Valley of the Shadow (10 page)

    “Good for him.”

    Jason glanced up at Mitch. “Why, was your dad a jerk?”

    “Worse,” Mitch snorted. “Politician. He was never around very much and never had much time for me when he was.”

    “Politician, huh? What, state or local?”

    “Congress. He spent most of his time in Washington.”

    “Cool. You ever get to visit? Y’know, did he ever take you around? meet the president or anything?”

    “I went a couple times when I was younger. Then my mom got sick and we stayed home after that. Never met the president. But I think my old man probably did.”

    The screen door opened and Howard stepped out onto the porch. He shook his head. “Don’t go wearin’ yourself out playing basketball. We gotta make a gas run in a couple of days.”

    “Gas run?” Jason sat up. “Where to?”

    Mitch held up a hand. “Dude, we’ve been siphoning every drop we could find from every town in a thirty-mile radius. Trust me, it ain’t fun.”

    Jason got to his feet and grabbed the basketball. “Hey, man, it’s all in how you look at it.”

    Mitch waved him off.

    Jason returned to the court and took a few more shots. One of them missed completely and bounced into the open maintenance shed. He went to retrieve the ball and suddenly doubled over in the entrance, holding his stomach and groaning.

    Mitch jumped up and ran to the court but stopped at the edge of the concrete. Jason turned and lifted his T-shirt. His abdomen was covered by a purple rash. It looked like an enormous bruise. Mitch froze, staring at the discoloration.

    Jason examined it. Then looked up. His face was drained of color. “W-what is it?” he stammered. “What’s going on?”

    Mitch just shook his head, unable to speak. He had seen this before. Too many times. The purple rash that crept across a visitor’s body. Usually right before…

    “Dude, get in the house!”

    “What?” Jason held his stomach and winced again.

    Something moved in the shadows of the maintenance shed. Mitch gasped and stepped back. Jason apparently noticed Mitch’s expression and turned in time to see two gray creatures emerge from the shadows, just within the entrance of the shed. A pair of long gray arms lurched out and wrapped around Jason’s torso. Multiple spiderlike fingers fanned out and dug into his flesh. Mitch could see the discoloration spreading over the rest of Jason’s body. His arms, calves, and the back of his neck.

    The creatures yanked him into the darkened shed like a rag doll. Jason screamed. A terrified, high-pitched cry for help.

    Mitch snapped out of his shock and lunged across the court. But the second creature emerged from the shed, looming in front of Mitch, shoulders drawn back, head forward. Its vacant white eyes glared at him. The gray skin of its mouth peeled open to expose rows of black teeth. It stood there, poised and threatening, blocking Mitch’s path.

    Mitch skidded to a halt and fell backward onto the cement. Jason’s screams still echoed from inside the shed. Then the door on the far side of the shed burst open and Mitch could see the shadowy silhouette of the first creature dragging Jason through the doorway and out across the field toward the…

    Toward the forest!

    Jason was still struggling, flailing his limbs.

    “Mitch!” His voice echoed, growing more distant. “Help me!”

    But terror seized Mitch again. A sharp, paralyzing fear. Part of him screamed to get up, to go and save his friend. But another part screamed to save himself.

    Mitch stared up at the creature looming over him. It glared at him—at least as much as its alien features could resemble a glare. Then, Mitch made his choice. He scrambled back away from the entrance to the shed. Back, off the basketball court…

    And back into the house.

JIM MALONE GOT HOME
shortly after noon, full of anxiety. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of responsibility for Devon’s escape from the detention facility that morning. His seizure had occurred only after Jim had started talking, trying to explain things.

    The house was empty when he arrived. His two oldest children were in school and Annie had gone shopping with the other two.

    Jim also couldn’t get over the coincidence that both he and Conner Hayden had come to visit the same kid within minutes of each other. It was weird enough just running into the guy, but the fact that they had both come to see the same kid? That was more than a little bizarre.

    Then there was Devon’s strange behavior toward Hayden. What had the facility director said? That Devon had freaked out the moment he first saw the lawyer. But why? What connection did they have?

