Ghost writer, p.37
Ghost Writer, page 37
Zippy’s lips curled into a sly smile. “He’s changed genres. This isn’t a sure sell for you, is it? And now that he’s worm food—”
“Enough with the metaphors.”
Zippy straightened his thin cotton dress shirt and adjusted his belt as he stood. “All right, Jonathan Harper. I will agree to that. If we find an ending we both agree upon, then I shall ghostwrite the rest of Clyde Baxter’s novel. As a personal favor to you. For proposing my novel. I will write the rest of Clyde Baxter’s novel.”
Jonathan was confused but delighted all at once. “Francis, you don’t owe me. Your novel’s good. I’m not proposing it as a personal favor to you.”
Zippy’s face exposed confusion, but he hid it quickly with the allergy act. He blew his nose and blotted his eyes. “I know that. I was just joking.”
Jonathan stood. “Thank you, though. This is a personal favor. And I will owe you for it.”
“Good. I have a second novel I’ve been wanting to discuss with you.”
Jonathan smiled and guided him toward his study. “Great. Let’s concentrate on Clyde’s book first.”
Zippy’s eyes lit up with the light that Jonathan turned on. “Goodness gracious, Jonathan. The house must be paying you well.” He scanned the books in his study. “You read all these or are they just here for show? Editors tend to be a little showy about their knowledge of books.”
Jonathan laughed. For some reason, Zippy’s abrasiveness wasn’t rubbing him the wrong way today, which was odd, all things considered. Jonathan stacked the manuscript as neatly as possible and handed it to him.
Zippy, though, was focusing on something on his desk. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a crinkled file folder sitting near the edge.
Jonathan picked it up. “Oh, this is just something from Clyde’s office. I thought it might be some notes or something for the book, but it’s just a bunch of Bible passages.”
Zippy glanced up at Jonathan and then said, “May I?”
Jonathan shrugged and handed him the folder. Zippy looked at the label. “It says ‘Notes.’ ”
“I know. I think he just used an old folder or something. Trust me. It’s not significant.”
Zippy flipped through the folder quickly, closed it, and stuffed it underneath the rubber band of the manuscript. “I’ll be needing this.”
“But—”
Zippy held up a defiant hand. “Jonathan, either you let me do this or you don’t. You want your bacon saved or not?”
Jonathan sighed. “Fine. Take it. Throw it away. Do whatever you want with it.”
“Thank you. Now, without further ado, I’ll go home and take a look at this.”
Jonathan walked Zippy to the front door. “Francis, let’s meet at the Coffee Bean tomorrow morning. Let’s say ten?”
Zippy’s face dropped like a wounded puppy’s. “I’m busy. Shouldn’t you be?”
Jonathan wasn’t following. “I’m sorry? Would there be a better time?” Jonathan tried to smile graciously.
“I would say so. You shouldn’t be available at ten either.” His eyes narrowed scornfully. “Don’t you go to church, Jonathan?”
Jonathan was so surprised by the question he barely had time to recover. “Oh. Tomorrow is Sunday, isn’t it? Of course. Then one?” Again, he mustered a confident smile.
Zippy eyed him suspiciously but said, “Fine. One. At the Coffee Bean.” Zippy wrapped his arms around the manuscript and ducked into the wind, running toward his car, a beat-up, rusted-out Volvo station wagon. The wind prickled Jonathan’s skin like sharp needles, and he waved one more time at Zippy.
The rest of the evening, Jonathan went through the motions of normalcy. He played Chutes and Ladders with Leesol. He discussed school with Meg. He gave Sophie a bath and, later on, sat near the fire with his arms wrapped around Kathy as he explained the paradox of Francis Flowers and their plan to salvage Clyde’s manuscript.
But what none of them knew, or could possibly know, was that fear had gripped him like a vise, and he wondered if they would wake up and find him dead in his bed the next morning. He thought about telling Kathy he had received one more page to the nightmare that had plagued them, but he couldn’t even imagine how he would, so he kept the secret to himself, and rather well, he thought, considering Kathy had so far suspected nothing.
