The Man He Never Was Read online

  An instant later he knew, and the truth almost sent him to his knees.

  “The other night, in the window,” Toren whispered. “Impossible . . .” Toren trailed off, the weight of the revelation landing on him like an avalanche.

  “No, it can’t be.” Toren pressed his palms into his temples. “It can’t.”

  Letto snickered. “But it is.”

  Toren’s lips barely moved as he stared at Letto. “This whole time.”

  “Yeah, brother. The whoooole time.”

  Toren spoke, but the word slogged out of his mouth as if coming from someone else’s tongue.

  “No.” Toren’s breaths grew shallow. And fast.

  “Oh yes.” A leering smile from Letto.

  “You’re Hyde.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Sick laughter sputtered out of Letto’s mouth as he slowly clapped his hands once, twice, three times. “Such an idiot. But now you’ve grown just a fraction smarter. Congratulations. But you’re still an idiot. I mean, come on. How could I have known about Sloane’s scar? And that she had a black belt? And a million other things? Huh? Huh, idiot?”

  Toren stared into his own eyes but didn’t recognize them. These weren’t the eyes that had looked back at him in mirrors all his life. These were eyes he didn’t know, yet ones he knew intimately at the same time. Eyes he must have had when he’d screamed at Sloane or his kids, eyes he’d had when the rage took him.

  “You’re right, you do know my eyes.”

  The realization that Letto would know Toren’s every thought struck hard.

  “I am you, Toro. Of course I know your every thought. Well, not every thought. Sometimes you shut me out. Just like I shut you out sometimes. But most of the times I can get through.” Letto grinned. “You stupid, snot-nosed, idiot kid. Still the weenie little pansy boy after all these years.”

  Toren knew him, loathed him, and yet in a bizarre twist of reality he realized that Letto was a very real part of him. But he couldn’t admit it to himself.

  “You’re not me.”

  “No?” Letto placed his hand over his chest. “I’m so hurt that you think so.”

  “You’re part of me, yes, but you are not me.”

  “I am you, and it terrifies you. Because you know I’m stronger. You know how this story ends, thanks to your friend Robert Louis. I win.”

  “That was fiction; this is real life. My life.”

  “Story imitates life, Toren.” Letto laughed, a cold sound that iced Toren’s mind.

  “Not this time.”

  “How? You want to explain how? You can’t take me. You know this. Your strength, your size, even your will mean nothing here.”

  “You won’t win. You’ll never take control of me.”

  “Are you kidding? Won’t? I already have. From the moment you gave in to me at age ten, lying on your bed, the beating from Dad still throbbing through you, I’ve had control. That vow has ruled you your entire life. You think you’re going to get rid of it after decades of feeding it? Tell me, mighty Toren. Who is in control when you go off on Sloane or your kids? You suppressed me for a few weeks after we went to The Center. Wahoo.

  “All the years you indulged me have given me a strength you know nothing of. I’ve got a resilience that will bury you again and again and again. Forever.

  “You wonder how I flicked off the training you got at that Center place in Sedona? It was nothing more than a mask, paint made of fool’s gold that couldn’t stand the crucible of real fire. But now you’re feeling the heat, brother. And it’s real.”

  Letto paced slowly back and forth, five steps to the right, five to the left, the sneer on his face growing.

  “Why are you even here in this place right now? It’s because you’re desperate, you’re clutching at anything you think will save you. But nothing can.”

  Toren racked his brain, searching for an answer.

  “There is no answer, Toro, baby.” Letto circled again on his toes and bobbed his shoulder toward him at random intervals like a boxer appraising his foe.

  “Come on. Let’s go.” Letto threw a mock jab toward Toren. “This will be fun. Killing this part of me and taking full control once and for all.”

  Letto circled faster now, jabbing and kicking at him in the style of an MMA fighter. He was still too far away to reach Toren, but he moved far quicker now than before.

  Toren pressed his fists into each other. What he saw in front of him wasn’t real. Wasn’t a physical entity. But what had Eden said about Toren’s own body? That it wasn’t him? That his body was only a shell, a container for his real self? But if his body wasn’t him, then what was he? What was Letto? What was he about to fight?

