Last Days (Last Days Trilogy #1) (2 page)

That was all Marcus needed to hear, her words of support, no matter the endeavor. It didn’t solve everything, but it would be enough to get him through the day. Smiling, he edged the conversation in another direction. Serious stuff out of the way, it was time for him to listen to Reggie and her stories.

Reggie could have looked younger had she just made the effort. Not that she was unkempt. Quite the contrary, she was always neat and clean, just plain. Her make-up was so ‘on occasion’ that it looked as though she wore none at all. She was average, not too thin, her hair straight and unremarkable. Just like the rest of her.

She didn’t go back to sleep after Marcus called; she saw no reason to. Her breakfast shift at Charley’s Diner started at six in the morning. After pulling her hair up in a ponytail and pinning it into a sloppy bun, Reggie checked the time on her alarm clock, shook her head at her father’s tardiness, and walked across the hall to her son’s room.

Seth was still sleeping.
He sleeps like me
, Reggie thought, as she peeked through the cracked door. Just like a corpse.

He slept on his stomach, with his head turned to the left. Reggie brushed her hand over his face. He was eleven, but still a small child. His hair was darker than his mother’s, but his eyes were a dead ringer for hers. Seth was her slightly-masculine mirror image. Everybody said so. Except Reggie. She swore he looked like his daddy. Probably because she needed him to.
That
pain had never left her.

Reggie kissed him, said goodbye and walked to the living room just as her father opened the door.

Kyle Stevens was young-looking for a grandfather, with dark hair graying at the temples. Not a tall man, but he presented a strong appearance. A country man born and bred. Kyle owned and ran the best auto shop in the tri-town area. Of course, in the string of three small towns, it was one of only a few.

He tossed his keys on the coffee table and kissed his daughter on the cheek. “You look tired.”

“I am. Marcus called a couple hours ago.”

“Why does he do that?”

“He had to talk to me about... it.”

Kyle grumbled. “I always liked Marcus. It’s a shame he’ll be dead inside a week.”

“Dad,” Reggie gasped.

“Sorry. Any coffee made?”

“Some. In the pot. But it’s old.”

“Shit. I’ll make a single cup.”

“No, don’t use my pods. I use them for a good cup in the evening.”

“Why can’t I make a pod?” Kyle asked, confused.

“There are only twelve in a box. They’re expensive.”

“Hell, Reg, the Dollar Barn sells them for a buck.”

“It’s bitter.”

“So it’s okay for me to watch your son but I can’t have a good cup of coffee?” he paused. “You know what? Never mind. I’ll sacrifice. Won’t be the first time in my life I sacrificed for you.” Kyle walked into the kitchen, talking as he went. “Seth isn’t gonna play sick again today, is he?”

“He hates school.” Reggie said, as she searched for her keys.

“I can’t drag him to the shop today.” Kyle emerged from the kitchen with a cup of coffee. “This stuff sucks.” He pointed to the cup. “You owe me.”

“Sorry.”

“No, sorry would be telling me you’re not gonna be stingy with the pod cups.”

“Fine, go make a pod.”

“I will. After I finish this. I hate to waste,” Kyle said. “Anyhow, I can’t take him to work.”

“You said that, and I have to go.”

“Reg, I’m talking to you.”

“Dad,” Reggie whined, as she approached the front door. “I have to go.”

“I know. May I finish?”

She exhaled deliberately, stood straight and looked at her father. “Finish.”

“Thank you.” He walked over to the couch and slowly sat down.

“Dad.”

“I’m settling. All right.” Kyle sipped his coffee. “This is really bad coffee.” After one more sip, he set the cup on the coffee table. “I can’t take him today. I have a new guy starting. Your age. Nice guy. Not married. Never been...”

“Bye.” Reggie opened the door.

“Reg. Seth’s getting older. He needs a man around here.”

“He has you.” Reggie paused in the doorway. “Dad? Turn on the television this morning. Watch Marcus.”

“Reg. I like the guy and all but...”

“Marcus needs our support. Now more than ever.”

“All right. Will you stop by the shop and meet the new guy, Herbie?”

“Herbie?” Reggie rolled her eyes. “Oh, my God. Goodbye.”

