Days' End (4 page)

After all of the pain and ridicule I have suffered at the hands of Christians, it is finally time for them to reap what they sow. Having gained Valerian’s confidence early in his life, I have been able to mold him to my will and now hold great influence over his actions and thoughts. I will use his hand as an instrument of my revenge; for they are the reason I must remain forever hidden. Both my name and my past must be forever buried and forgotten.

January 6

Alastair crawled out of bed. After making his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee, with a quick pit-stop at the bathroom, he picked up the phone to call his father, but the line was busy. Sitting down on the couch, Alastair’s mind drifted back to his youth.

Alastair was born the son of a Baptist preacher. During his formative years he spent his afternoons in his father’s study helping put together sermons. Rather than memories of playing outside with his friends riding bikes and playing baseball, Alastair recalled afternoons spent studying Genesis. His father had not been overly strict with him, but Alastair knew that his father’s rules were firm and unbending.

The lack of friends early in life created difficulties in acquiring new ones as he got older, and by the time Alastair graduated high school, second in his class of 104, he had very few friends and little ability to interact with his peers. He merely went to school, came home and finished his homework, and went off to his after-school job as a busboy at a local restaurant. When he was finished there, he went home and to bed to begin yet another day of school, studies, and work.

There was one variation in the routine of his young life. Once a year, on the anniversary of the death of his mother and younger brother, he would spend the day at the cemetery grieving their loss and telling them about his life. Despite the doctor’s warnings of the danger of childbirth for his mother, after Alastair’s birth his parents had decided to leave the potential for another child in the hands of God. His mother had become pregnant again about the time Alastair turned three, but this time it hadn’t turned out as it had the first time. Mother and baby both died during childbirth.

Alastair’s first memories were of his mother’s and brother’s funerals. He’d gone to the cemetery every year since, in the beginning with his father, but later alone. He harbored a hidden resentment at his dad’s abandonment of the annual pilgrimage to the Grapeland City Cemetery. He couldn’t explain why he felt the way he did; he only knew that it seemed like his father no longer cared, that he no longer found it necessary to spend an hour or two out of the year to remember and acknowledge his love for his wife and child.

Following high school, Alastair’s father was not as successful in his quest to keep him walking on the straight and narrow. At USC, Alastair had signed up to play rugby. He wasn’t great, but he was in good shape and could hold his own. It had taken him a few games to get a decent grasp of the rules—not only had Alastair never played the game, but he’d never even seen it on television. As he hung out with the guys on the rugby team, a few of them started taking him to fraternity parties.

It wasn’t long before he pledged and was initiated into the Pi Kappa Alpha house and began making up for all those early years of little socialization. He maintained decent grades, but he partied nonstop. If there wasn’t a function at the house, he was down at the local bar getting liquored up and starting fights. And while most people tone down the drinking when they graduate, he kept going.

Alastair and his father had had a falling out due to Alastair’s alcoholism soon after he left college. At the time they had been living together in a small house out in the country. It had been tiny actually, but enough for the two of them. Although he had been plastered at the time, Alastair could clearly remember the altercation. Coming home from the bars smashed, he’d crashed his car into the garage door before stumbling in through the front door and encountering his father. Irate at having to clean up after Alastair yet again, his father had begun screaming at him to grow up.

“You’re not in college anymore, Alastair. When are you going to realize that? When are you going to stop behaving like an immature fraternity boy and start behaving like a man? I didn’t raise you to live like this.”

“You didn’t raise me at all, Carl. You were never a father to me. You never let me be a kid. Ever since Mom died, all I’ve been is someone to help do the chores and help with the sermons. Leave me alone.” Alastair had tried to stumble past his father to go throw up and pass out. His father had grabbed him and thrown him back against the front door.

“Don’t you ever speak of your mother when you’re in this condition. She would be ashamed of what you’ve become.”

“Well, Carl, she’s dead,” Alastair had replied coldly. “Thanks to you, she died twenty years ago.”

