Last Days (Last Days Trilogy #1) (6 page)

Marcus searched for hidden meaning as he slumbered, half asleep, half awake, almost like being in two places at once. His dreams had always been vivid, but this one was extraordinary.

Hard raindrops pelted his face, blinding him to everything more than a foot away. He was walking down an unknown city street, most of the surrounding buildings reduced to rubble. Those still standing were on fire. Bodies were everywhere, and the rats were feeding.

Bonfires burned in the park and beer cans were scattered on the ground. Men ran about making oddly muted sounds.

Marcus’ foot hit an empty Pepsi can, causing it to scrape loudly against the concrete. He was drawn to voices cheering in the distance. The voices grew louder. He turned into a dark alley no more than twelve feet across.

Toward the end, the alley opened up to a fenced park. Marcus walked toward the park but was almost immediately cast down as a motorcycle roared past his left shoulder. The driver skidded to a stop, turned toward Marcus and smiled, his hair long and black, his face dirty. “Welcome,” he said. With a deep laugh, he drove off.

As the bike vanished, Marcus heard sobbing, familiar, but still distant. A woman knelt at the top of a small hill, hunched forward, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands.

Marcus walked toward the woman, her cries growing louder as he approached.

“Hello,” Marcus spoke, and then crouched down next to her. He bent his head as if in prayer, his eyes catching sight of a diluted blood-red stream, flowing down the gentle incline that separated them.

Marcus dipped his finger into the stream, amazed to find that it was, in fact, blood.

He lifted his eyes to the source of the stream. He saw male legs crossed at the ankles, an iron spike driven through the feet, pinning them to a wooden cross.

Marcus tried to make out the man’s face, but the rain was too heavy. The man’s features appeared as though part of an oblique sculpture; nothing definite, nothing certain.

Perhaps the woman would stop crying, Marcus thought, if she knew this was all a dream. He placed his hand on her bent back. “Stop crying. It’s all right. None of this is really happening.”

“No.” She shook her head, “it is.” Slowly, she lifted her face, pulling aside her baby-blue veil. She looked directly at Marcus.

The blueness of her eyes took a hold of Marcus. Only one woman had eyes that blue. “Reg?” Marcus asked, astonished.

“Save him, Marcus. Save him,” she cried.

“Who?” Marcus asked.

“He is our only hope.”

Confused, Marcus wiped the rain from his face. He looked ahead, but the ankle-spiked man was gone, replaced by a pair of demonic green and yellow eyes on the horizontal cross bar. A beastly baritone voice accompanied the eyes and instructed him, “Leave!”

Marcus forced himself awake. “Shit!” he muttered, as he opened his eyes.

After realizing he was still on the airplane, he closed his eyes for a second and tried to slow his heartbeat. But the taste of blood in his mouth recaptured his focus.

Marcus jerked to a sitting position as a beam of light lit him from his left.

“Are you all right, sir?” a man asked, holding a flashlight.

“John?” Marcus blinked his eyes.

“Yes, sir. It’s me, sir. Are you okay?” John responded.

“Yeah. Wow, what a dream,” Marcus said. He straightened himself in the row of the chairs, only then realizing that he was at least fifteen feet from where he’d originally fallen asleep.

“Sir?” John looked at him oddly. “The plane crashed, sir. The right engine exploded on descent and we had to make an emergency landing. The pilot lost control at the end of the runway.”

“We crashed?” Marcus asked, eyes wide open. “Tell me no one was killed.”

“Fortunately, only injuries so far, but there are some really bad ones, sir.”

Marcus exhaled slowly, and then panicked. He checked his wrist and saw that the case was still attached. He then checked the vials. They were still intact.

“Let me help you off the plane, sir.” John held out his hand.

Marcus stood up, and looked around the plane. Windows were displaced; debris was everywhere. He was amazed and grateful that he slept through it all.

Inching his way through the crooked seats, Marcus gazed around the plane in a daze, subconsciously dreaming of Reggie and wondering why.

“I heard your plane crashed,” Rose commented as they walked down a corridor at the Chicago Institute.

“Yeah. How do you like that? And I slept through it.” He pointed to the top of his head. “Three stitches.”

“You big baby.”

They rounded yet another bend, and Marcus looked back. “I’m going to get lost. I’ve never been in this wing.”

“They just redid it. Also just for you, they added an escape route.”

“Are you serious?” Marcus asked.

“Yep,” Rose replied.

Rose showed her identification to one of two guards standing at the end of the hallway. After examining it, the guard stretched a key from the coil around his belt and inserted it into a small hole in the wall.

