Last Days (Last Days Trilogy #1) (12 page)

“John.” He spoke the name aloud and moved to the table. He turned back and picked up the object almost reverentially. The Bible. Marcus flipped to the back page.

A whistle? Did I hear a whistle? Reggie wondered. She stirred from her slumber on the couch and jerked up, brushing her hair from her face and cursing. The whistle was coming from the teapot.

She stood up and glanced toward the kitchen where she saw steam fogging the window. “Marcus?” She uttered his name tentatively, walking around the couch.

Elbows on knees, Marcus was studying his tee shirt, clenched in his hands. “Reg,” he replied in a whisper, lifting his head.

Reggie said nothing, only ran her hand down his face as she passed him. “I’ll get your tea. Do you still want it?”

“Yes,” Marcus answered.

In the kitchen, Reggie silenced the annoying pot, grabbed a cup from the cupboard and a tea bag from the canister. She had never seen him in this state before. She walked over to him, reached out momentarily, and then slowly pulled back her hand.

Marcus lifted his shirt over the wound. “Healed,” he said.

Reggie examined the shirt, torn and bloody. Then his shoulder. “Oh my God.”

Marcus sighed and buried his face in his hands. “What have I done? What have I created?”

Reggie touched her fingers to his hands. “What do you mean?”

Marcus cupped his face with his hands and stood up, expelling a protracted breath. He gripped Reggie’s arms for support, and stared straight ahead. Reggie knew he wanted to say something, but couldn’t, that maybe what he wanted to say made no sense to him. Instinctively, he reached around her and pulled her to him.

His spread hands pressed hard. She held on. He pressed his face to hers, then slid down and buried his lips in the nape of her neck. Parted lips. Almost a bite. Resting there. Seeking.

Marcus moved away an inch, then slid his hands up and gripped the collar of her loose shirt. Ever so slowly, as if testing her, Marcus slipped her shirt up onto her shoulders. Then bare chest to bare chest he clung to her, gasping.

It was an exquisite closeness, one she’d never felt before. In that deep intimate embrace she felt both his need and his pain.

She cradled his head like a child’s. “Marcus, what’s wrong?”

Marcus pulled his head back and met her eyes. He caressed her face, and then stepped away, letting Reggie’s shirt drop back down.

Marcus moved back to the table and sat down. Reggie straightened her shirt and knelt down next to him.

Marcus lifted the Bible. “Why did I tell you I was reading this earlier?”

“To find answers,” Reggie replied, crouching by his legs.

“You said, Reg, sometimes there are no answers. Correct?”

“That’s what I told you.”

“Growing up I was always...” Marcus closed his eyes, and sighed “...embarrassed by my mother’s belief that the Bible held all the answers. I thought she lacked education. Never once did I think she was wise.”

“You found your answer,” Reggie said.

“Maybe not an answer. But perhaps a confirmation of something I didn’t want to face. All that happened with the awakening. For the first time, I was utterly confused. Tom dying and then coming back. Devante speaking like Jesus. Knowing all that he did about us. Looking like a seven-foot version of what I grew up worshiping.” Marcus swallowed. “But I had to know. Was he or not? And when I spoke to John, I realized. John could tell me the truth. John.”

Reggie eyed the Bible. “The Book of John? Is that where you found your answer?”

“No.” Marcus shook his head and opened the Bible. “Only seconds before Rose jumped, she was rambling on about the end of the world. The end.” Marcus paused and looked squarely at Reggie. “Revelation. Who wrote the book of Revelation, Reg?”

She stared at Marcus as he sought out a page, then answered, “John?”

“John knew,” Marcus went on. “Jesus promised he would return. The kingdom of heaven on earth. The New Jerusalem. All in the book of Revelation. Chapter twenty, verses seven and eight.” He pointed.

Reggie stood up and leaned over Marcus as he flipped to the back of the Bible. She read the passages Marcus was indicating. “This still doesn’t...”