She yawned from the comfort of his arms and then stretched hers up and out, pulling her body up off his. “I’m tired. I think I’ll head to bed. Are you coming?”
Jonathan smiled as if undecided, though he knew very well that he would not be coming up. “Oh, I’m really not tired yet. I slept until four, as you know,” he said with a wink.
“Okay.” She lingered in the room a little bit before she said, “Tomorrow . . . are you . . . coming?” She hardly waited for an answer. “To church?”
Church. It seemed to be the word for the day. But things were going well with them, and he didn’t want to fuel the fire for any disagreements. Not now, anyway. “Of course,” he said. He tried not to appear stiff. “Make sure I’m up.”
The delight in her face warmed the room even more. “Thank you. Thank you.”
He nodded and watched her prance up the stairs like a little girl. It made him smile. Soon, though, he rose from the couch and walked to his desk in his study. With a key inside a book on his shelf, he unlocked the drawer that held the gun he had purchased the week before. He checked for bullets and then turned out his study light and walked back into the living room.
The fire sounded like a wind tunnel, and even the wind outside had picked up. He randomly grabbed a book off the coffee table and opened it as if he were reading it. He turned out all the lights but one and tucked the gun underneath the cushion of the recliner. Sitting down, he tuned his ears to any outside noise.
And then it hit him. It hit him so hard it was as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He had a loaded gun in the house with three young girls. Was his paranoia worth all this? Was it worth risking their lives? His head fell into his hands, and then he made a snap decision. He rose, took the gun, emptied it of the bullets, and grabbed three trash sacks. He dropped the gun in one, then placed that one in the other trash sack, and then wrapped the whole thing in the third. It was disguised now. He went to the garage and dropped it into the trash.
He went back to the chair and sat down. His eyes scanned the room for makeshift weapons. Fireplace tools. Lamps. Statues.
Maybe he was destined to die soon. But it wasn’t going to be tonight.
------
A soft giggle tickled his eardrums, and he batted away an imaginary object until he opened his eyes and realized morning had come and Leesol now stood beside the recliner with her hand over her mouth.
“Daddy! You fell asleep!”
He rubbed his eyes and welcomed the morning light. He couldn’t remember when he had been happier to see it. “Good morning. What time is it?”
“Early,” Leesol whispered. “Mommy’s not up yet. I’m getting myself some cereal. Mom lets me on Sundays. But I have to eat it before I get dressed so I don’t mess up my good Sunday clothes. Get it?”
Jonathan smiled. “Sure. Go on. I don’t want to hold you up.”
Leesol ran out of the room, and Jonathan was thankful the gun was gone. What could have happened if she’d found it? He went upstairs. As he rounded the corner into his bedroom, Kathy was just waking up. She peered at him through tired eyes.
“You’re still in your clothes?”
He shrugged guiltily as he sat next to her. “I kind of fell asleep in the recliner downstairs. Reading.”
“Oh. Well, as nice as those clothes are, you’ve had them on for more than forty-eight hours, so you’d better pick out something else.” She kissed him on the cheek. As they say, the morning always brings unexpected new beginnings. If only he didn’t have to fear unexpected endings.
The drive to church was delightfully bright and wholesome. Kathy quizzed Leesol and Meg on Scripture verses while Sophie tried to remember the song she had learned the week before. Everyone was talking at once, except Jonathan, who simply listened gratefully. It was good to be with his family again, in spirit, in mind, and in heart. Maybe this church thing wasn’t so bad after all. It brought them all together, and that’s what mattered to him the most.
During church, Jonathan felt his mind wandering. He wished he could’ve concentrated, but heavier things weighed on his heart. He wondered how he was going to survive the last message from the writer. He wondered what it meant. Several times throughout the sermon, he felt Kathy’s stare, but he managed to greet it with an assuring smile and then somewhat attentive ears and eyes. Soon, though, the pastor’s words would fade to the loud, clanging noise of fears and uncertainties inside his head.
