The Man He Never Was Page 16

  “We see it in those around us, don’t we? We see it on a cruise ship, where the people are having the time of their lives, with every pleasure they can think of attended to, and then when the ship breaks down, it’s only a matter of hours before their darker sides emerge. They turn to raging and stealing and hoarding—this from people we would hold up as bastions of societal grace and kindness. We could find these people capable of great compassion and sacrifice, I imagine. Don’t you?

  “And yet they also show themselves capable of despicable acts. So which person are they? The good man, the good woman, or the evil?

  “If honest—which is a victory in itself—even the most forthright man, the most virtuous woman, would admit to thoughts that echo the persona of Mr. Hyde. He was a man of small stature, slight of build, in want of physical strength, and yet his power to subjugate the light? Unparalleled. He is the dark dog. And though appearing gaunt and weak, the truth is that he can tear the white dog to pieces if left unchecked.”

  Again Sorken paused and closed his eyes. Again a few of Toren’s fellow seekers of light appeared agitated, and again no one answered when Sorken opened his eyes and riveted his question on all of them.

  “Would you like to be free? Would you like to drink the potion that will render Hyde impotent? Destroy the dark dog inside you?”

  A few of them murmured their assent.

  “Good, good.” Sorken spread his arms and hands wide. “Of course you would. It’s the reason you’re here. We are in a civil war, my dear apprentices, the same civil war that Stevenson explored in his novella, the same civil war that Paul of Tarsus addresses in his letter to his friends in Rome, which is contained in the New Testament portion of the Bible.

  “So the news is indeed dire. You are at war with your two selves, each vying for power and position—each on a quest to conquer the other and become the victor. But the news is also good, for here at The Center, you will be equipped to win that war every minute, every hour, every day of your life. The good and holy and true woman or man within you will emerge victorious.

  “You will train your mind as an elite athlete trains his body. You will eventually begin to respond in the ways of love and compassion without thinking. You will learn to put others first, to truly love your neighbor as yourself.”

  Toren’s forehead broke out in a cold sweat as the dream morphed into hours of training, the relentless training. Hours melted into days, into weeks, months as he trained his mind to be calm, to use the mantras about surrendering to Christ. He mastered the spiritual disciplines of silence and meditation and fasting and memorizing Scripture and extending acts of kindness to the other students. Sorken taught him how to mold his soul into one who could step outside himself into light, into love. One who could conquer the dark man inside him. One who could banish his anger forever.

  CHAPTER 28

  Toren’s lungs groped for air as he woke to his own shout, and memories rained down on him too fast to assimilate. A brilliant sliver of light from the cresting of the sun over the mountains to the east pulled Toren from the dream, and he shielded his eyes from the brightness. He was in his rental car in a large parking lot. The Phoenix airport. He’d been here overnight?

  Sorken had given him hope. Promised that The Center had the secret, a potion Toren could take that would last. That would eliminate Hyde forever. But it hadn’t worked. Here he was, slowly turning back into Hyde. The potion was wearing off.

  He sat in the car for more than ten minutes before he saw the corner of a black package sticking out from under the passenger-side seat. Toren reached for it, but something stopped his fingers before they closed on the thick envelope. It would be from The Center. It would speak in cryptic language about why he’d failed.

  All Toren knew was that he had to go back and repeat the training. Do it again. Fix whatever he’d done wrong the first time. Keep it from slipping away. Keep the walls from crumbling. Keep Hyde from rising again. More than keep him from rising, he had to kill Hyde. His hatred for his dark self filled his mind. He’d won Colton’s and Callie’s hearts back, still believed there was hope for Sloane and him, but here was Hyde, ready to steal any chance away. He had to go back to The Center. He didn’t know what else to do.

  Toren finally took the package between thumb and forefinger and lifted it to his lap. He stared down at it as if he had X-ray vision and could see the contents without having to rip into the coal-black paper. As he opened the envelope and pulled out the enclosed letter, he begged God for it to contain good news.

  Dear Toren,

  Regretfully, I didn’t have a choice but to sedate you and leave you where you are at this moment. I don’t believe you would have left of your own accord. Quite simply, where you are on this journey is the place you are supposed to be, so please accept this truth. This next sentence will be hard to read; consequently, I do not write these words lightly, nor do I take lightly the impact they will have on your mind and soul.

  The reality we must face, and now you must face, is that sometimes Hyde wins. Sometimes, despite all our grasps for triumph, we must accept defeat. Understandably, we don’t speak of this at The Center during the training phase. Having that lingering doubt floating in the air and in the mind would not enhance the chances of the training succeeding.

  Does it help to know the trainee reverts back to the way they were two times out of every ten? I would not think so, and I only say it so you might find some sliver of comfort in the fact that you are not alone.

  I would imagine the idea that Hyde wins—thus the Hyde inside you, Toren—is anathema to you. I imagine you loathe him more than ever before, but take heart. You are not fully Hyde, just as our successful students are not fully the good doctor. There is good in you as well. Great good. You are made in the likeness and image of God. How can that part of you not be good? And that good will remain.

