Vanish (28 page)

Conner shook his head. This was like some twisted, macabre fairy tale. A cartoon version of Dante’s Inferno. It had to be some kind of illusion. This couldn’t be all there was. He glared at Howard. Here at the brink of eternity, this was all there was? This was the best they could do?

“Why?” he spat again. “What did she do that was so terrible?”

“
Do
?” Howard narrowed his eyes. His lips peeled back in a twisted smirk. “It’s not what she did so much as what she
didn’t
do, Mr. Hayden. It’s what you didn’t do. Or Mitch. It’s what all those who stand here neglected to do.”

“What’s that?”

Howard leaned close and whispered through his yellow teeth, “Believe.”

Conner felt his anger roiling. “Believe? Believe in what? You know what our world is like. You tell me what there is to believe in. You tell me what religion was worth my attention.”

“Not religion, Mr. Hayden. Religion is too often mere rote and regimen. And at worst, a license to slaughter the unfaithful. No, He hates that kind of religion as much as you do.” Howard shook his head and grunted. “But your species is unparalleled in its hypocrisy. How you could turn such a remarkable thing, and sublime, into something so mundane. He beckons you into His very presence—where angels fear to tread—and you contrive a myriad of obstacles to put in the way. Too often you’ve constructed traditions and formalities that serve more to keep others out than to usher you in. Then, when you’ve squeezed every drop of life and vitality from your worship, you sniff at the ritual you’ve created and blame it on Him.” Howard stepped to the edge of the abyss and cast a glance downward. “Do you know how many religious souls are down there? How many people who thought they were good enough? who went through all the motions just to feel comfortable with themselves but ignored the one thing required of them.”

“Perfection?” Conner scoffed.

“Humility,” Howard intoned. “A penitent heart.”

“There’s no way to please Him. He’s as cruel and uncaring as I always thought Him to be.”

“Uncaring?” Howard chuckled. “For all your education and intellect, you’re a great fool, aren’t you? Like a man who goes to a ball game with no tickets and no wallet, no ability to pay for his admission. And yet when you arrive, you think you should just be let inside the park.”

Conner peered again at the far side of the gulf and shook his head. “If He is good and loving, why is there a price to get into heaven?”

“Everything has a cost, Mr. Hayden. You of all people should understand that. And you don’t have the slightest clue how great that cost was.”

“What cost?”

“Redemption,” Howard said and narrowed his eyes. “But then again… you don’t believe in that, do you, Mr. Hayden. You don’t believe you need it.”

Conner turned away from the edge. He’d had his fill of this conversation and this old fool. The whole scene had gone beyond being absurd. “I’ve had enough of this.”

He had started back into the woods when his body jerked suddenly. Pain coursed down his spine and ribs. White light flashed momentarily in his eyes. Then, just as quickly as it had come, it was gone.

Conner stood there, clutching his heart. What was that? It felt like one of his seizures, though not as strong as the others. Not nearly as strong.

Howard peered at him. “It seems they’re not giving up on you yet, Mr. Hayden.”

Conner furrowed his brow. That seizure had been far less intense than the previous ones. He recalled the defibrillator he had seen—or thought he had seen. Were they trying to shock him back to consciousness? Were they trying to revive him again? Conner’s face clouded with a puzzled look.

Howard chuckled again. “Not as strong as the others, was it? They’re losing you. The longer you remain here, the less you will feel. And the less likely it is that you will be brought back.”

Conner looked up.
Losing him
. He remembered one of the voices in the ER. He had caught only a few words before he faded out, but he could have sworn that’s what they had said. His heart started racing. They couldn’t give up on him. He couldn’t let them give up!

“Try it again!” he screamed with all his strength. His dry throat was raspy. He waved his arms at the sky. “Don’t give up!” He broke into a fit of coughing.

Howard was laughing. Not his usual insincere chuckle. This was hearty laughter. “Yes, keep it up, Mr. Hayden. I’m sure they can hear you. Keep screaming.”

Conner could feel the icy chill of the rash spreading across his chest now. “Don’t give up!” he screamed again into the sky. “Please!”

“Was that your strategy?” Howard taunted. “Was that your plan?”

