Rooms - James L. Rubart [27]
“Don’t . . . back . . . down. You want me to face what happened here all those years ago, Archie? All right. Let’s do it.”
As he walked down the hallway toward the door, Micah bowed his head and wiped the sweat from his palms on the side of his jeans.
When he reached the door, he wouldn’t hesitate; he’d walk right in. But he didn’t get the chance. The door was gone. Where it had been was now smooth wall. No evidence it had ever been there.
It wasn’t a comfort.
He sucked in two quick breaths.
Micah tramped back down the hall toward the living room. When he reached the fireplace, he slumped to the floor, head in hands. This was not a dream. There would be no waking up. He checked his pulse with clammy fingers. Clammy? They were wet.
Yeah, maybe God had come through. Or Micah might simply be turning into a certifiable whacko.
A peal of thunder rolled over the house just before a flash of lightning filled the room. Micah didn’t bother to look up.
But it was over, right? He’d faced his mom’s death, and that was enough. Done. He’d never have to go there ever again.
If only more of him believed it.
He fumbled in his pocket. Yes. He pulled out his cell phone and called the one person who might have a clue about what was going on.
CHAPTER 11
Hello?”
“Rick, it’s Micah.” He stood with his forehead pressed against one of his picture windows and watched the ocean churn.
“Hey, buddy.”
Micah didn’t say anything. Telling someone his house was alive wasn’t something he’d been trained on in the corporate world.
“You there?”
“Yeah, I . . . need to talk.” Micah eased over to his river-rock fireplace and stared at the smooth stones. “About my house. And God.”
“Okay.”
Where to start? Not with the house or the memory room. He didn’t even want to talk to himself about it. Start with the God-stuff. “I think it’s time to check Him out again. Maybe. A little bit anyway.”
“Star Wars.”
“What?”
“Episode V, The Empire Strikes Back. Yoda. ‘Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.’”
“You’re quoting Yoda?”
Rick chuckled. “Truth is truth whether it comes out of the mouth of God or the mouth of Baal.”
“Pretty profound.”
“That’s not mine; it’s George MacDonald.”
“Who?”
“Not important. Want to tell me what happened?”
“Yeah. But not sure how much I want to tell.” Micah glanced at black ashes in the fireplace hearth. Good time for another fire.
“Say as much as you want to. But don’t say less than that either,” Rick said.
By the time flames dodged around three red cedar logs up the chimney, Micah had told his friend every detail except the scene with his mom. About the shrine room, the painting room, the memory room, his crying out to God and how it ended with God’s presence surrounding him.
“What’s going on with me?” Micah said.
“You really need me to answer that question?”
“Yeah.”
“God is grabbing your heart, drawing you back.”
“Not sure I want to be drawn back.”
There was only silence on the other end of the phone.
“So, was the memory room my imagination? I went back the next day, and it wasn’t there. C’mon. Am I having hallucinations or just losing my mind?” Micah stood and walked back to the place in the hall where the memory room had been. “God might be in this, but I don’t want to be in my own house anymore.”
“Einstein felt, at most, man had attained 1 percent of the possible knowledge of the universe. Do you think it’s possible God is able to do unexplainable things with the 99 percent we don’t understand?”
Micah sighed. “Maybe.”
“Then trust Him.” Rick cleared his throat. “But I will admit, if that room was for real, it sounds like you have a fairly extraordinary house. And I’d guess this is just the beginning.”
“Great.”
Micah hung up and threw a few things into his Adidas tote bag. He wasn’t going to spend the night. The house was extraordinary? Try freak show. It was time to head for Seattle. Get back to a world of sanity and order. A world he could control.
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