MAY 31, 2005
Brock reached the summit of Mt. Pilchuck at four thirty in the afternoon. His lungs were in decent condition for a man in his early forties, but it had taken him longer to reach the top than he expected. It wasn’t long, two and a half miles, and the grade wasn’t steep, but still, it wasn’t a beginner’s hike. He was thankful the trail had been empty except for two hikers who passed him on their way back down, three-quarters of the way up.
“Anyone up top?” Brock asked as the hikers passed.
“Nope. All yours.” The man gave him a quick salute. “Enjoy the solitude.”
Exactly what he intended to do. He wanted to be alone as he created his own personal time capsule—one he might never find. Most of him still couldn’t believe the man he’d met multiple times back in his twenties was who he said he was, but in case the impossible had happened, he wanted to get a message to that man. And since it had been more than fifteen years since Future Brock had shown up, Brock didn’t think he’d get the chance to deliver the message in person.
Why hide the message at Pilchuck? He didn’t know except to say it felt right. It felt like the place God had led him. And if God had led him, then he could somehow, some way, lead Future Brock to this spot.
It took only ten minutes to find the right hiding spot for the box and its contents. As he finished by placing a large rock over the box, the sound of boots scraping across rock floated toward him from his right.
A lean man with a small daypack stood ten yards away. He looked to be in his late forties or early fifties. He wore thick glasses and had a pale face and thinning blond hair.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed your solitude.”
Brock glanced at the spot he’d hidden the box, then back to the man.
“Don’t worry.” The man waved a gnarled walking stick. “I’m not going to steal whatever you’ve hidden there. But I’ll go if you want to relocate it.”
Brock considered the idea. “Nah, there’s nothing in there of value to anyone but me.”
The man nodded, turned, and ambled the thirty yards or so over to the ladder that led up onto the deck of the historic fire lookout. A minute later Brock joined him.
To the north, Mt. Baker, the Olympics to the far west. As Brock gazed at the splendor, he prayed: that the box would be found if it was supposed to be; that no one else would discover it hidden in the rocks; that the message would do its work if the time for it to be found ever came.
“Spectacular day.”
Brock nodded.
The man turned to Brock. “Is this your first time to the top of Pilchuck?”
“Yes. You?”
“My seventeenth. Not sure why I keep ascending these particular slopes. There are other mountains. But this is the one that continues to beckon.” He swept his hand out at the view. “This is probably why.”
“It’s stunning.”
“I didn’t expect anyone else up here so late in the day.”
“Neither did I.”
The man nodded as if he understood completely. “What do you do when you’re not hiking mountains?”
“I’m an owner of a coffee company.” Brock leaned forward on the railing that faced the south. “What about you?”
“I’m a psychology professor at the University of Washington.”
“That’s where I went to school. Long time ago.” Brock studied the man. “What’s your area of focus?”
“Dreams and how the subconscious affects our waking world.”
Brock whipped his head toward the professor. “Are you kidding?”
“That intrigues you?”
“Do you believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“I came up here because I felt like God told me to in a dream.” Brock gripped the railing hard. “And now you show up.”
“I’m an answer?”
Brock gazed at the view of Rainier in the distance. “Do you mind if I tell you something crazy?”
“Please do.” The professor smiled as if to say, That’s all I ever hear.
“In my twenties, I met a man a number of times who claimed to be dreaming during the times we talked—and he claimed to be me thirty-plus years in the future.”
“I see.”
“You don’t seem shocked.”
“No. I’m not.” The professor waved his hand above his head. “The world of dreams is an unexplored territory. And anyone claiming to understand God and what he’s capable of doing has not even begun to know him. Dreams plus God can equal a potent combination for conjuring up the unexplained.”
“Then perhaps we were supposed to meet.”
“I believe that is highly likely.” The professor extended his hand. “I’m Thomas Shagull.”
“Brock Matthews.” Brock shook the professor’s hand firmly.
“Is that why you’re up here, Brock? To figure out what you believe about this man from the future?”
“No.” Brock shook his head and gave a resigned smile. “I don’t know if I’ll ever figure that out.”
“So what is the reason?”
Brock stared at the professor and tried to decide how much to tell.
“I came up here to leave a message for my future self. I have no idea if he’ll ever get that message, but I’m going to leave it anyway. Because the part of me that believes he was who he said he was wants to tell him the most important thing I learned from our talks, and remind him of that lesson. Because whether he was me or he wasn’t me, he changed my life.”
The professor studied Brock before responding. “Perhaps we’ll meet again, Brock Matthews.”
“Yeah, maybe we will.”