 
# Kindred Spirits

by

Ashanti Luke

# Rights and Licensing

Copyright © 2010 by Kaiju Publishing

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

For information contact:

www.AshantiLuke.com

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Other science fiction novels by Ashanti Luke

Dusk

# Part 1

"False teachers of life use flowery words

and start nonsense."

Lao Tzu, Tao de Ting

# CHAPTER ONE

September 17, 1991

9:35 P.M.

Jason Dyer's stomach churned and the muscles around his left eye twitched frantically. Although anxiety permeated his body, he couldn't let it affect his thinking. Every second counted. He had to stay sharp, had to stay focused, composed. He couldn't afford even the slightest mistake. Too much was at stake.

He pulled his black Honda Prelude into an empty parking lot, drove across the lot and stopped next to the warehouse on the other side. He pressed a button near the base of the steering column and the dash lit up like Times Square on New Year's Eve. The climate control panel slid up into the dash, revealing a small monitor, and a small keypad slid out from under the monitor. The monitor displayed the time and the date in the upper left corner and a menu bar across the bottom of the screen. Jason pressed a few buttons on the keypad and a map appeared on the monitor. The map displayed a three- dimensional image of the immediate area. A small arrow showed his heading and his current location. Next to the cursor, on top of the cube which represented the warehouse was a time—9:40 P.M. The clocks on the monitor and the center of the dash read 9:37 P.M. So far he was ahead of schedule. He pressed a few more buttons on the keypad and the map began to scroll down the road, following the path he had to take. It stopped scrolling and focused on another flashing dot near an intersection with 9:45 P.M. flashing over it in red. The time next to the dot was larger than the time on the warehouse and was flashing.

Jason put the car in gear and pulled up to the exit of the lot. He waited until a car in the closest lane passed then pulled out in front of a gray minivan and accelerated. As he neared the car he signaled and cut in front of the car that had been in his blind spot on the left lane. Still accelerating, he closed on two cars that were staggered slightly, but too close to allow him to pass. He cruised up on the bumper of the car in the left lane, but the driver did not accelerate. Jason noticed the clock on his dash—9:42. He grit his teeth and, stepping hard on the gas, turned the wheel as the car vaulted forward, moving into the left turn lane, narrowly missing the bumper of the car in front of him. He passed the car and jumped quickly back over into the left lane. As he looked in the mirror, he saw the driver behind him flick his high beams on and off.

Jason was ahead of the flow of traffic now, but as he approached the intersection, the light was already yellow and turning red. He noticed the parallelogram headlights of a police car in the lane directly opposite his and decided against running the light. He couldn't afford a run-in with the cops. He looked at the dash clock—9:44. The dot near the intersection was now flashing, and the map scrolled down about another block, then to the right about two blocks to reveal another dot at another intersection. The time next to it read 9:50.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel, left to right, right to left. He saw the flashing red hand replace the green man on the walk signal then stop flashing. His fingers stopped drumming and he clasped the wheel in a racer's grip. The light on the intersecting road turned yellow. The driver of the car he had passed was staring at him through the tinted windows of the Prelude but he ignored him. A car sped through the intersection to beat the light—9:53. The light turned green. Jason stepped hard on the gas and his car launched into the intersection. He moved into the right lane as he approached the next intersection, then turned onto the intersecting road. The map on the computer screen rotated as he turned. He accelerated down the road, passed a car in the right lane, and then moved back in front of it. He came up fast on a wall of cars moving slowly toward the next intersection.

"Damn," Jason cursed, more a sigh than an exclamation as he braked hard behind the cars. The traffic moved like cattle ushered to the corral by some hardened wrangler. Jason moved slightly to the right to see down the road. There were flashing lights, two sets of yellow lights tracking inward, a higher set of light fading between blue and red. And a set higher still flashing blue red, and yellow.

Accident.

There was a car turned on its side on the sidewalk. The front end was smashed against the wall of the building at the corner of the street and the stop sign was bent as though it were pointing in accusation at the automobile. The front of the car was charred black and gray, still dripping wet from the water the fireman used to put out the flames. Two paramedics stood around a stretcher and watched as the third zipped a black bag over what must've been the driver's face.

The fire truck was blocking the intersecting road, otherwise Jason would have turned there, but as he passed the wreckage, the traffic picked up speed. _Damn these rubbernecks_ , Jason thought to himself as he passed the wreckage. Jason looked at the dash clock as he turned at the next intersection—9:56. He floored the accelerator as he turned the corner, the monitor map turned with him and began to scroll. The 9:50 marker on the next intersection flashed bright red.

Jason continued to accelerate as he approached the stop sign at the marked intersection. He checked for oncoming cars in either direction and blew through the stop sign without slowing. He no longer cared if the police saw him. Too much was at stake, because if he didn't make up six minutes by 10:19, Michelle Long would be dead.

9:56 P.M.

As the Tiny Toons danced across the screen of her computer monitor, Michelle Long was not staring at them so much as past them. Past them into some dark dimension where all her problems jockeyed and haggled for attention. Phone bill, 45 dollars and 20 cents, due the 23rd. Electricity, 32 dollars and 15 cents, due the 21st. Visa Card 40 dollars, due the 20th. Physics paper, 15 pages, due the also on the 20th. Electrical Engineering exam, the 25th, E.E. problem set, due tomorrow. Too many bills, too little income—and the exam, paper and problem set didn't help. Michelle pressed her palms to her face trying to keep her head from falling apart and inhaled deeply. She slid her hands down her cheeks as she exhaled slowly.

She pressed the space bar on the keyboard and the Tiny Toons disappeared revealing an incomplete answer to the first problem of the problem set. Michelle shook her head at the problem, saved it, and quit the program. The small clock in the lower right-hand corner of her monitor read 9:57 in faux LED. She pushed a few keys and after an obnoxiously loud dial tone and an obnoxiously louder screech, her computer connected to a bulletin board service. She waited as the computer retrieved her e-mail.

Four messages eclipsed the clock. One from Jon Avory, one from Daerick Bennet, a student at a school in Los Angeles who wrote sci-fi short stories, one from Franklin Chin, a guy from her electrical engineering class, and one from Greg Montreal—shit, what did he want? She read the message from Jon Avory; it was the usual, he got some funny e-mail, forwarded to her because he thought she would like it. The message from Daerick was about a new short story he had written. He had attached the story to the message as a file, which the computer saved automatically without displaying it. Daerick's stories were usually good, but she wasn't in the right frame of mind to read it now, so she saved the message. She skipped Franklin's message, but saved it, because she already knew it was about tonight's problem set, and she was avoiding dealing with that just yet.

Then she stared at Greg's name as it stared back at her. The subject beside it read "Hey..." She could see him smiling that, cocky, oily smile, that smile that he only used half his face to make, the smile she had grown to despise in the past few days. She erased the message without reading it. She didn't care what he had to say.

She pressed some more keys, logged off the BBS, and loaded her problem set program. As she was about to type more on the problem, the phone rang. She picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"Hey Shell, look don't hang up okay?" It was Greg.

"What do you want?" Michelle breathed out with disgust.

"Did you get my e-mail?"

"No."

"Well, your phone was busy, for a while. You were on the modem, right?"

"Look, I don't have time for this. What do you want?"

"We need to talk."

"About what?"

"I don't wanna do this on the phone. I'm downstairs. I'm coming up." He hung up.

Michelle went over to the window and peeked through the blinds. Greg was moving toward her apartment building from the pay phone next to the street, half jogging, half walking. From two stories up, she could see the mousse in his hair. From that height, the streetlight glistening off the light brown needles of hair. It looked like his hair had been stuck on his head like the Lego people she played with as a kid. She shook her head, _Geez, that guy would get made up to go to hell._ She turned away from the blinds. She had just begun to accept the situation. She really didn't want to talk to him now.

She slid into her walking shoes without tying them and grabbed her book bag and her keys. He could come up if he wanted to, but she wasn't going to be there.

10:03 P.M.

Jason was going too fast down a small back street and was still accelerating. The auxiliary digital speedometer on the panel on top of the dash read 62 mph, mocking the 25 mph sign as he passed almost too fast to see it. As he approached the intersection, a car turned onto the road in front of him. Jason grumbled as he pulled into the opposing traffic lane to avoid obliterating it. The sound of screeching tires and a blaring horn rattled his eardrums as he was bathed in light by the car coming at him head on. He swerved back to the right, narrowly missing the car coming at him and missing bastard who cut him off by even less, which caused another symphony of screeching of tires, blaring of horns and flashing of lights.

He accelerated to 65 as he looked at the clock—10:04. As he approached the next intersection, the computer flashed 10:02. Almost back on schedule.

Several yards before the intersection, he tapped the brake, turned the wheel violently to the right and hit the gas. The car's tires screamed as he slid into the intersection. The tires caught, and he vaulted down the road without losing much speed. His eyelid began to twitch faster. Fifteen more minutes and his entire mission would be shot.

10:05 P.M.

Michelle moved fast out the door to the back stairwell. She took long deliberate strides as if she were about break into a run at any moment. She wanted to put as much space between her and the apartment building as possible. Greg was many things, but he wasn't dumb, and he wasn't the type to give up easily. She kept thinking he was behind her, gaining fast, not running but floating behind her like the vampire he was, steadily closing the distance. But she knew that was impossible. Paranoia. But she couldn't turn to look—to dispel her fears—just in case he _was_ back there. She didn't want to face him right now. She reached the corner and turned down the street toward the main strip of stores and restaurants just outside campus.

She headed toward Sparky's, the small convenient store in the middle of the strip. She needed to be in bed by midnight because she had work early in the morning and she had barely begun her problem set. She looked down at her watch—10:06. "I really don't have time for this bullshit," she mumbled to herself.

10:07 P.M.

The tires squealed as Jason slid into the intersection. The computer flashed 10:06 on the map. Almost on schedule again. About a half mile down the road, the traffic light stared a Jason. Green, but for how much longer? Jason pushed the accelerator to the floor, his seat pressed suddenly into his back as the car sprung forward. The light turned yellow. He was almost to the objective point. If he made this light he would be back on schedule. Jason pressed the accelerator harder as if it could go through the floor. Cars in the parking lane whizzed past at an alarming speed. The light turned red. Almost there. No one had started moving yet. He could still make it through the light. Just a half-second more.

Suddenly a parked car pointed its nose into the right lane. Jason, slammed his foot down on the brake. The car's tires protested with a loud squeal as he slid toward the nose of the car. Jason turned the wheel to his left, then quickly right. Jason's car skidded inches away from the nose of the car, then slid halfway into the left lane, narrowly missing the other car.

"Damn it!" Jason cursed as he hit the steering wheel hard with the base of his fist. His left eye twitched faster as he looked at the dash clock—10:08 P.M. The time next to the intersection mocked him and his efforts as it flashed 10:08 P.M.

10:09 P.M.

Sparky's wasn't much of a grocery store, but it was nice to have this close to the student apartments and dorms. They carried a few toiletries, some essentials like milk, Top Ramen, and Vivarin, as well as all kinds of snack foods, dips, drinks, and candy bars—everything a growing college student needs. Michelle went straight to the ice cream section. Other than Greg being granted diplomatic immunity to the law of gravity and falling off the face of the earth, nothing could make Michelle happier than Big Ed's Super Saucer right now. The Super Saucer was the treat of all treats—a thing of uncompromising vanilla and chocolate chip bliss. It was a testament to the fact that life was worth living. It carried the idea of the ice cream sandwich to heights transcendental. Two large chocolate chip cookies with extra-large chips made lovingly from the smoothest, most divine chocolate, with a more than generous portion of the creamiest, richest vanilla ice cream in between. The Super Saucer was like frozen sex in a bag. Michelle almost skipped to the ice cream chest at the other end of the checkout counter. She opened the door of the chest smiling, but as she opened it, her look of child-like anticipation turned to horror. She rummaged through the Klondike bars, Popsicles, and other ice cream sandwiches, but no Super Saucer. Michelle wanted to scream. She couldn't even be afforded the simple pleasures in life. She swore someone, somewhere on the ethereal plane, beyond her conscious reach, for whatever reason, was out to get her. She reached into the chest and, forced to settle for the next best thing, took out and purchased two bastard ice cream sandwiches. Too many bills, too little money, too much homework, one too many ex- boyfriends, no Super Saucers—what else could go wrong.

Michelle grumbled as she opened one of the ice cream sandwiches and took a bite as she walked out. It wasn't Big Ed's, but it was hard to frown on a good ice cream sandwich. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply as she savored the first bite. _Just relax and take things in stride, you've been through much worse, you'll get through this,_ she told herself. She figured she'd walk the long way around the block on the way home to make sure she had avoided Greg. She just hoped he wasn't sitting outside her door waiting. She took another bite of the ice cream sandwich as she turned to walk down the strip.

"Shell!" A call cut through the air behind her. Only one person called her that. "Hey Shell wait up!"

10:11 P **.M.**

Jason's first plan was already shot. Two minutes at that last light and he was three minutes behind schedule again. There was no way he could make it to the intercept point now. Not enough time to get to the cross street he had to get to in three minutes. He had to do it at the point of contact, and he had to do it on foot. Jason pulled over and parked on a poorly lighted street at the front of a row of cars. He took his book bag from the passenger seat and what looked like a VCR remote with a jog control from its place under the bag. He hopped out of the car and closed the door. He clipped the remote onto his belt and flipped the bag over one shoulder. He looked at his watch—10:12. The point of contact was 10:19. No time.

Jason ran down the block toward the main strip outside the campus. He reached the corner and he ran into the crosswalk. As he approached the curb, he heard a rumbling too close to his right. He leapt onto the sidewalk as the car, cruising too fast and blowing through the stop sign, barely missed him. Jason stopped and looked at the car—gray '90 Chrysler LeBaron, license plate number GWI-899. The target car. Jason furrowed his brow and continued to run down the street. He still had time to intercept him, but no time for any more setbacks. This was going to be close. Too close.

10:14 P.M.

"What do you want from me?" Michelle said with venom behind her words.

"I just want you to hear me out." Greg took a step closer to her. "There's nothing you can say to me to make things any different, you..."

"How can you say that Shell? What we had was great."

"No, what _you_ had was great, what _I_ had was a 20 year old child."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, I was a bauble to you, some trinket you held by your side. "

"Now, that's unfair."

"Unfair? Unfair is when you tell someone something in the strictest of confidences, and they tell their friends as a joke."

"Come on, you're still upset about that?"

"Yes, I'm still upset. You knew how much what I told you meant to me, and if you didn't, then why the hell was I with you in the first place?"

"Come on Shell, I told you I was sorry a bunch of times. Bottom line is I care about you very much, and I want to be with you."

"No, the bottom line is, I can't trust you."

"Come on Shell, you don't mean that"

"Look Greg, I have work to do, and my ice cream sandwiches are melting"

As she began to turn, Greg reached over a grabbed her arm forcefully. Startled, by his sudden movement, Michelle dropped the half-eaten ice cream sandwich. She winced as Greg's fingers pressed deep into her bicep. She tried to pull away, but he held firmly and pulled her even closer. "You're gonna hear what I have to say."

10:18 P.M.

Whether from anxiety, or exertion, or a combination of both, sweat ran from Jason's brow, around the sides of his face, and down the bridge of his nose. But he couldn't feel it. He could only feel his heart pounding hard against the inside of his breastplate, demanding to be let out of his body, and the twitching of his left eye.

He ran around the corner to the main strip of stores outside of campus, then ran to the center of the block. He stopped and looked around. Across the street he saw Sparky's, the small family operated store from his briefing. In front of the store were a male and female student engaged in what looked like an argument. Instantly Jason recognized the female student from the many pictures he had also seen in his briefing—Michelle Long.

This was the point of contact. Jason slung his bag off his shoulder and pulled it in front of him. He took out two flat rods with small red buttons on top that looked bar magnets from high school physics experiments. He closed the bag, took both rods in his right hand, then slung the bag over his left shoulder. It felt like it his heart had given up on being let out of his breastplate and was now trying to escape through his throat.

Suddenly, with a slight screech of tires the gray LeBaron turned onto the intersection at the other end of the block and proceeded down the strip. At the same time, Michelle snatched her arm away from the guy she was arguing with and moved quickly toward the street.

Jason took in a deep breath, pressed the buttons on each bar with his thumb, and stepped into the street in front of the LeBaron.

10:19 P.M.

Michelle turned as she took another step away from Greg and another step into the street. She was breathing hard now, and her sentence oozed out with one long exhalation, "If you ever touch me like that again I'll kill you." Greg took a step toward her, "but..."

"But ass, I don't ever want to see you again." She turned away from him and ran across the street.

There was a loud screaming of tires as the driver of the gray LeBaron going too fast down the strip became aware of the man in his path, only a few feet away. Greg saw the man dive as the car slid toward him, and his body spin awkwardly as the car slid past. He saw Michelle was only ten feet away from the car and it was careening toward her. "Michelle look out!" he screamed.

Whether it was Greg or the screeching of tires that alerted her, Michelle turned to see a guy dive as the gray car narrowly clipped his legs and slid toward her—too fast to stop. Her legs locked as she stared at the car, barely understanding what was happening.

Suddenly there was a bright flash, a high pitched squeal, and the sound of metal grinding against metal. Michelle shielded her face more against the car than the flash.

Jason landed on his side and rolled away from the car as he heard the high pitched squeal. He rolled and stopped, facing the car. The car shimmied violently then slid to its right toward the sidewalk. The front end of the car jumped as the car went over the curb with a loud thump then slammed into the wall of the building alongside the sidewalk.

Michelle knew she was dead. She couldn't feel her legs and couldn't see at all. Slowly, the scene came into view as her pupils gradually let more light into her eyes. The car she was sure had hit her was on the sidewalk, front end lodged against a building. The hood of the car looked like a playing card that had been folded between someone's forefinger and thumb, the right front wheel was bent under the car with the tread on top clearly visible, and the whole front end dipped awkwardly to its left. Steam or smoke or maybe both spewed out from under the crumpled hood, and some strange mixture of liquid crawled from under the car toward the street through the tiny nuggets of glass that glimmered under the streetlight. And there was a loud erratic hissing sound like the car had not been powered by a conventional engine, but by hundreds of snakes that were now desperately trying to escape the wreckage. Michelle felt cold—a pure, knuckle-whitening cold that radiated from within her. She felt like she wasn't standing before the wreckage, but floating above it, looking down on it and herself.

Suddenly, Michelle felt something on her arm. The touch brought her back down and she could feel her feet again, but she couldn't take her eyes off the smoking wreck. She could feel a numbness throughout her body and all her senses. It was like everything was happening under water. The touch became a grasp and a tug. "Come on Shell, get out of the street." She looked at Greg as he ushered her to the sidewalk opposite the wreck. Sparky was standing outside of his store slack jawed as Greg sat Michelle down on the curb next in front of the store.

"I'll call 911," Sparky said turning towards the store. He turned his head to Greg as he stepped in, "Is she okay?"

"I think so, I'm gonna check on the guy in the car and that other guy."

"What other guy?"

Greg looked around. There was already a handful of people around the car. Someone had opened the door and someone else was screaming "Don't touch him!", and more people were walking toward the wreckage, but he didn't see the guy who had been hit by the speeding car. He was nowhere in sight. Not in the street, not on the sidewalk, not near the car. Nowhere.

Jason limped back toward his car, taking the long way. He didn't want to be anywhere near the accident. Every step felt like someone was holding a lighter inside his right ankle. The bumper of the car had caught the bone that stuck out where the foot met the leg, and pain screamed through his foot and lower leg, but he had had worse, and he knew he could work through it.

His ankle, however, was the least of his worries. Michelle Long was alive and unscathed, but that was only the beginning. Everything until this point was laid out clearly in the briefing, but from this point on, nothing was clear. No more checkpoints, no more time frames. It was all up to him. He tried not to think of what rested on his shoulders. Tried not to think about what all this meant because he needed to think clearly. Needed to think clearly because he didn't know what to do next. All he knew, was that before this was over, Maximilian Powers had to die. And failure was not an option.

# CHAPTER TWO

September 18, 1991

Maximilian Powers awoke with sweat on his brow. He could feel heat on his face and chest and he was lying on his back. As he slowly opened his eyes, he realized the source of the heat was the blinding light shining in his face. He moved his hand up to shield his face from the light as he turned away to gauge his surroundings. As he slowly turned his head, he could feel what he imagined were demons strip-mining the inside of his skull. It felt like the left side of his brain was pulsating in sync with his heart, rubbing against the inside of his head with each beat.

He was in what looked like a hospital room. There was a door to a small room in the corner that must have been the bathroom. The blinding light must have been the morning sun shining through the window. And diagonal to that was another larger door that must have been the door out of the room. Against the same wall, at the head of the bed, was a small table with a flower arrangement and a telephone. Next to the table, between it and the bed was a chair, and in the chair was Cindy. Standing next to her, closer to the bed was Marty, Cindy's husband. They were both smiling.

"I see you're finally up, we were a little worried about you." Cindy said as she stood and walked over to the bed.

"What happened?" Maximilian groaned as he put his hand to his head.

Cindy took his other hand in hers. "The doctor said you had a mild concussion, a few bruises, and some lacerations from the glass. All-in-all you fared better than your car."

"Yeah, I saw the car, the right side of the front axle and half of the front right wheel are gone. When I say gone, I mean _gone_ —I've never seen anything like it."

"Enough about the car Martin. How do you feel Max?"

"My head feels like one of those glass balls with the lightning in it."

Marty put his hand on Max's arm. "God was with you. Judging from what your car looked like, I'd say it was a small miracle you faired so well."

Cindy looked at Marty. "Honey there are no small miracles," she looked at Max, "the members were so worried about you."

Max sat up abruptly, sending a pain through his head that felt like it split his skull. "The members, oh no..."

"Cindy grabbed his hand, "What, what's wrong."

Despite the pain in his head he looked around frantically. "The package, I had a package in the car. I needed to get it to the courier before 10:30. Where is it?"

"Oh that, they gave it to me when I saw the car. I took it to the courier myself. When I talked to Brother Brinkman this morning he said a Mr. Davenport asked about it. When I told him I'd sent it, he said to tell you that... wait a minute..." Marty closed his eyes, tilted his head downward, and put his thumb and forefinger to his temple, "...he said that, uh... Mr. Davenport said you were more important than the docket, and uh... as long as it got to him by tomorrow morning... some adjustments would have to be made, but uh... everything would be okay." Marty took his hand down and opened his eyes. "I hope that makes sense to you, cuz I'm clueless."

Exhaling with relief Max lay back on the bed. "God be praised. You did well."

Cindy grabbed Max's hand again. "The doctor said they had a few more tests to run, but you'd probably be able to go home this afternoon. It'd be great if you could make it to Mid-week service tonight—Marty's preaching and giving testimony tonight. I'm so excited."

Max squeezed her hand. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

Jeff Brinkman was waiting in the lobby when the nurse wheeled Max around the corner in a wheelchair. "You're free to go Mr. Powers, everything's taken care of," she said stopping at the edge of the lobby. Max saw Jeff and smiled as he stood. Jeff walked over and hugged him.

Holding his shoulders in either hand, Jeff looked him over. "We were all worried about you."

"How do I look?" Max asked, smiling despite the sharp pain behind his eyes when he did.

"Better than I expected. When Marty told me your car was totaled, I feared the worst."

"God was looking out for me. Come on, let's go."

As they left, the nurse waved, "You take care of yourself, Mr. Powers."

When Max looked at the sunlight, it felt like the rays were burning holes in his forehead. He closed his eyes and buried his head into the headrest as they drove out of the hospital parking lot. "So, Davenport wasn't too upset?" Max asked, eyes still closed.

"He wasn't happy, but he said that you were the most important player on the team, and he wished you a speedy recovery. He said that a few minor adjustments could be made to put everything on schedule again."

Jeff saw Max was clenching his eyes shut and opened the armrest compartment. He took out a pair of sunglasses and tapped Max's shoulder with them. He opened his eyes, took them, and put them on. "Thanks."

Jeff began chuckling as he continued to drive. "You know what Mr. Davenport told me. He said he forgave you." Jeff laughed out loud.

"That selfish Barbarian. I almost killed myself trying to meet his unrealistic deadline, I lose my car, and Marty almost sees the Docket. But everything's going to be okay because _Davenport_ forgives me. Stupid sodomite. I wish we didn't need that jerk as much as we do. If only he knew."

"It will be a great day when we no longer live under the shroud of Babylon," Jeff said, turning into the parking lot.

"God be praised, it will be a great day indeed."

# CHAPTER THREE

Jason hadn't slept in two days. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was even a little fear. Perhaps it was a combination of all three. He had wanted to sleep the night before his assignment, but his mind churned with the thoughts of all that rested on his success, and all that would collapse in the event of his failure. He had tried to sleep in his car last night, parked across the street from Michelle's apartment building, but he couldn't stop thoughts from spinning through his head long enough to get to sleep. His mind jumped from one point to another. Should he approach Michelle? If so, then how? Would she be threatened again? And what was he going to do about Max? Could he do it all in less than three weeks? All these thoughts leapfrogged in his mind, occasionally overshadowed by an image of the earth, misshapen and burning, hurtling off its path through the solar system, reduced to a lifeless, smoldering comet.

Despite his lack of mental pause, his body seemed somewhat rested. When the sun came up, he wrapped his ankle with gauze, got out of the car, and limped across the street to the front of Michelle's apartment. His ankle had tightened up overnight, and it burned continuously. He felt like he could walk normally, or even run if he needed to, but he was sure either of those options would be accompanied by a considerable amount of pain. Besides, the less he stressed it, the faster it would heal.

He had sat on the bench near the pay phones reading a newspaper, waiting for Michelle to emerge from her apartment. He had circled the apartment the night before, and saw that there were two rear exits, but all the campus buildings were on the side of the main entrance. After about 10:30, he was beginning to think that maybe she had left through one of the rear exits, and by 12:15, he was sure she had somehow left without his seeing. He had walked across the street and sat there, in front of Magnesson Lecture Hall and walked back twice, before she walked out of her building at 12:20. She was wearing gray sweatpants, an oversized blue and white striped flannel shirt, and blue canvas sneakers. Her long black hair flowed over her shoulders both to the front and back, and her bangs hung over her eyes somewhat. She walked looking straight ahead, but her eyes seemed to barely focus on anything she looked at. She looked like she hadn't had much sleep.

As she walked by, Jason saw her face clearly—or at least as much as he could see through her bangs—for the first time. He had seen her picture several times in the briefing, but even without sleep, hair covering her features, she was much more beautiful than in those two-dimensional printouts. There was a life, even under the shroud of near-death that hung over her expression, a look of innocence overshadowed by something else, something Jason couldn't quite put his finger on, which conveyed something a mere photo could not.

As she reached the sidewalk alongside the street Jason felt a feeling like he had felt two days ago, if only momentarily. A feeling like when you can't find something you need desperately and immediately, then suddenly discover it. A feeling like the first gasp of air filling your lungs after you have been suffocating. A moment of triumph came over him as he watched Michelle walk away, even if all else failed, he could have some comfort in knowing he had provided someone—this beautiful girl—with more opportunities than fate had originally afforded her. But he didn't let the comfort overwhelm him. He knew all too well that it wasn't until you made it to your feet again and were about to take the first step, that the rug got snatched from under you, and you found yourself back on the ground again—yesterday he'd learned that lesson well.

Jason waited until she was near the corner of the block before he got up and followed her. He had been her savior, but now, if his efforts were to not be in vain, he had to be her guardian and her guide. He had won the coin toss, but the game hadn't even begun.

* * *

Michelle had already missed work and her psychology class today. She hadn't finished her problem set, and she hadn't gotten any sleep. She hadn't gotten home until 1 A.M. She had sat on the curb, in front of Sparky's staring at the road until campus security had arrived. She couldn't remember what she had been thinking about, only that she had felt very numb, like the dentist had left the nitrous oxide mask on for too long. The numbness hadn't fully worn off and she could barely feel her feet moving underneath her. Security had called the paramedics. When they had arrived, they got the driver from the car and ran a few tests on her while security took a statement which consisted of, 'I stepped into the street, a car came flying down the road at me, something exploded, and when I opened my eyes the car was wrecked and I wasn't dead.'

Greg had stayed around, attempting to console her, and perhaps a few weeks ago, before they had broken up, before he had, as a joke, told his friends what she had confided in him about the strange dreams she had, he could have comforted her. But then, in front of Sparky's, under the lime-green light of the street lamp, his duplicity was insufferable, and he was nothing more than an annoyance.

After she had gotten home, she had tried to sleep, but she couldn't manage to do more than lay in the bed and look at the ceiling. A few times she had tried to close her eyes, to get a few hours of sleep, but each time, she saw that gray car, sinister xenon eyes gleaming, bumper grinning with dark gray teeth, barreling toward her, growling and screeching at the same time, and she had to open her eyes to escape it. She felt as though, standing in the middle of that road, as the car raced toward her, that for a fraction of a second, death had gripped her in its horrible grasp, and although what she could only see as fate had somehow torn her from that icy grip, she could still feel the impressions its dark, jaundiced fingers had left on her soul. And it wouldn't let her sleep. And now, walking to class, despite the beautiful, sunny day, she could still feel the shadow of death looming over her, as though she were meant to die on that road outside of campus the night before, and death was determined to have her for his collection.

As she walked through the courtyard at the center of campus, she noticed everyone who walked by. Normally, when she walked to class she looked straight ahead, walked from where she came from, to wherever she had to go without looking too hard at anyone, never making eye contact, unless she saw someone she knew. But today, she noticed everyone. There were five guys in the courtyard wrestling and throwing a Frisbee. A girl with short, light brown hair read next to a tree. A guy under the tree a few yards away stretched out on his belly, writing or drawing on a big pad. A couple walked by on the sidewalk, close to each other, hand in hand. He was teasing her, saying something in her ear, she giggled, smiled, and tilted her head to the side, brushing her cheek lightly against his shoulder. They were a cute couple. Michelle couldn't remember what that was like. Even though she had just broken up with Greg, his duplicity made her reconsider all her memories of him, and of them together. Why would he tell her deepest secret—something she hadn't even told her own parents about—to his friends as a joke? Thinking about that brought out a host of questions. It had all been a joke to him. Why could he never go out with her on Friday nights? He said Friday was his night with the guys, and she hadn't wanted to come between him and his friends, but it would have been nice to go out some Fridays. And he never bought her any flowers or candy. She didn't _look_ for them, but it would have been a nice gesture. She knew he had money, he was always buying new stereo equipment, or stuff for his car, but yet they never went anywhere outside of campus other than the amusement park unless it was her idea—and then he complained about driving. He spent so much money on that goddamned car, but he never wanted to drive anywhere. All he ever wanted to do was watch television at his apartment and have sex.

Michelle noticed she was gripping the strap on her book bag so tightly that one edge was digging painfully into her palm. She wanted to punch Greg in his face, right in his fake color contact-lensed eye. She wanted to kick him in his pearly white teeth. She inhaled a deep breath, and then let it out slowly. Thinking about Greg made her nothing but angry. She tried to think about other things; the paper she had due in a few days, the problem set she hadn't finished, the class she had missed, how she was going to pay her bills, and how much two and a half hours of missed work meant now she was broke. None of those thoughts were pleasant, but thinking about them was healthier than vexing herself over that bastard. But no matter how much she buried her anger under the stress of those other things, Greg's sly, toothy grin always managed to rise to the surface. She shook her head trying to physically shake off the image as she walked up the steps to the engineering building. She just hoped the professor would accept damn near getting killed as a good excuse for an extension.

* * *

Jason walked into the building a minute after Michelle. In the lobby there were dugout areas on either side and padded benches around the inside perimeter of the square pits. Across from the near rear entrance to the building, were a set of four sofas surrounding tables on either side. There was a wide staircase leading up to a brick dais that passed over the center of the lobby and connected the upper level to the east and west wings of the building. Jason moved over to the dugout area opposite the stairwell. He hadn't seen which wing she had gone to, but he figured if there was another exit, closer to the stairwell, Michelle would most likely have entered through that way as well. Besides, outside the building, there didn't seem to be any other exits on the east wing. Perhaps there was one on the side of the west wing, but he had to take his chances. If she had gone upstairs, this was the only way out. If he sat in the lobby, he was sure he would see her leave.

He moved to the bench on the side of the dugout closest to the walkway—he could hear if any class let out in the west wing from there, and he could see any class letting out of the east wing, or coming down the stairs as well. Just as he walked down the stairs to the dugout, two students, a guy and a girl, who had been sitting on one of the benches approached him, smiling. Jason, instinctively stepped his right foot back, began rubbing his cheek with his right hand, and put his left hand on his stomach—a street fighter's fighting stance, perfectly defensible position, doesn't give away your training. The guy reached out his right hand as he approached, "How ya doin', my name's Paul, this is Carla, what's yours?"

Jason took his right hand down and shook the guy's hand. No need for the fighter's stance. Jason knew exactly who these guys were and what they were up to. They were harmless—at least right now.

"Name's Erron," Jason said, shaking Paul's hand, trying to mask the disgust that was now welling up inside him.

Paul let go of his hand. "Nice ta meet ya Erron, what's your major?" Carla asked as she shook Jason's hand. "Psych and Sociology."

"Cool, cool," Paul said still smiling and nodding his head. "Say Erron, a bunch of college students are getting together this weekend in the park..." _Here it comes_ , Jason thought.

"...we're gonna play some volleyball and maybe some Frisbee and some basketball, there's gonna be people from Virginia State, and U of R too, we're gonna all get together and have a good time in Christ, have a little Bible study afterwards. Whatd'ya say?"

"Sounds cool but I'm busy," Jason began to turn away. They persisted. "Do you go to church Erron?" Carla asked, cutting him off as he turned. "Could you please leave me alone." Jason couldn't take much more of this.

"Have you ever thought of what's going to happen to you when you die? What's going to happen to your soul?"

_Yeah, thanks to you guys, I think about it every moment of my life._ "Sure, who doesn't," he said, backing away.

Paul took another step toward him, "Have you heard of the Richmond Church of God? The RCOG can help you answer those questions, prepare you for eternal life in Christ."

Jason wanted to laugh. All they had ever brought him was misery and pain. "Look, leave me alone. I don't need your rhetoric."

Paul took another step toward Jason. He was uncomfortably close. He held out a small white card. "Well, I'm sorry to hear that, but if you ever need someone to talk to, or when you're ready to get serious about your spiritual future, give us a call."

Jason took the card. Anything to make these guys go away. They turned and walked toward the entrance as Jason moved to the bench. As he sat down he saw them pounce on another student walking in. He shook his head and looked at the card. 'THE RICHMOND CHURCH OF GOD. Don't live an empty life. Fill your life with Christ. Get serious about your spiritual future.' They even had a P.O. Box and an 800 number. He had nothing against Christians or Christianity. He was born Christian, Baptist, but he had seen enough to know that there was no one _true_ religion, no one religion better than another, no one _true_ church. It was up to the individual within the religion. Every religion had its gurus, and its despots. And he had seen enough to know better than to fall for the dogma of the Church of God, Richmond or otherwise. It wasn't the people of the COG that disturbed him—they were happy, and they seemed to truly believe they were serving God—it was their blind faith and their undying loyalty that was the problem. Not their undying loyalty to God. Jason wouldn't be here now if it weren't for his belief in the importance of the Greater Good over self-preservation. It was their undying loyalty to their _church_. Jason had seen the results of their efforts—the fruits of their labors—and he knew he wouldn't be here if it weren't for that bitter fruit. No, it was they, the followers that were the true victims, but that only partially excused them. Jason thought the second worse thing a person could do is take advantage of another—especially in a time of weakness—which was the M.O. of the Church of God. Under the banner of the cross, they exploited people's weaknesses, promising, and succeeding in delivering them from the hold of their complexes, but at the expense of their individuality. The followers were victims to the inner sanctum. But in Jason's mind, the worst thing anyone could do was allow someone else to think for them, or to just simply not think at all—and that transgression lay solely on the heads of the followers. But because of self-esteem problems, family problems, financial problems, or emotional problems, the followers had allowed themselves to be brainwashed by the Church of God, their actions were to an extent understandable and excusable, but the one responsible, the man behind the curtain, Maximilian Powers, had no excuse. The trumpets had blown, the seals had been broken, the bell had tolled, and before Jason went home, stark retribution would come for Mr. Powers—and it would not be pretty.

# CHAPTER FOUR

Michelle was the last student to leave the classroom. She had stayed back to talk to the professor, and she had been granted an extension, as well as a chiding for waiting until the last minute to do her problem set. _What a week_ , Michelle thought as she left the room. If only she could bottle this shit. She could sell it to some monks, or nuns, so they could get the benefit of suffering, without the uncomfortable rash that accompanied hair underwear. But knowing her luck, she'd find that they had abandoned the bear-hair Underoos a long time ago, and now opted to listen to Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow for their daily penance—a throe with which her financial and emotional duress could not compete. She cracked a smile at the thought of nuns, toiling away at their daily chores, cringing and gnashing their teeth as _Copacabana_ blared through overhead loudspeakers.

She left the engineering building and walked towards Belgrave Hall, the main cafeteria. Just outside the building, she saw two students, a guy and a girl, talking to another, mousy looking girl, books clinched tight to her chest, about her relationship with God. The Church of God. She thought they had been banned from campus. She knew the university considered them a cult and they weren't allowed to have university sanctioned meetings, but when she thought about it, she supposed the university couldn't kick students out because of a group they were affiliated with, and unfortunately, they couldn't stop them from accosting everyone they came across. There were few students on campus that hadn't been exposed to the RCOG in one way or another. Michelle herself had gone to the RCOG for two weeks her freshman year. She didn't know too many people on campus, and she thought it was a nice gesture. She had hung out with them for those weeks, gone to a couple services and Bible studies, and fellowshipped with them afterwards. They were really nice people—much nicer than everyone else on campus—but after a only a week, some of the older members began pressuring her, asking her when she planned to get serious about God, and when would she become a true devotee. They told her she had to leave her old, denominational church, and if her parents would not come to the COG with her, she had to break away from their hold over her and become financially independent. Although her family didn't go every week, there were some good people in her church who had helped her a lot growing up, denominational or not. And her parents. Her parents meant everything to her; without them she wouldn't have been there to listen to them tell her she needed to 'break away from their hold over her.' They said she didn't need to be disrespectful, or stop loving them—that wasn't what they meant—but she did need to be her own person so she could grow fully in Christ.

Balderdash.

They didn't want her to be independent. They wanted her to be dependent on the church, not the collective Christian church, but _their_ church—and that sounded suspect to her. That may have been okay for others, but as long as she had her family, and those she cared about and she knew _truly_ cared about her, she would be just fine on her own. So she left.

Belgrave Hall was swarming with students. Michelle navigated her way through the flower children sitting listening to two girls singing and playing guitars on the lawn in front of the hall, and through the sorority girls, fully dressed and made up, throwing themselves at the fraternity guys on the stairs leading to the entrance. She noticed one of them look down her nose at her as she walked in, but she ignored her.

She got her food and sat down at a small two-person table beside the large window that formed most of the wall facing the courtyard. She had a barbecued chicken sandwich, fries, a root beer, and for dessert, nothing less that Big Ed's Super Saucer. The freezer in Belgrave was damn near zero Kelvin, and it petrified the ice cream, but by the time she was done with the sandwich and fries and had gulped down the last of the root beer, the Super Saucer would be the perfect consistency.

As she ate, she thought about her mom. She was certain her mom would call. She had this uncanny ability to sense when something was wrong. All through high school, whenever something went wrong, whenever she got in trouble for something she had done—or hadn't done—or for something she said—which was usually the case—when her mother got home from work, she usually skipped the 'Hi Michelle, how are you, how was your day?' and moved directly to 'So, how was school?' Somehow, she always knew—even, eighty miles away. When she'd gotten short on rent money it was 'How's your money holding up?' When she'd gotten fired from the cafeteria for telling her fat, overbearing, misogynist, hygiene-deficient boss that if he could manage to get his head out of his ass long enough he could stuff his crusty, overcooked, sweet rolls up it, it was 'So, how's work?' The day she had officially broken up with her ex, it was, 'So, how's Greg?' Her intuition was uncanny, and almost foolproof.

As she stuffed a handful of fries into her mouth, Michelle noticed a guy in black, baggy jeans and a billowy purple sweatshirt sitting in the corner of the cafeteria reading a school newspaper. She had seen him somewhere before, but she couldn't remember where. She did that all the time. There wasn't a face she had seen her entire life that she had forgotten, but she had often forgotten where and when she had seen it, and it always bugged her. The college campus seemed to tease her fragmented facial memory. She would see someone she swore she knew from somewhere, but then—sometimes through embarrassing herself—would realize that they just worked in the library, or lived in the same dorm, or just walked the same way to class. But if she thought long and hard enough, she could usually remember where she saw them. But she couldn't even get a foothold on where she had seen this guy, but she knew she had seen him somewhere.

"Hey Michelle."

Her thought process was suddenly broken. She looked up, mouth full of sandwich. It was Jon carrying a tray of food. "I, uh, saw you over here after I got my food."

"Hey Jon, have a seat." Michelle pulled her tray towards herself to give him more room.

"How ya doin'," he said as he sat down.

"Could be better," Michelle said and took a sip of her root beer, "You?"

"All right I guess, this German class I think is gonna kill me this semester though, and it's just an elective. I think I'm gonna take it pass-fail."

"German, is tough huh? When my mom speaks it, I have no idea what she's saying. She doesn't do it that often though."

"Nah, it's not so bad, I took five years in high school but..."

"Wait, how the hell'd you take _five_ years in high school?"

"Oh, in eighth grade, I was in all honors classes, and they let us take a foreign language early."

"Oh, okay," she picked up another handful of fries, "sorry to interrupt, finish what you were saying."

"Uh, what was I saying?"

"I took five years in high school but..."

"Oh yeah, I remember, I took five years in high school, but I haven't spoken German since high school. So, no German for three years, and then BLAM, they stick me with Frau Hwang."

_"Frau_ Hwangl"

"Yeah, Hwang, she's a Ph.D. in linguistics from Korea. Speaks fluent German, French, Italian, and of course Korean, but her English stinks. So she comes in " _Wie geht es ihnen_ " this, " _alles gut mit mir_ " that, I mean she rattles off German like Rain Man on amphetamines. Then, when we ask her to explain, we understand more of her German than we do her English. Man, I'm gonna die in that class."

Michelle was choking, trying to keep root beer from coming out her nose. She regained her composure and let her laugh escape. "I'm sorry."

"Why, s'not your fault. Besides, maybe, if I make it through this whole ordeal, I'll come out knowing some Korean." He stuffed some fries in his mouth. "So, how's Greg?" he asked, still chewing, covering his mouth with his hand.

Michelle looked up, wiping her mouth with her napkin. "Geez, you sound like my mom. Well, Greg is, as they say in France, a son of a mangy bitch."

"Hmm, so I take it he's gone for good this time?"

"Yep. Your food's gonna get cold if you don't eat it," Michelle said taking a bite out her sandwich.

"Oh yeah," Jon said, picking up his fork. "So, you read about that accident on the Strip last night?"

"Didn't need to," she swallowed, "I was in it. I was one of the people who almost got hit."

"Oh, I'm sorry,"

"Why, s'not your fault," she stuffed the last bite in her mouth.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, I guess, at least nothing a little Prozac wouldn't cure."

"The paper said the front end of the car was destroyed, said the whole axle and catalytic converter was obliterated. The right wheel wasn't even attached when they found it. Must've been something. Glad you're okay though. They said the others were all okay, but one guy ran off. They didn't use any names other than the chucklehead standing around commenting, as usual."

Michelle squeezed the Super Saucer lightly between her thumb and forefinger. It mashed in slightly. "Perfect," she said more to herself than Jon, "Nobody wants a petrified Super Saucer."

She picked up her bag from the floor with one hand, and her tray with the other and stood. "Say, Jon, I hate to eat and run, but I gotta go. Gimmie a call sometime okay, we'll hang out, maybe see a movie." Jon waved and she left.

* * *

Jason observed, over a campus newspaper, as Michelle got up from her table, still wiping ice cream from her mouth. The guy she was with waved in a shy kinda unsure way. This guy—whoever he was—definitely was not a boyfriend. But Jason knew the pantomime well—either this guy was the most neurotic person outside of the loony bin, or he had a thing for Michelle. Not that it was hard to understand. She was beautiful even without makeup and in baggy sweats. Her motions were graceful and innocent. Just from observing her for only a short time, he could tell she was probably a very sweet girl, and yet sexy just the same—but that was irrelevant.

He folded his newspaper slowly as she walked out of the cafeteria. He tucked the paper under his arm, stood and moved toward the door. As he turned to walk out he made eye contact with the student Michelle had been sitting with. He had tried to avoid it, but to look away suddenly now would call unnecessary attention to himself. He nodded a greeting as he continued to walk, but the student looked away coyly.

As Jason walked out of the cafeteria he saw Michelle walking through the courtyard toward the street. He stopped just outside the cafeteria entrance, leaned against the wall and looked at his watch as though he was waiting for someone. His mind was spinning at 7200 RPMs. Too many questions buzzed into his mind. How would he approach Michelle and not sound like a lunatic? How could he convince her to believe him? And then he thought about Max. He wondered how many lives that madman had already ruined. How many more were spiraling toward their doom and didn't even know it?

Michelle reached the street and turned to walk down the sidewalk. Jason looked at his watch again, and then watched as she disappeared behind one of he buildings facing the street. He tucked the paper under his arm again, and began to jog toward the building.

* * *

Michelle stopped at the corner and picked up a campus newspaper from the stack at the end of the walkway, then moved toward her apartment looking at the cover page. The front page had a picture of that gray car, twisted and lodged against the building across the street from Sparky's. She skimmed through the article as she walked, but even without reading thoroughly she could tell it was the same shoddy reporting that could only hazily be called journalism and was indicative to the _Technophobe_. It was usually written by naïve, overzealous freshmen who wouldn't know how the world worked if they were given instructions and a free tutorial. The editorials were either hyper- conservative treatises on why everyone should be like the author's parents, or under-thought mega-liberal rants on why the author should be able to do whatever he or she damn well pleased without any consequences. If ignorance was bliss, this newspaper was the most uplifting piece of literature ever printed. It should have been printed on toilet paper to save everyone a step.

She opened it to the entertainment section to find another rant by some Gene Siskel wanna-be on James Cameron and how childish his movies were. Another wonderful piece of film criticism by some egghead who wouldn't know what fun was if it nested in his asshole.

Michelle looked farther down the page and saw the Bauhaus was starting midnight showings of _Terminator 2_ this weekend. She raised an eyebrow to the ad and then balled the paper up. As she reached the steps to her building, she threw it in the newspaper recycling bin. That one lasted longer than most issues.

* * *

Jason watched from across the street as Michelle picked up a newspaper from the stack at the end of the walkway. He hopped up, landing seated on the wall surrounding Magnesson Hall, and watched as she opened the paper and moved toward her apartment.

Jason scanned the area. Most of the students must have been either getting out of class or going to class because the walkways were bustling. The bustling brought back memories of college to him. Life was by no means easy then, but it had been much easier than now. How green he was then. Maybe not as green as the students who now migrated to and from class in front of him like cattle herded off to slaughter. If only they knew what was going on around them, what evil was lurking among them even now as the sun shone brightly over them. If only they knew how quickly that light would wane. But that was what evil preyed on wasn't it? Our ignorance. Our refusing to believe that it lives and breeds in our faces every day. He wished he could scream to the heavens and let them know, but many better than him had screamed to the heavens before him, and they had all be ignored or killed or both. What made him any different? Besides, that wasn't his job anyway. It was not his job to preach about what was wrong. He was the one they called when the preaching stopped. The one who was needed when there was nothing left to say.

Jason watched as they moved in a wavering cloud of academia. One girl greeted her boyfriend at the edge of the street and almost dropped her bag as she practically leapt into his arms to kiss him. They had either just started seeing each other recently, hadn't seen each other in a while, or had just made up from a big fight. The guy brushed her hair away from her face. The gesture was automatic, natural—these two knew each other well. So they hadn't just met. They turned, hand in hand and began walking, he took something from his back pocket and handed it to her, it was in a necklace box. Reparations Jason figured. They had argued, he had done something wrong, they fought, possibly even broke up, she had waited for him to make the first move, to apologize, and when he did, he had said something miraculous, and now he was icing the cake. This guy couldn't have been one of the good guys.

If he had been, it would have probably been over before he had a chance to fuck up. In his experience, in relationships, the good guys never won.

He looked back down the path before the girl opened the jewelry box and a smallish student, nervously scratching the side of his head caught his eye. He was tapping the toes on his left foot franticly and staring at Michelle as she walked. As she passed he half stood and waved and was about to say something, but stopped in mid breath and sat back on the bench with his head down, defeated. With her head buried in the paper, she hadn't noticed him at all. She continued up the stairs, packed the paper into a tight ball and tossed it into a bin at the entrance to the apartment as she walked in.

Jason watched the strange student fidget around on the bench for a few minutes, looking at the ground, hands clasped, head hung low, still tapping his foot franticly and bobbing his head as though to some beat. He was Asian, probably Chinese judging from his features, and was dressed fairly nicely, but his posture and his nervousness definitely took off some suave points. He began tapping his foot somewhat harder and his head moved in more pronounced bobs as though he were listening to music. But he had no headphones. This guy definitely had something on his mind. He began to look as though he was suffering from some sort of breakdown and he stopped, stood up suddenly, and practically sprinted to the payphone across the walkway. He picked up the handset, put in two coins, and then began dialing franticly. He stopped, pulled down the hook on the phone, retrieved his coins, and then dialed again. He repeated the entire ritual once more and then finally put the receiver to his ear. _What the hell was this guy up to?_

Suddenly, the guy hung up the phone like it was on fire, thrust both hands in his pockets, did a full 360 degree turn in slow motion in front of the phone and then moved to sit back on the bench. This guy had it bad. Jason shook his head. He had been in more fist fights, knife fights, gun fights and even sword fights than he could remember, but he probably would have faired no better than this guy given the same situation—if the situation was what he thought it was. It was a good thing he didn't care about that any more.

* * *

Michelle tossed her book bag on the floor next to her bed and looked at the telephone on the nightstand. A red LED three winked at her on the phone. That was more messages than she had gotten at once in a long time, especially this early. She plopped down on the bed and without looking, reached over and pressed the play button. She had gone through this routine many times. She settled back onto the bed and let her head sink into the fluffy pillow. As the scratchy mechanical male voice reported, "You have three new messages."

The first message took a second or two to start but Michelle could hear bustling in the background. Suddenly, the caller's voice emerged, "Hey Shell, I nee..."

Before the fourth word finished Michelle's hand was already on the delete button. "Message deleted," the monotone digital voice confirmed. _This guy never quit did he_? It was always the same 'Hey Shell I need this,' or 'Hey Shell I need that' It didn't even sound like he was calling to see if she was okay. Granted she didn't give him the chance, but unfortunately now she knew him too well. She felt stupid for not allowing herself to see it sooner.

The next message started instantly, "Michelle, I am calling to see how you are doing because I have not talked to you in a long time. Call home when you get the message, okay?" Her mother's exaggerated English sounded through the room. Whenever she spoke English she always spoke too loud, and tried too hard to say every word properly to cover her accent, which she successfully covered at the expense of sounding like a Berlitz tape. When she was younger, the way her mother spoke embarrassed her, but now, her mother's voice comforted her. Michelle folded her arms and hugged herself and she smiled a little as the time signature chimed in broken computerized English, "Wednesday... twelve... four-T five... P.M." It never failed. Somehow, she always knew.

The next message started in a hiss that sounded like someone calling from a crowded place or a payphone then clicked suddenly. "Wednesday... two... seven-TEEN... P.M." Michelle looked at the clock on her dresser. That was only a minute ago. If it were important, they would have left a message. It was probably Greg calling her again anyway. She prayed he didn't show up outside again, or worse yet, at her door. What did she have to do to get her point across to him? Maybe if she went downtown, bought a gun, and shot him in his ass he would get it. But even then he'd probably just call from the hospital, trying to convince her that he needed her. She knew he needed her, the problem was she didn't need him.

Suddenly the phone rang, Michelle instinctively grabbed the receiver and picked up the phone, but paused before pushing the talk button. Did she really want to pick up the phone? She let the phone ring again, then halfway through the third ring she pressed the button. "Hello," she said letting it drag out warily.

"Michelle this is mother, are you okay, you sound upset."

"Nah mom, phone company keeps calling trying to get me to change long distance service."

"Sounds like boy company keeps calling to me."

"Mom..." Michelle gasped as though she were shocked at her mother's directness. Michelle knew her mother was about as discrete as a pile driver, but she still managed to catch her off-guard. "Well, it's not just that," Michelle said then paused. She wanted to tell her mother about the accident, but she didn't want her to worry, "I guess I'm just a little nervous about my exams."

"You are a very smart girl, or smart woman now, I should say. I believe you will make the right decisions in life. That is why I said nothing when you brought Greg to meet me. I thought he was polite, but something about that boy was not right. But I said if Michelle is happy now, that is good, and I trust you to know right from wrong and know if he is good or no good."

"Thank you mom."

"I just called to make sure you were okay, I will let you study now so you will be less nervous." She could hear her mom smiling as she finished. She knew her mother knew better, she could never fool her. "You be safe okay? _Wo ai ni_ "

Her mother insisted on speaking English the entire conversation unless she was angry, but she always ended in Mandarin. " _Wo ai ni_ ," Michelle answered, feeling the words 'I love you' to her mother rather than just saying them as she did when she was younger.

_"Zai jian_."

"Zai jian," Michelle ended, paused to exhale, and then pressed the Talk button.

As soon as Michelle pressed the Talk button the phone rang again. Probably her mother again. She often called back to add something she had forgotten to say. Michelle pressed the talk button, cutting off the first ring in mid tone. "Hello," she said, quicker this time, cutting off the H, sure it was her mother.

The phone just buzzed—the same buzz from the phantom answering machine message. Then there was a mumbling in the dissonance, "Uh...uh..." It wasn't her mother, but whoever it was, she had somehow caught them completely off-guard.

"Hello?" she said again, more a question than a greeting.

"Oh, uh, hi Michelle. That was weird... The uh... phone didn't ring."

Michelle was bewildered. She didn't recognize the voice. "Who is this?"

The mumbling turned to rambling, "Oh, it's... uh... Franklin...y'know from 343... I hope you don't mind me calling, I got your number off the school database. At the computer lab... y'know... hope you don't mind."

Franklin had an uncanny ability to always show up to class at the same time as her, no matter how late or early she was, and he always held the door for her. She thought it was a nice gesture. He would occasionally sit next to her in the lecture, but he seemed to stutter sometimes when he talked and would look down at his desk a lot. He was really bright and always helpful with assignments and never condescending when he explained things, but it was much easier to talk to him in e-mail than in person. "It's okay Franklin, so what's up?"

"Oh not too much, I guess... I dunno, I uh..." he paused, Michelle could hear him inhale deeply, "I just wanted to know if you know, if you weren't busy or anything if you'd like to maybe go do something this weekend?"

Michelle was flattered. This guy was really nervous. A lot of girls might have been turned off by that, but she thought it was kinda cute. Greg had been full of confidence when he approached her and that had gotten her attention, but later, when his confidence proved to be ego, it began to assault her senses. But when she thought about it, it wasn't that he had changed, but that her perception had come full circle. He hadn't turned into an asshole, he had just gotten comfortable enough with her to take off his mask.