Finally he felt Kathy’s hand on his knee as she leaned over to his ear. “Are you okay? You’re pale. Are you sick?”
He squeezed her hand. “I’m feeling a little woozy. Maybe too many pancakes. I just need a drink of water.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” she asked quietly.
“No, no. I’ll be okay. I’ll be back.”
Jonathan ducked and tried to inconspicuously make his way down the pew and out to the aisle. A few people stared, but most everyone else kept their attention on the pastor. His chest felt tight, and he tried to make a graceful exit without breathing hard and looking stressed. But as he reached the second to the last pew before the doors that led outside the sanctuary, he froze in his tracks and had to turn around. The pastor’s last words sent a chill up his spine.
“Yes, my friends, there is life. But only through death. It is the seeming paradox of our faith that astonishes and confuses so many, yet there is no other way to find life.”
Jonathan couldn’t believe what he was hearing and became unaware of the fact that he was standing in the middle of the aisle while everyone else was seated in pews.
“So, my friends. Are you willing to die? Are you willing to give up the life that is so precious to you? Then, and only then, will you find life. And these are the words of our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.”
“Amen,” the entire congregation responded. It startled Jonathan and he backed out of the sanctuary as if he’d seen a ghost. He went to the bathroom and vomited so hard he thought he would pass out. What was happening to him? Everywhere there was a message! Everywhere the writer spoke to him! About everything! And now through people! Through the pastor!
The bathroom door opened and someone came in. Jonathan flushed the toilet and opened the stall door, greeted an elderly man with a small smile, and then splashed his face with cold water. Maybe he had misunderstood the pastor. Maybe he only thought he heard that. Yes, that must’ve been it. He was hallucinating in a sense because he was short on sleep and those words were in the forefront of his mind.
He stepped out into a crowded hallway and looked for Kathy. He figured she’d gone to get Sophie, and he decided to stay nearby so they wouldn’t miss each other. As the crowd in the hallway died down, a hand found its way to his shoulder and he turned around. It was Pastor Gregory.
“Jonathan, I was so glad to see you in service today. Where’s Kathy?”
“The kids,” Jonathan said with a shudder. “I think. Went to get.”
Pastor Gregory could not hide his concern. In a low voice, he said, “Jonathan, why don’t you step into my office? You look like you need to talk.”
Jonathan resisted at first, but he didn’t want to make a scene, either. Inside, Pastor Gregory shut his door and offered Jonathan a seat on a large, cheap-looking couch.
“I must admit I was surprised to see you. I had hoped to see you sooner since our last talk.”
Jonathan played with the sleeve of his coat. “Been busy.”
Pastor Gregory tried to catch Jonathan’s darting eyes. “Jonathan, something is bothering you. What is it? You know you can trust me.”
Jonathan’s eyes found his. “I’m not sure whom I can trust, quite frankly.”
The pastor’s compassionate eyes urged him to continue. Jonathan tried to sit taller on the couch, but he felt as if he were drugged. His life was spinning out of control, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He looked the pastor in the eye as best he could.
“Someone told me that I had to die.” Jonathan blinked, trying to arrange his thoughts. “I messed up. I didn’t love her like I should have.” His own voice seemed far away. “So I have to die.”
Pastor Gregory was quiet, trying to understand. Jonathan looked away.
“It probably doesn’t make sense to you. But maybe it does. You said so in your sermon. Even you said it. That I have to die.”
The pastor cleared his throat. “Well, yes. If you want the kind of life God wants for you.” Pastor Gregory was opening his Bible. “Jonathan, your wife has been praying for you a long time. Praying that you would find your peace with God. Praying that you would know Him. Is that what’s happening?” He looked up at Jonathan with caring eyes. “Are you realizing that your life without Him is empty?”
Jonathan swallowed the emotions that were creeping up through his throat. “Can someone speak from their grave? Maybe someone who has died and is in heaven? Can they talk to me?”
