The Soul Reader

"Didn't you hear a word I said, Carrie?" Ward asked. "This is dangerous."
"You know me, Ward. Have you ever seen me back off a story because it was too controversial--or dangerous?"
"No," he admitted. "I haven't."
"And I never thought I'd see a day when you'd back down either."
Ward shook his head. She must be desperate, he thought, to try to shame him into cooperating with her.
"Things are different now...I'm different," he said.
"I can see that."
Ward shifted his weight and leaned more heavily on his cane--as if it would give him support for what he was about to confess.
"My priorities have shifted. The things that used to be so important to me just aren't that important anymore."
"How about the people who used to be important to you?" she asked.
Ward paused and looked down while he considered his answer.
"That's just it," he said when he looked back up. "They're more important than ever. I used to love things and use people. I think I'm finally learning to love people and use things."
Carrie searched his eyes for a different, and hidden, answer. When Ward didn't look away, she accepted it at face value.
"If that's true, it's a nice change. I like it."
"So," Ward said, "since you know I care about people so much, why don't you leave this thing alone? I'd hate to see anything happen to you."
For an instant, he thought he saw her resolve melting away...for an instant. Then it was immediately replaced by that irritatingly rock-hard determination of hers.
"Look, Ward, I appreciate the concern; but I really didn't drive all the way across town to get talked out of this. I just wanted to give you an opportunity to join me on it...if you wanted to. The fact is: I already have a contract from Manor House. I'm committed. If you'd like to collaborate--great! If not, then that's O.K. too. I just thought it might help you get back in the game again--writing--only a book this time instead of political columns."
"So," he said. "You've made up your mind to go it alone."
"Yes, if I have to. Only it would be better--and more fun--if we did it together."
Ward searched her face for the bluff he hoped was there. Not finding it, he made one last attempt to wean a concession from her.
"Promise me one thing," he said.
"What's that?"
"That you'll at least think about the risks involved before you jump into this."
He watched as that familiar lop-sided smirk crossed her face.
"O.K.," she conceded. "On one condition."
"What?"
"That you'll at least reconsider before turning it down."
Ward pondered it for all of a split second.
"I guess that's fair."
"Good. You still got my number...at the house on Riverside?"
Ward nodded.
"Good," she said again. "Call me if you change your mind. I'll do the same."
"O.K.," he mumbled.
Ward walked her to the door. Before she left, Carrie stood on her toes and gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek--not at all the kind of kiss they used to share. It took all his will to keep from returning it more seriously.
"It was good seeing you again," she said.
"You, too."
With that, she turned and left. Ward's chest felt as hollow as an empty oil drum. Carrie was walking out of his life...again...and he was letting her do it.
After he closed the door behind her, Ward retreated to the dining room, sat on the chair, and ran his hands through his hair. Seeing her again--even after all these months--dredged up long-forgotten feelings from the depths of his soul. Their intensity surprised him. He'd almost convinced himself that he had gotten over her; but now he knew--that was just his head lying to his heart.
Carrie was as beautiful as ever; but Ward saw more than just her physical beauthy. He had caught a glimpse of her inner beauty as well. Despite the image of a hard newswoman she tried to project, Ward saw a softness that was not there before, an empathetic warmth emanating from her.
On the one hand, he knew he couldn't work in close company with Carrie. He was too vulnerable to her right now. It just wouldn't be right. How could he--in good conscience--place himself, and maybe her, in danger of falling in love again? How could he even consider inititiating a relationship with Carrie--or with anyone for that matter--knowing what he did about himself. It wouldn't be fair to her. In that regard, the best thing to do would be to let her go.
On the other hand, he still cared about her--about what happened to her. And if Carrie was determined the pursue the North Beach story on her own, she'd be putting her life in danger. Ward knew there was more to the story than what had come out so far; but the very idea of digging up the past repelled him. Every time he thought about what had happened--about his father's murder--he felt himself being pulled back into the black hole of anger and hatred. He dared not approach the edge of that vortex for fear of getting sucked back in and never escaping. Every fiber of common sense in him screamed to let it be, leave it alone...lest he be consumed by the evil that pervaded the North Beach project.
Frustrated, Ward reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the compact mirror his father had given him. He flicked it open with his thumb, held it up to his face, and squinted. It was the first time he had looked in the mirror in days. He frowned at what he saw. His outward appearance could not have been that pleasing to Carrie--not with the mussed hair and three-day-old beard. But it wasn't his outward appearance that concerned him most. It was what he saw underneath it...rippling just under the skin like a thing growing, eager to break out. And his eyes! He saw it in his eyes, too. The light was still there, thank God; but along with it was a shadow--a familiar darkening that filtered the light like storm clouds obscure the sun. Not totally dark--as on a moonless night--at least not yet. But moving in that direction. And he knew what it all meant: he was regressing--slippping back into anger and fear. He knew if he let it go too far, allowed the anger and fear to grow into hatred and revenge, the light in his eyes would go out--leaving only black, lifeless sockets. Ward couldn't let that happen. Not again. He couldn't go back to what he once was--an empty shell of a man with no life, no light in him.
But....to do nothing? It meant leaving Carrie to fend for herself. And he knew--no matter how tough she thought she was--she wouldn't be able to navigate the dark labyrinths of the North Beach scandal by herself. Sooner or later, without help, she'd fall victim to the evil too. At least, he reasoned, he might see it coming. The "gift" he and his father had shared was at once a curse and a blessing: a curse because it colored his relationships with others forever--especially with those he loved most. A blessing because it allowed him to see the evil coiled in the jumbled foliage of life--and maybe take action before it had a chance to strike.
"Aw, nuts!" he exclaimed in disgust as he snapped the mirror shut and thrust it back into his shirt pocket. He didn't know what to do--and he knew he couldn't figure it out all by himself.
Ward placed his hands on his knees and bowed his head.
"Lord," he prayed, "You know I've screwed up plenty in the past--and hurt a lot of innocent people doing it. But I'm in a bind here, and I don't know what to do. I need Your help. Please, give me the Wisdom to do the right thing," he petitioned--and then added as an afterthought--"and not hurt anyone in the process."