So Franklin's butterflies were refreshing. She didn't understand what he could possibly see in her to make him so nervous, but she was flattered nonetheless. "Sure Franklin, I'd like to go out this weekend." She could tell he was avoiding the G word so she said it for him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, and hopefully if she seemed comfortable, he would mellow out a little bit, it would be a welcome change to hang out someone with an ego smaller than the Hindenburg.

"So I guess, think of somethin' you wanna do, and I'll call back like tomorrow or somethin' and we'll figure it out okay?"

"Sounds good to me."

"Okay," there was a short, but odd pause as though he were thinking of what to say next, "I'll talk to you tomorrow I guess."

"Okay, talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye."

Michelle had just pursed her lips to form the B when the phone clicked. She put the phone down and lay back on the bed. She had no idea what to expect from this guy. He was kinda cute in an intelligent, egghead sort of way and he should at least be cool to hang out with for a little while. Everyone deserved a chance didn't they? Besides, he seemed sincere. Greg was always quick with the sweet nothings that were light on the sweet and heavy on the nothing. He probably wouldn't know what sincere was if it messed up his perfect hair. Michelle got up and walked over to her computer. She her terminal program, logged onto the Collegium BBS, and extracted Daerick's story from his message. She loaded her word processor and told the computer to print. Daerick's stories were always delightful—well delightful wasn't the appropriate word, because they were usually dark and pretty grim, but they always seemed to say something important. There was a shortage of people who had important things to say it seemed. Besides, she could stand to think about something else for a little while, even if it was dark and grim. Escapism was a wonderful thing indeed.

* * *

Jason watched as the nervous guy hung up the phone for the second time. He had actually talked this time, but through the course of the conversation he managed to twist the phone cord into about a thousand knots. He hung up the phone, stared at it for a few seconds, then inhaled and exhaled deeply as though he had just been under water for the length of the conversation. He turned, walked to the street, and crossed, coming toward Jason. Jason could see he was smiling as he crossed. He reached the other side then turned and jogged along the street.

As the boy jogged out of sight, Jason's left eye began to twitch again. This made him nervous. Nothing good seemed to come after his left eye twitched. He knew it was superstition, but it seemed to be a pretty good indicator. He walked across the street toward the pay phone, hoping no one got to it before he did. He walked over to the phone and took the receiver off the hook. He dropped the receiver holding the cord and let it spin out the knots—he despised knotty phone cords. When it had reasonably untangled itself, he hoisted the receiver back up to his hand and took a small disc from his pocket that reminded him of some bizarre cross between a calculator and a birth control calendar. He punched a few buttons on the keypad, then placed the back of it against the mouthpiece as he cupped it and put the phone to his ear.

There were a sequence of beeps transmitted through the device, then another sequence of tones followed by a choppy female voice reporting, "Eight- oh four... five-five-too... four-six... oh-one."

He had definitely called Michelle. He didn't look like a casual acquaintance. He was entirely too nervous. He hadn't talked for long, but his response to the conversation did not lead Jason to believe it had been a bad one. This guy had trouble approaching her when she walked by, then called her on the phone instead of just knocking on her door. He had depersonalized the situation, making it more comfortable. Jason sorted out the pieces in his mind. They definitely knew each other, but not well. He wanted to ask her out, but did not have a reasonable segue so he had to create his own. This made him very uncomfortable. He dressed well, but his dress was casual, which meant he probably had some self-esteem, or was simply making preparations to ask her out, but either way, he was not comfortable around women, at least not ones he liked. She must have said yes, because he would not have walked away grinning like who-done-it if she had jilted him.

Great. She didn't seem to want anything to do with the guy from last night—probably an ex-boyfriend or something, but now this guy was in the picture—at least for the time being—and this added a new complication. As far as Jason could tell, Michelle was not the type to hang out with a lot of people—which was good. The more people around, the harder his job became—and it was already damn hard enough. A real briefing would have been nice though. It would have been nice to know what the fuck he was up against, and more of the parameters pertaining to the mission ahead of time, but that had not been an option, and it wasn't worth throwing a fit over now. He was down in it now and he had to deal with it, briefing or not. The big question was how.

# CHAPTER FIVE

"Will a man rob God?" Martin Diaz posed to the packed auditorium before him. "I pose this question to you for I know many at other churches give what they can here, what they can there. But I ask you, does anyone here today believe that he or she can fool God?" He paused for a moment to look over the audience. "I said, does anyone here believe he can fool God?" He paused again for effect. The audience was fixed on him, many kept their eyes focused on the podium he stood at, other's scribbled notes on pads, but everyone was focused on his words.

"I did not think so, for God knows all, he sees all. God tells us we should tithe ten percent of our earnings each week. Not what we can spare. Not what we can get by with. Not ten percent after the bills have been paid, but ten percent of our _total_ earnings—gross not net. So I ask again, will a man rob God? Because if you tithe any less than ten percent of your weekly gross earnings, that's what you're doing."

He took a sip from the glass of water on the podium. Marty was not your typical preacher dressed in robes and raiment, or even a suit. He looked more like a guest lecturer at a university. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a light blue shirt. His shoes were leather, but casual. He looked no different than anyone in the audience. He grabbed the left earpiece of his glasses and adjusted them on his face then continued. "Everything we have, the sky above us, the ground below us, and all things in between—that great job you got last week, the home entertainment center, that brand new car—all of it was given to you by God. Without him we have nothing. So if you ask me, ten percent of that is not too much to ask, and yet some people—not at this church mind you—but some people who call themselves true Christians believe they can shave a little off the top, cut a few corners, and God won't know. But you tell me, what if God shaved a little off the top? What if God cut a corner here, or a corner there? What then? What if when he made the sky he decided, well, I think I've used enough ground already, they can get by with half an earth? I'd like to keep a few souls for myself, I'll only give this woman half of one. What then? What if God had decided he'd like to keep his Son? Those humans won't notice. What then? We'd all be responsible for the burden of our own sin. What would you do then, huh? What if God had decided to keep Jesus for himself. You all know the passage well, 'For God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son.' Not one of a hundred, not one out of ten, but his only. God gave _one hundred percent_ to us so that we might have eternal life, and all he asks for in return is ten percent. Ten measly percent. And yet some feel that is too much. But it shouldn't stop there brothers and sisters. My God—your God—is a wonderful God. He has given us the promise of life everlasting. Can you imagine that? I can't. Life everlasting. And in return all we must give is ten percent? I say that's not enough brothers and sisters in Christ. I say we must give our entire _lives_ to him. Not just a few minutes of prayer before we go to bed at night. Not just a few moments of grace before a meal, but every minute of every hour of every day should be spent for him. No less. And not just keeping God in your hearts, but spreading his gospel to everyone. It is not just our plight, but it is our duty to God. Jesus said no man is saved but through me. That is _no_ man. _We_ must spread the gospel so that others might have eternal life through Him. And not just when we feel like it. Not just when things are going great, but whenever the opportunity presents itself. You see a man that looks lonely, a man that looks down on his luck, tell him about God's good grace—the blood of the lamb Jesus Christ. No man can be lonely if only he accepts Christ in his heart. No man can be down on his luck if he only he has

Jesus with him. And just calling yourself a Christian is not enough. Other churches are lax, but here, in this church, we are truly His disciples. We follow the word as it is _written_ , not as it is _interpreted_. There is no interpretation of the Bible. The Bible is God's holy word. No less. If a man does not give every moment of his life to God, then he is not a true disciple. He is indeed a castaway in Babylon. Jesus does not say there are many paths to the light. He says there is no way to heaven but through Him, Jesus Christ. So I ask once again, will a man rob God? Because Brothers and sisters I tell you if you give anything thing less than every waking moment to the Holy Father and Jesus Christ our eternal savior, that is what you are doing. I have something to show you today, but first, I want to share something with you all." Marty stopped, gripped the podium with both hands, and cleared his throat.

"When I was eighteen my father kicked me out of the house. He said I was a danger to my family and a disgrace—and a part of me believes what he said was true. I would stay out all hours of the night and some nights not come home at all. I ran with kids who stole cars and sold drugs. After my father put me out, it didn't get any better. My family became the streets. I would hang out with this kid named Andy Drew. Andy knew where to get everything; cars, drugs, women, you name it. If he didn't know about it or where to get it, it probably didn't exist. The two of us together made an insidious team. What we couldn't cheat people out of we stole." Marty paused and took another sip of water, then looked up introspectively.

"But even though I thought I lived like a king, I was always unhappy. I was absolutely miserable. No matter what I did, things never seemed to _feel_ any better, so I handed my problems over to drugs. I did anything I could get my hands on, and I did any and everything to get my hands on them."

Marty looked down at the podium and gripped it again, tighter this time, twisting his mouth slightly, awkwardly. He went on after standing like this for a moment, but slower, eyes still on the podium, "Then one day Andy got so fried on LSD he thought he was invisible, and to prove it to me, he put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger."

He paused again and looked back up at the crowd, "That sent me spiraling down even harder. I did anything I could to myself because I blamed myself for not stopping him. For just watching while he blew his brains across the wall."

He took a long drink of water, finishing the glass then set it on the podium with a ring that resonated through the microphone. "After that, if I wasn't high, I was drunk. I would spend whole weeks with no sleep, strung out on amphetamines, hanging out in peepshows and strip clubs. I didn't know where I was going, I just knew I wanted to get there fast."

He looked up again, looking more into himself than at the balcony, then as he looked over the crowd again, his words found new life, new energy. "Then one fateful day in Washington D.C., I met Brother Brinkman and he steered me to the light. He got me off the drugs and replaced them with the word of God. Now honestly, I've done just about every drug man has created, and some he didn't, but no upper, no high, no fleeting alcoholic escape can measure up to the unfaltering grace of God. My life turned around. I met my wife here in the House of God. I was given a job here to get myself on my feet. I learned what life was really about. And now I stand before you, to let you know, for those of you who may be new here, for those of you who may be unsure or skeptical, there is no thing on this earth like the love I have experienced in this church, and if it can turn someone like me around, it can certainly help you. Look at Brother Powers here. Just last night he was in an accident that left his car in ruin, mangled and destroyed almost beyond recognition, but here he stands before you today, practically unscathed. Brother Powers stand up for us please."

Max stood and looked around, waving coyly, then sat back in his chair.

"God's grace is good," Marty continued. "It can deliver Max from a smoking wreck, it can deliver me from the bowels of knavery, and it can deliver you, brothers, sisters and friends, from your transgressions as well. There is no force greater than the love and power of God. And with that, I leave you with this." He waved his hand, indicating the curtain behind him.

"Now I want you to think about it, not just watch the colors go by and listen to the sounds, but really think about it with your mind and your heart. Think about what it means in your life."

The curtains behind him opened slowly as the lights dimmed, revealing a large white screen behind him. He moved down off the stage and took a seat at the aisle in the front row. The man sitting next to the seat patted him on his back and complemented him on his sermon as he sat and the white screen was bathed in blue light. The word PLAY appeared in white in the upper right hand corner of the screen, flashed, then the screen turned black.

The black faded into color and a red barn appeared. The sky was dark and angry and rain bathed the earth in a deluge. Next to the barn was a modest country house where inside, a man was having breakfast with his wife and son.

"Why do you have to go up to the dam today Vance? They never call you in on a Sunday," The woman asked as their son happily ate his breakfast. He was a cute, blonde little boy with a bowl haircut, dressed in corduroy overalls and a flannel shirt.

"Dad, can I go with you to work?" he asked before stuffing a spoonful of scrambled eggs in his mouth.

"Not today son, it's rough out. Besides, who's gonna take care of your mom while I'm gone?" he said to the boy as he slipped on his rain smock. After adjusting the bright yellow smock he turned his attention to his wife, "They got flood warnings comin' in from Furgeson and they wanna run some drills down at the dam in case we gotta use the new flood system. I shouldn't be there for too long," he said as he picked up his keys from the counter, grabbed his toolbox and headed for the door. His wife stood and stopped him and gave him a quick kiss.

The wife moved back toward the table and turned to the boy, "I don't want you feedin' them grits to Buford again, motioning to the bloodhound lazing sleepily under the table. The boy nodded chewing another spoonful of eggs, then tossed his spoon onto his plate and jumped toward his dad with open arms. The father caught the boy and hoisted him up smiling.

"Goodbye daddy," the boy said as his father beamed at him.

"You're gettin' to be a right big boy aren't ya? Soon you'll be big and strong and tough."

"Like you daddy?"

"Yep, just like me son. You mind your mother and eat all your breakfast and I gua- _ran_ -tee it."

"I gua- _ran_ -tee it too," the boy laughed, mocking his father."

"You go on now and eat yer breakfast so I can get to work."

"Okay daddy." The boy hopped down and went back to his breakfast and the father turned toward the door again.

"I'm gonna check on the horses 'fore I go," he added as he moved toward the door.

The mother waved from the doorway then went into another part of the house. As soon as she was gone the boy turned his attention to the door and watched as his father moved toward the barn. As he swallowed the eggs, a mischievous smile spread across his face.

The father moved from the barn toward his truck and got in. He started the engine and moved toward the driveway. As he pulled off, the little boy poked his head from under the tarp in the back, then concealed himself again as he smiled.

At the dam, the father's foreman handed him a hard hat and walked with him to the control room. "You see, the new system floods the valley on the other side of Churchhill." They entered the control room, which overlooked the big dynamos that harnessed the kinetic energy of the river and converted it to electricity. "If the river swells beyond flood level, this alarm here will go off. You'll have about fifty seconds to press this button here, then pull this lever which will open the rerouting gates and route the water going through the dynamos to here," he pointed to a monitor which showed a flood gate that led outside and to the east toward Churchhill. "There, the excess will fill the empty valley and we won't have to evacuate the town."

Outside, the boy climbed from the back of the truck into the rain. He was getting drenched because he hadn't brought a coat, but he didn't seem to mind. He looked around the parking lot, which had a few trucks, and a car scattered here and there. The boy looked around but a fence surrounded the entire dam. There was a way in from the parking lot but there was a guard checking I.D.s, so he sneaked around behind the cars and looked for another way in. He made his way to the side of the complex where he saw a big ditch and a big red flood gate set in the side of the big hill that the dam was built on. He climbed into the ditch.

Inside the father looked over the new controls when suddenly a siren went off and a big red button began flashing—the button the foreman had shown him. He looked over the controls, somewhat nervous at first, not knowing what to do. Suddenly a woman's voice belted over the loudspeakers, "This is not a test. Repeat: This is not a test. The Whitcomb dam has overflown and the swell is approaching."

The father looked at the monitor, which showed a view of the city from the dam. None of the people in the town were expecting this. There had been no warning. "They don't know," the father said to himself. He had less than forty seconds to act. That was when he saw the monitor for the floodgate.

He looked at it as though he wasn't sure of what he was seeing at first. There was a little boy walking through the drainage ditch toward the floodgate. The rain was heavy and the boy was obscured. The father yelled, "There's someone in the drainage..." but before he could finish the boy turned and moved closer to camera and he realized it was his own son.

He froze, looking at the monitor in horror, and then looked back at the monitor on the town. He turned back to the floodgate and could almost see his boy's eyes through the rain. He looked at the town again and closed his eyes.

"Ten seconds before the swell reaches the dam," erupted over the loudspeaker. The man looked at the monitor with his son who began innocently playing in the middle of the trench. He placed his hand over the flashing red button and closed his eyes as a tear escaped. He turned his head away from the monitor and pressed the button.

Outside, the floodgate opened and water erupted from the dam into the trench. It tore through the trench and between two hills toward the valley.

The sirens slowly subsided and the man collapsed into his chair, eyes still closed, sobbing. The last image was of the monitor focused on the town as a few people began to emerge from their houses and look up at the camera, toward the dam.

As the picture faded to black, a title appeared at the bottom of the screen in white, "For God so loved the world..."

The title stayed there for a few more seconds, and then the lights came back up. Everyone in the auditorium was silent, many were sobbing or crying, or at least shivering. Marty moved slowly to the podium, wiping a tear from his own cheek with a handkerchief. At the podium he pulled the microphone toward him and took a deep breath. His voice, overwhelmed with emotion, was little more than a whisper and his words came slowly. "This is the sacrifice God has made for you, so, as you fellowship and leave here today, ask yourself..." He paused, blotted his eye with the handkerchief and then continued, "...what are _you_ willing to do for him?"

He walked away from the podium and the audience erupted with applause. Everyone stood and began singing. They sang praises to God, then the song moved to blessings for the church, then after another chorus of praises, moved to a verse praying for logarithmic growth of the church that ended with hopes to one day soon be able to fill the Coliseum with members for Sunday service. They sang the chorus three more times and then ended.

As the audience stood they all turned and began shaking hands and hugging each other. Men hugged women, women hugged women, men hugged men, and they were all smiling brightly. It was a glimpse into heaven itself to Max. He looked over the people as they fellowshipped. He shook a random hand, smiled and looked over the crowd. There was a young man, black, about twenty, twenty-one, sitting with his face in his hands and he had that aura. That look. That certain haze that always caught Max's eye. Max made his way through the crowd shaking hands and smiling, moving toward the young man.

The kid wiped his hand over his face and then buried his face again. The film had been touching, but this young man looked like he had been touched by more than the film. That and the strange pull that Max felt toward him was his key to move in.

Max shook a few more hands, smiled at a few more people and gave a hug or two as he moved through the aisle and down the row where he sat next to the kid.

As Max sat, the kid looked up and quickly tried to look as though nothing was wrong. He extended his hand toward Max sharply, trying to look composed, but a shiver moved over him as his arm straightened. Max accepted his hand warmly. "It's okay, really. You can be yourself here."

He looked at Max, wiped the underside of his nose with the back of his hand, then his eye widened a little. He blinked as he sniffed, then looked back at Max, "You're the guy that was in the accident."

"Yeah, it's no big deal though, just a little fender bender." "A fender bender, I think I saw somethin' bout it on the news. Looked to me like the car got all fu... I mean thrashed. You walked away from that?"

"I guess the good Lord was with me."

"See, that's what gets me. My mom goes to church like every Sunday and holiday, yet she still got all sorts-a problems. And I see that, and I'm like why? She does this and that, but she still got laid off when we was young, then got emphysema and couldn't work. So I figure, only way to make it's on your own. So I get into some things here and there and I'm makin' good money. I keep food in the cabinet for my sister and her baby and I pay for mom's hospital and I still got lots left over for myself, but meanwhile I gotta always be lookin' over my shoulder and shi... uh stuff, makin' sure don't no punks jack me. Then I come here and e'rybody's all smiles an' hugs like it's all good. I mean like they ain't got no cares it the world. I see like this crippled guy in the back—no offense—and this deaf guy in front cain't even hear what the hell's goin' —oh sorry—but he _can't_ hear but both he and the guy in the wheelchair just as happy as e'rybody else, and I wonder why I got it all and I'm so miserable."

Max put his arm around the boy. "This is what it's like in the House of God. No problem on earth can measure up to God's love, but you gotta accept him openly. Not just here," he pointed to the boy's forehead, "but deep down in your heart. You gotta give your life to God and the church."

The boy looked down at his shoes, let what Max said spin around in his head, and clasped his hands together.

"Yeah, but what I don't get is, my moms goes to church all the time. All the folks there got crazy religion, but I see 'em and most of 'em just as shit- outta-luck as the next guy. But here—here just ain't the same."

Max turned the boy's face so their eyes met, "That's because just like you said, they have _religion_. But what we have here is _spirituality_. We live the gospel here. Here, you don't need anything but God and the church. Your mother's church, they probably don't follow the Bible like we do here. Most churches just pick a few verses and follow those. Here, we follow God's word to the letter, and not just within the walls of the church, but everywhere, all day, every day."

"Twenty-four-seven?"

"Twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five, and sixty-six on leap-year."

The boy smiled and shook Max's hand again. "Roger," he said introducing himself.

"Max," returned Max giving a hearty shake. He stood up and the boy stood with him. Max put his arm around the boy and gave him a hug. The boy was stiff at first, reluctant, but the relaxed into the embrace. As they hugged, brusquely patting each other on the back, Max whispered into the boy's ear.

"My son, I believe God has a special plan for you. Yes, a very special plan indeed."

# CHAPTER SIX

Jason didn't want to leave his post—not even for a second—but he had too. It was 10:13 P.M. and he hadn't eaten since one or two. He was starting to feel a little weak, both from low blood sugar and lack of sleep he figured. He knew he had to get some sleep tonight, but he didn't want to. Sleep was a waste of time. If his body didn't need it, he'd hardly ever do it. There was so much that could be done in the hours spent sleeping, but most importantly now, he needed food.

He also had to move his car to a different space because there was street cleaning in the morning on this side of the street. He knew they couldn't trace his plates, but he didn't want to run the risk of being towed in the off chance that they ran his plates in the computer and found they didn't exist. He had enough things to worry about without having a senseless run-in with local law enforcement.

He shifted his car into drive, waited for a pickup truck to pass, and drove down the road. He remembered on the way to the campus there were a good number of food places on Broad Street. He drove a few blocks to Broad Street and scanned down the road, but none of the restaurant's lights were on. There was a shop called House of Java with a giant overflowing coffee cup on the front over the door. Jason was pretty sure it was a coffee shop, but even its lights were off. _What kind of twisted coffee shop closed this early_? Jason turned onto the road and drove past a Kentucky Fried Chicken, a Wendy's, a Hardee's— _what the hell was Hardee's_?—all closed. Even the Taco Bell was closed. Jason hated fast food, but right now, he'd fight several large men for a fat, greasy burger. That was when he saw the McDonald's with a huge sign alongside the road that said 'DRIVE THRU OPEN 'TIL MIDNIGHT!!!' in bright yellow letters. _Oooh, good for them_ , he thought as he turned into the drive through lane. Either the times had changed a lot or Richmond was one of the most tired capital cities in the U.S.

He drove through, ordered some fries, three small hamburgers and a large cup full of water. He expected to have to pay for the cup as a drink, but the cashier just gave it to him and flashed him a wide, toothy smile. "You have a good night, now," she said and waved by fluttering her fingers as he drove off. If only she knew, he thought as he moved into the empty Broad street and back towards campus.

As he reached the road in front of Michelle's apartment, stuffing fries into his mouth with his right hand and steering with his left, he noticed a Jeep Cherokee leaving its parking spot on the apartment side of the street. Jason checked the sign as he slowed in front of the now vacant spot—street cleaning had been this morning. He set the bag in the passenger seat and parallel parked in the space.

Jason thought of himself, all things considered, as one of the best drivers he knew. He could say that with great confidence, without feeling he was being too arrogant. He had gotten out of many situations that would have left most burning and wrecked on the side of the road, or worse. He could chase or run from anyone and he dared them to get away from or catch him. And all this he attributed to his cunning at the wheel. If there was anything he had to admit to being cocky about, it would have to be his driving ability, and yet, parallel parking was always a bitch.

He managed to get into the space with little trouble because the Cherokee had left a large opening in the line of cars. He put the car in park, turned off the engine, and let the radio run. He scanned channels and found a station that was playing Vivaldi. He knew the tune. It was his Concerto in... he paused and listened for a moment. He couldn't tell the key by listening anymore, but imagining playing it brought it back to him. He had played cello from Junior high through high school, and this was his favorite piece. He remembered Miss Obenshain picked him to play the solo even though he wasn't the first chair. Yes, that was it, Concerto in A for cello and strings. He never practiced much before that, but he practiced every free moment for the high school concert. That was the best he had ever played. He had loved playing Vivaldi's pieces because they were so full of intensity and drive, but could quickly move to beautiful, flowing, soothing melodies, then right back to fervent intensity in the blink of an eye—but even the intensity was calculated, pointed. Jason could see a lot of himself in Vivaldi's work.

As the concerto continued Jason ate a hamburger with his left hand, and used a fry in his right as the bow for his air cello as he played along. He looked up at the apartment building. One of the few things he had learned in his briefing was which apartment was Michelle's. It was the one directly above the entrance, on the second floor. It was 10:45 but the light was still on. _Typical college student_ , Jason thought. Unless she slept with the lights on, which was unlikely. He finished off his burger, ate his bow, then took out the last bundle of fries and used them as a conductor's baton before stuffing them into his mouth.

Even though his eyelids were sagging, and his head felt as though it were filled with water, he kept his eyes fixed on Michelle's apartment window. He couldn't see in because the blinds were shut, but he did catch a glimpse of her silhouette against them for a moment. Jason pulled the lever beside his seat, reclined back a few notches, settled back into his seat, eyes still focused on the window, and allowed Vivaldi to fill his head.

* * *

Michelle put a CD in the CD player and closed the top. She loved the hissing sound her CD player made when the CDs began to spin. She pressed the number three on the front of the CD player and then pressed play. As the piano riff keyed in she closed her eyes and walked away from the window, to the middle of the floor. She stopped there and kept her eyes closed as the piano faded into soft, lulling conga drums. She began to sway to the lulling rhythm, eyes still closed, and it built in volume as a deep bass beat kicked in, keeping time. Strings filled in over the beat and the rhythm really had her now.

Michelle loved the Art of Noise. And this song, _Moments in Love_ , was her favorite of all. She loved dancing, especially slow dancing, but Greg had hated it, so this ritual had become routine. She moved like this for three minutes or so, until the beat dropped out and left only a bar of snapping fingers. This was the best part. The beat returned, strong as ever, with a chorus of reed flutes singing that wonderful riff that everyone had heard, but no one knew what it was from. Michelle was lost in the music now. She was no longer in her room in her pajamas, but in a long, sleek evening dress, dancing with the man of her dreams. When she looked at his face it was fuzzy and she couldn't see it clearly, but she didn't need to. He held her close to him as they moved perfectly to the rhythm. Neither of them needed to lead, they just moved together, in perfect synchronicity with the music and each other. The music built to a crescendo and held it, sweeping her deeper into the fantasy. Even though she could not see her partner, she could smell the subtle fragrance of Calvin Klein's Obsession on his collar. As she danced in his arms, she ran her fingers through his hair and he moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her even closer. He slid his left hand gently up her back and caressed the nape of her neck. His hands were soothingly warm as he titled her head back. She felt her head melt into his hand and move effortlessly with his motion. She felt the music, the beat, the strings, the flutes coursing through as he touched his lips to hers, lightly at first, her upper lip between his, then with more force, yet still gently, he spread her lips with his. His left hand moved farther around her waist so his arm was completely around her now and he squeezed lightly. She could feel the strength in his arms, but he didn't crush her. She felt comfortable in his embrace, safe. They kissed, and moved their lips and tongues together in perfect symmetry. There was no awkwardness, no forcefulness, just the perfect harmony of their mouths and bodies.

And then the phone rang.

Michelle's eyes snapped open and she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror in a ridiculous pose. She jumped as though someone had seen her, then snatched up the remote from the bed with her right hand and the telephone receiver with her left simultaneously. It was probably her neighbor calling to ask her to turn the music down. She put the phone to her ear and lowered the volume with the remote.

"Hello," she said shakily, her heart jumping as though someone had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar.

"Uh hello, Michelle, this is Franklin. I hope it's not a bother calling this late, but I was busy all day and I know I said I'd call today."

"It's okay Franklin I was uh, just listening to some music."

"Cool, cool... So, you still wanna go out or somethin'?"

"Sure."

"I gotta go to a conference this weekend, but if you're not too busy and your classes aren't too bad on Friday morning, I'd like to go out tomorrow night. That is if you don't mind."

"No, not at all, tomorrow's cool," Michelle sat down on the bed. She heard the song—now at a whisper—end, and the car engines and piano from "Next to the Edit" kick in on the CD player.

"So, I'll see you tomorrow at say eight?" he said.

"Okay, see ya then."

She hung up the phone. Franklin seemed like a nice enough guy but she knew absolutely nothing about him because he hardly ever talked about much more than whatever she asked him about. Well, she'd definitely find out more about him tomorrow, besides it would be nice to go out with a guy who could talk about something other than himself.

Michelle had planned on finishing her problem set before she went to bed, but now she was tired and didn't feel up to it. It must have been senioritis she thought. But even before she was a senior, she was the one who put the 'pro' in procrastinate. She'd just have to get up early and do it. She didn't have work tomorrow, so it shouldn't be too much of a problem. She turned off the light, set the alarm on her clock to 7:30 and went to bed.

* * *

The radio was playing a piece by Dvorak that Jason also remembered, but the title eluded him. He hadn't liked it until he'd heard it played all the way through, but he remembered playing this one as well. He noticed the light in Michelle's apartment go out. It was 11:47, a little early he guessed for a college student. In college he rarely went to bed before one, but maybe she had something to do early in the morning, or she was leaving. Jason waited another fifteen minutes. The Dvorak piece ended and the DJ began playing one of the _Brandenburg Concertos_ that Jason had never heard before. Five after twelve and Michelle still had not emerged from the entrance. Jason's eyes were practically closed now, but he watched for another five minutes just in case. At 12:13 he couldn't hold on any more. He was sure she had gone either to bed or to someone else's apartment, but his body wasn't going to let him stay awake any longer—especially after assaulting it with fast food this late. Jason closed his eyes and settled in his chair. He fell asleep almost instantly with one of the more soothing passages of the _Rachmaninoff 3_ echoing in his head.

# CHAPTER SEVEN

September 19, 1991

Michelle had another one of those bizarre dreams. It started just like all the others, a typical dream in black and white—she always dreamt in black and white—until suddenly it was vaulted into bright, vivid color. Colors more intense than anything the real world could muster. She was at some kind of carnival, and the clowns were trying to get her. They chased her into a fun house and every exit she tried to go through exploded in bright white flames that seemed to eat the building rather than burn it. Soon the entire place was consumed in a blinding wavering white and the clowns were laughing even though some of them were on fire and melting. One of the clowns grabbed her from behind. His head was on fire and made a sickening crackling sound, but he was grinning and laughing a deep, hearty laugh as he began to pull her into the flames with him. She screamed, but no sound escaped her, and she struggled to hit him, but she felt like she was trying to punch and kick under water.

Suddenly as she felt the flames lick at her hair and ears, a shadowy figure came charging through the flames on the other side of the room. The clown stopped laughing as the figure approached in a sprint. The figure was dressed completely in black, and against the flickering white flames it looked like the darkness was glowing. She couldn't see his face. Not because it was covered or obscured in anyway, but because it felt like she wasn't supposed to.

The figure charged toward her and pointed his finger and the clown behind her screamed a sickening, catlike scream and she was launched forward as he erupted in black, shadowy flames that consumed the white flames. She turned as she reeled away from the clown and landed in the shadowy figure's arms as the clown burst like a balloon. A cloud of maggots billowed out in all directions and plopped in a disgusting, writhing sprawl on the floor. The figure pulled her away from the sprawl of maggots as they began to crawl toward her. He pointed his finger again and the shadowy flames appeared in the midst of the maggots, consuming them from the inside out. There was a wicked, unnatural screeching, more like rats than maggots, as they burned in the dark flame. Then suddenly, as she turned, she felt the figure snatched away from her.

Another clown, about eight feet tall, had her shadowy savior in a headlock, and was grinning behind a red face and greasy black smile. He laughed, and the building shook from his sinister chortle. Burning bits of ceiling began to fall as the walls began to crumble. The shadowy figure was struggling, but white flame ignited at his feet and began to crawl up his body. He struggled but the flames continued to crawl up his legs. He reached his hand out to her, and she moved toward him to try and pull him away, but just before she reached him, a flaming rafter fell between them. It hit the ground and embers cascaded toward her. She fell back under the shower of burning bits of wood and heard the clown laughing even louder now, almost uncontrollably. She saw the flames completely consume the dark figure, and noticed that now she was on fire. She felt a heat build up inside her and spread through her body, down her legs, down her arms, to the top of her head, her finger tips, her toes. She tried to scream again as she felt herself explode, bits of her body and soul scattered in every direction.

She awoke screaming, covered in sweat. The alarm was buzzing and she was shivering under the covers. She had always awakened from these dreams in a cold sweat, but this had been the worst one yet. She could still hear the clown's laughter echoing in the back of her mind and it sent chills through her legs and arms that left goosebumps in their wake. She stood and noticed her covers had been tossed about the bed in a hot mess. She was amazed she had awakened under them. She turned her alarm off and made her way to the shower.

* * *

Jason awoke to Mendelssohn's _Leid ohne Wort_. It was too warm in the car and the sun oppressed his eyes when he opened them. His head was heavy and his ankle pleaded to be stretched out. He felt grimy and in desperate need of a shower and he could tell he was starting to smell. He quickly lowered the car windows and felt the chilly morning air rush in and push out the musty, stale air that had accumulated overnight. He took in a deep breath of the fresh air, held it in for a few seconds, and then let it out. It was great to breathe air you couldn't smell.

He looked around. It was eight A.M., but the campus hadn't really awakened yet. Jason figured most morning classes started at nine, so things would pick up in a half an hour or so. He rolled up the windows, got out of the car, and stretched his legs. He bent over and massaged his ankle, which was a little better now, but he still didn't want to exert it too much. He was in dire need of a restroom. And he needed to think of what to do. He had jonesed around for three days now and he only had a few weeks left. Even if it meant just approaching Michelle and trying to work things out from there, he had to do it today, he couldn't waste any more time.

He yawned a deep-chested yawn and turned to Magnesson Lecture Hall. He was sure he could find a restroom there.

* * *

Max looked over his copy of the proposal he had sent to Mr. Davenport to make sure everything was completely in order. He had looked over it more times than he could remember and had not found any problems or inconsistencies before, but he was a little paranoid and he knew that men like Davenport were paranoid as well and often saw problems and inconsistencies where there weren't any. He knew Davenport was a smart man—but quite often high-ranking business executives were too smart for their own good. Max just wanted to be able to anticipate anything that barbarian might see as a problem. His figures were all in order, everything was laid out in the plan, and now, all was left to execution and of course, Davenport's approval and financial support. Max knew this thing could not work without the support of J. Ashton Davenport even if he was a loathsome pagan. It was men like him that had brought the world to its knees in the first place. It was men like him this whole plan was designed to stop. But unfortunately, the plan needed men like him to succeed. Max smiled at the thought of the barbarians' own weaknesses causing their downfall.

Suddenly his watch alarm chimed at him. He looked at the calculator watch on his left arm. In block liquid crystal, the words 'CALL ROG - 8:15 AM' flashed at him. He pressed a few buttons until the 'R.SIMMS' appeared in the display and a phone number appeared under it. Max reached over and picked up the phone from his desk and dialed. A groggy, cracked voice answered on the other end, "Hello?"

"Hello, may I speak to Roger Simms?"

"Yeah, what?" the voice asked, then grunted, clearing the throat.

"Good morning Roger, this is Max from the Richmond Church of God, I was just calling to invite you to a bible study this afternoon. There's gonna be refreshments and a couple of college kids there just kickin' back and having a good time with the word of God."

"Well, I dunno," Roger's voice was a little clearer now, but still groggy, "I got some things I gotta do."

Max could tell he was losing the kid, but he knew he couldn't let this one go, "What's more important that everlasting life Roger? You want to be happy right? Live the good life right?"

"Well, yeah, who doesn't?"

"Well, I'll tell you why most people who make a fortune and have the fame are still miserable. It's because they don't know the true way to happiness. They don't have Christ in their lives. Here, I'll tell you what. You come to the Bible study tonight, and if you don't have a good time, I'll give you forty bucks."

The silence told Max he was at least considering it, "You're gonna bet me forty dollars I have a good time tonight?"

"It's not a bet, it's a guarantee."

"You got a deal then. Where is this little get together?"

Max gave him the address and time, wished him a great day, and hung up. He had to call Davenport, but he wanted to make sure everything was slated for the Bible study tonight. Roger was the second inductee that was supposed to show tonight, and he had to make sure both got more than they bargained for. He picked up the phone and pressed the third button on his speed dial. The wheels were in motion, now. He just prayed there were no potholes in the road.

# CHAPTER EIGHT

Michelle finished her problem set with time to spare. There was still an hour before class and after class she had to work until seven. She hoped she had enough time to get back and get ready before Franklin showed up. She told her computer to print her problem set and got up to shuffle through the papers on her bed to find the notes she needed. She found the two envelopes with her Electricity and VISA payments and picked them up. She found the first four pages of engineering notes and filed those in her left hand with the envelopes. She ran across the guidelines for her physics paper and her heart almost jumped into her throat. She had forgotten about that damned paper and it was due tomorrow. She was gonna have to call Franklin and call off the date. She'd probably break his poor heart, but if she didn't get this paper done, more was going to break than his heart.

She filed the guidelines with the other papers and found the last two pages of engineering notes. Her computer had finished printing so she snatched up the printed problem set, put it in the stack with the rest of the papers and shoved them into her satchel bag. She noticed she only had about ten sheets of printer paper left. Damn, she was going to need more than that to get this paper done.

She left at about 11:15. She was still 45 minutes early, but she figured she'd grab something to eat on the way to class. _How the hell did she forget about that paper_? she thought as she slammed her door behind her. _What the hell was she thinking_?

Jason kept watch on Michelle the same as he had the other days. His left eye had started jumping when he finished washing up in the restroom, and he rushed out to make sure Michelle wasn't leaving, but she didn't leave for another three hours. He had followed her to the one of the campus shops that seemed to be somewhat of a commissary. It had toiletries and amenities as well as all sorts of University specific gift items and school supplies. To keep from looking too out of place Jason perused the clothing section while keeping an eye on Michelle, who bought a ream of Xerox paper. As the cashier rang up her paper, Jason moved in line behind her with a Richmond Poly sweatshirt.

The cashier handed Michelle the paper in a bag that was much too large for it, and she turned and headed for a set of open double doors that led into another part of the building. As she turned, Jason caught a hint of either her shampoo or soap, he couldn't tell. But he instantly knew the fragrance—vanilla. Jason loved the smell of vanilla soap. It never smelled like real vanilla, but it h a d an appeal all its own—especially on a woman.

Jason savored it for a moment, and then pushed it out of his mind. He didn't have time to think about women. Women had never brought anything but stress to him, and he couldn't afford more stress, especially in the situation he was in now. He couldn't let infatuation, or lust, or whatever cloud his judgment. But then again, why the hell was he thinking about this anyway? All he'd done was admire her shampoo. He shook it off and paid the cashier.

"I hope it's okay, all we have is extra-large bags," the cashier said as she took a bag from under the counter and waited for his response.

He watched Michelle walk down the hallway and turn into another set of double doors that led even deeper into the building. "Sure, that's fine," Jason said as he turned his attention back to the cashier and took his change. As she put the sweatshirt in the bag, he noticed there was already something in it.

"Say, you're not from around here are you?" the cashier asked as she stuffed the receipt into the bag and handed it to Jason.

"Nah, just here to go to school."

"You look kinda, uh mature to just be startin'. You in grad school?" the cashier smiled at him but he didn't notice. He glanced over his shoulder to see if anyone was waiting behind him to maybe give a hint to the cashier or the next person in line, but there was no one.

"Yeah," he answered.

"Whatcha studyin'?"

Jason didn't want to lose Michelle. He dropped the bag below the counter and moved his left hand over his watch where she couldn't see it and pressed a button on the side. He looked past the counter and saw a poster of the Blue Ridge Mountains for sale. "I'm studying Geology" that was the best he could think of.

"Wow, really, I didn't know they..." Suddenly the alarm on Jason's watch went off, "...had that here."

Jason held up his watch for her to see, "I hate to run, but I really gotta go," he said and took off through the double doors in a hurried walk. He barely heard the cashier say "See you 'round," as he went down the hall after Michelle.

As he turned the corner he realized where he was—the lobby outside the cafeteria. He saw Michelle walking toward the cafeteria. Suddenly a guy walking out grabbed her. Irritation overtook her face when she saw him, but he just smiled a greasy smile. He was talking, but Jason couldn't make out the words in the busy lobby. He moved closer, then looked in his bag. There were three small ads on thick paper in the bag. He took out two of them and pretended to read them as he approached Michelle and the unknown male. One was an application for a credit card, the other was an order form for discount magazines. He couldn't tell the details because he wasn't really reading them.

"...what part of go away don't you understand, Greg?" he heard Michelle say as he approached slowly, looking as though he were intently reading the application for the credit card, "Let me translate it into Assholese for you—FUCK OFF!"

With one eye over the card, Jason saw her snatch her arm away from the guy and move toward the cafeteria, but he grabbed her again. As he got closer he recognized the guy as the one Michelle was running from the night he had diverted Max's car.

"I don't understand what the big deal is Shell, why won't you listen to me."

Jason shuffled the two cards and began focusing on the order form as he moved slowly toward them. He was about ten feet away now and could hear them clearly.

"Look, you betrayed my trust. You told your friends about my dreams when you promised not to tell anyone. If you break my trust once, you'll break it again."

"Shell I said I was sorry, look, I won't do it again, I promise."

"Did someone write moron on my forehead when I was asleep? My last bowel movement's worth more to me than your promises."

Jason had trouble holding back a chuckle. He covered it by coughing just as he reached the two of them. Michelle shoved the guy back just as Jason passed. The guy looked like a prick, all made up and preened like some kind of model. The type of guy you always saw with one girl or another—or both at the same time—and who always seemed to treat them like shit, yet they always came running back to them. At least Michelle didn't seem to fall for his bullshit.

The guy took a step back and Jason took advantage of the situation. He took a step forward and turned his hip with the step as he tucked his elbow in next to his ribs. Jason snapped as he turned, catching the guy sharply in his ribs with his elbow and knocking him somewhat off balance. He kept up his stride to give off the facade of an accident. He heard the guy yelling after him, "Hey dickhead!"

Jason cracked a slight smile as he moved into the cafeteria. He glanced over his shoulder and saw that Michelle had used the opportunity to get away and was now rummaging through the ice cream bin. Jason sat down at a booth and saw that the guy had given up and was on the other side of the lobby, stomping out of the building. Unfortunately it looked like Michelle wasn't staying either. After paying for an ice cream cookie sandwich and a bagel she headed back out the way she came.

_She can't sustain herself on meals like that_ , he thought as he headed out the cafeteria and through the lobby. He left through the lobby doors hoping to head her off at the gift shop entrance.

* * *

Michelle couldn't believe the gall of that asshole. Did he have some kind of radar or something? She couldn't get away from him. She was going to have to beat his monkey ass with a stick before he got the point. Not that she wouldn't get a kick out of it, but she just wished he'd disappear. And worse yet, she had planned on having a bagel and maybe a quick salad for lunch, but she had to get a Super Saucer to calm her nerves. If all this bullshit kept happening to her she was going to be as big as the Convention Center before long.

She ate the bagel first as she walked out of the gift shop entrance in order to give the Super Saucer time to thaw. She walked toward the engineering building as she tore large bites from the bagel. As she passed the lobby entrance, out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw the guy who had bumped into Greg in front of cafeteria. It looked like it had hurt him too, like he'd caught a shot to the ribs. But of course he tried to play it off. Greg was a character straight out of a cheesy romance novel—without the romance. Mr. Machismo. He was a young Archie Bunker in the making.

She tore at the bagel again like some sort of starving, caged animal. She didn't want to go to class, she didn't want to go to work, and she damn sure didn't want to do that asinine physics paper.

She finished off the bagel as she reached the steps of the Engineering building. She still had twenty minutes until class time so she perched on the steps and opened her Super Saucer. At least she could have a moment of pause before the onslaught.

* * *

Jason could tell they had dated for a while although probably not for too long. He couldn't tell what she had seen in that guy in the first place, but the fact that now she wanted nothing to do with him was indeed a testament to the fact that there was some justice in the world. He had done something to betray her trust and she had broken up with him, probably a week or two ago, because some time had definitely passed since their break up, but not a long time. She must not have felt too strongly for him, at least not deep down inside, because from what he could tell she was probably going out with Nervous Boy from yesterday, judging by the way he was grinning when he left the phone. This added another unforeseen variable. Jason's mind was still churning with ways to approach Michelle and how he could tell her what he needed too. But he knew how farfetched it would sound to her. Hell, it sounded far-fetched to him. Even though he was here now and was 'down in it', he barely believed it himself. He would have pinched himself but he knew even in dreams that didn't wake him up so it was a useless gesture. He didn't know what to do or how to do it, but he had given himself an ultimatum—whatever he did, however he did it, he had to do it today.

# CHAPTER NINE

The mall in Sixth Street Market Place was the antithesis of the food court. The food court was crawling with businessmen and women that worked downtown, City Hall employees, and professors and doctors from the Medical College and hospital that wanted a break from the hospital cafeteria. The mall however, looked like in had just received a bomb threat. Max hadn't seen anyone walk by in the last half-hour, and that made it the perfect impromptu meeting place. Jeff walked out of the overpass that ran over Broad street and over to the bench where Max sat. He shook his hand and handed him a legal envelope and took a seat next to him.

"Davenport wants to arrange a meeting," Max said as Jeff settled into his seat.

"So, did he sound pleased?"

"His interests were definitely piqued, but of course, true to barbarian form, he's got to act like he's skeptical." Max sat the folder in his lap and rubbed the stubble on his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

"Well, there are the projections for the Order. Everything should coincide with the docket we sent to Davenport. We can begin the preliminary stages now, but we need Davenport to get the ball rolling full speed."

"Don't worry, we'll get Davenport. He has nothing to lose and a tax free return to cash in on. All he sees is dollar signs anyway. They could come straight from Satan's anus for all he cares."

"Well, give the people what they want, right?"

"Exactly."

"Are you gonna be able to make it to the Good Luck dinner tonight?"

"I don't think so. I've got a Bible study I've gotta go to. Some crucial inductees are gonna be there and I gotta make sure everything goes well."

"Everyone's gonna miss you."

"You and I both know this is more important."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. You hear about the Norfolk branch?"

"No."

"Yeah, I guess they just moved to a bigger auditorium, they just hit the five thousand mark."

"God be praised."

"Indeed," Jeff looked down at his shoes. "Say, I know you don't like me mentioning it, but you might wanna call up to the Farm, see how they're doin', I hear they got pretty bad weather out there."

"Yeah, I'll get around to it."

"You should pay more attention to what goes on out there. You know they're our back up plan."

"I said I'll get to it."

"Just lookin' out for you is all. Just lookin' out."

"Speaking of looking out, at the dinner tonight, make sure you let Diaz know that it's not such a good idea to point me out to the congregation. There was no harm done this time, but I'd like to remain a shadow. It's important to the big picture," he paused, waiting for Jeff to make eye contact with him again, "but be subtle about it okay, I don't want him to think he's being reprimanded. Tell him I'm shy or something."

Jeff nodded in agreement, "Okay, will do."

Max picked up the folder from his lap and held it up for Jeff to see. "I'll look this over tonight and get back to you." He got up and walked toward the escalators. "God be with you," he said and waved without looking back.

Jeff waved even though Max's back was to him. "God be with us all."

* * *

Class had been slower than usual. Michelle thought the professor was a little dry, but he was the best professor she'd had when it came to expressing complex ideas. So, although his lectures were like watching the cable-listing channel for two hours, she had no trouble paying attention because she always walked away understanding something she couldn't understand before. But today, there was a guest lecturer from some engineering firm that spoke so low he was barely audible over the PA system, and kept rubbing his hands together like Egor. She kept expecting him to chortle and say "Yes Master."

He was talking about fractals and new mathematics and their implications on various aspects of life and the world. Then, he began talking about some groundbreaking research his company was making into molecular bonding and how they could make stronger metals that were thinner and lighter and retained flexibility.

The subject was incredibly interesting to Michelle. She loved when discoveries in real life sounded like science fiction. One day she hoped to be involved in some sort of ground breaking research—to help discover or create something that changed the world as we knew it. But this guy was like Droopy Dog on Valium. He could have made the end of the world sound boring, but Michelle stomached through his monotone, disinterested delivery and her mind was actually blown by the things he talked about. How mono-frame hulls could be constructed for ships, airplanes, and space vehicles and how the integrity of those vehicles could be strengthened almost logarithmically.

Despite how interesting the subject was, Egor had her looking forward to work, but now she was on her way there, she wanted to turn tail and run home to the comfort of her bed. Her physics paper still hang over her head like a pall, and four hours of re-shelving books and monitoring the magnetic sensors at the library exit was beginning to sound more like torture than a livelihood. But that was nothing new. Every day she dreaded going to work, being left alone with her own thoughts for hours without end—especially when she had something like this physics paper to think about. She could put aside a few books for herself and maybe make some headway on the paper she figured, but that was about as likely as Marie Curie herself showing up and doing it for her. She'd probably wind up deep in the stacks where that psycho stalker hung out and followed girls around grinning like a Cheshire cat while he masturbated. She couldn't understand why they hadn't kicked that guy out of school yet. He'd been caught eight times in three and a half years doing the same thing in the same place. He must have been the son of someone important or something. She figured she'd probably either wind up back there with Garfield yanking his chain or up at the magnetic scanners watching people walk by with a physics book in her lap, unopened.

She rounded the corner and crossed the street and walked down the three steps that were more risers than stairs to the library. She opened one of the glass doors with her right hand and shifted it to her left to pull it open. She held the door for the guy in the Hampton shirt that was walking behind her but he didn't say thank you or anything. He just kept going, turned right, and went through the entry arm and let it swing back at her. She shook her head as she caught the arm with her hand and held it open for the platinum blonde behind her. Chivalry truly was dead she guessed.

She quickly moved behind the counter, waved but did not speak to two fellow employees whose names she did not know and she couldn't remember saying anything to except "hello" and "goodbye". They had been there longer and were always at the front desk. Michelle was never at the front desk. She was always either in the stacks, or right at the entrance, about as useful as Barney Fife if anyone truly wanted to steal a library book. Not because she couldn't stop anyone—she was in pretty good shape and had seen quite a few guys on campus she could probably kick around, but because she really couldn't give a fiery damn what anyone stole from this place. The library never seemed to have the books she wanted anyway, and her boss, Ravvey Pimpelle, was too much of a raving battle-axe, and she was paid entirely too little. In and of themselves, those were not bed-partners that inspired her to get her ass kicked over some moldy copy of _Bleak House_.

She did, however, do her job to the best of her ability, because it was her job. She remembered her mom always telling her "Any job large or small, do it well or not at all." She had no idea where her mom got that saying from—most of the sayings she got from China didn't rhyme in English. But although simplistic—and incredibly annoying when she was younger—they were words she had grown to live by. Even this rat hole deserved no less than her best effort—even if Ms. Pimpelle didn't know her pinky toe from her earhole.

"You're late Miss Long," she heard as she punched in her time card. "You're itchin' for a write-up aren't you?"

"Ms. Pimpelle, it's Thursday. I come in at two on Thursdays. It's quarter 'til right now." Michele put the time card back in her slot and folded her arms, waiting for Ms. Pimpelle's reply.

Ms. Pimpelle looked at her watch then at Michelle again and moved a step toward her so their faces were only a few inches apart. Michelle could smell a hint of bourbon on Ms. Pimpelle's breath as she exhaled. "Well then young lady, you should get to work. Relieve Mr. Frakes at the Guard Post and when Miss Collins comes in, move on to the stacks. The carts are piled with unshelved books. I don't know why these hooligans can't use a little common sense and re-shelve the books themselves." Ms. Pimpelle shoved off with a start, first turning her shoulder then slinging her right hip in the direction she was heading as though it were a heavy duffel bag slung over her shoulder. "Well, go on now, Mr. Frakes is waiting." She added and then shuffled out into the lobby.

Ms. Pimpelle was straight out of a children's book. She had gray hair that was turning white that she always kept in a beehive. It was always unkempt and her hairpin always poked out on the left side of her head. She had imitation tortoise shell glasses that always sat on the very tip of her nose defying gravity. She seemed normally proportioned from the waist up, but she had hips that were twice the size of her upper body, and her left eye would wander off on its own when she talked to you. She liked getting right in your face when she spoke, and for some reason, she always smelled like bourbon.

Michelle walked over to the desk next to the magnetic scanners at the exit that Ms. Pimpelle called the Guard Post.

"Hey Michelle, how's it goin'?" asked the brown haired boy behind the desk adjusting his eye glasses.

"Smells like Pimpelle's been hittin' the sauce again."

"No shit, I bet if you cut her she'd bleed Cisco." Josh picked up his bag from under the desk and stood.

Michelle smiled as she walked behind the desk. "Y'know, I think this is the first time I've smiled all day. Thanks Josh."

"Don't mention it," Josh said, hoisting his bag over his left shoulder and scratching at the freckles on his left cheek with his right hand, "we aim to please." He tipped a mock hat to Michelle as he made his way out the exit.

Michelle waved as he walked through the glass doors, blowing kisses to a mock crowd. Michelle's smile turned into a giggle as he left. Josh always managed to make her laugh. He studied theater at Virginia Commonwealth College of Art a few blocks away, but he managed to get a job at the Richmond Polytechnic library somehow. Michelle only knew a handful of acting majors, and they were all unreserved—although sometimes a little too bombastic—but nevertheless, always entertaining.

Michelle sat at the desk and put her bag under the table—Ms. Pimpelle hated when students put their bags on the table. She took out the notes she had taken earlier for her physics paper and crossed her legs as she began to scan through them for ideas. As she scanned she realized she had been bitter all day until she saw Josh. Half the day was gone and this was the first time she had smiled. That was no good. She closed her eyes and thought about the other night. The gray car careening toward her, the bright flash, the sound of the front end of the car twisting against the brick wall, the smell of oil, steam and anti-freeze, and she mused over how lucky she was to have not died on that street just two nights ago. Things weren't great right now, but she felt—then more than ever—that no matter how bad things got, things turned out all right when they really mattered. It was eerie to think that just two days ago she was only seconds from being dead, and now, here she was trouncing around campus all sour-pussed.

As she opened her eyes she smiled again. She couldn't help but think something, some guardian angel, had been looking out for her that night, and it made a shiver move through her shoulders and down to the small of her back.

* * *

Jason walked into the library through the one-way arms and past the counter. He noticed a freckled face kid with black wire-framed glasses stuffing a book into something under the table. In his peripheral vision, he saw Michelle listening to a woman who looked older than she probably was, that bore an uncanny resemblance to one of his sixth grade teachers. He walked past the counter and the pay phones into the lobby where he stopped and waited at an elevator he saw was on the fifth floor. He glanced back at the front desk and saw Michelle walk back toward the exit.

Jason knew she worked here—it was another of the few things he had learned in his briefing—but he didn't know what she was doing here at the moment. She could have just been coming by to pick up a check. If she was in fact scheduled to work today, it could possibly give him an opening to approach her.

He took some change from his pocket and moved to the payphones. He took the receiver from the phone next to a guy sitting on a stool talking on a phone. Jason pretended to plunk the change into the machine. He held the receiver to his ear and looked around. He saw Michelle talking to the freckled face boy, who tipped an invisible hat to her and walked backward through the door blowing kisses like some sort of diva. Jason figured he must have been some kind of artist because only artists were that unabashedly freakish in public.

He saw Michelle take a seat at the desk and put her bag under the table. He was both relieved and distraught. She was working, but if she stayed there all day she'd be very difficult to approach. There was too much traffic, and she was in plain sight of the front desk and her fellow employees. The man next to him hung up the phone sharply, cursed violently in what sounded like Russian and stomped into the lobby. Jason slid the stool over under himself as he pulled his sleeve up to his palm and wiped away the spittle the man's curse had left just under his right eye.

Jason knew he couldn't sit there like that all day, but he needed some time to think about his next move and he didn't want to let Michelle out of his sight.

# CHAPTER TEN

Max arrived at the Bible study forty-five minutes early to help make the hors d'ourves—if you could call Mighty Joe's Microwave Pizza Bites and Cheese Nips hors d'ourves. He had actually wanted to insure everything was in order. Lolita had put the microwave pizza bites in the oven before Max arrived because even though they took longer, they were crispier that way. Max had hugged her as usual and asked if there was anything he could help with. She told him the usual, and went into the living room.