“Better check to see if you’re in there,” Rose admonished jokingly.

“I’d better be.” Marcus placed his palm flat on the tray. A sequence of small lights flashed on and off. Marcus heard a buzz. The door behind the guards opened.

“We’re home.” Rose stepped through. “You’re the first door. You got the big office.” She inserted a card key into the door.

“Big enough for company?” Marcus asked, stepping through the threshold.

“Who are you planning on moving in? Wife number five?”

“Maybe.” Marcus smiled. “Not bad,” he said. The quarters were spacious, living room with kitchen attached to the back wall. “Home for nine months.”

“Bathroom to your left. Bedroom to your right,” said Rose. “One large closet.” She slid open the double doors next to the bedroom door. “But you don’t have too many clothes, do you?”

“Yes, I do.” Marcus walked up to Rose and closed the closet. “They’re just mostly the same.”

Rose raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Here’s your card key.” She handed it to Marcus.

“Thanks.” Marcus watched Rose turn and leave with her right hand raised in goodbye. He walked to his bedroom. It was tiny; there was barely enough room for a bed and a dresser. His bags lay at the foot of the bed. Unpacking would have to wait, Marcus thought. He’d only needed a change of clothes for home. And after a shower, home was where he was headed.

“Reg. Hurry up,” Kyle called from the living room. He sat on the couch trying to comb Seth’s hair. No matter how much he wet it down, the boy’s hair just popped back up. “What in the world is wrong with your hair?”

“Pap, I can do it,” Seth said assuredly, his face crinkled with conviction. “Ow! Pap, that hurts.”

“Here. I give up.” Kyle handed Seth the comb. “Reg!”

“I’m hurrying,” Reggie yelled from the other room.

“What’s taking you so long? We’re only going to visit Eliza and George,” Kyle yelled back.

The local news came on the television. The front entrance to the Westing Biogenetic Institute appeared on the screen. Kyle grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume.

A reporter stood outside in a light drizzle, holding a microphone, commenting on the large number of protestors assembled behind him. The camera scanned the crowd. There were mobs of people, some toting signs, some jumping up and down, and waving their arms.

“...and within the turmoil, another group of signs appeared.” the reporter said. “These signs did not spell hatred, nor condemnation, but peace.” The male reporter moved to a rain-soaked old woman who held a sign saying, “Support the Lord’s Work, Not the Violence.”

“Is it true, ma’am, you came all the way from Indiana this morning?”

“Yes sir. I came up right away,” she nodded. “Got a call from Rev. Bailey. He wants us to let these people do their work in peace… to stop the violence. We say that if the good Lord wants to send His Son in the form of a clone, then we should embrace Him for the miracle He is.”

“Idiots.” Kyle shut off the set. “They’d believe anything that quack tells them. Seth, get your coat. We have...”

“I’m ready,” Reggie proclaimed, making her entrance.

Kyle jumped. “You scared me.” He stood and whistled. “Look at you. Is that lipstick you’re wearing? What’s the occasion?”

“Marcus is coming home.” Reggie smiled.

“Marcus has come home before. You never got dolled up then.” Kyle grabbed his coat.

“I’m just trying to look nice.”

“Right,” Kyle said slyly. “Let’s go, Seth. In the truck I’m going to tell you about a new man in your mom’s life. His name... is Herbie.”

Reggie snickered and shook her head as she grabbed her jacket and followed.

<><><><>

“Ow.” Marcus snatched his hand from the curtain following his mother’s hard smack.

“Marcus James Leon,” Eliza scolded. “Wrinkle my curtains and I will wrinkle your hide.”

“Where is she?” Marcus asked with a grin, looking out the window. “Does she know I landed on time?”

“She knows. I talked with her. But she’s not gonna rush right over to see you, Marcus. It hasn’t been that long.”

“That doesn’t matter… a lot has happened since then.”

“Not that much.” Eliza headed to the kitchen to tend to dinner. “George, make sure that boy doesn’t touch my curtains.”

Without looking up from his paper, Marcus’ father grumbled, “Uh huh.” Then his ears perked. “Rounding the bend now.”

“What’s that?”

“They just hit the dirt road.” George said in his deep voice. “I can hear them. Count to ten and look.”

“I’m not falling for that, Dad.” Marcus smiled. “You used to tell me that all the time when I was a kid...”

“Three, two....” George said.