“Shut your mouth, Alastair. I’m warning you.”

“You knew she could die if she had another baby. They told you when I was born that she shouldn’t have any more children.” He had been yelling by that point. “You decided to leave it in God’s hands. Where did that lead? Straight to the cemetery. You killed her. You might not have pulled the trigger, but you loaded the gun. I’ll never forgive you.”

His father had hit him. It would be the first and only time his father ever struck him. The force of the blow had slammed his head back into the door behind him, and he’d crumpled to the floor holding his face. Blood had poured freely through his hands and down his flannel shirt. When the stars in his vision had finally cleared, Alastair had looked up at his father.

“You’ll be gone tomorrow. You are no longer welcome in this house. God forgive me for what I’ve done.” Carl had turned and walked back to his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. Alastair was already gone before his father awoke the next morning. He had left behind a torn-apart room, a demolished garage door, and a small stain of dried blood by the front door.

Years later, after Alastair got sober, they made amends to each other and tried to repair the damage that had been done that night. They were still far from being nominated for father and son of the year, but they spoke on a semi-regular basis and were getting more comfortable with each other as time healed some of the wounds opened during Alastair’s fifteen-year drinking binge.

Alastair had also had a brief career in computer hacking, mostly during his college days, but also off and on in the years that followed. He knew he was fortunate he had never been caught by the authorities. He hadn’t hacked into FBI files or anything of that nature, but he hadn’t exactly limited his computer crimes to reading his roommate’s e-mail. He’d finally managed to change his focus to protecting information and, as a result, he was in a career at a prominent software company called SecTech that he was proud of—and it was legal. What a bonus.

Alastair pulled his mind back to the present as he turned into the parking structure at his office building, parked, and headed to the elevators. After logging onto his computer, he tried his father again just to catch up.

“Hello?” Alastair heard on the other end of the line.

“Dad! How are you this morning?”

“Well, well, good morning to you Alastair. I’m doing alright. What’s new in your neck of the woods?”

Alastair gave his father a brief uncomplicated version of the offer that Nysa was pursuing.

“That sounds fantastic. Tell her congratulations from me when you see her.”

“Will do, Dad. Anything exciting on your end?” His father updated him on the “Epistle of Jude” and the beginning of “Revelations,” despite Alastair’s objections that he was at work and didn’t have time for Bible study. He’d finally had to interrupt. “Well, I’ve got to get back to work, Dad. They don’t pay me to spend my day chatting on the phone. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“All right, all right. Give that lovely fiancé of yours a kiss for me. Bye-bye.”

After getting off the phone with his father, he went downstairs for a couple of cigarettes. When he was finished, he went back upstairs to his desk to try and finish his work early so he could get home. It was Friday, after all, and he wanted to find something to do with Nysa before she left on her mystery project. He picked up the paper when he got home and flipped through it to find the movie that he wanted to see, a special re-release of Apocalypse Now. After the movie and dinner they walked across the street to Diddy Riese Cookies for the best ice cream sandwiches in town. They strolled back to the car, hand in hand, enjoying the cool night air. Alastair opened Nysa’s door for her and then walked around the car and climbed in himself. As they pulled out of the parking garage, he put his hand on her thigh.

“Are you getting nervous yet?” he asked.

Nysa shook her head. “Not about the job, I’m confident I can do my job well.”

“What are you nervous about?”

“Us,” she replied and turned to look out her window.

“What about us?” he asked, scared of what she might say. She turned back to look at him and there were tears in her eyes.

“I’m afraid you’ll find someone else while I’m gone. This job—the money—won’t mean anything if you’re not here when I get back. I don’t want to … to lose you.” The last sentence was barely a whisper.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, hon. I’ll always be here for you. Besides, even if I wanted to find someone else, who wants to date a thirty-five-year-old alcoholic computer geek? You’re one of a kind and I love you. I’ll be here no matter how long the project takes.” He gave her thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Nysa smiled. “Thanks, I love you, too.” She put her hand over his and leaned back in her seat.