Conner turned around. Anger flowed through his veins now. But only for a moment. His nerve drained from him as two contorted, gray figures climbed up over the edge of the chasm. They straightened up, standing on either side of Howard. Heads forward, pale eyes glowing, black jaws opened wide. They lunged toward him.

Conner’s eyes widened and he turned to run, but his legs felt thick and sluggish. His foot caught on a rock and he tumbled down the slope. Scraped and bloody, Conner picked himself up and dashed into the woods. He threw a glance over his shoulder to see the two creatures descending after him.

He burst through the dry undergrowth. Branches whipped past him, tearing at his skin as he stumbled on through the forest. He could hear Howard’s laughter echoing from all directions. His mind reeled. This had to be a dream. This couldn’t be happening.

He hurried on, not daring to look back but feeling the presence of the two creatures closing in on him through the trees. Black trunks loomed around him. Gnarled branches like giant arms seemed to reach down and block his path. It was as if the forest itself was alive and trying to trap him.

He gasped for breath; freezing cold crushed in on his chest and arms. He caught a glimpse of the discoloration creeping across his other arm now. He closed his eyes.
Please, not now
. His legs chugged, as if in slow motion. He felt like he was in one of his childhood nightmares, struggling to run, unable to move. Unable to put any distance between himself and his attackers.

Suddenly he felt the branches pull away. He fell forward. His eyes snapped open as he tumbled to the ground. Squinting. Sunlight blazed around him, poured over him. He covered his eyes and scrambled back to his feet. Where was he?

The brightness overwhelmed him, blinded him. He felt a warm breeze on his face. He smelled the scent of freshly mowed grass. It was a sensation that normally would have filled him with cheer but now only filled him with dread.

CONNER LOOKED AROUND, shielding his eyes. Sunlight poured down from a cloudless blue sky. After a moment, he recognized his surroundings. He stood at the edge of a large, well-manicured yard. A wooden play set and a trampoline were set off to one side. The carpet of grass butted up to a gated cement patio around an inground pool.

This was—used to be—
his
backyard. In Lake Forest.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the scents: freshly cut grass, chlorine, and charcoal burning somewhere in the neighborhood. Someone was running a lawnmower. And birds! He heard birds chirping in the lush, green trees at the edge of their property.

Conner walked toward the house. His arms were scraped and bruised. His ankles were sore where he had bashed them against rocks earlier. But now the sunlight warmed him.

A voice came from behind him. “A beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Howard stepped through the trees at the edge of the property and crossed the yard, squinting in the sunlight.

Conner tensed and peered into the foliage for any sign of the creatures that had been pursuing him. He knew he should be fleeing in panic, but he felt dazed somehow. Detached and dizzy. “What is this?” he said. “What’s going on?”

Howard moved closer and shrugged. “It looks like your home.”

Conner said, “Why are you doing this?”

“Well, it’s mostly your doing. As you die, your brain recalls images from your life. Different events. Sometimes pleasant. Sometimes not so pleasant. And sometimes things we try to forget.”

A sick feeling grew in Conner’s stomach. “I don’t want to see this.”

“Really, Mr. Hayden,” Howard said coolly, “do you honestly think this is about what
you
want?”

Then Conner heard a voice. It was
his
voice. Muffled. Coming from inside the house. Conner walked up to the window. He could see papers strewn across the table in the breakfast nook. His work had spilled over from the office into the kitchen. Then he saw himself, dressed in jeans and a green golf shirt, moving around inside. He was on the phone.

Conner frowned. He was watching himself.

Then a second image darted down the hallway.

Matthew.

Conner gasped.

Matthew was chasing his soccer ball. It rolled into the kitchen and Matthew bounded in after it, blond mop bouncing, catching the sunlight. The ball rolled under the table and the boy crawled under as well. He scrambled out the other side and stopped to peer out the window. For a moment Matthew seemed to look directly at Conner.

Conner caught his breath. What a beautiful boy. He had forgotten how handsome he was. Wide blue eyes. Mischievous grin. Front tooth missing.

