The Man He Never Was
ACCLAIM FOR JAMES L. RUBART
“This is no mere novel, but a journey to the soul. Sage, deep filled with a truth of terrible beauty and the real nature of love.”
—TOSCA LEE, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR
“Thought-provoking. Fascinating. Full of spiritual insight. These are just a few ways I’d describe Rubart’s latest gem. With plenty of twists and turns to keep the pages turning, The Man He Never Was expertly explores the difference between knowing and experiencing, and asks the important question: What might happen if we could see the person in the mirror as God does?”
—KATIE GANSHERT, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF LIFE AFTER
“Science fiction meets spiritual warfare in a novel that explores both the natural and the supernatural, the man and the monster. James L. Rubart has delivered a masterpiece, retelling a familiar story with signature plot twists that rival any classic. The Man He Never Was will lead readers on a powerful journey to discover a most powerful weapon indeed. Fans of Wm. Paul Young’s The Shack will find a new favorite in a tale where facing one’s own darkness may be the only path to life.”
—SARA ELLA, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE UNBLEMISHED TRILOGY
“In The Man He Never Was, James L. Rubart perplexes readers in the best possible way, wooing us through the mystery of a man’s lost memory and the high stakes of his broken marriage, failed career, and an unbridled anger problem. A page-turning exploration of what it means to live truly loved.”
—MARY DEMUTH, AUTHOR OF THE MUIR HOUSE
“[The Man He Never Was] is the story of every man and woman who has tried to conquer their dark side and lost. Rubart reminds us that there is light, there is hope, and there can be victory for all of us, a much-needed message for today. You won’t want to put the book down until the very end!”
—MORGAN BUSSE, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF DAUGHTER OF LIGHT
“Richly imaginative and deeply moving, James L. Rubart’s story of forgiveness and freedom reaches past the page and into the soul.”
—JAMES SCOTT BELL, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF FINAL WITNESS, ON THE LONG JOURNEY TO JAKE PALMER
“James Rubart has been one of my favorite authors for some time now. I love the way he writes. Reading The Long Journey to Jake Palmer was a wonderful experience (and I use the word experience on purpose). Rubart’s books affect me on many levels. Imagine Nicholas Sparks, C. S. Lewis, and Mitch Albom collaborating on a novel. The Long Journey of Jake Palmer is something very close to that. Highly recommended.”
—DAN WALSH, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE UNFINISHED GIFT, THE DANCE, AND THE REUNION
“Rubart delivers a creative, ingenious novel about love and discovery. The Long Journey to Jake Palmer will have you thinking, How do we really see ourselves? long after the end.”
—RACHEL HAUCK, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE WEDDING DRESS AND THE WEDDING CHAPEL
“If you think fiction can’t change your life and challenge you to be a better person, you need to read The Five Times I Met Myself.”
—ANDY ANDREWS, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF HOW DO YOU KILL 11 MILLION PEOPLE, THE NOTICER, AND THE TRAVELER’S GIFT
“Rubart does it again with another intriguing, thought-provoking concept. The author weaves in strong spiritual truth and opportunities for self-examination in addition to the fascinating premise.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, TOP PICK! ON THE FIVE TIMES I MET MYSELF
“The clear message about loving others, relying on God, and focusing on your family leads up to an emotional conclusion. A spiritual and family-centered book that will appeal to readers of inspirational fiction.”
—KIRKUS REVIEWS ON THE FIVE TIMES I MET MYSELF
“A powerfully redemptive story with twists and turns that had me glued to every page. With a compelling message for anyone who longs to relive their past, The Five Times I Met Myself is another James L. Rubart masterpiece.”
—SUSAN MAY WARREN, BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THE CHRISTIANSEN FAMILY SERIES
“The conclusion of the Well Spring series is full of action and conflict. Although the novels deal with spiritually challenging concepts, Rubart makes them understandable and accessible. Overall a very exciting and fitting end to a thrilling saga.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS ON SPIRIT BRIDGE
“The second novel in Rubart’s Well Spring series picks up the fast-paced narrative right away and doesn’t quit until the end. The author has penned another amazing tale of angels, demons, and what it means to be truly connected to God’s plans for the future.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS ON MEMORY’S DOOR
“Readers with high blood pressure or heart conditions be warned: this is a seriously heart-thumping and satisfying read that goes to the edge, jumps off, and ‘builds wings on the way down.’”
