough from someone in the next room. A muffled television playing some atrocious sitcom. The squeaking of rubber shoes on the linoleum outside.
And then, a squealed ‘‘Daddy!’’ Jude opened his eyes, looked toward the door marked 305, saw his son standing in the doorway— his son, radiant and perfect—and smiled.
Nathan bounded across the floor and leaped into Jude’s arms. Jude embraced him, drank in the smell and feel of having his son close, and knew he would do everything possible to hang on to those feelings forever.
Rachel appeared at the doorway and walked across the floor toward the bed. ‘‘How are you feeling?’’ she asked.
‘‘Never better,’’ he answered. And it wasn’t just a fluff answer. It was the truth.
‘‘We have a present for you, Daddy,’’ Nathan said.
Jude held Nathan at arm’s length and grinned, then looked at Rachel. She shrugged her shoulders and brought a wrapped gift out of the shopping bag she was holding.
Jude took the package, made a show of shaking it and trying to figure out what it was. ‘‘Is it a new car?’’ Jude asked.
‘‘No!’’ Nathan squealed with delight.
‘‘A big pot of spaghetti? Spaghetti’s my favorite, you know.’’
‘‘No, no!’’
‘‘How about—’’
‘‘Just open it, Daddy. You’ll see.’’
Jude pulled off the ribbon and tore at the paper. Inside was a box kite. He stared at the kite a few moments, let the memories of a chilly Nebraska morning spent with his father blow across his mind. Then he fixed his eyes on Rachel. ‘‘Thank you.’’
She shrugged again. ‘‘You talked about flying one with your dad. Maybe Nathan should fly one with his.’’
Jude turned back to Nathan. ‘‘It’s the second-best present I’ve ever been given,’’ Jude said. ‘‘You remember the first best?’’
‘‘My hand?’’ Nathan whispered.
‘‘You got it.’’ Jude slipped on his other shoe and started to tie it.
‘‘And look, Daddy, I got a present, too.’’ Nathan reached into his pocket, fished out something, and held it up. It was a small wood carving of a frog with a crown on its head. A frog prince. ‘‘The other Mr. Janitor gave it to me.’’
Rachel jumped in. ‘‘Frank invited us over last night. You should see in his basement—it’s filled with these incredible wood carvings, thousands of them. Must have taken him years.’’
Jude smiled. Frank’s beloved work.
‘‘About ready to go?’’ Rachel asked.
‘‘Sure, sure. Just getting dressed, making myself presentable, you know.’’
‘‘You up to having a few more visitors first?’’
Jude narrowed his eyes as he looked at her. ‘‘Like who?’’
Rachel walked back to the door of the room and motioned to someone out in the hall. A few moments later, Tiffany tentatively appeared in the doorway, holding Joey’s hand. Tiffany whispered something into Joey’s ear, and Joey walked across the room toward Jude. Joey had managed to put on some weight and already looked healthier.
‘‘Thank you,’’ he said to Jude in a faint, almost impossible-to-hear voice.
Jude felt tears streaming from his eyes as he hugged Joey. He pulled in Nathan for a hug, motioning for Tiffany to come over as well.
Rachel came to them, put her hand on Tiffany’s back. ‘‘Um, he went under the radar for a few days,’’ she said, obliquely referring to Sohler. ‘‘But it sounds like the police have picked up his trail in Minnesota. Anyway, the kids have been staying with us, and so has Bradley. One big, happy family.’’
‘‘A big, happy family. I like the sound of that,’’ Jude said, and smiled.
Rachel returned the smile, then changed the subject. ‘‘It’s nuts out there,’’ she said, motioning her head toward the door.
‘‘I’m sure it is.’’
‘‘You’re the biggest thing to hit Montana since the Unabomber, judging from the size of the crowd.’’
Jude nodded, then stood up.
‘‘There’s just one more thing I’ve been wanting to ask you,’’ Rachel said.
‘‘Shoot.’’
‘‘Did you . . . see anything?’’
Jude knew what she was asking. A question he had once hated, because the only answer he had for it was a lie. But not now. ‘‘Yes,’’ he said, the sweet, honeyed taste still on his lips.
‘‘And?’’
‘‘And I have some work to do.’’ He paused. ‘‘Some messages to deliver, you might say.’’
The corridor was usually empty, filled only with the reverberations of echoes and the shadows of footsteps. But even now, as Jude, Rachel, Nathan, Tiffany, and Joey walked down the corridor, Jude heard more than their footsteps: he heard the sounds of a large crowd, murmuring, clamoring, waiting for him outside in the hospital lobby.
They walked by a janitor mopping the floor. A woman. She was rather small, with chocolate eyes and light hazel skin. Maybe she was Indian. Or Hispanic. Or a light-skinned African American. Or a mix. Jude nodded to Kristina, and she nodded back.
A phalanx of police escorts waited, naturally, along with hundreds of other people
, television equipment, cameras, and a thousand other details that blended into one giant sea of shape and color.