He was standing over a monstrous crystal punch bowl stirring two cans of frozen pineapple-banana juice into three liters of ginger ale. Dorothy, Lolita's roommate walked into the kitchen through the back door.

"Hey Brother Powers, you're here early." Dorothy gave Max a hug then turned and opened the cupboard. She took out a black bottle with no label, then turned and showed it to Max. "You gotta put a capful of this in there, this is what really _makes_ Dorothy's famous punch." She took the cap off the bottle, filled the cap with the dark liquid, and then dumped it into the punch as Max stirred.

"What is that?" Max asked quizzically.

"Coconut extract," she added and twirled 360 degrees on her heel with her arms stretched to either side, still holding the bottled, "it makes the punch _sing_."

"I thought this was _Loli's_ famous punch," Lolita said as she returned with a large china serving platter.

"You two have to be the most sophisticated college students I know," Max said, indicating the platter and the punch bowl with his ladle.

"We try our best. Too bad we live with a Neanderthal. I don't know if that boy was ever house trained," Lolita said as she carefully set the platter on the table.

"Now, that's not very Christian of you is it Lolita?" Max said smiling.

"Brother Powers, I speak the truth. That boy's a cave man. We love him just the same, but if he could maybe wipe off the toilet seat occasionally, he'd be a little more acceptable."

"And I could do without the belching in the morning. Sometimes I think he should go see a doctor, but back to _my_ famous punch. Whose idea was it to use coconut extract?" Dorothy added as she took a scrunchy from her pocket, turned her head, and collected her wavy brown hair in the elastic ring in one swift motion. She folded the ponytail and tucked the end into the scrunchy, forming a small bun.

"You'd still be using water instead of ginger ale if it weren't for me. The magic's in the carbonation and the ginger," Lolita slipped on an oven mitt and shook a spatula at Dorothy as she opened the oven.

"Come on now girls, it should be Dorothy and Loli's famous punch," Max mediated.

"Why's her name first?" Lolita argued, smiling, as she took the pizza bites out the oven with the mitt, and sat them on the stove.

Dorothy took two boxes of Cheese Nips from the cupboard as she replaced the coconut extract.

"So, Dorothy, how was dance class?" Max asked, trying to smash the last bit of pineapple-banana sludge with the ladle.

"Great, I like the new instructor a lot, and I think she's coming to Sunday service."

"Excellent. God be praised," Max said, as he lifted the ladle to his lips.

Lolita grabbed his hand with the oven mitt and stopped the ladle before it reached his mouth. "Not in my house you don't!" she said, the mitt warm on his arm.

Max smiled at her as he returned the ladle to the punch bowl. Dorothy was already handing Max a glass. "Here, use this."

Max spooned some of the punch into the glass and tasted it. Carbon bubbles tickled his nasal passage as he swallowed. "This is good stuff," he said, nodding approval.

As he gulped down the rest, the doorbell rang. Dorothy skipped out of the kitchen to the front door.

"Wonder who that is?" Lolita asked, putting pizza bites on the platter.

"Oh, it's just you," they heard Dorothy sigh in the living room. "Don't you have a key?"

"I forgot to take it," a male voice said on its way to the kitchen. Jared walked into the kitchen and moved directly to the table. He snatched a pizza bite with his left hand and picked up the ladle and sipped some punch with his right. "This is one of the best batches yet," he commented as he tossed the whole pizza bite in his mouth.

Lolita grunted loudly in frustration and glared at Jared. Jared looked puzzled. Still chomping on the pizza bite he mumbled, "What?"

Lolita looked at Max, "See what I mean?"

Max just shook his head and smiled. "You guys should have your own sitcom."

Dorothy leapt into the kitchen and twirled on her heel. Just as she struck a pose the doorbell rang again, "Who could be this early?" she asked rhetorically and pirouetted into the living room.

Lolita walked past Jared as he swallowed and continued to glare at him. She picked up one of the boxes of Cheese Nips and took a bowl that matched the platter from a cabinet, set it on the table, and opened the box. She emptied the box slowly into the bowl, careful not to spill any. She shook the box to get out all the crumbs and looked up as she heard Dorothy enter the room again—walking this time—with a new inductee.

* * *

The girl standing at the kitchen table with the oven mitt and the box of cheese Nips had to be the most beautiful girl Roger could ever remember seeing—real life, TV, or movie. She took off the oven mitt, set the box on the table and extended her hand to him.

He could feel his stomach tighten as he shook her hand. Her grip was firm, but her hand felt like she was wearing silk gloves. "Hi, I'm Loli, this is Brother Powers, and this is Jared," she introduced.

Roger nodded acknowledgement to Max, "Yeah, we met last night," then to Jared. "I'm Roger "Roger looked around the kitchen. " _So_ , this your place?"

Lolita smiled, "Yep, pretty cozy for three people, but we manage."

Roger watched Lolita as she took off the oven mitt and brushed her right hand behind her head, removing her hair-tie in one graceful motion, allowing her long, flowing black hair drop past her shoulders. With her left hand she brushed down the length of her hair, straightening it.

She was fine as all outdoors and had a body that could make a grown man cry. She had focused, almond-shaped eyes and light brown skin that was so flawless it looked like it belonged to a doll. As she let her hair fall and turned to pick up the tray of food from the kitchen table, Roger noticed she had a beautifully round, perky ass that complimented breasts that seemed a little too large for a girl with her frame and waist size. She was indeed a sight to behold.

She lifted the tray and moved toward the living room past Roger. At the doorway, she glanced over her shoulder and flashed a bright, sweet smile back at him "Will you be a sweetheart and get the glasses for me?"

Roger would have walked buck-naked into the middle of a Klan meeting if she promised to smile like that once he got there. "Sure," he said, already collecting the glasses from the table, taking special care not to clink them together.

# CHAPTER ELEVEN

Michelle pushed the three-tiered cart past shelves that were too close to each other. She moved to the Q-QR aisle and searched through the first few call numbers looking for the Q172s to reshelf two books. She put the first book on the shelf; _New Math and Its Implications_. The book slipped out of her hands and landed spine first on the floor, flipping open. As she knelt to pick it up, she could smell dust and a hint of book mold. The pages were discolored and the book's cover was one of the bland, burgundy covers the library used when they rebound damaged books. Michelle picked up the book and the chapter header at the top of the page caught her eye. 'Predicting and Controlling Weather.' Michelle looked over the page it had fallen on and a paragraph caught her eye.

"It is indeed possible to change the weather through means currently at our disposal. It would be quite easy to affect the weather in a way that would cause it to do something it would otherwise not have done. However, if we were to use these means to change the weather, we would have no idea what the weather would have otherwise done.

Therein lies the problem of predicting the weather. Although subtle changes could change the course of the weather, we would have no idea what the final effect of those changes would be, and we would not know what the original effect would have been and we would have been left without means for comparison."

That reminded her of one of her mother's favorite lectures when she was a child. Whenever she said something, 'didn't matter.' Her mother would always say, "Everything happens because something else happened before it." She used to hate it when her mother told her that, partially because she hadn't understood it, but mostly because a long Mandarin chiding usually followed.

Now that Michelle was older and had seen more of the world, she understood a little more of what her mother was getting at. Everything was the result of something else. Even if you pressed random keys on a keyboard, you pressed them because that was where you decided to put your hands. Michelle had tried to live by that idea. She thought about her actions and the effects they had on other people and was disgusted by how little the rest of the world didn't. People just stomped through life, doing whatever they pleased for the sake of whatever they saw was right, without ever considering the effect they had on the world around them.

Michelle wished she could do something about it—do something to make people like Greg see that the picture was bigger than just what _they_ wanted or what _they_ cared about—she just wanted people to see that right or wrong, every action, every step, every breath had ramifications.

But part of this book made her think. _Subtle changes could change the course of the weather_. Those words stood out. Subtle changes. Subtle changes could also change the course of life. Just two days ago, that car had narrowly missed her. That night she had stared into the gaping maw of death itself. She was alive right now because the car drove over a cement nail that fell off a construction truck, or the driver fell asleep at the wheel and was awakened at that moment by some screaming contest winner on the radio, or he had neglected to change his tires and the tread finally failed him. One quick trip to B.F. Goodwrench and she quite possibly could be... She didn't want to think about it.

She was just glad that whatever had happened—subtle or not—had happened the way it did. But now, what was she going to do with _her_ life? It seemed like it was her duty to do something with it. Everything happened because something happened before it. The question now was, what was the next step? She didn't want to be the way most people her age were. Only thinking of the moment. Never thinking about anything they weren't going to immediately bump into. Her mother always told her thinking too much made you lonely. Michelle guessed her mother was right. If she hadn't been thinking about where her relationship with Greg was going, she would not have left him. She'd still be with him now. He was attractive, and there were occasions where he said things to make her feel good about herself, but most of the time she sat around wondering what _she_ had to do to make _him_ happy while at the same time she got the impression that he was just going through the motions. He had accused her of wanting him to commit too fast, but it wasn't that. She could just feel the relationship stagnating, and it hadn't gone that far to begin with. She had felt comfortable enough with him to tell him about the strange dreams she had that were always in bright, blistering Technicolor. And how she thought they usually had something to do with something that was about to happen to her. She told him she didn't like to talk about it with other people—she didn't even talk to her mother about it—but she felt like she could trust him enough to tell him. She felt like a complete benny when he turned right around and told his buddies about her dreams. That hadn't been the main reason for breaking up with him, but that had definitely cemented it for her.

Thinking too much made you lonely.

She believed that now, but she'd rather be lonely, knowing she was her own woman, than to sacrifice her dignity because she was afraid to be alone.

She closed the book sharply as she heard someone walk through the stacks in the next aisle. A small cloud of dust puffed out of the book and dispersed in front of her face. She put the book back in its place on the shelf and glanced over her shoulder to make sure it wasn't another employee—or worst yet, Ms. Pimpelle herself—in the next aisle. It didn't look like any other employee through the wall of books between them. The person took a book from the shelf and she heard pages flipping slowly on the other side of the aisle. It was only someone reading a book.

She sighed. She had been standing here for some time, and she could not tell exactly how long, but she needed to move on if she was going to get this floor re-shelved before time to leave.

* * *

Jason flipped slowly through the applied physics book with absolutely no clue as to what the equations that filled each page actually meant. It was like trying to read Sanskrit or Ancient Greek. Jason had seen many books like this back at home, but he had never bothered to open one past the first or second page. He couldn't even begin to understand what the symbols and lines and numbers all meant, but he was sure that a group of symbols, lines, and numbers much like these was what brought him here in the first place.

He flipped slowly thorough the book to give the impression that he was browsing through the complicated mess of sines, cosines, logarithms. He flipped another page and heard the squeaky wheel of the cart Michelle was pushing on the other side of the wall of books. It grew louder as Michelle exited the aisle, pushed past the row where he was standing, still pretending to read the confusing mass of coefficients and functions. The squeaking grew softer as she moved to the other side of the room. The cart sounded like lab mice when they knew they were about to get shots. It had been many years since Jason worked in a bio lab, but he could still remember that sound clearly. Jason put the book back in its slot on the shelf, ignoring the "Please do not reshelf books" sign on the shelf immediately under it. He needed a better book if he was to give the impression of reading while he watched. He moved to the end of the aisle. He figured leaving the physics aisle would be the first step in finding a more readable book.

At the end of the aisle he looked around. The mouse wheel had stopped squeaking about four aisles over, but aside from the hum of the fluorescent lights, and Michelle shuffling books from the mouse cart to the shelves, there were no other sounds on the floor. Jason peeked around the pillar across from the aisle and scanned the aisles on the other side of the floor. He couldn't see any shadows nestled in the stacks on that side, and there was no one at the study desks. As far as he could tell, the floor was empty except for him and Michelle. He took in a deep breath and swallowed. Now was as good a time as any to approach her.

He moved slowly past the stacks to the aisle where Michelle was. His mind was racing. Thoughts tumbled in his head like a washing machine. He could feel his heart beating against the wall of his chest. He took a breath and held it, trying to collect himself. He had been more composed in situations exponentially more harrowing than this, but no other time had so much hung in the balance. Besides, this type of thing was not his strong suit. He was at home in a gunfight or a melee, but this stretched his wits to their end. He was never good at talking to people anyway. So how was he going to bring this to a girl who had absolutely no idea.

He moved past an aisle across from the elevator shaft. Next to the elevator were three carts, similar to the mouse cart but each slightly different in color or shape, one empty and two lined with books. Jason scanned the stacks across the room, making sure no one was nestled between them reading silently. As he reached the elevator, he heard a thump, and then the sound of cheap metal bumping against cement. As soon as he heard it, he winced to brace himself for the pain. The cart closest to him protruded slightly from the wall and his right foot had collided with it and twisted painfully outward. He gnashed his teeth in anticipation of the pain, and then he felt it, coursing up his lower leg and through his thigh like a lightning bolt. He was normally not this clumsy. He needed to be more careful, he had to keep his senses clearer. This was probably not so bad, but in another situation he would have been dead by now. He cursed under his breath—more cursing himself for being so oafish than the pain. He couldn't believe he had made such a stupid, amateur mistake.

He limped in front of the first elevator door ,and he saw Michelle peek her head out of the aisle. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Jason was caught off-guard, but he recovered quickly, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Did the cart catch you?" she asked, stepping completely out of the aisle now, a small book in her right hand. "Those things seem to have a mind of their own sometime."

Jason limped the next step, and then took two more steps in her direction without limping. The pain was beginning to subside, but each step he tried to take without limping re-emphasized his discomfort. "It's okay," he said stopping two aisles away, just past the second elevator.

"You sure? It looks like it hurts to walk."

_How could she tell?_ "I sprained it the other day. That just aggravated it. No biggie though. I'll live." He tried to think of what to do next. He needed to keep her talking, but not like this. She had a beautiful, soothing voice that was amplified by a slight echo—an added resonance—but he needed to move onto exactly why he was here in the first place. He heard the elevator in front of him chime. His mind searched frantically for a segue. _Call her by her name_ , he thought. That always worked in the movies.

He was forming the 'M' with his lips when the elevator doors in front of him slid open and the word was finished for him.

"Michelle Long!" erupted out of the elevator in a shrill voice. The old woman he had seen Michelle talking to earlier slung her hip out of the elevator and it pulled the rest of her body into the room. "We have a crisis upstairs and you're down here fraternizing. I oughta write you up!"

"I was just..."

"Nevermind that, just leave it there and come upstairs."

The woman turned, shot a snide look at Jason, and then slung her hip back into the elevator. Michelle ducked back into the aisle and quickly emerged without the book. She walked into the elevator without so much as a look toward Jason. He was left standing there, on a bum ankle, still forming the letter 'M' with his lips.

* * *

Ms. Pimpelle always seemed angry at one thing or another, but she only used employee's first names when she was particularly miffed. Michelle just stood and looked straight ahead at the elevator doors with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting for Ms. Pimpelle to start ranting about whatever was on her geriatric mind now.

She didn't have to wait long. "I can't believe it! What is this world coming to? I tell you, it's going straight to hell in a fruit basket. What's wrong with you kids these days?" Ms. Pimpelle shook her head in disbelief.

"What happened?" Michelle asked, more curious than concerned.

"I just can't believe it. Some filthy scoundrel defecated on a book and left it on my desk. I don't even understand how they got past the front desk without someone seeing them."

_So what do you need me for?_ Michelle thought, both disgusted and wanting to laugh at the same time.

"I just can't believe this. I guess someone doesn't hold me in very high regard."

As far as Michelle knew, no one held Ms. Pimpelle in high regard.

"Well, rest assured I plan to get to the bottom of this. You kids don't give a darn about anything, but someone most certainly will rue _this_ day. Yes indeed." The doors opened and Ms. Pimpelle flung herself into the lobby. "I need you to watch the front desk young lady. There are some questions to be answered here."

Michelle walked over to the desk where Carl and Sandi, who had relieved the two other front desk workers, were standing looking perplexed. Ms. Pimpelle stomped behind the front desk and into her office, not saying a word to either of them.

"I guess we're in for some kind of interrogation," Carl said to Michelle as she took his place behind the desk.

"What the hell happened?" Michelle asked.

"Somebody snuck into the office and left a copy of _The Taming of the Shrew_ with a fat turd on it on her desk. They left a nice little note on a write-up slip that said something like 'File this in your drawers.' Musta been some old employee that either got fired or quit cuz of the Dragon Lady." Carl looked somewhat amused, but also nervous at the same time. Sandi was pacing silently back and forth between two tiles on the floor. Michelle understood their nervousness. Ms. Pimpelle was definitely not the most rational woman in the world.

"Well, she's always complainin' that us kids don't give a darn. At least somebody gives a shit."

Carl laughed and a smile broke Sandi's somber face as she stopped pacing. A janitor with a breathing mask and thick rubber gloves emerged from Pimpelle's office carrying a bucket with a tied plastic bag in it. "Carl Fitzgerald! Sandi Blankenchip! Get in here right now!" belted out of the room behind the janitor.

Carl and Sandi's smiles erased instantly as they shuffled toward Pimpelle's office and through the door. The door closed softly behind them and Michelle was left alone at the front desk. Janey Collins waved at her from the Guard Post, smiling as usual. Michelle didn't trust people who smiled all the time for no reason. They were either up to something, or too stupid to know they shouldn't be smiling all the time. She had never seen this girl with any expression except a bright, happy smile. She seemed like a good kid, but there was something offensively phony about her demeanor. She had already made her rounds with all the employees asking them to go to one Church of God function or another, and Janey attributed her perpetual joy to the church now that she had become a bona fide member. Michelle knew no one in their right mind was _always_ happy. Pain was just as much a part of life as pleasure. If things were bad, there was no point in whining about it, but there was no point in grinning while it went on either. As Ms. Pimpelle knew well now, there was no bright side to a turd. Anyone who said otherwise was selling something.

Michelle leaned back in the chair and waved back to Janey. At least Janey thought she was happy. Michelle sometimes didn't know what was worse—knowing you weren't happy, or thinking you were happy when you really weren't. She guessed deep down inside you really knew when you were unhappy, no matter how hard you tried to fool yourself, but she'd definitely choose to be unhappy for the rest of her life over pawning off her free-will for a fabricated sense of joy. Either way, she was content with her life—she was thankful she was still alive after the night before last—but she couldn't truthfully say she was happy.

* * *

Jason rode the elevator to the first floor. Michelle had either been taken there by her boss, or was somewhere else in the building, but he figured she had to come through the lobby at some point. The time clock was probably behind the front desk somewhere and she would have to go back there again to clock out. The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the lobby. Jason stepped out and turned toward the front of the building. Ashe walked toward the entranceway, he saw Michelle with her head down at the front desk. Just as he was about to turn and head back into the lobby, she looked up and smiled at him. He didn't want to look suspicious or call unnecessary attention to his actions, so he kept walking.

"So how's your leg?" she asked as he got within earshot.

He wasn't limping now, but with each step pain sloshed around his ankle like a cupful of hot water. "Fine now, I think."

"That's good," she said as he moved toward the front doors, "Have a good night."

"You too," he said and stepped past the girl grinning at him at the desk next to the scanners. He walked through and out the building.

Outside, the sun was already beginning to sink below the trees. When she left work, Michelle would most likely come out the front way. Jason exhaled as he walked across the sidewalk to a bench a few yards from the street. It was starting to get a little chilly and he could see a slight hint of his breath in the cold air when he exhaled. He took the sweatshirt from around his waist and slipped it on over his head. He sat at the bench as he pushed his arms through the sleeves. He was going to have to sit here and wait until she left. His stomach was grumbling with hunger, but he was glad he had bought the sweatshirt earlier. The night was somewhat colder than the one before. At least he wouldn't freeze and starve while he waited.

* * *

When Michelle left work at six it was almost dark and already pretty chilly. The moon was already bright in the sky, and Venus and the North Star were shining between the clouds.

Ms. Pimpelle had let Sandi and Carl go with only write-ups for letting someone sneak behind the front desk. Sandi had been pretty frazzled though because it was her second write-up in a week, but Carl told her that Pimpelle's write-ups meant virtually nothing unless she really wanted to get rid of you. And then, even if you had no write-ups, she'd give you the boot just the same, or irritate you until you quit. She had obviously gotten under someone's skin pretty bad. Michelle couldn't imagine what the preparation for that gag had entailed, but it definitely took a lot of pent up emotion to go through with whatever it was. They had definitely made their mark though. After Ms. Pimpelle questioned Carl and Sandi, she didn't leave her office for the rest of the time Michelle was there. She was a hefty woman, but she never sat still for that long.

Michelle got home at 6:24 and found three messages on her answering machine. She pressed play and set her bag on her bed. The first messaged played and she recognized Greg's voice and skipped it before he'd finished the word "Hey".

Michelle had left her blinds open when she left and the air in the room was still warm from the afternoon sun passing by the window. Michelle turned on her electric heater for good measure as the second message played.

"Hello, this message is for Michelle. This is Franklin. I just wanted to see what you wanted to do tonight, and if you still wanted to go at eight. I'll call back later I guess, or you can give me a call when you get in. My number is 555-4546. Uh, that's it I think. Talk to ya later. Okay. Bye." The time signature said 4:35.

Michelle thought it was funny how no one seemed to know how to end an answering machine message unless they were calling from some business or something. She most certainly didn't know either and always said three or four things too many at the end of her messages. She didn't even like leaving messages on answering machines unless it was absolutely necessary.

She picked up the phone again and dialed Franklin's number. He picked up on the first ring and answered the phone expectantly, "Hello?"

"Hey Franklin, it's Michelle."

"Oh, hi. How ya doin'?"

"Pretty good I guess. Work was a little crazy today, but it passes."

"Oh, everything okay?"

"Yeah, just fine," she could hear nervousness in his voice this time, so she figured she'd make it easier for him. "So, when you comin' to pick me up?"

He paused for a second. She must have caught him off-guard. "Uh, is eight okay?"

"Sure, what you have in mind?" "I dunno. Dinner and a movie I guess..."

"Sounds good to me. You have any particular movie in mind?" He paused again for a little longer this time, "Nah, not really. How 'bout you?"

"I'd like to see _Terminator 2_ again. I love that movie."

"Really? You wanna see that?"

"Why, you don't like it?"

"No, it's not that. I love it. It just doesn't seem like," he paused again, as though he were picking his words, "the first movie I would expect a girl to suggest is all."

"Well, I'm not your typical girl I guess."

"I guess not," he said. "But I mean in a good way," he qualified anxiously.

"Well, I just got back from work and I still need to get ready, so I'll call you when I'm done okay?"

"Alright, sure, I'll be here."

"Talk to ya in a bit Franklin."

"Okay, bye."

Michelle hung up the phone and picked up the remote to her CD player. Franklin handled himself in a way that was cute. She was flattered by his nervousness. Besides, it was refreshing to talk to a guy that was actually human and not some plastic macho-doll full of hubris and pomp.

She turned on the power and pressed play, skipped to song six on the CD she had been playing that morning. Quietly at first, then building in a slow crescendo, a heartbeat filled the room, keeping time. Michelle set down the remote and began getting undressed as Depeche Mode's "Somebody" echoed through the room.

# CHAPTER TWELVE

This was all a little strange to Roger, and yet somehow, he felt more comfortable here than he had in any other place he could remember. Maybe it was because he had never been around people who were this friendly that didn't want something from him. Or maybe it was the fact he was sitting next to one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen outside of movies. Or maybe it was because what these people claimed was actually true. Maybe they really were closer to God than anyone else he'd ever met.

He had never really thought about God much. His mother was always at one church function or another, but his mother was always worried about what the pastor, or the deacons might think, or what her fellow Woman's Circle members might think, or what Sister Clancey might say. Outside of her reciting the same Bible verses repeatedly, or singing along with the gospel station on the weekends, or exclaiming the same exclamations when something surprised or bothered her, Roger couldn't see how her relationship with the church actually truly affected her life. When her arthritis flared up she was still miserable. When it came time to pay the bills, she still stressed out and usually got sick, but these people—these people seemed truly happy no matter what came their way. Even the kid who showed up in the wheelchair seemed just as excited as everyone else. Roger couldn't imagine what it would be like to be strapped to a chair for the rest of his life—and this kid was younger than he was, yet seemed to be filled with as much joy as everyone else in the room. And it wasn't just because everyone was singing and having a great time now. The kid _showed up_ grinning like a four-year old in a candy store with a pocket full of money.

Roger felt a little weird singing with this group of strange people. He didn't really enjoy singing. He just watched Lolita singing with that incredible smile on her face and mouthed the words as best he could. She looked at him and smiled a little wider, then stooped down and pulled a small folded flier from a stack of papers on the coffee table. She opened it, revealing the words of the song to Roger. Instead of just handing it over to him, she held it for him and read along with him, smiling at him periodically to make sure he wasn't just mouthing the words. He began warming up to her as they continued to sing. The singing sounded okay to say there was no musical accompaniment—except for Lolita's roommate Jared who was grinning just as widely as everyone else, but singing horribly out of tune. Lolita on the other hand had a voice that was just as incredible as her smile.

When the song ended, Max motioned for everyone to come together in a circle and hold hands. Roger and Lolita clasped hands and he felt the warmth and smoothness of her forearm as it brushed slightly against his.

"Let us pray," he said, bowing his head. After a short pause and a deep breath, he began. "Dear Lord, we call upon your everlasting grace today, to guide each and every one of us to our calling, to allow us to see your bidding, and to give us the strength and courage to fulfill your will. Amen."

Everyone said Amen in unison and went back to their seats except Max who stood in the center of the floor with his hands clasped. "Jesus said, 'My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.' We all have our weaknesses, our infirmities, but if anyone here has something they would like to share, before God and his children, feel free to come forward before the Bible study."

Roger shifted reluctantly to the edge of his seat, then raised his hand. Max acknowledged him and as he opened his mouth he felt his voice crack before h e even spoke. He cleared his throat and introduced himself, gripping the edge of the chair, "I'm uh Roger, and I dunno, I feel like I need ta say this. Like I _can_ say it here. I don't really know where to start. I guess I never really had much of a charmed life—no silver spoons or nothin'. My moms was always scrapin' to make it from one week to the next. Comin' up won't so easy. I got outta high school, and I actually graduated, but it was hard. My moms was all proud thinkin' I was gonna go to college and what not, but I couldn't really see it. Not right then anyways. So I joined up with the army and I was in there for a couple years, but I didn't get along too well with mucha anybody. I never really had too much restraint either when it came to my temper, so I got into a lot of fights and stuff, and I don't think the Squad leader—this guy named Briggs—I don't think he thought too kindly'a me. Well one day, this PFC named Gorman said somethin' kinda off color about my moms and I popped him one. We started to tussle and Biggs came in and took Gorman's side and didn't care to hear mine. So he told me ta clean out the latrine—ya know, the bathroom—with a toothbrush, but I refused. I told'm he could go... well, I told'm I wouldn't do it, so he grabbed me. When he started pulling me over to the latrine I punched the guy in his kidneys and I beat him down. He got sent to the infirmary, but I got sent home with a dishonorable discharge. After that, I didn't really see getting inta college, an' it was real hard to get any kinda job on account I wouldn't lie on the applications. I may have my faults or whatever, but ya gotta have some integrity right? Anyways, my moms had gotten sick before I got kicked out, and by then she couldn't really work, so things was kinda bad. I had these friends that was slingin' dope. Mostly weed right, and I got in with them. One day, my boy Cisco turned me onta coke and crack and it was like blam! All of a sudden all this money started comin' in. Everything was all good and I even met this girl Tara. I mean Tara was beautiful. She was like this goddess. I mean compared to me she was all refined and cultured and knew about the good life, she'd just had a couple bad breaks here and there. She was like this brilliant college girl see, but she had to drop out a semester cuz some skeezer knocked her up. But I didn't care if she was pregnant ya know. I mean this girl made the days brighter. It was like I really had it all then. I could support my moms and my sister and my girl, and I wasn't strugglin'. Then one day this punk named Skee-bo shows up talkin' all this yang about me movin' in on his territory so I told him he could go screw himself—sorry—but that's what I said in maybe a few more words. Anyways, he didn't take that too kindly and he started goin' around slanderin' my name and what not. Sayin' I was cuttin' my shi... uh stuff. Sayin' my bud was schwag an all that. So I tells this guy if he don't stop flappin' his lip I'm gon' haf' ta put a hot one in him and he looks at me real straight and just smiles. So a couple days later, I see my girl walkin' home from the corner store and behind her Skee-bo pulls u p with his boys. All I remember was seein' the flash come out the car. I mean a big flash like a shotgun blast, then my baby go down right in front'a me. I ran up and caught her right. They pulled off cacklin' and, soundin' like some kinda weird ass wild jungle animals. And my girl just looked at me and asked, 'What happened?' I don't know how long I sat there with her in my arms until my sister came out of the house screaming. Some body called an ambulance, but I don't remember who, all I remember was the way the milk she had dropped and the blood mixed together on the ground and her eyes going blank and all glossy as she asked me what happened. That was two weeks ago. You know, I thought I had it all, but that shit was all unstable. Somebody approached me when I was walkin' to the bus stop over by the campus the other day and told me about this place. I was never big on church and all that, but I figured why not when they talked to me. I figured it couldn't make me feel worse than what I already did. I don't know why I said all that. But I ain't told no one else. Not even my own moms knows the whole story. I think it'd break her heart. But it's weird, I felt like I could tell you guys."

The group was quiet. Lolita looked at Roger, and he saw her wipe the corner of her eye. She noticed him looking at her and took his hand into her, interlocking fingers, and just held it silently. They sat like this through the Bible study and the other testimonies without saying a word.

When the session ended and they all began to fellowship, Lolita stood still holding Roger's hand. "I'm so sorry," she said, looking into his eyes.

"It's okay," he said then looked past the curves of her hips to the ground.

She tugged his hand lightly to get him to look up again, "No really, if you feel like you need someone to talk to, I'm here." She shook his hand lightly and that smile came back again.

"Hey Loli, I think we need to make more punch and Pizza Bites stat.!" Jared yelled over the crowd, poking his head out the door from the kitchen.

"I hate to leave, but I gotta help in the kitchen," Loli said, rubbing the back of his hand, "bye." It felt like the floor under him had just opened up into a bottomless chasm as she let go of his hand. "I mean what I said about talking," she said as she waved and then turned into the crowd, making her way to the kitchen.

Roger sat back down, looking at the light brown upholstery on the couch. He could see the lattice of fibers woven into each other in a tiny fibrous checkerboard.

Suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up and saw Max standing over him smiling. He sat down on the couch next to him and moved his hand from Roger's shoulder to his back. "That was a very touching story Roger."

Roger shook his head.

Max looked around to see if anyone was looking then furtively stuffed a small, crumpled piece of paper into Roger's hand. "Listen, I think the Lord can use your abilities to help fulfill His plan. Come to this place tomorrow and the time it says, and we'll see. But keep it quiet, okay?"

Roger nodded again, concealing the scrap in his fist. Max stood, patting him on his shoulder again. "I think there's definitely a home for you here," Max said, gave Roger a wink, then turned and moved into the crowd.

# CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"So, you originally from here?" Franklin pushed his glasses up with his thumb.

Michelle sat across from him at a booth next to the window overlooking Midlothian Turnpike. "My parents moved to Norfolk after I left elementary school. I was born in San Francisco. What about you?"

"I was born in Hong Kong, but my parents moved to England when I was one, and then to Washington when I was four. They just moved to Richmond when I started high school."

"So, you speak Cantonese?"

"Only a little. Just enough to get my point across to my parents. I can't even begin to read it though. You?"

"Nah, not Cantonese. My parents were originally from Taiwan, but my mom speaks proper Mandarin. She teaches it at Norfolk State. She made me go to Chinese School when I was younger, so I learned speak and read a little, but it's kinda rusty cuz my mom likes to speak English at home. I guess she didn't want me to lose the culture. I hated it when I was a kid, but I'm kinda glad she did. I wish I had taken it more seriously now."

The waiter returned with their drinks. "A root beer for you Miss," he said setting the monstrous glass of root beer in front of Michelle, straw swinging against the glass, the paper removed except the tip. "And a Diet Coke for you sir." Michelle winced as the waiter said Diet Coke and placed an equally monstrous glass in front of Franklin, identical straw bobbing in the glass.

"What's wrong?" Franklin noticed her expression as the waiter left to take the order of the trio that had just been seated across from them.

"You like that stuff? I mean, you can't be on a diet."

"Yeah, s'alittle strange I guess, but when I went to the French Academy my Junior year in high school, for some odd reason, the whole month they had nothing but Diet Coke. It was that or water, so I got used to it and been drinkin' it since."

Michelle shook off a mock shiver as she unfolded her napkin over her lap, "Yuk, I'm convinced Diet Coke is extracted from the liver of some pack animal in hell." She took a sip of her drink and noticed the puzzled, slightly disturbed look on Franklin's face. "Oh, sorry for the imagery."

"S'okay." He said and smiled as he took the paper off his straw.

"So, what's this French Academy, anyway?" Michelle asked hovering over her straw.

"Oh, it was this program they had where you stayed at Randolf-Macon for a month and couldn't speak anything but French the whole time. One guy got kicked out for speakin' English to this hitchhiker. Anyway, we got taught classes and stuff in French. We even learned German in French."

"Wow, so you speak French?" She took the paper cap off her straw and took a sip of her root beer.

"Not really anymore. S'kinda sad. I was close to fluent in high school, but now I forgot most of it."

"My mom speaks French too."

"Really? She speaks Mandarin, French, and English?"

"And Cantonese and German too." She took another sip.

"Wow, why so many languages?"

"She's a linguist. She teaches Linguistics, Chinese, and French. She was a translator for a while for some diplomat in San Francisco, but I think the diplomat got the boot or somethin', and the new guy brought his own translator, so my mom moved out here for the teaching gig."

"What about your dad?"

"Oh, he works for this company in Hong Kong that sends him on these high profile vacations, then he rates them and writes down information for their travel logs. I don't really get to see him that often, and when I do, we don't really talk much."

"So he lives in Hong Kong?"

"Nah, he technically lives here, but he is always in one part of the world or another, checking out _this_ theme park, or _that_ golf course. When he's here, he's only here for a couple of weeks."

"So your parents make pretty good money?"

"Yeah, I guess, but I don't really see any of it. My mom always says she had to make it on her own and she wouldn't have it any different for me. She says she doesn't want to rob me of the opportunity. That's why she wanted me to come to school here, even though I could have gone to Norfolk State for free."

"That sucks."

"Well, not really. I guess I see her point. But y'know, the more Top Ramen I eat, the more her point eludes me. Actually, I kinda like havin' to fend for myself.

Makes it seem like I've accomplished something when I get through it on my own. Makes me feel kinda tough I guess."

"I couldn't imagine living on my own. I guess I rely on my parents for a lot, but it's kinda hard not to when they're right there all the time, helpin' out whether you want it or not. I guess I usually do want it, but still."

"Yeah, I do know if things get too hairy, my parents are there to help, but I really hate asking them for help on anything. I like doing things on my own."

"So, your dad doesn't mind your mom working?"

"I don't know. He never really said anything about it."

"My dad hates the idea of my mom working. He makes enough so she doesn't have to, but I remember when I was in high school she mentioned getting a job at a friend's shop downtown just to help out the friend, and my dad blew a gasket. She hasn't said anything to him about it since, but I think she still helps her friend out when she can."

"That's no good. I mean not to knock your dad or anything, but a woman shouldn't feel obliged to stay at home. Not to say housekeeping's not a tough and respectable duty, but I don't plan on marryin' somebody who's got a problem with me working. I didn't sign on for four years of engineering school to do nothin' but cook, and clean, and change diapers. Besides, I can't cook anything but grilled cheese sandwiches and Top Ramen anyway. You chain me to a stove, you chain yourself to culinary torture."

Franklin laughed. "I guess if you put it that way. I don't know what I think. I'd like to make enough so my wife didn't have to work, but if she put it to me that strongly, I don't think I'd have a problem with it."

Michelle didn't even notice the waiter walk up, and was startled by the combination plate number three that was plunked down in front of her with a ceramic clink. "And you had the burrito right?" the waiter stated more than asked, setting the plate in front of Franklin.

Franklin unfolded his napkin and draped it over his lap, "Ah yes, I haven't eaten all day. Been dizzy from low blood sugar since like five."

"I haven't had anything since lunch either," Michelle said picking up her knife and fork.

Franklin put a bite in his mouth, leaned slightly forward and propped his elbow on the table as he chewed. Michelle noticed he chewed somewhat quickly, in a circular motion. It wasn't offensive or anything, but it reminded her of an old man chewing. She cut a slice from her enchilada and chewed slowly, savoring the grilled chicken, sour cream and pico de gallo.

Franklin swallowed and took a long sip from his drink, then cut another portion from his burrito. "So, this your last year too?"

Michelle swallowed sooner than she would have liked. "Yep." She spooned some rice into her mouth with her fork.

"You know what you gonna do afterwards?" He shoveled up a portion of burrito that looked too large and stuffed it into his mouth.

"Nah, no idea. I've been looking into a few companies, but I haven't really actively pursued any yet."

Franklin swallowed hard and took another long sip of Diet Coke. "I guess my dad's got this friend who's a VP at Phillip Morris or somethin'. I think he's got an inside deal for me up there. To tell the truth, I just think my dad just wants the free cigarettes, but it sounds like a pretty cool job."

"I wish it were that easy. I'd really love to find a place that was making something new though. You know, a place doing some crazy research that'll change the way we live like ten years from now. Even if it's somethin' as mundane as new-fangled toilets that just change the way we dump. I guess I just wanna leave my mark."

She could tell she disturbed him again. She had even picked her words—used dump instead of shit, but she still stopped him in mid chew for about two seconds. Then he started to chew again, more slowly this time.

"Sorry," she said self-consciously, taking another bite of enchilada.

"S'okay, just caught me a little off-guard," he took a short sip of soda, "You definitely have a way with words."

She swallowed quickly again, wincing as she forced down a particularly large chunk of chicken, "Yeah, my friend Jon always tells me I musta been a soldier in a past life."

Franklin smiled a little, but it was different, he only smiled with the right half of his face this time and his brow furrowed. He had mellowed out during the drive down, but now he looked a little tense again. She thought she had disturbed him too much, but he seemed like kind of an interesting guy and she didn't want to lose him this early on. It'd be like roller-skating uphill for the rest of the night if she did. "You ever see any movies from Hong Kong?"

Franklin was about to stuff in another too large piece of burrito, but stopped it just in front of his mouth. "Yeah, all the time, my dad has a friend that sends them out to him from L.A. I get a chance to look at 'em now and then, but my dad hoards 'em like he thinks I'm gonna eat 'em or somethin'."

She took a sip of root beer. Her bladder was starting to hurt, but she didn't want to leave for the restroom on a sour note. "Well, last year my dad was in Hong Kong for some meeting at his company, and I he sent back these tapes. I didn't pay too much attention to them, and forgot about 'em, right. Well last time I was home I was bored outta my mind, so I put this one tape in. It was called _The Killer_. She took a sip and saw his eyes light up. "This movie was like the most insane thing I'd ever seen. I mean the action was totally out of control and the lead guy was _so_ suave and so cool. I fell in love with that guy."

"Chow Yun-Fat."

"What?"

"The guy, it was Chow Yun-Fat. He's like the coolest thing since tinted windows."

"You're tellin' me. I mean he was totally sexy and a hard-core bad ass at the same time. I'd be tempted to let him blast _my_ corneas just to sit next to him."

"Yeah, I love that movie. That's like one-a my favorites. If you like that one, you gotta see _Better Tomorrow_. He's pretty cool in that one too. Same director too. John Woo's the shit."

"John Woo is the director of _The Killer_? I gotta remember that. That movie blew my mind. The only thing I didn't like was the woman's singing though. It kinda annoyed me, but other than that, you can't make a better film." She paused and took another sip. "Well, _Terminator 2_ 's pretty close, if not tied."

"So, you like movies a lot huh?"

"More than just about anything else. I could watch movies all day. It's good to get away from real life at times."

Franklin nodded, taking a long drag off his Diet Coke. The soda was down past the ice now. He was really guzzling it down. "I don't know if I could watch 'em all day, but they're definitely cool." He set down the drink and shoveled in the last bit of burrito. He was chewing quickly again and reminded Michelle of the guy on the Hungry Jack commercials. Her bladder was screaming for release now and she began slowly edging out of the booth.

"Excuse me," she said at the edge of the seat, "be right back." She scooped up her purse and moved quickly to the restroom.

* * *

Jason sat at the bar pretending to look at the television over the drink island. In his peripheral vision, he watched Michelle get up, throw her purse over her shoulder, and move rather quickly toward the restroom.

She looked great. She was wearing black pants that outlined the curves of her legs, a navy top that also accented the curves of her body, and a black knit sweater. Her hair was glossy, brushed down around her shoulders, and caught the dim lights of the restaurant, holding them between illustrious strands. Her makeup was subtle, but frankly, Jason didn't see the need for it. She looked like an actress or a model.

As she pushed through the door that led to the restrooms, Jason noticed her black sandals with three-inch heels. It was a great pair of shoes—Jason loved open-toed shoes—but he could not for the life of him figure out how women wore open-toed shoes in weather like this. He had spent a good portion of the past few years in D.C., but he had spent most of his life in Los Angeles and the cold probably affected him more than Michelle and everyone else in the restaurant. All that considered, it was still too damned cold to be strutting around half barefooted.

It was cold, his mission was bogus, and there was a strong chance the world would abruptly end tomorrow, but at least right now, for all it was worth, the scenery was good. Jason admired a beautiful woman, even though he didn't trust them as far as he could move one with his mind.

He drank deeply from his ice water. He had been startled when he saw the bartender take the water straight out of the tap, but this tap water was better than any bottled water he could remember. He could tell the waitress and the bartender were both a little peeved that all he'd ordered was water and tortilla soup, but he didn't really care. He had a few more pressing things to worry about than a couple of food servers' hypersensitive dispositions. Besides, they'd be a little less salty when they got their tips.

Jason's head was still abuzz with possible ways to approach Michelle. He had been all set to do it in the library when her boss had thrown a block, and now he was left with no soft options. He'd approach her right now if it hadn't been for the character she was with. It was the guy from the phone yesterday, and even if he hadn't seen the guy ask her out, he could have pegged it as Standard First Date No. 4. He could only hear bits and pieces of the conversation, and it didn't seem like they were clicking like Romeo and Juliet, but it wasn't a bomb either. Either way, Jason wished this guy would take a hike for a while. But that thought passed quickly—wishful thinking wasn't his style.

He took in a couple more spoonfuls of soup, making sure to get tortilla strips with them. The next opportunity he'd probably get would be after the date. He was still drained from lack of sleep, but he could hang on for a while. He'd have to catch her just after this guy dropped her off, but he planned to stick to his ultimatum. He had to talk to her tonight.

* * *

When Michelle returned, she was somewhat disgusted but she tried to keep it hidden. She sat as Franklin puffed on a cigarette. Her mother had quit smoking when she was younger, but her father still smoked like a combustion engine. She wasn't around him that often, but when she was, she just tried to avoid him if he was smoking—which was most of the time. Franklin didn't seem to notice her revulsion.

"We only got twenty minutes before the movie," he said between drags as she sat.

Her eyes were already starting to burn. Smoking or non-smoking section aside, she couldn't understand why anyone would be so rude as to smoke around other people while they ate.

"I didn't know you smoked," she said, indicating the cigarette. "Want one?" he asked, reaching to pull the pack out of his pocket.

The first thought that popped into her mind was that she'd rather drink from a dead man's gall bladder, so she figured it would be best to pantomime her response. She shook her hand and head to indicate she did not care for one. She was only half done and was still a little hungry when she had returned, but the smoke had already siphoned what remained of her appetite.

"You done?" he asked, pointing to her plate with his cigarette.

"I am now," she let slip, but not in as harsh a tone as it had carried when it had formed in her brain.

"I paid the waiter with my credit card already. We should go if we're gonna catch the show on time."

"Sure," she said, already standing. She hoped he wouldn't smoke in the car.

Outside, he mashed his cigarette into the sand of the ashtray by the door. That coarse white sand always reminded Michelle of kitty litter. She didn't know what was worse, cat shit or cigarettes. At least cat shit didn't burn her eyes. She sucked in the cool night air and held it in her lungs for longer than she should have. She let it out slowly when her lungs started to hurt.

They walked to opposite sides of the car and Franklin put the key in the door. All four doors popped simultaneously. "It's open," he said, pulling open his own door.

She got inside and the smell of strawberries washed over her. She had thought it was quaint when she had first gotten into his car at her apartment, now the smell was like soothing ointment for her nostrils. "I like the way your car smells," she said.

"Thanks, I try to keep it respectable. I hate it when the insides of people's cars are just thrashed."

Michelle thought of all the people she knew with 'thrashed' car interiors—her mom included. "I think it happens when you get married."

"Not me," Franklin added, turning on the ignition and shifting the car into gear, "my car's my sanctuary." He turned up the stereo and bass filled the passenger compartment. He backed out of the spot and jolted into the street without yielding. His trunk rattled with the break-beat as he accelerated down the turnpike.

* * *

He hadn't expected them to leave so quickly. Jason left two twenties sticking out from under his soup bowl and shot out of the restaurant behind Michelle and her date. He took his keys from his pocket and pressed two buttons on his alarm remote. Michelle's date was already speeding out of the parking lot when Jason reached his car, but the doors were unlocked, and the engine was already running. He jumped in and almost peeled out of his spot. He had backed in, anticipating just such a situation.

He rocketed into the street faster than Michelle's date had, and sped to catch up. If this truly was Standard First Date No. 4, they were probably on their way to a movie. He had seen a movie theater in this direction on the way here. If they were going there, they didn't have far to go.

# CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Michelle was quiet all the way to the theater. She let the music that consumed the passenger compartment of the car wash over her like ocean waves. The bass massaged her back as the chair shook with each syncopated beat. Franklin pulled into the parking, passed the Putt-Putt Golf and Games, and drove toward the United Artists Theaters behind it. He turned the stereo down as he rolled slowly over a speed bump. "A penny for your thoughts," he said a little shakily, trying to revive conversation.

"I was just getting lost in the music. This sounds a little like The Art of Noise, but I haven't heard this before."

"It's Yellow."

"It's what?"

"The name of the band is Yellow. They're the guys that do that _Oh Yeah_ song. Y'know, from Ferris Bueller."

"This stuffs pretty cool."

"You listen to a lot of Art of Noise?" The lot was practically empty and Franklin drove right up to a spot in front of the theater.

"Yeah, I love 'em. My favorite song's probably _Moments in Love_."

"That song's got a great beat, but it's a little too soft for my blood. I like _Beat Box_ and _Close to the Edit_. They're pretty rowdy." He turned off the car and all four locks opened by themselves. "Well, here we go."

Michelle let herself out and Franklin met her at the sidewalk. She could see into the lobby through the glass in front and it looked disserted. The guy at the box office looked like he was going to fall asleep at any moment. He jumped like someone had put a roach in his pants when Franklin walked up to the box office. "Slow day, huh?" Franklin asked putting money into the little hole in the Plexiglas.

The guy just nodded and made a comic, Robert DeNiro-like facial expression.

"Two for _Terminator_." Franklin said into the flat microphone stuck in the Plexiglas just in front of his nose.

The box office guy just nodded again and handed them two tickets and fifty cents change. "Enjoy the show," he said and smiled the same silly, DeNiro smile.

* * *

They were already walking into the theater when Jason pulled up. The roads were practically empty, and he could have kept up with the guy easily, but he didn't want to follow too closely and freak the guy out. Jason parked his car just outside the cast of one of the light posts on the other side of the parking lot facing the road he had entered from. If he needed to get going fast he could.

He approached the box office where the cashier seemed to be having a conversation with himself. He stopped as Jason approached and looked at him with a grin that made him look like a Muppet. Jason stopped and looked over the movies and times, trying to decide which they would have gone into. He looked at the Muppet boy in the box office. "So, what's everybody been seeing today?" he asked, then looked back up at the schedule.

"Not much of anything actually, it's been pretty slow," the guy in the box office said as he started tapping two pens on the edge of the counter like drumsticks.

"What about those last two, what'd they pick?"

_"Terminator 2_." he stopped tapping, "it's been here for a while, but we still get a good deal of people in here to see it. That's what I always watch on breaks."

"What's it about?" Jason had to play out the role. He didn't want to look suspicious.

"Oh, it's about this robot that gets sent back in time to save this woman and her kid."

Jason cracked a little smile as he put a ten on the counter through the little hole. "How quaint," he said, erasing his smile. "Gimmie one for that I guess."

"Good choice, man."

Jason took his ticket and change and moved into the lobby. There were two high school boys in the most uncomfortable looking polyester suits punching each other next to one of those stuffed animal crane machines. As Jason moved toward the hallway he saw Michelle and her date enter, but he stopped when he heard one of the boys yell after him.

"Hey, sir, I need to tear your ticket," he said moving quickly toward him.

Jason handed his ticket to the kid. He tore it and handed it back in one swift motion. He jumped past, stuffed it in a hole in a short pole next to the entrance, then looked back at him. Jason noticed he had an orange stuffed frog peeking out of his vest pocket, and he caught a glimpse of his nametag. Senemis.

He figured it couldn't be the Senemis he knew, but how many kids named Senemis could there be in Virginia?

"Second theater on your right," Senemis said and moved back toward the stuffed animal machine. If it was the same guy, there was nothing he could say to him now. Jason let it pass and turned to walk down the hall—possibly even a little excited for once. He hadn't seen a film in ages.

* * *

Michelle felt charged like a kid on Christmas morning. She loved _Terminator 2_. This was her fourth time seeing it, but each time she got a rush that made her feel like she had just gone through the events of the movie herself. She imagined herself as Sarah Conner, running from machines from the future, wielding machine guns and shotguns, saving the world from certain doom.

She looked at her watch. It was already 12:45. _Terminator_ was great, but it was long. She wasn't really tired though. Franklin had come back out during the previews and bought two Cokes. She hadn't known he was going to buy her a drink—he didn't ask if she was thirsty before he left—but if he had asked, she would have asked for a Sprite. She wasn't a huge fan of caffeine, and it always seemed to affect her quite strongly. The high she got from the film, coupled with her low-caffeine tolerance had her wide awake despite the late hour.

"I'm gonna go to the restroom, I'll be right back." Franklin's speech was slower than before, and his eyes weren't as wide. He walked to the restroom on the other side of the concession stand. Michelle was fine although she was sure the caffeine would take effect on the rest of her system soon.

Michelle walked over to the concession stand and stood at the candy case. She looked up as she heard someone approaching and saw one of the theater employees—a boy who must have been no more than fifteen or sixteen—running toward the stand from the other side of the theater. He charged at the stand, looking like he was going to run right into it, then suddenly dropped below where Michelle could see and popped up on the other side of the counter. Michelle, puzzled and peeked over the counter into the stand where she saw the counter actually flipped open and there was an open space where he had ducked under. The boy ran up to the register nearest her and looked at her smiling. She just kept looking at him with the same puzzled look.

"You'll have to excuse me, we get a little loopy sometimes after eleven," he said, stuffing something into his pants pocket.

"It's okay. Sometimes bein' a little loopy's the only thing that gets me through the day." She noticed he had a stuffed frog in his vest pocket. "Nice frog."

"Thanks," he said, petting the frog on the top of his head.

"Can I have a Kit-Kat?" Michele asked, already digging in her purse for her wallet.

"The Kit-Kats are kinda sketchy. I wouldn't trust 'em. They haven't been rotated in a while."

Michelle looked up, caught off-guard by the cashier's directness. "Try the Goobers, they just got restocked an hour ago."

"Okay, gimmie the Goobers," she said, opening her wallet and pulling out two dollars.

The cashier exchanged the box of Goobers for the money. "Here," he reached behind the counter and produced a bottle of what looked like tea. "Try this. It's a free sample of Florida's Best tea. I think the stuff tastes like dirt, but we gotta give out the samples anyway."

Michelle took the bottle and held it up to read the label. There was drawing of a barefoot, freckled-face boy that looked like Huck Finn lazing next to a fence with a glass of iced tea in his hand. Orange Pekoe was written on a banner under the Florida's Best logo.

"Have a good night," the boy added closing the register, "or at least what's left of it."

"You too," Michelle smiled, and then turned as she opened the box of candy. She walked past the women's restroom and sat on the padded bench that looked out into the parking lot. She set the bottle on the ground next to her feet, poured some Goobers into her hand, and then tossed them back into her mouth. She loved Goobers, but they only seemed to exist in movie theaters. It was the same with Junior Mints, except this theater didn't have them. Goobers were better though because you didn't get sick of them halfway through the box.

Michelle looked out into the parking lot as she savored the peanuts and chocolate. She realized she'd been eating a lot of sweets recently, but she perished the thought quickly. She could see a couple playing miniature golf across the parking lot at the Putt-Putt. She couldn't really tell if it was a boy and a girl, but one had long hair, the other a baseball cap turned backward, and they were standing too close to each other to be anything but a couple. She wondered why anyone would be playing miniature golf at almost one in the morning on a week night, but she knew being in love, or at least thinking you were in love, made a lot of things that didn't make much sense seem like good ideas. There was no harm in that though. She wondered what their faces looked like. Whether they were happy or just going through the motions. But in her experience, couples usually went through the motions at home in front of a TV or in some stuffy restaurant—not out late on a weekday. She had been through motions before, and to an extent, felt like she was going through motions now. Franklin seemed like a nice enough guy, but she didn't feel any real attraction to him—she couldn't picture being out this late playing miniature golf with him—but it was too soon to put in a verdict just yet. There was nothing horribly wrong with him, but it was a little odd. She didn't feel comfortable with him yet, but she didn't feel particularly uncomfortable either. She was in some kind of weird dating purgatory. Neither up nor down. Maybe it was because she had broken up with Greg just under a month ago and hadn't seen anyone else since. Maybe it was because she was a little afraid of opening up to someone else and getting hurt again. Or maybe it was just first date jitters. She figured, unless this guy turned into a raving psychopath and his head started spinning and green shit started flying out of his mouth, if he asked, she'd probably go out with him again. He might turn out to be a real sweetheart.

She threw another handful of Goobers into her mouth. She wished guys came with instruction manuals and spec sheets. That way you had a general idea of what to expect ahead of time. A lifetime warranty against defects and a no-frills return policy would be nice too.

* * *

Jason walked out of the theater looking around cautiously. There was a stocky usher with a broom and dustpan trudging toward the theater as he left. Jason had watched Michelle leave with her date and followed close behind them up to the door, keeping his head down just in case she looked behind suddenly—but she hadn't.

At the door he waited for twenty seconds then emerged. He turned and walked toward the lobby and saw Senemis leaning against the concessions counter, staring at something or someone in the left part of the lobby. As Jason got to the end of the lobby he could see Michelle's date's car still parked outside. Senemis was staring just past the woman's restroom, probably at something by the bench against the lobby wall next to it.

As Jason emerged from the hallway, he saw what Senemis was staring at. Michelle was sitting on the bench, legs crossed, pouring candy into her hand. She turned her head in Jason's direction, but he didn't see if she looked at him or not because he was already turning toward the concessions stand. He walked up to the candy counter. Senemis walked up to the register, still staring over Jason's shoulder to the bench. Jason looked at his eyes as he stared. He recognized those eyes. They were wise, yet playful at the same time. The eyes of someone who hadn't yet seen the horrors of the world, but knew very well that they existed. The boy turned to face Jason and recoiled slightly in reaction to his stare.

"If she's your girl I'm sorry man, but she is pretty fine."

