Part 10 (1/2)
What was the name he'd written down after he'd talked to Arnold? ”Taylor Stone.”
”Have you talked to him?”
”I'm intending to.”
”Good. We should chat again after you do.” Jason stood and dropped fifteen dollars on the table. ”That should take care of breakfast and provide a healthy tip for our waitress. Pay it forward can work wonders, don't you think?”
A short time later Cameron stood on the sidewalk outside the Outland Cafe and stared at the mountains looming over the town like a guardian. Apparently all roads led to Taylor Stone.
It was time to find the man and get him to talk.
CHAPTER 11.
Have you read the online version of the Post Post today?” Tricia Stone asked on Thursday afternoon as she leaned back from her computer screen and looked at her husband. today?” Tricia Stone asked on Thursday afternoon as she leaned back from her computer screen and looked at her husband.
It was a rhetorical question. Taylor had run the Three Peaks Post Three Peaks Post for eighteen years, and when it arrived each week, he scoured every story, brainstorming out loud how it might have been improved if he were still there. And wis.h.i.+ng they'd never developed an online version. for eighteen years, and when it arrived each week, he scoured every story, brainstorming out loud how it might have been improved if he were still there. And wis.h.i.+ng they'd never developed an online version.
Tricia tapped her monitor. ”Jason Judah just posted an op-ed piece about this video producer from Seattle, Cameron Vaux, coming here to search for the Book of Days. He ends it by inviting people to a town hall meeting tomorrow night. Jason says he has an astounding announcement to make.”
Taylor didn't respond except to s.h.i.+ft in his dark brown leather chair and turn a page of his fly-fis.h.i.+ng magazine.
Tricia took off her slipper and tossed it at Taylor. It smacked him in the belly. She crossed her arms and waited till he looked up. ”Are you talking to me today?”
”I'm sorry, hon. I'm more than a little wrapped up in this article. It talks about a way to create makes.h.i.+ft flies from things in the woods.”
It was a lame attempt at covering up. Even though they'd married later in life-three years after her first husband had died-she'd known Taylor since third grade. And after five years of marriage, she knew when he was hiding something.
”You've never liked talking about Jason's Book of Days religion. Why?”
Taylor raised an eyebrow. ”Anything written about the Book of Days should be on the Weekly World News' Weekly World News' Web site, not the Web site, not the Post' Post's. I can't believe what's happened to that paper since I retired.” Taylor took off his wire-rimmed gla.s.ses and cleaned them on his 501 Levis. ”I should have stayed on till I hit sixty-five.”
”Maybe they truly are tapping into some mystical knowledge, some spiritual plane we don't know about that shows the past and the future. A lot of Jason's followers believe in the idea, and they're not bad people.”
”A lot of nice people believe in Bigfoot too, and they can show you a great deal more evidence than anyone can show for a book with the past, present, and future recorded between its covers.” Taylor put his gla.s.ses back on. ”It doesn't make Bigfoot real or a book that exists only in the spiritual realm real either.”
Tricia got up from her chair, padded across their hardwood floor to Taylor, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He patted her forearm and picked up his magazine, blocking his face from view.
Later that night, toward eleven o'clock, just before sleep took her, Tricia felt Taylor slide out from under their goose-down comforter. A floorboard squealed and he stopped. A few moments later their bedroom door opened and closed.
She eased out of bed, put on her lavender robe, and opened the door a crack. Taylor sat in front of their kitchen computer, his face bathed in the stark light from the monitor.
She eased across the floor till she saw what he was reading. The online version of the Post. Post. She squinted. No surprise. Taylor was reading Jason's post about the Book of Days. She squinted. No surprise. Taylor was reading Jason's post about the Book of Days.
Taylor rubbed his face three times, then pressed his knuckles into his lips.
He'd carried whatever it was for so long. If only he'd tell her.
The man stared at himself in the mirror, at the lines under his eyes, at the softness of his flesh. Where had the years gone? The late fifties weren't middle age. If they were, he'd live to 120. Life was running out.
He strode out of the bathroom and onto his deck overlooking Three Peaks. A breeze kissed his hair and he allowed himself a grim smile.
So close, he was so close to finding the book. He felt it. With it he would set things right. Expose the lies. And then protect it for the rest of his days. And he wouldn't let some punk kid from Seattle sweep in and find the tome while he stood screaming on the sidelines.
He would watch Cameron. Where he went. Who he talked to. What people would or wouldn't tell him. He would use whatever Cameron discovered to find the Book of Days.
And then do whatever was necessary.
CHAPTER 12.
Cameron sat in his hotel room Thursday night chewing on espres...o...b..ans, studying his notes of Jessie's words from when she lay dying in the plane.
”The book is real. I know it is. I saw it.”
But did she mean physically or with what she always called her spiritual eye?
That was the hard place between the rock. He had no way now of knowing what she meant.
Peasley, Susan Hillman, the mayor-what was his name?-none of them had said anything that would indicate the book was real, had they?
But his dad said the book was physical: ”I saw it once ... I even touched it, when I was a kid. Did you know that?” ”I saw it once ... I even touched it, when I was a kid. Did you know that?”
Think. Come on. Of course his dad wasn't lucid. His brain was gone. Spinning make-believe. Cameron had no way of knowing if his dad's words were fact or fiction. So his story happened to match up with Jessie's dying visions. So what? Of course his dad wasn't lucid. His brain was gone. Spinning make-believe. Cameron had no way of knowing if his dad's words were fact or fiction. So his story happened to match up with Jessie's dying visions. So what?
Cameron walked back to the oak veneer desk and slammed his laptop shut. Then he went down the hall to get a Mountain Dew. ”Will this Stone guy give me the answer, Jessie?”
Cold drink in hand, Cameron trudged back into his room and slumped into the chair next to his window.
Was his dad thinking straight when he talked about some book he'd seen as a kid? That was the hard place between the rock. He had no way of knowing if his dad's words were fact or fiction. So his story happened to match up with Jessie's dying visions. So what?
But maybe the book was real. It was possible, wasn't it? Peasley, Susan Hillman...
Cameron bolted upright. Didn't he just have this conversation with himself? A surge of heat pulsed through his body. Stop it. Stop it. He couldn't let himself go there. ”You are not losing it, Cameron. Your mind is fine.” He couldn't let himself go there. ”You are not losing it, Cameron. Your mind is fine.”
Cameron stood at the window and recited long pa.s.sages of Henry David Th.o.r.eau he had memorized in college. After reeling off the top-ten grossing concerts of the last year, he launched into naming the places Jessie and he had gone on their first five hiking trips together. He made it to number two.
Cameron raked his fingernails across his head, as if he could dig the memories out of some hidden chamber in his mind. A groan escaped his lips as he pressed his head against the gla.s.s and gritted his teeth. Think! Think!
Just after midnight he gave up and wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. He'd tossed on a rocklike mattress every night since getting to Three Peaks. He'd read that lack of REM sleep could have a devastating effect on memory. That had to be it. Had to.
He flopped down on his bed, yanked the covers over his body, and let exhaustion carry him away.
The dream started almost immediately.