Showdown (6 page)

David set down his pen. “No.”

He was a big man, more than six feet, and powerful. His blond hair rested on broad shoulders, which were covered by a brown hooded cloak. When he wasn't wearing billowing white shirts and black slacks, he favored the common dress of the teachers. It had been his insistence that they wear clothing befitting of a monastery, as he put it. But in Andrew's eyes he looked more like a Viking than a monk. Not that David pretended to be a monk—he was a world-renowned collector of antiquities and a professor of both psychology and history, tenured at Harvard, before he left it all for the project.

“Absolutely not, we can't interfere, you know that.”

“But, sir—”

“I said no!” David stood. He glanced out the window at black storm clouds gathering in the valley near the canyon. “We knew this moment would come. Don't overreact.”

“We knew? I certainly didn't know! I feared, but it was never a foregone conclusion. This wasn't part of the plan.” Andrew was taken aback by the director's lack of outrage. How could the prospect of failure not ruin him?

“The storm clouds always eventually come,” David said. “We always knew the children would be tested. The only question is how they will weather the storm.”

“Billy's failed already, by going in. The subterranean tunnels will ruin him.”

The director stared at him without speaking for a few seconds. His jaw-line bunched with tightened muscles. “Or give him the kind of power that you and I only dream about.”

Project Showdown had been a highly controversial concept from the beginning. Its stated purpose was appealing enough to attract some of the world's best-educated and pious men of faith, but if the less discerning public knew what was happening here in this mountain, they might cry foul. Even David's decision, however reluctantly made, to exclude female teachers and thereby any maternal influence in the monastery would come under fire. But in David's mind, single-mindedness of the male teachers was paramount. It was a monastery after all, not a college. Andrew agreed.

The proposal that Dr. Abraham sent out to a select group of clergy was simple: Harvard University was conducting a closely guarded and somewhat speculative examination of faith and human nature. The study sought to test the limits of mankind's capacity to affect nature through faith. In simple terms, Project Showdown meant to discover the extent to which a man could indeed move mountains (metaphorically or materially) through faith. A showdown of faith and natural laws, so to speak.

Put another way, the experiment was nothing less than an attempt to test the speculation that a noble savage—a child unspoiled by the rampant effects of evil in society, struggling only with the evil within themselves—might be taught skills that the rest of humanity could not learn. Certainly spiritual skills, perhaps even physical skills. If a person had no reason to doubt, and as such possessed unadulterated faith, they surely would be able to wield the power of their faith to humankind's advantage.

There was one problem, of course. Noble savages did not roam the streets of America or any other country in droves. So David Abraham intended to rear the noble savages from birth.

He took possession of this ancient Jesuit monastery hidden deep in the Colorado mountains and spent millions of dollars transforming it into an ideal setting for his study. He then selected thirty-seven orphans, most from disadvantaged parts of Europe, and arranged for them to be brought to the monastery, where they would be raised in community under specific guidelines. A lone child would not do because the children would be required to enter society one day, a prospect that could render them useless unless they had grown up in a functioning, if different, society of their own.

Perhaps the most important element in the study were the teachers. Twelve monks and priests had each agreed to a four-year commitment, but most remained after they were free to go home. The money paid to their families and various charities only partially justified their commitments. Their desire to see the effects of a noble savage's faith was motivation enough for most of them.

For nearly twelve years they carefully taught each child in the ways of truth, virtue, and faith, and they meticulously recorded every move of every child. Other than morning prayers, conducted before breakfast, the faith was stripped of liturgy and focused on simple teachings from both Old and New Testaments. Religious, doctrinal jargon in particular had been abandoned.

Naturally, they faced many challenges—arguments, jealousy, hurt feelings of one kind or another. But without the smothering influence of a world swimming in faithlessness, the children had matured remarkably well. There had been no overt acts of rebellion.

Until now.

Andrew believed David had always kept secrets. He walked with the air of a man plagued by more than the eyes could see. His understated reaction to the news that Billy had broken a cardinal rule made Andrew wonder if it really was news to the director at all. And now David claimed that good could come of this fall from grace.
A power we only dream of.

David averted his eyes. “We can't rescue him, Andrew. We've poured our lives into him and
we've taught him the way of faith and virtue, but he must choose.”

“Then the end may be upon us.”

David walked to a large bookcase lined with hundreds of clothbound volumes. Two masks rested on one of the shelves, one black and one white, signifying the basic struggle between good and evil faced by every man and woman and child who lived. The director's eyes lingered on the black mask before returning to Andrew. His eyes revealed deep emotion, whether fear or concern or resolve, Andrew couldn't tell.

“It's the power of the children's choice that we're after, isn't it?”David said. “The power that resides deep in those spirits is staggering. But only when it's tested will we see that power.”

“They've been tested, a thousand times.”

“Tested? Not really. Not the way they will be now.”

Andrew paced, hands on hips. David made sense, but not enough to satisfy him. The tunnels had always been a mystery to the teachers, but from what Andrew knew, they were filled with evil. Raw evil. David repeatedly stated that the tunnels would dramatically alter the life of anyone who entered. The dungeons were off-limits to all.

Andrew faced David. “What precisely will Billy face down there? I certainly have the right to know that much.”

David studied him, and for a moment Andrew thought he would break. “You'll know soon enough. Know this, the tunnels will open the mind. The heart.” He tapped his chest. “The will. This is where the battle resides, and this is where true power waits.”

His vague answers were maddening.

“It's rather strange that this occurs a week after the departure of Marsuvees Black.”

No response.

The monk from the deserts of Nevada claimed to have lived there in isolation for three years. David preferred clergy that had lived in solitude, he said. They had the character required for this confining assignment.

