chapter 89

In Which the Road Leads Home

Jackson groaned and shook his head. He slowly opened his eyes. He was lying on something red and soft, and there were voices talking quietly behind him. He stayed where he was, listening.

“I’m not even sure if I believe it myself,” said a deep, gruff voice.

“Well, seeing is believing, as you always say, sir,” a polite voice replied. “Humph. I guess so.”

“And was it answered?” The elevator—that’s where he was. Jackson felt the floor beneath him begin to lurch.

“Don’t expect it to be. It was a little crazy. Even for a prayer.”

“Anything is possible, so long as we believe,” the polite voice said.

Jackson figured he had waited long enough. He yawned loudly and sat up. Stimple was leaning against the elevator wall, and Sir Shaw stood by the elevator’s lever.

“Are you all right, sir?” Sir Shaw asked.

Jackson nodded. “What happened?”

“I cannot rightly say, sir. It seems one moment my elevator was empty, and the next, the two of you were inside.” Sir Shaw smoothed his jacket. Jackson looked at Stimple. Stimple just shrugged.

“What was your prayer?” Jackson asked bluntly. It was a very personal question, of course, but sometimes personal questions are the most important ones to ask.

“Humph. It was so long ago, it doesn’t really matter now, does it?” Stimple twiddled his nose hair nervously.

“What do you mean, it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters! We found it and put it back on the prayer tree, didn’t we?” Jackson protested.

“A prayer tree, sir?” Sir Shaw asked.

“Yeah! There was a huge tree in the middle of the field and it had shining glass hanging from the branches and there were all these prayers written on the glass and the sun was shining and then we found Stimple’s prayer because it had fallen down and we hung it back up and then there was this bright, white light and then …”

“Main floor, sir,” Sir Shaw announced. The elevator did a little bounce and stopped.

“Main floor? What’s on the main floor?” Jackson asked. With a whir and a churn …

DING!

The elevator door opened.

Outside the doors was a green field with a path running down the middle of it. Far off in the distance, Jackson could make out some houses.

“Is this how I get home?” Jackson asked.

“Yes, sir. You did request to go home? This would be the path to take you,” Sir Shaw replied.

Jackson looked at the path. He did have to go home. But wait …

“Did I only have to ask to go to the ground floor to go home?” Jackson asked.

Stimple shuffled his feet. “Ya, well …”

Sir Shaw smiled. “Perhaps then the adventure would never have happened?”

Stimple nodded vigorously. “Yah, that’s right. Ya had to learn somethin’.” Then Stimple looked at Sir Shaw. Sir Shaw nodded, and Stimple shrugged his shoulders. “And maybe … maybe I was just lookin’ … fer a friend or somethin’.” He looked down at his feet.

Jackson sighed. “You could have just asked, Stimple.”

Stimple smiled awkwardly. “Ya, well …”

“It is time, sir,” Sir Shaw announced.

“Well, thanks for getting me home, Stimple.” Jackson held out his hand to shake.

Stimple eyed the hand uncertainly. “I don’t know where that hand’s been,” he growled.

Jackson shook his head. “I hope that your prayer is answered. Somehow. You just have to believe, you know?” Jackson patted Stimple’s arm. Stimple nodded, still staring at the ground.

Jackson turned to Sir Shaw. “Thanks for everything. It was great seeing you again.” He held out his hand, and Sir Shaw grasped it in his white-gloved one.

“Always a pleasure, sir. And remember …” He ducked down to Jackson’s height and looked him straight in the eye. Jackson felt a strange pull. It felt like his insides wanted to climb out of his body and climb right into Sir Shaw’s arms. Jackson took a deep breath.

“Mind your roots. The Author will always help you find your way home,” Sir Shaw whispered. Jackson couldn’t say anything, so he nodded. Sir Shaw stood up, and the pull was gone. Jackson shook his head and stepped outside the elevator. The dirt path led toward the neighborhood, where all the houses were lined up in rows. He knew that just beyond was the road that led home.

“You know, Stimple, I lost my son a long time ago,” the polite yet dignified voice said.

“Ya don’t say? That’s funny because I lost my dad a long time ago. Actually, I never really had a dad. Or a mom, for that matter,” replied Stimple’s gravelly voice.

“How interesting. I have never had a chance to be a father.”

“I never had a chance to be a son.” And with a whir and a churn, the elevator door closed. Normal.