Kaleidoscope Eyes Read online

  The older man’s busy eyebrows arched, then twitched, dancing like caterpillars on a tightrope. Silas planted his hands on his mammoth desk and pushed himself to his feet. He paced in front of the desk.

  “Let me get this straight. You have one of the hit shows of the season—”

  “I know that, Silas, but—”

  The man’s hand sliced through Jed’s objection. “Please. Don’t interrupt.”

  This time it was Jed who buried his hands in his pockets. “Sorry.” He moved to lean against the wall.

  Silas recommenced his pacing. “Now, where was I?”

  Jed crossed his arms. “I have a hit show.”

  “Ah. Yes. You have the hit show of the season—”

  Jed couldn’t help himself. “I thought it was one of the hit shows.”

  Silas’s narrowed eyes pierced him. “Interrupting. Again.”

  “Sorry. Again.”

  “All right then, last week’s episode was the hit of the week. An audience share that made the network execs downright giddy.”

  Jed held back a comment about how unsettling that image was.

  “As for this week’s episode, well, I don’t have to tell you. Watching those firefighters, seeing the cost the way we did—” Silas cleared his throat—“well, it was more powerful than anything you ever put out.” The older man’s pacing halted, and the question in his stillness was clear: Am I right, or am I right?

  Jed’s confirming nod seemed to be reply enough. The pacing resumed. “Okay, so here you sit, a bona fide success. Your show’s just been picked up for another season—” Silas stopped midpace and faced Jed, the benign half smile on his thin lips utterly belied by the glare shooting from those pale blue eyes—“and you’re telling me you’re out of ideas?” He angled his head. “Do I have that right?”

  “Silas, I—”

  The glare intensified.

  “What I mean is … well … after what happened …”

  One caterpillar brow raised.

  Jed let loose a heavy sigh, then stared down at the area rug that almost covered the floor of the spacious office. Silas loved that rug. Custom made. New Zealand wool.

  Always the best for Silas. What was it he said? “Surround yourself with the best.”

  At Jed’s low words, Silas studied him, then leaned back against his desk. “That’s right, boy. And that’s what you are. The best. Knew it the first time I saw your work. Wouldn’t have spent all these years on you if it wasn’t so.”

  Jed raised his head. “I know, Silas. I owe you. Big time.”

  A hand waved Jed’s words away. “Not the point, boy. It’s not what you owe me.” Pale blue eyes met brown and bored deep. “It’s what you owe yourself. You’ve got talent, E J. Don’t let it go to waste because of an unfortunate accident.”

  Unfortunate.

  Ken was dead, and that was … unfortunate?

  No. Madness, maybe. Unacceptable and wrong, definitely. But unfortunate? That word didn’t even begin to encompass what had happened. A flood of emotion crowded Jed’s throat. Sorrow. Anger. Loss.

  And shame.

  He had spent the couple of weeks telling himself he had nothing to be ashamed of. He hadn’t done anything wrong. And last week, as he and Andy did the final edit on the show, the shame practically burned a hole in Jed’s gut. A man had died. A good man. And there they were, watching it happen over and over, acting like it was just another show.

  Yes, Jed had made the episode a tribute to Ken—and firefighters in general. Yes, he showed the episode to Ken’s widow before agreeing to use it. And yes, when the segment finished playing, she had put her arms around Jed and hugged him, tears streaming down her face as she gave permission to use the footage. But for all that, it seemed wrong. Wrong to benefit from the loss of such a good man.

  Jed had mentioned his reservations to Andy on the drive back to the office from Ken’s house. Andy stared ahead, silent, for a full two minutes. A response Jed knew well. When there was a lot at stake, Andy thought things through. Finally he spoke.

  “I think Ken’s story is worth telling.”

  Jed couldn’t argue with that. And so they let it play. And as Silas said, it was a hit. The response even more so. More than any of them had dreamed. Phone calls. Letters. E-mails. More poured in every day. Along with donations. For Ken’s family For the fire station. For a newly established “Ken Hall Fund for Firefighters and Their Families.” All of which showed that what he and Andy had hoped for when they’d started out was happening.