—PUBLISHERS WEEKLY ON SOUL’S GATE
“Powerful storytelling. Rubart writes with a depth of understanding about a realm most of us never investigate, let alone delve into. A deep and mystical journey that will leave you thinking long after you finish the book.”
—TED DEKKER, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ON SOUL’S GATE
“Tight, boiled-down writing and an intriguing premise that will make you reconsider what you think you know about the spiritual realm.”
—STEVEN JAMES, NATIONAL BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF PLACEBO AND OPENING MOVES, ON SOUL’S GATE
“Don’t read this unless you’re ready to see with new eyes. Through evocative prose and masterful storytelling, Rubart transports you to the spiritual realm—a realm of vision, mystery, healing, and power. A deep and thoughtful—and jet-propelled—spiritual journey of a book.”
—TOSCA LEE, NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR, ON SOUL’S GATE
OTHER BOOKS BY JAMES L. RUBART
The Long Journey to Jake Palmer
The Five Times I Met Myself
Book of Days
The Chair
Rooms
THE WELL SPRING NOVELS
Soul’s Gate
Memory’s Door
Spirit Bridge
The Man He Never Was
© 2018 by James L. Rubart
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
The author is represented by the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Sreet, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO, 80920. www.alivecommunications.com.
Interior design: Lori Lynch
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please e-mail SpecialMarkets@ThomasNelson.com.
Scripture quotations are taken from the New American Standard Bible®, Copyright © 1960, 1962, 1963, 1968, 1971, 1972, 1973, 1975, 1977, 1995 by The Lockman Foundation. Used by permission. (www.Lockman.org)
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Rubart, James L., author.
Title: The man he never was / by James L. Rubart.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee: Thomas Nelson, [2018]
Epub Edition January 2018 9780718099404
&nbs
p; Identifiers: LCCN 2017038970 | ISBN 9780718099398 (paperback)
Classification: LCC PS3618.U2326 M36 2018 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017038970
Printed in the United States of America
18 19 20 21 22 LSC 5 4 3 2 1
For Theo
“With every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer to the truth, by whose partial discovery I have been doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is not truly one, but truly two.”
—ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON
“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.”
—MARK TWAIN
CONTENTS
Acclaim for James L. Rubart
Other Books by James L. Rubart
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Discussion Questions
Acknowledgments
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
Toren Daniels rolled over in bed and light pierced his closed eyelids, which meant five a.m. had come and gone. Which meant Quinn was already at the gym, into his third set. Which meant Toren would be buying lunch at the end of the week. And Quinn ate like a whale when he was training heavy. Toren groaned. He’d set two alarms on his phone and still overslept. Not good.
Toren opened his eyes for a second, then immediately closed them against the sunshine, far too bright. His head. Yeah, he’d been pushing his conditioning hard for the past seven weeks, but the haze swirling through his mind along with the dull ache that pressed in from all angles in his skull didn’t feel like the usual day after hard sprints and heavy weights. It felt like the day six years back, the only time he’d ever been rip-roaring drunk, after he’d made the team and all the vets forced Toren and the rest of the rookies to drink far past a rational level. At least he hadn’t puked. Right now? Same feeling. And his stomach might win this time. What was wrong with him?
He lay still, head on the pillow, eyes closed. Took in a deep breath, a vain attempt to clear his senses. Didn’t help. He ignored the pain in his head. He had to ping Quinn, apologize for blowing the workout. Toren covered his eyes with one hand and with his other reached for his cell phone, which he always placed in the same spot on his nightstand, a few inches from the edge, a few inches from the front. His fingers searched the smooth surface of the wood in widening circles. He blew out a sigh of exasperation, turned his head to the side, and opened his eyes again. The phone wasn’t anywhere on his nightstand.
Worse, this was not his nightstand. Toren’s heart hammered.
“Sloane?”
He twisted and clutched a handful of the white sheets on the king-size mattress, blinking. Except for three pillows lumped up against the headboard, the bed was empty. His wife wasn’t there. His heart pumped. This wasn’t their bed, their room. The increased pulse brought a new level of throbbing to his brain.
Toren did a slow half-circle spin until he sat upright on the edge of the bed, still squinting against the light. Why was it taking his eyes so long to adjust? He blinked and rubbed his eyes as he took in the room. A hotel room. Why? It made no sense. He’d gone to bed last night at home after a movie night with the kids, Sloane next to him, his alarm set for four forty.
Toren staggered to his feet and wobbled over to the bathroom door. “Sloane?”
No response. Toren pushed open the door. No lights. No Sloane standing under a rainfall of steaming water. He was alone.
