The Man He Never Was Read online

“I would love to buy these.” Toren glanced at the table she had lifted the pieces from. “Do you have others? I don’t see any—”

  “No. These three pieces are unique. But they are not for sale.”

  Toren’s heart sank, and he realized how drawn he’d become to the woman’s creation. “Not for any price?”

  “No, they cannot be sold.” She smiled, and her eyes seemed to be laughing at him. “They can only be given as a gift to the one they were made for.”

  “I see.”

  “No, you don’t, Toren. Your eyes are so clouded. For a time you thought you saw clearly, but now you know you did not see with as much clarity as you thought you did.”

  He started to ask what she meant, but once again she answered his unvoiced question. “I will explain what I mean someday.”

  “In other words, you think I’m coming back here at some point.”

  “Of course you are!” She laughed. “We both know that.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Alena, and it is so good to meet you.”

  He smiled at her, and an inexplicable peace settled on him.

  “Good to meet you as well,” he said. “Do you own the store?”

  “I do.”

  “Since you’ve actually answered two of my questions in a row, do you want to tell me who the wood pieces were made for?”

  Alena looked at him as if confused, her head tilted, a frown on her face.

  “What I mean is, who are you going to give the pieces to?” He held them up.

  “I just did.” She smiled and pointed to the pieces in his hand.

  He stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Deadly.”

  He saw by the look in her eyes that she was.

  “Why me?”

  “Do I need to keep repeating myself that we were expecting you?”

  “We?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who is we?”

  “I think you’re bright enough to know I’m not going to answer that question. In fact, I’ve already gone over that, haven’t I?”

  Yes, she had. Maybe not that bluntly, but he’d gotten the message. He turned the gift over in his hands. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

  “Thank you is more than enough.”

  “Do you mind if I take it apart?”

  “Of course not. It is yours.” Her smile returned as if she had given a child his most wished-for Christmas present, and it delighted her.

  He squinted, found the seams, and slid the first piece apart. Then the second. As he stared at the pieces, two on one palm, one on the other, he couldn’t decide whether he liked them better apart or together. If he was forced to choose, it would probably be together.

  “As beautiful as they are individually, I think I want them to be together.” He smiled at the woman.

  “I long to see that.”

  Strange words, and strange tone of voice. Alena said it exactly as if it had been a cherished desire of hers for many years. Toren gingerly aligned two of the pieces and tried to ease them together, but they wouldn’t fit. He squinted at them. This was the way they should go together. Toren set down the piece that looked slightly bigger and picked up the third piece. There. He saw where the piece would go. But when he tried to slide the third piece into the second, it was as resistant as the first piece.

  He glanced at her. “Not as easy as it looks.”

  “No.” Alena tilted her head down and looked at him from under her eyebrows. “Most times it isn’t.”

  “You wouldn’t want to give me a clue, would you?”

  “Do you really want me to?”

  “Probably not.” He had tried every combination possible and wasn’t any closer to seeing how the pieces fit together. “You didn’t tell me you were giving me a puzzle.”

  “It is much more than a puzzle. But I suspect you knew that already.”

  “Do I at least get some instructions on how it’s done? You know, in case I never figure it out on my own?”

  “It’s impossible to figure it out on your own.”

  “Then will you help me?”

  “I hope so.”

  “You hope so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then do you mind if I leave the pieces here?”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because it gives me a reason to come back and get your help at the point you’re willing to give it.”

  The woman nodded. “A good answer, so yes, I will hold on to them for you till you’re ready.”

  “You wouldn’t want to start now, would you?”

  “It was so wonderful to meet you, Toren.” She smiled at him. “There is such light in you. Step into it, yes? Align with it, yes? Become the light, yes? Release it in all its glory and power, won’t you?”

  Something in her words, or maybe just the way she said them, surfaced a memory from the time he’d been at The Center. He was with a group of people outside—it was warm, he was in a T-shirt—and Sorken was standing in front of them, teaching them something about . . . and then the memory vanished.

  Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “If you were expecting me, then do you know about the time I was gone?”

  Her only response was to stare into his eyes until the intensity in her gaze forced him to look away. What was it about her? He didn’t really need to ask himself the question. She seemed to see to the back of his mind and into the closets of his soul, where he’d always kept the hidden things.

  He looked back up at her. “You know about The Center, don’t you? And my time there? You’re connected somehow.” Toren leaned forward. “Tell me. Please. Are you part of it?”

  “Answer me this first, Toren. What do you want? More than getting back to the NFL, more than for your friendships to be truly healthy, even more than for your children to love you—and yes, even more than having your wife return to you—what do you want?”

  Alena didn’t wait for an answer. She smiled, turned, and ambled away from him toward a door tucked into the back corner of the store. Toren stood stunned, but only for a moment.

  “Wait!” he called after her as he made for the back of the store. He was determined not to lose her until he got a few more answers, but a moment later a thick, older man emerged from the door and blocked his path. Toren slid to the left to go around the man, but he glided in front of Toren.

