Rooms - James L. Rubart [79]
Images filled his mind—times as a child playing in a park full of lush maple trees with his mom somewhere nearby, allowing him to soar with no cares, no worries except for how high he could swing or how fast the merry-go-round would spin.
Sunshine streamed through those maples, making the emerald leaves of summer a more vivid and striking green than he thought possible. The image shifted and he stood in a cathedral of towering redwoods, a deep cold river sliding in between them, dwarfed by their silent majesty.
Every time he came to the door, the same stunning sensations surrounded him, and every time he’d tried to enter without success.
Micah stood, reached out, and pushed on the door. He jerked back. Astonishing. There was no resistance. After recovering he pushed again and watched as his entire hand eased into the door till the wood surrounded his wrist, as if the door were water. He laughed.
He moved his hand all over the door but couldn’t push in any deeper than his wrist. As he moved it, sweet freedom swept through him.
Seconds later the door changed into ordinary wood again, and Micah’s head rested against it. He longed to enter. “When, Lord?”
Soon.
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The next evening around 10:00, Micah met Rick at Haystack Rock, and they headed south down the beach, watching the glow of August campfires and breathing in the smell of burnt marshmallows. He desperately wanted to tell Rick about the dream, but it meant telling about the voice as well, which he still wasn’t ready to do. Instead Micah asked his friend for his latest theory on what was in the brilliant room.
“In trying to get to the bottom of what the brilliant room—and for that matter, what the entire home—is all about, I think you’ve overlooked a fundamental question,” Rick said.
“Which is?”
“The history of the house.”
“What history? The thing is barely six months old.”
“I mean, who built it.”
“Archie, you know that.” Two runners, a guy and a gal, whizzed past them heading north up the beach. Micah needed to go for a run with Sarah. They’d gone for one a few days before, but he felt like he hadn’t seen her in months.
“Archie built it? Fascinating. You’re saying a man dead for twelve years built a home nine months ago? Now that’s what I call strange.” Rick winked at him. “Sure, Archie left the money and instructions on how it was to be constructed, but if he wasn’t alive, someone carried out his guidelines. And unless that person died in the last six months, it’s a pretty safe bet you could track him down.”
“Agreed. But the title and escrow records don’t give a clue. So how do I find this mystery man?”
“Pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
Micah shook his head.
“You said the letters were mailed to a Chris Hale, right?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I’m guessing Archie wrote the letters and mailed them to this Chris character so he would dump them in your house when it was finished. So since Archie’s gone, I’d sure be looking up ol’ Chris Hale to see if he’s still alive. If he is, bet he could shed some rays of light on the whole thing.”
Micah tilted his head back with what he imagined was a stunned look smeared all over his face. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that?
The next morning, as soon as the clock crept past eight, Micah would try to get Chris on the phone and find answers to why this home had buried his world in an ocean of chaos.
CHAPTER 30
The phone rang four times on the other end of the line Saturday morning, and Micah readied himself to leave a message on Chris���s voice mail. But on the fifth came an answer. “Hello, Chris here.” The voice was relaxed, warm, and just a notch above deep.
It put him at ease immediately. “Hi, Mr. Hale. My name is Micah Taylor, and I think we have a mutual friend. My great-uncle was Archie Taylor.”
“Hello, Micah. It’s wonderful to hear your voice.” Chris didn’t sound surprised.