Free White by Ted Dekker Page A

entitled The Story of History. His hands trembled. The Book had crossed over with him!
    A chill swept over his body. This Book—its story, its words—had brought him back to life. Here he stood, dressed in a torn jumpsuit, bare-footed on a concrete floor in France, holding a Book that could make history with a few strokes of the pen.
    Justin had called it dangerous and powerful. Now he knew why.
    His sole objective was immediately clear. He had to find a pen, a pencil, anything that could mark the Book, and write a new story. One that changed the outcome of the Raison Strain. And while he was at it, one that included his survival.
    Thomas paused at the unexpected thought that the Book wasn’t unlike the artifacts from Judeo-Christian history. The ark of the covenant with the power to conquer armies. The serpent in the desert with the power to heal. Say to this mountain, be thou removed and it shall be removed. Jesus Christ, AD 30. Words becoming flesh, Ronin had said.
    There were now officially four things that crossed between the realities. Knowledge, skills, blood, and this Book, these words becoming flesh.
    He could just barely see the outline of a door ten feet away. Thomas walked for the door, tested the knob, found it unlocked, and cracked it ever so slightly. The room beyond was also dark, but not black like this one. He could see a table, a couch. Another door edged by light. A fireplace . . .
    He knew this room! It was where he and Monique had met Armand Fortier! They’d brought him back to the farmhouse.
    Thomas slipped out, still gripping the Book in his right hand. He covered the room quickly, found nothing of benefit, and moved to the opposite door. Unlocked as well. He’d twisted the knob and cracked the door when the sound of echoing footsteps in the hall reached him.
    Thomas stood immobilized. Under no circumstances could he allow the Book to fall into their hands. His escape was no longer as important as the Book’s safety.
    He eased the door shut and ran on his toes for the cell. He slipped into the dark, shut the door, stepped toward the gurney, and shoved the Book under the thin mattress. Then he lay back down and pulled the sheet over his head.
    Relax. Breathe. Slow your heart.
    The door opened thirty seconds later. Light flooded the room. The footsteps walked across the floor, paused for a few seconds, then retreated. A man coughed, and Thomas knew it was Carlos. He’d come for something. Surely not to check on a dead body.
    The room went black.
    Thomas waited a full minute before rising again. He walked to the door, flipped the light on, and surveyed the room. Concrete all around. Except for the gurney and one bookshelf, the room was empty. A root cellar at one time, perhaps. They’d probably put his body here because it was cold and they wanted to preserve it for tests.
    He decided that the risk of being caught with the Book was too great. He would find something to write with and return.
    Thomas checked the adjoining room, found it clear, and stepped out. This time the hall was clear. He hurried past the same window he and Monique had climbed through just a few nights earlier. Sunlight filled the window well. He was about to mount the stairs that climbed to the next floor when a door across the hall caught his attention. A reinforced steel door, out of place in this ancient house.
    He stepped across the hall and opened it.
    No sound.
    He peered inside. Another long hall. Steel walls. They’d built a veritable fortress down here. This hall stretched far beyond the exterior wall and ended at yet another door.
    Now he was torn. He could either climb the stairs, which could lead to a guard station for all he knew, or he could examine the door at the end of this hall. Just as likely to find a guard there.
    Thomas eased into the hall and walked fast. Voices came to him while he was halfway down, and he paused. But they weren’t voices of alarm. He ran the last twenty