Memory's Door (A Well Spring Novel) (25 page)

“I just met you and you think I would let you three come and be part of my team?”

“Yes.”

“Your thinking was incorrect.”

A chill seemed to sweep across Reece’s hands as if a miniature air conditioner had been set on the table and turned on high. “Even if I did agree, why would you offer your services?”

“As I already said, God told us to.”

“You did mention that.”

“You’re skeptical.”

Was the man serious? Of course he was skeptical. The word Dana, Brandon, and Marcus had agreed on when describing Tristan, Jotham, and Orson was
enigmatic
. And so far, Reece agreed. Based on their conversation so far it was clear Tristan was well versed in all things spiritual. And something about the man was magnetic. But that didn’t mean he was safe and it didn’t mean he was of God.

“God has told many people many things throughout the ages and much of the fruit that came out of those ventures proved conclusively God wasn’t the one who had spoken.”

Tristan laughed. “I understand and most assuredly agree with you. I pledge to you, that is not the case this time. The Spirit is behind this request.”

“How do I know you’re not the Wolf?”

Reece heard Tristan take another bite, then a long drink before his glass or cup thunked to the table.

“You don’t. That is a question you must take to the Spirit, because no matter what I answer, you will likely doubt my words.”

The confidence in Tristan’s voice made Reece want to invite him to Well Spring right then. But that’s what worried him. The enemy was coming at them in all forms, and as an angel of light was always high on his tactical-maneuvers list. Everything the man had said about faith and freedom and warring for the souls of others was perfect, but that was far from enough. If only he could see the man’s face, study his countenance, see what light or darkness danced behind his eyes.

They ended their breakfast and agreed to speak again, but Reece wasn’t convinced he hadn’t just told Tristan a lie. If they spoke again it would be Tristan initiating the conversation and even then Reece wasn’t sure he would agree to be on the other end of the line.

As they parted, Tristan’s voice rang out with a clarity Reece hadn’t heard before. “I know you’re going after the Wolf, which is a good thing. But remember, it’s highly likely the Wolf is coming after you in return.”

THIRTY-FIVE

O
N
F
RIDAY AFTERNOON AT TWELVE FORTY
-
FIVE
, B
RANDON
walked into the den of the Wolf. He pushed open the doors of Carson Tanner’s offices and studio hoping his spiritual eyes and ears were wide open. His row with Kevin certainly wasn’t the best warm-up, but he wasn’t going to let that distract him. He’d worked through the emotions of his meeting with Windfire and his talk with Kevin. At least he told himself he had. He needed to be ready for this interview.

Could he live without doing albums anymore and huge concerts? Yes. He didn’t need the money. And he could go back to indie recording and still do concerts. Not being able to sing would end him, but all he needed was his voice and his guitar. And those things would always be there.

“Excuse me.” A woman who looked to be in her mid- to late thirties walked toward him. “I believe you’re Brandon Scott.” She extended her hand. “I’m Sooz Latora, the executive producer of Carson’s show. Great to meet you. Thanks so much for coming.”

“Good to meet you, and it’s my pleasure.”

“Right this way.”

Sooz motioned him to follow her and they walked down a long hallway. Reece and Doug had said to play it cool, and that’s exactly what Brandon planned on doing. No controversy, no uncomfortable conversations. Just the chance to get a feel for the spirit of the
place, get to know Carson Tanner, start getting an idea of the kind of game he played, and see if Brandon could find out who the players behind the players were. See where the spirit of religion lurked.

A door at the end of the hallway flew open and Carson popped out of it. He smiled and half walked, half jogged down the hallway till he reached Brandon.

“Sorry to keep you waiting.” The host’s booming voice filled the hallway and made Brandon think of a movie trailer he’d seen last week. Dana was right. The guy was fit and good looking.

“You didn’t keep me waiting at all.” Brandon offered his hand.

“Shoot, it would have made me look important.” Carson shook his head, then Brandon’s hand and laughed at his own joke. “Stupid, sorry. I’m just a little nervous. Big fan of yours and all that. I know I have almost fifteen million listeners these days and the books and the speaking tours, and I’m supposed to be some sort of big deal, but it doesn’t feel like that. It still feels like I’m in my basement trying to create a radio show a few people might listen to someday.”