Jason smiled a little, amused by the boy's reaction. "It's all right. She's not my girl."

The boy breathed a sigh of relief.

Jason glanced at the window to the parking lot. The lights inside cast a glare that reflected the lobby. He saw Michelle staring into the parking lot, pouring more candy into her hand in the reflection. "Gimme a Kit-Kat."

Senemis set the Kit-Kat on the counter. "That'll be two fifty."

Jason turned back and noticed the boy was staring past him again. Jason reached into his back pocket and got out his wallet. He opened it and began searching through for the lowest bills. "If in all your life you remember nothing else, remember these words." Jason took three one-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to Senemis. "One day you'll fall deeply in love and that girl will break your heart. But no matter what happens between you, remember sometimes love is more important than self-preservation."

Senemis's eyes moved from Michelle to Jason's. He turned his head slightly to the side, bewildered as he took the money. He handed Jason two quarters but still stared at him perplexed, speechless. Senemis continued to stare as Jason put his change in his pocket, but Jason pretended not to notice. Suddenly he snapped out of it and pulled a bottle from a bucket behind the counter.

"Here," Senemis said, "it's a free sample of Florida's Best tea." As Jason took the bottle he saw Michelle's date emerge from the men's restroom.

"Thanks," Jason said, turned quickly, and then walked out the theater. He watched Senemis's eyes follow him in the reflection on the box office as he left.

* * *

Michelle finished her Goobers outside the car because Franklin had asked her not to eat inside. She walked to the trash can just at the entrance, threw away the box then returned to the car. Before she opened the door she could hear the music blaring and the trunk rattling. She opened the door and was washed in treble and bass. She sat in the car and closed the door and her eyes, shaking her head to the beat. Franklin said something but she couldn't hear it.

"What?" she asked, competing with the melody.

Franklin turned the music down a little, but not enough. "Was it as good this time around?"

"Oh yeah, that movie's the best."

"I didn't like it as much this time."

Michelle didn't understand how anyone could think _T2_ wasn't the greatest film ever—or at least one of—but she guessed everyone was entitled to his or her opinion.

Franklin backed out of the spot and drove through the center of the parking lot toward the Putt-Putt. "I guess the whole idea just seemed," he paused looking for his next word as a long deep note vibrated Michelle's seat, " _sillier_ this time."

"Maybe, but the movie _is_ a lot of fun." The car slowed for the speed bump then moved into the street without yielding.

"Yeah, but some of the stuff doesn't make much sense. Like the time travel stuff. How'd the T1000 go through if he wasn't surrounded by meat?"

Michelle opened her eyes and thought about it. That was an interesting point, but she didn't see the need to analyze it that far. "Maybe he could move his molecules to a state where it didn't matter," she offered.

"Also, why didn't the _Terminator_ just stick a big ass gun in a cow or somethin' and send that too?" Franklin stomped the gas to beat a red light.

"I don't know, I didn't really think about it _that_ much." This conversation was ruining her high. "How 'bout that preview for that _Freejack_ movie? I wonder if that's gonna be any good?"

"I dunno. It's got Anthony Hopkins in it, but I don't know about Mick Jagger and that other guy."

"Emilio Esteves?"

"Yeah, he kinda scares me. He doesn't really inspire faith."

"The story sounds interesting though."

"Yeah, I guess." Franklin turned the music back up.

As Franklin blew through another yellow light, Michelle closed her eyes again.

That was the second yellow light this guy had buzzed. Jason didn't like stopping for them either, but it was making him nervous. He was trying to keep a safe distance behind, but he didn't want to lose him, so every yellow light this guy flew through was a red light Jason had to run. He didn't see any police cars on the scanner on his monitor, but he didn't know how reliable the system was. He knew it was supposed to pick up police radar and CB radio signals, but what if for some reason the cop had his radio off? He knew that was ridiculous paranoia, but ridiculous paranoia had saved his ass more than once.

Ahead Jason saw a light turn yellow ahead of the guy's car. The car continued on at the same pace, and then suddenly the light turned red, quicker than the others. For a moment Jason thought the guy was going to buzz the red light too, but he saw his brake lights come on. Jason slowed down too, trying to not get too close before the light turned green again.

Various ways of approaching Michelle ran through his head. He hoped she wasn't as tired as he was right now. She hadn't looked tired, but it had been hard to tell through the reflection in the glass. He definitely was tired. This was his sixth day in a row in a situation that just got worse and more confusing as it went along. His brain and body pined for a long moment of pause, but the closer he got to confronting Michelle, the more awake he felt. He didn't know whether it was adrenaline or nerves, but combined with the most stressful past few days of his life, it was giving him a headache to be damned.

"Damn!" Michelle said under her breath as Franklin rolled to a stop at the light.

"What's wrong?"

"I left the tea the concession guy gave me in the theater."

"You wanna stop and get another one?"

"Nah, it was a free sample. The guy said it tasted like dirt anyway. I just wondered how bad it really was."

The light turned green, but a pickup truck with Plessy's Hardware painted on the side sounded its horn and vaulted through the intersection in front of them. As the truck hit a dip at the end of the intersection, a small box flew out and rolled across the road.

"Asshole," Franklin mumbled, slowly pulling into the intersection. As the car accelerated, there was a deep popping sound like someone popping a big paper bag. Only it was loud enough to be heard through the blaring music in the car. The car dipped to the left like it drove through a pothole, but didn't rise again.

"Fuck!" Franklin yelled, then turned right onto the intersecting road and came to a stop next to the curb on the wrong side of the road. "Fuck!" he spat out again, throwing open the door and jumping out of the car. Cold air rushed into the door, quickly pushing out any warmth that had been in the car.

Michelle watched Franklin walk around to the driver's side blind spot, then duck below the window.

"Fuck!" she heard him yell again, louder and more drawn out this time. He stood up and stomped back to the door. He stuck his head in, took his keys from the ignition, and pulled the lever to pop the trunk. "I can't believe I got a fucking flat tire," he cursed, more to himself than to Michelle. He disappeared behind the car again. Michelle buttoned up her sweater. She felt the weight of the car shift forward like something heavy had just been removed from the back. She opened her door and walked to the back of the car. Franklin was hoisting a hydraulic jack from the trunk. He set it on the ground and then reached back into the trunk. Michelle heard a metallic squeaking and could see he was doing something with his hand, but she couldn't tell what because his body was obstructing her view.

"Is there any way I can help?" she asked, peering slightly into the trunk. Franklin grunted and heaved the spare tire out of the trunk as he stood. "Nah," he said with another grunt, "I got it." He walked to the driver's side and set the spare against the side of the car.

Michelle had never changed a tire, but she didn't just want to sit there and watch Franklin do all the work either. Besides, how hard could it be? You remove some lug nuts, switched tires, put the lug nuts back.

Franklin hopped up from behind the car again, cursing under his breath, and pulled a three foot long metal pole with a rubber hand grip from the trunk. He knelt and pulled the jack over to the flat rear tire. He took out his keys again and stuck a weird t-shaped key into the wheel and turned it. He pulled a circular disc off the face of the wheel and set it on the ground next to the jack. Removing the disc revealed the lug nuts. Franklin hopped up again and took a metal tool that looked like a big X from the trunk.

"What is that?" Michelle asked, she could see he was upset, but she thought talking might ease some of the tension.

"Tire iron," he said and kept moving.

"You use that to get the lug nuts off, right?"

"Yeah," he said, disinterested. He threw the tire iron on the sidewalk behind him and maneuvered the jack under the car just in front of the flat tire. He took the pole by the grip and stuck it into the back of the jack and twisted it. He began cranking the pole vigorously like he was taking his frustrations out on the jack. The head of the jack raised, came in contact with the car, and then slowly lifted the rear of the car.

The tire lifted about four inches off the ground then Franklin jumped up suddenly, snatched his keys off the ground, and bounded to the door. He stuck his head and shoulders into the car and the car rumbled to a start. Michelle jumped, startled as a puff of steam from the exhaust pipe washed across her ankles. Bass erupted out of the trunk and the raised trunk lid rattled with each beat. Treble blared out of the open door as Franklin emerged and knelt next to the raised tire.

"You think that's a good idea?" Michelle asked, kneeling to watch more closely.

"What?" he asked, slowly turning the tire.

"Playing the music so loud. I mean it is pretty late, and people do live around here."

"Well, if they complain I'll turn it down." He turned the tire then stopped. He grabbed at the tread of the tire then pulled out a long squarish nail. "A fucking cement nail!" he yelled and tossed the nail down on the sidewalk.

It didn't seem very considerate to sit here at one in the morning on a weeknight playing music this loud whether people complained or not. But more and more Franklin was starting to look like he wasn't a very considerate guy. Michelle stood up and turned to face the street. She saw a car coming toward them rather slowly. She thought about hailing it for help, but it looked like Franklin had things under control now. The car slowed to a stop about a block away, and then backed into a driveway. It stopped just in front of another car in the driveway and the lights went out, but the driver didn't get out immediately. Michelle turned back to Franklin who had the tire iron up now and was wrenching at a lug nut.

"You sure there's nothing I can do to help?"

"I got it," he snarled, his face contorting as he strained at the lug nut. Michelle turned and looked back in the direction they had come from. The street was dark except for the street lamps, and the world looked eerie, deserted—like they were the only two people left on a cold, dark planet. A chill wind blew over Michelle, and she folder her arms around herself. She thought the end of the world must feel something like this.

# CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jason sat in his car about a half block away watching Michelle's date changing his tire. He hadn't been too far behind them when the car turned and parked alongside the road. He had driven by slowly and turned around a block away. He had come back and parked in this driveway so he could observe and decide what to do next. He could walk up and offer help—try to develop a rapport with Michelle—but he couldn't tell how much of a problem her date would be. He might see Jason as a threat to his progress with Michelle and try to send him packing. Jason punched the steering wheel. He had never been this indecisive on a mission before. But then again, this type of thing was not what he was trained to do. He didn't like talking. He liked getting things done. Talking was usually counter-productive to the things he needed to do. He saw Michelle look in his direction and then turn and look down the road the opposite way, folding her arms. She was only wearing that thin sweater and a shirt—and those sandals. He knew she had to be cold.

He punched the steering wheel again, frustrated. He felt inept, like his hands were tied—not because he was unable to act, but because he didn't know _how_ to act—didn't know what to do. He looked up from the wheel and saw three guys in thick coats walking down the sidewalk across the street. He saw one of them point toward the disabled car and he and the others picked up their pace.

This didn't look good. Maybe they were going to offer help, but Jason didn't believe that. Whenever you wanted things to work a certain way, they never did—at least in his experience. He always expected the worst, that way, when it happened, he wasn't disappointed. He thought about his options. There was a pistol under his seat, and a sawed-off shotgun under the passenger seat, but they were both loaded with ammo that he didn't dare use in this situation. He needed something decisive, but not deadly. He looked over into the passenger seat and the small freckle-faced boy with the iced tea in his hand smiled up at him from the unopened tea bottle.

Michelle stood looking down the road. Midlothian Turnpike looked like it went on forever, leading straight to oblivion. She heard the clank of iron against cement and Franklin cursed again.

"Damn it!"

Michelle turned and looked down at him. He was swinging his right hand up and down and sucking on the back of his thumb. His glasses were cocked to the side of his face, and he looked like a cartoon. Michelle held back a chuckle. "You okay?"

"What's it look like?" He said, his L's and T's slurred because his hand was still in his mouth.

_An episode of 'The Three Stooges'_ , popped into her mind first, but she held her tongue. "Just seein' if you were okay," she said defensively.

"I'll be fine, just let me get this done." Still no L's or T's.

She could tell he was getting frustrated, and her patience was reaching its limit as well. She turned and looked back down the road, trying to ignore the cold that was eating through her sweater. She understood that this was an unforeseeable problem, but he didn't have to act like a Ritalin baby about it either.

Michelle looked up at the night sky. Clouds were moving quickly past the moon that was looking down at her, laughing. Since she was a girl she thought the moon looked like a big fat round head, cocked to the side, laughing hysterically—usually at her. Tonight was no different. She wanted to punch the guffawing moon in its jaw, but she knew physics wouldn't allow it. It could just sit up there laughing, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Physics.

She still had that God-forsaken paper to do, and she was sure she'd come off her caffeine high by the time she got home. She'd have to get some other stimulant—some more coffee or something—and burn the midnight oil. Too bad it was already past midnight. She looked down at her watch. It was 1:24 and she was stuck out here with a twenty-year-old baby whose toy just broke. She could hear the deep bass voice in tremolo saying "Oh yeah" from the trunk.

She heard another voice, this one real, behind her. "Put the shit down and hand me the keys."

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind and pulled back by a thin but strong arm. She gasped, but a rough hand that smelled like dirty metal and hand lotion was already covering her mouth.

Instinctively she kicked back, but the arm lifted her off her feet and turned her to face the car. There was a tall African American kid that looked like he was no older than eighteen in a thick gray ski coat. He was pointing a gun past the car at where Franklin's head must have been. She could see his hands sticking up past the edge of the car shaking. He was pointing toward the driver's seat with his left hand. There was another boy, shorter, in a red ski jacket, standing on the other side of the open driver's door.

"I...in there... there in the car," Franklin said shakily, barely audible to Michelle over the music. Michelle was still kicking, but it didn't seem to do any good. Every time she got leverage, the arm just lifted her and she couldn't get a good kick in.

She wanted to scream, but the hand was squeezing her face tightly, and she couldn't open her mouth. She shook her arms, but it was no use, the arms around her were too strong. She could almost hear the moon laughing at her as the trunk mocked her predicament with a resounding, "Oh yeah..."

Jason had the sweatshirt off and tied around his waist as he moved across the street slowly. He didn't want the three men to see him coming. He had the tea in his right hand and glanced down at the top. It was sealed with plastic and said 'Safety button pops up when opened.' The plastic and the button were intact. He slipped the bottle into the left sleeve of the sweatshirt and stepped up on the curb. He moved into a yard where he was sheltered from the sight of the three men by trees. He could see the tallest one had Michelle and was turning her to face her date, who was still kneeling, his hands in the air as the other man in the gray coat pointed an automatic at his head.

Jason tied the end of the sleeve in a tight knot with the bottle inside. He loosed the sleeves from around his waist and held them there with his right hand, supporting the weight of the bottle with his left. A cold breeze blew over him, but he could already feel the heat building up inside him. There were three of them and at least one had a gun. He had to do this fast, and he had to do it dirty.

Michelle was lifted into the air again as the music and the car went dead. She saw the guy in the red jacket emerge from the car with the keys. "Yo, we gotta get this ride fixed fo' we can take it," he said bringing the keys back to the one in gray.

"You right," the gray one said. "And we'd do it a lot faster if we don't gotta keep an eye on this mark an' his bitch." He raised the gun in the air. It glinted off the moon and Michelle saw it clearly for the first time. "Nitey nite you punk ass bitch." The guy in the gray jacket brought the gun down across Franklin's head. Michelle saw Franklin's hands go down and heard his body hit the ground with a soft thump.

"What we gonna do wit her," she heard the guy with the arm around her say as he pushed his knee into her back. She felt pain shoot up to the base of her neck and down to her toes from the small of her back.

"Shouldn't we take her along?" the one in red said, handing the keys to the gunman.

"What we need wit some Chink bitch? We leave her here jes' like her busted ass boyfriend."

Michelle could feel the pressure of the arms against her chest, her face, and the knee in her back, but she couldn't feel the contact. Her entire body was numb.

It was like she wasn't even in her body any more. She felt more like she was sitting on the curb across the street, watching the whole thing through a wide-angle lens. That's when she saw the dark figure, sweatshirt around his waist, walking toward her from the other side of a tree.

As Jason approached the tree, he took in the situation. The car was up on a hydraulic jack, the rod was still in it, there was a tire iron next to Michelle's date's body, and the spare was still leaning against the back of the car. The gunman still had his back to Jason, and the guy in red was looking at the gunman, but the tall one would see him any second now. Jason continued to support the weight of the drink in his left hand, but he let the sweatshirt go with his right and reached behind his back, grabbing the left sleeve at the shoulder. He needed to take out the guy with the gun first.

Michelle rushed back into her body just as fast as it seemed like she had left. She was still numb, but she could feel the hand on her mouth slip down as the knee was pressed into her back again. Her upper jaw slipped out of the grip and she capitalized. She slipped her teeth over the forefinger and bit down like she was trying to leave an impression of her teeth in the bone. Instinctively, she turned her head violently to the left, raking her teeth down the bone and carrying what must have been small chunks of flesh with her.

The guy behind her yelped, more like a dog that a man, and loosened his grip on her. She lifted her heel and brought it down as hard as she could on his right foot. He stumbled back, and she looked up to run, but noticed the shimmer of the moon on the gun pointed right at her head. That was when she saw the man with the sweatshirt come through the sagging branches of the tree like a wraith.

"Yo, bitch-boy," Jason said calmly, monotone.

The gunman turned and pointed the gun at Jason, but as soon as he got around, Jason's right foot came around and hit the boy's gun hand at the wrist, sending the gun bouncing off the inside of the driver's side door. Almost immediately, Jason whipped his right hand from behind his back in an arc. The end of the sleeve, weighted by the bottle, swung around with blinding speed and the bottle caught the guy in the jaw with a muffled thud. The guy's head snapped around, his body spun, and he hit the side of the car face first, arms spread.

The guy in red ducked to reach under the door for the gun, but Jason was already leaping toward the door. He extended his leg and kicked the driver's door back and into the red guy's head.

Jason spun and saw the guy in gray gathering his balance by leaning against the car, rubbing his jaw with his hand. On the other side of the car, Michelle moved to run, but the tall guy was close behind her. Jason shifted the weighted sleeve to his left hand as he took a step toward the guy in gray. He saw the tall guy clip Michelle's legs from under her and she went down face-first. She landed on her chest, her head just far enough past the back of the car for Jason to see her wince in pain. Jason hated to see women get hurt.

Just as the guy in gray began pushing himself up, Jason whipped the sleeve around and down, catching the guy's wrist with the bottle and knocking it down. The gray guy lost his leverage, fell, and hit the car again. Jason swept his left leg across and kicked him in both shins, knocking his legs back. The guy in gray collapsed onto his knees and Jason brought the bottle around again, connecting with the top of his head. Jason felt the bottle shatter and saw the liquid pour from the sleeve and mingle with the blood now spreading across the gray guy's skull as his body went stiff and collapsed.

He saw Michelle's head rise as she pushed herself up off the ground, but the tall guy was standing over her, and Jason could see his knee rising to stomp her.

Jason thrust his right hand at the ground and spun like a discus thrower as he snatched up the tire iron. At the end of his spin he whipped the iron around and it made a whiffling sound as it coursed over the trunk and connected with the tall guy's temple, sending him down with his arms flailing. Jason took a step over to Michelle as she shook her head, regaining her wind, but he felt a snag at his right ankle. His right leg slipped and slid into the curb as he saw the gray guy's hand clasped around his leg. Pain shot through as the injured bone ground against cement. Jason wanted to scream, but he held it back. He stomped down viciously with his left foot and smashed the right shoulder of the gray guy. In all his years of training, through sparring, and in actually fights, Jason learned the only thing that pushed you through intense pain was the desire to complete the mission, and the desire to inflict as just much pain on the guy who had hurt you.

As Jason put all his weight on his left leg and twirled on the guy's shoulder, he noticed his other arm was under the jacked wheel. Jason brought his throbbing right foot around and hit the bar sticking out of the jack with his heel. The jack released its burden and the car slumped down on its shocks. The guy on the ground howled as the car came to rest on his left elbow. Jason put his right foot down, but the ankle gave out under his weight, and he went down to his knee over the gray guy's chest. Jason felt the pain in his ankle scream through his leg and up his back, but he channeled the intensity into his fist and brought it down on the gray guy's blood-smeared forehead, silencing his howling. That was when Jason saw the pistol pointed at him from under the car door.

Jason vaulted himself backward with his left leg and flattened his back as he heard the gunshot crackle through the air. He could feel the momentary heat of the bullet course over his chest and past his cheek as he landed on his back on top of the guy pinned under the car. Jason rolled back to his feet as another shot hit the rear fender of the car next to his head. He saw the red guy take aim again, but he was already bringing the spare tire around. He launched it at the door and it hit flat just as the red guy fired again. Jason saw the bullet spark off the center of the spare. The red guy jumped back and Jason snatched the pole out of the jack and vaulted off the driver's seat, already forgetting the pain in his ankle. The red guy stood up to fire but Jason cleared the driver's door windshield and brought the jack pole down on the red guy's right wrist. Jason heard a sickening snap as the hand went limp, releasing the gun. He brought the pole up quickly across the guy's jaw, followed through past the jaw, then brought it back across the side of his head sending his body spinning to the ground limp. Jason closed the driver's side door and picked up the pistol with his left hand, still holding the pole in his right. As the door closed, he saw Michelle's head was gone.

Michelle was up to her knees now, not sure what was happening around her. She could still only breathe in short painful breaths. Her wrists burned and her hands felt like there were tiny rocks stuck in her palms. The sound around her was muffled after the loud crackle that must have been a gunshot. She heard another gunshot and crawled to the back of car and pressed her back against the bumper. She could taste the blood from the hand that had been gagging her and there were small pieces of something on her lips. She spat down at the ground and saw her spit was mixed with hints of red. She heard a cry from above and looked up.

She saw the guy that had been holding her for the first time—blood was running down his face and his right arm and he was lunging toward her with the tire iron.

Jason saw the tall guy stand up, bloody and bruised, but still conscious. Jason's first instinct was to raise the gun and shoot him, but he wanted to avoid killing him if possible and only his head and arms were visible above the raised trunk. Regardless, Jason had to act quickly. He had no room for hesitation.

Michelle did the only thing she could do—she threw her arms up to shield her head. She heard a thump behind her and felt the bumper of the car dip an inch or two. Through her arms, with one eye, she saw what looked like a shadow fly over her and collide with her attacker. She saw the shadow and the tall attacker collapse in a heap of legs and arms. She saw the guy that had come to her rescue on top of her tall assailant, wrestling for the pole that Franklin had used with the jack. They wrestled with the bar, twisting it first left, then right, then she saw the guy on top lift himself up slightly with his left leg—she thought for more leverage—then suddenly to her and the assailant's surprised, he collapsed, dropping his right knee onto the assailant's crotch. He let out a throaty groan as Michelle's savior ground in his knee and snatched the bar from his hands.

He brought the bar down fast, with both hands, on top of the assailant. The groaning stopped. Michelle put down her arms slowly as her savior stood over the body at his feet. She heard the sirens for the first time as he tossed the bar to the ground and turned to her. As he stepped forward and extended a hand to her, she recognized him for the first time. He was the guy from the library. "We need to go. I can't let the cops see me here," he said calmly.

Michelle was stunned. She couldn't believe what had just happened. She looked around for a moment at the lights and the street and the body in front of her and realized she was sitting on the ground. She tried to breathe, but it made her cough. She didn't know whether she should trust this guy or not, but he was the sole reason she had an option she didn't have a minute ago. She reached out and took his hand.

# CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Jason led Michelle across the street in a direct line to his car. He had the gun tucked under his belt, the dripping sweatshirt bundled in his right hand, and was leading Michelle with his left. Every step exploded in his ankle, but he could not afford to break his stride. He glanced over his shoulder down the road. He could hear the sirens getting closer, but he couldn't see the blue and red lights yet. He let go of Michelle's hand as they approached the car, stuck his hand in his pocket, and pressed a button on the device inside. His car lights flickered twice and he heard the engine engage as he retrieved Michelle's hand. He ushered her to the passenger door and opened it for her.

"What about Franklin? What if those thugs wake up first?" It didn't seem right to Michelle to just leave him there.

"The cops'll be here soon. He'll be okay. Besides, I don't think any of those other guys will be getting up anytime soon."

Jason shut the door behind her and quickly moved around the front of the car.

Michelle watched as the man who had just saved her moved around the car to the driver's side. He moved quickly, but still seemed to possess composure and poise, and despite the urgency in his words, even his voice was calm.

Jason jumped into the car and pulled into the street with the headlights off. He stomped on the gas as soon as the car straightened and his and Michelle's backs were thrown against the seat as the car lunged down the road.

Michelle noticed that the headlights and the normal dash lights were out, but a digital readout panel across the top of the dash and a small monitor in the center of the dash glowed brightly. Michelle had never seen anything like this in a car. She was terribly confused. Why was this guy so afraid of the cops? Who the hell was he in the first place? And why the hell did she just jump in a car with him?

"Who are you?" Michelle asked as the car rocketed down the road faster than she had ever seen anyone drive down Midlothian.

Jason looked up at the rearview mirror but there were no cops pursuing him. He looked at the monitor and the blue blips that represented police signals were stopped or coming to a stop a few blocks back. He flicked on his headlights and looked to Michelle. "I'm Jason. Jason Dyer."

The car began to slow gradually. Great, now she knew his name, but she still had no idea what the hell was going on. She could feel the caffeine wearing off now, but her breathing still wasn't back to normal. Her chest hurt with every quickened breath and she felt like hot water was now running through her veins instead of blood. She opened her mouth to introduce herself, and then she stopped. She had already seen this guy once today in the library, and now he was here. Even though he had just saved her, he had been following her—probably all day—and he was afraid of the police. Maybe she shouldn't tell him her name. She didn't think it was such a good idea to let him know where she lived either. The buses had stopped running by now. She'd just get him to drop her off and she'd call a cab home. Her mother had told her to always carry enough money for cab fare on dates—just in case things went sour. She figured tonight—if any night—could definitely be considered sour.

"Look, Michelle," he said without taking his eyes off the road. She looked over at him with a look of astonishment on her face as he continued, "I understand this is all a little... strange, but I need you to bear with me for a bit."

"How'd you know my name?"

"This was not the way I'd wanted us to meet, but I'll take it." He dodged a small piece of debris in the road. "I think we need to get to a quiet place with no one around."

That didn't sound very pleasant to Michelle. "What are you going to do to me?"

Jason reviewed his last statement in his mind. It hadn't come off the way he had intended. That happened to him a lot. "Nothing, we just need a place to talk quietly."

"You still didn't tell me how you knew my name," she demanded.

"Okay, where do I began?" Jason asked himself quietly. "Tuesday night, you were almost hit by a car. A Gray Chrysler LeBaron, correct?"

"Yeah," she said slowly, "but what does that have to do with this?"

"There was a bright flash and a high-pitched whistle, right? Then the car swerved into a wall, correct?"

"All I remember was the flash and the noise. Then I saw the car against the wall, but that still doesn't tell me what the fuck me being in this car right now has to do with it." The confusion was frustrating her now.

"That bright flash and noise was caused by an anti-matter mine. A mine I dropped in front of the car before it hit you."

"Are you telling me you made that car wreck?" Disbelief now overshadowed her frustration.

"Yes."

"But why?"

"Michelle, I don't know any other way to put this, so I'll give it to you straight. On September 17, 1991 at 10:19 P.M., you were supposed to die."

Michelle paused to internalize this. She had thought she was lucky to be alive after Tuesday night, but if what he was saying was true, she _should_ have been dead. But how the hell could he know? "So you're telling me you can see and change the future?"

"No," Jason paused and turned left too quickly, but the car swayed very little as the tires slid to match the angle of the road. "I'm telling you I can see and change the past."

"What?" Michelle asked. She was either completely lost, or what she had just heard was less believable than tonight's events.

"I was sent from August 8 in the year 2026 to stop that car from hitting you."

Michelle couldn't understand. She meant precisely nothing to anyone except her parents and a few friends. She was nobody. "Why me?"

"Because on August 9, 2026, the world as we know it is probably going to be destroyed, and we have reason to believe your death has something to do with it."

Things were even more confusing now. How could her death have anything to do with the end of the world? This didn't make any sense. Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of elaborate gag?

But it couldn't be. This guy had almost been shot—or so it seemed—she had almost been beaten, and Franklin was knocked out in the street—it was too harrowing to be a joke. But what this guy was saying couldn't be true. It just couldn't. It didn't make any sense. Michelle put her hands in front of her face and shook her head. The world and the way she understood it were coming down around her. "I don't understand," she said quietly.

Jason punched a few buttons on the monitor and called up a section on the map. "We need a more stable place to talk."

* * *

The moon shone down on the James River and cut a brilliant swath down its center. The moon was low and its light stretched out like the blade of a sword pointing toward the city. Jason had been to Richmond before, but he had never been this close to the river. He could tell the river was swollen because the bases of several trees were below the water line, and a few trees, in the middle of the river, were almost completely submerged. Sitting on the cement floodwall, Jason looked up at the sky. It wasn't as cloudy as it was before and he could see the stars clearly. He could see the typical constellations, but behind them, he could see more stars than he knew ever existed in the sky. "Never in my life have I seen a sky this clear."

It was even colder this close to the river. Jason had given Michelle his coat from the car and was wearing the Richmond Poly sweatshirt. The left sleeve was still a little wet, but it was better than sitting in the cold with just a shirt.

Michelle just sat quietly, looking down at her hands, still trying to deal with what she had just heard. Her heart wasn't beating quite as fast now, and she was breathing somewhat normally, but her stomach was loosening and tightening with each heartbeat, and she felt like she had to throw up. "So, two nights ago, I was supposed to die?" she asked, more whispering than speaking.

Jason just nodded his head. After not hearing a response, Michelle looked up from her hands and saw him nodding.

"I don't get it though. Why me? What have I done that makes me so important?"

Jason took a loose stone from the top of the floodwall and tossed it into the river. "That's a hard one for me to answer. I guess I should explain the whole story, or at least what I know."

Michelle said nothing. She pulled the sides of the coat tighter around her and looked at him expectantly. Jason could see the glow that had covered her features earlier that night was now gone. She looked as though she had just been told someone close to her was dead, and he figured, in a manner of speaking, she

"I'm sure you've heard of the Richmond Church of God."

Michelle nodded.

"Well, even now, they're not just in Richmond. They started here, but they've spread out. They have branches in Fredricksburg, in Norfolk, and in Raleigh. Well, they grow, exponentially. By the time I'm in college—I guess around 2020, 2021—they have branches in every major city in the States. And people everywhere are members of this group—people you wouldn't expect—because they were members since they were in college. Around 2024, even the President is one of the members, or rather said he had been and quit, but I'm sure they held influence over him like they did most of the others who claimed they had left the church."

Jason coughed and drummed his heels against the floodwall, but stopped when the shock from even the light impact went through his right heel like a brush fire. He cleared his throat and checked to make sure he still had Michelle's attention. She was looking down at the river, but looked up at him in expectation after he cleared his throat. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and continued, "Well, there were heads of oil companies, heads of major banks, law firms. Anyone you could imagine with some kind of political or economic power was under the influence of this church. Not everyone, but enough. And it didn't seem to matter to the public cuz it seemed like any other church." He cleared his throat again and rubbed at his neck lightly, "Well, there was this guy, Senemis Rath. He was a professor at U.C. Irvine. He had been a member of the COG for a while when he was in college, and while he was there he was asked to be a member of this organization called the Order of Nine Facets by the leader of the Order, a man named Maximilian Powers. The Order of Nine Facets was a secret group under the church, hidden from most of the members, that was organized to prepare for the battle at the end of the world. It sounds kinda hackneyed, but it was a militaristic group designed by Powers to be 'muscle' for the church in the event of any physical threat from what Powers called Babylon. Well, Senemis was in the group for a month or so when he realized that something wasn't right. It all sounded good—fighting for the Greater Good and all that, but some of the things that were told to him just didn't sound right. He found out that not only was Max the leader of the ONF, but he secretly controlled the entire church."

Jason noticed Michelle rubbing her right eye with her palm. "I'm not losing you, am I?"

"I don't think that's possible," she rubbed her left eye. "My eyes are just getting a little tired I guess. Don't worry about me. Continue."

Jason knew this was a hard bite to swallow all at once. Maybe she thought he was full of shit, but too many of the facts pointed to otherwise. He would have had a hard time believing it himself had the roles been switched. It was all a little odd to him too. The only thing that kept him rooted in belief was the fact that he was here. He tossed a rock at a branch floating by, missed, then continued, "Well, Senemis quit, and the ONF tried to kill him, so he moved to California. He went to grad school out there and got his Ph.D., then started teaching at UCI. That's where I met him. He was one of my English professors. We used to talk about philosophy and life, and the state of the world and such. We became pretty good friends and he explained to me if I ever needed a job, I could come work for this engineering firm named Fomalhaut Industries. I didn't know a lick of engineering, but when I got out of school and didn't know what to do, I called him up anyway."

Jason held firmly onto the wall and twisted his back, first to the left, then to the right. A series of pops sounded in his spine with each twist. Michelle looked at him, sure that from the way it sounded it had to hurt. He didn't notice her looking and went on, "It turned out Senemis didn't know much about engineering either. Fomalhaut was thriving on a group of monumental advancements, but was also a front for a vigilante group called The Spectrum that Senemis was in charge of. Someone at Fomalhaut had also realized the COG wasn't as harmless as they seemed. So with the help of Senemis and the newly acquired finances of Fomalhaut, they kept tabs on various prestigious members and ex-members of the church, and they found these patterns—consistencies in behavior—like they were all pushing toward some common political and economic goal."

Michelle wretched like she was vomiting, but nothing came up. Jason saw her lurch forward toward the river and grabbed her shoulder to keep her from falling in. "Hey, hang on there. I'm not the best swimmer, and this joker here looks like he ain't playin'. If you fall in there, we're both in a world of hurt." She held her stomach with one hand and covered her mouth with the other as she coughed. Her throat hurt from the dry heave, and she was a little startled by almost going over the edge. She looked up at Jason embarrassed, but saw he was smiling at her, at least slightly, and still holding her shoulder. She saw into his eyes clearly for the first time, and his eyes looked different than most anyone's she had ever seen that was her age. She could see a certain wisdom in his eyes, but it was a wisdom that came with pain. She saw a similar look in her mother's eyes. "Are you okay?" he said, still steadying her with his hand.

"Yeah," she coughed out, trying to rub the itch from her throat. Jason rubbed her lightly on her shoulder and continued, "So where was I?" He threw an acorn at another larger branch and hit it this time, "Oh yeah, it was like all the company heads and politicians associated with the church had the same agendas..."

"So, how's that any different than the way things are now?" Michelle interrupted.

Jason looked up at the belt of Orion hovering over the trees on the opposite bank and thought about it for a moment. "It seems like in the past—now I mean—that even though those guys might have been assholes, they at least had their own agendas. Even if they were under the wing of some religious group or lobby. But now, where I'm from, it's like they're all workin' as some kind of collective. It wasn't everyone, and it wasn't obvious, but when you saw it working, it was frightening. It was like what the hell are these guys up to?"

A breeze blew across the river and a soothing rustling sound filled the air as the trees shivered in the wind. The air passed through the wet spot on Jason's sleeve and it felt like ice was forming on his arm. He took in a deep breath of the cold air as Michelle tightened the coat around her to shield against the chill. "So," she chimed in, a faint shiver in her voice, "what was it they were up to?"

"Well, we never really found out for sure, but because of various economic and political pressures that some of the guys at Fomalhaut attributed to the COG and Max, the U.S. was on the verge of a devastating war with China. The U.S. was in good shape because Fomalhaut had developed a way to harness anti-matter. I think even in 1991 they can make it, but they can't contain it. Well, they found a way to put a neutral matter buffer between the matter and anti-matter. But someone stole the formulas, and started making weapons, and Max somehow made sure it didn't leak to the rest of the world. So, the U.S. had the advantage of anti-matter weapons, but a war with a powerhouse like China would have still been ugly."

Jason cleared his throat and rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb again. "I got involved when I called up Senemis and he offered me a position in the Spectrum. I had taken martial arts in high school and through college, but the Spectrum really taught me how to fight—the nature of conflict and how to control it. Anyway, we had several sorties against smaller uprisings with gangs and stuff and a few against the ONF directly, but no matter what we did to stop them, the problem still remained—Max was in charge. He hid out in this base near Blacksburg he called Zion. We couldn't attack Zion directly because it was in the middle of nowhere in the mountains and was surrounded by an electromagnetic pulse barrier and electronics and radios didn't work through it. So they sent in a group of Spectrum members on foot to assassinate Max. I was the leader of the group, and I was the one who put a bullet in his head. But there was a catch. You see, this guy named Brinkmeyer had invented this device called the aura scanner. It was like one of those bar code scanners, but it scanned people's energy matrices and logged them as data. He was doin' studies on what the data meant to try and find some sort of way of linking it to behavior. Anyway, he started using the time machine to send these disposable satellites back in time to scan different people throughout the past to build his studies. Well through time he found these two readouts that recurred at several different points throughout history. Well, Brinkmeyer and this physicist Pierce Daen got together and developed this theory based a couple legends that they had found in some ancient texts in the Middle East and this fable from some tribe in Africa. The legend said that at the beginning of time, there were these two sisters born, and when the village witch doctor was blessing them, he said they were the prophesized ones. The prophecy said two children would be born, one representing Order, the other Chaos. They would be separated and live long lives but in the end, one would kill the other and whatever that sister represented would govern the next epoch."

Jason's nose was cold and felt like it was wet. He rubbed at it with his right sleeve and then moved on, "So, if Order kills Chaos, Order prevails. If Order dies at the hands of Chaos, then Chaos reigns supreme. The only problem was, he couldn't tell which was which. So, in an attempt to cheat fate, the villagers sent both sisters into the wilderness on opposite sides of the village. Later they found one killed by wolves and figured they were safe, but when they told the news to the witch doctor guy, he tells them they've only prolonged fate. That through time these souls would re-emerge and be drawn to each other by their kindred nature, and one day, the prophecy would be fulfilled."

Michelle flipped the hood to the coat over her head and folded her arms around herself. Jason couldn't tell if it was the cold, the fact she was tired, or all the information she was getting at once, but she looked beat. Jason continued anyway. He needed this to make some sense to her, and the way she focused her eyes intently on him—despite the fact her body language told him she wanted to crawl in bed and sleep for a day—led him to believe she needed it to make sense too. Jason looked back at the river and continued, "This was a loose theory, but Brinkmeyer found when one soul appeared in a time period, the other appeared around the same time and near the same place."

"Wasn't that risky, going through time like that?"

"They discovered that nature had a law of compensation. If you went back and left a footprint, usually not too much changed. Pierce Daen always said, 'Nature resists change.' It was like it fought against you almost. It usually took a pointed act and a lot of energy to change the flow of nature, and when you did, you'd have no idea what changed around it. It was the butterfly effect, but less drastic. Instead of the butterfly in Japan flapping its wings and changing the economy in Europe, he'd just cause some dog in Portugal to have diarrhea. He'd have to land in some investment banker's soup in Japan, choke the guy and kill him, for the economy in Europe to be affected at all."

"So what about this aura scanner?"

"Well when I killed Max, I had one fit into the laser sight on my gun. Problem is, I think he died too fast, cuz I only got half a reading. But when I got back, Brinkmeyer studied the reading and found it matched one of the recurring souls. So, Senemis sent in a cleaning crew, you know, a B team, to take out anyone else who could take charge of the ONF."

Jason looked down at his feet and exhaled softly. Michelle noticed his shoulders sagged and he didn't look up this time when he spoke. "The next day, I went to Senemis's house and found him bleeding to death on the floor. The ONF had killed him in retaliation and left a videotape. On the tape was Max. He had a copy of that day's newspaper to show he was very much alive. He tells us he has a five-story building, hollowed out and filled with anti-matter, and that he will detonate it if he so much as thinks we are coming after him again. Well, the problem is, it's too late, we've already sent someone after him, and we can't contact them by radio because they're already inside the EMP barrier."

"Wait, a building full of anti-matter? Doesn't anti-matter turn an equal amount of matter into its weight in radiation."

"Yeah, and radiation is pretty damn light, and tends to chain-react."

"So wouldn't that..."

Jason nodded solemnly. "Yes, the bastard even sent us a 3-D rendering of the earth burning and spinning off into space."

"So what happened?"

"Well, we were pressed for time. Brinkmeyer and Daen did some research on the grounds of their pet theory and found that Max actually had killed someone—on September 17, 1991, in a car accident. They didn't know how much stock to put in it, but they had no choice, it wasn't a good hope, but it was the only one. So they did some calculations and found they could send someone here, a few minutes before the accident, a couple miles away, and they could actually do it that evening. They looked for volunteers. I stepped up. The mission was shaky and didn't make much sense, but I dunno, somebody needed to do it."

"So, now that I'm saved what do you do? Click your heels three times and pop back to 2026?"

"It's not that simple. You can only travel from certain places and times to certain other places and times. My rendezvous location is a few miles from where I came in, but the extraction isn't until 1:07 A.M., October 2nd."

"So in the meantime, what do you do?"

"Well, the mission's not over."

"What do you mean?"

"Max still has to die. And he has to die _now_ , in 1991, before he does whatever he does that kept me from killing him."

"So you have to find him and kill him?"

"I have to find him," he threw another rock into the river and turned to face Michelle. She saw the seriousness in his eyes as he looked into hers, "but _you_ have to kill him."

* * *

Michelle had had a lot laid on her in the past few hours, and her head was buzzing with too much information. It felt like there was something in her temple trying to push its way out of her head. She slumped down in the seat of the Prelude trying not to look too hard at the lights going by. She just wanted to get home and crawl into bed. Perhaps when she woke up in the morning she'd find this was all some bizarre concoction of her imagination.

Jason was quiet all the way to Michelle's apartment. He could tell she was tired and he had just dropped a heavy load on her. She was going to need time to let it all steep. She had to still be in some pain from tonight, and the shock of learning all this on top of being mugged had to be taking its toll.

Jason pulled up to the front of her apartment building and stopped. Michelle yawned and reached to open her door.

"Get a good night's sleep." Jason couldn't think of anything else to say.

As Michelle stood up she looked as though she were about to fall asleep right there. "Where are you gonna be?" she asked sleepily.

"Right here." Jason leaned toward her and flipped open the glove box and handed her a credit card. "If you need me, press the red button." She took it and looked at it, turning it around in her hand.

"Future stuff huh?" she said and yawned a tiny yawn at the end. "I don't believe this." She shook her head, and then froze just as she was about to shut the door. Her eyes opened a bit wider, and for a second, she almost looked wide-awake. "Oh shit!"

"What's wrong?" Jason turned quickly and looked in the direction she was facing but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

"My physics paper. Fuck, it'll never get done now." She looked at her watch. It was 3:35 AM. "The way I feel now there's no way I can get up early," she added, more to herself than to Jason.

"What's it on?"

"What?"

"The paper. What's it on?"

She had to think for a second. It was too late and was hard to focus. "The quark. It's a sub-atomic particle thing."

"Yeah, I know what a quark is."

"I suppose everyone in the future does, huh?"

"Nope, most people in the future are still pretty dense, but I'm not your average grunt."

Michelle just smiled a little and nodded. The caffeine low wasn't helping her situation and her vision was blurring. "Good night," she huffed, waved, and then shut the door too lightly.

The door hadn't closed all the way and Jason watched Michelle drag herself toward her building as he reached across to the door, opened it, and shut it properly. Jason hadn't known what to expect, but Michelle had definitely exceeded his expectations. She had trouble with the situation he could tell. But who wouldn't. But she handled it better than Jason had expected. In the past two days she had been through a lot. And most likely, before he went home, she'd go through a lot more.

# Part 2

"What else, when chaos draws all forces inward

to shape a single leaf."

Conrad Aiken

# CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

**September 2 0,** 1991

Michelle awoke at 9 A.M. to the sound of Prince screaming. The long, falsetto caterwaul yanked Michelle out of her deep sleep. She always set her sleep timer to play that song, and every morning when she awoke to it, she wondered what masochistic fiber of her being possessed her to do it. She flopped out of the bed to her feet and shambled over to the CD player. She opted for the sleep timer because it didn't have a snooze button like her alarm clock, and when she had long nights followed by early mornings, the snooze button was not her friend. It also forced her to get out of the bed, and since the CD player was the halfway mark from the bed to the shower. It gave her incentive to keep moving.

By the time she reached the CD player, Prince and the New Power Generation were well into the first verse of _Gett Off_. Michelle thought the song was funny because it was so overtly raunchy. However, after only five hours of sleep that directly followed one of the most bizarre nights of her life, compounded with a headache that felt like demons had started a mosh pit in her head, she failed to see the humor in it.

She fumbled for the power switch and bungled around for it with her fingers. Instead of switching the power off, she only managed to switch the CD player from CD to some loudmouth DJ on the radio screaming, "Screw the underprivileged! They can get a job!" She quickly grabbed the volume knob and turned it all the way down, and then turned toward the bed and considered trudging back over to it and passing out for another hour. She still had that stupid physics paper to do. She didn't think she'd be able to crank out fifteen pages in two hours, but the better part of judgment took over her legs and moved her into the bathroom.

* * *

Michelle was sitting on her bed in the center of three library books when the doorbell rang. She crawled off the bed and opened the door and felt her soul jump to the other side of the room when she saw Jason standing in the door with a brown bag in his hand. She didn't completely disbelieve the events from the night before, but the routine of waking up before she wanted to and having to finish a stressful assignment in too little time allowed her mind to discount the events from just a few hours ago. But Jason standing in her doorway brought it all rushing back like someone had just lifted a floodgate.

"Oh," was all she said.

He wasn't smiling or frowning, but had calculating look on his face like he was taking in everything and evaluating it. "I went to McDonald's and got breakfast. It's not the best food, but it's something." He didn't come in, he just handed the bag to her through the doorway.

She took the bag slowly, and then opened it and looked inside. She could see two biscuits and two hash browns. The biscuit wrappers indicated they were plain sausage biscuits. "Thanks," Michelle said still taken aback. She looked up from the bag and Jason handed her an orange juice. She took it and set it on her nightstand.

"I also printed this out, I hope it will help." Jason reached behind his back and produced a folder and handed it to Michelle.

She took it and opened it. Flipping through the pages it looked like about twenty pages of information on sub-atomic particles—particularly the quark. Michelle looked at Jason still holding the pages open.

He still wasn't smiling. "You'll have to do the title page yourself, but hopefully that's enough."

"How'd you do this? Michelle asked baffled.

"The computer in the car, it's got a database of a whole library of books. One of them is a textbook Pierce Daen wrote. I just copied the section on quarks. There's a printer in the glove box"

"Wait, I can't turn this in. It's plagiarism. Pendleton will know."

"It's not plagiarism if it hasn't been written yet." Jason smiled a little. That same almost-smile from the night before.

Michelle realized she had been standing in the doorway for too long, and she had kept him standing there for too long. "Here, come in. I got some things I wanna ask you anyway."

Jason paused for a moment, and then walked in. He looked around the room. He saw the CD player on the dresser next to the window. On her desk sat a computer, a Macintosh—from back when they still called themselves Macintosh—and a chair next to the desk. On the monitor there were a cartoon pig and two rabbits dancing. He saw three open books on the bed and that she had gray sheets and a black comforter with a white bottom. At the head of the bed, two stuffed koalas and a stuffed gingerbread boy sat grinning next to her pillow. There was a nightstand immediately to his left with a telephone and a remote that probably belonged to the CD player, and a small college-sized refrigerator against the wall at the foot of the bed. There was a hotplate on the dresser between the CD player and the door that must have led to the bathroom.

"Go ahead, have a seat." Michelle patted the bed.

As he sat, she moved over to the chair and sat on it side-saddle.

"Thanks for the paper," she said and turned to the computer.

"It's nothin'."

"No really, that's like the third time you've saved my life."

"I wouldn't call forging a term paper saving your life."

Michelle just nodded and pressed the space bar on the keyboard and the dancing animals disappeared revealing a word processor. She began typing, and the word 'Quarks' appeared in the center of the screen in large, bold print. "So, this whole thing is for real. You're not pullin' my chain?"

"What thing?"

"This whole future-slash-end-of-the-world thing."

"Unfortunately, yes." Jason turned to face the wall opposite the bed.

Michelle turned and saw him sitting, looking at the wall, eyes darting around in front of him. "You okay? The light bothering you?" She moved to close the blinds.

"Nah, the light's okay. It's the whole back to the door thing. Makes me nervous."

Michelle nodded again and turned back to her computer. She had no idea what he was talking about but after seeing him handle himself last night and not crack, she figured if it did indeed make him nervous, it probably wasn't good.

"So, I've got a couple questions to ask."

"Okay."

Her keyboard clicked rapidly while she talked, "So, if all that stuff _is_ true, and it _does_ all happen, how did you get here? I know you said you came in a time machine, but you don't just wake up one morning and go 'oh shit, I just figured out how to travel through time.' I mean, thirty years is pretty quick to come up with something like that." She stopped typing and turned side-saddle again to look at Jason.

"I dunno. Where do I start?" Jason looked up at the calendar on the wall in front of him. A black bear stood on its hind legs in the middle of a thick forest. The sun was just peeking out from behind a mountain in the background. It was still on August. "I guess it really all started with this plane crash on a farm in Oklahoma."

"I was only like eight years old, but it's one of those historical dates that gets drilled into your skull. It was on April 1, 2012. This plane crashes into a barn, and the farmer and his wife freak out and run outside. When they get out there, their kid's starin' at the barn and tells them he saw this plane just fall into the barn. The kid's all freaked out cuz he says the plane wasn't there, and then it was, and it fell straight down into the barn. His parents think he's playin' some kind of April Fool's joke. But they go and check the barn anyway. When they open the barn door, they find this plane wrecked inside. But it's this weird vintage plane—vintage even for now. The thing's like a hundred years old. So they check the cockpit and find the co-pilot unconscious and the pilot injured. While they're prying the pilot out, the farmer makes small talk to her to calm her down and keep her conscious. He introduces himself and asks her name and she tells him—Amelia Earhart."

"Amelia Earhart?"

"Yeah. The media got there before the military, and it was all over the place before they could stop it. So they question her and she's just as stunned as everyone else, but she tells them she was flying and the weather was fine, then she saw these two huge clouds that were zapping each other with lighting like in an electrical storm. Her instruments went batty and she saw columns of water shoot right out of the ocean and up to the clouds. They tried to steer clear, but a bolt of lightning shot out of one of the clouds and struck them. The plane started to crash and went into one of the clouds. Inside the cloud she said she saw this bright, bluish-white flash and smelled ozone. She was sure they had been struck again and closed her eyes. When she opened them, she could see nothing but countryside for miles, and the plane wasn't moving. She and the co-pilot dropped about fifty feet into this barn. Everybody thought it was a hoax, but she checked out. She was the real thing. So they start talking to all these scientists to figure out what happened, and they find the work of this one guy who was dead then, but had a few students of his work that had been studying it. The guy's work had been around since the 1960's, but no one paid them much mind. I don't remember his name, but he had this theory that there were these twelve zones of strong natural electromagnetic aberrations or something like that were on the earth at regular longitudinal intervals. The Bermuda Triangle and The Devil's Sea in Japan corresponded with the two of the weird circles. Well, the last reliable reading that Earhart had logged was just outside where one of these aberrations would have been. So, scientist started taking this stuff more seriously, and by the time I was in like high school, they could recreate these aberrations in labs, but they couldn't do much with them. It was Pierce Daen at Fomalhaut who figured out how to get it to work. He and this mathematician that worked with Brinkmeyer on occasion figured out a fractal that would somehow let you compute all the math stuff that was required, and they figured out how to tweak it so it would work whenever they turned it on. They found certain things had to be present for it to work, that's why most people traveled through the Bermuda Triangle unharmed. It had something to do with temperature and salt water, but whenever they talked about that stuff it made my head hurt."

"So, it still doesn't make sense to me, why didn't the other planes and ships and stuff that disappear in like the Triangle or the Devil's Sea pop up?"

"They probably did, but one thing Pierce Daen did explain to me that didn't give me a headache was that the equation wasn't, uh, earth specific I think he called it. So you had to calculate the point in the _universe_ you wanted to go to and from, so you would have to calculate the position of earth. Most of those other guys that disappeared probably popped up in the middle of space and/or millions of years in the past or future. That was what was so weird about Earhart, she was lucky enough to come out in an era she was recognized, and actually managed to come out on earth."

"What are the chances of that?"

"It's like your chances of legitimately winning the lottery without ever playing."

"So, she wasn't just the first woman to fly around the earth, she was the first woman to travel through time."

"Yeah, that we know of."

"I guess she pioneered more than she had planned."

"Yeah, I don't know how lucky she was though."

"Why d'you say that?"

"Well, I don't think she faired too well with the transition. It wore her down after a while I think."

"The fame? She was famous in the 30's too wasn't she?"

"Not that. Think about it—one minute you're in 1930, the next you're in the next millennium. The world changed a lot in those eighty years. Her co-pilot couldn't take it and committed suicide. After that, she just vanished. I think she went to live on some island or something."

"That's sad." Michelle made a pouting motion with her lips. She knew what it was like to feel out of place. To Jason her expression was cute. He turned away before she noticed him looking at her. "So, what now? I mean, what happens next?"

"I need to figure out a way in—a plan of action of some sort. I have some ideas, but this whole thing is shaky. There wasn't much time for planning."

"Tell me about it."

"You seem to be swallowing this better than what I expected."

"I'm swallowin' it, but that don't mean it's goin' down easy. It's a little weird, but flipping out isn't gonna make it make any more sense."

"Good point, I guess." Jason looked at the phone on the nightstand. The digital clock on it read 10:30. "You have class soon, huh?"

"Yeah, but now, thanks to you, I feel a little better about it. Even though I still have a wicked headache."

"I've had one since last night."

"I've got some Tylenol if you want it."

Jason shook his head. "No thanks."

"You some kinda tough guy?" Michelle smiled facetiously, brushing her hand through her hair.

"It's not that, it just doesn't fix the problem, it only covers it up. That's not my style."

"So your style is to tromp through the rest of the day with your head throbbing?"

"It's not that bad." Jason noticed the title, upside down, on the paper under the phone. "Is that by Daerick Bennet?"

"What?"

"That," he pointed to the thin stack of papers under the phone, "'Worse than Death' it's a story right? It's written by Daerick Bennet, isn't it?"

"How the hell did you know that?"

"How do I know it? How do _you_ have it is the question. You couldn't pull me away from one of his books in high school. That's one of his short stories right?"

"Yeah, so he becomes like this great author huh?"

"Yeah. Are you friends with him?"

"Kind of. He's like an e-mail buddy I guess. I log onto this BBS called The Collegium. He lives in LA, but we can send each other messages through Fidonet. He sends me stories sometimes. That's his latest one."

"No kidding. That's pretty wild. You know Daerick Bennet." Jason looked at the story and then back at Michelle. "You mind if I look at it?"

"No, not at all."

Jason slid the paper from under the phone and flipped through the pages. He smiled his almost-smile again. "This is a pretty good story. I read it in college I think. He published a book of short stories."

"Yeah, it's great. Daerick's got a pretty wild imagination." Michelle noticed Jason's almost-smile fade. He was still flipping through the pages, but that blank, poker face look took over his face again.

"You don't smile much do you?"

"No reason to." Jason closed the story, lifted the phone and set it back where he got it. Without thinking about it, he took the phone off the hook and let it drop, spinning the knots out of the cable.

Michelle just shrugged. She didn't know whether to argue with him or not. Twice this week she had been close enough to death to smell his breath, and was certainly glad things had turned out the way they did. But life was becoming exponentially more confusing by the moment, and smiling did not seem like the appropriate response. But regardless, there were plenty of things in life worth smiling about—even if life itself was no peach.

"So, are you supposed to hang out with me all the time or what?"

Jason set the phone back on the hook. "I don't really think that's necessary. No one knows what's going on right now. I'm not really even sure myself. But, if what Daen and Brinkmeyer said is true, nature doesn't like to change its course unless it does it on its own. You're probably safe for now, just keep a keen eye out and carry that card I gave you at all times."

