Read Online Book of Days: A Novel by James L. Rubart - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: James L. Rubart
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couldn't he find anything? Why was this town such a vault when it came to this mysterious book?
He looked at his notes spread out on one of the library's tables in front of a huge picture window and watched a shadow creep across them as the sun started to set.
It was pointless.
"You're not getting anywhere, are you?"
Cameron turned at the sound of the voice behind him.
A young man with sky-gray eyes, a Caterpillar baseball hat and a thick black goatee sat in a corner of the library, worn cowboy boots propped up on a chair in front of him. A decades old copy of Life magazine rested on his chest. Jimi Hendrix was on the cover.
"No one is tossing out straight answers, are they?"
"About?" Cameron raised his eyebrows.
"Don't insult me." The man laughed. "News travels in a small town even faster than Twitter."
Cameron rubbed his chin and studied the man. His eyes were mischievous. "You really want to find out about this Book of Days nonsense?"
Cameron frowned. "Book of Days?"
"Yeah, that's the official title. What have you been calling it?"
How much should he tell Cowboy Bob? At least enough to keep him talking. "My dad said 'book of all the days.'"
The man set his boots on the ground and sat up. "Your dad?"
"That's what he called it."
"Close enough. Some people call it the 'Book of Memories.'"
He leaned in. Finally someone who didn't talk in circles. "Book of Memories?"
"Sure, supposedly it's the book where everyone's life is recorded. All their memories."
His dad's memories. Jessie's. His own.
"I need to find that book." Cameron looked directly at the man. "I have to find that book."
"Take a number."
"What do you mean?"
The man took off his hat and leaned forward. "I've wondered about the legend myself for years."
"Can you tell me the legend?"
"I just did." The man flicked his hat. "It's Native American. At least that's where they say it started. But some people in town get pretty private about it. The New Agers mostly. I don't know why. It's not that big a deal. The few outsiders who dig around and figure out what it is, come to the conclusion it's a joke and they wander off."
"So where do I go from here?"
"Talk to Jason. He's the expert on the Book of Days." The man closed his Life magazine and tossed it onto the end table next to his chair.
"Where do I find . . . ?"
"Jason Judah. Three Peaks' most prominent self-appointed spiritual leader."
"Self-appointed?"
"You answer every question with a question? You some kind of Socrates fan-boy?" The man broke a toothpick in two and started cleaning his teeth. "Just a little small-town humor for you."
Or small-town strangeness. "I see."
"My name is Johnny. People around here call me Johnny."
"You should have stopped with the first joke."
"I like you, Cameron." Johnny chuckled.
"Thanks." Cameron rose to his feet. "Where can I find Jason?"
Johnny pointed out the window in front of Cameron to a building on the corner across the street.
"See that tiny door between the two windows? The white one with the dark blue trim? That's where the faithful gather."
Cameron stared at the dark blue door hoping that stepping through it would change his life forever.
The door said Future Current.
Future Current? That sounded familiar. Cameron looked at his notes. Right. It was the New Age group Ann told him about. Yes. Finally he would get answers. Cameron stepped into the room, slid a few feet along the flaxen-colored back wall, and leaned against it. Jazz-rock—Joe Satriani maybe—played just loud enough for the melodic bass line and an occasional guitar riff to be heard.
Jason Judah stood in front of a polished steel podium, looking like an aged and heavier version of the Norse god Thor with curly hair, his thick dirty blond locks hanging down just below his ears.
His sixty-plus disciples leaned forward in their chairs, taking copious notes as their leader's voice rose and fell in a gentle cadence.
Two of Jason's followers he recognized: Arnold Peasley and
He looked at his notes spread out on one of the library's tables in front of a huge picture window and watched a shadow creep across them as the sun started to set.
It was pointless.
"You're not getting anywhere, are you?"
Cameron turned at the sound of the voice behind him.
A young man with sky-gray eyes, a Caterpillar baseball hat and a thick black goatee sat in a corner of the library, worn cowboy boots propped up on a chair in front of him. A decades old copy of Life magazine rested on his chest. Jimi Hendrix was on the cover.
"No one is tossing out straight answers, are they?"
"About?" Cameron raised his eyebrows.
"Don't insult me." The man laughed. "News travels in a small town even faster than Twitter."
Cameron rubbed his chin and studied the man. His eyes were mischievous. "You really want to find out about this Book of Days nonsense?"
Cameron frowned. "Book of Days?"
"Yeah, that's the official title. What have you been calling it?"
How much should he tell Cowboy Bob? At least enough to keep him talking. "My dad said 'book of all the days.'"
The man set his boots on the ground and sat up. "Your dad?"
"That's what he called it."
"Close enough. Some people call it the 'Book of Memories.'"
He leaned in. Finally someone who didn't talk in circles. "Book of Memories?"
"Sure, supposedly it's the book where everyone's life is recorded. All their memories."
His dad's memories. Jessie's. His own.
"I need to find that book." Cameron looked directly at the man. "I have to find that book."
"Take a number."
"What do you mean?"
The man took off his hat and leaned forward. "I've wondered about the legend myself for years."
"Can you tell me the legend?"
"I just did." The man flicked his hat. "It's Native American. At least that's where they say it started. But some people in town get pretty private about it. The New Agers mostly. I don't know why. It's not that big a deal. The few outsiders who dig around and figure out what it is, come to the conclusion it's a joke and they wander off."
"So where do I go from here?"
"Talk to Jason. He's the expert on the Book of Days." The man closed his Life magazine and tossed it onto the end table next to his chair.
"Where do I find . . . ?"
"Jason Judah. Three Peaks' most prominent self-appointed spiritual leader."
"Self-appointed?"
"You answer every question with a question? You some kind of Socrates fan-boy?" The man broke a toothpick in two and started cleaning his teeth. "Just a little small-town humor for you."
Or small-town strangeness. "I see."
"My name is Johnny. People around here call me Johnny."
"You should have stopped with the first joke."
"I like you, Cameron." Johnny chuckled.
"Thanks." Cameron rose to his feet. "Where can I find Jason?"
Johnny pointed out the window in front of Cameron to a building on the corner across the street.
"See that tiny door between the two windows? The white one with the dark blue trim? That's where the faithful gather."
Cameron stared at the dark blue door hoping that stepping through it would change his life forever.
The door said Future Current.
Future Current? That sounded familiar. Cameron looked at his notes. Right. It was the New Age group Ann told him about. Yes. Finally he would get answers. Cameron stepped into the room, slid a few feet along the flaxen-colored back wall, and leaned against it. Jazz-rock—Joe Satriani maybe—played just loud enough for the melodic bass line and an occasional guitar riff to be heard.
Jason Judah stood in front of a polished steel podium, looking like an aged and heavier version of the Norse god Thor with curly hair, his thick dirty blond locks hanging down just below his ears.
His sixty-plus disciples leaned forward in their chairs, taking copious notes as their leader's voice rose and fell in a gentle cadence.
Two of Jason's followers he recognized: Arnold Peasley and
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