“Congratulations on all the success you’ve had. I wish I could say I’ve listened to your show but—”

“No worries, there’s only so much time, right?”

Carson led him to the studio where another of the host’s producers set him up with headphones and positioned him to the left of one of two microphones directly across from Carson’s board. The host settled into his chair and bounced up and down a few times before grinning at Brandon. “We’re on the air in about forty-five seconds, so since we have all this time on our hands, do you mind signing this?”

Carson handed Brandon a black Sharpie and his latest CD. Brandon scrawled his signature across the case and handed it back. This guy was a fan. Which meant the interview should be cake, leaving him enough bandwidth to focus on the spiritual atmosphere of the place. Maybe the guy was the Wolf but so far he had poodle written all over him. If the wrong kind of spirits were camping out in the place, they were lying so low they were asleep.

After the show’s prerecorded intro, Carson pointed at him and grinned. “Very special show today, folks! You’ve been waiting for it, so have we. He’s here, five feet from me ready to talk about the truth—it’s the man, the legend, the machine—multiplatinum recording artist Brandon Scott.” Carson leaned back and clapped. “We’re going to be talking about his music, his ministry, and of course anything you want to talk about.

“No question is off limits, so get on the phone and we’ll get to you soon. But first I get to toss out some of my own questions to this ultrapopular, ultratalented musician. Great to have you here, Brandon.” Carson winked and pointed at Brandon’s mic.

“Great to be here.”

“All right, we never waste time on my show so let’s dive in. Talk to us about your most recent CD. The one that came out, what, six months back?”

“That’s right.”

“My friends say it’s your strongest album to date. That the songs are fresh again, full of life. It feels like the Brandon Scott from the old days. I agree. Do you? And if your answer is yes, what’s changed?”

“Yeah, I agree. I never thought I’d like an album more than my first one, but this has become my favorite.”

“What happened with this one?”

“I’ve been singing about freedom for years, but for a while there that idea was more in my head than in my heart. Now it’s more in my heart than my head. I’ve been changed. I feel like I’ve had a rebirth and I want others to have happen to them what’s happened to me.”

Carson adjusted his headphones and narrowed his eyes. “And this change came from . . . ?”

Brandon hesitated. How much should he say? How little? What Reece, Dana, Marcus, and he were doing wasn’t a hard-and-fast secret, but it wasn’t something to shout from the rooftops either. And if this guy was the Wolf . . .

The Spirit had told them to stay under the radar as much as
possible. And talking about going into other people’s souls was completely off limits. Trying to explain that part of Warriors Riding would be like playing Russian roulette with a chamber full of bullets.

“I’ve been getting together with a group of friends for the past year. Deep healing has come out of it, and that’s spilled over into my music.”

“What about hearing from God?” Carson’s eyes narrowed further.

“What do you mean?”

“Hearing his voice. Him telling you what to do, where to go, who to talk to, whether there are demons here or there or everywhere?” Carson’s gaze had turned cold.

“Yes, I believe the Spirit speaks to us. That talking to God should be like any other conversation. A back-and-forth dialogue. In the gospel of John, Jesus says his sheep will hear—”

“That’s a controversial idea among some Christians.”

“Among some, sure.”

“Have you had any kind of backlash?”

“Backlash? About trying to listen to God?” Brandon frowned. Where was Carson going with this?

“No, over the extrabiblical ideas you’ve gotten into lately. Your going way beyond the idea that God speaks.”

“What are you talking about?” Brandon’s body chilled.

“Ah, folks, this is going to be fun. Here’s the scoop with a bright red cherry on top: Brandon Scott has been getting into some pretty wild and wacky ideas lately, but I didn’t want to get into it without Brandon here to defend himself.” Carson laughed as the sound effect of a drumroll blasted through Brandon’s headphones. “Okay, heeeerrre we go.”

Carson leaned in close to the mic and lowered his voice. “What I’ve heard, from reliable sources, is you and these new pals you mentioned a minute or two ago have immersed yourselves deeply in occult practices such as astral projection, soul travel, turning
invisible, hearing from the dead, and . . . wow!” Carson threw his hands up. “God knows what else.”

