Silhouette (15 page)

“Be careful,” he said, “the pages are very thin.”

I opened it and noticed that they were indeed, then asked him about ROM 717. I regretted it immediately, feeling like I was hanging out dirty laundry. He gave me a blank stare, then said he would find out if any of the other employees knew about this sort of thing. “No, wait,” I said, stopping him, an idea coming to me about someone who could help. “I'm fine, I'll take care of it.”

“No problem,” he quickly responded, moving away. “If there is anything else you need, just say ‘service' into your amp, phone, or glasses, and our in-store line will pick it up.”

When he was gone, I called Kim at the castle and asked him to come to the store as soon as he could get here, saying I had some questions about his religion. I couldn't ask him what I wanted to know over the net for fear of being overheard. Fortunately, the young tech was still at work and able to slip away. While I waited for him, I paged through the old book and wondered what all the fuss was about … the parts I saw didn't make much sense to me. I gave up well before Kim arrived and was checking messages on my glasses when he entered the real-books part of the store. He was sweating and panting from his haste to accommodate me, but when he saw the book sitting in front of me, he brightened and practically shivered with excitement. He wasn't wearing his cyber equipment, but I guessed it was in the small case he was carrying.

“I'm looking for something in here called ROM 717,” I told him. “Whatever that is.”

He thought for a moment, then swung around behind me, flipped a few pages, and pointed at a spot on one of them.

“I think you mean seven seventeen, sir, not seven one seven,” he said proudly, “in the book of Romans.” I looked at the words near his finger, which had the figure 17 in front of them. It said, “I am no longer the one doing it, but sin which indwells me.”

“Yeah. That looks like the one,” I said, then asked him what it meant.

“That's a good question,” he said; and then, observing how I was craning my neck up to see him, he asked politely if he could sit down across from me. I said yes, and watched him do so. He still seemed very excited but was now trying not to show it too much.

“I thought this was a vision at first,” the man said with his self-conscious smile. “But it's real.” I directed a puzzled stare at him for a few moments, but then simply nodded my head twice. Then he asked, “Why did you want to find that verse, sir?”

I hesitated, thinking,
I'm investigating the murder of my daughter and best friend, which I myself committed.
But I answered, “A friend mentioned it to me. It may have some significance for something that's happening in my life. So I want to know everything I can about it.”

“Well, that could take a while,” he said, seeming even more excited. “But I can give you the short version.”

I said that would be good.

“First, read the other verses around it, and you might be able to figure out a lot of it.” I felt like a child in school, but did as he suggested.

For that which I am doing, I do not understand; for I am not doing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate. But if I do the very thing I do not want to do, I agree with the Law, confessing that it is good. So now, I am no longer the one doing it, but sin which indwells me. For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the wishing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want to do, I do not do; but I practice the very evil that I do not want to do. But if I am doing the very thing I do not want to do, I am no longer the one doing it, but sin which dwells in me. I find then the principle that evil is present in me, the one who wishes to do good. For I joyfully agree with the law of God in the inner man, but I see a different law in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind, and making me a prisoner of the law of sin which is in my members. Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death? Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord …

“The guy is torn apart inside,” I said, looking back up at Kim. “Something is making him to do what he doesn't want to do.” The tech nodded, and I was realizing that old man Rabin must have picked this out from perusings in this book because it described the nature of his black op. Maybe he also thought it somehow gave credibility to what he was doing, but that didn't matter to me. And it didn't provide any help regarding a solution; Christ had been the deliverer for this ancient religious writer, but I couldn't expect any help from him.

“If Jesus knew how some people were using his Bible,” I said to Kim, “he would roll over in his grave.”

“But he's not in his grave,” he responded too quickly, holding his breath in excitement (or maybe fear?). “He rose from the dead—that's how he can help us with our sins.”

Oh boy, here we go,
I thought, remembering the complaints I had heard about this variety of fundamentalists, that they insist on ramming their beliefs down everyone's throat. I was about to close the book and the discussion, but then a thought hit me and I looked down at one of the verses again. It reminded me of the internal struggle I had been having.

“Why does he call himself a wretched man,” I asked, “when he never intended to commit the crime?” I started to regret the minor slip, but then relaxed when I realized it was likely that Kim cared more about his faith than my reasons for being here.

“Well, I can't remember what I've heard about that ‘I'm not doing it' part,” the tech said, thinking furiously. “But he does plenty of other things wrong, he's guilty for them at least, and he needs to be forgiven.” He paused, and when I didn't cut him off, he went on. “We do what is wrong because of the evil in the world around us but also because of the evil that's
in
us, or else sin would have no appeal to us. But it does, and even when the evil is being done to us, we don't love our enemies in return like we should. So we're to blame no matter how you slice it, and we still need to be justified by God. Have you ever heard of justification?”

I didn't respond, because I was thinking how that might indeed be the reason I felt such guilt from what I had done, even though it had not been a conscious act. I had willfully chosen to live in the world of BASS, and I definitely did have hatred and murder brewing inside me as a result of my suffering.

“Justification is the best thing I ever learned about,” Kim continued. “Being
justified
is
just as if I'd
never done wrong, and
just as if I'd
always done everything right. And we get it as a gift from God, by believing in Jesus, because he took our place on the cross. See…” He lowered his finger toward the page in front of me, as if he wanted me to read more, but I squinted and smiled at him.

“Are you trying to convert me to your thing?” I said.