  Everyday Heroes was capturing hearts.

  Jed had known from the start that the concept was good. So much on the networks wallowed in the ugly side of life, Jed was convinced that people were ready for something different. Something that celebrated goodness. Then he and Andy hit on the idea of Everyday Heroes—follow people who help others, who put themselves on the line every day. Watch them, listen to them, give them the chance to open up and remind us what is good and noble about not only them, but ourselves as well.

  The first episodes featured a policeman, an inner-city teacher, a doctor who worked with children with AIDS, among others. With each episode, the stories deepened—and audience share grew. When the fire station had agreed to let them come in, Jed warned Andy that this episode would be intense. More than any of the others. Odds were good there’d be a fire, which meant they would follow the men into hell—or the closest thing to it on earth. So when it happened, Jed wasn’t surprised. Nor was he surprised by the danger and risk.

  But the men themselves? They were a surprise. When fighting fires, they were as skillful and courageous as it got. But at the station, they were more like crazy frat brothers. One minute they tormented each other, playing practical jokes and throwing verbal insults like a bunch of kids hyped on turbocharged Kool-Aid. The next minute they sat and talked, late into the night, about anything and everything.

  They were a family.

  Jed knew after one day with these guys that this episode was going to be the best yet. And he’d been right.

  But at what cost?

  The emotions he’d almost quashed flamed to life again with the new influx of guilt, and Jed gritted his teeth against the pain. But some of it must have shown on his features, because Silas did something Jed couldn’t remember him ever doing before.

  He gave Jed a break.

  The older man’s glare faded, and he looked away. Out the window to the ocean, sparkling in the morning sun.

  “Look, I know this was hard on you, son.”

  There was an almost paternal kindness in the older man’s tone. Silas moved back to his luxurious leather chair, for which Jed was thankful. It gave him a few moments to recover from the shock of not receiving the chewing out he’d expected.

  “Take a day or two and think about it. You’ve got a little time. Not a lot. You’ve got to get going on next season’s episodes. But enough to take a break and get your head back where it belongs.”

  Jed pushed away from the wall. “On the block?”

  Only the thinning of Silas’s lips showed that he’d heard the bland comment. “In the game. Remember, ‘Our doubts are traitors, And make us lose the good that we oft may win, By fearing to attempt.’”

  Jed started, and Silas’s mouth actually almost gave way to a smile. “What’s the matter, boy? Think you’re the only one who can quote Shakespeare?” He picked up a pen. “Now get out of here. Some of us have work to do.”

  ELEVEN

  “The evil plan is most harmful to the planner.”

  HESIOD

  “While their hatred may be concealed by trickery,

  it will finally come to light for all to see.”

  PROVERBS 26:26

  It wasn’t fair!

  Things had been going so well. Exactly as they should. And then this. This—tragedy.

  It was wrong. He’d tried to prevent it, for all the good that had done.

  He’d never imagined it could be this hard, this draining. Wh
at was the point of investing so much of yourself if it destroyed you? His hand lifted to his aching eyes. They stung, as though he’d been weeping. But of course he hadn’t. Crying was for losers. And he was not a loser.

  Still … how was he going to fix things? How would he get it all back on track? Of course, he’d faced obstacles before. You didn’t get anywhere in this business without learning to either evade or scale obstacles. And learn he had. He always triumphed. Always found a way past the resistance and, often by sheer force of will, got the results he wanted. The results he deserved. Circumstances … people … it was all the same.

  All meant to bend to his will.

  Little wonder, then, that he always emerged on top. Exactly where he should be. But this time …

  He slammed a fist on the table.

  How could things go so wrong?

  His fingers ached and eased open. He felt the fingers with his other hand. Fortunately nothing was broken. But as hard as he’d hit the table, something could’ve been. Stupid, stupid.

