Illustration by Sally Foster | Forth Artist

Read Part I at ForthMagazine.com/Charlie-Thomas

Not involving himself in the mess of reporters frothing over Tony Growen upon his release from the hospital—a local miracle by any standards—Chester Goldsmith focused rather on the young man standing next to the newly awakened coma patient. Seventeen-year-old Tony stood now in front of cameras and questions, bright-eyed and freshly recovered from his head injury, while his friend Daniel Rogers was quietly ushered to the outskirts of the frenzy by a woman in large sunglasses, pulling the teenager by the hand. Chester squinted from a distance, trying to make out the face of the woman. Ah yes, he smiled. That was her indeed—Daniel’s mother, Bobbi, to whom Chester hadn’t spoken in several years, not since the release of his book on Daniel…the Wonderchild. While the ignorant local press affiliates drooled over their supposed miracle boy, Chester slipped back into his car and carefully followed Daniel and his mother away from the scene.

Chester took a moment outside the Rogers’ home, writing notes for himself before walking the small driveway to the front door. What a shame, he thought. Here they were, living in such meager circumstance in a small town in suburban Colorado, while Chester lived in a Penthouse on 5th Ave and mingled regularly with entertainment executives and politicians and famous folk—important people—and all of this due in great part to the success of his book on the Miracle Child—a success which might have been more distinctly tapped into by Daniel and his mother if only they hadn’t disappeared soon after the book’s release. Chester shook his head at the thought upon ringing the doorbell.

Opening the door casually, Bobbi Rogers quickly lost her breath. She stood wide-eyed for a moment, speechless and searching her memory for the face she vaguely recognized.

“Hello, Miss Rogers,” he smirked.

“Ch– Chester?” she said carefully. “What are you– How did you find us?”

“I’m a reporter, Miss Rogers. It’s what I do.”

Bobbi’s stomach tightened, curling at the thought of being tracked. Her breath became heavy.
“A reporter. Sure. Well, then you should know that it’s Copper now. Bobbi Copper.”

“Oh…right,” he said smiling still. “I just heard about your son’s friend Tony—his marvelous recovery—and had to make my way west to find out more. You know how much I enjoy stories on miracles, Miss Ro– Sorry, Miss Copper.”

“Yes, well–”

“No blood to the brain for seven days, and then suddenly a full recovery? No brain damage or rehabilitation or… Quite remarkable, isn’t it? Quite…impossible, huh?”

Bobbi sensed where this was going. “Well, as you can imagine, Chester, Daniel is pretty shaken up about the whole thing, Tony being his best friend and all.”

“He was there when the accident occurred, wasn’t he?” asked Chester.

“Uh…yes.”

“And present in the room when Tony first awoke, right?”

Bobbi again stared for a moment. “How did you know that?”

“I think we both know what happened in that hospital room, Ms. Copper,” he said. “I think we both know whose miracle really occurred, don’t we?”

“And I think you better go now.”

“Can I see Daniel?”

“It’s time for you to leave, Chester. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you so afraid–?!” he began, but Bobbi shut the door, forcing him to yell through the thin wood. “Your son has a gift, Miss Rogers! I have always believed it, and I know you do as well. Daniel Rogers has powers and the world should know, and he shouldn’t be forced to–”
“Leave us alone, please, Chester!” came her shaky voice through the door. “We just want to live a normal, simple life. Please!”

Chester chuckled to himself. Simple, he thought. How ridiculous. His rights to Daniel’s narrative had expired almost a decade earlier, but this story was picking up again, and this was his story. Chester already had a plan in mind. The young man needed to know for himself, needed to believe in himself, as Chester believed in him. But as long as the boy’s mother was around, she would keep Daniel from exploring his true nature. Now…how to get Daniel to the rocky Mountain Convention Center in Broomfield four days from now, without his mother? That would be the challenge.

The Venerable Doctor Hon-Yu Li was a world renowned spiritual leader—a traveling monk, spreading the message of an old-world, new-age philosophy, a teacher, a healer, and in some circles a prophet. There had been several books written by and about Ven. Li, cultivating his worldwide constituency into the millions and growing his speaking tours from outdoor gatherings to theaters to large arenas, where thousands would now pay to listen to his messages of truth and light, of peace and love and meaning. Among the many traveling spiritual gurus, Ven. Li was in fact one of the noble sages—a true believer in the virtues of inner peace and power, and in simple living, evident through his negation of surplus funds from speaking engagements or book sales, donating all excess to worthy causes and charities. He lived only on what he needed—the bare essentials. Which is why it took so many months to be convinced of an agreement in the authoring of a personal biography four years earlier by famed miracle and socio-cultural writer Chester Goldsmith. Their first meeting proved rather volatile, as the Ven. Li could sense a desperation and fierce worldly desire within the writer, energies that contradicted the monk’s general state of being. Though after a few further congregations, the Ven. Li inferred that it was not mere money which motivated Chester, but rather fame, significance, acceptance—the need to be loved. And it was through this understanding that Hon Li developed compassion for Chester and accepted the author into his life, with the hope of not only spreading his truth through the pages of another major publishing venture, but also perhaps to take on one more pupil, to help one more empty seeker of external gratification find his true self and real meaning.

The book sold marvelously. The mission to enlighten its author, however, proved fruitless. Which is why the Ven. Li still held much empathy for Chester and granted him welcome to his talk at the Broomfield Convention Center upon the author’s request. It had been at least a couple of years since he’d seen the writer, and Hon Li thought it to be quite synchronistic that Chester happened to be in Colorado at just the time his tour had taken him through the Rockies. Chester considered synchronicity as well, but from another angle. That Hon Li was about to speak in Broomfield, just three hours from Lonestar where Daniel Rogers was now living and just three days after Chester had discovered this fact was all quite miraculous. An unannounced crossing of his two former subjects could, Chester suspected, result in something very interesting. The Ven. Li was known for his ability to attract and discover clairvoyants and healers, but no one the monk had met, not even Hon Li himself, was a true healer, not like the one-of-a-kind teenage boy who Chester believed was living anonymously in Lonestar. The powers that be wanted this crossing, Chester thought, and he was a part of it somehow—the coordinator, the messenger, the facilitator—and the world must know this.

After following Daniel to school the next day and observing as the boy interacted with the other teenagers, he discovered Daniel was in fact now a very plain and regular young man. How shameful, thought the author. However, through this mild investigation, Chester noticed a unique bond between Daniel and a young lady with short brown hair and pale skin. A girlfriend, perhaps. At the very least, someone to whom Daniel was obviously attracted. And wagering on the power of teenage hormones, Chester took liberty to uncover the girl’s name and a piece of writing she’d discarded from a notebook. There’s a lot one can learn from someone’s trash, and Chester was an expert at this.

Within a day, he had mocked a letter from the girl and slipped it into Daniel’s locker:
Dear Daniel, I just realized that a great person is going to be in town and it’s someone I really believe in. I didn’t ask anyone else, but I want you to share the experience with me, if you want to. It’s tomorrow night and it’s at the Broomfield Convention Center. I know it’s sort of far, but if you REALLY want to be there…I know you’ll be there. But we can’t tell our parents and we have to meet there, inside at our seats at 7pm. I’ll leave your ticket at Will Call. And we can’t talk about it at all before we get there. I know this all sounds crazy, but I’ll explain later. Just please come. It would mean the world, Danny. You would be the true rock-God.
XX, Mona