“Matty,” he whispered. He laid his fingers to the glass, but then Matthew’s face turned away. Inside, Conner could see his own image enter the kitchen, still on the phone. He snapped his fingers and shooed the boy out of the breakfast nook. Matthew disappeared again down the hall.

Conner watched himself riffle through the stacks of papers, engrossed in the conversation. He had been talking to Gus Brady at the time.

Howard peered over his shoulder. “You remember this day, hmmm?”

Conner stared. Yes, he remembered. But he didn’t answer.

“It wasn’t so long ago, was it?”

Conner shook his head. Five years, one month…
twelve
days.

Howard nodded to Conner’s image inside. “You look like you’re working on something important. A big case, was it?”

Conner was slow to answer. “Pretty big, yeah.”

“Important stuff?”

Conner blinked. “I… I don’t want to see any more.”

Howard chuckled. “Well, I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

Conner turned away. He stared out at the yard. So full of things: play sets and bikes and inflatable rafts and balls.

So full of… life.

“Ah, here it is.” Howard nodded toward the window. “The fateful moment.”

Conner turned and peered inside. He didn’t want to watch it, but he couldn’t bear to look away. The soccer ball bounced across the hall into Conner’s front office. Matthew darted after it.

At the same time, Conner’s double turned from the kitchen table and headed back down the hall.

“You were forever shooing him out of your office,” Howard said.

Conner shook his head. “He was always kicking that ball in the house.…”

They heard a muffled crash and Conner’s voice from inside, yelling.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Play with that ball outside!”

A moment later, Conner emerged from his office, herding Matthew by the scruff of his neck. Matthew ran on his tiptoes, clinging to the ball with both hands.

Conner slid the patio door open and pushed him outside. “And if I see you with that ball in the house again, I’m going to throw it away! You understand?”

Matthew rubbed the back of his neck and nodded sheepishly. Conner slammed the door shut and returned to his cell phone. “Sorry, Gus, my kid just knocked over my lamp.…”

Outside, Conner watched Matthew dribble the ball on the patio. Inside, he saw himself engrossed in paperwork.

Howard drew close behind him. “Not exactly father-of-the-year material, were you?”

Conner’s breathing grew more rapid. “Please… I don’t want to watch any more.”

“No?” Howard said. “But this is where it starts to get good.”

Matthew kicked the ball. He went onto the grass and kicked it across the yard.

Howard grunted. “The kid’s got a pretty good leg.”

Matthew ran to the far side of the yard, backed up, and kicked the ball toward the house. It lofted up, bouncing off the top of the chain-link fence, onto the cement. Then bounced once, twice… and into the pool.

Conner tensed. He could see Matthew’s face. He looked to the house first. Was Dad watching? Conner followed his gaze. Through the window, he saw himself get up from the table and head back to his office.

No!

Howard shook his head. “Your wife was where? At the mall with your daughter?”

Conner nodded. He couldn’t speak. He spun back to Matthew. The boy ran to the gate and opened the latch.

“So many tiny, fateful decisions,” Howard said. “Change just one of them and the course of your entire life would have been altered.” He chuckled. “Not to mention your son’s.”

Conner ran to the fence. “Don’t go in there! Please, don’t go in there.” He tried to pull Matthew away from the gate. But Matthew’s body did not feel like flesh and bone. Rather it was cold and solid, like a marble statue. Conner tried to block his path, but Matthew was moving by some other force—too strong for Conner to stop. Like trying to stop a rolling locomotive. Conner tugged at his arm, but his hands merely slipped off the boy.

Howard shook his head again. “Come now, Mr. Hayden. This isn’t about changing the past. It’s about confronting it.”

Conner ran to the house and pounded on the patio door. It made no sound. It felt as though he was pounding against a brick wall. He beat on the glass until his fists throbbed.

“
Get out here
!” he shouted. His throat was raw; his voice rasped impotently. He saw himself return to the kitchen and sit down at the table.

“Not even a glance outside,” Howard said, peering through the window. “You weren’t even thinking about him, were you?”

Conner ran to the breakfast nook window. He glanced back at his son at the edge of the pool, reaching for the ball, floating just out of his grasp. He pounded again, screaming. “Look up! Look up!
Just look up
!”