  It didn’t matter. He had to win. Toren shivered.

  “Cold? Need the heat turned up, brother?” Laughter poured out of Letto.

  “This is all in my head.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Toro.”

  Father. Holy Spirit. Jesus.

  An image of Sloane filled his mind. He wished for just one more chance to tell her he loved her if this didn’t go well. One more.

  Toren closed his eyes, shot up a plea, then opened them.

  “Mistake.”

  Letto stood six inches away, and before the word faded, he slammed a fist into Toren’s stomach just below his rib cage.

  “Ughhhh!”

  Toren’s air whooshed from his lungs.

  “Shoulda kept ’em open, Doctor.”

  Toren arched forward and Letto’s knee slammed into his face. Pain rocketed through his nose. Wham! A shot to his ribs and Toren went down, hands and knees on the floor propping him up, blood dripping from his nose.

  “That feel like it’s in your head?” Letto laughed. “Or does it feel reeeeal?”

  Toren glanced to his left. Letto’s legs were a foot away. Letto was quick, but Toren wasn’t slow. He faked a cough, then lunged for Letto’s legs. Wrapped his arms around him and launched himself up, his shoulder burying itself in Letto’s stomach. Lifting Letto high. Wham! Slamming him onto the floor, Toren’s full 235 pounds landing on Letto’s chest.

  Now the grunt of pain and stream of air came from Letto’s mouth. Fist to Letto’s ribs. Another. Another. Anger surged inside him as he pummeled the smaller man’s body. Faster. Blow after blow. He was winning.

  “Argh!”

  Letto’s blade sliced across Toren’s forearm. Idiot! Should have seen it coming. He rolled to his right an instant before the knife would have slashed into his other arm. Toren wrestled himself to his feet and lurched backward, eyes not leaving Letto, who now stood grinning again as he tossed his knife back and forth between his hands. Toren risked a glance at the cut on his arm. Long, but not deep.

  Considering Letto’s speed and knife, Las Vegas probably would have put Toren’s odds of winning at 5,000 to 1. But Toren refused to give up. Letto wouldn’t walk away from this. If there was any hope for him and Sloane, Toren had to destroy this part of him. Not through rules and discipline and checking the right boxes the right number of times a day. No. The only answer was to overcome his dark side through one-on-one combat.

  He could do this. He’d battled like this on the field most of his life. Be stronger. Be quicker. Be smarter. Head fake one way, get your opponent to bite, then make your move and bring the hammer down.

  Toren began to circle, fists up, eyes flitting from Letto’s knife to the man’s eyes, searching for an opening, the moment when he would attack. Wrest the knife from Letto’s hand and drive it through his heart.

  “Thank you, old pal.” Letto continued to toss the knife back and forth. “I thought this thing was going to be over without a real fight.”

  Toren rose and wiped the blood from his face.

  “After this? After I take over completely, you know what’s going to happen? I see it in your eyes that you know. So why should I bother to say it out loud? For the drama, of course.”

  Hacking laughter spilled from Letto’s mouth, then the la
ughter halted like a door slammed shut, and he narrowed his eyes.

  “I’m going to take care of Sloane. Then Colton. Then your lovely little daughter.”

  Deeper anger than Toren had ever known flooded his soul. Multiplied with exponential growth. And still it grew, infusing him—his arms, legs, torso, all of him—with strength far greater than what mere muscles could wield. He strode toward Letto, the volcano inside surging out of him. A blow to Letto’s wrist. The knife popped out of his hand, spinning high in the air, clattering to the floor. A fist to Letto’s midsection. Then to his face, the smaller man staggering under the onslaught. Wham! Another blow to the face, his ribs, the crunch of fist on bone filling the octagon.

  Letto up against the back wall. Covering his face. Trying to strike, but none of his parries coming close to reaching Toren. And still the rage inside Toren grew. The end was coming. He felt it, knew it. He would be free.

