Exodus 2022 Read Free Page A

wondered.
    Dr. Goss was wrong about the morning’s events being a prank. And Spinell was wrong about Joe being a drug addict, but Joe understood how they’d arrived at their conclusions. He probably would have thought “drug addict” too, if he’d seen someone stumbling around a parking lot, shrieking about a nonexistent kid.
    Can I look?
    The question materialized out of thin air, startling him.
    Can I see what this is and stay in control?
    His limbs tingled. He shivered.
    Can I look over the ridge? Into the storm? Into the hallucination? Can I do that without getting sucked in?
    He wasn’t sure, but he suddenly wanted to try. He had the feeling that if he could peer inside the thing, he might be able to understand what was going on.
    Carla said, “What about an ambulance—or air-evac? I can make the call.”
    “Insurance would never pay for it,” Ella replied. “And he doesn’t have the money, and—”
    Joe tuned out again.
    Go for it. Look, but stay in control.
    Stay in control.
    In control.
    He stepped over the ridge.
    Stay in control.
    “Well, I would definitely get in to see someone right away when you get back,” Carla said. “And—”
    He was close to the hallucination now, but also detached from it.
    I’m observing this , he thought. Not living it. That’s progress.
    He relaxed a little and let the hallucination envelop him. It felt like walking back into a dream and seeing every detail with perfect clarity.
    Love.
    The rawness of the feeling shocked him. Pure, deep love. The close, tender, unique love a parent feels for a child. The kind only a parent can understand. The kind that could induce one to step in front of a bus, or walk through fire, if the situation called for it.
    Grief!
    Grief flowed through him now. Stabbed his heart. The exquisite grief of a parent who has lost a child.
    Joe was not a parent. Had never had a child. He knew what it felt like now, though. And he knew in his bones what it was like to see one’s child die.
    And now an image flitted by. A “picture” to accompany the tsunami of emotion. The picture was fragile. Unstable. Barely there. A fragment of a thought.
    He tried to seize the image. Hold it. But the harder he tried, the more quickly it faded. It was like trying to catch mist in the sunrise. And then he was outside the hallucination again, on top of the ridge, and only one clear image remained: He was in his little rental house in Bremerton, standing near the entry, looking back down the hall, toward the small kitchen and the sliding glass door to the deck. The door stood open and the sun shone bright on his meager backyard. Ella swept past him, hand in hand with a little girl.
    The girl had long red hair, like Ella, and she smiled as she passed, eyes bright and full of life.
    They walked outside…and were gone. That was it. All there was.
    It was the briefest sliver of a memory, though Joe felt certain there was more. The whole story was there, if only he could access it.
    Is this our daughter? The little girl certainly resembled Ella. Am I seeing the future?
    He turned the notion in his mind. Contemplated it. It was an answer, but he felt in his gut that it was not the right one. He couldn’t explain it, but the image seemed wrong somehow. It seemed—fake.
    The grief, loss, and agony that had consumed him in the Breakwater—that lingered in his mind and body still— that was real. But the image? It was a lie. Somehow, it was a lie. Joe knew this in his heart.
    He tried to understand, but it was too much to process. He shifted his focus. Took a breath.
    Breathe.
    Breathe.
    Is this a vision? A sign?
    Or am I sick?
    He focused on his faith. His belief in God.
    I believe in God with all my heart , he thought. But—
    But he was also a skeptic.
    I believe that God speaks to us.
    But not like this.
    The tumult in his mind was too harsh. Too loud. Too abrasive to be of divine origin. He hoped so anyway. This hallucination, or vision, or whatever it was, was the