“What?”
“He’s waiting just down the hall.”
My father and I still hadn’t spoken. I could hardly believe he was here. Regardless, this was not the time to talk.
At least see him, at least make plans to meet up after the show.
“Okay, tell him I’ll be there in a sec.”
Two minutes.
As I leave the dressing room, I can hear music pounding through the auditorium and my blood begins to rush. This is it. What I was made to do. What I truly enjoy. Joy as evidence of God, of victory over the pain of this broken world? A place so touched with despair? Charlene believes that. I’m not quite there yet, but maybe I—
I see my father waiting for me. Slim. Salt-and-pepper hair. My features. What I’ll look like in twenty-five years.
“Dad.”
“Jevin.”
He clasps my hand. Our handshake is stiff and unfamiliar.
Charlene stands near the edge of the stage. She looks at me urgently, points to the lift that will take me to the platform hidden high above the audience. I hold up one finger: I’ll be right there.
“Dad, I’m glad to see you, but could we talk later? I need to go.” My eyes are on the lift.
“I’ll ride with you.”
“Um… okay.”
We step onto the platform. Begin to ascend. Neither of us speaks. Smoke from the smoke machine hovers in the air and curls past us in ghostlike wisps as we ride through it. Finally I break the silence. “So you got the ticket.”
“Yes. Thank you.” We ride in silence again. “So you gonna do any escapes tonight?”
“Yeah. It’s a good one. I call it ‘Fire and Ice.’ I’ll explode above the audience”—that idea came from Xavier, but I keep that to myself—“then appear in a block of ice onstage.”
“Kinda like Blaine, when he was sealed in the ice for sixty-three hours? Or Dayan for sixty-six?”
“Well, I figured instead of standing around in there for three days, I’d just escape from it.”
I check my watch.
One minute.
We reach the platform.
“No more claustrophobia, then?”
“You heard about that.”
“Charlene might’ve mentioned it.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know they’d been talking. “Well, I’m not sure I’ll ever be over it completely,” I tell him honestly. “But you find a way to—”
“Move on.”
“Yes. To move on. Listen, after the show we can—”
“Yeah.” He puts his hand on my shoulder, looks at me. “Hey, listen. I’m proud of you, okay? You know that, don’t you?”
He’d never told me that before. Not once.
“Yeah, Dad,” I tell him, because it’s what he needs to hear. “Of course I do.”
Things’ll never always get worse.
He smiles. “So, go do your escape. I’ll be watching.”
“Okay.”
My watch tells me thirty seconds.
My father takes the lift back down as I walk onto the girder. We don’t wave to each other, but he offers me a small nod. I nod back.
So, Charlene’s been talking with him.
And now it’s going to be your turn.
A doorway between us was opening. One worth stepping through.
Below me, the spotlights cut through the vast auditorium, swishing above the crowd, bright sabers welcoming me back home.
I clip into the system Xavier designed. The wire is invisible, as are so many of the things that support us when we fall.
The lights change and the music rolls forward, deep and ominous.
My cue.
I take a breath.
And close my eyes.
And tip into the empty air.
To make an entrance these people will never forget.
Acknowledgments
A special thanks to David Lehman, Pam Johnson, Dr. Todd Huhn, Trinity Huhn, Jennifer Leep, Jessica English, Heather Knudtsen, Shawn Scullin, Ariel Huhn, and Tom Vick, who all offered me invaluable editorial insights.
Thanks also to Howie and Tom for handing me the trocar, to Noah Tysick for leading me to the peristyle, to Steve Glaze for helping me take flight, to Eric Wilson for showing me the waterfalls, to Kate Connors for your research on pharmaceuticals and patent protection, and to the Mind Science Foundation for expanding my horizons.
About the Author
Steven James is the author of many books, including the bestselling Patrick Bowers thrillers. He is a contributing editor to Writer’s Digest, has a master’s degree in storytelling, and has taught writing and creative communication on three continents. Currently he lives, writes, drinks coffee, and plays disc golf near the Blue Ridge Mountains of Tennessee.