“I’m not...” Marcus peeked. He could see the dust behind Kyle’s pickup as it approached the house. With a wide grin and a look at his father, Marcus leapt toward the front door.

The dirt road led to a driveway that stopped a good distance before the Leon home. Reggie leaned toward the windshield and smiled as the truck slowed down and she saw Marcus step onto the porch. “Son of a...” She reached for the door handle.

“Reg,” Kyle said. “Let me stop...” Reggie was out the door before Kyle finished the sentence. He turned to Seth and said, “Don’t worry… Herbie will settle her down.”

Reggie raced across the front lawn, heart pounding. She had missed him so much that she didn’t even pause to look at him, just jumped at him, clinging to him with a shriek.

Marcus laughed as Reggie pummeled him. Her enthusiastic embrace knocked him off his feet and onto the damp grass.

“Miss me?” Reggie smiled nearly laying on top of him. She tucked her hair behind her ear.

“Actually, I was hoping to see Belinda Gold step from that truck.”

With a playful smack to his chest, Reggie rolled and sat alongside him. “What happened to your head?”

“My plane crashed.”

“No shit?”

“No shit. I slept through it.”

“Figures.” Reggie shifted her eyes when she saw her father’s legs.

“Reggie,” Kyle spoke. “Tell me I’m not seeing you roll around with that heathen boy.”

“Hey, Mr. Stevens.” Marcus smiled and reached up his hand.

Kyle shook it and helped Marcus to his feet. “Nice to have you home.”

“Thanks.” Marcus dusted himself off then helped Reggie up. “We should go inside.”

Kyle nodded. “Good thing I covered Seth’s eyes.” Kyle started walking toward the house “He didn’t need to see that ‘Splendor in the Grass’ stuff. He might spill his guts to Herbie. Then you’d be in big trouble, Reg. There goes that spring wedding.”

Marcus laughed, and then looked puzzled. “Who’s Herbie?”

“Male.” Marcus said in answer to Seth’s question.

The fork dropped from Kyle’s hand. He first looked to Eliza, then to George, then back to Marcus with a look of confusion and irritation. “No shit, Sherlock,” he told Marcus. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

Marcus let out a chuckle as he played with his mashed potatoes. “Well, he has type-A blood. Did you know that?”

Kyle rolled his eyes. “Boring.”

“Mr. Stevens.” Marcus tried not to laugh. “What do you want to know? Um, let’s see. Medium build, about one hundred and seventy pounds, from what I can tell. About six foot one.”

“Marcus?” Eliza asked sincerely. “Now that you’ve seen the Shroud, how does it compare to what we’ve read in the Bible?”

“Honest?” Marcus asked. “Pretty good. Except one thing.” He paused and looked around the room, everyone’s eyes fixed on him. “If you ask me, there was an awful lot of blood.” Again Marcus looked around the room, to see if anyone had understood the meaning of what he’d just said. No one had, of course, so he continued. “Dead men don’t bleed that much. He wasn’t dead when they took him from the cross.”

A chorus of chokes and coughs sounded.

“What?” Marcus looked up.

Eliza waved her finger. “Please don’t tell me you doubt the Resurrection?”

“No…” Marcus said.

“Good.” Eliza interrupted, exhaling loudly.

“I’m saying he never died.” Marcus went on, very matter-of-factly. “Maybe some soldier with a good heart took him down, put him in the tomb and after a few days of rest he was strong enough to get up and walk out.”

Reggie immediately jumped up, squeaking out words. “Coffee, anyone?” She darted to the kitchen.

Eliza gasped so deeply that she choked. “Don’t you even come into my house with that...”

“Liza,” George said smoothly. “When has Marcus not done this to you? He’s being Marcus. When he leaves this world and gets greeted by a slap in the face from the good Lord… well, then he’ll see the error of his ways.”

Kyle decided to change the subject. “Speaking of errors, are you going to do it, Marcus? Every third visit you announce a new wife. Are you gonna announce wife number five?”

Marcus reached for his milk. “Not this time.” He took a sip and watched Reggie walk into the room with a carafe of coffee. “Unless, Reggie wants to.”

“Unless I want to what?” She set down the pot.

“Be wife number five,” Marcus said.

Reggie shook her head. “Nah, I’m holding out for slot seven or eight.” She returned to the kitchen.

Kyle chuckled. “Wouldn’t let her marry you anyhow, Marcus. You don’t have a talent.”

Marcus looked at him oddly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Can you pound a dent out of a car?” Kyle asked.

“No.”

“Then you can’t marry my daughter.”

