Stones (Data) by Jacob Whaler Page B

stylish to not believe in anything. But if you have to believe in something, the best choice is Shinto, an ancient tradition from Japan now fashionably repackaged as the newest green religion. Or Buddhism. And, conveniently, neither of them has much in the way of commandments.
    What are you reading, and what do you say to God?
    Matt isn’t a believer, but he needs to hear her talk about it right now.
    Funny you should ask. I’m in the Book of John. “I am the resurrection and the life; he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live.”
    Matt lets his mind wander.
    I wish I could know it’s true. Like you. I wish I could know that Mom’s still out there, that I’ll see her again.
    His eyelids drop down, and he tries to see his mother, to remember her voice, to be ten years old again and feel her gently rubbing his back as he drifts off to sleep. Or six years old, standing on the beach, hand in hand, listening to the surf.
    Matt, you can believe. Just don’t fight it.
    A tide of relaxation rises up and folds around him as he listens to Jessica’s voice-sim. He plays it over and over. Just before surrendering to the pull of sleep, his hand mutters out a last message.
    I do believe, Jess. I believe in you.
    Then the dreams begin.
    He looks down at his hand and sees a faint green light growing within the Stone.
    He is standing at the edge of a pool at the base of a waterfall, lush jungle on every side, safe and comfortable. A soft wall of branches, leaves and flowers protects this little sanctuary from the rest of the world. Kneeling down, he touches his lips to the water and draws in the sweet wetness. Without hesitation, he dives in and swims across to the other side, pulling himself out and lying on warm sand under a brilliant sun. Palm leaves, bamboo and ferns fill the space around him with deep pastel colors.
    When he looks up, there’s a dirt path leading into the jungle. It seems to pull him to a standing position, and he follows it. Now and then he catches a glimpse of the sun cutting through the canopy overhead. Soft leaves brush his face and arms. The moist air is heavy with the sweet aroma of hanging flowers. Limes, oranges and mangoes dot the trees. Birds call from high up in the branches.
    After walking for hours, Matt feels Jessica at his side. He takes her hand. They walk together.
    As they move deeper into the jungle, it starts to grow dark. Snakes hang from branches. Their dry reptilian scales brush across his skin. Shadows move behind the trees. Matt hears the sound of running feet and labored breathing.
    It’s coming closer, chasing him and Jessica.
    With his heart beating like a piston in his chest, he breaks into a run and pulls Jessica with him. When he looks down, the path has turned into thorns and thistles. They plunge deeper and deeper into the bush, jumping over fallen trees, breaking through vines. The oppressive stench of burnt sulfur hangs in the air. The caustic smell stings his nostrils and sticks in his mouth.
    Jessica’s fingers slip from his grasp. He turns around. She’s rolling on the ground with a vine wrapped around her ankle and crying for him to come back. His chest seizes with fear. Dark shapes overtake her. He does nothing, and they pull her back into the darkness of the jungle out of sight. In horror, he turns away and runs blindly through the dense undergrowth. Her shrieks fill him with terror and remorse.
    The ground under his bare feet is crawling with insects and spiders. Snakes dangle from the trees and brush against his face. The sulfuric stench makes it hard to breathe. The ground is cold, wet and soft. He stumbles into deep mud and sinks rapidly past his knees. He can hear the heavy breathing come closer. In the darkness, bulging eyes gather around him. The mud sucks him still deeper. The shapes bare their teeth and hiss. He knows what they’re doing. They’re waiting for his face to disappear into the black viscous mass. It reaches his chest, and