  But an instant later, Letto’s fingers slipped through Toren’s arms and stabbed into Toren’s throat like iron bars. Pain tore through him and he reeled back, clutching his throat. Faster than light, Letto was on him. His heel cracking into the side of Toren’s knee, taking him to the floor once again. Then a blow to his head. Another. Toren tried to draw breaths, but whatever Letto had done to his throat made the air feel like fire.

  A foot to his ribs forced Toren onto his back. He peered up at Letto staring down at him, grin bigger than ever.

  “Now that was fun. Come on, you gotta admit we both had a good time.”

  “I’m going to kill you.”

  Letto frowned. “You know what I’ve been saying about you being an idiot? I didn’t think you really, truly were one. But now I’m beginning to doubt.”

  He wiggled his fingers at Toren. “Stay there. I want to finish this with the knife.”

  As Letto strolled toward the knife as if he were walking down a sandy beach with nowhere to go, the truth hit Toren like a waterfall. He couldn’t win. Couldn’t kill Letto in a million lifetimes. Because Toren’s rage not only made him stronger, it fueled Letto’s power as well. And no matter how strong or how fast or how enraged Toren became, Letto would always be a little stronger, a little faster, a little angrier. Letto was right. Toren could never destroy him.

  Letto sauntered back over, pressing the tip of the knife into the fingers of his other hand one by one. “Are you ready to die?”

  It made no sense. Why would Eden invite him here if he had no chance of victory? Why put him in a scenario where Letto could take over completely? Why had she told him he had a weapon when there was no weapon that could prevail?

  Letto knelt beside him and raised the knife over Toren’s throat.

  “I know you wanted to love her. But you’re just not there. And you’ll never get there. You’ll never be able to love Sloane fully. It’s just not inside you. Never will be. And no amount of study or discipline or penance or anything else is ever going to make it happen. We both know the truth of this, but I’m the only one who has accepted it. It tears you up inside to fight that reality. So really, I’m helping you by taking over. I’m going to help you say good-bye to so much emotional agony.”

  As Toren stared into Letto’s eyes, a revolution swept through him. He realized the truth his dark half had just spoken. Letto was right. Even if he did kill or subdue Letto, or escape, he could never love Sloane fully until a radical shift happened—until he himself knew he was fully loved.

  But he was fully loved, by a Father who held no account of his wrongs. No record. A Father who was not offended by anything he’d ever done or ever would do. Any part of him. A Father who was never provoked. Never. His Father was the father at the ranch, searching the horizon for him, waiting with a ring and a robe and a feast. Not for the light Toren. Not for the dark Toren. For all of him.

  And Christ, the Father’s Son, had come to show him the mind-shattering truth that the Son was in him, and he was in the Son. Hidden in the shadow of his wings. And perfect in his Father’s sight, because he was in Christ and Christ was in him.

  Love your neighbor as yourself.

  He was to love himself. How? As God loved him. No offense. No record of wrongs. No provocation. Showing kindness and patience. Believing all things.

  What he believed, what Toren now knew, was that he wasn’t either man. The good man or the evil man. Neither side of the old Toren was alive any longer. The true him was hidden in Christ.

  “Any final words, Toro, baby?” Letto waved the knife back and forth, now just inches from Toren’s throat.

  Toren patted his chest, his stomach, his legs. This was only his peanut butter jar. The true Toren was hidden with Christ, risen with Christ, loved by a Father who loved him with a love unquenchable. A love that kept no ledger and invited him to partake of a love that was perfection. A love in which fear could not exist. A love that nothing could defeat. A love that banished all darkness like a wind sweeping every cloud from the sky.

  This costume, this temporary container he now inhabited, was not his truest self, was not him at all, according to the Scriptures. The old man was dead. Crucified. The true Toren was risen with Christ. A new man. A new being. Holy. Perfect in his Abba’s sight. He no longer lived, but Christ lived in him. The Christ who had the power to love anyone. Even his greatest enemy.

  He stared at Letto as revelation after revelation swept over him. How had he missed it? He laughed as the realization of how he could beat Hyde, the only way he could beat Hyde, crystalized. Toren smiled and closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them, fixing his gaze on his enemy.