Pastor Gregory rubbed his forehead. “Jonathan, I’m not sure what you’re—”
“Sounds stupid, doesn’t it?” Jonathan interrupted with a sad laugh. “Like out of a horror movie. But it’s happening. It’s like a ghost following me everywhere I go. Knowing everything I do.” He glanced up at Pastor Gregory. “Knowing everything I will do.”
“Jonathan, please tell me what’s going on.”
Thick tears balanced on the rims of his eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” The tears dropped as Jonathan laid his head in his hands, his heavy body leaning forward, braced by his arms on his knees. “Maybe God wants me dead.”
The pastor rose and joined Jonathan at the couch. “Why would you think God wants you dead?”
Jonathan looked up at Pastor Gregory. “Doesn’t He? I’ve messed up. I thought I’d saved myself in time, but I guess I didn’t. I’m supposed to die. To embrace the death that is required of me.” Tears flowed rapidly from Jonathan’s pleading eyes. “But how am I supposed to embrace a death that I don’t want? I’m not ready to die. And I don’t want to know that it’s soon. I can’t live my life day to day, wondering if this is the day that it will all end for me.”
Pastor Gregory paused, his hands folded neatly together, his face peacefully concerned. Then he said, “Jonathan, are you talking about a literal death or a spiritual death?”
Jonathan blinked the tears away. “I . . . I thought . . .” He looked at Pastor Gregory with quizzical eyes.
The pastor’s voice was calm and soothing. “Today, in my sermon, I was talking about dying to one’s self. That means that we die to our desires and our wants, and we follow what God wants for us. We die to our old self and embrace the new life God has for us. We don’t literally die. Is that what you thought I meant?”
Jonathan’s mind snapped into consciousness, and he thought of the exact wording on the page he had received from the writer. “Pastor . . .” Jonathan said carefully. “How can death sting one that is dead?”
The pastor studied Jonathan’s face. Then he said softly, “Are you dead, Jonathan? Spiritually?”
Jonathan swallowed. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I feel like God is closer than my shadow and farther than the sun.” He looked at Pastor Gregory as he wiped a few stray tears away. “Does that make sense?”
“Sure, Jonathan. Everyone feels that way sometimes.”
Jonathan stood and towered over him. “The death that is required of me . . . it’s spiritual?”
“It is.”
“Am I spiritually dead, Pastor?”
The pastor placed a gentle hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “Only you know that. Only you and God.”
Jonathan managed to smile a little. “And one other person.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing.” Jonathan let out a breath and held out his hand to the pastor, who took it graciously. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry to . . . to fall apart on you.”
The pastor frowned. “Are you sure you’re okay? I’m not completely sure I follow what just happened here.”
“Thank you for your time.”
Jonathan left the office and walked down the hall toward the outside doors. As soon as he hit fresh air, he drew as much of it as he could into his lungs. Was this what the writer had wanted from him? A spiritual death? A renewal toward God? Not a physical death?
Then there was the overwhelming question of who—and why? He felt inspired to pray to God and run from Him all at once. Everything seemed so supernatural, yet all of the logic he knew told him there was a reasonable explanation for what was happening.
An arm reached around his waist. And then another one. He looked down to find his beautiful daughters clinging to him.
“Daddy! Daddy! We’re hungry! Can we go?”
Kathy walked up next to him. “There you are. Are you feeling okay?”
Jonathan smiled as he played with Sophie’s hair. “Yes. Fine. Let’s go.”
As they walked to the car, Jonathan looked back just once to see Pastor Gregory watching him from the dark window of his study. He wondered who else was watching him, too.
chapter 26
Jonathan had dropped his family at the house and gone to the Coffee Bean early. He needed some time to think. But when he arrived, Zippy was already waiting for him and flagged him down at a corner table near a window. Jonathan sat across from him.
“Yuppieville, USA,” Zippy sneered as he sank into his seat and guarded his coffee. “They think they become smarter by drinking coffee while sitting next to a bookshelf.” He put a finger in his mouth and pretended to gag himself, then apparently stuck it too far down and did gag himself. “Sorry,” he managed after an ineloquent recovery.
