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Authors: Scott L Collins

Days' End

BOOK: Days' End
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Days’ End

Scott L. Collins



Outskirts Press, Inc.

Denver, Colorado

This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.

Days’ End

All Rights Reserved.

Copyright © 2009 Scott L Collins

Cover Design by Amanda Kerr.


This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Outskirts Press, Inc.

PB ISBN: 978-1-4327-3991-1

HB ISBN: 978-1-4327-4387-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2009932021

Outskirts Press and the “OP” logo are trademarks belonging to Outskirts Press, Inc.




Dedicated to my two energetic boys who fill my days with joy and love, and my gorgeous wife who told me to shut up, stop talking about it, and write the book already. Thank you all for your encouragement and support.



Thank you to Mayim Bialik for sharing your knowledge of biology. Thanks also to Becca McConnell and Robert Gardner for your assistance with DNA retrieval techniques and security system set-ups respectively. To my father, brother, sister, and good friend Margit Crane, thank you for your input in the early stages of development. Thanks also to my editor Candie Moonshower who polished my book to truly make it shine. To Amanda Kerr, thanks for the book cover design and website setup. Last, but not least, I’d like to thank Patrick Leyden, PJ, for your computer savvy. The book wouldn’t be what it is without your guidance. Cheers, and I love you all.

This was to be his last day on Earth. He stood at the Zion Gate in Jerusalem, facing south, watching the shadows stretch out before him as the sun rose in the eastern sky. The glare of the sun off the windshield of a slow-moving taxi cab caused him to squint.

His black overcoat hung open and swirled in the wind gusting through the narrow streets. His brand new black and white pinstriped suit was still stiff with starch and his gold watch glistened in the morning light. The freshly pressed black shirt and tie complemented his suit perfectly. He’d had his shoes polished this very morning and could almost see his reflection. His dark brown hair was tossed about by the wind.

His eyes drifted over the old bullet holes still scarring the ancient wall around the Zion Gate. The brown stones used to construct the wall had held up remarkably well over the years since it had first been assembled. He looked down at the Star of David built into the road leading into the tunnel. His wandering eyes finally found what they’d been searching for.

He stared intently at the building in the distance, the powerful gaze of his blue eyes focused only on that ancient monument. Ahead of him, atop Mount Zion, stood the Dormition Church and beside it, on the second floor, the Cenacle. That was the room where his seemingly timeless journey had started, and after waiting what seemed an eternity, this was where he wanted to be for the end. It wasn’t quite as he remembered it, but that had been so long ago. He found it remarkable how the landscape changed over time. Buildings he had believed would stand forever were torn down, although in this case the church had been rebuilt.

He held his sign loosely, content with the message he was trying to spread, his ego demanding the attention. People in long coats scurried around him, trying desperately to get home or to work before the storm moved in. The day had begun sunny yet brisk, but a severe thunderstorm was expected for later that morning.

The cold didn’t bother him on this day; he was at peace. Finally, everything he had been waiting for was about to unfold. He absentmindedly ran his right thumb over the scar running from behind his right ear and down across his throat and watched as the clouds he exhaled evaporated into the cold dawn air. He became lost in his memories, drawn backward to that fateful day. An eternity had passed since he had received that wound. It was his last mark of humanity. Everything since then had been a curse. He could hardly believe it was all about to finally end.

Drawn back to the here and now, he realized that not many people would make eye contact with him. Many would stare at him and then glance down at their shoes the minute he looked back. Strange that they would treat him like a vagrant on the street, rambling on to himself about the end of the world. They didn’t know. They didn’t want to know. They all wanted to think he was crazy, but he knew he was right. He had been planning for so long, saving for so long, wanting for so long. Now all of his hard work would pay off. His perseverance and enormous expense would come to fruition. Now, on this day.

He didn’t speak. His sign said it all. The end is now.

January 1, 2012-12:01 AM


“Wow,” Nysa breathed. “I never get tired of kissing you.”

“C’mon lover, let’s go outside for a smoke.”

They had been together for just over two years and although they’d had their problems, he was grateful to have her in his life. As they worked their way to the door Alastair reached into his pocket and pulled out his box of Camel Lights. God, he was grateful to have come back to California from New York. He hated having to walk outside to have his cigarette, but it was worse to have to walk out into a ten-degree blizzard. He handed one to Nysa and they walked hand in hand to the door, squeezing through the overcrowded bar and past the few booths that lined the walls. They had stopped at the House of Blues on the Sunset strip after taking in a movie. They managed to wind their way through the room without jostling anyone’s drink. Alastair opened the door for Nysa and swatted her lightly on the bottom as she walked out in front of him.

