Nicholas Sparks - True Believer

True Believer

NICHOLAS SPARKS

For Rhett and Valerie Little, wonderful people, wonderful friends

Acknowledgments

As always, I have to thank my wife, Cathy, for her support while writing this novel. All that Im able to do is because of her.

I also have to thank my children as well: Miles, Ryan, Landon, Lexie, and Savannah. What can I say? I was blessed the moment that each of you came into my life and Im proud of you all.

Theresa Park, my agent, deserves a long round of applause for all that she does for me. Congrats on your new agencyPark Literary Group (for all you aspiring writers out there). Im honored to call you my friend.

Jamie Raab, my editor, deserves my thanks, not only for the way she edits my novels, but for all the trust she places in me. I dont know where my career would have ended up without you, and Im thankful for your generosity and kindness.

Larry Kirshbaum and Maureen Egen are friends and colleagues, and its been my privilege to work with them. They are simply the best at what they do.

Denise DiNovi also deserves my thanks, not only for the lms shes made from my novels, but for those well-timed phone calls, which always brighten my day.

Thanks also to Howie Sanders and Dave Park, my agents at UTA, as well as Richard Green at CAA.

Lynn Harris and Mark Johnson, who helped to make The Notebook into the wonderful lm that it was, also deserve my gratitude. Thanks for never losing your belief in the novel.

Special thanks to Francis Greenburger as well. He knows why and I owe him one.

And nally, thanks to those people who work so hard behind the scenes and have become like family to me over the years: Emi Battaglia, Edna Farley, and Jennifer Romanello in the publicity department; Flag, who did another fantastic job with the cover; Scott Schwimer, my attorney; Harvey-Jane Kowal, Shannon OKeefe, Julie Barer, and Peter McGuigan. Im fortunate to work with such wonderful people.

True Believer

One

....E ....

Jeremy Marsh sat with the rest of the live studio audience, feeling unusually conspicuous. He was one of only half a dozen men in attendance on that mid-December afternoon. Hed dressed in black, of course, and with his dark wavy hair, light blue eyes, and fashionable stubble, he looked every bit the New Yorker that he was. While studying the guest onstage, he managed to surreptitiously watch the attractive blonde three rows up. His profession often demanded effective multitasking. He was an investigative journalist in pursuit of a story, and the blonde was just another member of the audience; still, the professional observer in him couldnt help noticing how attractive she looked in her halter top and jeans. Journalistically speaking, that is.

Clearing his mind, he tried to focus his attention on the guest again. This guy was beyond ridiculous. In the glare of television lights, Jeremy thought the spirit guide looked constipated as he claimed to hear voices from beyond the grave. He had assumed a false intimacy, acting as if he were everyones brother or best friend, and it seemed that the vast majority of the awestruck audienceincluding the attractive blonde and the woman the guest was addressingconsidered him a gift from heaven itself. Which made sense, Jeremy thought, since that was always where the lost loved ones ended up. Spirits from beyond the grave were always surrounded by bright angelic light and enveloped in an aura of peace and tranquillity. Never once had Jeremy heard of a spirit guide channeling from the other, hotter place. A lost loved one never mentioned that he was being roasted on a spit or boiled in a cauldron of motor oil, for instance. But Jeremy knew he was being cynical. And besides, he had to admit, it was a pretty good show. Timothy Clausen was goodfar better than most of the quacks Jeremy had written about over the years.

I know its hard, Clausen said into the microphone, but Frank is telling you that its time to let him go now.

The woman he was addressing with oh-so-much empathy looked as if she was about to faint. Fiftyish, she wore a green-striped blouse, her curly red hair sprouting and spiraling in every direction. Her hands were clasped so tightly at chest level that her ngers were white from the pressure.

Clausen paused and brought his hand to his forehead, drawing once more on the world beyond, as he put it. In the silence, the crowd collectively leaned forward in their seats. Everyone knew what was coming next; this was the third audience member Clausen had chosen today. Not surprisingly, Clausen was the only featured guest on the popular talk show.

Do you remember the letter he sent you? Clausen asked. Before he died?

The woman gasped. The crewman beside her held the microphone even closer so that everyone watching on television would be able to hear her clearly.

Yes, but how could you know about? she stammered.

Clausen didnt let her nish. Do you remember what it said? he asked.

Yes, the woman croaked.

Clausen nodded, as if hed read the letter himself. It was about forgiveness, wasnt it?

On the couch, the hostess of the show, the most popular afternoon talk show in America, swiveled her gaze from Clausen to the woman and back again. She looked both amazed and satised. Spirit guides were always good for ratings.

As the woman in the audience nodded, Jeremy noticed mascara beginning to stream down her cheeks. The cameras zoomed in to show it more clearly. Daytime television at its dramatic best.

But how could you... ? the woman repeated.

He was talking about your sister, too, Clausen murmured. Not just himself.

The woman stared at Clausen transxed.

Your sister Ellen, Clausen added, and with that revelation, the woman nally let loose a raspy cry. Tears burst forth like an automated sprinkler. Clausentan and trim in his black suit with nary a hair out of placecontinued to nod like one of those bobbing dogs you stick on your dashboard. The audience gazed at the woman in utter silence.

Frank left something else for you, didnt he? Something from your past.

In spite of the hot studio lights, the woman actually seemed to pale. In the corner of the set, beyond the general viewing area, Jeremy saw the producer rotating an upraised finger in a helicopter pattern. It was getting close to the commercial break. Clausen glanced almost imperceptibly in that direction. No one but Jeremy seemed to notice, and he often wondered why viewers never questioned how channeling from the spirit world could be timed so perfectly to t with commercial breaks.

Clausen went on. That no one else could know about. A key of some sort, is that right?

The sobs continued as the woman nodded.

You never thought hed save it, did you?

Okay, heres the clincher, Jeremy thought. Another true believer on the way.

Its from the hotel where you stayed on your honeymoon. He put it there so that when you found it, you would remember the happy times you spent together. He doesnt want you to remem

ber him with pain, because he loves you.

Ooohhhhhhh... , the woman cried.

Or something like that. A moan perhaps. From where he was sitting Jeremy couldnt be certain, because the cry was interrupted by sudden, enthusiastic applause. All at once, the microphone was pulled away. Cameras zoomed out. Her moment in the sun completed, the woman from the audience collapsed in her seat. On cue, the hostess stood from the couch and faced the camera.

Remember that what youre seeing is real. None of these people have ever met with Timothy Clausen. She smiled. Well be back with one more reading after this.