"So what are you gonna do?"

"Well, today, I got some research to do so I can figure out the next step because we don't have much time."

The world around Michelle suddenly seemed to distort. Everything came in all at once. Either the guy in front of her, sitting on her bed, was from the future, or this was the most elaborate hoax ever devised. As little sense as it made to her right now, nothing else made more sense. But if that was so, was the rest of it true? How could she be linked to the fate of the world? That part didn't make sense at all. But this guy sitting in front of her right now was risking his life and who knows what else because he believed it. Michelle's vision went fuzzy and for second she was sure she saw the form of a clown, sitting next to Jason on her bed pointing at her and laughing. Michelle rubbed at her eyes and shook her head slowly. Her eyes began to focus, her vision cleared, and what she thought was a clown was just her gingerbread boy smiling up at her from the pillow.

"Are you okay?" Jason was looking at her, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine." Michelle closed her eyes tight again, rubbed her eyelids, and then opened them to make sure her vision was back to normal. "I don't handle caffeine too well. I had a soda at the movies last night. I think it's got me wiggin' right now."

"Try to take it easy. Take a nap if you can."

Jason stood up and turned to her again. "Also, the cops might call you today. Those guys last night were messed up pretty bad when we left, and in my experience, cops don't think too highly of vigilante types. They'll probably call you to find out where you went and why you didn't call. My advice is to tell them you saw a cab going by and hailed it and you don't remember the name of the company. You can tell them about me—even describe me—cuz they'll ask. But don't tell them you left with me. They should leave you alone after that."

Michelle just looked at him. "Okay," she said slowly as if she had missed something.

"A guy who looked like me helped you and your date. Franklin I think you said, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then he ran off. You hailed a cab you saw driving by and got in. They'll ask about leaving Franklin, tell them you panicked. Tell them you planned to call but you were afraid."

"Afraid to call the cops?"

"I don't know how that works either, but it happens to people all the time. I guess they feel ashamed in some way. But don't rationalize it. Let them do that. Just tell them you were afraid and that's it."

"Okay. You sure I shouldn't call them myself?"

"Yeah, don't give them anything unless they ask for it. Besides, your boy Franklin'll tell them those guys tried to rob you. He'll probably press charges, but even if they get away, I doubt they'll have a strong inclination to try and mug someone else. Especially not the guy the car fell on."

Michelle nodded and looked around the room. "So, how does this work? Should I meet you somewhere later today, or should I use the card when I get back or what?"

"Don't use the card unless you're in trouble. When's your class over?"

"At one, but I usually meet my friend Jon for lunch after that."

"Okay, don't change your schedule or anything. You don't want to arouse suspicion. Are you normally done by three?"

"Easily."

"Okay, then I'll meet you back here at three. Hopefully I'll know something else by then." Jason moved toward the door. "Make sure you keep that card with you," he reinforced as he grabbed the doorknob.

"Bye." Michelle waved with her fingers as he opened the door. He nodded in response to her wave and left.

Michelle stood, turned, plopped back first onto the bed and put her hand to her forehead. She closed her eyes and grumbled to herself. Michelle always thought there was some plan, some path that life followed. You had a choice of being on it or off it but there always seemed to be some kind of scheme, a big picture, a way things worked—something around you that was bigger than you that drove things along. But suddenly her big picture seemed smaller, focused on a tiny point, somehow centered on her in a way she couldn't comprehend.

With her eyes closed, her mind raced through the events of the night before trying to make sense out of them. Her date with Franklin, the three attackers, and Jason swooping in like some guardian angel rolled through her mind like a film played at high speed. But even at high speed she could still see the moon looking down on her, laughing hysterically—only this time the moon had the face of a clown.

# CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Max stood in front of the dry-erase board in the small warehouse before group of about twenty men seated in chairs in neatly lined rows. On the board he had drawn an octagon with lines drawn from each of the vertices to the vertices of a smaller octagon in the center. In the center of the smaller octagon was a cross. Four men dressed in white dress shirts, khaki pants, and gray jackets with the same symbol stitched on the breast stood at attention, two on either side of the board. A fifth, older man stood closer to Max, next to the board.

Max clasped his hands behind his back and looked to his side at a large painted over window on the south wall. There were scratches and holes in the paint and the sun made those imperfections glow, casting eerie beams through the dusty warehouse air and making the lights play across the floor with the sound of each passing car outside.

"Babylon the great has fallen, has fallen and become the habitation of devils, and the hold of every foul spirit, and a cage of every unclean and hateful bird." He looked over his audience, letting his words settle over them. He saw Roger sitting in the center of the front row. Everyone here had that aura around them, but his was brightest, strongest.

Max continued, elevating his voice so it echoed ominously through the warehouse, "We live in the time of the great whore of Babylon, and God has guided my hand to call upon each of you for a higher purpose. It is the purpose of each disciple of the church to spread God's word. However we must not ignore those that would choose not to hear, and those who would strike out against us because they fear the weight our words and our actions. The time of Armageddon is not far off, and we must prepare to take up arms against those who would smite us in the name of the great whore." The men listening quietly focused on each syllable.

"A diamond is made more valuable by its size, its clarity, and the quality of its cut. How well a gem cutter cuts and carves the faces of the diamond determines its ultimate worth." Everyone was riveted to his chair, practically motionless.

"Each of the faces of a diamond is called a facet. The souls we are born with are diamonds, but rough and uncut. Like the gem cutter we must smooth and hone each facet of our soul to increase our spiritual worth."

Max pointed to the drawing of the gem on the board. "The Nine Facets. Each facet represents a quality, a stage in your spiritual development as a warrior under God." He took a yardstick from the thin shelf under the board and pointed to the cross in the center octagon. "The center facet is Piety. Piety is one's indelible devotion to Christ. It is the facet to which all others are connected. Without it, none of the other facets are attainable. If any of you are to serve God as is required, your devotion to God and the church must be pure and uncompromising. You must accept God's word and will as your bond."

Max lowered the yardstick and looked over the crowd again, he knew none of them could see the soft hue that filtered through the audience like twisting vines of smoke, but it brought him comfort. "But I know none of you will have a problem with that. I know you all will prove useful in the fight against the Great Whore."

He set the yardstick down and took a marker from the shelf "The first step is Penitence." He wrote the word in capital letters in the facet immediately right of the top one. "No man or woman is without sin. We sin with our very thoughts each day. What allows us to transcend that is our sorrow for those sins before God."

"The next is Purgation," He wrote the word in the right center facet. "Once we have realized our sins we must purge ourselves of them, cast them out. This means each of you must be pure. You must follow God's word without error. You must hold yourself to higher standards than even the other members of the church because you are God's chosen."

Max wrote in the next facet as he spoke, "The next is Prudence, the ability to choose the right path. The only path to righteousness is through God's word. There is no path outside of his word. All decisions must be made within the church, within God's holy word, without personal interpretation. All orders from God and the church are final and non-negotiable."

"The next is Perseverance." He wrote the word in the next facet, "Once the choice has been made to follow His word, Babylon will most certainly cast stumbling blocks in your path. One must keep on the path in spite of difficulties. No difficulty, no problem, no throe that Babylon can lay before us, can withstand the will of God. We are on the threshold men. The road is rough and filled with the snares of Satan himself. Only our undying faith in the Lord can see us through the maelstrom."

He filled in the next facet before he spoke. "Next is Patience. One must suffer these difficulties, this maelstrom, without complaint, for such was the way of Christ. And we are to follow in His footsteps. If it is to be our duty to protect the church, then we must do so with stalwart acceptance of the difficulties we are destined to face."

"With Patience comes Poise." Pausing, he wrote the word in the left center facet. "Poise is the assurance of ourselves within Christ. Only by knowing your true self within Christ can we take up arms against the Beast."

He wrote as he spoke, "Through this Poise we must gain Proficiency—mastery over those gifts that the Lord has given us to fend off evil."

He filled in the top facet then turned to his audience. "And with that Proficiency we shall exhibit Potency—authority and decisiveness in our actions. Our actions must be swift, exacting, and without hesitation to exhibit the will of God."

He set the marker down and took time to look over the crowd. Everyone's attention was on him, focused, as the aura wavered around them. "Each of you needs to decide here and now if you are up to the commitment to that which God has called you. The road is long, hard, and anything but easy, but there is no greater joy than knowing that you have served God to the fullest of your potential."

"However, this is indeed a request, not a draft. Every man must serve God on his own accord, so if any of you do not feel you are up to the commitment, the time to leave is now." Max indicated the door with his hand. A few shuffled in their seats, and some turned to look at the others. Roger kept his eyes fixed on Max. Max waited a few seconds longer with the buzz of traffic outside resonating through the silence, but no one got up to leave.

"Very well. From this point on, each of you is sworn to secrecy. In order to serve God's will effectively, we must keep the Order of Nine Facets quiet, even to the other members of the church. There are those who would not understand, and those who would choose to bring the Order down. You will serve as security at certain church functions. You will be issued jackets like Fennon, Peter, Vince, Terrence, and Major Streck here. If anyone asks you about them, tell them they are so security can be identified." Max motioned to the oldest of the five men standing around the board, and he moved forward, picked up a stack of papers from a table, and began distributing them among the audience.

"I need each of you to sign this document," Max continued. "It is a non-disclosure agreement and a waiver. You each will be contacted very soon. Each of you will receive a stipend that should be enough to cover your expenses. Living arrangements will also be made so that you may focus all your energy on serving the Lord. You'll each be assigned a supervisor from one of the ten existing members, and Major Streck here will be training you all so that your individual Proficiencies might grow."

After they filled out the papers, signed them, and turned them in, Max motioned for everyone to stand and led them to a set of doubles doors set in a wall that had been built around a corner of the warehouse. He and Major Streck opened the doors and led them all inside.

Inside was a full-fledged firing range with fresh paper targets hung at the end of each of five stalls. There were a pistol, earguards, and goggles at each stall. Major Streck stood in front of the booths and bellowed at them in a deep, authoritative voice. "The weapon in front of you is the Beretta 92F, standard military issue. The senior members will instruct you on the use of this weapon. When you have all properly learned to use these weapons and understand the guideline for their use, you will receive a side arm. How soon depends on how quickly you learn."

* * *

Roger focused his eyes down the site of the gun. He held it firmly in his hand as it pushed against his thumb with each pull of the trigger. The heat from the gun rubbing against the inside of his hand with each discharge was comforting in an odd way. The loud report of each shot echoed through the warehouse like ominous thunder claps.

The slide kicked back with the last shot and Major Streck pressed the button to retrieve the paper target. As the target approached, he nodded approval at the holes, peppered closely around the heart and head of the target.

"I heard you were in the service," Major Streck said, replacing the target.

Roger looked down as he slapped another magazine into the Beretta. "Yeah," he said quietly.

"You learn to shoot like that in the army?"

Roger shook his head as he pulled the slide back to chamber the first bullet and Streck sent the target back across the range, still admiring his marksmanship.

"Nah, one-a my moms' boyfriends useta take me to the range when I was little. He taught me how to shoot. He said no man should pick up a weapon he don't know how to use."

"Sounds like he was a smart man," Streck said as Roger took aim. "Maybe, he got sent up fo' robbin' a Hardee's. I guess his good sense ran out."

Major Streck just gave him a swift tap to his back and moved to the next stall. Roger looked down the gun and fired a volley into the target. He aimed all his shots at the head.

# CHAPTER NINETEEN

Jason walked through the center of campus with his backpack slung over one shoulder. He considered going back to the building where the COG had approached him the first day he followed Michelle, but he figured he probably wouldn't find them there. Predators usually adjusted their hunting grounds. He moved to the center of campus and sat on the edge of a cement planter that ran along its edge of the cafeteria. He could see most of the square from here. He took out an empty notebook and started flipping through it.

The midday sun was shining brightly and it wasn't as cold as the night before, but Jason wore his windbreaker anyway. Periodically he looked up as though he were contemplating something. He watched students move here and there, some stopping to talk as they met classmates or professors or friends. There was a guy in a suit sitting on a bench across the square and holding hands with a girl in jeans and a sweatshirt. There were three guys standing in the middle of the square who looked like they were slapping each other, but Jason wasn't sure because they weren't reacting to the slaps. He saw two girls sitting and talking next to the doors of the building directly across from him. They stood startled as a student burst through the doors, followed by a line of students that poured out and spread in all directions. They all looked so young to him. It hadn't been long since he was one of them, but he felt so much older. He had always felt older when he had been among them. Or at least he had always felt like he didn't belong. Even before all this he had felt like an alien. He understood a good deal about how people reacted to things, but he could never figure out _why_. How people got themselves into some of the things they did. Why they couldn't they see through the sugar coating until they had already swallowed the cyanide?

Jason wondered if any of this could work out. He wondered if any of this was really worth it. People had done this to themselves. They had been barreling recklessly down this path since time began. They were destined to destroy themselves, and they seemed to destroy anyone who tried to warn them. The only people who ever seemed to understand him were Senemis, and his parents. But he tried not to think of them. That only made things worse. He looked up again and rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Hi, how ya doin'?"

Jason snapped his head to his right quickly and balled his fists. He hated when people sneaked up on him. A girl with long black hair in jeans and a blue ski coat stood over him. Next to her stood a girl in aerobics shoes, workout tights and a sweatshirt with brown hair tied up behind her head. The brown-haired girl was bouncing from the balls of her feet to her toes to some slow rhythm Jason couldn't hear. Jason realized these were the two girls that had been sitting next to the building across the square.

"Fine," Jason said without enthusiasm. This was probably what he was waiting for, but he hadn't expected it so soon, and he was upset because he hadn't seen them coming.

"My name is Lolita, and this is Dorothy," the dark-haired girl introduced as the brown-haired girl stopped bouncing and smiled.

Jason stood and extended his hand to shake first Lolita's, then Dorothy's. "Victor," he said as he shook their hands.

"Nice to meet you Victor," Lolita said as Dorothy smiled wider. "So, you a business major?"

"What makes you think that?"

"I dunno, you just look so serious."

"Not business, philosophy."

"Wow," Dorothy said starting to bounce again, this time one foot at a time, alternating feet with each beat, "I bet that's tough."

"Lots of reading," Jason said. _Come on, get to the point_ , he thought. Two attractive girls don't just roll up on strangers without provocation, and this feeling of being set up didn't mull over well with him—whether he knew what was coming or not.

"Say," Lolita forced into the conversation, "the two of us and a group of college students from all over the city are getting together tonight for this big party at the Chesterfield Airport. It should be a blast. We're all gonna get together and have a great time in Christ. Reverend Diaz, our new pastor, is gonna pray over us for success on our midterms too."

"Sounds interesting," Jason said, trying to look like he was pondering the idea.

Dorothy stood up on her toes and held it, "Yeah, there'll be lots of people there to meet."

Jason loved how they kept bringing up how many people were gonna be there. If he'd had any faith in people and he hadn't known better even he might have been swayed their approach.

"Cool, I'm from L.A., and I don't know that many people here."

"Great, well, come tonight and I'll introduce you to some really great people," Dorothy said as she reached into Lolita's backpack. She took out a bright yellow flier and handed it to Jason. The flier had a picture of a guy with his fists thrust in the air, head tilted up to the sky looking like he had just won a marathon. In big letters under the picture read 'Celebrate Success in Christ.'

"It has directions to the airport and to the building it's gonna be in." Dorothy said, descending slowly from her tiptoes.

"So, we'll see you there?" Lolita asked cocking her head slightly to the side so that her hair waved slightly in the soft breeze and flashing an incredibly cute smile.

_I'll be there, but you won't see me_ , he thought. "Sure, it sounds like fun," he said instead, folding the flier in half, then in half again.

"Here, wait," Lolita said and grabbed his wrist before he put the flier in his pocket. He noticed the softness of her hand as it stayed his. "Let me give you my number." She took out a pen, cupped his hand to steady the folded square, and scribbled her name and number on it. "There," she said, underlining her name with a swift stroke.

"Bye," Dorothy waved and turned on one foot.

Lolita tilted her head the other way, making her hair flow back to the center of her shoulders. She smiled that same smile again, waved, then turned to go with Dorothy.

Her smile sat in Jason's mind as she walked away, but he quickly shook it off. _What girl gives random guys their phone number?_ Even this early Max was using guerilla tactics. The worse thing about this whole situation was these two girls probably had no idea how they were being used. He wished there was some way to open these people's eyes. But most people were born with their eyes closed, and were reluctant to open them. If they saw pretty things when they looked at something with their eyes closed, it was even harder to get them to open. Jason's eyes had been open for some time now, and he couldn't remember the last time they had seen pretty things. The light that came in was quite often searing, but whenever he looked himself in the mirror, he knew he was doing the right thing, and he knew it was he, _himself_ that was doing it. Jason stuffed the flier in his pocket, picked up his backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. He had gotten what he had come for, and it wasn't hard. That made him worry. Anytime anything seemed to just fall into your lap, bad things awaited you around the corner.

* * *

Jeff drove south down Chippenham Parkway in the slow lane, religiously observing the speed limit.

"Thanks for drivin' me. GRTC just doesn't cut it," Max said looking out his window at the trees rolling by.

"The bus doesn't even come out this way does it?"

"Nah, it stops on the east side of Chippenham."

Jeff slowed to allow a red Skylark to pull in from the on-ramp. "So, you find out the ETA on your car?"

"I talked to the insurance company this morning. They say the thing is totaled. They said it was the most bizarre thing the adjuster had seen. He said a large portion of the front axle, the oil pan, the catalytic converter and the drive shaft were just gone, so they have to figure out what they're gonna give me and I have to get another car."

"Will they pay for the rental?"

"Yeah, up to $500. I wasn't going to get one at first, because I don't really feel too comfortable about driving after the accident, but while the insurance company dickers around with the settlement, I'm gonna need some transportation. I guess I'll just have to leave the rest in the Lord's hands."

"Well, He's seen you through this far," Jeff hit the brakes as a Range Rover jumped over in front of him without signaling, trying to make the Jahnke Road exit at the last minute. Jeff flashed his high beams at the guy as he pulled off the highway. Jeff regained his composure and accelerated back up to the speed limit, "Preakness Rent-A-Car has pretty good deals. That five hundred should carry you for a while."

"Well, they're the ones who work with the insurance company so I'm sure they're the cheapest."

Jeff accelerated up to the speed limit again. "I think Davenport's starting to slip."

"That Barbarian just wants everything laid out for him in figures and statistics. Not everything can be laid out on paper."

"I know, but he's still skeptical. I guess the docket didn't tell him all that he wanted to hear."

"What does he want to hear? He has nothing to lose."

"Well, Babylon doesn't seem to be capable of faith in anything except money. Why do you think they write 'In God We Trust' on it? Money is their god."

"Well, hopefully tonight, Davenport will get the proof he needs. I need that jerk to commit so we can expand the Order."

"What about Jethro Billips?"

"He won't commit unless Davenport does."

Jeff turned onto the Midlothian exit going west. "So this all hinges on Davenport, and he's a stubborn old man."

"Yeah, if God's will is done, Davenport will set the ball rolling. But if not, I have a back-up plan."

Jeff looked to his left and merged with the traffic that was stopping for the red light in front of Cloverleaf Mall. "So, how did The Order meeting go this morning?"

"Well. Very well. A few of the inductees are more promising than I first thought they would be. Especially this one inductee, Roger Simms. I think he'll advance faster than the others. You'll probably meet him tonight at the airport. I like that kid a lot."

The light turned green and Jeff pushed on with the others. "If Davenport is convinced tonight, how long do you think it will take him to turn over?"

"Hopefully not long, but you know how things work with Barbarians, the simplest thing can become an endeavor."

"Let's just pray he comes around smoothly."

"Jeff, nothing goes smoothly in Babylon."

* * *

Michelle felt more like she was slithering than walking to the cafeteria. She had gotten into her physics class late because she had to retype a page of her report without a section that discussed the top quark which according to the paper, wouldn't be discovered until 1995. So she couldn't turn in her paper until everyone left. She was surprised Pendleton hadn't given her a hard time. He normally wanted everything turned in at the beginning of class and he hated making exceptions. Perhaps the fact that she looked like shopworn ass helped. Both her brain and body had wanted more sleep last night, and her brain could have done without all the outrageous sounding information that had been pumped into it in the last twelve hours.

Michelle took the credit card Jason had given her and turned it over in her hand. It looked like any other credit card. It was green plastic with a red circle on one side at the bottom, and a smaller black circle at the top on the same side. This all seemed too farfetched to be real, but somehow at the same time, it all seemed too real to be farfetched. Despite the fact that Michelle could barely accept the existence of most of the things Jason talked about, he himself seemed too down- to-earth, too no-nonsense, too serious, for this to be some kind of elaborate hoax. And how could she explain the physics paper? There was no way he could have done that in one night unless what he said was true. And who in their right mind would have gone through it and planted the references to things that haven't been discovered yet? Even though this whole situation was out there, it was a greater stretch of the imagination to believe it wasn't true. So, if all these other things were true, what about her? Jason's words from last night rang through her head like the tintinnabulation of some gigantic cathedral bell, "You have to kill him." Michelle had never killed anything in her life. She couldn't imagine it. The ability to take someone's life for any reason just didn't seem like something she had in her. She felt a lump rise in her throat just thinking about extinguishing someone else's life. She knew survival instinct was a bizarre thing. She couldn't have pictured doing what she had done to the thug that had grabbed her before last night, but even after last night, she couldn't see herself killing anyone. Even if he was about to turn into a demon.

The glare of the sun off the glass cafeteria doors assaulted Michelle's eyes as she walked into the cafeteria. She walked through the lobby and into the dining area and scanned the back corner of the eatery. She saw Jon sitting at the usual table in the back. He was hunched over the table reading something and didn't see her. She made her way through the various people who were sitting to eat, eating, or just finishing and sat her bag in the chair across from Jon who was still buried in his book.

The thump Michelle's bag made was amplified by the plastic chair and Jon jumped up with a start, looking around like a frightened mouse. Michelle laughed at his expression.

"What's up with that?" he said indicating her bag with his hand. "Sneaking up on some innocent student for your own sadistic pleasure."

Michelle just smiled. "Whatcha readin' that's so interesting you didn't hear me walk up?"

"It's this book on miscreants and serial killers. Y'know, it's about sick bastards like you that like to scare people."

"What the hell are you readin' that for?"

"I dunno, it's kinda interesting. It's about the methods the FBI uses to catch some of these guys. The way they dig into their psychology and stuff. Crazy _Silence of the Lambs_ shit."

Michelle shivered in mock nausea, "I think I'll pass."

Jon closed his book, "So, you gonna stand there all day or are we gonna get something to eat?"

"Why haven't you started?"

"I figured I'd wait for you since you normally wait for me." He got up and sidled out of the corner. She turned as he rounded the table and caught up.

"You all right?" he asked walking beside her.

"Yeah, why d'you ask?"

"I dunno, you just look beat."

"I was up too late last night."

Jon stopped at the turnstile to the serving area to let Michelle go first.

He followed through the turnstile behind Michelle. "You had that physics paper due today huh? How'd that go?"

"Okay I guess," Michelle filed in at the end of the serving line as she grabbed a tray and plastic utensils, "it got done."

"You sure that's all? You look like you've been through some hairy shit." Jon grabbed a tray and two plastic forks.

"I dunno, things have been a little weird the past few days, after that accident on Tuesday and all." Michelle debated in her mind whether or not to tell him about last night, but she figured she'd have a hard time explaining it without mentioning Jason and she didn't know if that was such a good idea. Then she remembered what Jason had said to tell the police.

"Last night, _was_ kinda hairy I guess," she added as she got to the servers at the counter and sat her tray on the metal runners that ran alongside it.

Jon put his tray on the runners behind her. "Hairy like how?"

"Well," Michelle didn't know how to start, "I went out with this guy last night, and we got a flat tire out on Midlothian." Michelle paused and pointed to the pile of hamburgers wrapped in foil behind the glass counter. "Hamburger," she said, and the student behind the counter handed her one. It was hot and steam was coming from under the folds of the foil, and she dropped it quickly onto her tray. "So he's out there tryin' to put on the spare and he's bein' kind of a prick because he's frustrated, and these guys come up and try to rob us."

Jon looked at her as the student handed him the hamburger. The heat from the burger caught him off-guard and his hand snapped back, almost throwing it over his shoulder. The burger hit his shoulder and flopped onto his tray. The girl and guy behind him were laughing, trying to hide their faces from his view with their hands. He saw the guy pull the front of his shirt up over his face. "You were robbed? Are you okay?"

He grabbed his hand between his thumb and forefinger where he had been burned but didn't really pay it any mind. He just looked at Michelle concerned and moved his tray along with his elbow.

"Well, like I said they _tried_ to rob us," Michelle pointed to the vat of French fries and the woman behind the counter fished out a bundle with some tongs, dropped them into a paper basket, and then handed them to Michelle. Michelle could see the steam coming off the fries and the oil on them still bubbling before she grabbed them. "Watch out, the fries are hot too," she said to Jon as she quickly sat them on her tray.

Jon paid attention to the server this time as he took the basket of fries, "What d'you mean they _tried_? What happened?"

Michelle took a cup from beside the drink counter and filled it with ice, then began filling it with root beer. "Well, some guy showed up and beat them up, then ran off."

Jon grabbed a cup and waited for Michelle's to fill. "You're jerkin' me around aren't you?"

Michelle's cup filled and she grabbed a lid and a straw and moved to the side to give Jon room to fill his cup. "Believe me, I have a hard time believing it too." She put the lid on with one hand and stamped the straw down, breaking it through the paper.

Jon, put the lid on his soda, "So who was this guy?"

Michelle paused for a moment. It wasn't the right time to tell Jon. She didn't know if there would ever be a right time. She didn't even know if she could explain it fully herself. They turned and made their way to the cashiers. "I don't know. He just ran off."

"So, what'd the cops say?"

"I don't know, I panicked and ran off too. Saw a cab driving by so I stopped

At the counter Jon let Michelle go first, and then as she reached into her purse, he thrust a twenty past her to the cashier. "Mine and hers together," he said to the woman at the register. The woman rang up his food and took the twenty.

"You sure?" Michelle asked.

"Of course," Jon said smiling, "besides, when I'm broke and you have money I expect you to return the favor." He grinned a facetiously wide grin as he took his change. They moved back to the table where their bags were and sat down to eat.

"So, are you okay, I mean did you get hurt?" Jon asked as he sat, stuffing a fry into his mouth at the end of the sentence.

"Well, my chest still hurts a little cuz I fell, but thanks to whoever that guy was, I'm all right."

"Well, I'm glad you're okay," Jon said opening his hamburger wrapper. "Were you scared?" he asked testing the temperature of the burger with his finger.

"Shitless," Michelle said taking a bite of her own burger.

"So what happened to the guy?"

Michelle paused to finish chewing, and then swallowed. "He ran off, remember."

"Not that guy, the other guy, the guy changing the tire."

"Oh, I dunno," she picked up a bundle of fries, "Like I said, I panicked. One of the muggers knocked him out with his gun. I ran off after the guy who saved us took off. I feel kinda bad about leaving him there, but I heard the police coming, and the guy was kind of a bitchbaby anyway."

"They had guns?" He took another bite of his burger.

"Well, one of them did."

"Gosh, you are pretty lucky. Somebody was looking out for you."

"No shit"

"So you didn't think too highly of him?" Jon looked at her attentively.

"What?"

"The tire guy, you didn't think too highly of him?"

"Well, he seemed sweet at first, but as the night went on, he seemed less and less considerate. I got enough of inconsiderate from Greg."

Jon looked down at his burger as he brought it up to his face. "Well there are some considerate guys out there..." he brought the burger up to his mouth then stopped. "Somewhere," he added then took a large bite without looking up.

"The question is how do I find them?"

Jon just continued to chew slowly, looking down at the burger sitting on his tray.

* * *

Michelle hadn't expected to get home this late. She looked at her watch. It was 2:45. She had expected Jason to be standing at the front steps when she got there, but he wasn't. As she exited the stairwell, she saw him sitting next to her apartment door with his head down. He had changed clothes since this morning and it looked like he was wearing some sort of weird hat. When she got closer, and saw the light hitting him better, she saw it wasn't Jason at all. It was Greg. She was about to turn around and go back downstairs when he noticed her.

"Hey Shell, I been waitin' here for a while."

"What do you want Greg?" Michelle stiffened as she steeled herself against his smile. What did she have to do for this asshole to get the point?

"I just want you to hear me out."

"Hear what out Greg? There's nothing I want to hear from you."

"Look Shell, I know something I did upset you, but I didn't mean it that way, I was just joking. Can we just forget about it and make up?" He gesticulated with his hands while he spoke like they were helping him form the words.

He thought she was being reactionary. She picked out her room key and moved past him to the door. Maybe if she sat down and talked to this cockbender and told him as calmly and as rationally as she could to fuck off, he'd realize that she _had_ thought about it, and she still thought he was a dickhead.

She opened the door and pushed in. He turned and walked in behind her. She threw her book bag on the bed and dropped down on it hard. She blew out a large huff of air. Greg closed the door behind himself and just stood in front of it.

"I need you to hear me out Shell."

"Okay, what? What is it you feel so compelled to say to me," she was losing her composure. She gnashed her teeth and held back her spite. If she didn't snap at him, maybe he'd finally get it, "What do you want?" she added with less venom.

"Look, I know I messed up, but I want a second chance. You're the greatest thing that ever happened to me, and I don't want to lose you." He was smiling the whole time he spoke. He looked like that game show Muppet from Sesame Street.

"You know, you should be a theater major instead of a business major," she said matter-of-factly.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you almost make those tired ass lines sound believable. You should be on a soap opera with that bullshit."

"Now that's not a very nice thing to say." He got down on one knee and clasped his hands together. "I'm tryin' my best here Shell."

"That's the problem, don't you get it. You're always _trying_ your best. What the fuck does that mean Greg? Either you're sincere or you're not. There's no trying Greg. You can't be half a cock-up. Either you are or you aren't. And no matter what you _say_ , everything you've _done_ says cock-up to me." She managed to keep her tone down, but she was still getting worked up.

Greg just looked at her for a moment then he smiled again. "So you're saying no matter what I say to you I have no chance?"

"That's just it. It's not about what you say. You always say the right things at the right time, but you don't mean it. You don't mean it. You just say it for what you think should be the end result. But you know what, I can see through that Ultra Bright smile of yours. It's not gonna work anymore. So just... go... away." Michelle turned her head away from him and pointed to the door. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the smile shrink from his face.

"Don't you turn your head from me bitch." His voice had gone down an octave.

Jason raised his hand to knock on Michelle's door when he heard the male voice inside bellow, "Don't you turn your head away from me bitch."

Jason took his left arm and put it through the left strap of his book bag so he had both straps on his shoulders.

"You can say what you want, but you're not gonna talk to _me_ like a child!" The voice raised in volume.

Jason didn't want to see whether this got ugly or not. He knocked on the door hard. The door boomed on its hinges with each knock. The sting in his knuckles heightened his senses. There was no response, but the voice stopped. He knocked again, harder this time. His knuckles were hot now. He could hear a shuffling on the other side of the door like someone taking deliberate steps toward it.

The door opened quickly but stopped halfway. He saw the head of the guy he had bumped into at the cafeteria peek from behind the door. He saw Michelle's hair, but couldn't see her face because of the door. He put his hand on the door and pushed it open more so he could see her face. She looked up from the ground at him as the door revealed her face. The guy on the other side of the door pushed back against it, but Jason stiffened his arm and held it there. He disregarded the guy and looked at Michelle.

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah, she's fine. What's it to you?" the guy behind the door spat out.

Jason turned and looked him in his eyes. "Did I come to your apartment and knock on your door?"

"No, I don't even know you," the guy said still pushing against the door.

"Then why the fuck am I talking to you?"

Greg pulled the door open at this challenge and stood in front of Jason with his fists clenched at his sides. He was taller than Jason, but Jason was not impressed. He looked past him again to Michelle.

"Are you all right," he repeated.

"I told you she's fine," Greg said grinding his teeth together. Jason saw the dimple in his left cheek crease.

"This is the last time I'm gonna tell _you_ I'm not talking to you," Jason glared at Greg for a moment and then turned back to Michelle.

Michelle looked at Jason, then to the guy in the door, "It's okay. Greg was just leaving."

Greg didn't even see her. He was just staring at Jason fuming. Jason could see the anger in Greg's eyes. He couldn't let him stay here.

"Look _bro_. I don't know why you're here, but you better leave before I get cross." Greg reached out his right hand and grabbed a handful of Jason's shirt just below the collar.

Jason looked down at Greg's hand and then looked up at his face and smiled. This was his opening. Jason brought his left hand up and out, knocking Greg's right hand away from him. Jason kicked across and down with his right heel, catching Greg on the inside of his right knee. As Greg's leg gave out, Jason flattened his right hand into a stiff ridge and snapped it up into Greg's throat. Greg made a gagging sound as he stumbled forward through the doorway. Jason took a step into the room, grabbed the back of Greg's collar with both hands, and threw him into the hallway. Jason looked over his shoulder and saw Greg stumble headfirst into the wall and collapse in a fetal heap. Jason stepped all the way into the room and closed the door behind him. He looked at Michelle as he took his book bag from his back.

"Thank you," she said looking up from the bed at Jason. "He wouldn't leave."

"Ex-boyfriend?"

"Yeah, he just wouldn't get the message."

"Well, hopefully, he's got it now. I apologize if I was too rough."

"Well, from the looks of it, he was about to get rowdy with me. He got what he paid for I guess." Michelle sniffled and rubbed her eye.

"You sure you're okay?" Jason reached out his hand and put it on her shoulder. It felt a little awkward, but it seemed like the thing to do.

"I'll be fine," she brushed her hair to the side and exhaled, "I just got a little scared when he got all Fatal Attraction on me. I tried to be strong, but I was still scared."

Jason took his hand from her shoulder and pulled the chair from the desk over and sat down in front of her, "It's okay. It happens."

"Not to you."

"You mean last night?"

"Yeah, you were calm through the whole thing, that I saw."

"Just because I kept my composure doesn't mean I wasn't scared. Whenever things get out of control I get scared. Over time you don't react, but it's still there."

"What about just now."

"I could tell from what I saw of him yesterday and the few seconds today that he was a piece of shit."

"What do you mean yesterday? Oh wait, you walked by in the cafeteria huh? And bumped into him?"

Jason nodded. "Here, let me guess. He wanted something from you, and you wouldn't give it to him. But he's used to getting whatever he wants from people, especially women, so he reacted violently. He threw a tantrum like a spoiled brat. That's when I came in."

"Yeah," she paused and looked at him, she didn't feel like she was about to cry anymore, she was just confused. "How long have you been following me?"

"It's not that. I could tell by the way he talked, the way he carried himself, and your reaction to him yesterday. The fact that he was at the accident, in the cafeteria yesterday, and here again today says a lot too. I just watch people. Everything about a person is clear in what they do—if of course you have a point of reference."

Michelle just looked at him and didn't say anything. Jason leaned over and picked up his bag. Michelle was still looking at him quietly. He zipped the bag open and reached inside.

"So what do my actions say about me," she asked.

"I was just getting to that." He fumbled around in his bag some more until his hand found what he was looking for. He pulled a Super Saucer from the bag and handed it to Michelle.

Michelle just looked at it, took it, and laughed. She lifted it and shook it at him. She opened her mouth to say something then, not being able to think of what to say, just laughed again and opened the wrapper. She noticed Jason's almost-smile again.

"I also got this," Jason said pulling the flier from his pocket. "The COG's having some party tonight at some airport. It sounds kinda big, and I bet I can get some information tonight." He unfolded it and handed it to her.

"So you're gonna go to this thing tonight?" She took a bite out of the Super Saucer. The consistency was perfect. She held the flier in her free hand and looked over it as she chewed.

"Yes and no. I don't think it's a good idea for me to show my face in case later I have to. Besides, I can find out more info if I go sub-rosa." She handed the flier back to Jason. "You've got a message."

"What?" she asked, mouth full of cookie and ice cream.

"The answering machine. It's got a message."

"Oh," Michelle said as she swallowed. She leaned over and pressed the play button.

A full, haughty voice resounded through the tape hiss, "Hello, this message is for a Ms. Michelle Long. This is Detective Marsh from the Richmond Police department. And we'd just like to ask you a few questions. My number is 555- 8309. I'm here from eight to four Monday through Friday, and the case number is ten six eighty-eight. Hope to talk to you soon. Goodbye." The tape stopped and Michelle pressed the save button as the digital voice chimed in, "Friday, one... forty-six... PM"

Michelle picked up the pen and pad from beside the phone and replayed the message, copying down all the necessary information.

After the message played again Jason stood up and threw his book bag over his right shoulder. "You should call them back as soon as you can. They like that, and they tend to give you less of a hard time when you do. He'll probably just ask what he needs to ask over the phone."

"Where are you going?"

"I have a few things I have to do before this party tonight. You still have that card right?"

Michelle looked puzzled for a moment then remembered, "Oh, the credit card. Yeah, I still have it."

"If your ex comes back again, push the button. I'll be right outside."

"After what happened, I really doubt he'll be back today."

"Either way, I think it's best if you come along tonight, just in case he tries to come back."

"Won't I just get in the way?"

"Nah, not at all. Just stay in the car and wait. Hopefully it won't take that long—and I could use a lookout." Jason saw her look down at her hands. "Did you have something else planned tonight?"

"Unfortunately it's not that. This is all just a little strange."

"This is a _lot_ strange. Believe me, it's just as strange to me." Jason walked toward the door then stopped just as he opened it. "Make sure you call the cops back. I don't want them showing up here to ask questions."

"Okay," Michelle nodded and waved.

"I'll be back in about two hours," Jason said and stepped into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Michelle turned and opened her book bag. It was like when you first lost a friend or a relative and you had a hard time accepting it, but reality itself gave you no choice. Her mind hadn't warmed over to any of this yet, but it was all in her face.

She had a physics quiz on Tuesday. She took out her physics book, and then took the green credit card from the front pocket of her bag. She set the book on the bed and the card next to the phone. She picked up the CD remote, turned on the power and pressed play. Prince and the New Power Generation were still in the player, but that was okay. Michelle pushed her stuffed animals aside, propped the pillow up against the headboard, and laid her back against it with the physics book in her lap. She figured she could get some studying in and put some of this out of her mind before things got weird again.

# CHAPTER TWENTY

Greg limped past Belgrave Hall rubbing his throat. It felt like he had swallowed something too large, and he could feel the lump pulsating with each heartbeat. No wonder Michelle had been so unreasonable. She was already seeing someone else. That was the only thing that made sense. She'd probably been seeing him, or at least known him, when they broke up. That was probably why she broke up with him in the first place. That bitch. He couldn't believe she had broken up with _him_ for some black guy.

He couldn't believe the guy sucker-punched him either. If he ever saw that guy again, he'd be ready. He coughed as he came up on the entrance to the cafeteria. He needed something cold to drink to sooth his throat. As he approached the door he saw a Hispanic girl and a girl with long brown hair come out of the doors in front of him. The brown haired girl was wearing tight workout pants and Greg instantly noticed the chiseled curves of her legs and hips. His eyes followed up past her waist, where even though the sweatshirt was a little large for her, he could still see the outline of her breasts. She was smiling as the Hispanic girl held the door for her and she strutted through the doorway with her hands in the front pocket of the sweatshirt. She had beautiful light blue eyes that glimmered in the setting sunlight, and her long wavy hair made Greg want to wrap himself up in it—along with those delicious legs.

She looked up toward him as the Hispanic girl held the door for someone behind them. She moved like water, her motions fluid, graceful—each step, each movement a precursor to the next. She noticed him smiling at her and she widened her smile and moved toward him.

"Hi," she said taking her hands from her sweatshirt and extending her right, "how ya doin'?"

Greg was caught off-guard by her forwardness but he tried to hide it. He extended his hand and shook hers. "I'm Greg What's your name?"

"Dorothy," the girl said, brushing her hair behind her head with her left hand.

_Could she have any idea how sexy she is?_ Greg wondered. Any girl this gorgeous must. Michelle was the only one he knew that didn't seem to have a clue.

"And this is Lolita." Dorothy introduced the Hispanic girl who was approaching with a big smile on her face. She was cute too, but not as unstoppably gorgeous as Dorothy was.

"Hi, Lolita," Greg shook Lolita's hand but didn't take his eyes off Dorothy.

"So, what's your major?" Dorothy asked, smiling. She stood on her toes and descended slowly. Greg could see the muscles in her thighs tighten as she repeated the motion. He felt a shiver go through his body and settle in his groin.

"Uh, business," he said, checking to make sure he was still smiling, "Marketing."

Dorothy's eyes darted away to Lolita, and Greg noticed Lolita was trying to subtly point to her watch. She turned back to Greg and smiled again. "Well, we hafta go, but I wanted to invite you to this party tonight. You see, we go to this great church and we're having a party at Chesterfield Airport." Lolita handed Dorothy a yellow sheet of paper and Dorothy handed it to Greg. "It's gonna be great, there'll be college students from all over Richmond there. There'll be music, dancing," she bounced twice quickly when she said dancing, "we plan on fellowshipping and just having a great time in God's grace."

"I'll definitely be there." Greg reached his hand out to shake Dorothy's hand again and looked into those wide, blue eyes. He shook Lolita's hand too, out of courtesy, and watched as they turned and walked away. The shiver passed through him again as he watched Dorothy's ass tense with each graceful step. He looked at the flier. 'Celebrate success in Christ.' Under it in blue ink, was scrawled a phone number, with Lolita and Dorothy written over it. Greg's smile widened. He didn't know if he believed in God and Christ and all that, but he knew what he _did_ believe in.

* * *

Michelle barely heard the knock at the door over Depeche Mode blasting from her CD player. She set down her physics book, turned down the volume with the remote, and hopped out of the bed. She grabbed the green credit card from her nightstand just in case, moved to the door, and pressed her face to the peephole.

It was dark, like someone was looking through the peephole on the other side. Then suddenly the hall appeared like a curtain was lifted and she saw Jason's distorted visage looking directly back at her.

She opened the door and Jason was standing there holding a blue sheet of paper in his hand. He handed it to Michelle. "This was on your door."

"What is it?" she asked as she took it from him.

"An ad for a discount at some place called Happy Land."

Michelle read the title as he spoke. 'Experience Happy Land again for the first time. Special discount rates for students at the Grand Re-opening. Re-experience the _second_ happiest place on Earth!'

"Cool, Happy Land's re-opening." Michelle motioned for Jason to come in, still looking at the flier.

Jason stepped in and closed the door behind him. "Pardon my ignorance, but what is Happy Land? It sounds like one of those TV shows with puppets."

Michelle looked up and smiled in at his comment. "So you actually do have a sense of humor."

"What? Of course I have a sense of humor. Why would you say that?"

"Well, for starters, you don't ever smile."

"No reason to."

"No reason to smile?" Michelle tucked the flier between the phone and Daerick's story and sat on the bed. Jason walked over to the chair under Michelle's desk and gave her an inquisitive look as if asking for permission to sit. "Go ahead," she responded. She heard the chorus of 'Enjoy the Silence' and thought about Jason's comment. "What about love? Love's a good reason to smile."

Jason set his bag down and straddled the chair, propped his elbows on his thighs and rested his chin on his clasped hands. He looked at her over the back of the chair, and then down at the floor. There was a paperback copy of Ursula K. LeGuin's _The Left Hand of Darkness_ on the floor, half covered by the edge of Michelle's comforter. "Everyone who ever loved me is dead."

His words were an airy half-whisper, but they hit Michelle like a punch. But she couldn't believe _everyone_ was dead. She couldn't think of many people that loved her either, but she did have her mom—and she was sure her dad loved her too, even though he didn't really know her. "What about your parents?" she asked, not knowing anything else to say.

Jason didn't look up, "Like I said, everyone who loved me is dead."

Michelle felt like she had gone too far. She would need to have her stomach pumped to get her foot out of her mouth this time. "I... I'm sorry..."

Jason looked up from the floor at her. He unclasped his hands, rested his chin in his right hand and began slowly rubbing his knee with his left. "It's okay, you had no way of knowing."

Michelle could feel the butterflies awaking in her stomach. "What happened?" She didn't want to push too far, but she couldn't leave the conversation where it was either. "I mean... if you don't mind me asking."

"It's okay, what's done is done." He looked back down at the cover of the book. It was a different cover than the one he'd had to read in school, but this one was more haunting—a male and female face, eyes closed, molded into each other at the back of the head. They looked like they were carved out of wax. The wax was melting.

"My first year in college, my parents were driving down to see me. I don't know the details of it, but my dad somehow pissed off some guy on the freeway. The guy pulled up on the passenger side and shot twice. One shot hit the window, the other hit my mother. My dad lost it I guess and rolled the car. When the paramedics got there they were already gone." He looked up from the book at Michelle whose eyes were wide, looking back at him. She looked sincere. "They never caught the guy who did it. I don't think they even looked."

Michelle couldn't do anything but look at him. She couldn't imagine that happening to her or what she would do if it did. She just shook her head slowly, stymied. "I'm so sorry."

He spoke in that half-whisper again, "Like I said, what's done is done." He looked to the left and saw the bear on the calendar standing rampant, growling. "Professor Rath kinda took me under his wing after that. But, now..." Jason looked back at the floor again and ran his hand slowly up and down across the right side of his face, "...he's dead too."

Michelle looked at him, but he didn't look up. She felt like she had to do something to at least change the course of the conversation. This whole thing was her fault. Even if there was nothing she could say to make it better, she had to at least try. "There were no girlfriends you loved?"

Jason looked up at her again and their eyes met. Even though he showed no emotion with his mouth, she could see the lid of his left eye quivering. "There were a few that I thought I loved—I guess I probably did—but they didn't seem to love me. They were infatuated with ideas—what they thought they could get from me from what they saw on the outside. There was one though. I loved her more than anything."

Jason looked away at the bear again. "It just didn't work out the way it should have." He turned back to Michelle and looked her straight in the eye, serious. "All they proved to me was relationships were a waste of time. You could get the cold shoulder from the grocery store cashier in passing, or you could live with someone for six years and have a kid, but no matter how long or what happens, in the end you always feel like a shit stain."

Michelle could only think of one relationship she had ever had that had ever left her with a good feeling about it when it had ended—Albert Lee—but that was because he lived in Connecticut and was only in Norfolk for the summer. Other than that, they mostly all ended on sour notes. But she had managed to stay optimistic about relationships because she thought they were about the fulfillment you got while you were in them. Life was full of disappointments. It was up to you to hold onto whatever wasn't disappointing for as long as you could. At least that was what she thought _. How could someone so young be so hard?_

She hadn't realized she had actually said it until Jason responded. "Not by choice," he said slowly, eyelid still quivering.

He looked back down at the floor. She looked down at her hands. They sat that way for some time until Jason noticed the red flier, jutting out from under the telephone.

"Say, you never told me what Happy Land was."

"Oh," Michelle was still thinking about their conversation and the lack of segue had her at a loss for words. "Oh," she said again, trying to compose her thoughts, "Happy Land." She sneezed.

Jason took a napkin from a box on the desk and handed it to her. "Bless you."

"Thank you," she said accepting the napkin. She blew her nose and balled the napkin in her hand. "Happy Land is this homey little amusement park out in Goochland. It's this mom and pop type deal, but it runs in the fall and winter when King's Dominion and Busch Gardens are closed. Lots of college kids hang out there. It's pretty cool. It was closed for a while because of some money problems I guess the owner had, but it looks like it's back open now."

Jason looked at the answering machine and noticed the flashing one that indicated there was a message stored was gone. "Did you call the cops back?"

"Yeah, they just asked me what happened because they had gotten a statement from Franklin, but he had been knocked out."

"Did they give you a hard time about me?"

"Nah, I guess they had been looking for two of the guys that mugged us for a while. The detective seemed kinda psyched that someone had finally busted 'em down."

"We should get going soon if we're gonna get to this party tonight," Jason lifted his bag off the floor then paused in mid hoist, "That is if you're still going."

"I don't have anything else planned. And I think you're right, I don't wanna sit around waiting for chicken-boy to come back either."

He lifted the bag up onto his shoulder and stood. "Well, I'll let you get dressed then. Don't wear anything too fancy though. I don't think we're gonna go inside."

"Isn't it a little early though?" She looked at the clock—it was only 4:30. "The flier said it starts at 6:30."

"I know, but I need to pick up a couple of things first, and we should scope out the place as people arrive." Jason walked over to the door. He opened it and turned. "Just come outside when you're ready."

She wanted to tell him she was sorry again, but she just let him go.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jason pulled off Chippenham Parkway at the Iron Bridge Road exit. The map on the monitor turned counterclockwise as he merged onto the road. He drove up to the stoplight as it turned red. Glancing down at the map, he saw the flashing square on the right side of the road as he stopped. The airport was only a few miles away. Michelle watched the monitor as the light turned green and Jason accelerated again. The map began to slowly scroll toward the blinking square.

"I bet it's hard to get lost with this thing," Michelle said, eyes still glued to the monitor.

"I just wonder how accurate it is. They scanned in the maps pretty quickly, and they had to scrape them up with little notice."

Michelle looked up from the map to the road as Jason changed lanes to pass a dirty white pickup that was crawling in the right lane. "So, is this _your_ car, or is it just for you to use here."

"This thing? It's a classic, I could never afford a car like this in this condition. Plus, it was Treated already. The Fomalhaut guys just had to put in the AM power-train and reconfigure the dash."

The car slowed next to a 7-Eleven as another stoplight turned red. "What do you mean, it was _treated_ already?" Michelle asked, bewildered.

"Treatment is this process they use to make a material stronger. Do you know about the stealth planes?"

"What about 'em?"

"How they're put together."

The light turned green and the car accelerated again. "Don't they do some weird kind of molecular bonding or something? It's some weird sci-fi shit."

"Yeah, they weld all the seams molecularly so the plane is structurally seamless. Well, over time, they advance the technology and they can bond _all_ the molecules in a solid so that it's very hard to rend it. You make whatever you Treat virtually unsusceptible to wear and completely bulletproof except for Treated and AM rounds."

"I read about that molecular bonding in _Popular Mechanics_ , and some guy came to my class to talk to us about it, but how they came about it baffles me."

"Well, not too long ago, in my time, they admit that certain technology was based on things they reverse-engineered from a crashed UFO in New Mexico."

"UFO? So they admit it?"

"Yeah, seventy-five years later or something like that, after a while, the public more or less just accepts that they exist, so the government releases it. I think the COG had something to do with it though. Paranoid people are easier to manipulate."

Michelle looked out at the road as they passed a big red sign in front of a construction site that read "Proceed with Caution: Blast Area." Michelle wondered what kind of caution could save you from dynamite that someone else was using.

"Didn't you say they changed the power-train on this car?"

"Yeah, to AM."

"Anti-matter?"

Jason nodded his head.

"So do new cars, I mean in your time, do they all run on anti-matter?"

Jason slowed for another light. The map showed he was halfway to the airport now. "All the lights are catching us, huh?" He said to himself then looked over to Michelle. "Nah, this is the only one I know of. The oil companies threatened to kill the guy who invented it if he didn't sell the patent to them—at least that's what I think. They bought it and shelved it. The military uses them though, so they reverse-engineered a few at Fomalhaut to use for their own applications, but they can't market them."

Michelle looked at Jason and shook her head in wonderment, "How do you know all this stuff? I mean, I know a lot about how stuff works now, but I'm an engineering weirdo. Does everyone in the future know this stuff?"

"Nah, I think in the future people actually think less because it's all spoon fed to them. But as for me, like I said earlier, I wasn't always a soldier. Actually, I was never even in the military. The guy who trained us, in the Spectrum, he was a Marine, but that's it. Before Fomalhaut I was your slightly-above-average college student who had no idea what he wanted to do, but knew what he didn't want to do. That was my curse."

Michelle could see the dark pall that seemed to cover his face lifting a little. Even outside of all this future weirdness Jason wasn't your normal guy—not from what Michelle had seen anyway. Most guys weren't about anything—especially Greg. But Jason, Jason had purpose. Every action, every movement, seemed to be for a reason. He understood who he was and didn't seem to back down from any challenge. Michelle still couldn't believe she was this vital part in some grand equation, but the fact that Jason just came in—not even sure that this was the answer—and took this whole thing in stride was impressive. Michelle couldn't say she was hard. She didn't really see herself as that tough, but she damn sure could be abrasive at times. But Jason, in all his hardness and toughness, did not seem to be abrasive at all. To Michelle, despite the future business, that was the most interesting thing about him.

"How was that a curse?"

"Most people go through life trying to decide what it is that they want to do. That's their biggest dilemma. But to me, there was never really an issue. I didn't care what I did as long as it was productive. I just knew I didn't want to do anything that I had to pawn off little pieces of my soul to be good at."

"What do you mean?"

The light turned green. Jason waited for an eighteen-wheeler that took the left turn too late to move through the intersection then accelerated. "This is the way I see it. If you want to be in business or law because you like that sort of thing, that's cool, no problem. But most of the people I knew just wanted to make a lot of money. They just wanted to buy that BMW or Puissant or Lexus..."

_"Pyoo_ ' what?"

"Puissant. Hyundai starts this luxury car company to compete with Acura and Lexus called Puissant."

"Oh."

"Anyway," Jason continued, "they all wanted to make a lot of money, a few of them wound up with jobs they liked, but most did their jobs just because they were jobs—there was always the air of sycophancy and conformity. And they quite often had to compromise other people's prosperity to be successful. They all got submerged in catch-phrases and bottom lines and they turned into something else. I just wanted to stay me, you know, without compromises to what I knew was right and wrong—no catch-phrases to ease my spirit. They all claimed they left their jobs at work when they came home, but they always had to ride home in that Lexus, or Mercedes. Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with wanting an expensive car or expensive stuff, but when that shit preempts your own self-respect and respect for others, that shit goes too far."

"Yeah, but on the other hand, we do all have to eat."

"Yeah, but we don't all have to eat fillet mignon. And if you don't like fillet mignon, is there something wrong with you?"

"No. I can't stand the stuff myself. I'll eat hamburgers, but I'm not a huge fan of red meat."

Jason looked forlorn, like he was upset that she missed his point. She smiled at him and tapped his arm, "Come on, loosen up. It was a bad joke, but a joke nonetheless." Michelle folded her arms around herself again, "I have the same problem. Most people in my program actually do love to make and design things, but at club meetings, all anyone ever talks about is where they want to live, or what car they want when they graduate. That's why I stopped going. I got tired of hearing the same conversations."

Jason looked down at the monitor and saw he was nearing the flashing square. He looked back at the road and slowed a little. He couldn't see past the trees to the road that led into the airport, but he slowed in anticipation.

Michelle watched him as he stared straight down the road, eyes focused. She saw him open his mouth slightly like he was about to say something, and then close it again. She looked back at the road and saw the light ahead turn red. Just beyond the light she saw a short sign at the corner that read 'Chesterfield Airport.' She looked back at Jason. He opened his mouth slightly again, and paused, leaving his lips parted.

"Were you gonna say something?"

"I guess. I guess that's why I never fit in. Most of my life I felt like I didn't belong here. I met a few people who related to me, but no one other than my parents really understood me. There were people who thought they did, but that's not the same."