    Jim shook his head. Part of him wanted to forget about the entire ordeal. He’d tried to help Devon, but now it no longer concerned him. He barely knew Hayden and he didn’t know Devon at all. Yet something his wife always said came back to him: “Nothing ever really happens by accident.”

    Jim dug through the drawers in the kitchen desk and finally plucked out Hayden’s business card. He stared at it for a minute, still debating whether or not to contact the lawyer again. It really wasn’t any of his business, but something told him that maybe Annie was right.

    Jim dialed the office number on the card. After three rings, a woman answered. Jim asked to speak with Conner.

    The woman hesitated for a moment. “Mr. Hayden is not in the office today. But I can transfer you to Jeff Hildebrandt; he’s handling—”

    “No thanks,” Jim answered quickly. “Will he be in tomorrow? Can I leave a message?”

    There was another pause. “Actually, Mr. Hayden has taken a leave of absence. I’m afraid he won’t be available for a couple weeks.”

    “A couple weeks?” Jim frowned. Maybe he was still taking medical leave. “Do you have his home phone number? I just need to ask—”

    “I’m sorry, sir; we can’t give out that information. But I can try to get a message to him that you called.”

    Jim left his name and number, just in case, then hung up and rubbed his eyes. This whole thing was wearing on his nerves. He could get on the Internet and try to locate Hayden’s home phone number. But that felt too much like prying. Jim drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to work up the nerve to go further.

    Suddenly the phone rang, shaking Jim from his thoughts. He answered.

    “Hello?”

    “Mr. Malone?” The voice sounded familiar.

    “Yes.”

    “Mr. Malone, this is Darnell Curtis, from the juvenile detention center. Do you have a moment?”

    “Sure, what can I do for you?”

    “I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about Mr. Hayden, the man who came to see Devon earlier this morning.”

    “Um, yeah. I don’t really know him very well.”

    “I understand,” Darnell went on. “But I’m having some trouble getting in contact with him. I’m trying to figure out what connection he might have with Devon.”

    “I just assumed he was representing him. Or maybe trying to give him legal advice.”

    “I’ve been reviewing the tape of their meeting, and I have to say, their conversation was pretty bizarre.”

    “What do you mean?”

    “Well, I can’t go into details at the moment, but Hayden kept referring to the night Devon was shot. He said something about having a heart attack that same night. He seemed to be trying to convince Devon that it was real. Their experience was real. That it really happened.”

    Jim nearly dropped the phone. “Whoa—whoa, wait a minute . . . He’s right.”

    “You know what he was talking about?”

    “Yeah . . . he’s right,” Jim said. Things were starting to come into focus. “He did have a heart attack that night.”

    “How do you know this?”

    “Well, we had met with him earlier that same afternoon—my wife and I. We had a meeting to talk about a malpractice lawsuit. But we wanted to think about it more over the weekend. And then on Monday, we heard from his office that he was in the hospital. He’d had a heart attack and was having surgery.”

    “Are you sure they said he had the heart attack Friday night?”

    “Yeah, I’m sure,” Jim said. “But . . . what does that mean?”

    “Are you a religious man, Mr. Malone?”

    “What? Yeah . . . I guess so. Why?”

    “Because Hayden was telling Devon that they had both had the same experience. I think he was referring to their near-death experience. They were both dying at the same time and somehow had experienced the same event. They’d somehow met each other.”

    Jim laughed nervously. “Look, I believe in life after death. I mean . . . I’m a Christian and all, but that . . . that sounds a little crazy, don’t you think? What if he was just trying to trick Devon or something?”

    There was a pause. “Normally I’d agree with you. But judging from Devon’s reaction to seeing Mr. Hayden again—or really for the first time . . . He was shocked. I mean, almost terrified. It was like Devon recognized him. I guess I’m tempted to give the story the benefit of the doubt.”

    “So what experience did they have? Did he describe any of it?”

    “No,” Darnell said. “But he did mention two other people. A Helen and Mitch. Do either of those names ring a bell with you?”

    “Helen and Mitch? No . . . I’m sorry, they don’t sound familiar.”

    “Hayden said that Mitch was in a coma. In a hospital up in Winthrop Harbor.”