His pulse increased as his gaze swept the room and spotted nothing familiar except a pair of Nike sweats and a Seattle Seahawks T-shirt lying over the back of the overstuffed chair next to the window. Toren slipped on the sweats but hesitated with the shirt. His old team. The one he wanted to rage against for releasing him—but the cutting truth was he’d pulled the pin on that grenade all by himself. Still, whoever was behind this had a distorted sense of humor.
A quick inspection of the room revealed no wallet, no cell phone, no keys, nothing. A TV. A coffeemaker. A clock that read eight thirty-nine. That was it. Toren strode over to the beige phone on the faux mahogany desk and stared at the name of the hotel stamped in tiny letters at the bottom of the keypad.
THE WILLOWS LODGE
Woodinville, WA
Toren snatched the phone and pressed zero. The front desk picked up after one ring.
“Yes, Mr. Daniels, how can I help?”
“How did I get here?”
“Um, I’m not sure I understand the question.”
“How did I get here?” Toren repeated. “And what am I doing here? I need answers. Now.”
“I’m, uh, I don’t know.” The kid on the other end of the line sounded nervous.
“I go to sleep last night in my home and wake up twelve hours later feeling like I’m drugged, with nothing in the room except a pair of sweats and a T-shirt. That’s a problem. Major problem.”
“Yes, I can certainly see how that would be.”
“And?”
“I don’t know why you’re here, but—”
“Can you help me find out?”
“Yes. I’ll do whatever I can.”
“Thanks much, I appreciate that.”
As the words slid off his tongue, an emotion hit Toren so hard he slumped into the chair. An overwhelming sense of patience. He should be freaking out, riding a wave of frustration and anger till he got an explanation for what was going on. It was there, but so deep he barely felt it. The overwhelming sensation was tranquility.
“Of course, sir. If I’d been here when you checked in last night, I might have an answer, but I wasn’t. And there aren’t any notes next to your entry in the computer. Would it be a problem if I put you on hold for a moment while I go find out what I can about your situation?”
“No, that’s not a problem at all.”
Light instrumental music drifted through the phone.
Toren puffed out a puzzled laugh. What had he just said? Not a problem all? It was a massive problem. He had no cell phone, no clothes, no wallet, no idea how he’d gotten to this hotel. And yet he felt no compulsion to raise his voice. He wasn’t ticked off. Even mildly. The shortest fuse in the universe, his all-too-familiar companion, simply wasn’t there. Yes, he’d been getting more control over his anger lately, but this was different. A complete serenity from no place he could fathom surrounded him like cool water on a blistering day.
As he waited for a response from the front desk, Toren wandered over to his window and stared out at two massive maple trees, thick with green. Not much longer. Another four weeks, six at most, and half the leaves would be on the ground. It would be three or four games into the season, and the odds said a few guys would be hurt. If God was still answer
ing prayers, Toren would get a call from at least a few teams asking him to come try out.
He was ready. He’d stayed in shape, been working on his emotions. Mastering methods to keep himself in check. Succeeding. Definitely in public. And even with Sloane and the kids, he’d made some strides. Not nearly enough, usually just inches at a time, but he was trying.
“Sir?”
“Yeah?”
“My apologies for the length of time it took to get you an answer.”
“No worries.”
There it was again. Patience. Then a peace that flooded his mind in a way he hadn’t known in years. Not a quality anyone had accused him of having in abundance since he stopped playing ball.
“I checked with my manager, and there’s a package here that we were instructed to deliver to your room as soon as you called us. Would it be okay if someone brought that up to you now?”
“More than okay. I’m grateful for the help.”
Through the phone, Toren heard the concierge direct someone to bring the package.
“Sir?”
“Yeah?”
“I followed your career at the University of Washington. You were one of the best defensive ends ever to play for the school. I played the same position in high school. I wasn’t good enough to go on and play for a major college, or even a small college, but during high school you really inspired me. And I love that they used to call you Torenado at UW.”
“Wow.” Toren laughed. “Haven’t heard that name in forever.”
“It fit you like a custom-made glove. Powerful. Unstoppable.”
“That’s kind of you to say.” Toren smiled. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sir. And I’m sorry you didn’t last longer in the pros. What they did was wrong.”
No, it wasn’t wrong. The Hawks had done the right thing. They’d given him multiple chances to keep his boat from sinking, but he kept punching holes in the hull till the whole thing went under.
“I appreciate you saying that, um . . .”
“Landry.”
“Thanks, Landry.”
“That package is on its way, sir.”