Kyle shrugged when he heard the door shut. He reached for his coffee, cringing all the while, not only at the prospect of drinking it, but at the thought of watching Marcus deliver news the world would rather not hear.

“Is that really what you’re wearing today?” Dr. Conrad Bennet, head of Westing followed Marcus around the main lab.

“What’s wrong with it?” Marcus stopped, and ran a hand down the burgundy print tie he wore.

“This isn’t just the Discovery Channel, Marcus. You know that, right? Half an hour after the broadcast, every news show in the world will have that story. And your life will have changed forever.”

Marcus nodded, exhaled and continued to gather his things. “This pleases you?”

“Yes. Yes, it does. Not often does our institute shine. Thanks to you, we are going to shine today.”

“I’ll remember those words when I’m burning in hell.”

Dr. Bennet chuckled. “You don’t believe that.”

“No. I don’t.” Marcus closed his briefcase and looked at Dr. Bennet. “I think I have everything. I want to go to the prep lab just to double check before we....” Marcus snapped his fingers. “Almost forgot. Be right back.” He jogged into his office and returned with a small slip of paper. “I wrote a note to leave on your desk, but I forgot to leave it so here this is for you to handle. We had a slight problem.”

Dr. Bennet reached for the paper with a baffled expression. “Why not just tell me?”

“You may want to know this,” Marcus said with a grin.

“Oh my goodness.” Dr. Bennet said. “Directly?”

“Excuse me?” Marcus asked.

“He called you
directly
?”

“Yes.” Marcus said, mildly annoyed. “And I was busy. I barely understood him. He speaks... fragile.”

“The Pope calls you and all you can say is… ‘he speaks fragile’?”

“Yes.”

Dr. Bennet shook his head. “So what is the problem you mentioned?” He waved the note.

Marcus stopped pacing and faced Dr. Bennet. “He got held up at the switchboard. They wouldn’t put him through. You need to speak to the woman down there about the way she directs these calls. He got Leslie in Botany.”

“That’s the problem? Nothing about today?”

“That was the problem, yes.”

“Why did he call, Marcus?” Dr. Bennet spoke agitated.

“Same ole. Same ole. He was making a personal plea.”

“Tell me.” Dr. Bennet’s voice softened. “Tell me you were respectful.”

“Please.” Marcus rolled his eyes. “Of course I was respectful. He appealed to my deep religious upbringing. For a minute I thought he was going to threaten to call my mother.”

Dr. Bennet laughed.

“I’m not joking.” Marcus picked up his briefcase. “And I really must go, I have a car waiting downstairs. Stop at the lab with me?”

“Sure.” Dr. Bennet shrugged and dropped the note on the lab table. Apparently, a phone call from the Pontiff meant about as much to Marcus as one from a telemarketer.

Dr. Bennet followed Marcus to the preparatory lab, then down a long corridor, through a security door and into the lab itself. Marcus showed his identification to one of the two guards.

The lab was big, its equipment lining all four walls, leaving the center of the room clear for the experiment. Only one worker had arrived – Rose, a fortyish woman who acted twenty and looked fifty. But no one ever told her that.

“Morning, Rose.” Marcus stepped further inside.

“Dr. Leon, Dr. Bennet.” she said, her British accent rising to the top. “I’ve just finished.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Marcus said. “The crew is set to arrive within the hour. You’ll handle them until I return, right?”

“Yes, sir. You’re going there now?”

Marcus nodded. “Apprehensively and nervously.”

“Good luck,” she said. “I’m sure you’re ready for it.”

“Oh, I am.” Marcus scanned the room and its contents before leaving. Just a single glance to make sure it was all real; that it was really happening. The subject and object of his work lay in the center of the lab. To the rest of the world, there was a sense of eeriness to it. Mystery. But that didn’t mean anything to Marcus. When he viewed it, he didn’t see the awesomeness or mystery of it. He saw his life’s pursuit, right there… within his grasp.

Reggie always snickered when she thought of the children’s song, ‘On Top of Spaghetti, All Covered with Cheese,’ because she always sang, “On top of the pancakes, all covered with grease.” Just another way to break the monotony of her daily life, and to remember the fun of childhood.

The thought arrived as she delivered a breakfast plate and watched a sausage link roll onto Buzz’s lap. She fondly referred to Buzz as ‘the biker patron from hell’.