  “Hello, might I assist you with something?”

  Toren pointed at the door. “Yeah, I was just talking to—”

  “To Alena?” The man arched an eyebrow.

  “Yes, and we didn’t finish the conversation.”

  The man rubbed his chin. “If she left, it seems at least for one of you, the conversation has concluded.”

  “She asked me a question. I want to give her the answer.”

  “It’s curious that you want to give her an answer to the question when you don’t know the answer. How will you accomplish that?” He frowned and cocked his head. “I’m simply interested in your method.” The man smiled. It wasn’t warm.

  Toren started to ask how the man knew he had no clue how to answer Alena’s question, but he didn’t have time for that.

  “Listen, I need to ask her a few more things. I don’t think she’ll mind.”

  “I’m sure she would enjoy seeing you again sometime. But she’s done working for the day.”

  “But she just left, and like I said, I have to ask her a few more questions.”

  “You have to?”

  “Yes. It will only take a moment.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Then can I get her cell number or e-mail address?”

  “Have patience. Stay in the moment, Toren. Next time will come.” The man’s eyes grew intense, and Toren knew no matter how insistent he was, he wouldn’t see Alena again that day.

  One ferry ride and two hours of driving later, he pushed through the front door of his re
ntal home and pulled up Alena’s store’s website on his computer. There was little to look at. A splash page with a panoramic shot of the inside of the store, the address, and a phone number. A Google search revealed nothing more than when the store was incorporated—four years ago—and the grand opening, which was three years ago. But it was a start.

  Two days later—days when Toren continued to strive to eradicate Hyde from his life through hours of prayer, study, and worship—it became more than a start. He got a text from an unknown number, asking him to come to the San Juan Islands—Friday Harbor—the coming Saturday afternoon.

  I believe it is time for you to visit again. Saturday 2pm. Your life is about to change. Possibly for good. But ultimately, that will be up to you. Alena.

  CHAPTER 32

  When Toren stepped inside the store on Saturday, Alena wasn’t there. Only the man who’d rebuffed him.

  “I’m here to see Alena.”

  “Yes.” The man smiled, warmer this time, then motioned toward the door at the back of the store. The one Alena had escaped through the day he’d met her.

  “I get to find out what’s behind the door?”

  “Do you think you’re ready?”

  Toren wanted to shout, “Yes, I’m ready!” but he wasn’t, so he spoke the truth. “No, I don’t think I’m even within sight of ready. I feel like I’m stepping off the end of a dock blindfolded, with no idea how far down the water is.”

  “It is wonderful to hear that, Toren.” The man smiled again. “You’re closer to being ready than you know. I believe the scales will fall.”

  “What scales?”

  The man tapped his forehead just above his eyes, then pulled a key from his pocket. “You’ll need this. Please don’t lose it. It’s my only copy.”

  “I’ll try really hard not to. But I can’t make promises.” Toren smiled, but the man didn’t return it.

  He motioned again in the direction of the door, and Toren walked toward it. Before twisting the knob and stepping through, he turned and offered his thanks.

  Toren wasn’t sure what he expected to find—probably an office, or a storage room for all the inventory not ready to be on display in the shop, or a room with a circle of chairs and dark wood and books for deep discussions revolving around spiritual mysteries, but instead he found himself at the top of a steep staircase that led straight down to a dimly lit concrete landing three feet by three feet at most. A weathered steel door stood guard at the bottom, and as he stared at it, the back of his neck pricked.

  The two lights on either side of the staircase flickered, and images from cheesy suspense movies flashed through his mind. But his feelings of fear weren’t cheesy. They were all too real. His hand started to ache, and he realized he was still clutching the doorknob. He turned back to find the man staring at him, hands clasped behind his back.

  “It’s your choice, of course. To continue on.”

  Toren nodded, let go of the knob, and started down the stairs. By the time he reached the midway point, sweat had broken out on his forehead, and he wiped it away with an equally sweaty palm. As he stepped onto the concrete landing area, he heard the door at the top of the stairs slam shut.

  “Thanks, old pal,” he muttered. “Now it feels like I’ve been buried alive.”

  He slid the key into the lock in the door, turned it, and the metal door opened without resistance and without sound.

  “Wow.”

  After uttering that one word, he stood in stunned silence staring down a long hallway made entirely of sweet-smelling cedar. Floor, ceiling, walls. Recessed lighting, warm and soft, created an ambience of simple luxury. He took a hesitant step forward, then another, his shoes on the wood far quieter than he expected.

  There were no doors in sight, so going back or straight forward were his only options. After sixty or seventy yards he expected to see a sign or some indicator that he was going the right direction. Nothing. This didn’t bother him until he’d gone what felt like the length of a football field. When he’d covered another two football fields, he pulled out his phone. Toren scrolled through his apps and opened the one that tracked distance traveled.