Brandon’s body went from ice to volcano. He stabbed a finger at Carson and spoke into his microphone to protest, but nothing came through his headphones. Carson had muted his mic. Brandon yanked the headphones off his head, tossed them onto the counter in front of him, and stepped toward Carson.

“Folks, I think we’ve hit a maaaaajor nerve here. You can’t see this, but it looks like Brandon Scott is getting ready to rumm-mmble.” The radio host grinned and raised both his fists in a mock boxing posture. “It’s true! Brandon Scott is out of his chair and looks like he’s ready to plant his fist into my jaw. Or are you just joshing around, Brandon?”

Brandon sat down hard in his chair and glared at Carson. He had to stay calm. Play the game. Get a chance to speak the truth. “Nah, just stretching my back.” He squeezed out a laugh.

“That’s what I thought.” Carson stared at him with a look that was the exact opposite of his words. “Now, I gotta ask, haven’t you been at all worried your fans will get wind of you wrapping yourself up in a bunch of New Age garbage?

“Aren’t you worried people will discover you now believe you can turn invisible with some sort of real-life Harry Potter invisibility cloak? That you can instantly beam yourself across vast distances in some kind of spiritual
Star Trek
machine?”

Brandon’s body went numb and he pulled shallow breaths in through his mouth.
Stay calm. Ride it out.

“Have you given any thought to the fact that if it gets out that you’re not just dabbling, but embracing the occult head-on that you’ll lose some fans? Or even worse, shatter the faith of those who have looked up to you for so long?” Carson paused and raised his eyebrows. “And worst of all, you’re teaching other believers this is truth, aren’t you? You and your buddies have been doing training seminars out in Colorado for hundreds of people, and those people
have been doing retreats with your material all over the United States and even other parts of the world. The heresy is spreading like a rampant virus.”

“Are you going to let me speak this time, Carson, or are you going to hit the mute button again?”

Carson waved his hand. “Oh, by all means, speak on, dear friend.”

“I’d be curious who you’ve been talking to. Because what you’re describing is not what my friends and I are exploring or what we are teaching others.”

“So you are exploring something, hmm?”

Brandon gripped the sides of his chair. “Everything we do is based on Scripture—”

“Based on?” Carson leaned in. “Did you say ‘based on’? Kinda like some movies are ‘based on’ a true story when only 10 percent of the story is true?”

“No.” Brandon glared at Carson. “What we are doing is setting people free, healing them of wounds, helping them—”

“From the research I’ve done, I think you’re full-out immersed in the kind of things people in the Old Testament were stoned for.” Carson widened his eyes and cocked his head. “Right? C’mon now, Brandon. You’re exploring dark parts of the forest that should be left for the animals and the Wiccans, not for Bible-believing Christians. What has happened to you?”

“You’re badly mistaken.” Sweat seeped down Brandon’s back and his heart rate had to be over one hundred. From adrenaline. Anger. The poodle had indeed turned into the Wolf.

“Whatever you’ve heard has been distorted by someone with a vendetta against us. It’s pure slander from those on the outside looking in who don’t know what they’re talking about.”

“I don’t think so. This ain’t hearsay. We’ve talked to a friend of yours who told us not only are you delving into areas of darkness yourselves, but you’re brainwashing others to think the same way.
Would you like to hear what they have to say?” Carson didn’t wait for a response and pushed a button on his computer screen. A familiar voice Brandon couldn’t quite place filled his headphones.

“I really truly think they’re trying to do good things with their training out at Well Spring, but they’ve become a little misguided. Okay, they’re a
lot
misguided. They’ve pulled a seriously large muscle in their spiritual physique. I mean, wow, they’re telling people they can do stuff so far out there it makes the Wiccans and the New Agers look like they’re Quakers.”

“Like?” Carson’s voice asked.

“Astral projection. Teleporting around the world like
Star Trek
gone mad. Going inside other people’s minds and doing psychotherapy on them while they’re inside, turning invisible in a crowd. Going inside other people’s souls. This is where Reece Roth, Brandon Scott, and the others are telling people they need to take their walk with God. They’re telling people this is real and right and true. And that scares me because their influence is growing like mad.”