Michelle folded her arms around herself. "I feel the same way too sometimes. I fit in just fine when I was little—or at least I thought I did. There weren't many Asian kids in Norfolk, but that was probably the biggest problem I ran up against until high school." Michelle squeezed herself tighter, took in a long breath, and then released it as she looked up out of her window at the slowly darkening sky. She could already see the moon. More of its face was covered now, but it still looked like it was laughing. "I remember in eleventh grade I used to like this guy—Brendon Sharpe—he was a senior. I was head-over-heels for this guy. He was bigger than Tom Cruise. Anyway, I wanted him to ask me to the prom, so I was droppin' hints like Alex Trebek. My best friend Debra and I came up with all these hair-brained schemes. Things seemed to go pretty well until all of a sudden one day he starts actin' all weird toward me. Like he heard I had meningitis or somethin'. It turns out there was this rumor going around that I was pregnant and he got scared off. He wound up asking Debra to the prom and they hit it off and wound up an item. That was cool with me, it hurt a little, but I was glad she was happy. That was until this other girl, who was a friend of Brendon's, asked me about the baby. I told her the whole thing was a steaming crock of shit and she told me that was odd because Debra was the one who told her." She turned away from the window and looked at Jason who was still focused on the road. "I never said anything to Debra about it. I just stopped hanging around her and calling her, which wasn't hard cuz she spent all her time with Brendon anyway."

Jason turned into the airport and just shook his head.

"After that I kinda stayed to myself. I didn't even go to my senior prom cuz I didn't really want to be around any of the people I knew. I didn't really trust anyone. I guess now I still don't. It's not that it's hard for me to trust people, I just don't know that many people who don't want one thing or another from you. Except Jon, I guess."

"Who?"

"Jon. He's like my best friend. Y'know, the friend I meet for lunch on Fridays."

Jason drove down a long stretch of road that ran through a thicket of trees. "The guy you were eating with on Wednesday?"

"Yeah, how'd you... Wait, you were there too?"

"Yeah, I know it seems a little freaky, but I had to find a way of approaching you that wouldn't scare you off."

"It's okay. Anyway, I haven't really had any female friends since high school."

The thicket opened into a wide, flat field with a lattice of asphalt and tarmac stretching off into the distance. There was a line of about six small planes next to a hangar at the edge of the field. Just beyond them, a blue prop plane with 'Ventura' painted on the side in white cursive lifted off a runway and soared up over the tree line toward the setting sun. "What happened to Debra?"

"Well, I haven't talked to her since the whole rumor business, but last thing I heard, she had dropped out of school, and was still with Brendon, but was in some battered woman clinic and was pregnant."

"It's funny how things happen sometimes isn't it?"

"She got what she paid for I guess. I just feel sorry for the kid—if she has it."

There was a control tower just beyond the runways with four or five cars parked in front of it. The road turned just before the runways and led to a group of buildings several hundred yards away. There were a few cars in the parking lot in front of the buildings, but the ground was too flat and level to tell how many. Jason followed the road toward the buildings. "I think that's where the party is," Jason said pointing to the larger building in the center."

Michelle had been holding the folded flier in her lap. She opened it and looked at the instructions, and then at the buildings that were growing in the frame of the windshield, and then back at the flier again. "Yep, that looks like it."

"There looks like there's a service road that goes around. I wanna make a pass of the place before we find a lookout."

As they got closer, Jason could see there were about ten cars in the parking lot. All those cars couldn't belong to COG members. He knew they usually traveled in groups because most of them lived together, and there shouldn't have been that many there because there was still an hour and a half before the party was supposed to start. If he parked among them, he could probably go unnoticed. But he had to scope out the area first.

He followed the service road around the building, watching the parking lot as he drove by. "Max is probably here already if this thing is as big as it's supposed to be."

There were three buildings in the small complex and there were lights on in the large one in the middle. The other two were completely dark. There was a three-story building on the south side of the large building that had a set of metal stairs leading up to the third floor. The large building was about fifty feet tall but had a walkway leading from the south building and a roof access ladder at the end of the walkway. There were three large dumpsters behind the main building—the kind that open from the top and side—two were open and one was closed. The building on the north side of the main building was almost identical to the south building except it faced north instead of east and did not connect to the main building in any way.

"I can probably get in from the roof," Jason said as he completed his pass on the complex and drove toward the other side of the field.

"Where are we going?" Michelle asked.

"I'm gonna park next to those cars by the control tower."

"Will we be able to see from over there? It's gonna be dark soon."

"There's a digital camera behind the grill just next to the Honda symbol. It's got night imaging, thermal imaging, and a fractal zoom. We'll be able to see just fine from there and we won't look suspicious."

"What doesn't this car have? You're like James Bond or something."

"James who?"

"You don't know who James Bond is? Y'know the guy from the spy movies."

"Oh wait, I think I remember seeing some of those. The British secret agent guy who sleeps with everybody and drinks martinis and makes all those one-line wise cracks."

"Yeah, he always has all these crazy gadgets."

"Funny thing is, the gadgets don't get you out of trouble like they do in the movies."

The road turned at the end of the runways, and Jason drove past a bright yellow prop plane taxiing from the runway to the hangar at the edge of the field. There was a stop signal at the ground on either side of the road flashing red. Jason stopped as the plane moved across the road at a point just past where the road turned.

"Besides, I don't think that guy ever got scared. He was always cracking those jokes."

"I haven't seen _you_ get scared. I mean, you say in your time frame, the world ends tomorrow, but you seem to be as collected as the day is long."

"Well, running through the streets screaming bloody murder won't solve the problem at hand. And I've just been warmed over to fear. Just because I'm sitting here talking to you in a calm voice doesn't mean I not about to shit a cinder block."

Michelle giggled as the plane cleared the road and the light on the signal turned green. Jason continued along the road to the parking lot in front of the tower. "That's a very interesting image Mr. Bond," Michelle said in a mock British accent.

"Somehow I don't think Mr. Bond's digestive system is affected in the same way."

"Too many stool softeners?" Michelle asked, barely able to hold another giggle to the end.

Jason shook his head and almost-smiled again. "How do you come up with this stuff?"

"I think my mom fed me too much of that zwieback stuff when I was a baby—that and an overdose of Mr. Rogers."

"Mister who?"

"There was this children's show called Mr. Rogers with this weird looking old white guy who used to sing these weird ass songs. The guy looked like a child molester, and half the show was in some weird puppet place called Trolley Land, and there was this one fucked up transsexual puppet named Lady Elaine—and it didn't help that Mr. Rogers did the voice. When I was too little to know better, I used to watch it, but when I was older I hated it cuz Lady Elaine scared the shit outta me."

"And that's why your analogies are so colorful?"

"Well, I think trauma from Lady Elaine is definitely part of it."

Jason pulled into the parking lot and parked next to the white Taurus at the end of the row. He had a direct line of sight to the parking lot in front of the complex of buildings and the entrance to the main building itself. Jason reached on the left side of his seat and took what looked like a large remote from a holster.

"What is that?" Michelle asked as he took it out.

"It's the main remote to the car."

"It looks like a VCR remote—granted a _humongous_ VCR remote."

"I think that's what it was at first. But I can control all the functions of the car with it. I can even drive using the camera and this little screen." Jason held the remote so she could see the small screen near the top. "It's easier to control the camera from this than with the controls inside the car. I have a smaller one too that controls the security functions because this thing is a pain to carry."

Michelle looked at the remote, then back out at the road as a large older car drove into the airport and turned toward the buildings. "I must be in a coma having some long, bizarre ass dream. This can't be real."

"Well, if you're in a coma, why the hell am I here?"

"Spicy food? Caffeine before I passed out? I don't know."

"Okay, first I'm James Bond, now I'm a bad dream due to gastrointestinal malaise." Jason almost-smiled again, but this time his mouth was open and it looked like his face almost cracked.

"Well, I didn't say it was a bad dream, just a weird one. Besides, I almost got you to smile."

"What is all this about smiling?"

"It's therapeutic."

Jason pressed some buttons on the remote. The screen on the monitor switched from the map to an image of the buildings across from them. The gray car was moving into the parking lot on the screen. "When I find something to smile about, I'll let you know."

"Please do, cuz I don't wanna miss it."

Jason shot his eyes over at her without turning his head, then looked back at the remote and pushed some more buttons. The screen zoomed in on the parking lot with the doors to the main building of the complex at the right edge of the screen. The image was blocky and distorted, but the blocks shrank away and the image sharpened. They both watched the screen as the gray car parked and a African American guy in what looked like a thick leather coat got out.

"Here we go," Jason said, setting the remote in his lap, "the best part of a stakeout."

"So what do we do?"

"We sit here and steep for about an hour."

"Oh joy and rapture," Michelle said facetiously.

"Not quite," Jason said matter-of-factly. Michelle couldn't tell whether he was going along with her jest or not.

* * *

Roger got out of his car, double-checked the flier to make sure he was in the right place, and then walked toward the biggest building. He hadn't even known there was an airport out here, but there wasn't much for him to come all the way out here to Chesterfield for anyway. It didn't look like much of an airport—there were only small planes—but he'd never really had much of a reason to know where any airport was. He had never been on a plane and he'd only ridden a train once.

He rolled the flier into a scroll and cupped it in his left hand like a bat as he approached the doors. It looked like no one was home but he recognized Lolita and Dorothy's car in the parking lot, so he tried the doors anyway and found they were open.

He stepped inside and looked around nervously. He was early and he hoped he didn't catch anyone by surprise.

"Hello?" he said as he looked around. His voice echoed eerily in the vaulted foyer. Even in the darkness he could see the glass cases lining the walls with large model airplanes in them. He looked around and saw a faint glow at one end of the chamber and he moved in that direction. Ashe rounded the corner he saw the glow came from a light that was at the end of the hall. He began walking down the hall and saw the silhouette of what could have only been Lolita's curvaceous figure move into the light. He quickened his pace as he approached the room. He could see she was tying a piece of blue tissue paper into a ribbon. She turned suddenly and gasped.

"Oh," she threw her hand up to her chest as if to hold in her heart, "Roger, it's you. You startled me."

"Sorry, didn't mean to creep up on you like that."

"Well, I'm all right," she pulled one of the legs of the bow down to match the other and stretched out one of the loops. "You're here early."

"Yeah, I figured I'd swing by here a little early and see if you guys needed any help."

"Well, we're almost done," she swept her left hand up indicating the room. It was large room almost three stories high. There was a large banner hanging in the center of the room that read 'Celebrate Success in Christ' in gold letters. There were big blue and white paper ribbons like the one Lolita was holding hung around the perimeter of the room. The room could have comfortably fit two basketball courts. "But I'm glad you came." Lolita looked down at the bow but looked up shyly at Roger and smiled. Roger felt like his heart was going to burst with each beat.

She moved over to a stepladder that was next to the wall just below the space where one last bow should have gone.

"Can you help me with this?" Lolita asked as she reached the bottom of the ladder.

Roger moved over to her quickly and reached his hand out for the bow. "Why don't you let me do that?"

"Okay," she said, and smiled shyly at him again.

Roger climbed up to the top of the ladder and pressed the bow against the wall. Then he realized he didn't have anything to attach it to the wall with. He looked around for a nail or a hammer or something. Lolita thrust a staple gun at him.

"Looking for this?"

He stepped down two rungs and took the staple gun from her, "Thank you."

"No, thank _you_. You don't know how much I hate ladders."

She held the base of the ladder steady as he climbed back up to the top and positioned the bow against the wall.

"Get it right in the middle," she said as he lifted the staple gun.

"Gotcha," he said, holding the bow against the wall with the staple gun and squeezing the handle. The staple gun jolted in his hand. He tested the bow to make sure it was firmly attached.

"There we go," he said with approval. "But I'll give it one more just to make sure. He looked down to Lolita.

"Go right ahead. Better safe than laughed at."

Roger stapled the bow in the middle again then descended from the ladder. He didn't know if now was the right time or not, but he figured now, with no one around, was as good a time as any. "So, Lolita,"

"You can call me Loli," she said as he stepped away from the ladder and set the staple gun on a table next to the wall.

"Okay, Loli," he turned and looked into her eyes and put on his biggest smile, "I know I haven't known you for that long, but you seem like a really nice girl and I was wondering if you would like to go to the movies or somethin' tomorrow. That is, if you're free."

Lolita looked up at the ceiling as if she were trying to recall her schedule. Roger's heart was beating faster now and behind his back he actually crossed his fingers tightly. She smiled widely and he let them loosen a bit.

"I'd love to," She said, bringing her eyes down to meet his. "There's the picnic tomorrow, but after that I'm free. But I have to ask our Study Head."

"Run that by me again?" He didn't know what that meant, but it didn't sound good. He squeezed his crossed fingers together tighter.

She looked a little concerned. "Oh, you know, Brother Powers from the Bible study. Y'see, we're not allowed to date outside the church, and that usually goes for initiates too." She turned and the concern melted away from her face. She beamed at him, "But I'll see if he'll make an exception in this case."

Roger felt like throwing his hands in the air and exclaiming, "Yes!" But he held it back. Besides he wasn't sure Brother Powers would say it was okay. He also didn't know his stance on the ONF members seeing other members either. It seemed a little odd to him that they couldn't date outside the church, and most importantly that she had to ask permission, but Roger figured that if what Brother Powers said about the outside world and Babylon was true, it made sense in a way.

He couldn't believe it though. Just a couple of weeks ago her having to ask somebody else if she could go out probably would have made him angry—even if she was going to give up the ass—but today it didn't matter. She did have a body that could stop New York traffic, but he wasn't really even thinking about sex. If things kept going the way they were going, it seemed to him his life was about to change drastically, and for the better. He didn't know if he could live up to the Nine Facets, but he'd do his best. He'd always thought there was no point in following rules. Get _what_ you could _while_ you could and fuck everybody else, but it actually felt good to be doing the right thing—to be on the right track. He wished someone had shown him sooner.

* * *

In the twilight sky, the sun setting behind them, Jason could just barely see the shoulder and two of the stars in the belt of Orion over the trees across the field. More cars were in the parking lot now, and a few more people had shown up, but from what Jason knew of COG functions, the party was far from under way.

"So, what was your major in college?"

"Huh?" Jason said, turning from the night sky to Michelle.

"What was your major in college?" she repeated, "You seem to know a lot about me, but I know very little about you. What'd you study?"

"Oh, that." Jason settled back in his seat. "I was a philosophy major."

"Wow, philosophy. That's pretty intense."

"Yeah, but what do you do with a degree in philosophy? No matter how uneducated you are, it's something everyone uses everyday—but no one seems to respect it."

"I suppose you could teach, but there's not much I can think of that requires a philosophy degree."

"That's what I mean though. A lot of your western world philosophers tried to justify their way of life. That's a gross generalization, and a lot of them had a lot of good things to say, but whether you take the claustrophobia of a lot of western philosophy, or the overwhelming universality of a lot of eastern philosophy, it's all built on the same thing, observing the world around you. I don't know anyone who couldn't use a class on that."

"That's very true."

"My dad always told me I think too much. And for the most part I guess that's true, but it's better than not thinking enough. I think the second worse sin you can commit is not thinking about what you do."

"Wait, second worse? What's the worst?"

"Letting someone else think for you."

"I guess that's why I stopped going to the Church of God." Michelle said watching four people get out of a white car on the monitor. "It seemed like you had to believe _their_ ideals. I mean to me, a difference in opinion is cool, as long as both opinions make sense. But they wouldn't have it. They said there was no interpretation of the Bible—that God's word was God's word. But my question was who's reading of it was the one that wasn't interpretation? You know, they tell you no one can get to God but through Christ, but can you really take that literally? What about the pygmy out in the bush in the middle of some heinous jungle in Africa where hardened men in Range Rovers don't even dare go? Are those guys going to hell because the Gideons can't get to them to hand out free Bibles? I refuse to believe that my salvation is up to some chucklehead driving up to my door. It seems to me _all_ life is about interpretation. If it wasn't, what's the point in being here in the first place?"

Jason could almost see the sky getting darker. The stars of Orion that weren't obscured by the trees were clear now.

"What do you see out there that's so interesting?"

"Uh, it's nothing really."

"You're sure lookin' at _nothing_ pretty hard."

"Well, you see that constellation just over the trees."

"Yeah, that's Orion, isn't it?"

"Yeah, well I useta always feel kinda bad borrowing money from m y parents in college before they passed cuz I knew I would rarely be able to pay them back. My dad useta always tell me the best way for me to pay him back was to do right by my kids when I had 'em. I kinda gave up on having kids a while back. I mean, I don't really see myself ever getting married—not because I like being a bachelor—I just don't know anyone who would just accept me without a lot of pomp and circumstance. But I figured that didn't exclude me from my dad's creed. So I figured if I couldn't do it for my own kids, I could help others out who needed it. Y'know, not just give a man a fish, but _really_ help. That's why I joined the Spectrum I guess. Anyway, my dad useta tell me even if he didn't live to see the day I did right by my kids, every time I'd look over my shoulder, I'd see him. Well in college, after my parents passed, I went out with this girl who was an astronomy major. We were out in the park looking at stars one night, and I noticed that constellation. I asked her what it was called because no matter where I went, or what time of year it was, if I looked, I could always find it. When she told me, it scared the crap out of me cuz my dad's name was Orion Dyer. So whenever things get a little hectic, or I wonder if I can go on, I look up there and ask myself if I'm doing the right thing. Knowing my father's somewhere looking in on me helps me make it through."

"Gosh," was all Michelle could manage. "So, how old are you?"

"Twenty-four."

"Wow, you're not that much older than me, but to hear you talk, it's like... I dunno. You're so serious."

"Professor Rath useta always tell me I had an old soul. I would guess, if there's any truth to Daen and Brinkmeyer's legend, so do you."

"I guess I do feel like that sometimes. Sometimes I just get so tired, like I need to just sleep for three days and clear my mind. Like there's just too much that goes on around me that I can't do anything about."

"It'll drive you crazy if you think of it that way."

"But it seems to me that's the way _you_ think of it."

Jason shrugged and looked back at the sky that was almost completely dark now. The stars of Orion were twinkling now in the ebbing twilight. "It's like a fractal. People think little things aren't important—that there are big problems and little problems. To an extent I think that's true, but it comes down to attitude. In my opinion there's no such thing as a little white lie. Everything leads to everything else. Over time, little things, if they're ignored or disregarded, turn into big things. If you look, the big things are just magnifications of simple emotions, simple problems that could have been nipped in the bud. Everything you do every moment of the day is important to what the final big picture is shaped like. I guess that's part of the reason why I think too much. I don't wanna make any mistakes."

"I can't say I disagree—I've actually thought that myself. But when you carry it to this extent, doesn't it make you miserable?"

Jason shrugged again. "As long as the preacher doesn't have to lie at my funeral, I'm happy."

"That's so grim. What about life _now_ , you know, in the meantime? It's great to live your today for your tomorrow, but what about how you feel right now? You gotta balance that."

"I guess you're right, but I tried that. Maybe it works for other people and maybe it doesn't, but to me, no matter what card I played, all I ever got back was jokers. I don't care how big of a rush it gives you, if you keep losing at the blackjack table, eventually you stop playing and go home. The real question is whether you do it before or after you're in debt."

"Well, here's a question. I mean I can't argue that sometimes life deals out shitty cards, but why save the world if it's so bad?"

"That's just it, I can't rightfully say life's not worth living. I just don't particularly enjoy where it's left _me_. I don't like being this way. But if being this way means I can stop other people from feeling like this, then knowing how little I like it, I try my best to stop it. It's a means that leads to an end that leads to the means again."

"A chicken and egg problem."

"Only in this case I know what came first."

"How's that?"

"Well I useta be a naïve little kid. I useta think the world was great. But after getting kicked in my ass by person after person I learned that maybe it wasn't. I played a lot of basketball and soccer when I was in high school and I always came home all bruised up. Black eyes, twisted ankles, dislocated toes, smashed and jammed fingers. But the day I started throwing people around when they went too far was the day I stopped getting hurt by other people's carelessness. Not to say I didn't accept mistakes. Accidents happen, it's part of the game. But when people stop caring about their mistakes. That's when they cease to be mistakes."

"It's such a shame. You have your whole life ahead of you and you come to these conclusions. I'm not sayin' you're wrong. I'm just sayin' it's sad. Someone must have really hurt you."

"Maybe it's just the tension of it all. I don't like not knowing what's gonna happen next. Or not knowing whether or not I can deal with it. That and I'm pretty sure I saw Professor Rath yesterday."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean at the movie theater yesterday, one of the ushers was named Senemis. How many people can there be from Richmond named Senemis? And he had the same eyes. That same look."

"I guess that could throw you off a little."

"Seeing him and knowing there was probably nothing I could do for him... I mean I just saw him die in my own arms three days ago, and here he is, he has no idea."

"Why didn't you, or don't you try to do something for him?"

"I dunno, it didn't seem right. When he died, he didn't seem sad to go. It was just the whole time I knew him, after we became friends, he would tell me about Candice, the woman he said he should have married. They had had a relationship, and they just clicked. He said the whole time he couldn't remember a time when they really argued until the day she told him she was leaving him. She didn't give much of an explanation, but she really hurt him I guess. Well, later, he had the chance to make up with her, but he was afraid she'd hurt him again, so he just left it alone. I guess he was torn over her for the rest of his life, and it ate him up inside. When he died, the last thing he said was that he regretted he wouldn't get a chance to apologize to her for not understanding. If there was anything I could do for him, it would be to take those regrets from him. We all have to die, but no one should die like that."

"Did you say anything to him?"

"I don't know if it'll change anything. I couldn't say what I really meant. I didn't have the time." Jason laughed to himself, a sad nervous sort of laugh. "It's funny. Here I am, a time-traveler, and I didn't have time."

Michelle shook her head. People like Greg traipsed through life without a care in the world. Life was a one party strung up to the next like a long string of pearls. And here was Jason—the man who had saved her life. Someone who actually seemed to care about someone other than himself and was willing to sacrifice himself for someone else. Save someone like her who he didn't even know—just because it was the right thing to do and no one else would. And here he was, his sky filled with nothing but darkness. It just didn't seem right.

A limousine pulled up to the front of the large building and three men in suits got out. Jason zoomed in the image with the remote and saw the two younger men get out—one from the front passenger seat, the other from the back, who held the door for the older man that came out after him. Jason couldn't gather any more details than that from the image, but even with more detail he didn't think he would recognize the men.

"Who's that?" Michelle asked.

"I have no idea." Jason said, puzzling at the image as the two younger men escorted the older man in. Jason pressed another button and the image froze on the screen.

"What happened?" Michelle asked, the image still frozen on the screen.

"Taking a snapshot." Jason said, pressing another button and causing the image to move again as the limousine drove off. "With the fractal zoom I can blow up the plate later in case this guy's important."

Jason holstered the remote again and put the car in drive. "Actually, this guy does look important. I should get moving."

* * *

Max sat alone in a conference room on the third floor double-checking the figures in what he hoped to be the final report to Davenport. He swiveled his chair around to face the table that was behind him that was decked with assorted soft drinks, coffee, juice and water. The caterers had even left a small platter of cheese and crackers. He took a Crystal Pepsi from among the various drinks and turned his attention back to the report. Everything seemed to be in order. This was maybe the fourth time he had gone over this thing completely, but he had to make sure all the figures and projections were correct. Even he himself was surprised by the growth of the church over the past year both in members and i n finances. There were several growth accounts outside of the normal checking and savings and the church was financially better off than any one person other than he or Jeff could possibly know. Max couldn't believe he was about to show all this to some Barbarian—a money-minder. But he knew he needed Davenport's extra boost now to carry the Order to the next level.

Max flipped open the tab on his soda and through the pop of the can and the subsequent hiss he heard tapping in the small kitchen to his right, across the room from the head of the table. Max looked up from the report, closing it and saw what looked to be a janitor, poking at the ceiling with a broom handle. Max looked at the man, bewildered while he tapped at the ceiling, then the man looked at the floor and moved farther into the kitchen. Max shook his head and reopened the folder.

"Brother Powers."

Max closed the folder and looked up. Lolita peeked in from the edge of the double doors directly in front of him that led to the hall.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," she added, slowly emerging from behind the wall. She took a step forward with her hands clasped in front of her below her waist.

"Yes Lolita, what is it?"

She bit her bottom lip and wrenched her hands. "Well, Roger asked me out, and since I know he's an initiate and all, I wanted to ask you if it was okay to say yes."

"Well, do you like him?"

"I think he's interesting. He seems like a pretty sweet guy. It sounds like he's had a hard life. I think he needs someone." Lolita stopped wrenching her hands and looked down at the edge of the table.

"Well then, I don't see why not. I think he'll be a great asset to the church, and I think you two will have a great time together."

"Okay," she said, taking a step back and rubbing her hands together as she looked up from the table her smile growing, "Thank you Brother Powers."

"Now, go downstairs and have a good time."

Lolita turned and moved quickly into the hall and disappeared. Max reached to reopen his folder when her head poked from behind the doorway again, "You're coming down aren't you?"

"I have some business to take care of first, but I'll be down as soon as I can."

"Okay, see ya then." She waved and left.

Max looked down and had opened the folder halfway when he noticed something in the corner of his eye. The janitor was there in the kitchen again, this time staring at him. Max ignored him and flipped through the last few pages of projections. He was planning on starting a branch in Alexandria then moving slowly into Washington. There were two brilliant young members that were just finishing up their seminary school and would be perfect to head the new branch. He could even send Marty up there. Max flipped a page and noticed the janitor was still there, leaning on his broom now, but still staring with a Cheshire grin.

Max closed his folder again. "May I help you?" he asked, turning to face the janitor.

The janitor just kept grinning, then picked up his broom and moved into the conference room. "You're the guy in charge ain'tcha?" His hair was stringy and thin. Max could see more scalp than hair. He was at least in his thirties, but with his slumped shoulders, wide eyes and that goofy grin, he had the countenance of a child. His blue work shirt was smeared with various colors of dirt and read 'Chauncey' in dusty white letters on the breast.

"I'm not in charge. I just help give His will life," Max said brushing the cross on his necklace with his finger.

Chauncey leaned on his broom and kept grinning. "You one-a them Jesus freaks, huh?"

"I guess that's one way of putting it." Max didn't want to be rude but this guy needed to go away.

He was still a good eight feet away, leaning on his broom, but there was a stench like rancid hamburger, sweat, and a slight hint of what could have only been urine emanating from him. It took work for Max to keep his smile. He hoped he didn't get any closer. "My grandma'd always look at me when I was a li'l boy—and she still do now sometimes I s'pose. She always look at me an' say 'Anna-Mae'—y'see that be my ma's name—she says, 'Anna-Mae, that boy needs Jesus.'" Chauncey gripped his broom tightly and then snapped his head to his left like someone was running at him. He looked there for a moment, like he expected some creature to burst through the wall, and then he loosened his grip on the broom and turned back to Max. His smile wasn't as wide this time. "I don' know what that means rightly—that I needs Jesus—but if'n it's a good thing, I s'pose it won' do me no nevermind."

Max just looked at him, nodded, and smiled. It was becoming hard to maintain a smile with the hamburger smell wafting through the room. "So what is it that I can help you with?"

Chauncey looked over to his left again and poked the handle to the broom out in that direction slightly. He turned back to Max and the cheesy grin was back. "Oh, that. Well, I don' wants nothin' from you. I jes wanta tell you watch out. I don' think this place is safe. There was some contractors in here, y'know ree-novatin and what not. But I see them, and they was some lazy son's a bitches they were. When I come in an' cleans up after them. I find all these screws an' stuff jes' lyin' around. Now maybe they done put new screws in, but I doubts it. I seen them loafin' about. 'Sides anyone ain't gon' clean up behind themselves, pra'ly ain't gon' put no new nothin' in less'n they got to."

The hamburger was overwhelming now. Chauncey snapped his head to his left again and bared his teeth like a trapped rat. He furrowed his brow so deeply his eyes squinted and his nose twitched as he tried to pull his lips back farther. Then suddenly his head twitched and he turned back to Max. "I jes' thought you should know." He glanced to his left without turning his head, and then slowly turned his eyes back. "I best be goin' now."

He turned and sauntered back into the kitchen. Max was almost reeling from the body odor. He watched Chauncey disappear into the kitchen, and then picked up his folder and Crystal Pepsi and made his way around the conference table to the double doors. He didn't want to be in this room any longer until the air cleared. He took a sip of his drink as he passed through the doorway and almost choked as he was grabbed suddenly.

He coughed and lowered his drink. It was Jeff. "Sorry, I didn't want to run over you. I didn't expect you to come out the door like that."

Carbon fizz was in his nasal passage and he coughed as he spoke, "What is it Jeff?"

"Oh, Davenport just pulled up outside."

Max coughed again and recovered his senses. "Well, let's go meet him then," he said tossing the almost full drink into the trash can next to the door and stuffing the folder under his arm. "We don't want to keep the Barbarian waiting, do we?"

* * *

Jason parked in a lot next to a hangar a few hundred yards behind the buildings and got out of the car. "No matter what happens, stay in the car okay? If someone walks up, pretend you're asleep."

"What if they try to open the door, or they call the cops or something?"

"Don't worry, even with a rocket launcher they couldn't get into this thing when its locked, but if it's a real emergency, press this button here," Jason pointed to a red button on the monitor, "Wait 'til it starts flashing, then talk."

Jason took the remote from the holster next to the seat, clipped it onto his belt, and slipped a thin headband over his head that had a small flashlight attached to it. He leaned behind the seat and took a plastic bag from the back. He pulled a surgical mask from the bag and put it around his neck.

"What the hell is that for?" Michelle wrenched her face in puzzlement.

"You've never crawled around in an air duct before have you?" Jason almost-smiled again and moved his hands around double-checking to make sure everything was in place. He reached behind the seat again and pulled out the gun from last night and tucked it under his belt in front.

"What's that for?" Michelle asked.

"Hopefully nothing," Jason said, adjusting the gun slightly. "Okay here we go," he added, took in a deep breath, held it, and then exhaled. "Remember, don't get out of the car for _any_ reason."

Jason began closing the door, but stopped as he saw Michelle peek her head over the driver's seat. "Good luck," she said with a smile that looked awkward and forced.

"Hopefully luck won't come into play." Jason closed the door as Michelle waved and sank back into her seat.

Michelle felt like she was spinning as she watched Jason run toward the back of one of the smaller buildings. It was like the dentist had given her way too much gas. She couldn't believe any of this was happening. It was like she was a ghost, a dream spirit in the back seat, watching all this happen to someone else. She closed her eyes, put her palms to her face, and shook her head. Reality was upside down. She thought maybe if she shook her head enough she could turn it right-side up again, but when she opened her eyes she was still in the same place. Nothing had changed. _Why is this happening to me?_ Michelle looked out the window at the stars just above the trees and Orion caught her eye. It was a little higher now.

"Mr. Davenport, how are you?" Max asked, beaming as he shook Davenport's hand.

"Fine Maximilian, just fine," Davenport shook Max's hand but his face was stoic, "You appear to be in good health despite your car accident."

"There were only a few minor injuries. I am better now."

"Well, that is good to hear. Shall we get down to business, then?"

"You sure you don't want to have some refreshments first?"

"Well, perhaps we could first take a look at these students you say are so loyal."

* * *

When Greg and Chaz walked into the party, it was already in full-swing. "So, direct me to the booze," Chaz said jovially, looking over the ballroom. Loud bass vibrated through the hall as students gyrated and bounced to the beat.

Greg backhanded Chaz across the chest. "It's a church function you moron. There probably is no booze."

Chaz rubbed his chest and looked at Greg crossly, "What about turning water to wine and all that?"

"What about it? Church goers wait 'til they go home to get drunk."

"Maybe we should spike the punch bowl."

"Maybe you should go to a twelve-step meeting. Besides, that's not why I came here anyway."

"Why you wanna mess with some church chick anyway?"

Greg scanned the crowd looking for Dorothy. "Because, haven't you heard that Catholic girls give it up?"

"Yeah, I heard that, but these ain't Catholics. It's some sort of common denominator church or somethin'."

_"Non-denominational_ you halfwit—I figure it wouldn't hurt to see if there weren't any similarities if you catch my drift." Greg spotted Dorothy emerging from the dance floor, twisting her hips to the pulsating beat. They made eye contact. She waved and began moving over to him.

Chaz was looking at the bows hanging on the walls. "How good can this girl look anyway?"

Greg smiled, and mumbled through his teeth, trying not to move his lips, "Shut up, she's coming."

She danced all the way over to them, dodging the occasional mingling group standing outside the dance floor. She was wearing brown pants made of a thin material that revealed sporadic hints of her curves as she moved. Her hair was down around her shoulders and looked like an ocean wave, frozen at its apex, the currents inside it still wavering. Her beige top smoothed every rounded curve of her torso, her breasts, her tight, flat stomach. Greg felt the warmth of blood pushing through his veins as his heart rate increased. He heard Chaz make a sound like he was about to choke.

"Hey, you came," she said as she reached them.

"Of course. Your invitation was hard to turn down," Greg said, never deviating from his smile. His throat hurt with K's, G's, and C's and hurt when he swallowed, but looking at Dorothy put the pain in the most remote corner of his mind.

"You should mix up, meet some new people." She looked at Chaz, "Hi I'm Dorothy," she said, extending her hand.

Chaz paused for a moment, coughed, then extended his hand, "Oh, I'm Chaz."

"Interesting name Chaz," Dorothy said, then turned back to Greg. She touched Greg's elbow and motioned over to the dance floor, "Come on, let's go meet some people. Everybody's on the other side of the dance floor." She turned toward the crowd of students dancing and waving their arms to the rhythm that reverberated through the room.

Greg watched as she walked, the pants draped over her ass, accenting the plump roundness of it. It looked like a ripe, tantalizing peach. "Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," Chaz said, mouth agape.

Greg slapped him across his chest again and followed Dorothy.

* * *

Jason climbed up to the roof of the main building from the catwalk. He looked to his car parked alone next to the hangar, and then looked around the roof. There was an air conditioning unit humming and whirring loudly and a small wedge covered by a grill next to it. Jason hurried over to the wedge and crouched to check it. This was what he was looking for.

He took what looked like a Zippo lighter from his pocket, flipped it open, and pressed a red button on the inside. A thin blue-white flame about three inches long extended from the lighter. Jason pointed the flame at the front of the grill on the wedge and it sparked a moment then the flame cut through. He moved the flame around the grill cutting as it went. When he cut the last piece he closed the lighter then grabbed the grill and pulled it easily from its housing. He set the grill beside the wedge and examined the hole. It was just big enough for him to crawl through comfortably—at least as comfortably as you could crawl through an air duct.

He slipped the surgical mask up over his nose and tapped the light on his headband. The light came on and illuminated the inside of the air duct. He slipped his legs in first then turned and lowered himself in.

* * *

The quickened beat of the song melded into a slower, more mellow beat. Roger hesitated, not sure if it was the right thing to do, but then threw caution to the wind and pulled Lolita closer to him. She moved in, accepting his embrace with a smile, and put one arm around him. They were still a fair distance apart—even the strictest chaperone's hand could have passed between them—but this new closeness made Roger want to freeze this moment and stay there forever. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body, and the soft lines of her side against his hand and wrist made him want to pull her closer, but he dared not. She was sweet and beautiful and he respected her space. Although at the speed he was used to, they should have been in bed by now—or at least on the way there—he relished this change of pace. In the past few days a whole new world had been opened up to him, drastically different than the one he had grown up in, but comforting in its difference. It felt good to give his adrenal glands a rest for a change. As the song ended, they backed away from each other slowly and something caught Lolita's attention. She grabbed Roger's hand and pointed to the edge of the dance floor. "I see Dorothy and Janey over there. Let's go see who they're talking to."

* * *

Inside the duct, Jason could hear sounds echoing from all over the building. He could hear music faintly, but he couldn't tell even what kind of music it was. He slid himself along the duct and found it was remarkably sturdy and didn't make the waffling sound most ducts made as you crawled along in them. The last air duct he had been in hadn't made that sound either. That was only a week ago—or thirty years from now depending on how you looked at it—but either way he had been looking for Max the last time as well. _How many more times am I gonna have to crawl through a dusty ass air duct for this bastard?_

Jason crawled through a wall of heat at an intersection between runs of duct. There was droning coming from one leg of the intersection. Someone had the heat turned on in one of the rooms up ahead. Jason had been crawling east when he came in and figured he must be close to the edge of the building. He turned left at the intersection and noticed light streaming in through a grill up ahead. He tapped the light on his headband lightly against the side of the duct to turn it off and crawled forward. He heard muffled voices as he moved closer.

"Who is this Davenport guy anyway?"

"I don't know man. Some hot shot Brother Powers needs money from to help the Order I guess."

"What do we need help from some pagan Sodomite for?"

"Who says the Whore of Babylon couldn't kill herself?"

"Touche."

_The Order? The ONF? They couldn't exist already, could they?_ That's why the big-wig pulled up in that limo. Max was trying to raise funds for the ONF. So who were these guys that sounded like comic book heroes? But Jason figured, the way Max colored it, they probably felt like comic book heroes. Regardless, this was not good. They would make it harder to get to Max, even this early. Jason crawled slowly over the duct, making sure not to make a sound. As he passed over it he could see a long, wide plank of dark wood that must have been a table. He pressed his face against the grill and saw a few upholstered gray conference chairs. There was a man, about Jason's age, maybe a little younger, in a blue dress shirt, black slacks and a black jacket leaning back in one of the chairs.

"So, when do we take our posts?" the one leaning asked.

"Brother Powers said he'd call us five minutes ahead of time on the walkie," Jason heard from some other part of the room.

The leaning man swiveled and Jason noticed the white gem with the cross in the center on the breast of his jacket. It was the ONF. Jason cursed mentally and sat over the grill. The heat wafted over Jason and he backed up. He didn't want one of them to check the grill to see why it wasn't working. _Max and this Davenport guy must be coming to this room_ , he thought. He doubted they'd be heating the room just for themselves when they had jackets and they were leaving at any minute. He had gotten lucky. They were going to be on this floor. He lay on his stomach and reached behind his back with his left hand. The gun pressed painfully into his belly button, but he quickly grabbed the remote for the car and brought it up in front of him. He was going to have to sit here in this hot, dusty sardine can and wait.

* * *

Davenport stood at the entranceway to the main ballroom but didn't enter. Music boomed through the hall, and Davenport seemed to wince slightly with each bass hit. Everyone was happy and dancing, and the only people standing against the wall were talking and laughing.

"I don't understand these kids," Davenport said as he turned to Max. "All this loud ruckus."

Max lifted his radio to his mouth and pushed the button, "We'll be up in two minutes."

He turned to Davenport and extended his arm around his shoulder. "Shall we get to the business end of things then?"

"Most definitely." Davenport moved toward the elevators led by Max with his entourage in tow.

* * *

Jason watched as the man in the seat got up and walked toward where the door must have been. He heard shuffling and assumed the guy he had been talking too was leaving as well. Jason pressed his face close to the grill but couldn't see the door. They hadn't turned the light or the heat off, so he was sure Max and Davenport were probably on the way here. The ONF was rarely very far from Max at any function. Even this early on, Jason couldn't see why things would be any different.

He wasn't disappointed. "Right this way. Have a seat at the head of the table. There are refreshments here as well if you'd like."

Max.

His voice was less throaty than it had gotten over time, but to Jason it was unmistakable. He pressed the record button on the remote and set it at the edge of the grate.

* * *

Michelle sat in the car looking up at the sky. She closed her eyes and went to a different place. She was surrounded by a structure made entirely of steel beams. Though it was only a large framework, the thick concentration of the impossibly twisted beams formed a metal blanket between her and the stars of the night sky. She ran through winding corridors and across gothic catwalks in confusing geometric patterns. She couldn't tell whether she was fleeing or chasing—she only knew she had to get out of this monstrosity. Suddenly, white flames erupted in front of her and she fell. As she looked up she saw the flames spread up and out, disintegrating the beams that curved around her.

Suddenly she heard a voice in the car with her. "So, exactly how can you be sure these people will remain in the church?"

She snapped her eyes open and looked around the car frantically, but saw no one. Then she noticed the word 'RECORDING...' flashing on the monitor, and she realized the sound was coming from the speakers of the car. She was hearing what was going on inside.

"How do you think boycotts happen? How do you think Kent State happened? These kids want something to believe in. I give them that."

"What is your stake in it?"

"This world is moving into a change. There will be those that survive, and those that do not. I have a plan for survival. Either you can stand with us and survive, or you can choose your fate and fall. This is what I believe. This is what they believe. _Your_ stake is that you can stand to profit greatly in the interim."

* * *

Lolita led Roger through the crowd that was beginning to move to the next song. At the edge of the dance floor Roger saw her roommate with another girl who seemed to have a big grin painted on her face, talking to two guys. "You dance like an angel," Roger heard the taller guy say as they approached.

"I don't know about dancing like angels, but I do take dance classes."

"Really? What kind? I have such a soft spot for dancers."

"Modern Dance. You..." Lolita's roommate stopped as she saw Lolita and Roger approaching.

"Hey," she said looking over to them. "Greg, Chaz, Janey this is my roommate Lolita, and this is Roger." She introduced them all at once, and they all shook hands.

Roger noticed the handshake of the taller guy, Greg, was weak. He didn't like the look of him either. He was too made-up to be a guy. If he was a college student, he looked destined to sell used cars or be a sports agent. But Roger put all that aside—he didn't know the guy. He could be all right. He doubted it—but his new life was all about giving people chances right? He knew the first impressions he gave weren't too keen to a lot of people he came across either. "Nice to meet you," he said, shaking Greg's and the shorter guy, Chaz's, hand.

Janey chimed in, still smiling. Her voice was high pitched and loud, as if she had to project through her grin, "You guys all know there's a picnic tomorrow right?"

Roger nodded, "Yeah, but I can't go. I got some things I gotta take care of at home."

"You're not gonna make it?" Lolita asked, pouting for emphasis.

"I gotta talk to my moms about some things," he said to her, noticing her frown.

"We're still on for tomorrow night though right?"

"Of course."

"What about you guys?" Janey asked, looking at Chaz and Greg.

Chaz mumbled, "Well, I... uh..."

"Are you going to be there?" Greg asked Dorothy, interrupting Chaz's muttering.

"Definitely."

"Then I'll be there."

"Excuse me," Roger said to everyone, backing away, "but I gotta make a pit stop." He turned and walked along the edge of the dance floor to the restroom as the beat picked up again.

* * *

Mr. Davenport sat at the head of the conference table, scanning through the portfolio as he flipped pages. Jeff sat across from Max, near the door.

"As you see, returns are practically guaranteed," Max said as Davenport perused.

"Nothing is guaranteed," Davenport said without looking up.

"True indeed. I'm sure prudence has helped you get to where you are today, but I'm sure a man such as yourself must have taken some risks to rise to the top. _This_ , however, is a low risk investment. Because of the nature of this institution, your contribution counts as a tax deductible donation, and you will be guaranteed certain dividends in the quote—profits—unquote of this organization in dummy purchases to your company."

"What about this donation? Will I be seen as affiliated with this organization?"

"I would see it as a necessity if you want to make the tax deduction."

"I'm not so sure about that."

"Do you go to church?"

"On occasion."

"Then what's the difference?"

"Even though I may not attend every Sunday—because I am a very busy man mind you..."

"Of course."

"...I am a very respected member, and I cherish that respect. I'm not sure how my church might take it."

"Well, that decision is up to you. You could donate it in the name of one of our mission programs or shelters or help groups. You could set yourself up as a philanthropist."

"Philanthropist—I like the sound of that. But I'm still not sure. I have to think about it."

"Look over the portfolio for a moment while I consult with my associate if you don't mind."

"Go right ahead."

Max and Jeff got up and moved into the kitchen.

Jason, as quietly but as quickly as possible, crawled across the grate and over to the grate ahead that looked like it was over the room Max had just walked into. He slid forward on his elbows and knees holding the remote in front of him, still recording.

"I don't know if he's buying in."

"He's a stubborn bastard, isn't he?"

"What do we have to do to get around his paranoia?"

"I don't know. I didn't expect a Barbarian to be this reluctant in the face of easy money."

"He is greedy, but he's also cautious."

"I hope this doesn't take too long, we need his money to replace the money we used to buy those guns." Max pushed the swinging door open slightly and pulled Jeff over toward the refrigerator. Their voices were muffled and blended in more with the refrigerator hum. Jason could barely understand them and he was sure the recording would be terrible. He moved over the grate slowly to try and get directly over them, hoping the remote would pick them up through the base of the duct and the hum of the fridge would be muffled.

Jason put one hand in front of the other, but his sleeve caught on the edge of the grate. He clipped the remote onto his belt and pried his sleeve loose as carefully as he could. He pulled it loose, surprisingly without a sound, and inched forward over the grate. He placed his hands slowly down over the grate being careful not to move too fast. He leaned forward to see if he could gauge their position, but his heart jumped down to his stomach when he didn't feel the support he was expecting under his hands. His eyes widened as he heard the slow creak crescendo, slowly rising in pitch. His fingers locked around the slats in the grate as he anticipated what came next.

The panel squealed open on a hinge. The screws in back held it to the ceiling as Jason rolled into the kitchen over the edge of the grate. His fingers stayed locked as he flipped over, but he lost his grip as his body snapped out of the forward roll and he fell for what felt like too long. He saw Max's mouth freeze in the middle of a word. Max's eyes followed him as he plummeted to the ground with his legs out in front of him. Jason's eyes closed instinctively as his ass bone hit the ground with authoritative force. A ripple of shock spread through his body out from the point of impact. He felt his back collapse to the ground. His ankle protested as his feet plopped onto the tile floor, and the back of his head hit the refrigerator, but the pain that originated at the base of his spine overshadowed any other feeling. All the joints in his body tingled and he squeezed his eyes shut, but that didn't help. He heard himself moan through the ringing in his ears, but he couldn't feel himself doing it.

Then he remembered where he was.

Michelle heard a creaking that sounding like some big decrepit door from some black and white horror movie. There was a shuffling and what sounded like someone hitting a sandbag with a stick. Then more shuffling and a clattering like something heavy was rubbing against the microphone. Whatever was going on in there, it didn't sound good.

"We have to..." Max heard the creak in the ceiling and looked up. He watched, mouth still frozen at the end of 'to', as the ceiling hinged open and a black guy, with big wide eyes and a surgical mask over his face, rolled out of the ceiling and hit the ground butt-first with a muffled thump. The boy bounced slightly then collapsed flat on his back with his head against the refrigerator. Max stood stunned as heard Jeff exclaim, "What the hell!" and walk toward the boy.

"What the hell!" Jason heard as the ringing faded. Before opening his eyes, he rolled to his left side and kicked his right leg in a scissor. His leg collided with something and he felt the thing give under the force of his kick. He opened his eyes as he brought his right leg around in an arc over his body. He saw the man Max had been talking to with his legs in the air over where Jason's stomach was. Jason followed through with his right leg, brought it around, and planted it just in front of his left as he pushed up with his right arm. The momentum sent him up as he saw the guy he had clipped hit the ground head-first. Jason already had his gun drawn as he reached his feet and gained his ground in front of Max with the gun pointed directly at his forehead.

Max saw a purple flash as the man on the floor moved suddenly. He saw Jeff go down hard and he found himself staring down the barrel of a gun. He couldn't hear anything accept the exaggerated sound of the man's breathing behind the surgical mask. He tried to yell for help but his throat refused to make a sound. He tried again, only heard his throat strain, and realized he was holding his breath.

Vince and Fennon stood on either side of the double doors to the conference room and looked at each other as they heard the faint squeaking sound and the odd commotion inside the conference room. "Should we check it out?" Vince whispered to Fennon.

Jeff's cry of "What the hell!" answered the question for him.

The pain in Jason's rear end, ankle, and the warmth building at the back of his skull colored his rising anger as he stared into the horror that passed over Max. He could see the corners of Max's eyes begin to glisten as a bead of sweat formed at the spot on his forehead where the gun was pointed. Jason could see the look on his father's face after his third week in a row of twelve-hour workdays stuffed in an office. He could see the shame in his father's eyes when after all that overtime he still couldn't make ends meet. He could hear the frustration in his mother's voice after coming home from a job at a company she hated to more bills that they couldn't pay. All the years they had built up their lives. They both had college degrees—his father a Masters. They had both been ambitious, hard workers. But because of this motherfucker's vision of a new world, nothing they did seemed to matter.

Jason pulled back the hammer on the gun. He could end this right now. Right now and none of that would happen. Right now and his parents wouldn't have to die feeling like highly educated slaves. All he had to do was flex his finger.

But what if the legend was true? What if Michelle's and this son-of-a-bitches' souls really were linked? He could save the world now, but if the legend was true, who would save his grandchildren?

Jason flipped the hammer back up and heard a shuffling and the thumps of deliberate steps on the other side of the kitchen door. He looked around and saw the coffee maker on the counter behind Max. Jason gnashed his teeth behind the mask and brought the bottom of the gun across Max's head. It connected with his temple and his body stiffened and collapsed forward. Jason tossed the pistol from his right to his left hand then grabbed the almost full, steaming pot of coffee from the coffee maker.

Fennon stood with his back to the conference room wall as Vince ran toward the Dutch door to the kitchen. He watched Vince throw the door open, right hand under his jacket on his side arm, and lunge into the kitchen. There was a sound like someone dropping a handful of beads as pieces of what must have been glass and a spray of dark liquid flew out of the kitchen followed by Vince's body which hit the conference room floor and slid a few feet. Blood began to spread across Vince's forehead and steam rose from the liquid that ran down his jacket in slow rivulets. Davenport's men rushed into the room in time to see Vince's steaming, unconscious body hit the floor. They instantly ran to either side of Davenport, with their hands stuck under their lapels in caution.

Fennon pulled his radio from his belt and pressed the button. "Uh... Uh... we got a situation in the conference room. I need back up now!" Davenport stood and moved slowly past the drink table toward the kitchen.

"What on earth is going on here?" he yelled to Fennon.

"I don't know sir, but we'll handle it."

"Are you okay Mr. Davenport?" the blonde man asked as he grabbed Davenport's shoulder and stepped in front of him.

"I'm fine right now."

Fennon picked up the radio and spoke into it again, "Get up here now!" He clipped the radio back on his belt, drew his gun from his shoulder holster, and moved slowly toward the kitchen.

Jason heard three different voices outside. That was more people than should have been in the room. He couldn't risk going back through the duct—that made the door his only way out. Jason took a flat square from his pants pocket and slipped it into Max's breast pocket then looked around the room again. There was a sink where Max had been standing with dishrags hanging from a bar behind it and a full bottle of dish washing liquid. On the counter to the right of the sink were an unopened package of napkins, a box of large Ziplock bags, and a container of Morton's salt. Jason needed to think of something and he needed to think of it fast.

He threw open the cabinet and found the alcohol storage for the kitchen. There were several bottles of Dom Perignon, Seagram's Gin, Midori and Bicardi 151. He stuck the pistol in his belt behind his back and, without hesitation, he snatched a half-empty bottle of 151 from the counter and screwed off the top. He pulled a Ziplock bag from the box and held the bottle upside down with his left hand, emptying it into the bag as he opened a drawer with his right. Utensils. He opened the drawer next to it as the bottle spat the last of its contents into the bag. There were straws, coasters and long-stem, strike-anywhere matches. Jason took a rag from the sink and stuck one end into the bag. It sank in the rum as Jason clenched the bag shut with his left, then took out a match and struck it against the counter with his right.

As Fennon inched toward the door he heard a gurgling sound inside like someone swallowing something. He moved up to the door, took two hard breaths and grit his teeth. He heard a match strike inside and he held the gun out in front of him. He had only trained seven months for this type of thing and he wasn't ready, but now wasn't the time for that—Brother Powers was in there and he had to get him out. He stepped over Vince's torso and stood between his sprawled legs at the door. He couldn't hear any more noise inside. The nine Facets whizzed through his head in order—Penitence, Purgation, Prudence, Perseverance, Patience, Poise, Proficiency, Potency, Piety. Potency—the exhibition of great power and effect—that was what he needed now. He closed his eyes, said a short prayer and kicked open the door.

Jason stood at arm's length away from the refrigerator just outside the swing of the door. The door came flying open as he expected, bounced off his forearm, then came to rest against whoever had kicked it open. Jason saw the muzzle of a Browning automatic poke past the door and that was his cue. He took in deep breath the kicked with all the force in his body as he exhaled. He felt the body behind the door reel with the force of the kick and he leaned against the door and rolled on it into the conference room. He flung the makeshift Molotov out with his left at the man closest to him as the guy behind the door—the guy he had seen sitting in the chair—fell on top of the first ONF guy.

The blonde man in the suit next to the drink table reached for his gun, but the Ziplock bag hit him in the chest and spat flaming rum over his arms and chest. Specks of flame hit the drinks and extinguished with a sizzle as other specks hit the table and chair. The tiny fires on the table burned out, slowly bubbling the finish on the table as the flames on the chair grew and spread slowly across the upholstery.

The blonde man leapt backward instinctively and the potbellied man behind him—probably Davenport—jumped to the side, almost sitting on the drink table, to get out of his way. The blonde man fell flailing onto the floor, knocking the burning conference chair back against the wall and lay there thrashing and swatting at the light blue, almost transparent flames on his chest and arms.

Jason followed his motion and stepped through the door onto one of the bodies and flung the empty Bicardi bottle with his right at the dark haired guy in the suit. The bottle connected with his chin just as he pulled his gun. It fell onto the end of the table and spun.

Jason felt his right ankle roll as he put his weight on it and it slid awkwardly off the ONF guy's body, but he didn't have time to feel the pain. As the dark haired guy at the head of the table stumbled back against the wall, Jason stepped toward the table and dove forward, tucking his head, and rolling across the table, smothering a few of the flames. He extended his body as he came out of the roll and saw the dark haired man bounce off the wall. The man recovered somewhat and brought his gun around, but Jason was already at the edge of the table swinging his right leg around. He caught the inside of the man's trigger hand at the wrist and the gun flipped out of his hand into the burning chair. Jason quickly brought his right leg up before the man could react and caught him under the chin just above his throat. The man's head snapped up and back and he slumped against the wall unconscious.

Jason saw Davenport pouring water from a pitcher on the burning man. He rolled onto his right hip, kicked his left leg out and back, and spun onto his stomach toward Davenport, snatching up the still spinning Bicardi bottle. He followed through the spin and brought the bottle hard across the pitcher and through to Davenport's temple. Davenport fell hard to his right as the water erupted out in all directions, sizzling and popping as it hit the burning chair and carpet. Jason dropped the rum bottle, and still lying on his stomach on the table, saw the blonde man, patches of shirt and jacket charred and burnt through, stirring to get up. That was when he heard the reinforcements at the door.

Peter and Terrance ran to the edge of the conference room door with their guns drawn. They had no idea what was going on, but it smelled like something was burning. Peter flattened his back to the wall at the edge of the doorway and Terrance waited, covering him. There was a sound like someone hitting something soft with an aluminum bat, then a sound like someone dropping a sponge. An order belted over their radios in an authoritative but flustered voice, "Don't let the party members see the guns. Keep this thing contained on the third floor if you can." Peter tightened his grip on his gun then looked to Terrance. Terrance nodded and Peter rolled into the room with his gun in front of him.

Jason heard a radio go off outside but couldn't focus enough to understand it. Only the words 'third floor' came out clearly. This floor was probably the third.

His only way out was the first. Jason grabbed the edge of the table with both hands and flipped himself forward. He landed with his left knee on the blonde man's crotch and the other on his throat. He heard the man gagging as he snatched a Caffeine Free Diet Pepsi from the counter with his left hand. He rotated to his left and saw a gun coming around the corner. He spun completely, bringing his right leg around and dragging it across the blonde man's throat and head. Jason's ankle rubbed awkwardly against the man's face but it didn't protest.

