Otherworld by Jared C. Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

ago, he had answered a Houston church’s invitation and brought his wife. Sixteen years, and it was a blur.
    He thought back to the beginning of those sixteen years. Recently licensed for ministry by his home church in Louisiana, he began his freshman year of college. From there, the only direction was up. He never looked down.
    Outside, two boys were performing death-defying stunts using skateboards and the parking barriers in the church’s front lot. They laughed and punched each other, falling down only to get back up and try some other daredevil trick. Pastor Steve Woodbridge watched as they flew. They never rose more than two feet off the ground, but they were flying. Arms out like tightrope walkers. Baggy shirts waving in the wind. All smiles and skinned knees. He watched … and wished. Then came reality.
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    Each day after his lunch with Molly ended with a restless night. His brief bouts of unconsciousness were hard-won and occupied with vague nightmares, memories of which he could not summon in the daylight. The weekend was a blur of television and beer and the dark rising tide of depression. Monday he skipped work. But Tuesday he went to school.
    Class seemed more satisfying than before, perhaps due to his library encounter with Dr. Bering, and when it was over, the professor approached.
    â€œMr. Walsh. Time today? Care to chat?”
    Dr. Bering’s office was surprisingly large and surrounded with bookshelves, achieving a pleasing symmetry with a mahogany desk at the end opposite the door, a desktop computer on a credenza behind it, and two plush wingback chairs for visitors in the center. Mike scanned the spines of the books nearest the door. He recognized many of the same authors he’d encountered in Landon’s paranormal selections and counted twelve written by Dr. Bering himself, when the professor interrupted:
    â€œPlease, make yourself comfortable.”
    Mike did, planting himself in one of the wingbacks.
    Bering sat in a rolling leather chair behind his desk and crossed his legs. Propping an elbow on the arm of the chair and leaning his chin on his fist, he said, “Well. What would you like to know?”
    â€œWell, UFOs, I guess,” Mike said.
    â€œRight, right. And did you read my article?”
    Caught. Mike responded sheepishly, “Um, well … no, I didn’t get a chance to.” A lie. He’d had plenty of time. He just hadn’t read it.
    â€œOh, well, I understand that.” Dr. Bering leaned back in his desk chair. “I guess I should begin by saying that flying saucers from outer space are one hundred percent bunk.”
    â€œSounds about right.”
    â€œRight, right. I know exactly what you’re thinking. And I’ll tell you, I’ve read every book that matters, even written a few of my own. I’ve talked to witnesses, and I’ve seen government documents and videos and photos and radar readings, both classified and public. They’re all very interesting and amusing to me, but what it all adds up to is not the popular conclusion.”
    â€œAnd that is?”
    â€œCrafts from outer space, Mr. Walsh. Little bug-eyed humanoids flying around in disks. Visitors from other planets.”
    â€œAre they all lying, then?”
    â€œNot necessarily. Not everybody. But, tell me, Mike, did it ever strike you as funny how the only people who see these things are farmers in the middle of nowhere?”
    Mike nodded. Of course it had. Every skeptical mind thought that at one time or another.
    Dr. Bering continued. “However, I do believe that some reputable folks are telling the truth.”
    â€œWhat are they seeing?”
    â€œLet’s back up a few paces. Maybe I should tell you why I don’t believe in them.” He leaned back in his chair. “Do you believe in the big bang?”
    â€œI believe in God,” Mike said, though not at all with confidence.
    â€œOkay, okay. You believe in God, and