But Marsuvees Black didn't strike Andrew as a monk who'd spent three years alone. He seemed more like a one-man Vegas show who had finished his penance in the desert and was reclaiming the glory of his previous life.

After nine months, he began to act strangely and was given to outbursts and wild discourses on relativism and man's free will. When David reined him in,Marsuvees withdrew almost completely. Then, without warning, he left the monastery.

“Not that I'm accusing him, mind you. I would expect to see him twisting the ear of some poor parish somewhere, not plotting to affect Billy's good sense. But maybe his departure has undermined Billy's confidence in us. Marsuvees was rather outspoken about free will and grace. For all we know, he told Billy to go down there.”

The monk's unscheduled departure caused a stir among the staff. Never had a teacher left without fulfilling his four-year commitment. Where he'd gone was of considerable concern, but the project had little contact with the outside world, and information was scarce.

The closest town was a small pit stop called Paradise, which in theory could provide a link to society beyond the electronic communications that the director reserved for himself. But even when the teachers left the monastery for brief reprieves, contact with this town was strictly prohibited. It was simply too close to risk any interaction.

David didn't seem interested in pursing this tangent on Marsuvees Black.

“What if the rebellion spreads?”Andrew asked. “Others have been questioning as well. What if Billy challenges the rules in an open debate?”

No response. The debate was by design the proverbial apple that David had set before them all. If any student was able to challenge the principles that governed the monastery and win the majority support of the other students, all existing rules would be subject to that student's interpretation until another clear majority overturned him or her.

David had ultimately placed the whole project in the hands of children. The rules guided them, but they had authority to determine the rules. If this incident spiraled out of control, the whole monastery could be run by Billy. It would be a disaster.

Then again, Billy
was
the project. He and the other thirty-six students.

“We do have risk,” David finally said. “But the others aren't questioning like Billy has been.”

“Risk? You don't throw a child in the pit of death and refer to it as risk.”

“The pit of death, as you call it, resides
in
them! They were born with it.” David stretched his arm out and pointed at the monastery wall. “Do you think Billy wasn't born evil? This study isn't about protecting them from evil, but teaching them as children to overcome it in the way Christ did.”

He lowered his arm, face pink from his outburst. “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil.' Should we avoid the valley of death? No! We walk through it and conquer it and then turn back and face it without fear. For the joy set before him, Christ endured the cross. That's what we are doing, Andrew. I've given my life to that, not to false piety!”

“You're suggesting that to be genuine conquerors they
must
face the horrors of evil?”

“I'm suggesting that the horrors of sin will only be flushed out of hiding when the power of faith confronts them.”

“Should we sin so that grace may abound?” Andrew demanded. “The children already face evil in their own hearts, as you say. I don't see the value in subjecting them to the pit of hell itself. Isn't it better to deal with this in the classroom?”

For a long moment David stared at him. Then he walked to the bookshelf, withdrew a large ancient Bible, and dropped it on a reading table beside the bookcase. He tapped the cover pointedly.

“Tell me why the Gospel writers gave us so much detail about the passion of Christ? Never mind, I'll tell you: so that we wouldn't forget his suffering. How dare a child of God look away from the pain of evil—doing so undermines the grace that conquers that evil. Of course we don't sin for the sake of grace, but neither do we sweep evil under a rug and pretend it doesn't exist. The consequence of evil must be faced by the students if we have any hope of success here.”

Andrew knew that the director was right, but he couldn't help throwing out one last sentimental argument.“But they are only children. What if they don't conquer? What if they are conquered?”

“These students have been capable of abstract thought since age ten, sooner in many cases. They know how to question good and evil.
Billy
has chosen the time, not we. And if they are conquered, so be it. It is out of our hands. Now is the time for more prayer, not interference. Our future is in God's hands.”

“I agree, but God has given us responsibility for the students. Our hands matter too.”

“And our hands are tied!” David said. “I suggest we double the morning prayer times and leave Billy's heart to God.”

The finality in his tone silenced Andrew. David strode to his desk, picked up an eight-by-ten photograph of his son, Samuel, who was among those students, and looked at the smiling face.

The room stilled to the sound of their breathing. The connection between David and Samuel had always been a source of profound respect for Andrew. At times like this, he felt oddly compelled to remove his gaze and leave the father to his thoughts, but today he watched. Love, respect, remorse.

No, not remorse. There was no reason for remorse, not in the case of his son.

“Where is Samuel?” David asked, eyes still on the picture.

“I don't know, sir.”

David laid the frame down and set a brisk pace toward the door. “If you see him, tell him I'm looking for him.”

“Yes, sir.”

David
left the room.

CHAPTER FOUR

PARADISE

Wednesday afternoon

JOHNNY PEERED out the front window, down the street, where half a dozen people gathered around Cecil on the bench.

The kitchen phone clattered into the cradle behind him. “Gotta go,” his mother said. “They want me to take him to Junction.”

Johnny dropped the curtain.

Sally swept up some papers from the counter and grabbed a light windbreaker. “They say a bad storm is hitting Montrose, headed north. Don't worry, I'll be back by dark.”

“You have to listen to me, Mom.”

“Stop it, Johnny. This is crazy. You live in those comics and games, and God help me, you can't come in here and tell me you saw someone kill Cecil by poking his eyes out.”

“I didn't imagine the stranger. He was real. If I didn't imagine the man, what makes you think I imagined what he did?”

Sally closed her eyes and took a breath. Eyes open. “Cecil had his own eyes, Johnny—I saw them myself. Blue eyes, not black eyes. How could the stranger poke his eyes out if Cecil still has them?”