  At a quarter of a mile, the hallway took a forty-five-degree turn to the right, and one hundred yards later another slight turn to the right. The wood here darkened, apparently because a different stain had been applied. He stopped and ran his fingers over the wood. The finish was gritty, as if the craftsmen hadn’t sanded a final time before putting the wood up. It was easy to understand why. Already, the board footage of lumber used on the hallway had to be in the thousands, and it kept going as far as he could see.

  He kept walking. In a follow-up text, Alena had suggested he block out the entire afternoon for their time together, but he thought it would be for time to talk, not to hike. Another quarter mile passed.

  Now, for the first time since Toren started down the hall, he spotted something in the wood. Writing. Every few feet he spied a name etched into the wood with a wood-burning tool. He walked on. Hundreds of names now. Toren skimmed them, searching for someone he knew. He wasn’t sure why. The odds of finding a familiar name were infinitesimal, but it would have given him assurance he was doing the right thing, as if a friend had gone before him. No one.

  He ran his fingers along the paneling, feeling the texture of the names under his fingertips as they became fewer and farther between, and then—

  Toren stopped and staggered back a step. There, illuminated by the soft overhead light, in elegant and precise lettering, was a name he knew: Eden Lee.

  What? Eden? He stared at her name. A woman of secrets. He’d known that from the moment they’d met. When he saw her again he’d find a way to get her to reveal a few of them.

  A half mile later, he finally reached the end of the corridor, and he stared with admiration at what loomed in front of him. Another staircase. This one started out straight, then curved after seven or eight steps. The steps looked like acacia wood, stained dark with a gleam that made them look like they were polished yesterday. The undulating swirls of dark and light wood were like rivers on some of the stairs, like a map of another world found in the front of a fantasy novel. The craftsmanship and beauty were stunning. Every other stair was inlaid with a lighter wood that formed what looked like words from another language.

  He hesitated, then reminded himself they were stairs, meant to be stepped on, and he started up. It didn’t surprise him to find no creak in the stairs as he placed his foot on the first one, then eased his weight onto the second, then the third. After the eleventh stair, the words—if that was what they were—stopped and his pace quickened and the spiral of stairs tightened.

  It was a strange sensation, as if the walls of the staircase were closing in on him. In a sense they were, simply because of their construction, and yet the sensation was caused by more than the space growing smaller. It was as if the air around him had grown thinner and was pressing in on his mind and body as well. Toren forced his breathing to stay steady.

  As he reached the thirtieth stair, he spotted a landing above him. Ten or so more steps to go. Toren hesitated as an unfamiliar voice inside his mind cautioned him against going farther. Not a chance. He clipped up the rest of the stairs and found himself on a small landing, maybe six by six, with a single door to his left. Narrow. A thin stream of light came from a small spotlight embedded in the wood above the door. He didn’t recognize the timber. The wood was so white it seemed to throw off its own radiance.

  He knocked even though he’d been invited. An instant later, Alena’s muted voice invited him to come in. He took the knob and turned it, but where he’d expected the knob to turn smoothly, it turned with difficulty, as if taffy were gumming up the hardware. He pushed the door open as if he were about to walk into the treasure room of an ancient castle and stepped through the doorframe.

  Alena stood in the center of the room. She wasn’t alone.

  Right beside her stood Eden.

  CHAPTER 33
/>   Toren stared at Eden, dumbfounded. She smiled and nodded once.

  “Hello, Toren.”

  “What? What are you . . .” He trailed off as his mind vanished.

  She eased over to him and finished his question. “. . . doing here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m so glad you made it.”

  “I don’t get it. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell me you’re part of this?”

  “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings.”

  “But I’m not a king.”

  Eden only raised her eyebrows.

  “When you told me to . . . How’d you know I’d pick Friday Harbor?”

  “Odds were good.”

  “What if I hadn’t?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But if I hadn’t come here, everything would have been delayed and—”

  “I’m not in a hurry, Toren.”

  “I am.”

  “Yes, I know, which is why I’m glad you chose Friday Harbor.” Her eyes laughed at him.

  “What are the odds of Friday Harbor being the place this . . . whatever this thing is, is built, and where Sloane and I . . .”

  “Yes, what are the odds?” Eden gave a thin smile.

  “How did you know?”

  “I know far less than you give me credit for. I listen to the voice of the Spirit, and sometimes I get it right. That is all.”

  A streak of light seemed to pass through him. In the next moment he believed it was the most natural thing in the world to have Eden standing before him.

  “But we could have saved so much time if you’d just—”

  “If I’d just what? Led you here from the moment we first met? Robbed you of the chance to rekindle your relationship with Colton and Callie? Told you about The Center so you understood in your head but not your heart?”

  “Who are you really?”

  “I am your friend. One who has longed for you to come to this place.” She motioned around the room. “You’ve made my day being here.”

  “I’m not sure I had a choice. My friend Alena here can be fairly persuasive.”

  “So she decided for you?”