As the gunman rounded the corner, Jason released the Pepsi at where he estimated his head would be. The Pepsi caught him directly in the mouth, snapping his head back. Jason drew the pistol from his back as he completed his turn and fired three rounds at the doorframe. The gunman recoiled from the Pepsi, fell on his butt in the hallway, and then scrambled away from the doorway like a scared alley cat as the shots tore into the wall in front of him.

Jason waited there for a second or two until the man under him stopped squirming. He moved to the side next to the chair that was completely engulfed in flames. He kept the gun trained on the doorway but no one else came in.

"Major Streck, we need someone else up here! Whoever is up here has a gun!" he heard echo in the hall. _Great_. He was pinned in here and they were calling for more back-up. He didn't think there could be many more, but he didn't think he could last much longer without having to kill someone. Jason took the Glock from the blonde man's shoulder holster and, recognizing it as a Glock, stopped himself as he moved to flip off the safety. He really needed to get the hell out of here.

Peter could taste the blood slowly filling his mouth. He could feel one of his front teeth dangling by a nerve as he scrambled around Terrance who was calling for more back up. Peter stood from the floor only to collapse back first against the wall. He held his mouth with his left hand as pain the likes of which he only associated with getting kicked in the groin throbbed across his jaw line. Terrance watched the gold Pepsi can roll across the floor as it shot out a fountain of Pepsi in two streams, then looked at Peter, his own eyes wide with fear.

Jason could feel the heat coming off the burning chair as he slid over to it. The heat around it was almost enough to singe his flesh, but Jason ducked under the flaming upholstery and began pushing it around the table. He looked under the table at the doorway, but no one charged in. He must have had them scared, but there wouldn't be much time before their back up arrived. Jason didn't want to have to deal with any one whose name was preceded by Major. Most of the ONF had been trained by Marines. He was sure it would have been no different even this early. He needed to get out of this room in a hurry.

Jason pushed the chair around the head of the table and saw the Pepsi can just outside the door, a pool of bubbling soda spreading across the doorway around it. That gave him an idea.

"Where is Major Streck?" Terrance exclaimed more than asked. Peter shook his head and mumbled as blood trailed out the corner of his mouth. Terrance was holding his gun so tightly he could feel sweat building under his fingers. "What does this guy want?" he spat out. "I'm going in." Terrance lifted the gun up to his chin and prepared to roll into the doorway, but just as he planted his shoulder on the edge of the doorframe a wave of heat washed over him and a conference room chair, completely consumed in flames, rolled out of the room. Terrance leapt back from the doorway away from the flames as the chair hit the Pepsi can and came to a stop just outside the doorway. Peter fired a nervous shot at the chair as it rolled from the room. Terrance shielded his face from the flames with his left arm. "What the..." The end of his cry was drowned out by a gunshot as the man inside came sliding out the door under the flaming chair.

Jason slid through the puddle on his chest, and as his momentum carried him under the chair, he turned on his left shoulder. With the Glock in his left hand, he fired three shots at the wall beside the two ONF guards standing next to it. In a panic they stumbled against each other and Jason took advantage of their distress. As he slid from under the chair, he kicked the bottom of it, sending a shower of tiny, glowing bits of burning foam over them in a cascade as the chair fell over onto the guard next to the door.

Jason turned onto his back as he came to a stop, planted his right hand next to his head and pushed, rolling himself over to his feet. He turned to run down the hall and his left foot slipped in the pool of soda. Jason threw his right foot under him to compensate and it came down hard, sending a swath of pain u p his leg. He noticed the ONF guy that was next to the door thrashing wildly, trying to get the burning chair away from him and the other, who was yelling with a mouth full of blood, trying to put out flames that had caught on the cuff of his pants. Jason fired across his body at the wall over their heads and they both collapsed in a confused heap of flailing arms and legs as the chair rolled over between them and Jason. Jason pushed off his right leg with considerable pain and launched himself into a sprint. The hall behind him led around the corner, but the stairs were most likely in this direction since that was obviously where they had come from. Jason could see a banister down the hall to his right and an alcove just beyond it with a water fountain. _That must lead to the stairs_. He could hear someone scrambling up the stairs as he approached and he drew his gun from his back with his right hand. Just as Jason reached the point where the banister met the wall, he saw the back of two men's heads coming up the stairs. They turned as they neared the top of the staircase, but Jason was already vaulting to his right over the banister. They looked in time to see him open fire—a rapid volley of eight shots alternating from each hand as he flew over the banister and landed on the stairs favoring his left leg, but still feeling the pain in his right ankle. The two men dove into the hallway as the volley knocked chips of plaster from the wall behind them. Jason quickly turned and bounded down the stairs firing two more shots behind him for good measure. He hit the landing at the bottom of the stairs and continued down to the first floor.

Major Streck had barely had time to see the man in the purple sweatshirt and doctor's mask before he had bounded over the railing. He had barely had time to grab Joseph and dive into the hallway before the double-fisted salvo erupted from the masked man as he landed behind them. Streck flattened and pressed Joseph to the ground as he covered the top of the staircase with his .44 revolver. Two more gunshots hit the wall behind them as the man retreated.

Streck rolled to his back, still covering the stairs with his left hand and pulled his radio to his mouth. "Varson, Jackson, Murray, he's headed your way. Be careful, he's armed. But don't use your weapons around any of the civilian members no matter what."

Jason could feel his own hot, hurried breaths rebounding from the surgical mask as he hit the first floor landing. He glanced over his shoulder as he turned the corner into the hallway but no one was behind him. He turned right at the outlet to the hallway and sprinted. As he reached the end of the hall he heard footsteps mingled with his own, and he saw the black arm of an ONF jacket rounding the corner.

Jason dropped onto his butt and extended his left foot in front of him just as the guy in the jacket rounded the corner. He turned his foot and took the guy's legs with him as he slid into the hall. Jason's momentum carried him under the guy and he turned and pointed both guns down the hall as he came to a stop in the center. Jason heard the guy he had slide-tackled collapse on the hard floor behind him. He pulled his legs under him and tucked his guns—the Glock in front, the Beretta behind—and then tucked his head and forward rolled. His feet hit the ground running as he heard the ONF guy behind him scrambling to his feet and yelling "Come on he's here!"

Damnation. The two from the stairs must be coming to. Jason ran down the hall and turned at the end into a large ballroom filled with loud music and what must have been COG members dancing and fellowshipping. Jason glanced down the hall and saw the three ONF members, two younger ones and an older one—probably Streck—at the end of the hall running.

Jason turned back in time to see the milk crate filled with records that was already under foot as he passed the DJ table. Jason flew through the air a good six feet into the midst of the dancing kids, sending a shower of LP's into the air behind him. He hit the dance floor chest first as if he were sliding into home as dancers cleared out of his way to the tune of gasps and startled screams. Jason floundered to his feet in the midst of them and he thought he heard someone ask if he was all right as he pushed past a guy with a drink who looked like a football player.

Major Streck hurried into the ballroom just as the music stopped. The DJ jumped in front of him voicing distress as he scurried around trying to recover what looked like albums scattered over the dance floor. Streck scanned the ballroom and saw a path clearing through the dance floor in a symphony of "Heys!" and "Watch its!" Streck pointed to the wake coursing through the crowd and ran through it after its source.

Jason's feet slipped at the edge of the dance floor on a wet spot and he fluttered his arms to keep his balance as he slid to the carpet. He regained his equilibrium at the carpet and continued toward the door. There were only a few people scattered between the exit and the dance floor. Jason drew the remote and held it in front of his face. He flipped a blue guard panel up with his thumb and pressed the button under it. It was hard to run and look at the remote at the same time, but Jason didn't have time to spare. The small screen on the remote flickered on and showed a green monochrome image of a line of trees at the end of a field.

Michelle sat in the car with her arms folded. She was beginning to get tired and the yelling and screaming she heard in the car's speakers worried her—not to mention the gunshots. Suddenly the car's engine engaged and she saw the gear shift switch from park to drive as the rest of the dash lit up. The monitor showed an image in shades of green of what was in front of her and the word 'REMOTE' flashed in the upper left-hand corner. She heard the car's wheels squeal and was thrown against the door as the car pitched forward, the rear end whipped around, and it pointed at the complex of buildings. The car's tires caught and Michelle was thrown back against the seat as it dashed directly toward the buildings. The car hit the curb at the end of the parking lot hard and sent a spine-rattling shiver through Michelle as it hopped into the air, landed hard on the lawn, and continued toward the complex. Michelle gritted her teeth together and gripped the sides of her seat tightly with both hands. She remembered not to get out of the car no matter what happened, but she hadn't expected anything like this.

Roger wondered why the music had stopped as he emerged form the bathroom. He walked back to the ballroom and saw everyone standing still on the dance floor as some freak in a breathing mask ran toward him fooling with some black thing in his hand. He saw Major Streck, with two other Order supervisors come out of the crowd of confusion on the dance floor after the freak in the mask.

"Stop him!" he heard the Major yell through the ruckus and he quickly ducked to the side of the exit.

Jason watched the image on the screen getting closer to the back of the building and he turned the jog knob to the left slightly and the image began to track left. "Stop him!" he heard behind him, but beyond the remote he saw only the exit. Jason ran through the exit at full speed, but something caught him hard and swift across his wrists and forced them into his chest. He felt his legs fly from under him and his head going back toward the floor. He tucked his head up, but his shoulders hit hard and the force carried the back of his head to the floor any way. Jason felt the Berretta dig painfully into his spine and the air in his lungs evacuate with a wheeze. His vision fuzzed for a moment but he saw the light from the screen on the remote flickering in the air above him.

Michelle gripped the seat tighter as the car began to turn in the grass. Just as the car turned to face the control tower, it twisted violently back to the right, pinning her against the shoulder strap on the seat belt. She saw the world in front of her blur as the car spun wildly to its right like a top. She saw the buildings go by once, then twice, the she was thrown against the door as the car came to a stop facing the tree line it had faced when it was parked.

Jason could hear the muffled sound of footsteps getting closer. He had to do something fast. He saw the right leg of the person who had been hiding behind the wall come down. This bastard had kicked him. It was a black guy, about

Jason's height and build, and he was hopping forward, bringing his left foot toward him like he was a place kicker and Jason's head was the football.

Jason threw his arms in front of his head in a cross and they pressed against his head with the force of the kick. He heard what must have been the remote clattering to the ground and saw the glow of its screen facing up just beyond his feet.

Jason clenched his right fist tightly, remembering the days of board-breaking in his kung fu dojo. He pulled it back and snapped it forward, turning his knuckle down as it flew. His knuckle connected with the shin of the leg that had kicked him and he followed through, knocking the leg back. He heard the kid wail and brought his arm across his body then back again, driving his elbow into the side of his right knee. As the boy collapsed, Jason planted his hands by his head and pushed as he popped up to his feet. He could almost feel the footsteps behind him now, and though his hearing wasn't muffled any more, there was still some fuzz in his vision and the back of his head was throbbing like a son-of-a- bitch. Jason dove forward at the remote and tucked his head as he grabbed it, snatching it up and falling into a roll. He rolled up to his feet and was already running, but his three pursuers were right behind him. He pulled the remote up again and ran down the hall.

Michelle looked around wondering what had just happened. She heard the door locks disengage and saw the gear shift switch up into reverse, but before she could brace herself she was thrown forward into the seat belt. She saw the tree line recede as blades of grass kicked up on the windshield and hood and the complex passed by on the left. The car bounded again as it hit something and Michelle bounced from the seat belt to the seat then was caught by the belt again. She heard tires and brakes squeal as the car hit the ground again and spun to a stop in the service road, facing the parking lot in front of the complex.

Jason's lungs felt as though they were pumping fire instead of oxygen but he had to keep going. He could see the parking lot in the small screen on the remote as he rounded the edge of the hall at full speed. He could see the exit around the edge of the remote and as he jogged the remote to the right, he saw the other side of the front doors come into view.

Jason prayed that if some of the doors were locked, he hit one of the ones that was open. Jason took his thumb off the gas button and moved it over the button that controlled the brake but didn't press it. As Jason reached the doors he felt a finger brush against his back and heard a grunt behind him. Jason turned left instinctively and saw the guy who he had slide-tackled fly by and slide across the ground. Jason saw that the first panel of glass was not a door, but it was too late. He glanced down at the remote, saw where the car was, grit his teeth and lowered his shoulder.

Michelle was gripped the seat and was buried into the back of it again as the car screamed toward the entrance to the building. She saw Jason charge out of the building in an explosion of safety glass. Nuggets of glass flew through the air and across the ground in a fan as Jason ran down the sidewalk with two men in black jackets only steps behind him. Michelle was thrown forward as the car braked suddenly and skidded forward on a collision course with Jason.

Jason felt the safety glass cascade around him as he lunged out the building. He didn't know how close the ONF was now, but he didn't want to look. He saw the car coming and pressed down hard on the brake button. The wheels locked and the car screeched in protest as it slid. Jason ran full speed into the road as the car slid in front of him and his body rolled awkwardly across the hood. He lost his bearings in the roll but managed to land on his feet on the other side. He looked, saw the door was already open, grabbed it and jumped inside. With his left leg still sticking out the car and his head by the gearshift he engaged the locks and pressed the gas button on the remote. The car peeled and Jason's body rolled against the back of the seat. The car sped away from the entrance and he pulled himself up into the seat. He tossed the remote into Michelle's lap and grabbed the real steering wheel. He turned the wheel hard, sending the car into a slide at the end of the parking lot and closing his door with the centripetal force. In the rearview mirror he saw the younger ONF member draw his gun and the older one pull his arm back down. Jason snatched the surgical mask from his face and breathed hard quick breaths. His lungs were still burning and the throbbing pain in the back of his head was only surpassed by the sharp stabbing pain in his right ankle. Jason hit the curb at the end of the parking lot, bounced and drove across the lawn to the exit road.

"What the hell happened back there?" he heard Michelle ask as he turned toward the opening in the trees that led to the road.

"I'm not even sure myself." The car hopped over the curb and fishtailed onto the exit road. Jason floored the accelerator and the car careened toward the green light at the end of the road.

"Well, are you okay at least?"

Jason looked at her, then back at the road. "No."

* * *

Max slouched in a conference room chair pressing a Ziplock bag full of ice to his temple. Davenport sat next to him doing the same. "Why aren't the police here yet?" he asked, flustered.

"Because no one called them," Max said calmly. He was beginning to get sick of Davenport. He acted like a middle-aged four-year-old and the tantrum he was about to throw would be too much at this point.

"We at least need to call an ambulance for my men," he said, ranting.

"I'll have someone drive you and your men to the hospital, but we can't call the paramedics."

"Why not?"

"Because if the paramedics come in here and see this place they'll call the police. The last thing you or I want is the police and the inevitable media prying into this."

"Well someone needs to get to the bottom of this!"

"And I will as soon as we clean up here. Besides, that's where your contribution comes in. It will allow us to better handle situations like this and get to the bottom of them."

"What did that person want anyway?"

"I have no idea. Maybe he was just a thief—maybe not. But this is the exact thing I need that money for. We will make the money over time, but as you can see, we can use it now."

"Why does a church have this happening to them?"

"I don't know, maybe he was just a thief and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but either way, any large organization needs protection. I just want the protection to be protection from within that lean trust."

"We should talk about this at a later time."

"Well, you have the projections, look them over and we can set up a meeting to finalize things."

"I'll have to think about it. But this time I designate the meeting place."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Next weekend there is a Kismet Foundation charity banquet and ball in Virginia Beach. I'm one of the speakers there and there will be plenty of security just in case our little visitor wasn't just a thief. Come to the banquet and we can discuss the terms of the deal afterward."

Jason pulled off the highway at the Hull Street exit and turned into the parking lot of Super Fresh groceries. He parked between two cars in front of the Rite Aid next to the grocery store and left the car running. Jason reached beside his seat and let the seat back. He exhaled deeply and coughed as he lay back with his eyes closed.

"You hurt bad?" Michelle asked.

He opened his eyes then looked at her. "Nothing a long vacation wouldn't cure." He tore the surgical mask from his neck and looked at it. The fibers on the outside were gray with dust. He held it up for Michelle to see. "That's why I wore the mask."

Michelle took it and turned it in the light streaming down on them from a lamp in the parking lot. "Gross."

"Normally _that_ gets in your lungs."

"So, you still haven't told me what happened. It sounded like A1 Capone in Beirut from here."

"It didn't sound much better in there. I was listening in on Max and some guy named Davenport. Max goes into another room to discuss the meeting with his partner Jeff. I moved to the vent over the kitchen and the damn thing just folded open like it wasn't nailed in properly or something. So I fell ass first into the middle of the kitchen and had to fight my way out. Davenport's bodyguards took it pretty quickly, but the worst thing was Max has already started the ONF."

"You mean he has that military group already?"

"Yeah, but they're a bunch of kids now. He couldn't have had them for long. They were pretty green."

"How's your ankle?"

"Huh?"

"Your ankle. What happened back there sounded like couldn't have been good for your ankle."

"How'd you know about my ankle?"

"You told me yesterday remember—in the library."

"Oh, well, it's not happy."

"There's a drug store right there, you should get some Tylenol or something."

"I'll be fine."

"Did you get what you needed?"

"Not exactly, but..." Jason pressed a button just above the monitor.

"...come in here and see this place they'll call the police. The last thing you or I want is the police and the inevitable media prying into this."

"That's Max," Jason added quietly, lifting his leg into the seat to massage his ankle.

"Well someone needs to get to the bottom of this!"

"And I will as soon as we clean up here. Besides, that's where your contribution comes in. It will allow us to better handle situations like this and get to the bottom of them."

"I think the other guy is Davenport," Jason said almost in a whisper.

"What did that person want anyway?"

"I have no idea. Maybe he was just a thief—maybe not. But this is the exact thing I need that money for. We will make the money over time, but as you can see, we can use it now."

"Is this happening now?" Michelle asked, staring at the word recording flashing over the map as if it were talking to her.

Jason nodded, and then winced as he rubbed a soft spot on his ankle.

"Why does a church have this happening to them?"

"I don't know, maybe he was just a thief and we were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but either way, any large organization needs protection. I just want the protection to be protection from within that lean trust."

"We should talk about this at a later time."

"Well, you have the projections, look them over and we can set up a meeting to finalize things."

"I'll have to think about it. But this time I designate the meeting place."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Next weekend there is a Kismet Foundation charity banquet and ball in Virginia Beach. I'm one of the speakers there and there will be plenty of security just in case our little visitor wasn't just a thief. Come to the banquet and we can discuss the terms of the deal afterward."

Jason's eyes widened.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

**September 21,** 1991

Jason knocked on Michelle's door at nine again. She opened the door and he limped into her room.

"How's the ankle?" she asked. She was in sweatpants and a sweatshirt and her hair was tied haphazardly over her head. Jason noticed that even like that, with no makeup, she was still beautiful.

"Stiff," he said. He pointed to the bed. "You mind if I sit?"

"Go right ahead." Michelle closed the door behind him and sat at her desk. "I was just sending an e-mail to Daerick about his story."

"Tell him I said it's great," Jason added, squinting one eye as he massaged his ankle.

"Exactly how should I word that?"

"Leave out the 'guy from the future' part."

Michelle smiled and turned back to her computer. Jason hadn't seen a smile like that since Kim, but he pushed that thought out of his mind as fast as it came.

"I need to do research on that Kismet Foundation."

"You can probably find information on it at the library. You can go with me when I go to work."

"When's that?"

"Twelve."

"So I have some time then." Jason tried to move his ankle around but it resisted with considerable pain.

Michelle turned and noticed the pain in his face. "You know Tylenol'll clear that right up."

"You know my stance on Tylenol."

"Your stance?" Michelle said inside a giggle. "It's a pain killer not a political decision."

Jason shrugged off the comment as he rolled down his sock to check his ankle for bruises. "You mind if I use your bathtub? I could really stand to soak for a bit."

"Go right ahead. But be forewarned, I only have girlie soap."

Jason stood up to test his weight on his ankle. "How girlie?"

"Uh, I think there's Apple Passion and Vanilla Bliss. I'm out of Peach Orchard. But those are your only choices." Michelle held her hands up and shrugged.

Jason stuck out his bottom lip and blew air into his nostrils, then teetered from one foot to the other, squinting every time he teetered to the right. After yesterday, he could stand a more thorough cleansing than he could get in the Magnesson Hall restroom. Michelle goaded him on, "A nice hot bath will do that ankle well." She smiled at him over her shoulder as she typed.

He sat back on the bed. "Great, so I can either limp around like Popeye's dad, or I can walk around smellin' like Strawberry Shortcake."

"S'your choice."

Jason looked at the wall in front of him. The bear on the calendar mocked him. "Popeye's dad always scared me, so I guess I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth, even if his breath does smell like Vanilla Bliss." Jason lifted himself up with his good leg and hobbled toward the bathroom.

"Wait, you don't know who Mr. Rogers is, but you know Popeye and Strawberry Shortcake?"

"Yeah, just about the only thing I can stand to watch on TV is cartoons. They got these two channels that show cartoons all day and, one shows all these old-school cartoons. Strawberry Shortcake is actually one of my favorites."

Michelle looked over her shoulder at him again. "One minute you're maiming people, the next you're talking about cartoons. You're a strange animal Jason Dyer."

"That's what my psych, evaluations keep telling me."

Michelle was still smiling as he closed the bathroom door.

* * *

Roger could see his mother's heart breaking when he told her he was leaving.

"Why," she asked. He could tell she was trying to hold back her emotion as she sat on the couch, staring at the television. Her eyes filled with the reds, greens, and blues from the television, but he could tell she was seeing something else.

"I jes' feel like I need to move on ma, I got a new job, and I'm gonna move in wit some new friends..."

"But what about us?" She asked, changing the channel with the remote. "What about the family?"

"I ain't _leaving_ ma, I'm jes' movin'. I feel like I need to be my own man now. The place we're gettin's jes' over off'a Chamberlayne. An' I'll be makin' enough money so I can still take care'a you and Frida."

His mother changed the channel again, her eyes still focused on the screen. "You ain't in no trouble is you boy?"

"Ma, this is pra'ly the first time I ain't in trouble." She looked away from the screen at him and he could see her holding back tears behind her eyes. "I'm doin' right, ma. For once I'm doin' right."

Roger couldn't tell how long they looked at each other, but this was the closest he had been to his mother in a long time. He lifted his duffel bag up to his shoulder and his mother turned back to the television without another word. "I'll be back later for the rest of my stuff." He made his way past the television to the door. As he let the door close behind him, he didn't see his mother cry.

* * *

Greg sat on a bench in the park as some freckle-faced geek prattled on about prayer in schools. Greg could barely hear what he was saying. He was focused on the sounds around him, the other church members and students playing volleyball and Frisbee, searching for Dorothy. She had said she was helping to set up, so she should have been here by now.

He looked around the park, and then he saw her as the geek sitting across from him rattled on about God in children's lives. He moved over to the basketball court where she was taking shots with three guys. She was actually pretty good. She shot the ball like she knew what she was doing, and she looked like she was a better shot than two of the guys.

She shot the ball and waved as she saw Greg moving over to the court. She was wearing tights and basketball shoes and what looked like a bathing suit. Her hair was tied in back and she was wearing a Nike jacket that hung slightly over her shoulders as she moved. Greg felt his stomach tighten as blood rushed to his crotch. He wanted to lap her up like a bowl of warm milk. She shrugged the jacket back up as he approached. "Hey," she said with a smile.

Max and Jeff sat at the corner of the park with a bench to themselves. "You know they're having problems up at the Farm right? They're wondering why they haven't heard from you in a while."

Max turned to face Jeff. "I've been sending money every week. What more do they want?"

"They might like to hear from you every now and then."

"You know why I don't like to call. I don't want to risk being associated. I can't afford it." Max looked down at the shadows of the trees playing across the table. "The church can't afford it."

"Well, I guess they had a fire last night. It wasn't that big, but they all got a little worked up, it coming so soon after the flooding."

Max looked over the crowd of kids playing throughout the park. "They'll be okay. God is watching over them."

A volleyball crashed through the trees, bounced off the table and rolled back toward the volleyball court. Jared ran over and snatched up the ball. "Sorry Brother Powers," he said, waved, and then turned and jogged back to the court. Max waved as he turned.

"You have any ideas about what to do if Davenport folds?" Jeff asked, twisting a leaf around his middle finger.

"Yeah. I'm sure of my backup, but it's highly dubious. It involves a lot of work on our part. I just pray that sodomite Davenport doesn't pull out. He already knows too much."

Jeff nodded as Max looked over the park again. He saw a tall boy walking over to the basketball court and he had the aura. It wasn't strong, but it was there.

Suddenly, Dorothy turned and started moving toward them, and the tall boy picked up a ball and started shooting with the other guys on the court.

Dorothy walked up the hill and waved to Jeff. "Hi Brother Brinkman," she said as she stepped into the shadows that stretched over the bench.

"Brother Powers, I have a question."

"What is it Dorothy?"

"Greg wants to know if he can go out with me. I didn't know if it was okay or not since he hasn't been to a service yet."

Max looked around her to the court as the tall boy took a shot and made it, the dim light still surrounding him. "The tall guy you were talking to, he's Greg?"

"Yeah. He seems pretty nice, and he said he'd come to service tomorrow." Dorothy rocked back and forth from her toes to her heels. She nervously bit the corner of her lower lip. Max could tell she wanted him to say yes. That was good.

"He was at the party last night wasn't he?"

Dorothy nodded. "Lolita and I met him yesterday in the center of campus."

Max paused and rubbed his chin between his thumb and forefinger watching the soft rays dance around Greg as he passed the ball to Vince.

"I'll tell you what. There's this banquet next week for this charity called the Kismet Foundation, and I need two or three members to go. If Greg—that was his name right?" Dorothy nodded. "Well, if Greg will come to service tomorrow and Bible study this week, if you want him to, he can escort you to the banquet, and I'll make the donation for your tickets."

Dorothy stood straight up on her toes and smiled. "Thanks Brother Powers," she said, then turned, still on her toes, and bounded back down the hill toward the basketball court.

"What was that all about?" Jeff asked with concern in his voice.

Max looked at him. "Don't worry about it. I've got a feeling about it. God's watching out for us."

* * *

Michelle shuffled slowly through the stacks, weary from the previous night's events. She hadn't done that much physically, but her brain was tired. The whole nature of this situation was taxing. Her entire view of the world had changed since just last week. Things were happening that she only saw in movies or read about in Daerick's stories.

And Jason.

Jason was unbelievable. He was everything she could want from a guy. He was good looking. Despite his disposition, he had a boyish cuteness about him, but at the same time, he was tough. She felt completely safe around him. Like nothing could touch her as long as he was around. He didn't talk like most tough guys she had known. He was aware of his weaknesses, but he didn't wallow in them when things got rough. And he was intelligent. She loved the way he talked about things, like he was sure of his thoughts and emotions. He was stable, yet exciting at the same time. She had only known him for two days, but she found herself missing him. It felt strange. She could barely prove to herself that he existed—he shouldn't exist—but she still missed him.

She walked past one of the study desks nestled in an alcove where a student was hunched over a book. At first, out the corner of her eye, she thought it was Franklin, but as she turned, she saw he had more hair, was larger around the waist and arms, and his glasses were a different color. He was grumbling over something in a textbook as he scanned over lines with a pen. Michelle moved on before he looked up, but as she turned, she heard a loud thump behind her. " _Ta'ma'de!_ "

Something in that book didn't make him too happy. Michelle wheeled the empty cart over to the wall of the elevator shaft and got another one. She wheeled the new cart to the RQ-RT section in the corner. She began filing various books on herbal medicine back onto the shelf.

She had shelved all the books from this section and was about to turn when she felt the air shift behind her.

She turned and she felt the air leave her body in a gasp as she saw a figure standing behind her. She took a step back, bumping into the cart, but it was only Jason.

"What are you tryin' to do to me?" she said, recovering slowly from her fear.

"Sorry, it's a habit. You know, sneaking around, crawling in air ducts. I guess _I_ do carry my work home with me."

Even though he had scared the steaming piss out of her, she was happy to see him. "I thought you were Crazy Garfield?"

"You thought I was who?"

"Crazy Garfield. He's this weird stalker guy that sneaks up on girls in the stacks and jerks off."

"If you guys know who he is, why do you let him in here?"

"Only a few people have actually seen him. I saw him once, runnin' out of the stacks after some girl screamed. We call him Garfield because he's got this wide grin like the cartoon cat."

"I'm not sure I follow, but that's okay." Jason took a thin book from the cart. "You know, if anyone ever bothers you in here, you got a million burly weapons around you."

"What are you talking about?"

"The books. Look." Jason lifted the book up, holding the spine in his hand. He pointed the top corner of the open side slowly toward her face. "There's the point," he turned so she could see the edges of the cover and the pages, "and the slats from the cover." He took a step toward her. "You attack with these and hit joints and vitals. Eyes, nose, throat, inside elbow, back of the knee, crotch, asshole. You'd be surprised how much damage you can cause with a hardback book."

Michelle took the book from him and stared at it, turning it in her hand, looking at the corners and the sides of the cover. "Did you just sit around and think about this stuff when you were a kid?"

"I sit around and think about this stuff now."

Michelle put the book on the shelf in its proper spot and shook her head. "You really are a character Jason Dyer."

Jason shrugged, and Michelle noticed the small stack of papers in his hand. "What's that?" she asked.

"Oh, it's info on the Kismet Foundation. They're this group that funds homeless shelters and those overseas sponsorship programs where they send you the little pictures of the kids. They have this banquet every year. It's a fancy black tie type deal where you pay like a hundred, five hundred, or a thousand per seat. They're having one next weekend at the Virginia Beach Hilton."

"Who do you have to be to get into one of these banquets?"

"Well, it looks like anyone can go. You just have to know about it and fork over the dough. I'm thinking we should go and try to get Max when he and Davenport have their little meeting. I have a feeling they'll have as few people around as possible then."

"How are we gonna get into that place. I don't have an evening gown that fits me anymore. Even if I did have a hundred bucks to dish out for some bland ass hotel food."

"I'll take care of that, don't worry about it."

"What are you gonna do, rob a bank?"

"Not exactly. Look, there are a couple more things I want to look up. You get off soon right?"

"Yeah."

"Then I'll meet you outside when you get off."

Jason turned to walk toward the elevator. When he stepped into the aisle he heard someone to his right scream. " _Cao_!"

Jason turned his head in time to see a textbook flying toward it, flapping with a rustle. Jason ducked instinctively, but the book caught his shoulder and tumbled over his back. Jason furrowed his brow and rubbed his shoulder. A chubby student jumped up from a desk and moved toward him, " _Dui bu qi_ , _dui bu qi_ ," the student said frantically.

_"Mei guan xi_ ," Jason said, taking his hand from his shoulder.

The student scrambled and picked up the textbook. " _Dui bu qi_ ," he said again and ran back to his seat.

Jason turned to Michelle who was staring at him slack jawed. "What did you say to him?" she asked, startled.

"I said it was okay. Although I don't think he needed to prove my point about books causing damage." He rubbed his shoulder again.

"You speak Chinese?"

"I understand it a lot better than I speak it. I'd rather just sit around and eavesdrop than have a conversation, but lean understand enough to function as an above average tourist, and know when someone's insulting me."

_"So what if someone said_ , ' _Ni zhen ta'ma'de cao dan_?"

"Well if that guy had said that to me after throwing that book, I probably would have slapped him to the ground and stomped his _dan_ to bleed."

"Wow, you really do understand. Why didn't you tell me?"

"It's not exactly something that pops up in casual conversation."

"How'd you learn?"

"I took four semesters of it in college. I figured it might be good because I was really into eastern philosophy."

"Cool." Michelle looked down at the unshelved books on the cart. "Look, you better go before the Dragon Lady comes down here."

"Your boss? You should be more afraid of Guy Montag over there." Jason pointed to the student who was still grumbling over his book.

Jason turned to leave again, but Michelle stopped him. "Y'know, I can't do it today or tomorrow, but we should go and just hang out one night."

Jason stopped, and turned slowly, like his mind had tripped on something, "Okay," he said, slightly unsure. Then his expression relaxed to a slight smile. "Sounds good."

* * *

The evening shadows were long and haunting as Roger and Lolita walked through Bryan Park.

"You like this place?" Roger asked, trying not to sound too judgmental. The wind swept fallen leaves around them as it rustled through the trees.

"Yeah, I like the sound the trees make, it's relaxing. Why, you don't like it?"

"It ain't that, it's jes' I heard all kinds'a shady stuff goes on here."

"I guess I've heard the same thing. I don't really like coming through here alone, but I don't really come here to look at other people. It just like the way this place feels. It's a good break from school every now and then."

Something caught Roger's eye. He looked up and saw a lamp post flickering to life. "How was the picnic?" Roger asked.

"It was pretty cool. I had fun, but I was tired after helping set up." She looked up at the light too. "I wish you could have come though."

"I hate I missed it, but I had to talk to my moms about moving." They walked through a particularly dark glade and their hands brushed together as the wind kicked up again. Roger saw her opening her mouth to comment and changed the subject. "So, what ya studyin' over at VCC?"

"Sociology," Lolita answered, looking at the ground.

"Sociology. I always wondered what that was. Is that like psychology?"

"A little. It's like psychology of groups of people."

"That's kinda cool."

"It's all right, it's interesting. What about you? How come you didn't go to college? I mean, not that it's bad, I'm just curious."

The sky seemed darker as they passed from under the canopy of the glade. This wind blew and made the shadows dance around them. "It's okay," Roger said, in response to Lolita's defensiveness. "I wanted to go after the military, but after that didn't work out, I kinda lost sight of it."

"You could go to J. Sergeant Reynolds if you want preparation or even get a degree there."

"Yeah, I thought about that. Maybe after I been in the church for a while, I'll go."

"Did you move out of you mother's today?"

Roger looked for a way to avoid the question, but he went along with it. "Yeah, it seemed like I needed a change," he said slowly, looking off to his side.

"What are you gonna do? I mean you're not doing what you did before anymore are you?"

"No way, I'm done with that. I think Brother Powers is gonna hook me up with a job at the church."

"I think Brother Powers likes you."

Roger shrugged. "I like _you_."

It took a moment for this to register, then he looked at her, her eyes beaming, the rising moon reflecting in the whites of her eyes, giving them a dim glow of their own.

"I like you too," Roger said. He shakily moved his hand over to hers, and their fingers slipped apart at first, but their hands quickly found each other again and the touch was comforting.

They walked for a while in silence, watching the moon and the stars struggle to shine through the twilight sky.

As they moved into another glade, the moon periodically peeking through the leaves, Roger spoke again. "You know, I was scared my story the other night would scare you off."

Lolita moved closer to him, and her shoulder touched his arm briefly. "People in hard times need someone. And you, you seem really sweet despite all the horrible things you've been through. I respect that a lot. I also respect someone who admits their mistakes, and wants to do something about them. Besides, you're really cute."

Roger could feel himself blushing. He was used to girls being forward, but he wasn't used to them being this open and straight-forward. He wanted to say something in return, but everything that came into his brain stumbled over itself and collapsed before it got to his mouth. "Thank you," was all he managed.

She smiled that smile at him again and giggled. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

"It's okay. You're just not like anyone I ever met before. Why hasn't anyone else swept you up yet?"

"I think they're all scared of me."

"I can't imagine that."

"You'd be surprised. Even in the house of God, a lot of guys get intimidated."

"I think it comes with the package. Most guys ain't as rugged inside as they like people ta think they are on the outside."

"I guess you're right."

The wind blew again as the path turned back toward the way they had come. The sun had already set, and only its orange rays, reaching up for one last word, could be seen on the horizon. They walked until the rays finally gave up, and the shadows disappeared except for the ones lucky enough to find shelter under the lights that lined the path.

"I suppose my life was pretty grim too—at least when I was young. Things were pretty bad back in Puerto Rico. I was really young, but I still remember some stuff. I remember my father chasing rats from the house with a stick because they were so bold they'd walk right up to you. I remember the place was beautiful, until you got home."

"I always wondered what that place was like."

"It's great if you're a tourist. It's still home I guess, but I am glad we moved here. It'd be nice to go back some day and try to make things better."

"When'd you leave?"

"My family moved when I was about five. We lived in Miami for a while, but that wasn't much better. The rats were smaller, but it wasn't as beautiful outside. We weren't there that long though. I barely remember it. When I was six or seven we moved here. My dad got a job at Reynolds Aluminum, and we've been here ever since."

"How did your parents take it when you finally moved out?"

"They didn't like it. My father, he cursed a lot, and my mother and sisters cried, but after a while, they grew into it. We're fine now, but my father hasn't really been the same since."

As the wind picked up again, Roger watched a small eddy of wind twirl leaves and dust across the path. "I'm worried about my moms."

Lolita stopped and put both hands around his. "I'm sure she'll be fine. Especially if she sees it does you some good. That's what made my family come around."

Roger nodded solemnly and gripped her hand. "I just want her to see me do the right thing."

Lolita rubbed the back of his hand. "She will Roger. She will."

# CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

**September 25,** 1991

"So, how'd you do on your engineering test?" Jason asked as he and Michelle walked back from the gym.

"I think I did pretty well. I thought I knew everything. I guess it's when you think you know everything, you find out how little you know."

The wind swirled around Jason and turned the sweat under his clothes to tiny drops of ice. He shivered as he pulled his duffel bag closer to him, trying to put it between him and the wind. "Ignorance is bliss until you get the grade back," he said trying to keep the shiver out of his voice.

"Very true. I really do think I had it though. Most stuff in engineering you either know or you don't." Michelle folded her arms against the wind.

"It's not like philosophy where no one knows anything, but you have to know _exactly_ what whoever it is didn't know. It was nothing but never ending arguments. Don't get me wrong, it was great, and there were some great thinkers, and it was a lot easier to get around ideas that were hazy in your mind, because for the most part, everything was hazy."

"I wish engineering was like that sometimes, cuz things get hazy quite often."

Jason looked up at the sky. The sun was trying to push its way through the clouds. At that point, it was winning. "I understand that more than I'd like to. Now, in the Spectrum, everything's still hazy. But nothing I've ever dealt with has been like this."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, there's no doubt in my mind Max is scum—he's the closest thing to an anti-Christ _I've_ ever seen—but what about the people who follow him? My dad always said people lose their innocence the minute they choose to act on what they believe. But saying it and having to act on it are two different things."

"How could he be the anti-Christ though? Do you think he's completely full of shit?"

"No, not at all. I'm sure he believes fully in what he's doing, but if I were the devil, and I wanted people to follow me, I'd show up on a soap box, thumpin' a Bible, singin' 'Praise Jesus', because it's the last place anyone would expect me. And the best way to get people to believe a lie is to believe it yourself."A shadow swelled around them as a cloud gained the advantage. "I think Max is sincere. I can't even say I think what he claims to want is bad. But the ends don't justify the means, and using and duping people is bad form."

Michelle looked around at the students moving through the center of campus, some with purpose, some just strolling along, but she was sure none of them had any idea of what was truly going on. "It's amazing how much we think we know, and how much still lies outside our reach."

"It's funny. I worked at this learning center in Koreatown when I was in school. I had this class of ten and eleven year olds, mostly girls. Anyway, I would always surprise them when they used a Korean word and I understood, or I used a Korean phrase. I didn't know a lick of Korean, but I paid attention to what people said around me. They would always ask me how I knew, and I would tell them it was because I knew everything, and that I just had to pretend I didn't know _some_ things because I didn't want the government to take me away and dissect me. They'd always try to call me on it—they'd ask me what their parent's names were, what their Korean names were, but I was almost always one step ahead. I kept up the ruse pretty well. One girl made it a personal vendetta to call me on it, but she couldn't get me. What's funny though, is no matter how much I think about stuff, no matter how much I watch what goes on around me, no matter how many philosophy classes I take, or how many little girls I can make believe I know everything, in the grand scheme of things, when it boils down to the stock, I still don't know jack shit. If there's anything that scares me, it's that."

"I bet you made a pretty good teacher," Michelle said as they passed Belgrave Hall.

"Maybe," Jason said, shrugging.

"No, really. You may not know everything, but you know yourself better than any other guy I know."

"Don't let the haughty tone fool you."

"No, I'm serious. Guys like to say woman are emotional, but I've seen more than enough guys act on pure impulse. Look at Greg."

"I'm just trying to get a better grip on this whole Max thing."

"Listen, let that go for a day. There's nothing you can do about it until this weekend anyway, right?"

Jason twisted his mouth in a grimace that Michelle took has agreement, however reluctant it may have been.

"And you are taking me to dinner tonight, right?" Michelle smiled at him. It was an attempt at a wicked smile, but it came out half-sneaky, and all cute.

"Sure," Jason said slowly. In the sky, the clouds were winning now. "But I need to hit a washing machine before I go anywhere. All my clothes have had it."

"There's one in my building," she said, "but even if you have to wear a pair of my panties and a skirt, you're taking me to dinner tonight."

* * *

Michelle and Jason sat in the Red Lobster waiting for their food. "I love seafood," Michelle said, marveling at the dishes the people around them were eating.

"I didn't really like it until I was almost out of college. One of my ex-girlfriends loved seafood so I started eating it. I stayed away from it when I was a kid because the first time I ate seafood I got food poisoning."

The waitress came by and set two root beers on the table, one in front of each of them, then left again without disturbing them.

Michelle leaned over and spoke quietly. "Good waitress, I hate it when they come up and interrupt the conversation for no reason."

"I think she was eavesdropping."

"You're such a cynic," Michelle said, pulling the paper from her straw and slipping it into her drink. She took a sip as Jason unwrapped his straw. "So, I'm curious, what happened?" she asked as he put the straw in his drink.

"What happened where?"

"With you and your relationships. You seem like a stand-up guy, so I'm wondering what happened."

"Well, the last time I was in a relationship, or at least in anything that could be remotely called a relationship, was about four years ago, a few months after I graduated."

"I had been seeing this girl, Karynna, for maybe a year or so. We had some pretty good times I guess. I think that's what made it so weird. We graduated the same time and she went through some tough times, but after a while she got this great job. Meanwhile, I was still trying to figure out what to do. What I _could_ do and not feel like some corporate whore at the end of the day. Well, after a while, I think she got impatient. Maybe she felt she'd gotten to the next level or something with this job, but I was busting my chops trying to do stuff for her. I mean, I was buck-ball broke, but I would eat plain rice for weeks just so I could do something for her on the weekends. I bent over backwards just to do little things, but it seemed like all I heard from her was complaints. It wasn't like I was a bum or anything. I was still working at the learning center, but that was only a few hours a day and it barely paid the bills. After a while I was like _what the hell_? I mean I knew guys who treated their girlfriends like complete shit. Here I am, doing everything I can and she's always got a busted attitude. I got sick of it after a while. Maybe I didn't fit into the new picture of life she was forming, I don't know. I don't really claim to understand, but to tell the truth, I don't really feel the need to. When I looked at it really close, it all smelled like typical pompous bullshit to me. Like things needed to be done just so others can see or hear you do it, and that just wasn't me." Jason took long sip of root beer. "Before that there was Kim," he added.

"What happened with her?"

"I don't really understand that one either, but I _can_ say I truly loved Kim. To a certain extent I think I still do. We just clicked, I mean it was weird. You hear all these storybook romances, and it was as good as those, but it was different. I mean tension was there occasionally, but it always seemed to get solved because, ultimately, we just loved being around each other. It was like we were supposed to be. Then one day, out of the blue, she said she wanted to break it off. It came as a total surprise to me and it hurt a lot. I dunno, I guess our paths split—like our time ended or something. Eventually she transferred and moved to Chicago. We still kept in touch off and on. There were times where we didn't talk for long periods, but it always seemed like when we _did_ talk, we were still there for each other. I can't say I feel the same way when I talk to anyone else. But at the same time, there's still that feeling of losing someone really close to you. Like things will never be right again. The fact that I can't be with her hurts, but it doesn't really even matter. I love her regardless I guess."

"You're happy if she's happy?"

"I don't know about that. I mean without her, I'm anything but happy, but I don't want her to be unhappy. I do care about her. It feels weird to talk about because we were together so long ago, but I dunno, emotions are funny sometimes."

Michelle watched as a kid rubbed Tartar sauce on his baby sister's face with a spoon. "I can't say I've ever felt that strongly about anyone. I wonder about that whole 'loved once and lost' idea. I can't say I've ever been in love. I thought I was in love once in high school, but it was one of those deals where the other person has to leave at the end of the summer. A few times, I'd really start to like a guy, but then, for one reason or another, he'd just go away." Michelle took another sip of root beer as the baby sister slapped the boy with a buttered roll. "I useta joke with my friends in high school and tell them I could solve the world's problems quite easily. If I became a devil worshipper and fell in love with Satan, eventually he'd pack his bags and leave, and the world would be free of his grip."

"That's a pretty disturbing thought to have in high school."

"It was one of many." Michelle said, as Jason sipped.

The waitress returned with a basket of rolls. "Your food should be out shortly," she said, with an odd accent Jason couldn't place.

Michelle took a roll and broke a bite-sized piece off. "You know, out of all the people I've dated, no one has ever given me flowers."

Jason was surprised. It seems like a girl as beautiful and as sweet as Michelle would get flowers all the time—probably from guys who didn't mean well—but it was still odd. "Love's a very strange thing."

Michelle swallowed the roll. "Selfishness and hate are so much easier."

Jason broke a roll into halves, buttered each half, and ate them slowly. As he swallowed the last piece, he saw the little boy sitting across from them stick a piece of ice down his little sister's blouse. Jason shook his head as he remembered the conversation. "You know, I don't like to make promises. I'll give people my word, or I'll tell someone I'll try my best, but I don't believe in making promises for things I don't have a hundred percent control over. I can only remember three promises I ever made. The first was to never consciously lie to myself. It sounds weird, but people do it every day. The second was to my dad—I promised that whenever I saw the right thing to do, I would do it. The last was when Kim said she wanted to break it off. I promised I would always love her. I can't say to my knowledge I've broken any of those."

"This Kim really means a lot to you."

"In a way. I mean she does, but it's unhealthy to dwell on it. Last I heard from her was maybe a year ago. I think she was seeing someone who was really sick with one of those unpronounceable, incurable diseases, but the way she talked about it, I dunno, in a weird way it kinda made me proud. I mean even though I didn't expect anything to happen between us, it still hurt a little to know she had someone else, but I wasn't really even jealous because I knew there was someone who needed her more than I did—at least at that time."

"Wow that's so romantic." Michelle had never known anyone to show that kind of devotion—to her or anyone she knew. When she thought about it, she couldn't think of anyone that she could show that kind of devotion to. Certainly not Greg—not even when they had been together. Michelle rested her chin on her wrist and stared into Jason's eyes as he looked down at the table, rubbing his napkin with his finger.

Jason let the comment pass as the waitress returned with their food. She placed baked salmon with rice in front of Jason, and lobster in front of Michelle, and then left without a word.

After swallowing a roll and putting his napkin in his lap, Jason continued, "What depressed me was that I didn't know anyone who would do the same for me. I may be giving her a raw deal, but where things were when it ended, I don't think Karynna would have done it."

"I can't say I do either," Michelle said, "I mean, I can't say I know anyone who would."

Michelle pulled back the lobster shell and took out a piece. Jason scooped up some rice and swallowed it as the little girl next to them started screaming, wiping at the ice in her blouse. Jason swallowed, ignoring the ruckus. "Around when Karynna and I broke up, Professor Rath told me about Fomalhaut and the Spectrum. I mean I literally would sit up most nights staring up at the ceiling in the dark, listening to Brahms, on the verge of tears because if I died, except Professor Rath, I couldn't think of anyone who would cry at my funeral."

Jason scooped rice into his mouth, chewed and swallowed. "Most people live for love of some sort—their kids, their spouse, their parents, their country, but I was denied any of that. But when you put it all under the microscope, it seems a lot of people lived their life for others, but they took those people for granted. Ultimately, it didn't matter how many people came to claim their body, or how many bouquets of flowers were left at their wake, or how many flags were draped over their casket, when all was said and done, their souls still ended up in potter's field because anytime anyone remembered them, it was to say how much of an asshole they were—if they remembered them at all. Professor Rath was loved, but like him, everyone died with regrets. Then one night, looking up at the ceiling, ironically in the middle of Brahms Lullaby, I realized as long as I lived today for tomorrow, as long as I could go to bed at night knowing I at least tried to do the right thing, as long as I didn't compromise my soul to get ahead, it didn't matter how many flowers were left on my grave. That next morning I called Professor Rath and told him I wanted to join the Spectrum."

Jason put food in his mouth and chewed slowly as his eyes focused on the flame of the candle in the center of the table.

"What's so interesting about the candle?" Michelle asked after a long silence.

"It's the flame," Jason said, not taking his eyes off it. "The fire."

"You're scaring me now," Michelle said, joking.

Jason snapped out of it and looked back up at her. "I guess I've always been kind of a closet pyro. When I was a kid, I loved to go camping just to stare at the flames of the campfire. The way it danced over the kindling, consuming it. Fire always amazed me. It can devastate a home, or it can make food edible. Its nature is weird. It's easy to think of it as evil, but when you really think about it, it destroys to bring life."

Michelle dipped another bite of lobster in her butter. "I feel like a shrink"

"That's strange because I never spit this stuff out in my psych evals. Only other person I can think I've ever told is Professor Rath."

"Why tell me then?"

"I don't know. You're different I guess. In a good way I mean. Most people don't really like the way I talk. It's just I think out loud sometimes. A lot of people say I'm too preachy. But you, you just listen to my rambles and don't take offense. I appreciate that."

"It's nothing. You just sound like a philosophy major." She sipped more root beer.

"I should."

Michelle swallowed another piece of lobster. "I was talking to a friend of my mother's—an older woman—one day about why I majored in engineering, and I was complaining about something, and when I was done she just looked into my eyes and said I had an old soul. I had no idea what she meant, but I can see that in you."

"If only she knew how right she was about you—if the legend is true that is."

"What do you think?"

Jason paused as the mother of the two warring children snatched both of them up and dragged them off toward the restrooms. "I think there's more to the world around us than what we see."

"I don't know. It's kind of hard for me to believe. I don't see anything spectacular about myself. Occasionally I have weird dreams, and I talk like a soldier, but other than that, I think I'm pretty darn normal."

"Strange dreams?"

"Yeah, I don't like to talk about them though?"

"Well, I just spread my heart out on the table for you, now it's your turn."

"Well, y'see normally when I dream, I dream in black and white. Or at least when I wake up I can't remember any colors. But occasionally I have these dreams in like bright color. I mean oversaturated colors like a Cheer commercial. And they're usually pretty short, but I always remember them. The weird thing about them is some aspect of them usually comes true. Before we moved from San Francisco, I had a dream I was on an airplane and all my friends were disappearing. But the weirdest one of all is this one I have with these clowns bursting into white flames. I don't understand that one at all."

"Now that you mention that, I remember part of the legend said the sisters have some weird psychic powers. I think they were clairvoyant, but it different ways."

"This is too weird."

"I know what you mean." Jason put more food in his mouth.

"Y'know, even with the time travel-James Bond stuff aside, you're still probably the most interesting person I've ever met."

Jason sat his fork on his plate as he swallowed and looked into her eyes. She didn't look away. "You're pretty cool yourself," he said as a smile stretched across his face.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

**September 27,** 1991

Friday came quicker than Jason expected, considering all his anxiety. They had left early to beat the traffic, and the drive to Virginia Beach was actually relaxing. Jason still didn't like the underwater tunnels and the bridges that were too close to the water. He had only come through there twice before, and although the last time he had been there wouldn't be for another thirty years, they were still the same horrifying constructs. Whenever he exited one of those tunnels he pictured a huge wave towering over the sides and into the opening. On the bridges he pictured those same huge waves, sweeping across the bridge, tumbling the car with him and Michelle in it into the depths of the Chesapeake Bay.

Michelle had fallen asleep almost as soon as she hit the chair and hadn't moved an inch since. She looked so beautiful and peaceful sitting there, strings of hair hanging lazily across her face. He wanted to stop the car and put his arms around her right then. But he couldn't. Even if he wasn't on this frightening bridge and could pull over, holding her wouldn't be an option. He had the mission to think about, and he couldn't let his personal feelings get in the way of that.

But they already were, weren't they?

As he passed into the tunnel, he turned the radio up slightly, even though he knew the signal would cut out soon.

They checked into the Marriott next to the Hilton at just past six. They had hit traffic on the way in, but that was unavoidable. Michelle knew there was always traffic just outside of Virginia Beach. As they walked to the room with their duffel bags, Michelle realized Jason had paid for their rooms in advance with cash.

"Can I ask you a question?" she said as they walked down the hall, scanning the numbers on the doors, looking for 1207.

"You just did."

"Smart ass," Michelle snapped as they found the room. Jason flipped his duffel bag over to his back and ran the card key through the door.

"What did you want to know?" Jason asked, letting Michelle enter the room.

She walked in, and he followed, closing the door behind him. The room was huge. There were two king-sized beds and a kitchen area that stretched behind the wall next to the beds. Michelle stood in wonder for a moment, and then remembered her question. "Where is all this money coming from?"

"A safe in the trunk of the car," Jason said, setting his duffel bag on the bed closest to the bathroom. "There's about fifty thousand in there."

"Fifty thousand?" Michelle dropped her bag at the foot of the bed.

"Well, probably about forty-nine thousand now, this room didn't come cheap."

"That's a lot of money."

"Yeah, Brinkmeyer gave it to me when I left. It's mostly large bills, but there are enough small bills to get around."

"How'd you manage that?" Michelle opened her bag and began removing toiletries.

"Fomalhaut scraped up a bunch of old bills. They're probably duplicates in circulation, but Pierce Daen wasn't too worried, so I'm not. They were hard to get though, your money looks funny."

"What do you mean our money looks funny?"

"It just does. It's too big and grimy looking. They stopped making money like that a long time ago. At least they will soon."

Michelle took some clothes from her bag and stuck them in a drawer. "Well, since it looks so funny, can I have it when you go back?"

"Somehow, I don't think that's a good idea. Besides, if there are too many of these hotel visits, there won't be much left."

"This place is nice though."

"Yes it is."

Michelle walked over to the sliding doors and opened the curtains. They had a beautiful view of the ocean. "Wow," she gasped. She stood there for a long time. She heard Jason walk into the restroom, shuffle around some items, and come back before her trance was broken. The ocean stretched out forever. Tiny heads and rafts bobbed in the waves under the orange sky.

"How's your ankle?" Michelle asked as Jason emerged.

"Better, but I'm still not gonna be kickin' too much ass with my _right_ foot."

Michelle turned and looked at Jason. "I still need a dress for tomorrow you know."

"I know, we'll go in the morning because I need to get a tux loo."

"I'll bet you look good in a tux."

"I bet I'll look just like everyone else with a tux in a tux."

"Somehow I doubt that." Michelle said making her way to the bathroom.

"What does that mean?"

She just smiled at him and closed the bathroom door behind her.

* * *

Michelle awoke to the chill of cold, seaside air blowing over her. She rolled out of the bed and threw on the bathrobe next to it. She noticed Jason was not in his bed, and she became a little worried. All his things were still there, and she was sure she would have heard the shower come on, and it was early. She rubbed the remnants of sleep from her eyes and focused them on the clock. It was 5:30 in the morning.

Another gust of cold air passed through the terry cloth bathrobe and she noticed the sliding door to the balcony was slightly open. She took a knife from the kitchen area and moved slowly toward the balcony holding the knife out defensively.

She peeked through the opening in the screen door, and then pushed it open, thrusting the knife past the curtain as she moved cautiously onto the balcony. It was only Jason, sitting in a deck chair, looking out into the dark, early morning sky.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," he stayed focused on the horizon as it stretched off into the unknown, the morning tide rolling in softly underneath it.