Marcus sat back in his chair, and retorted, “But I can clone Christ.”

Again, Eliza gasped and covered her ears. “Please. Stop.”

“Mom.” Marcus snickered and looked back at Kyle. “Genetic engineering… that’s not a talent?”

“Nope,” Kyle said. “Herbie pounds the hell out of a dent. Now that’s a talent. And he’s a nice guy. Isn’t he, Eliza?”

“Wonderful, church-going boy.” She folded her hands. “And handsome.”

“Great sense of humor,” George added.

“He’s gonna be my new dad,” Seth announced.

“Herbie?” Marcus questioned, feeling as though he really must have missed something. Reggie walked in from the kitchen with cups. “Reg, who’s Herbie?”

Reggie turned around and went back in the kitchen, shaking her head.

Twinkling eyes? Talk of future plans? Marcus looked for the signs as he sat with Reggie and her new man that evening at her dining room table. He couldn’t figure it out. She hadn’t mentioned the guy. Reggie was his best friend, surely she should have told him. Eight years had passed since her heart was shattered by her husband’s death. Marcus realized it would heal, eventually. But with Herbie?

Marcus was never one to think looks counted the most. If he did, he would never have married wives two and three. But Herbie pushed the limits of ‘love is blind’. Marcus stared. He really tried to find something appealing about the guy. His haircut was nice. But that couldn’t be it. What did Reggie see in him?

Personality? No, Marcus thought. His lines were vintage grammar school, somewhere between fourth and seventh grade. Could it be that she was truly attracted to someone who could pound the hell out of a dent? Nah, he thought. Maybe it was some weird need that drew her to Herbie.

Was it sex? Was Reggie with Herbie for the sex? Perhaps he was some sort of dynamo and didn’t show it, or had sizable assets. Remembering what Rose had said about the size of a man’s hand, Marcus checked out Herbie’s hand and then looked at his own.

Across the table Reggie snickered. “Marcus? Your hand all right?” she asked.

“Average. Would you say my hand is average size?” Marcus asked.

“Yes.” Reggie handed the dice to Herbie. “Your turn.”

Herbie rolled. “Five.” He smiled. “One, two, three, four...”

Marcus sat up from his slump. “Are you lonely, Reg?”

Reggie smiled. “No, not at all. Why would you ask that?”

“Searching,” Marcus answered.

“Marcus.” Herbie picked up a
Trivial Pursuit
card. “Your turn to answer. What is the common household name for...?” Herbie scratched his head. “Cal-key-um Sue-li-fate he-my-hid-rat-tee?”

Marcus twitched his head but kept his stare on Reggie. “Calcium sulphate hemihydrate. That’s plaster of Paris. In need of companionship, Reg?”

“What?” she snickered.

“Hey.” Herbie smiled. “That was pretty good. How did you know that big word?”

Marcus rolled his eyes. “I’m a scientist, big guy.”

“But still,” Herbie said.

“Still?” Marcus raised his eyebrows then returned to Reggie. “Another kid? Are you wanting to find...”

“Marcus.” Reggie laughed. “What’s with all the questions?”

“It’s just that...” Marcus shifted his eyes about. “I’ll tell you. But it’s getting late. When can I see you alone?”

“Hey now.” Herbie held up his hand. “I’ve been listening to your questions... lonely, companionship, kids. Hand size, huh? I know what that means. You don’t want to fool around with her, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” Marcus responded calmly.

“Good… because she’s promised out.”

Marcus regarded Herbie, his lip crinkling. “I know this is like a big date night for you...”

“Yes it is.” Herbie nodded.

Marcus stared at him seriously. “Go home,” he instructed in a cold tone.

“What?” Herbie was shocked.

Reggie grinned. “Marcus, if you want Herbie to leave, you could ask him nicely.”

“Herbie.” Marcus said, looking sternly at him. “I would like to spend time with my friend. Alone. And for me to do that, you need to go home.”

After thinking for a second, Herbie said, “Okay,” shrugged his shoulders and stood up. “’Night. Walk me to the door, Reggie?”

“Uh... okay.” Reggie felt uncomfortable. “Sure. Excuse me, Marcus.” Standing up, she waited as he put on his coat and then she walked him to the door. As Herbie puckered up, Reggie grabbed his hand gave it a firm shake and darted a quick kiss to his cheek. “Night.”

That made Herbie smile and then he turned and left.

Frozen fake smile intact, Reggie closed the door after him. Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked back to the dining room. Marcus was putting the game away. “Now. What’s wrong with you?” she asked.