When they got home they climbed into bed and held each other. There was sexual energy in the air, but Alastair felt an intense closeness just lying with her, hopeful for what was to come. He fell asleep after a short while, but rest didn’t come easy. In his dreams, they were stuck in the movie they had seen that evening and even knowing what was coming, he were helpless to change it. By morning the sheets would be scattered and dampened with sweat.

It is time to move once again, and just as I started to get settled. Gallaecia is a very beautiful land where I had been able to establish my home while at the same time retain my anonymity. However, current difficulties with the Muslims force me to relocate my property. While I carry no animosity toward their people, I don’t believe they will tolerate my presence here should they succeed in their desire to control these lands.

January 7

After showering to get the sweat off, Nysa felt almost human. She grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot Alastair had brewed and went to the study to check her e-mail. Having discarded her pajamas in the hamper prior to her shower, Nysa now wore a worn out t-shirt of Alastair’s and some boy shorts. She tiptoed into the small office to avoid disturbing Alastair, plopped herself down in the computer chair, carefully set her now-sloshing coffee on the desk, and logged on. She reached for her coffee while waiting for her e-mail to load, bumping it with the side of her hand and sloshing some of it over the side and onto the desk. “Crap,” she murmured to herself, grabbing a nearby tissue box and mopping up the mess. By the time she finished cleaning up the coffee, her e-mail was ready. Her first message contained what she both wanted and dreaded: her itinerary.

“Dr Knight,

At 9:00 AM on the thirtieth, a car will arrive to transport you on the first leg of your trip to the project facility. Please be ready to depart at the appointed time. There will be a quick reception the evening of your arrival, and the following day you will be allowed to tour the grounds and meet your colleagues. The project, as predicted, will begin at 8:00 AM on February first. I look forward to our next meeting.

Sincerely,

Gary Stevens, J.D.”

Nysa read and reread the message, sipping gently from her coffee cup as her hand was trembling with excitement. Although she still didn’t know the exact nature of her employment, the anticipation of being involved in such a secretive task was making her stomach jump and tumble like a gymnast in the Olympics. When she’d finally gone over the e-mail at least ten times, she switched off the computer and got up to begin her day.

January 9

Nysa completed her morning routine, walked to her supervisor’s office, and softly knocked on the door. From within, she could hear Dr. Judith Larson tapping away on her keyboard.

“Come in,” she called.

Nysa opened the door, stepped into the office, and gently closed the door behind her.

Dr. Larson stopped typing and looked up at Nysa. Her salt and pepper hair was held up in a tidy bun on the back of her head and she was, as always, wearing a lab coat over a stark white blouse and black pants. There was speculation in the office about whether she owned only one outfit or had an entire closet of white shirts and black pants. The aging process had been gentle on her with only the faintest of wrinkles beginning to show.

“I need to speak to you privately. Do you have a few minutes?” Nysa fidgeted with her hands

“Of course, what’s on your mind Nysa?” Dr. Larson replied as she pushed back from her overly tidy desk and turned to face Nysa.

Nysa blurted out, “I just wanted to let you know I will be resigning effective January twenty-seventh. I’ve been offered another opportunity and have accepted it. I want to let you know I’ve really enjoyed working with you and appreciate your guidance. I’ll have a formal letter for you by the end of the day.”

Dr. Larson leaned forward in her chair and folded her hands on her desk. “Well, I must say we will be sorry to see you go. You’ve contributed so much to our department. Is there any way I can convince you to stay?”

“I’m sorry, but I’ve already made my decision.” Nysa told herself not to feel guilty, but Judith had always played an important role in her education and career. They had first met when Nysa was still in school, taking a course in Integrative and Comparative Physiology. They had stayed in touch, and upon graduation Nysa had been hired by UCLA as a result of the glowing letter of recommendation written by her former professor. Now Nysa would be going out on her own, making her own way.