“‘He will set out to deceive the nations of all four corners of the earth.’” Marcus took the Bible back and closed it. His voice was weak and monotone. “The end begins not when Christ comes to us, because Christ doesn’t come first.” Marcus raised his eyes. “The Antichrist does.”

“Impossible,” Reverend Bailey said into his cell phone. “Sounds preposterous.” He reached to the fold-down table in his limousine and stirred his coffee. “Yes, I’m on my way as we speak. I should be there in...” He looked at his watch. “...fifteen minutes. So in a few hours we’ll find out. And if you’re both right, then we’ll have more than we bargained for. Thank you.” Rev. Bailey hung up and stared at the phone. He sipped at his coffee, tasting fear. Fear of the truth. Rev. Bailey didn’t consider himself easily frightened, but he was honest enough to admit it. The unknown, the long-awaited. Ironic, he thought, that he was close to confronting that which he’d spent his life preaching about.

Reggie spent a silent, difficult night at Marcus’ side comforting him through his descent into despondence. Thank God he seemed better this morning as he left for the lab, she thought. Sleep had cleared his mind.

She understood his motives and his depression. With this new day, Reggie vowed to continue doing what she did so well with her friend; taking his mind off things, making him feel better. Last night, that had been impossible. Not so today. Now what he needed was a cup of coffee. She balanced a mug in her hand, moving stiffly down the halls, eyes glued to the steaming cup. Light and sweet, the way Marcus liked it.

The guard told her Marcus was in the observatory lab, an extra mile of walking. She winced.

There was no guard outside the wide-open observatory door. It was usually locked. She looked in the window and saw Marcus sitting at his desk, his face inches from the glass wall. He was tapping a pencil over and over on a sheet of paper. She shrugged and walked in.

“Morning.”

Marcus turned in his chair. “Reg,” he smiled. “I thought you were going back to sleep.”

“Nah.” She stepped in. “I got up and showered, ate some corn flakes and...” she lifted the mug “...made you coffee.”

“You brought it all the way from the apartment? I have a maker in my office.”

“You better drink it anyway,” she chided. “So, how’s it going with the data collection?”

“Good.” Marcus sipped the coffee. “Reg, this is cold.”

“I brought it all the way from the apartment, what did you expect?”

Marcus took another sip anyway.

“You better this morning, Marcus?” Reggie walked to the counter adjacent to the desk and hopped up. “You seem to be.”

Marcus nodded and set the mug down.

“Mind clearer?”

“Very.”

“Still think Devante is the Antichrist?”

“Reg.” Marcus raised his eyes.

Reggie held up her hand. “Just checking.”

“You don’t?”

“I don’t think about it. He’s a clone.” Reggie swung her legs slightly. “Question, okay? Now don’t get mad.” She paused. “Weren’t you searching for doomsday answers last night?”

“Why would you say that?” Marcus asked.

“Because when bad things happen, we tend to think in worst-case scenarios. Always,” Reggie said. “When Daniel died in the wreck, I wouldn’t drive for months. And wouldn’t take Route 76 for a year. To this day I won’t ride in a black truck. I blamed all those things for killing Daniel. But I never blamed his intoxication.”

“So, by your logic, the shock of Rose’s suicide… is causing me to search for irrelevant answers... instead of the truth?”

“Yes.”

“No.” Marcus shook his head and grabbed his coffee. “Devante is the Antichrist.”

Reggie nodded. “Okay… thought I’d try.”

Marcus turned his chair squarely in front of her and touched her knee.

“Marcus, I’m worried about you.” Reggie leaned down. “It isn’t like you to be so unscientific. The answers that you’re searching for...”

“Reg, I know what I’m doing.”

“Okay. Just don’t go overboard. I almost miss your boring, observant, logical mind.”

“Don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Reggie smiled. “Hey, you hungry? Feel like brunch?”

“Sure. I can take a break.” Marcus stood up slowly.

Reggie slid from the counter. “I’d like to spend some time with you.”

“I’d like that, too.” He grabbed her hand and walked her to the door.

“You should tell your team where you’ll be.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t a clue where Tom and John are.”