Alastair took out his lighter, making sure to light hers first. Alastair relished the feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. He held in the first drag briefly and let it out with a long sigh. He could feel the tension drain from his body, almost like it was floating away with the smoke he’d just exhaled.

They sat and smoked, watching the cars cruise up and down the street, some looking for parking, others just wanting to be seen. Scantily clad women meandered up and down the street hoping to be discovered. Men with less than good intentions followed behind, hoping to do the discovering. Horns blared, voices laughed and yelled back and forth across the busy boulevard. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Aston Martins rolled lazily back and forth, back and forth. It was enough to make Alastair sick. What good were these people? All they cared about was who knew whom, and if sleeping with someone would advance their career. Alastair pushed the thought from his mind, trying to focus on having a good time ringing in the New Year.

“Beautiful night out tonight, don’t you think?” Nysa asked Alastair.

“Lovely,” he replied. He would much rather be inside where it was warmer. He pulled out another cigarette for each of them and leaned over as he flicked his Zippo open, lit her cigarette, paused to light his own, and shoved the lighter back in his pocket. He leaned back and they continued to watch the pedestrians outside the bars crowding both sides of the street, hundreds of college students, wannabe actors and actresses and, on occasion, an actual movie star, although they didn’t have to wait in the lines that had formed outside.

“What do you say we blow this joint, go home, and get naked?” he asked her, slowly exhaling his first drag.

She immediately crushed out her freshly lit cigarette, took his hand, and pushed her way through the packed area in front of the bar, beating him to the car. He walked around to her side and opened the door for her. She gave him a quick peck on the lips and then brushed her rear seductively across his groin as she turned and sat in the car, causing him to gasp.

Nysa smiled up at him. “Let’s go.”

He walked around to the driver’s side of the BMW and climbed in beside her. After pulling out of the parking space, he made his way back to the 405 South to start the short trip to Venice and their apartment. Alastair drove quickly. He was breathing hard and trying to concentrate on the road ahead instead of on his growing desire. He was tempted to pull onto the shoulder and attack her right there on the side of the freeway. Nysa wasn’t helping. Her hand had been in his pants from the moment he had closed his door. Alastair returned the favor. A truck driver, watching them in his rear-view mirror, honked his horn and flashed his lights as they passed. Nysa was apparently too involved in her task to either notice or care, as she didn’t seem to react to the noise and lights. Luckily no Chippies were out and about.

They pulled into the driveway a short thirty minutes after leaving the bar. When they arrived, they hurried up the stairs to their front door and walked immediately to the bedroom. He slowly removed her heels, stockings, skirt, and blouse. Nysa was not as gentle or patient. Alastair lost two buttons from his polo shirt and would have to spend some time tomorrow removing his boxer briefs from the fly of his khakis.

He lay in bed afterward, having another cigarette and thinking about how far they had come in their relationship. They still had arguments and tiffs but things continued to be good in the bedroom. They had met at a Halloween party a little over two years ago at a mutual friend’s house. It had been one hell of a get-together. One of Alastair’s friends had bought a house in Studio City shortly after college. He and his roommates had spent days prepping the house for the party. The lawn out front was adorned with tombstones, fake spider webs hung from the ceilings and doorways, coffins and bodies lay on the tables, and black-lights filled the house. The music was loud and the temperature warm from the body heat of those packed into the rooms.

Alastair had been sitting on a sofa in a relatively quiet room chatting with a friend from work. He’d been dressed as a Scotsman, complete with kilt and bagpipes, which were sitting on the couch next to him. Alastair wasn’t sure if Nysa hadn’t noticed them or just thought them to be a pillow, but she sat down right on them. She’d leapt into the air like she’d just been probed with a hot poker and sprayed her drink on all those within a three-foot radius. Everybody in the room turned to look at her.

Alastair had also turned and was instantly hooked. Her long blonde hair spilled down her back like a golden waterfall and her beautiful brown eyes were captivating. Nysa had been dressed as an angel that night and, in Alastair’s opinion, fit the role perfectly. Although he discovered later that her blonde hair was naturally straight, she’d curled it that evening. The golden locks pouring over her shoulders and onto her white robe, the way the delicate wings complemented her perfect skin, the rope tied around her waist to give him a hint of her figure—every detail had combined perfectly into the gorgeous being standing before him.

BOOK: Days' End
10.1Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

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