Jude smiled, looked at his family. His family. Then, he grasped the handles and pulled them, opening the doors and letting the sea of light and noise wash over him.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing a book is a solitary project, but any writer soon finds out its publication is a community effort. I’d like to thank some of this book’s community supporters:
My lovely wife (Nancy) and lovely daughter (Jillian): thanks for putting up with late nights and early mornings.
My immediate family (Mom, Dad, Shauna, Bob, Merle, Bob, Pam, Mike, David, Thomas) and extended family: thanks for the encouragement and enthusiasm.
My church family (Faith Chapel in Billings, Montana) and Friday Community Group: thanks for the support.
My network of friends and writers who offered input and advice at various stages of the journey (CJ Box, Justine Musk, James Beau-Seigneur, Eric Wilson, Robert Liparulo, Tim Mohr, Leslie Thomson, Brandilyn Collins, Kathryn Mackel, Melanie Wells, Creston Mapes, Chris Well, Tim Downs, members of the Zoetrope writing community, the Faith*in*Fiction online community, the RMFW Alpha Critique Group, and all my Volunteer Publicists): thanks for the inspiration.
My iPod and its playlists (especially the music of Better Than Ezra, the Pixies, Wilco, Foo Fighters, Hillsong, David Crowder Band, and Rich Mullins): thanks for the soundtrack.
My publishing team (everyone at Bethany House): thanks for making it all happen.
My editor, Dave Long: an extra-special thanks for discovering the manuscript and bringing it to life (ha, ha). Without you, it would still be a four hundred-page doorstop.
My God: thanks for always being a part of my life, even before I knew you.
And finally to you, my reader: thanks for being the most important part of the publishing process.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Although Red Lodge, Montana, exists, the version that appears in this book is somewhat different from its real-life counterpart: I’ve taken liberties with geography, added nonexistent businesses and landmarks, and just plain made up details to suit the needs of the story. I hope the good people of Red Lodge will forgive me. The town of Bingham, Nebraska, Jude’s hometown, is entirely fictional.
Finally, if you enjoyed this book, explore more of the Other Side at www.tlhines.com. Sign up as a Volunteer Publicist to get Lazarus Expanded, a free companion e-book with deleted scenes and extras, or win prizes such as a share of royalties and a role in my next novel.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Montana-based T.L. Hines’s list of past jobs includes trimming Christmas trees, sorting seed potatoes, working the graveyard shift at a convenience store, and cleaning cadaver storage rooms. A graduate of the University of Montana (BA, English Lit), he has spent the last sixteen years as a copywriter and advertising agency owner/manager. He has also won three air-guitar contests in which he performed songs by ZZ Top. Contact him at www.tlhines.com.
Be the first to know
Want to be the first to know
what’s new from
your favorite authors?
Want to know all about
exciting new writers?
Sign up for BethanyHouse newsletters at
www.bethanynewsletters.com
and you’ll get regular updates via e-mail.
You can sign up for specific authors or
categories so you get only
the information you really want.
Sign up today
More Adrenaline-Pumping Fiction From Bethany House
CAN DESTINY BE UNDONE?
Grant Borrows steps off the bus for an ordinary day of work, looks across the street, and sees…himself. In that single moment, the comfortable life he’s known ends, and for reasons beyond his control he’s hurtled into a race—both for the truth of his identity and ultimately for the survival of the world he’s known. Soon he must discern who, if anyone, he can trust and how to hold onto that part of him that’s never changed, that fragment of eternity he knows is called to stand strong against all odds.
Relentless by Robin Parrish
EXPLOSIVE SEQUEL TO RELENTLESS
After the events of Relentless, the world has changed. Hundreds of super-beings walk among. Esarth’s inhabitants, an unexplained series of natural disasters have shaken the populace to its core, and fear fills the heart of every human being. But there is hope—the man known as Grant Borrows. After an extraordinary discovery in London, Grant realizes that the world’s only hope may come from unraveling the truth about himself once and for all. But what he comes face-to-face with leaves even this most powerful of men shaken with fear....
Fearless by Robin Parrish
JASON BOYER JUST GOT AN INHERITANCE TO DIE FOR
Jason Boyer knew his father’s business empire would pass to different hands—which suited him fine. The money was crooked and the power corrupt. But when an accident claims his father’s life, everyone is stunned by the unveiling of a revised will. As Jason tries to handle the business more honestly than his father, he soon finds that standing for what’s right may bring murderous consequences.
The Heir by Paul Robertson
More From
T. L. Hines
Candace MacHugh isn’t crazy—but she could swear she just heard her father’s voice coming from the shadows. Only he’s been dead for years. Or has he? As she becomes familiar with the living shadow of her father, she is drawn into a secret network supposedly built to let the living be cautioned by the warning of the dead. Yet something doesn’t feel right. When she struggles to make sense of it all, she discovers a secret that could kill thousands of people—and she’s first in line.
The Dead Whisper On by T. L. Hines