“Thanks,” Buzz snapped, his long hair dangling in his face.

“You’re welcome,” said Reggie, trying to make her escape.

Buzz picked up the sausage. “Can I have another?”

“No.” Reggie moved to the next table.

“What about this one?”

“Eat it.” She pasted on a smile and looked down to the businessman seated before her. “Have you decided?”

“Yes. I’ll have...”

“Wait.” Reggie looked at her watch. “Do you have the correct time?”

“Yes,” he said, checking. “It’s nine o’clock. I’ll have the...”

“That’s what I thought.” Reggie tucked her notepad in her apron and walked away.

The man tossed up his hands. “Miss? Miss?”

Buzz leaned his big body toward the man’s table. “If I were you, I’d find another section to sit in. Unless you want to be here until noon.” He looked up at Reggie, still within earshot, who responded with cross look as she glanced over her shoulder to him.

Ignoring everyone, she slid a stool close to the television, climbed up and changed the channel. She turned up the volume before climbing down.

“Regina,” a stern voice called. It was Charley, the owner of the diner. “We have a remote for that.”

“I can never find it.”

“You have...”

“Not now.” Reggie pointed up. “Marcus.”

“I’ll be damned.” Charley shook his head. “What’s he doing on television?”

“This is the yearly science conference. He making a huge announcement on some project at his institute.” Reggie smiled like a proud mother. “Marcus came up with it, you know. It’s his baby.”

“No shit?” Charley smiled back. He knew Marcus, too, had known him since he was a boy. In a small town like Seville, seeing someone you know on television took precedence over a few irate customers. “You know, everyone should see this.”

“I don’t think that’s a good...” Reggie grimaced at Charley’s high-pitched whistle.

“Listen up!” Charley shouted. “Check it out.” He pointed to the television. “Our Marcus Leon is on the TV. A science show.”

A hush enveloped the diner, drowning out Buzz’s moaning.

Reggie fixed her eyes on the screen, where Marcus was reading off a stack of index cards. He looked uptight, almost choking in that tie. He began to verge on boring as he gave a monotone account of a hybrid tomato plant. But Reggie knew that everything was about to change.

“Dr. Marie Halcomb, our chief Botanist, will discuss that later in detail,” Marcus took a deliberate pause, set down his index cards and looked straight ahead. “But that is not why I’m here. I’m here today to make an announcement on behalf of Westing Biogenetic Institute.” Marcus stopped to clear his throat. “I’ll be plain, simple, and blunt. There’s no other way. Westing Biogenetic Institute is about to embark on what will be the most controversial scientific endeavor of our time. Today, here in London, we will extract DNA from the Shroud of Turin. Not in the hopes of finding out answers that others have already sought and claimed to have found, but to acquire the gene sequences needed to clone the person who left the impression upon the cloth. Alleged to be... Jesus of Nazareth.”

Cardinal Vincent Anomidi stood two feet from the television set, one arm draped across his waist, as his thumb and forefinger moved about his chin. He watched as Dr. Marcus Leon evaded a tidal wave of media questions.

The conference ended. Cardinal Anomidi turned to Archbishop Donald Sumpter who sat behind a modest desk.

“Well,” said Sumpter, leaning back in his chair.

Cardinal Anomidi cleared his throat, “Well. That’s that.” He slid the chair across from the Archbishop, “The inevitable has occurred. I assume you have prepared a statement?”

Archbishop Sumpter shuffled through some papers, “I’ve worked on a few. I favor this one. Tell me what you think, Vincent.” He lifted the paper and read, “The Holy Father is deeply saddened by the recent announcement by Dr. Marcus Leon regarding The Shroud of Turin. The Catholic Church was forced through the judicial system to temporarily turn over The Shroud, without the least knowledge of Westing’s intentions. The Holy Father has and will continue to urge Westing to reconsider its current plans. And hopefully, with God’s intervention, this atrocity of nature will be avoided.” He set down the statement, “What do you think?”

Cardinal Anomidi nodded. “I like that. Conveys a lot.”

“In light of everything the church is now facing: molestations, improper behavior, misappropriation of funds. This... This is larger than all of that combined.”

Cardinal Anomidi agreed. “Yes it is. But... it’s no longer
our
controversy.” He smiled beautifully. “Job well done, Archbishop.”