  Our wish for you from all of us at The Center is that you find another path that we were unable to provide for you, one that leads you to the transformation you are so desperately seeking. I say desperately, because that passion should show you that you still possess the deep desire to change, to become the man you know you can be.

  To your eternal change,

  Clavin Sorken

  Toren let the note fall from his fingers as all emotion seeped away, replaced by a numbness that felt permanent. There was no fix. No redoing everything that had been done at The Center. His hope of a life with Sloane was gone. Same with playing in the NFL again. Both were over.

  A rap on the window of his rental car ripped him from the thought, and he lurched forward in his seat.

  CHAPTER 29

  “Hello, Toren. It’s good to see you again.”

  He rolled down the window for the woman in her late fifties wearing a yellow blouse and tan slacks. The smile on her face was both warm and sympathetic, as if she knew secrets about him that even he hadn’t realized. Toren didn’t ask her name. He knew exactly who she was.

  How badly do you want the change?

  With everything in me.

  “Dr. Ilsa Weber.” The counselor who had helped him find The Center in the weeks following the crisis. The reason he’d recognized her voice on the radio.

  Her smile grew, and the laugh lines made her beautiful in the way only age can do for a woman. Something about her reminded him of the image he had of his mom, from those cloudy days before his father left and his mom sank into a depression she never climbed out of.

  Toren started to get out of the car, but Ilsa, or whatever her real name was, waved him off and motioned toward the passenger-side door.

  “May I?”

  “If you didn’t, I would get out and follow you till I convinced you to do exactly that.” Toren chuckled as leaned over and opened the door.

  Ilsa got in and said, “I don’t doubt you would have.”

  She settled into the seat and clasped her hands on her lap. “Where would you like to start?”

  “Who are you, really? And
what do I do now? Why didn’t it work for me? Can you help me get back there, go through the training again? And why did you make yourself impossible to find?”

  She gave a quick wink and said again, “Where would you like to start?”

  She laughed, not at him, but with him, even though he didn’t join the laughter. Ilsa took his right hand and laid her hands over and under his own. Her touch was warm, and for a moment he was that little boy who had Christmases with his grandparents and was loved by them without reservation.

  “I suppose I want to start with your name. The real one.”

  “Yes, of course. A good place to start certainly.”

  She patted his hand three times, then pulled away and held out her hand in a strikingly formal way. As he took her hand, she shook his, chin raised, eyelids half closed, and announced as if at a formal dinner, “I, Collette Engleton, am honored to be with you again, Toren Daniels.”

  With that she dropped her hand and laughed at her own jocular introduction. He couldn’t help but return her smile as well as try to imitate her ceremonial delivery.

  “It is with great pleasure I receive your name and the beginning of our association, although we both have already acknowledged this is not the beginning for you and merely a continuation of a relationship already begun, but I am at the disadvantage of not recalling with as much detail as you retain.”

  Toren finished with a mock bow of his head and short wave of his hand. When he looked up, a thin smile played at the corners of Collette’s mouth, but her eyes were as intense as if she were in the heart of a battle she wasn’t sure she could win.

  “Yes. That right there. Hang on to that. That is your first lesson.”

  “What?”

  “You were playing just now. You joined my play and became something you have not been for a long, long time.”

  “What was I?”

  If possible, her eyes grew more focused, like gray steel forged in fire. “Don’t think for the answer, feel it. Here.” She rapped on her chest twice, her eyes never leaving his.

  “I don’t . . . I can’t—”

  “Stop thinking and tell me!” Her voice didn’t rise more than a few decibels, but it felt like thunder.

  “I was a boy.” For a moment he let go of his mind, only a moment, but it was enough. “And like all children before their joy is stolen by life, I loved to play.”

  “Yes!” The intensity melted from her gaze, replaced by a delight that mesmerized him. “Yes, yes, yes, dear Toren, that’s exactly what you were. And exactly what you must become for longer and longer moments in time. We must come to our Father like a child. Well done, yes, well done.”

  He stared at her, at once drawn to her like a magnet yet frightened at how deeply she saw into him. What secrets did she know about him? How much had he revealed over the months she was part of his life?

  “Who are you?”

  “I am one of many who want to bring truth to people like yourself.”

  “Like myself?”

  “Yes. Those who have been deceived.”

  “By The Center? Were you a plant there? Trying to help me? I wasn’t deceived by them. What Sorken offered me worked. I just need it to work better. Become more complete. And now I have to do it on my own.”

  “And we are here to help you.”

  “Who is we?”

  Collette opened her door.

  “Wait!”

  “Yes, Toren?” Her eyes had gone dark, not cruel, but rigid.

  “I have so many more questions.”

  Collette patted her chest as she had before. “In here. Listen.”

  “I still don’t—”

  “Trust, Toren. Answers are coming. I promise.”

  With that, Collette stepped into the parking lot and strode off, leaving Toren full of hope and even more saturated in despair.

  CHAPTER 30

  Inside the terminal, Toren called Eden and filled her in on everything that had happened in Arizona. She didn’t comment much other than to ask how he felt.

  “I thought once I found out where I’d been, I’d get relief, understanding. It would be over.”

  “It’s not?”