  See what happens when you let things get to you? Just relax. Think it through. You’ve made it this far. Nothing’s going to stop you now.

  It was true. He had his goal in sight. One more show … one more and he’d be so well established that nothing would unseat him. His position would be assured. His power would increase. And he’d have it all. Everything he’d worked for. Longed for.

  Everything he deserved.

  A star. That’s what he needed. Just one, and all would be well.

  He stood.

  Time to stop worrying and start doing. He needed a star, so he’d find one. And she’d be perfect. Because he’d chosen her.

  Anything else was unacceptable.

  TWELVE

  “The heart has eyes which the brain knows nothing of.”

  HELEN KELLER

  “You are God’s field.”

  1 CORINTHIANS 3:9

  SEPTEMBER 24

  Sheriffs deputy Dan Justice sat at his desk, staring at the computer screen in front of him.

  He guessed he should be glad no more threatening e-mails had arrived in his sister’s in-box. Trouble was, the cybercrime unit hadn’t been able to trace the two Annie had forwarded to him. Too bad she’d deleted the first e-mail she received. It might not have made a difference, but Dan figured the more the guys at cybercrimes had to work with, the better.

  He picked up one of the printed posts and read it again. The effect was the same as when Annie had first given it to him: rage. Hot, blind rage. He wanted to crumple it into a ball and slam it down the throat of the creep who had invaded his sister’s life.

  He tossed the paper back onto his desk and stood to refill his coffee cup. Sorry, Lord. I know that’s not exactly a loving response …

  “As surely as I live, when I sharpen my flashing sword and begin to carry out justice, I will bring vengeance on my enemies.”

  The words rang within him, and Dan took a slow drink of coffee. Okaaay … so maybe God understood better than he realized.

  He went back to his desk, staring at Annie’s e-mail again. No notes of any kind for a little over a week now. That could mean a couple things.

  One, whoever sent the threats had given up.

  Or two, he’d changed tactics.

  As much as Dan preferred the first, he figured the second was more likely.

  And, he thought, fingers tightening around his coffee mug, more dangerous.

  Jed jabbed his spoon into his cereal bowl, stabbing a floating square of Shredded Wheat. Who would believe it? Here he was, at his prime intellectually—or so they said—and his stupid brain just decided to call in sick for the day.

  He’d spent all of yesterday immersed in thought, reading, brainstorming by himself and with Andy, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing!

  The ideas for previous episodes of Everyday Heroes had come so easily. They flowed so fast and furious that Jed had to scramble to keep up with them. But now?

  It was as though the Shredded Wheat was floating between his ears rather than in the bowl.

  Muttering, Jed picked up the bowl and tossed it into the sink. He went to jerk the bottle of OJ out of the fridge, then turned to grab a glass—and promptly sloshed half the container of juice on the large envelope he’d received in the morning mail from Silas’s assistant, Mildred.

  “Perfect! Just perfect.” He slammed the container on the countertop and tipped the envelope into the sink, letting the juice drain off.

  He didn’t need to open the envelope to know what was inside. Newspaper articles, clippings, magazine articles—whatever she or Silas spotted that they thought would help prime the stalled creativity pump in Jed’s head.

  Like it would do any good.

  He wiped the envelope with a paper towel, then slit it open and looked inside at the soggy collection of papers.

  Fine. He didn’t want to read them anyway He was about to upend the whole mess into the trash when he caught a headline—and stopped, midtoss.

  What was that?

  He reached inside the envelope, snagging a newspaper clipping between his forefinger and thumb. Easing it out of the clumped mass of paper, he held it over the sink. It was the front page of the “Lifestyles” section of … did that say what he thought it did?

  He shook the rest of the juice off, then dabbed at the clipping with a dish towel, careful not to tear it. Yes. He’d read it right. The clipping was from the Mail Tribune. The local paper from Medford, Oregon.

  His hometown.

  Jed had left the Rogue Valley years ago, right out of high school. You didn’t break into TV by living in Medford, Oregon, so he loaded up his old beater of a car and headed south to find his dream.