  “It’s okay, Letto. Everything you’ve done. Everything you’re going to do. All the pain you’ve caused me. All the pain you’ve brought Sloane and Colton and Callie.”

  “Shut up,” Letto snarled as he fell back.

  “You’re forgiven. I forgive you. It’s all okay.” Toren rolled onto his side, then to his knees. “Really. It’s okay. All of it.”

  “Shut the hell up.”

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Toren raised himself to his feet. “There is no room in hell for love, is there? There is no room for fear in God, for God is love. And love casts out fear. All fear. All of it.”

  “I said shut up.”

  “I don’t hate you.” Toren shook his head in disbelief, as if he couldn’t believe he’d spoken those words. “For so long . . . but no longer. No, I don’t hate you, I pity you. You are in a war you cannot win. For he has overcome. ‘It is finished.’ And I am glorified now. Perfected in Christ. Loved by the Father without reservation. How can you come against that?”

  As Toren spoke the words, a sensation stole over him that he couldn’t express, and then he could. “I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. This is crazy.”

  Letto stepped back, eyes narrowing, teeth grinding.

  “I love you, Letto.” A swell of joy formed in his stomach and he laughed. “Not with my love—are you kidding? But with his. With the love of Christ, with the love of the Father, who is the very essence of love, I love you.”

  Two things happened simultaneously. The joy inside Toren bubbled up and forced itself out in gentle laughter. And Letto started to fade. Toren stepped toward him, gazing at the astonishment in Letto’s eyes. Toren reached up, his fingers almost touching Letto as the man faded completely from sight.

  As Toren stared at the now-empty space in front of him, he whispered, “‘The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it.’”

  During the long journey back through the tunnel to Alena’s shop, gratitude and awe and worship poured out of Toren’s mouth. There were words and then no words, and communion with Abba God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirit with such power that it felt like floating more than walking.

  When he reached the stairs that led up to Alena’s store, he stopped, smiled, and shook his head. His life would never be the same. And in seconds he would stand before Eden and Alena, no doubt as the true Toren, the authentic Toren, the man he’d always
been.

  At the top of the stairs, he hesitated just a moment before opening the door and stepping into the store. Eden was there, yes, with a smile as wide as he’d ever seen. And Alena. And standing next to them was the last person he ever expected to see.

  CHAPTER 46

  “Hello, Toren.”

  Next to Eden, with a wide grin on his face, stood the leader of The Center, Clavin Sorken.

  “What in the world . . . What are you . . .”

  Another voice, behind him. “Good to see you, Toren.”

  He spun. Collette Engleton, known to the world as Dr. Ilsa Weber, stood behind Sorken and to his right. Next to her was the tall woman he’d first met at the birthday party who’d told him he had to accept his death. He had—oh, how he had.

  He stared at them, dumbfounded, wanting to ask a thousand questions at the same time.

  “You know each other . . . You’re not . . . What . . .”

  They all laughed and gathered around him.

  Eden slid her arms around his waist and squeezed tight. “Well done, brother.”

  Alena nodded at him, her eyes bright, then motioned to some wooden chairs set in a circle toward the front of the store. “Why don’t we all take a seat and then we can try to answer a few of Toren’s questions.”

  “I have more than a few,” he said, which brought another round of laughter.

  After they’d settled in, Eden said, “The summit is yours, Toren.”

  He glanced at each of them, then settled his eyes on Clavin.

  “Even I’ve figured out that you’re all working together, but why The Center, then? What is the point? If you knew it wasn’t going to work, that it would eventually lead here, why the charade?”

  “Because I knew it wouldn’t work.” Clavin steepled his hands, then pointed them at Toren. “But you didn’t. You are an accomplished athlete and have competed at the highest levels of competition. You’ve seen what discipline and focus and determination can accomplish. You did not have help from your father by his choice, and due to circumstance your mother was not able to assist much either. Yes, you had your coach, but largely you were a self-made man, Toren. One who got it done. You played the role of professional football player well. But it made you think you could do life on your own. So when it came to your Christianity, you thought you could win the civil war inside you in the same way you achieved success on the field. You thought the law would save you.