“You did speak to Tom today, right?”

“This morning. Why?” Marcus walked out with Reggie.

“Just curious. I mean what if the ‘back to life’ thing was a fluke and he’s dead now?”

Marcus froze, eyes widening. Then he turned and sped back to the office.

“Marcus,” Reggie called. “What are you doing?”

He was writing furiously. “I’m just...”

“Marcus, you promised. Logical. Observant.”

Marcus stopped and nodded. “You’re right.” He set down the pencil and rejoined her in the hall.

“Maybe Devante could have revived Rose,” Reggie mused. “That’d gotten the police off your case.” They were passing Devante’s room. Reggie slowed down and took Marcus’ arm. “How about him? Have you seen him?”

“I checked on him through the porthole.”

They walked a few paces beyond when a familiar voice beckoned.

“Regina,” came the baritone voice. “Regina.”

Reggie stopped.

“Keep moving.” Marcus took hold of her arm.

“Regina, I must speak to you.” The voice was hypnotic and soothing.

Mesmerized, Reggie slowly turned around. Eyes fixed on the door, she whispered, “Devante,” and drifted back toward the room. “Devante.”

Marcus jumped in front of her. “Reg.”

Reggie laughed. “Tricked you.”

“Don’t.” Marcus grabbed his chest. “Don’t do that.”

“Let’s go see the clone.”

“Let’s not. I told you who I believe he is.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Reggie smiled. “The Antichrist. That makes it interesting.” She sidestepped Marcus and went to the door. Marcus followed.

Reggie found a pair of compelling eyes peering through the small window.

“Regina.”

“Hey, Devante, how’s it going?”

Devante moved his head back and smiled. “I am drawn to you. Above all women,” he said glibly. “You enchant me.”

“That’s not saying much considering you were born yesterday,” Reggie smirked. “I have to go. Have a nice day.” She turned her back on Devante and took Marcus’s arm.

“Think about it,” Devante called out, smoothly, gently. “Think about the new closeness you two are experiencing. You might be hurt. Marcus has the habit of mistaking love for the absence of loneliness. Whoever’s available will satisfy, but only temporarily.” He paused. “But then again, perhaps it will turn out genuine, as real as what Marcus felt for the third Mrs. Leon. The woman he trusted and cared for above all others.”

Reggie stopped and turned back. “Jenny?” she asked, incredulous, then smirked. “Seems you don’t know everything. Marcus hated Jenny. Let’s go.” Reggie grabbed Marcus’ hand.

Suddenly Tom appeared from the opposite end of the hall, heading for them. “Dr. Leon.”

“What is it, Tom?”

“Phone call,” Tom said. “Says she’s your wife. Jenny. Returning your call from this morning.”

Marcus quickly looked at Reggie.

Reggie let go of his hand. “You go on, take your call.”

“But, Reg...”

“No.” Reggie shook her head. “I understand. Go on.” She faked a smile and stepped back. “I’m kind of tired. You work.” She kept moving. “I’m going back to sleep. Later.”

Gone. Just like that, gone. Marcus shrugged and spun around eyeball to eyeball with Tom. Startled, Marcus examined his assistant. Something was not right.

“Dr. Leon, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Tom said.

“No, problem. I’ve been waiting on that call.” Marcus sidestepped Tom and slowed. “You look a little pale. How are you feeling?”

Tom chuckled. “Great. I’m alive, right?”

Chuckling nervously, Marcus took a step, then recalled Reggie’s words; “What if that ‘back to life’ thing expired?”

“Uh, Tom, how about dropping by my lab when you have time so I can do some tests?”

Tom shrugged. “Sure.”

“Thanks.”

Marcus went to make the call. As he passed Devante’s room, he looked in. Devante was smiling. He flipped him off, and picked up his pace, regretting that Reggie had gotten the wrong idea about Jenny. He had to talk with his third wife, that’s all. Jenny held the key – literally – to any plans Marcus had for the future. The key to his safety deposit box in Spain.