  And to escape what his life had become.

  No, don’t go there.

  Too late.

  Like something straight out of a Stephen King novel, the specter of his past pushed free from the small corner of his awareness where he kept it captive. As it rose, memories pelted him, like cinders sent flying when a fresh log was tossed on a dying fire.

  Angry voices. His father’s. His own.

  Tears. His mother’s mostly.

  The image of his father’s back as he walked away. For good this time. The sound of his own voice railing at his mother, screaming out his rage and fear: “You didn’t love him enough. He never would have left if you’d loved him more!”

  Years of despair. Of loneliness and longing. Of watching out the window, willing himself to believe. To trust that his father would come back.

  And then the death blow, struck when Jed was in junior high.

  “Jediah, this is Amos. We’re going to be married … ”

  Jed’s breakfast threatened to resurrect. He grabbed a glass off the counter, filled it with cold water, and slugged it back. It helped calm his stomach.

  But not his anger.

  Amos Elhanin. The man who destroyed his life. His family Bad enough that he’d tried to replace Jed’s dad, but he brought all that God garbage with him too. Suddenly Jed had lost not only his father, but his weekends as well. His mom hauled him to church every Sunday, rain or shine. Bought him a shiny new Bible. Set up family devotions …

  Yeah, and you bought into it, didn’t you? Hook, line, and sinker Memorized Scripture like it would disappear if you didn’t etch it on your brain.

  “I was young.” Jed knew he was talking to himself, but it felt good to break the piercing silence. “And stupid.”

  Really, really stupid. So much so that he’d started to believe not only in Amos’s God, but in Amos. He took Jed fishing. Went to all Jed’s sports events.

  And he prayed. That was the one thing Jed still saw when he thought of Amos. The man on his knees. Praying. For his wife. For his son.

  His son.

  “God, be with my son.”

  Not his stepson. Amos never called him that. Just … my son.

  The man did everything real dads were supposed to do. Everything Jed’s own
dad had never done. And little by little, Jed found himself liking it. Even loving it.

  Until that day. That Saturday, during Jed’s senior year, when his dad finally came back.

  September 14, 1985. Jed’s eighteenth birthday. Football season and a Saturday. So, of course, Jed and Amos were outside, doing their best imitation of the LA Rams, Jed’s team. Amos yelled at Jed to “go long,” and Jed raced to the end of the yard, jumping for Amos’s pass, missing by a mile.

  “Yeah!” Amos chortled. “Now them’s some hands, son!”

  “Maybe if you weren’t aiming for Meadowlark Lemon, I could catch the thing. This is football, Amos, not basketball!”

  Their joking filled the fall air as Jed turned to hunt down the stray football—only to find it being held out to him by a man standing at the edge of the grass. Jed looked at the man, thanks poised on his lips—and froze.

  The hair was gray where once it had been dark brown. The face was worn and strained where once it had been smooth. But the eyes … his dad’s eyes were the same.

  Jed would have recognized them anywhere.

  He stood there, wanting to say so much. Incapable of saying a word. A hand on his shoulder jerked his attention to the side.

  Amos.

  By the time Jed looked back at his dad, the damage was done. His father’s eyes had gone cold, hard. He looked from Amos to Jed, then turned.

  For the second time in his life, Jed watched his dad’s back as he walked away.

  His voice finally came to life. “Dad!”

  But the man didn’t break stride as he crossed the street and got into an old beater of a car. Jed ran after him, pounding on the driver’s side window.

  His dad didn’t look at him. Just started the car up and drove away, leaving Jed standing there in the street.

  When Amos came to comfort Jed, he turned on the man. Railed at him. All the anger, the hurt, came back in a rush. He pushed Amos away and ran into the house.

  They never played ball again. Didn’t talk. Didn’t do anything. Jed refused. And though he still saw and heard Amos praying for him, he didn’t care. Because it didn’t mean anything.