Part 6 (1/2)

”Sorry, I didn't eat today.”

”It's an engineered stew,” Mack explained from across the circle, ”for people who run thirty miles a day. You don't need any more.”

”Cool,” he said, sitting back down.

”Good deal.”

When everyone finished, Shane spotted a bookshelf by a closed door near the stairs and went to it. It was filled with some well-thumbed books about meditation, vegan diets, reiki. And numerous copies of You Can Run 100 Miles!

Shane took a copy; his left knee cracked worrisomely as he s.h.i.+fted his weight. The back cover was a shot of a much younger Mack, smiling triumphantly against a mountain background, wearing yellow running shorts. His wrinkles were shallower, and his skin looked better. His eyes were just as mesmerizing. Under the photograph Shane read, ”Ultrarunning is the sport for our times. Now Ultrarunning's premier trainer shares his methods for taking your body-and your life-past all limits.”

He thumbed through the book with a grin.

”Prefer chick lit?” Mack asked jauntily from just behind him.

There was an awkward silence, not helped by Shane's near complete mental and physical depletion.

”It's amazing”-Shane's face spread into his most salesy smile-”what you do with people.”

”s.h.i.+t.” Mack pushed a hand through his thick black hair. ”It's amazing what you do. Selling biotechnology. Tell me, how does it work?”

”Basically, we help the body heal itself.”

”How do you do that?”

”Instead of adding man-made chemicals, we use proteins that our bodies already make to cause a reaction it already knows how to. Just hasn't been doing.”

Mack pointed excitedly, his finger barely missing Shane's chest. ”See? That's exactly what we do. We help the body heal itself and do things it already knows how to, with a substance it already makes. You call it proteins. I call it kinetic energy. We believe in the same things.”

”You think so?”

Mack raised his bearded chin. ”You guys make a cure for the cold yet?”

”Nope.” Shane replaced the book.

”We do. No one here's needed antibiotics for years.”

”But our patients are free to leave and visit their families.”

Mack locked eyes with him, nodding. So, here it was.

”Caleb has a job up in Boulder. If he wanted to leave, he'd hop a cab to the airport. He's living here because he wants to.”

”He thinks he wants to. You have him running all day, sleeping four hours a night, eating twice a day. That's not a recipe for clear thinking.”

Mack smiled, much more pleasantly than Shane would have supposed. ”You think if Caleb was eating steak and sleeping in, he'd wake up and think, what am I doing, I want to be a consultant, and move back to New York City?”

Shane did not break eye contact; he felt like a fighter before the bell.

But Mack's face burst into a wild grin. ”Come on, brother. He's happy. He's not sleep or food deprived, he's sleep and food heightened. His body is functioning in a near-perfect state, rid of the toxins of oversleeping, overeating, over-Tylenoling. You have to understand the compulsion of feeling this good. Of course he avoids anything that might try and pull him away. Once you get your body to this point, you don't stop. Trips home, different food, people telling you you're crazy, it's not the way to stay in the flow. It's great you're here. He needs you to be supportive.”

”Oh, don't worry about that.”

Mack looked as if he was trying to determine the extent of Shane's sarcasm. ”It's great to meet you, Shane. I'll tap the keg in an hour.” He opened a door beside the bookshelf, and shut it behind him.

Caleb means too much to these people, Shane realized, standing there. They would never let him out of here. He had found a home, of that there was no doubt. Whether it was a healthy home, that was the question. He looked through the back window out at the field. The older military man, John, and a large-boned woman with star tattoos stood on the gra.s.s in some kind of yogic pose, their arms raised toward heaven. Behind them the base of the mountain was cast in amethyst shadow.

And then he saw a slender silhouette walking calmly toward the house, thin amber hair slipping over his ears. And like healthy cells mutating into cancer, Shane's good feelings transformed into a thunderous resentment. He opened the back door, ran down the steps, and charged him. He felt he might be flying. When he met the yellow-s.h.i.+rted figure of his brother, bone thin and of sour smell, Shane shoved him with both hands.

”I've been waiting for you for hours.”

Caleb looked surprised.

”You asked me to come here. You wrote to me.”

”I was meditating. If I came to see you, I wouldn't be angry if you went to meditate.”

”If you came to see me,” Shane spat back sarcastically. ”When exactly is that happening?” His voice rose into the bruised sky. ”It's so incredibly now, isn't it Caleb? To do this extreme running lifestyle thing? In the fifties you'd have been riding trains and talking about individuality. In the sixties, you'd have moved to a commune. Every generation has its way to rebel against society. But it's all as conformist as working at any consulting company.”

Caleb's voice came oddly even. ”This isn't about conforming or not. I don't care what anyone else is doing.”

”We know that, Caleb.” Shane looked up to the thin branches. The summer mountain air was breathless around them. He felt so tired he could hardly believe he was still moving. He heard his words coming out of him too fast, as if whole sentences were simply syllables. ”But you care about Mack. He tells you what to eat, how long you can sleep, and you do it. And you care about that girl, June.”

Something in Caleb's face noticeably changed, and Shane straightened. It came to him now. The way Caleb had looked when he'd walked in and seen them talking. The way she'd looked back at him.

”Is that why you wrote to me? Because of June?”

Caleb paled. ”I call her Bluebird.”

”Because of her eyes.”

Caleb's eyes swelled. It moved him beyond words, that Shane could see her that way.

And Shane watched the old Caleb materialize out of the blackness like a ghost. It was in the muscles around his mouth, the relaxing of his shoulders. He touched Caleb's shoulder. ”What do you need? You want to get in the car? With her? Just tell me.”

”I need to help her.”

”With what?”

Caleb started to tremble, looking around at the aspens. ”She can't breathe. Her lungs don't work. Her feet are all swollen.”

”Okay. We'll take her to a doctor.”

”I did that.” Caleb looked up, as if pleading with the sky. ”They did a blood test. There's something wrong with her genes. Mack is doing energy healing but I don't think it's working. This is . . .”