  “You know it’s not over.” Toren scowled. “Where do I start?”

  “You go back to where it began.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I think you need to go back to the day you took the belt out of your dad’s hand.”

  Toren rubbed his eyes and squinted into the high-desert sun outside the large airport window.

  It happened on the fourteenth of June. Six minutes past six in the evening. A date branded on Toren’s mind like few other memories. He’d been working out down at the gym and pushed into the family room at the exact moment his dad’s palm met his mom’s cheek with the speed and strength of a whip. She stumbled back and crumpled into a lamp next to their couch, then dropped to her knees.

  Toren’s dad stared at her for a moment before turning his eyes to Toren. Then he snatched the remote out of his recliner and plopped down in his chair, pointed the remote at the TV, changed the channel, and snatched his beer off the table next to his chair.

  “Sorry you had to see that, son. She was out of line.” His dad fixed his gaze on the boxing match on-screen as if he were alone in the room.

  Toren lifted his workout bag to his full arm’s length over his head, then released it. It thumped down on the carpet six inches from his dad’s feet. His dad’s head whipped around and he glared at Toren.

  “What is your problem?”

  Toren went to his mom, who waved him off. But he knelt next to her and helped her to her feet.

  “This has to stop, Mom,” Toren whispered as he led her out of the family room into the kitchen.

  “I know. I know.”

  “Stay here a second.” Toren held his palm up. “Don’t move, okay?”

  She nodded as her hand went to her cheek. Toren returned with a plastic bag of ice and lifted it gently to her face. She took it from him and whispered, “Thank you.”

  “When, Mom? When is it going to stop?”

  “Soon.”

  “You’ve told me that too many times. When, Mom?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Toren sat at the kitchen table next to his mom, helpless. But that wasn’t true. He wasn’t helpless. Not anymore.

  “I’ll be right back.” Toren shifted in his chair and lowered his voice. “There’s something I have to do, Mom.”

  His mom grabbed his hands, held tight. “No. Please, no.”

  “I love you, Mom.”

  Toren pulled his hands out of hers, marched back into the family room, and stood glaring down at his dad till the man felt the stare and glanced up at him.

  “Turn off the TV, Dad. I need to talk to you.”

  “Oh yeah?” His dad scowled at Toren, then turned back to his show.

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe when my show is done.”

  “No. Now.”

  “This better be good, ’cause I’m right in the middle of this match.” His dad took a long slurp from his beer.

  “It’s good, really good, what I want to talk to you about.” Toren eased closer to his father. “I think you’ll like it. A lot.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes.” Toren moved to stand between his dad and the TV. “You’ll definitely like it. You told me you would.”

  “You’re really starting to tick me off, kid.” His dad slammed his beer down on the table next to him, then lurched forward in his Barcalounger and gritted his teeth.

  “Five and a half years ago you said you’d love to have me take a poke at you. See what I had inside. See if there was anything more than squishy mush. Do you remember that, Dad? Huh? Do ya?”

  “Don’t be an idiot, kid.”

  “I’m about to give you your wish. It’s time to take the belt out of your hand.”

  “Oh really?” His dad got up from his chair and tossed the remote down, his eyes black. “Righ
t here? Right now?”

  Toren didn’t speak. Simply gave a slow nod. His dad took a step forward, stuck out his chin, and tapped it.

  “Go for it. Let’s see what’s inside you, you little snot-nosed punk.”

  Toren reared back and swung at his dad with all his strength, but his dad was too quick. He blocked Toren’s arm and, faster than Toren thought possible, hammered his fist into Toren’s gut. He buckled over as pain shot through him. An instant later, his dad shoved him to the ground, then stood over him, grinning.

  “Nice try, punk.”

  Toren struggled to his knees, his eyes fixed on his dad’s legs. Another few seconds to catch his breath, then he surged up and forward, wrapped his arms around his dad’s thighs like he was making an open-field tackle, and slammed his dad into the fireplace. His dad grunted, but a half second later brought both fists down on Toren’s back like a jackhammer.

  The sound of his back cracking barely registered in Toren’s mind as he crumpled to the ground a second time. He was exhausted. The workout he’d just finished at the gym was maximum reps, fighting with the steel to the point of failure. The strength he’d labored to build for football and for this moment wasn’t there.

  His dad’s foot slammed into his ribs. “How’s that feel?”

  Another kick. Ribs felt cracked.

  “Thanks for the workout, kid.” His dad put his foot on Toren’s head. “I think maybe I’ll get in a few more reps with your mom. Maybe Brady too when he gets home.”

  Something inside Toren snapped and a river of adrenaline shot through him, but it was far more than adrenaline. This was raw energy like he’d never known. Wild. Full of power. Rage burned every thought from his mind except the man he’d called Dad towering over him, gloating, threatening to hurt his mom and his brother again.

  The rage lifted him, making him stronger than he’d ever been in the weight room. Like a wild stallion being ridden for the first time. Toren’s heart hammered with exhilaration. He pushed to his knees a second time, then stood and stared into his father’s eyes with the intensity of an inferno. It felt good. Toren embraced it with his entire soul.