He looked deflated for a moment, sinking back into his chair, then said, “I just get excited about it, sir. You see, I've done a lot of bad things … things like Mr. Anthony did with that woman. In the Twotter file, remember?” I nodded, remembering. “In fact, that's how I met my wife, believe it or not.” He exhaled sharply and looked away. “I'm just so glad that's all gone.”

I was startled initially to hear the man confess this, because I had always thought that religious people lived a “clean life.” I didn't think they visited prostitutes, nor did I think they would marry one, even if she was supposedly reformed. Then my mind drifted to D's womanizing, no doubt because Kim had mentioned him, and it occurred to me that I had taken pride in the fact that I was with either Tara or Lynn the whole time I had known him, and had not cheated on either of them. But now it also occurred to me that I was essentially no better than my friend, because I approved of his lifestyle and entertained similar thoughts in my own mind.

“Forgiven, you know?” Kim added. I told him that I understood, with a lack of conviction, but he seemed to perk up again anyway.

“Have you ever asked for forgiveness?” the devotee now blurted out, giving the impression that this was his final question, a last-ditch attempt to leave me with a little part of his belief. I felt like I should answer him, because I didn't want him to think that I was a prospect, or that I needed anything he was trying to offer me. So I made up something as I spoke, and tried to make it sound profound.

“Well, it seems to me that would be a sign of weakness,” I said. “Saying you need forgiveness implies that you are at fault, and that you need someone else to affirm you or absolve you. Basically, you're putting yourself at the mercy of another and giving them a position of strength over you.” I didn't feel any need to explain why this was so undesirable—my military and police background made it self-evident in my mind.

The tech looked at me for a moment, to make sure I was finished. I was, so I spread my hands slightly to elicit his response.

“I agree,” was all that he said.

Then we heard the voice of the man who had met me at the door, who must have been watching us as he was approaching.

“Is everything okay, Mr. Ares?” he asked, which meant,
Is this man bothering you?
I started to say, “I'm fine, he's with me,” but didn't get it out because I noticed an attractive woman, well behind the man, entering the real-books section of the store.

I closed my eyes, then opened them again, but it was still Lynn.

“Jesus Christ!” I said in a low voice, but loud enough that Kim heard me. “Sorry,” I said to him. He nodded and moved his hand as if to say,
It's okay,
but I felt bad anyway. I still thought the man's ideas were loopy, but I could see how that might be offensive to him. But I had no time to worry about it, because Lynn was approaching our table. She walked straight to us, glaring, and more shame swelled inside me. I looked down at the old book sitting open in front of me, and froze into inaction, not knowing what to do.

“Mr. Ares?” the store manager said again, looking cross at Kim, as if he was the cause of the pale shade on my face.

“Yes, Mr. Ares,” said Lynn, arriving at the spot. “That
is
you, isn't it?” She smiled at the other men, putting them further off guard. “Am I interrupting something?”

“May I help you, ma'am?” the man said to her, to which she smiled again and told him she was my wife. He looked at me, and I tried to regain my composure, my mind still scrambling.

“Yes, this is quite a surprise,” I said to the men. “I appreciate your help.” Then, pointing down at the open Bible, “Do you need to put this away?”

“Are you finished with it?” the man asked, and Kim got up from the table, realizing that theology class was over for today.

“No,” Lynn said with another smile, moving to the seat just vacated. “I'd like to see what you've been reading.”

“Very well,” the man said, not sure what to make of her tone. “Let us know if you need anything else.”

I was frozen into inaction, but fortunately Kim broke the ice by blurting out to Lynn that he was Presidio class of '44. She politely but distractedly acknowledged him, and the little man realized he was not welcome anymore, so he said, “I guess I'll be going, I'm hungry for some dinner.… Have a good one!” As he left, I felt a pang of guilt that I had revealed too much to him, but then my attention shifted back to Lynn and a much bigger pang took over. I didn't say anything, but just stared at her as she sat down across from me, resolutely pulling off her pair of long, thin gloves.

 

13

“How did you get here?” I asked, curious because she didn't like to travel in an aero alone. I was also trying to buy myself some time to come up with an explanation for why in the world I had been reading this book.
Anything but the truth.

“The shuttle,” she said as she finished settling into a posture that said, as clearly as it could without words,
I'm not leaving until I find out what's going on.
She continued. “I'm tired of sitting at home. I keep getting calls about the funeral, which I don't want to deal with. So I thought I'd come to the castle and join you in the investigation, then go home with you.” She saw my disapproving expression, then added, “It's
my
daughter, too.”

“How did you find me?” I asked.

“Security at the garage called around and told me you walked out into the city looking for a bookstore. They took me to the tunnel entrance and stayed with me until I found this one. The man at the front told me where you were.” I grunted in admiration, and she added, “I guess you're not the only detective in our family.”

“Well, it's good to see you, anyway,” I said, hoping some charm might divert her from her task, but feeling angry inside at the intrusion. “I wasn't sure if you wanted me anymore.”

“Who else do I have?” she said, then realized how it sounded, so she grabbed my hand. “What I mean is, we need to get through this together.” I put my other hand on top of hers, and it felt good. For about three seconds.

“That's why I need to know what's going on,” she concluded, putting the last hand on the pile and squeezing. “So, what
is
going on, Michael? I've been trying to trust you, God knows I have, but I just
know
there's something you're not telling me. And I've always been right before.”

My mind raced, and I knew she would feel the sweat forming on my hands, so I withdrew them and rubbed my temples.
Anything but the truth,
I thought, because I knew for sure that I would lose her if every time she looked at me, she saw the man who had killed her daughter. I didn't know if
I
could live with myself, so how could she?