    “Winthrop Harbor?” Jim frowned. “Well, we should try to find out if—”

    “Way ahead of you, man. I called in a few favors and did some checking. There’s a Mitch Kent currently in ICU at Good Samaritan. He’s in a coma from injuries received in a motorcycle accident two months ago. And get this . . . it was the same night Devon was shot and Hayden was having his heart attack.”

    Jim felt chills pour down his back. “You’re kidding me.”

    “Now all that brings me to your experience with Devon. And how he was acting.”

    “You mean his being out of it? Like drugged or something?”

    “Yeah, disorientation and the seizure. But there was one other thing.…”

    “What’s that?”

    “The cold. You said for a moment before his seizure it got real cold in the room. The window frosted up, you said.”

    “Yeah.” Jim was nodding at the phone. “Yeah, like the AC had kicked in or something. I could actually see my breath.”

    “Right. Only there is no AC in that room.”

    “So . . . what are you saying?”

    Darnell gave what sounded like a nervous chuckle. “Well, officially, I’m not saying anything. Officially, my office is working diligently with the police to find Devon and bring him back. But unofficially…” He paused a moment. “Unofficially, I think there’s something very weird—spiritual or paranormal or whatever you want to call it—going on.”

    Jim sat with his mouth open. He suddenly felt detached, like he was watching himself in a movie. A bizarre, low-budget horror flick about demon-crazed zombies running amok. He shook his head. This was crazy.

    “Mr. Malone?” Darnell’s voice drew Jim out of his daze.

    He blinked. “Uhh . . . yeah. So . . . what does that all mean? I mean . . . what can we do about it?”

    “Again, officially, nothing. We let the police handle it. But it sounds to me like Devon is in more trouble than just being chased by the police. A lot more.”

“WELL, CONNER,
I’ve been wondering when we’d get the chance to talk.”

    Norman Lewis—Pastor Norman Lewis—closed the door to his study and sat down in the chair across from Conner. Lewis was sixtysomething and grandfatherly, his brown hair trimmed with gray and neatly combed. In fact, a little too neatly, Conner thought. Not a hair out of place.

    Conner also took note that the guy didn’t sit at his desk, which might’ve suggested a position of authority. Instead, he seemed to treat Conner like a friend. An equal.

    Then again, maybe that was the impression he was trying to give—that they were friends. Like some pre-scripted psychological trick from Pastoring Techniques 101:
How to Elicit Trust from Your Minions While Pretending to Be Their Equal.

    Conner had called Lewis shortly after lunch—upon arriving home from his encounter at Walter Kent’s house. He was frustrated and found himself getting angry with God again. Why would God bring him back to life and make it so difficult to accomplish the task that He’d brought him back to do? And to make matters worse, Conner was now fighting against the clock as well. If Kent had made “final arrangements” for his son, that could only mean he was having Mitch disconnected from life support. And probably soon.

    So with reservations—but nowhere else to turn—Conner had looked up the pastor’s number and given him a call. Marta was still at work, but Conner wasn’t sure he wanted her along anyway.

    Conner tapped his fingers on the leather armrest, unsure of how to begin the conversation.

    But Lewis smiled. “So Marta shared with me a bit of your… well, your story and how you came to faith. I don’t think I know anyone with that dramatic a testimony.”

    “Mmm.” Conner nodded. “Road to Damascus.”

    “Well, I’m eager to hear more about it. That is, whenever you feel comfortable enough to share it.”

    “Actually, not even Marta knew the whole story—at least not until this morning. I finally told her everything.”

    “So what took you this long to share it all with her?”

    Conner shrugged. “I guess I was afraid she’d think I was…”

    “Crazy?”

    Conner peered at the pastor with a raised eyebrow.

    Lewis gave a sheepish smile. “Yeah, she called this morning to ask for prayer. She didn’t share any details. But she said you had told her an incredible story.”

    “She did, eh?”

    Lewis held up a hand. “Now she loves you very much and has a great deal of respect for you. She didn’t seem to think you were crazy. She’s been praying desperately for you, over four years now. You may not know it, but we all have.”