"No, you didn't, it was just the air coming in through the door."

"Sorry about that. I thought I had closed it all the way."

Michelle noticed he was holding a gun as she sat in the chair next to him. He continued to stare off into the distance. "Are you okay?" she asked, setting the knife down on the ashtray that stood next to her chair.

"It's the Vampire," he said, leaning back and touching the nose of the gun to his forehead.

"The Vampire?" Michelle asked, completely confused.

"Yeah. Sometimes, when my nerves get shot, I go through periods where I can't sleep or eat. Well, I could eat I guess, but most food strikes me as absolutely repulsive."

"And that's because of a vampire?"

"No. I always wished I could be a vampire. Sleep always seemed like such a waste of time to me. You could get so much done if you didn't have to sleep. I always wanted to be a vampire because they don't have to sleep, plus vampires don't eat people food. So, when I get like this, I call it the Vampire."

"I see," Michelle said, tightening the bathrobe around her, "I didn't really get too much sleep either. At least it wasn't good quality sleep. I kept having these horrible dreams."

Jason lowered his hands down to his lap and stared at the gun. Michelle saw the tension, the stress in his eyes. "What's with the gun?"

He looked at her for the first time. "I dunno. I guess it's just something to hold."

"That's an odd security blanket, isn't it?"

"I guess, but it's what I got used to. I went through some pretty rough times before Fomalhaut. I'm sure there were a lot of people who had it worse, but that didn't make things any better for me. Karynna always said she didn't like to hear people complain, so I never said much about it. I don't even think she knew how bad things really were. Anyway, even though I like to put myself off as some kind of robot sometimes, things get to me too after a while, but it seemed to me like she either was never around, or didn't want to hear about it when they did. The worst thing was she claimed to love me, and I thought I loved her, but when it all boiled down to the base, whenever things really got to me, she was no different than anyone else." Jason gripped the gun tightly with both hands. "I don't understand why things couldn't affect me too."

The dark, infant sky merged with the incoming ocean, forming a deep, cold abyss at the horizon. Michelle felt as though she were looking into the face of God as the foam rolled in from that infinite, Cimmerian chasm. "You do give off the impression that nothing scares you—like you'd eat a problem before you ran from it."

Jason cocked his head and looked at Michelle. He let the pistol rest on his knee and sat there, looking at her, his eyes different than before. Less the eyes of an innocent soldier, more the eyes of a child that had seen more than any child should. He shifted the gun into his left hand and looked back into the ocean. "When I was a kid, maybe six or seven, my dad bought this video game system. He got a few games for it, but the only game he ever played was this game called Fight Night Boxing. My dad and I would play, and he would kick my ass royally. Some dads believe in letting their kid win occasionally, but not Orion Dyer. He always said I had to earn it. So he would beat the unholy piss outta me every match. I literally never won. And he'd talk shit to me too. That guy'd beat me like I was somebody else's kid. Many a night I ran bawling from the living room. My mom would get on his case all the time and he would always say, 'The boy needs to learn.' I hated that game, and when he was playing it, I hated him. I mean he was still my dad, but he was like Darth Vader or something... but I always came back."

Jason turned and looked at Michelle, not really smiling, but with a nostalgic smirk of sorts on his face. "One day my dad went on this business trip and for three days, and I did nothing but play Fight Night Boxing. I had _dreams_ where I was playing the damned game. Well, when my dad came back, I kept my mouth shut and waited for him to challenge me. When he called me out, I sat down calmly and proceeded to beat him for all the beatings he ever gave me. I beat him like he stole something from a church. I think he only got one hit in the whole fight. After that, he set the controller down, patted me on the back and said, 'Now you're ready,' and he never played the game again."

Michelle set her hand on his, over the gun. She could feel the cold in her own hand against his warm flesh. He didn't pull away. His hand was softer than she expected. "Can I see the gun?" she asked.

Jason flipped a switch on the side and handed it to her, the weight of it caught her off-guard, and her hand sank slightly. "It's heavy," she said, holding it in her palm, looking at the side of it.

Jason looked back out at the dark horizon. "The bullets are even heavier."

Michelle looked up at the horizon stretching out into Tartarus and saw a thin band of blue stretch from the center of her vision and out along the ocean. She looked down at the gun, "What's this thing back here?" she asked, pointing to the small piece of metal protruding from the back.

Jason looked over at her hands. "That's the hammer. It's what fires the bullet."

"Why do people always pull it back in movies before they're gonna shoot someone up close?"

"You have to put more pressure on the trigger to pull the hammer back. If you pull it back before the trigger, you need less pressure to fire—it's quicker, it's more accurate, and it's authoritative. It's a good way to let whoever you point it at know that you mean what you say."

She handed the gun back to Jason. He flipped the switch up on the side again and let it rest on his left knee.

He looked back over the balcony again, and Michelle let her eyes drift to the blue band that was widening through the darkness. A small Greek fire was building up at its center, slowly consuming the ocean, casting rays of spectral blue light dimly from its source. An eerie sheen fanned out under the stars, as if someone had wrapped the night sky in cellophane.

"You ever wonder about life? You know, what's going on around us? What's this all leading up to?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, but when I do, it always seems to depress me."

"It's weird, it seems like there's a reason for everything."

"My mom always said nothing was random. There was no such thing as coincidences. Things happen because things happened before them."

"Your mom sounds like a very wise woman. I believe the same thing, but the question is why? Why do things happen that way? Where is nature pulling us? Who's right and who's wrong? The COG claims to have the backing of God. Pierce Daen says nature has a course, a path it likes to follow, and it resists change. But who's the unnatural one? Who's actually executing God's will?"

"I don't know, I'm still having a hard time believing I'm a part of _any_ of this."

"Emerson said, 'When in fortunate hours we ponder this miracle, the wise man doubts, if, at all other times, he is not blind and deaf; for the universe becomes transparent, and the light of higher laws than its own shines through it.'" The fire grew on the horizon, climbing slowly into the firmament, silencing stars on the fringe.

"It's overwhelming isn't it?"

"Yes."

Michelle shook her head, "And you're so young."

Their eyes met again, the little boy was still there. "I feel a million years old."

Michelle took the gun from his hand and set it on the floor. She slid to the edge of her chair, closer to him, and as blue turned to orange, and the awakening sun peeked over the horizon driving away the unctuous night sky, she put his arm around her shoulders, and he accepted.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

**September 28,** 1991

Jason sat on the bed in his tuxedo, waiting for Michelle to emerge from the bathroom. He had been waiting for almost an hour, and he was beginning to get antsy. He wasn't upset, but he could feel the weight of tonight's events churning in his stomach, and he wanted to get it over with. He looked through the gift bag they had given him at the tailors for buying the tuxedo. There were a few packets of scented soap for men and a couple vials of cologne. He took them out and smelled them one by one. Most smelled obnoxious, but there was one he really liked. He rubbed the end of the vial on his wrists and across his neck. Finally, he didn't have to smell like a sponge cake.

He put the gift bag on the dresser and heard the light click off in the bathroom. The door opened slowly, and Michelle emerged. Not knowing what else to do, Jason stood. She looked like a goddess. She had refused to let him see the dress she was getting and had made him leave when they were fitting it on her, but now he was glad. For that moment, the butterflies and the nervousness were gone. As she walked, the dress seemed to be one with her body, sensuously hugging her curves with every step. As she walked, her left leg furtively peeked through the split, and then disappeared again. Her hair, curled in an elegant roll, glistened in the soft light of the room. The lines of her neck, her soft beautiful shoulders—she looked like a painting.

"What do you think?" she asked, spreading her arms.

"You look..." he shook his head, searching for the word to best represent what he was thinking. "Indescribable."

"Thank you. I think."

"No, really. I think you in that dress could be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"You look pretty handsome yourself in that tux. I hope there's nothing but old housewives at that dinner, otherwise, I may have to carry a stick to fight the other women off."

"You're just saying that."

"No," she said quietly, "I really mean it."

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Jason regained his senses. "We'd better go."

Jason picked up his things, and Michelle grabbed her purse, and they moved to the door. "You know the plan, right?"

Michelle nodded.

"I'm gonna park the car myself so we don't have to worry about the valet. I'll bug their car, and we'll both avoid Max until he and Davenport leave. Then, we move to the plan."

Michelle nodded again. "You really do look good," she said to Jason as he closed the door.

"So do you," he said as they moved toward the elevators.

* * *

Jason and Michelle entered the ballroom holding hands. The smoothness of her palms against his, their fingers locked together softly, felt good. He felt like he was in high school again, on his first date. Jason gave their tickets to the hostess, and a waiter directed them to their seats. Jason had made the lowest donation because the VIP seats brought too much attention. There was a chamber orchestra playing as they sat. Jason recognized the song, but it wasn't one he had played, and he didn't know the name.

As they sat down, Jason motioned for Michelle to look at him, away from the door. He lifted the menu and held it in front of his face. "Max," he said as quietly as he could through the menu.

Max entered with Dorothy and Greg. He turned in their tickets, and they were seated at the five hundred-dollar tables.

"Brother Powers, you really went all out," Dorothy said as they were shown to their seats. Max waited until they were seated and he saw Davenport next to the door to the kitchen talking to a waiter.

"Excuse me," Max said, leaving Dorothy and Greg to talk to him.

* * *

After they listened to some old men speak—two of which Jason was sure had had a little too much wine—they served dinner. The dinner wasn't as bland as he had expected, and was actually rather good. When most people had finished their dinners, the quartet began playing waltzes. A few people—mostly drunk—began to dance.

"I don't see any ONF guys, but I can't get a good look at Max's table, and I don't want to get too close."

The quartet ended a waltz to light applause and began Pachabel's _Canon in D_.

"I like this song," Michelle said, watching two rather sprightly elderly couples leave the dance floor.

"I need to get a better look at that table," Jason said, watching another younger couple retreat to the thousand dollar tables.

Michelle took Jason's hand. "Why don't we then?"

"Why don't we what?"

"Why don't we go get a better look?"

Michelle stood and pulled Jason's hand with her, moving toward the dance floor. Jason really didn't think this was a good idea, but it was hard to resist.

On the dance floor, they stayed near the edge. They put their arms around each other awkwardly at first. Then, as the varying layers of the music passed through them, they relaxed. As they danced, turning slowly, Jason looked over Michelle's shoulder at the table, but he couldn't see beyond the waiter.

He felt Michelle's hand pull his head back to her. "They're not going anywhere," she whispered to him and smiled.

Looking into her eyes, that beautiful smile, their legs brushing together lightly with each step, he found her hard to resist.

She could smell the cologne on his neck. Obsession. She moved closer to pull his fragrance into her nose and she stayed there.

Jason felt her body move in closer to his, and he felt her warmth against him as she brushed her cheek lightly across his chin. He tightened his arms around her, and he felt a sigh in her chest as he pulled her into him gently. Jason closed his eyes and could feel the rhythm, the chords, each note moving over him. He felt Michelle's hands slide across the small of his back and squeeze. He opened his eyes, and to his surprise, he found hers and was pulled in.

And suddenly, they were kissing. Their lips moved over each other first slowly and then opened slightly. Jason felt her pull him toward her, and they embraced like this until the song ended.

They looked at each other, the applause for the orchestra barely audible. Then, over Michelle's shoulder, he saw Max, moving toward the kitchen with Davenport, and Michelle's ex-boyfriend sitting at the table, pointing at them.

Jason looked back at Michelle. "We have to get out of here."

* * *

Jason led Michelle through the parking structure, weaving through the myriad of shiny, fancy cars. When they reached the car, Jason pressed the small remote in his pocket, and the locks disengaged. Michelle released Jason's hand and moved to go to the passenger side, but Jason stopped her.

"I need you to drive this time." Michelle stopped and looked at him, hesitant. "We have to go to plan A now—no choice."

Michelle nodded nervously and got the driver's side as Jason held the door open for her. He closed the door behind her and moved to the passenger side. He reached into the back, fumbled around, and pulled out a large gun about two feet long and a red box with a white stripe around it that looked like a giant matchbox. Jason put the seat back and hopped into the car as he set the box and gun in his lap. He reached over to the monitor, pressed a few buttons, and the car started. The monitor showed a map of the area with a blinking red dot moving slowly down one of the roads. He pressed another button, and a blue dot appeared a block and a half away from the red one.

"I need you to catch up to the red dot and get behind it."

Michelle nodded again. "What do I do?"

"Just drive normally and stick to the plan, I'll do the rest."

Michelle drove out of the parking spot, through the parking deck, and out onto the street. She looked at the monitor after she moved onto the road littered with sporadic traffic, and saw the dot was about three blocks ahead on the same road. She drove a little faster than she would have normally to catch up. Jason set the gun across his lap and slid the red box open to reveal a stack of red cylinders with three white bands on each of them.

Michelle accelerated to beat a red light and saw the red dot had stopped two blocks away. As she looked up she saw Jason take one of the cylinders from the case and slide it into the gun at the top. "What is that, a shotgun?" She asked changing lanes to pass a car in front of her.

"Yeah, it's a special custom deal a friend of Pierce Daen's made for me. It's sawed-off, and got lever action, and fires five rounds. It's a little bulky, but it's always proven its worth." Jason filed another cylinder into the gun.

"And those are the bullets?" Michelle changed lanes again and accelerated. She was a block away now but the red dot was turning.

"Yeah kind of. Each of these shoots a barrage of pellets. In this case, they're AM rounds."

"You're gonna fire anti-matter out of that thing?"

"Yeah, the amount of AM in them is small, but they definitely get your point across." Jason put in two more shells, one after the other.

Michelle turned right through a red light without stopping and heard a long horn blast belt after her. Jason could see her gripping the wheel tightly and biting the corner of her lip. He put the last shell in and cocked the lever. _He_ had chosen to be here, to do this. Michelle had had it thrust upon her, but she went along with it anyhow, without complaint. Jason could see the stress etched in her forehead, the worry forming at the corners of her eyes. He hadn't known a woman like this since his mother.

He looked down the road and saw the back of the limousine getting closer and saw the speedometer grow past 55. Michelle passed a Ford Taurus and moved into the left lane. There was a BMW between her and the limousine now. Jason clutched the handle of the shotgun tightly with his right hand. "I need you to do something for me," he said looking at Michelle, "I need you to get them to evade."

"Why did we leave in such a hurry?" Davenport looked at Max both bewildered and miffed at being dragged from the ball.

"Remember the thief from the airport?"

"Yes, what about him?"

"I think I saw him there."

"Couldn't have been. You're just paranoid."

"Paranoia is the basis of sound judgment."

"Perhaps, but what am I going to tell the others?"

"Who cares, you're going to be an even richer man soon." Max took out his portfolio. "I had some papers drawn up to facilitate the church's affiliation with your company."

"How do I know you won't flake on me?"

"Well for one thing, you have me in a pinch because you know more about this church than I would have even the members know. You can take that as your warranty."

"Brother Powers," Max heard Streck's voice through a hiss at the floor.

"Excuse me," he said to Davenport as he picked up the radio.

"What is it Streck? I asked you not to disturb me," he tried to keep his voice civil as he chided the radio.

"Well I thought I should tell you, what looks like the car from the airport snafu just passed us on the road."

Max turned to look out back of the limousine he saw a BMW about two car-lengths behind and a car passing it on its right. Max leaned to get a look at the car as it passed the BMW, but its high beams came on and it jumped behind the limousine with a skid. Max heard the BMW's horn blow repeatedly and shielded his eyes against the high beams as the car moved closer. The burning light went away and Max took his hands down to see the car approaching alarmingly fast, high beams eclipsed by the trunk of the limousine. Max saw a woman, either Asian or Hispanic, driving, and an African American man in the passenger seat, but before he could get a look at his eyes, the limousine rocked forward violently with the impact from the car. Max reeled backward and fell into the floor as Davenport rolled across the seat. He looked like a pig in mud on a hot day as he rolled and hit the bar. Max lay on the floor with his right leg under him, his left leg still propped up on the chair as he pulled the radio to his mouth, "Streck, get them off of us!"

* * *

Michelle's teeth were biting deeper into her lip now, but she still didn't say a word. Jason held the barrel of the shotgun steady with his left hand and pressed the button to roll down the window. Air rushed in with a sound that made Michelle think of wailing ghosts.

"They'll turn off any minute up here. When you see a turnoff, be prepared to go after them. They'll probably try and head-fake us left and go right so back off a little bit."

Michelle made a confirming grunt, ran her tongue between her lips, and then bit back down on her lip. The speedometer went from 45 to 40 as she saw a turn approaching on the right. A pickup truck moved up on the right beside them, and just as it started to pass, the limousine rocked left and then snapped to its right. Its tires protested and smoked as the limousine turned and stretched across two lanes in front of the pickup, and then slid, shimmying toward the side street. Michelle jerked the wheel hard to the right and Jason, without a seat belt, had to grab the handle over the window to keep from being thrown into Michelle's lap. He felt the bottom drop out of his stomach as he saw the brake lights on the pickup and heard and smelled the discomfort of its brakes as it seemingly rocketed back toward them.

Michelle saw the limousine cut off the pickup truck and turned after it. In the rearview mirror, she saw the Taurus and the BMW both coming up too fast behind her and the pickup sliding to a stop in front of her, and she knew that whatever was about to happen, she didn't want to be a part of it-—bulletproof car or not—so she kicked the accelerator in hard.

The front end of the car turned away from the pickup and Jason was almost pulled into the back seat as the car rocketed forward, and still sliding to its right, narrowly missed clipping the pickup with its back end. As the car pulled out of the slide and into the side street, Jason saw the rear end of the limousine stop wagging as it sped down the alley only about two or three car-lengths away.

As they passed a warehouse, Jason leaned out of the window and saw the Taurus slide into the alley behind them. "Fuck!" he cursed as he pulled himself halfway out the window, holding on to the handle on the ceiling with his left hand and extending the shotgun in front of him with the right.

"What, what happened?" he heard Michelle ask nervously, barely audible through the wind rushing past.

"The ONF! They're behind us!" he yelled hoping she could hear him through the wind. _How the fuck could he have missed them?_

"What do I do?" he heard, louder this time, but still obscured by the wind.

"Let me handle them. Just stay on the limo!" Jason yelled back. The shotgun was weighted to be fired with one hand, but the wind rushing into the barrel, and the lack of stability in his positioning made it hard to hold steady. The limousine moved over into the opposing lane.

"Put your sunglasses on!" Jason yelled.

"Do what?"

"Put the sunglasses on!" he screamed again. He looked over his shoulder and saw the Taurus closing in.

Michelle had no idea why, but she held the car steady with one hand, flipped open the armrest with the other, and took out her sunglass case.

"Okay they're on," Jason heard, yelled but muffled.

The limousine moved back into the lane in front of them. Jason pointed the shotgun at the rear end and the nose of the shotgun danced around the right taillight. Jason pulled the trigger just as the limousine weaved to the right. He looked down as the shotgun boomed and threw his shoulder back. The street filled with blinding white light and a high pitched whine. Suddenly, the car bucked up hard and threw Jason's left shoulder against the ceiling. He held onto the shotgun, but his body pitched downward as the car came down and he felt the end of the barrel rub the ground. He pulled himself back up in time to see the limousine, still mobile, fishtail into an alley and smash against some wooden crates set against a warehouse wall.

Jason felt the car dip to its left, then right, and he pulled himself back in. As soon as he got his butt into the seat he was bounced up again and the shotgun hit him across his chest as the car ran up on the curb. The rear end slid out and the car skidded, perpendicular to the side street they were on, past the alley the limousine had gone into. There was a smash and the snarl of twisting metal and shattering glass as Jason was thrown against the door and the car whipped completely around and faced the way they had come, rolling backward to a stop against a street lamp. Behind Michelle, Jason saw the Taurus, front end bent in over the right wheel, slide to a stop half a block away. He saw a blonde boy in a black jacket lean out the back of the car, and chrome glimmered under the street lamp.

"Punch it!" Jason yelled, settling back into the seat, "We can't lose the limo!"

Michelle rubbed a sliver of drool from her lip and kicked the accelerator again. The car skittered on its front wheels like a large hand was pulling it around. The car launched forward as it straightened, and Michelle turned the wheel just before the alley without braking.

"What are you..." before he could finish, the car hit the curb and hopped across the sidewalk. A mesh trash can flipped over the windshield as the car cleared the sidewalk inches away from a light post and landed with a squeal on shattered pieces of wood. The rear end snapped into a dumpster and the car straightened. Jason saw a cluster of what must have been cabbage or lettuce cascade into the air over the limousine at the end of the alley and bounce in all directions.

Michelle fought the steering wheel to stabilize the car, and a light from overhead glimmered across her hand through the windshield. In the light she saw the back of her hand was smeared red. It hadn't been drool after all. Jason looked into the passenger-side mirror and saw the Taurus, right headlight missing, slide into the alley behind them sending boards of wood against the opposite wall. Jason heard and felt thumps under the car as Michelle drove over the cabbage, knocking two cardboard boxes to the side. Jason cocked the shotgun again, discharging a spent shell into the floor. He saw the limousine reach the end of the alley and shimmy again before its right side popped up onto the curb and sent a stop sign over the roof tumbling toward them as the cabbage continued to thump against the bottom of the car.

The limousine flew across the thoroughfare teetering on its shocks. There was a horrific cacophony of screeching, horns, and screams on the road ahead and, Michelle saw the front end of some kind of sport utility vehicle jerk to a stop just in front of the alley as a Lexus, going the other direction, slid to a stop at an angle, completely blocking the alley.

"What do I do?" Michelle screamed, locking her elbows and bracing herself against the back of the seat.

"Hit them at the back!" Jason yelled over the horns.

"Hit them?"

Jason saw the Taurus in the passenger-side mirror closing the distance as it bounced off a dumpster

"Yes!"

Michelle pressed the accelerator to the floor and moved to the right side of the alley, colliding with two rubber trash cans and sending a confetti of miscellaneous refuse into the air. The car swayed to the right as it hit the curb, and Jason saw an out-of-control ice cream truck sliding toward his door. Jason gritted his teeth and grabbed the handle with both hands as the ice cream truck filled his view. Suddenly he and the shotgun were thrown forward with the sound of impact and the crunch of glass and plastic in front of him. As the car hit the Lexus and spun it, Jason saw the ice cream truck slide into the Lexus's front end in the passenger-side mirror as his car wobbled over metal piping that had spilled into the alley.

The limousine coursed through the alley wafting pages of old newspaper into the air. Michelle drove through the sparse cloud of paper and closed the distance. Jason reached to pick up the shotgun and noticed a warm wetness on his right leg. He sat up with the gun and brushed what looked like an old black banana peel and a piece of waxed paper, with a smear of what, at some point, was probably ice cream, into the floor. He pulled himself back out the window again and pointed the shotgun at the back of the limousine. The car bumped off of something, and he lost his aim, but saw the limousine approaching a dumpster, sitting at an angle, partially blocking the alley.

The limousine hit the corner of the dumpster, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The dumpster spun as the limousine passed. It rolled to the center of the alley, and then tipped and fell over, spilling cardboard boxes toward them.

"Shit!" Jason heard come from inside the car. "What now?"

"Go through!" He yelled back, locking his elbow and steadying the shotgun as best he could.

"What the hell! Are you out..." Jason assumed the words 'of your mind' followed, but he couldn't hear them over the thundering of the shotgun.

The alley burned with bright, white light again, and with the sunglasses on, Michelle saw the right three-quarters of darkness that had been dumpster disintegrate into white. She pitched to the right and felt the car lurch as it collided with whatever was left of the dumpster, speeding by with a mist of sparks and the shrill of metal raking against metal.

Jason held his hand open and flipped the shotgun in an arc, popping out the spent shell and cocking the gun, closing his hand around the handle as it finished its arc. He pointed it at the back of the limousine, but it turned right onto a road at the end of the alley. Michelle turned too soon and smashed through a wooden crate at the end of the alley as she followed behind the limousine. Jason could hear the scratching of wood under the car as it accelerated after the limousine. Jason ducked back into the car as the limousine turned left again, almost immediately. Jason noticed these roads were small, poorly lit one-way streets. "We gotta stop these guys soon."

"I don't know how much longer I can handle this." Michelle said, her voice unstable. Jason couldn't see her eyes through the sunglasses, but the wrinkles on her forehead were deepening. She gripped the wheel tightly and then jerked the wheel to the left after the limousine. Jason rolled against his door as the car slid into the turn and its rear end went too far into the slide. Then, the tires caught, and the car straightened as the Taurus pulled up behind them from the road they had just turned onto.

"Fuck! Somehow they're coordinating." Jason heard two gunshots from behind. "We gotta get rid of these assholes."

"What do I do?"

"Just follow the limo!" Jason was halfway out the car already. He held on to the handle inside and turned his body, stretching his arm over the roof. He stabilized his arm over the roof, and the barrel of the shotgun steadied just in front of the driver of the Taurus's head. Jason tensed his trigger finger and then hesitated. He didn't want to kill anyone except Max. He saw an arm come out of the passenger side and the sparkle of chrome as the Taurus passed under a street lamp. A flame flashed from the hand, and sparks kicked off the roof just under Jason's hand.

Jason slid quickly back into the car. "Fuck!" The street was long, and massive industrial complexes rolled by on either side.

"I need a fucking AM mine!"

"Aren't they in the back?"

"I won't be able to get them in time."

A covered walkway connecting the two complexes moved overhead. Ahead at the end of the block, Jason saw a massive sign on a metal gantry stretching over the road, held up by buildings on either side. It read 'Binkenmeier Steel.' "Wait," he said, grabbing the handle with his left hand, "floor it and ram the limo again, but move onto the left sidewalk first."

He pulled his shoulders out of the car and pointed the shotgun at the road just behind them. He knew it wasn't wise to fire this close to the car with AM shells, but he didn't have a choice. The car moved left and the Taurus came into view from behind the trunk. Jason fired at the road in front of the Taurus.

There was another flash and whine, and when the light died, Jason saw the right side of the Taurus in the air after colliding with the crater the blast had left, just like their car had earlier. He saw the rear end of the Taurus begin moving from side to side as the driver fought to control the car. It lost speed, and Jason turned and pulled himself back out all the way. He flipped the shotgun to cock it again and focused not on the limousine, but the right corner of the Binkenmeier sign. Jason fired, and there was more light. The sign sounded like a large cat crying as they passed under it. Jason turned and saw the sign crash into the road in a calamity of wood and metal as the driver of the Taurus lost complete control and slid into the wreckage.

Michelle moved back off the sidewalk, and the car pulled up on the limousine again. She pressed the gas to the floor and rubbed the bumper of the limousine hard. It moved forward and she did it again. Near an intersection, the limousine brake lights came on and it came back at Michelle, jolting her and Jason forward. Jason caught himself on the dash and then pushed himself back into the seat. As he gathered himself, he saw the limousine turn right again and was thrown over the gearshift as Michelle turned behind it. Michelle hit the gas to correct the turn, but the car just growled as the rear end continued to lurch right. She released the gas and pressed it again but they were already spinning. They slid backwards, bumped up on the curb, went through a parking sign, and then hit the wall of a building hard. Jason heard tires squealing behind him and lifted himself up. He saw the car was in neutral and shifted it back into drive as he looked over his shoulder into the passenger side mirror. He saw the limousine with its back end smashed against the wall only eight feet behind them, peeling on the sidewalk.

This road was no bigger than an alley. It was an access street through the complexes and there was really only room for one car at a time. And there were no pedestrians. This was as good a place as any.

"Go! Drive around the block! We need to execute the plan right now!"

"But you have to..."

"These are long blocks. Just go!"

Michelle nodded and hit the gas. Jason reached up and pulled the door handle and as the car pulled forward, he leaned against the door and rolled out onto the sidewalk. Jason rolled his legs over as his shoulder hit the ground and rolled himself up facing Michelle as she skidded around the corner to the right. He planted his right foot, dropped his right knee, and whipped the shotgun around. He propped his elbow on his knee and steadied the gun with his left hand. The limousine pulled off the sidewalk and into the road, but he tracked it. This was his last shot.

Jason fired. He felt his shoulder burn with the pressure of the kickback this time and the white of the limousine was overshadowed in the brilliance of the light that bathed the stretch of road. Jason stood and ran toward where the limousine should have been, shielding his eyes with his hand. As the whine subsided and the light died, Jason saw the limousine fishtailing violently. As his pupils adjusted, he saw most of the back end was gone. It looked like something gigantic had taken a bite out of the trunk of the car. He saw a wheel roll past the car and into a wall and realized it had been the left rear wheel of the limousine. Jason ran toward the car as it pitched left, then right, before the front end turned completely left and it slid sideways into a light post. The remaining rear wheel bent under the car at an impossible angle, and a liquid spread across the ground toward him as he ran.

Jason noticed the driver-side window was smashed as the driver threw open the door with blood covering his face and pointed a gun at him. Jason heard him fire as he dove to his side. He landed in a ball and rolled to his feet in a crouch behind the limousine. He dropped the shotgun and pulled both the Beretta and the Glock from his back holsters. The wrecked limousine was propped up on its front wheels and sloped down toward Jason. He saw the driver's torso above the front end of the car, and he saw him bring his gun up. Jason dove to his right again, firing two rounds with his left hand. The driver ducked behind the car as the bullets ricocheted off the slanted roof.

Jason rolled over to the light post and flattened his back to its base with it between him and the car. Luckily the base was thick. He only had about two minutes, maybe less. He didn't have time to fuck around with this guy, and he needed to flush out Max. Jason inhaled deeply as he felt the bullets hit the lamp post behind him, sending chips of cement over his shoulders as he gagged on the gasoline fumes.

Gasoline.

Jason looked down and saw the trail of gasoline, still stretching out away from the limousine. He looked to his right just as a bullet hit the post next to his head and ricocheted, leaving cloud of gray dust. Jason moved a step to the left, away from where the bullet hit, and fired twice at where the roof of the car should have been.

There was a pause in gunfire and Jason took advantage. He pointed his gun at the trail of gasoline and fired, but there was no spark. He heard more gunfire, this time from directly behind him and he fired twice more. Both bullets sparked off the ground and flames jumped out of the gasoline and began stretching toward what had been the back of the car. Jason wanted to run from the flames as they stretched toward him, but if he was going to avoid being shot, he'd have to cut it close. He heard the gunfire stop, and then a cry of "Shit!" off to his right. He heard a hurried tapping of dress shoes against asphalt, and then he heard a door open.

"Quick, get out!" he heard from behind.

Jason turned on his heel to face the lamppost, still crouching, and then, as the flames whooshed past him, he dove to his left and rolled. He heard bullets ricochet off the ground behind him, but he flattened out across the ground anyway and fired twice, catching Davenport's bodyguard in the knee then the shin. The bodyguard fell forward screaming as Max and then Davenport, leapt from the car. Jason saw the flames climb up the gasoline that was still running from the limousine and realized he was too close. He heard Max and Davenport running as he rolled back toward the base of the lamppost, put it between him and the car, and curled himself into as small of a fetal ball as he could.

Max ran without regard to Davenport or Davenport's men. He figured the bloated, out-of-shape bastard would have trouble running, but he seemed to keep up—at least for the four or five steps they put between them and the car before it exploded in thunder behind them. Either as a result of the force from the blast, the ground shaking, or the scrap of metal that hit him behind his knee, Max fell forward in mid-stride as an intense heat washed over him. He saw Davenport roll by, flailing his arms as he hit the ground hard.

It felt like the world was imploding. Against the pole, the force from the blast seemed to suck Jason in rather than repel him, and the sound from the blast made his head feel like it was caving in at the earholes. He felt intense, dry heat and then saw the flames curl around the pole on either side like a giant, burning fist. Then, the flames turned up into the air. Jason saw the bodyguard he had shot through the wavering hot air, rolling by in slow motion, burning at his head and legs, frantically slapping at the flames in his hair. Jason turned to look over his shoulder and realized it wasn't just the hot air that was wavering, but his vision had gone myopic. As he turned, he saw something big and white filling his vision and realized what it must have been.

Jason launched his body forward away from the lamppost as the limousine landed on its side against the pole and dumped a cataract of flames where he had been crouching. He landed less-than-gracefully and rolled across the sidewalk onto his back. He opened his eyes and saw the moon, pasty, white and wavering, peeking from behind thin, stringy clouds crisscrossed with dark, demonic fingers of smoke reaching up to pull down the stars. Jason could feel his eyes watering, and it felt like his brain was trying to squeeze itself out of his ears. He felt his throat groan, but only heard his heartbeat drumming like a machine gun and the monotonous droning of a sine wave. It felt and sounded like someone had set off an AM mine in his head. He couldn't tell whether he was breathing or not and could only feel rubbery numbness in his limbs. He closed his eyes as a finger of smoke eclipsed the moon, and he waited to die.

Michelle slowed for the second corner and took it at 30. The car swayed to the right, but the tires didn't squeal as it rocked around the corner. Her breathing was quick, and she felt dizzy. She could taste the metallic rancor of blood and feel a welt at the end of her tongue. This side of the block was long, but she would be rounding the last corner soon. Sooner than she would have liked. Far too much was going on at once. Far too much was at stake. And far too much was unsure.

She reached into her purse, which was wedged between her seat and the handbrake, and took out the green credit card.

Fuzzy blackness danced on the inside of Jason's eyelids to the tune of the sine wave trapped in his head. The blackness twisted, swirled, and then settled into a palette of red, glossy black, olive and white. Jason felt the rubber in his arms stiffen and take form as Michelle smiled down at him. Then, as he felt the gun was still in his hand, her image dissipated, squeezed into a point, and expanded into the image of the Earth, consumed in white flames, spiraling off into the ether.

Jason snapped his eyes open to dispel the image and saw flames spewing vile unctuous tendrils of smog into the air. He lolled his head slowly to try and shake out the sine wave, but it persisted. As his head rolled he saw Max pushing himself off the ground. And just above him, between the two buildings at the end of the alley, just above a thin wisp of cloud, he saw the belt of Orion.

Max lifted himself up onto his hands and knees and shook the shock from his head. Through the buzz in his ears he heard a morose duet of moaning and screaming. He turned and saw Davenport beside him, rolling on his gut with a rivulet of drool stretching from his mouth toward the ground. On his other side he saw Davenport's bodyguard, smoke rising from his head, patches of scalp visible, screaming as he swatted at flames on his bleeding legs.

Max looked around trying to gather his bearings as he pushed himself up to one knee. Where the hell was Streck? Max stood completely as he saw Davenport's driver coming toward him just beyond the flames undulating across the carcass of the limousine. He yelled something that Max couldn't discern through the buzz. It sounded like "Look out."

Jason launched himself forward from his run and wrapped his arms around Max as he drove his shoulder into him and forced him to the ground. Jason landed on top of Max and felt him resisting, trying to roll him over, even as Jason brought the butt of his gun up to club him. He felt Max grab his cummerbund as he saw the driver raising his gun.

Jason let Max roll him over. As Max rolled on top of him, Jason extended his arm and fired twice, hitting the driver in his left hip, then his right shoulder. The driver tumbled backward, and before he hit the ground, Max's hand came down in a ridge and smashed Jason's wrist against the ground. His wrist and hand lost feeling, throbbing at the point of contact, and he saw the gun slip from his hands. Max's knee was pressing into the inside of his right thigh, but Jason's left leg was free and he brought it up as hard as he could. He felt his knee contact bone and saw Max's eyes widen as he loosened his grip. Jason kicked with his left leg and pushed with his left arm, rolling Max to the side. He planted his senseless right hand under him and rolled up on his side, kicking Max again and rolling him onto his back. Jason followed through the motion, bringing himself up to his feet over Max. He saw Max reach for the gun, and he kicked him across the face, and then brought his foot back and down on Max's wrist just before his hand closed around the pistol.

Jason reached over and grabbed Max by the collar and lifted him up. He hit Max across the jaw with his right as he pulled him to his feet, and then pushed him backward past the burning limousine and hit him across his mouth with a forearm. As his forearm connected, Jason saw the light on his watch blinking.

Michelle pressed the red button on the credit card and rounded the last corner at 25 to make sure she kept the car straight. She saw a mass of flames on some weird dumpster on the left of the road halfway down the block. She mashed the accelerator, wondering where the hell Jason was, and then she realized the thing that was burning wasn't a dumpster at all. It was the limousine. She saw there were people in front of the flames and saw one man stumble back as the other man hit him.

Jason.

This was it. Michelle gnashed her teeth and held her breath.

Jason thought he heard the rumbling of an engine and out the corner of his eye he saw his car approaching. The sine wave was still there and everything sounded like it was under water. Max swung at him wildly, but Jason dodged and smacked it to the side. Max followed with a kick, and Jason blocked it down, but it caught Jason across his left hip. Jason turned with the impact and rolled into Max with an elbow. Jason hit Max in his temple and his eyes glazed. He teetered to his side, but Jason grabbed him.

Max looked up at him, left eye swollen, blood trickling from his mouth in a thick string. "Why?" Jason saw him mouth, his teeth stained red.

"Because the world can't afford you."

Jason brought his right hand up in an uppercut and blood sprayed from Max's mouth over his shirt. He pushed Max upright as he saw the car coming and spun, whipped around sharply, and planted his foot into Max's chest as he extended a kick.

Max's arms flew up as he was launched backward into the center of the road with the Prelude speeding toward him.

Michelle's jaws ached from gnashing her teeth, but she barely felt it. Her hands shook as she squeezed the wheel and pressed the accelerator to the floor. She saw Jason punch Max and spin into a kick that sent him stumbling into the path of the car. She leaned forward as Max's body grew in the windshield. She was still holding her breath and her head was still cloudy. The blood had rushed out of her knuckles and she felt nothing but tingling in her fingers. The only sense left was the taste of blood. She tried to push the gas pedal harder into the floor. Max turned and looked at the car and threw his hands out in front of him.

Michelle looked at him as she heard him scream. His eyes consumed his entire face and Michelle saw death staring back at her in them, reaching out for her heart.

Jason watched as the car speed toward Max and his muscles tightened with anticipation. Max turned, looked at the car, threw his hands up, and opened his mouth. His scream penetrated through the sine wave in Jason's head and sent slivers of ice through his veins. That picture froze in Jason's mind. This was what he had come here for. This was the end.

Then suddenly, the picture shattered in a screeching of tires and brakes and Jason saw the Prelude skid fiercely to the right—past Max—as he dove to his side. The rear end of the car slid into his legs and his body went spinning past Jason and caromed off the bottom of the limousine.

Jason felt his heart seize, and he saw movement over his shoulder as the Prelude spun 360 degrees, then 360 again, and came to a stop against the curb on the other side of the road. He turned and saw Davenport, shakily propped up on an elbow, holding the gun loosely in his hand. Jason leapt over Max past the limousine as Davenport fired. The flames seemed to reach out for him as he covered his head from their grasp and ran along the burning wreck. At the back of the limousine, he saw yellow and orange glimmering off chrome next to the trail of flame that led up to the smoldering wreck. As he ran toward the Prelude, he pulled his right hand into his jacket and snatched up the shotgun with his sleeved hand in mid-stride.

Behind him he heard more tires. It no longer sounded like he was underwater, but now he could hear faint sirens harmonizing with the sine wave. Over his shoulder he saw the Taurus, bumper grill and headlights all gone, slide onto the road. Jason ran over to the Prelude and ducked behind it as more gunfire ricocheted around him. He crawled in a scurry to the door and opened it. He just hoped Michelle was okay.

When he pulled himself into the car he saw Michelle with her face buried in her hands. She looked over at him slowly as he closed the door and a tear cut a swath through her makeup. "I couldn't do it," she said quietly.

"We need to get out of here," Jason said, looking over his shoulder.

Max saw what was left of the Taurus pull up beside him as he stood to his feet. His left leg wobbled under his weight and his back felt like someone had whipped him from the inside. He walked over to Davenport as Streck got out the back of the Taurus.

"What the hell happened here?" Streck asked as Max knelt and took the gun from Davenport. Max was silent. Davenport began pushing himself up off his stomach. "What..."

Before he could ask it, his question was answered with a gunshot that shattered the back of his head.

Max walked over to the unconscious bodyguard that still had smoke rising from his scalp and legs and shot him in his head. Streck watched slack-jawed as Max moved back past him to the driver, still writhing in the street. The driver began groveling as Max approached. As Max stood over him, his groveling turned to screams that rose in volume with the sirens. The crackle of the gun split the night air. The screams fell silent. Max tossed the gun into the flames near Davenport's body and Streck followed him. "We have to move to Plan B," Max said without feeling.

In the car Max noticed Streck glancing at him furtively. Max turned and looked him in his eyes. "They knew too much," he said as the Taurus peeled off away from the growing sirens.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Michelle shuffled into the room with her head low as Jason closed the hotel door. She walked to her bed and dropped down onto the edge of it, keeping her head down. As Jason walked around her, she turned her head to keep her face hidden from him.

Jason walked to her without a word. He could feel the weight of the air in the room—even greater than the weight of the blood that seemed to be stagnating in his heart. He looked at Michelle. She was a part of this, but he didn't feel like it was her burden to bear. She looked down at her hands that sat limp in her lap as he approached. He stood in front of her and knelt, lifting her face up at the chin. Streaks ran through her makeup down her face, and she looked as if she knew Mammon himself was standing over her, ready to snatch her soul from her body. Small points of light flickered like distant stars in the center of each pupil as a tear silently escaped her right eye. She shook her head, "I couldn't do it."

Jason took her hands into his. The tips of her fingers were warm, but her palms were morbidly cold. Jason clasped her hands between his and stood. She followed his lead and stood limply in front of him. She lowered her hands to her side and he embraced her, pulling her as close to him as he could. She lifted her arms slowly, balled her fists, and held him tightly.

He spoke to her softly, "Killing is such a terrible thing."

"But I wasted your time. Everything you've done was useless." she said as more tears escaped.

Jason loosened his embrace and leaned her slightly backward so their eyes met. He raised his right hand to her head and lightly brushed a tear from her cheek with his knuckle. He saw nothing but her eyes as he whispered to her, "My entire life has led me to this point. Every choice I've ever made has led me here. I don't pretend to know why. Maybe it's to kill Max, and maybe it's just to ruffle the COG's feathers, but regardless, if coming here has given someone as wonderful and beautiful as you a life they would not have had otherwise, then nothing I have done, no choice I have ever made, was in vain."

As Jason kissed Michelle on her forehead, more tears spread down her face, but these were different, they didn't carry the same sullen chill as the others. They were pure and welcome. As he drew his lips from her forehead, she raised her head and pulled him to her again, accepting his lips with hers.

Before Jason's mind could protest, they were already on the bed, her soft lips between his, their tongues brushing lightly against each other. Jason slipped the straps of the dress from her shoulders as he brushed his lips lightly across the line of her chin to her neck. He felt her breath against his ear as her lips closed around the lobe. He slipped the straps over her arms and moved his right hand down her side to her hip. He felt her teeth and tongue tease at his ear as the soft skin of her thigh emerged from the split in the dress and rose to meet his hand. He slid the tips of his fingers down her leg to her knee and rolled her on top of him.

He slid his hands around to her hips as they kissed again, and he felt the muscles there tense as she straddled him. He took her tongue into his mouth as he slid his hands up her back, across the smooth waves of her shoulders, and pulled the dress down around her waist.

Michelle pushed herself up with her arms, sliding her lips from his bottom lip as he slid the dress down around her. She felt her nipples stiffen as the chill of the room passed between the warmth of their bodies. She tightened her knees around his waist and felt his pants swell beneath her. She slipped the buttons of his shirt loose quickly, and he ran his hands over her shoulders, across her neck. He brushed the side of his hand across her cheek and she turned her head slightly, taking his finger into her mouth and sucking as she pulled his shirt from his pants. His hands were big and strong—powerful and safe—but their touch was gentle, soothing. As she unfastened the last button, she drew her lips from his finger, kissed the back of his hand, and lowered her head to his chest.

Her hair cascaded over Jason's neck and chest, the ends brushing lightly over his skin, sending gentle tickles across his torso as she lowered her lips to his nipple. He felt his nipple rise to meet her tongue as her lips closed around it. She moved slowly from the nipple to the center of his chest, her tongue playfully dancing its way down to his stomach. She ran her hands over his chest as she ran her tongue over his abdomen. She took one of the muscles of his stomach into her mouth and drew it in softly, sending weakening tremors through his body.

Michelle felt Jason's legs tense under her as she pulled at his stomach with her mouth. She released, and then slid slowly up his torso, rubbing her nails lightly against his side, a slight twinkle of pleasure moving down her sides as her nipples brushed lightly against his flesh.

His lips were there to meet hers, and he rolled her over onto her back as their lips and tongues caressed each other. He moved slowly down to her breasts and ran his tongue slowly down her chest. He felt her body quiver as he brushed his tongue lightly across her nipple, flicking the tip lightly over it. He heard her moan and she slid her legs across his thighs.

He moved up again to kiss her, and she slid his pants open as he moved from her lips to her neck, just below the ear.

She slipped his pants off with her legs, and he moved slowly down her body, leaving warm kisses across her nipples, her side, her belly button. His hand moved over her breast and squeezed lightly, tenderly, as he ran his fingers under her thigh.

She felt gooseflesh on her back as he lightly kissed the inside of her knee, and then traced slowly up her thigh with his tongue. He slid her panties off slowly and lifted her leg, kissing her ankle. He moved slowly, kissing her calves, her knee, the top of her thigh, then sucked lightly in the interior, spreading her legs. Her stomach tightened as he moved his tongue up her thigh. He paused for a moment, and she thought something was wrong, but then she felt him spread her open. He opened her and ran his tongue lightly along the inside fold, then over to her clitoris. He let his tongue dart over it softly as she grabbed his head and pulled him closer to her. He felt her legs slide up his back as he fluttered his tongue across her. Her legs locked around him and her stomach shuddered as she climaxed with a long sigh.

As she felt herself release, he moved back up her stomach again, his hands flowing over her breast, his strong fingers kneading them softly. As he slid over her, she pulled him to her with her arms and kissed him passionately, the fever he had instilled in her flowing from her lips to his and back again. She locked her ankles over his back and squeezed as she reached down and pulled him inside

They moved in perfect synchronicity, their lips, their tongues, their legs, their arms in a perfect symphony of desire. For them, time was frozen. There was no future, no past. No Max, no COG, no ONF. Only the rhythm and heat of their bodies, and the perfect complete deliverance that came with it.

# Part 3

"The soul's dominion?

Each time we make a choice, we pay

With courage to behold the restless day,

And count it fair."

Amelia Earheart

# CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

**September 29,** 1991

In the morning, Michelle awoke to find Jason sitting at the foot of the bed. She crawled over to him and kissed him, but his kiss was weak, sulking. "What's wrong?" she asked, wrapping her arms around him. "I have to figure out what to do about Max. There's only a couple of days left."

Michelle climbed around him and turned his face to hers. "Well, do you think you'll find him today?"

"After last night, probably not."

"Then, why worry about it now?"

"Because I have to do something about it, and I only have three days to do it."

Michelle kissed him lightly on his forehead. "Look, you've spent your whole time here worrying about him. I'm starting to get a little jealous."

"I'm sorry but..."

She put her fingers to his lips, shushing him before he could finish. "You know what they say, 'All work and no play makes Jack flip out and try to cut up his family."

"What?" Jason had no idea what she was talking about.

She kissed him on his cheek again and climbed from the bed. "Never mind," she said, walking toward the restroom. "Besides, you won't have time to think about it today anyway."

"Why's that?" Jason asked as he watched her slink toward the restroom.

"Because," she said, smiling facetiously over her shoulder, "I'm taking you to Happy Land."

* * *

Max stood in the study of Harvey Quint with a manila folder in his hand. Harvey did not look happy to see him. Max tossed the folder on the table and it came spinning to Harvey's hand.

"I'll make you a proposal Mr. Quint," Max said as Harvey stopped the folder with his fingers. "You turn over ownership of Happy Land, and we will give you a modest price and five percent of the profits."

"Why would I sell Happy Land for any price? It's my pride and joy."

"Because Mr. Quint, if you do not, the contents of that folder will be on the front desk of every television station, radio station, newspaper, and magazine in the tri-cities before I get out of your driveway."

Harvey Quint opened the folder slowly and slipped the contents into his hand. There was a log of all his gambling debts in Atlantic City, pictures of him talking to Vincini, his contact with the Marconis that had collected on his debts, and a copy of _Spatch_ magazine. _How the hell could he know?_

"We can prove you published that magazine to recover your debts and get Happy Land back on its feet. We can also prove that three of the girls in that issue were under the age of eighteen at the time of photography. How do you think thepublic will react to Happy Land when they find out its founder is a crapshooter, a smutmonger, and a pedophile?"

He had used the magazine to pay off his debts to the Marconis, but he sincerely did not know those girls were underage, even though he had not pressed the issue. "I never touched those girls!"

"I know you're a gambling man. Shall we roll the dice and let the public decide?"

The bastard smiled smugly at him and turned his palms to the ceiling. He wanted to tell him he could take his copy of _Spatch_ and go fuck himself, but he had him over a barrel. The copy of the ledger in the envelope could easily prove he owned the magazine, and if he had gotten this information, and the girls were truly underage, getting copies of birth certificates would not be a problem. The media would have a carnival at his expense, and his beloved Happy Land would go down in flames, only not as literally as the Marconis had threatened.

His only choice was no choice. He had promised Deborah he would do anything to revitalize their baby when she had passed three years ago, and now, with the evidence he had in front of him, if this man was truly willing to do what he said he would do, his only choice, for his wife's sake, was to accept the terms of the deal.

He opened the safe under the desk and took out the deed. He took the papers that the man handed him and reached for a pen. The only pen in his caddy was red. Without reading the papers in front of him, he handed the man the deed, and signed away his soul.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jason and Michelle held hands as they walked through the main mall just beyond the entrance. Jason looked around. There was a clown juggling bowling balls, and another one next to him juggling what looked like fire extinguishers. There were a lot of college-aged people filtering through the walkway, and children ran everywhere, weaving their way sporadically through the crowd with tired or overly excited parents shouting at them. Jason saw another clown pinch a woman in the behind just as her friend snapped a picture of her with him.

"What's with all the clowns?" Jason asked as he watched the woman that had been pinched giggle and fall into the clown's arms.

"I guess it's kinda the theme of this place. Kings Dominion has the Hannah Barbera characters, Disneyland has Disney characters, this place has clowns."

"The clowns are kind of, I dunno... bizarre."

"Yeah, I think they're mostly horny college guys," she looked over at a store to her left. "When I was little, I had an Aunt Trisha. Well, she wasn't my real Aunt, just a friend of my mom's, but she was pretty cool. Cool except she always brought me to this place, and I hated it on account of the clowns."

"You don't like clowns either?" Jason said as Michelle stopped in mid-stride.

"Nah, it's just I've always had that weird ass dream about the clowns. They just don't set well with me."

"Clowns always disturbed me too. It's just something about people with painted faces that's plain untrustworthy."

"You should try Sorority Row on a Thursday night." Michelle took a step to her left and pulled Jason over to a side store. "Look, cotton candy. I haven't had cotton candy since I was..." she thought about it for a moment. "Well, it's been a long time."

Jason followed Michelle into the small shop that seemed oddly empty in comparison to the other stores around. "You wanna share one?" Michelle asked, letting go of Jason's hand as she reached into her purse.

"Sure," Jason said as he reached into his pocket for his money roll, "But you don't have to do that."

"Do what?" Michelle asked taking out a dollar and a quarter.

"Pay for it? I'll take care of it."

The man behind the counter took a thin paper cone from a stack and looked at Michelle expectantly. "Just one," she said to him closing her purse, and then looked to Jason. "So, a girl can't pay for a guy now?" she asked facetiously.

"No, it's not that. It's just you work hard for your money and have bills and stuff. My money is more or less free."

"That's exactly why I want to pay for you," Michelle smiled and winked as she turned back to the counter.

Jason took his hand from his pocket and watched the man twirl the paper cone in the spinning conical bin that looked like a cement mixer full of pink fluff. "Didn't this stuff ever seem odd to you? I mean, cotton candy just doesn't look edible."

The man looked at Jason with one squinting eye as he collected the pink concoction on the cone. "Sorry, not yours, I mean in general." Jason added apologetically.

The man grumbled and looked back into the mixer. "So, Mr. Bond gets defensive. That's a first."

"Hey, my line of work is harrowing, but after a while, you may get a little shaken here or there, but never stirred," Jason lifted his belt in mock hubris.

The man removed the pink candy pom-pom from the mixer with a twist of his wrist and handed it to Michelle. He grumbled again and reached out his hand. Michelle handed him the money and then leaned the cotton candy over to Jason's mouth. Just as he leaned to take in some of the airy candy, Michelle snatched it away and kissed his bottom lip.

"Fished in!" she exclaimed with a bright smile, making a reeling motion alongside the cone.

Jason smiled and shook his head laughing. Michelle pointed at him and smiled over the cotton candy. "I got you to smile again."

"I still don't get this smile stuff."

As they walked from the store, Michelle leaned the cotton candy up for Jason to take some. She held it there this time, but Jason paused to make sure she wouldn't snatch it away again. "You're normally Mr. Dead Pan."

"Mr. Bed Pan?"

"No, dead pan, silly. Y'know like Buster Keaton." She took another mouthful of cotton candy.

"Well, I think I said before I never really had much reason to smile," Jason put his hands in his pockets and looked into her eyes as she opened them and dissolved the cotton candy in her mouth, "at least not until I met you."

Michelle stopped moving her tongue to dissolve the cotton candy faster as looked at him. Jason continued to smile. She wanted to give him a big hug, but instead stood on her toes and kissed him, slipping the tip of her tongue slightly between his lips. She squeezed his upper lip between hers and he could taste the dissolved sugar on her lips as she sank slowly back to her heels.

Jason ran his hand past her ear and down the soft line of her hair. She grabbed a button on his shirt between her thumb and forefinger and pushed it back lightly into his stomach. She felt the abdominal muscle stiffen against her thumb. "You're just trying to get into my pants aren't you?"

Jason put his hands on either side of her waist and looked down at her waistline, "I think those pants look much better on you than they would on me."

"And what do you know about women's pants, hmm?" she lifted an eyebrow in feigned accusation.

"Though life in the twenty-first century may be grim, hot pants are still hot pants."

Michelle reeled in a piece of cotton candy with a seductive lick as she continued to stare into his eyes.

"So, are we gonna ride some rides, or we gonna stand here and look at each other all day?" He asked.

"I'm fine right here," Michelle said, and licked the cotton candy again, slower this time. "That is, as long as the comments keep coming."

Jason kissed her on her forehead, then took her hand as he moved beside her and they walked toward the rides. "What am I gonna do with you?"

"I can't wait to find _that_ out myself."

"You're awful naughty to be the human manifestation of Order," Jason said as they moved toward a big arch with a giant jester head on it.

"That's what my mom keeps telling me."

* * *

Max stood at the dry-erase board at the head of the briefing room. It was actually the old break room, but he wanted it to sound official. He addressed the ONF members—new members as well as supervisors.

"I know you were all asked here at the last minute, but no man knows when God will call. I know most of you have not been trained, and the others have been training only a few months, but I need you to be strong. There is no real threat, however. We have obtained this amusement park through a hostile takeover of sorts, and I am afraid there may be some backlash. So, I need you to go out there, look sharp, and follow orders. Most likely nothing will happen, but be on your toes just in case. We have also purchased new weapons, which will be concealed in the lockers in the access passage. You are only to use these lockers under orders from myself or Major Streck. If there are any questions, stay back and I or Major Streck will answer them to the best of our abilities."

He paused to let them internalize what he had said. They all looked nervous, but some of them looked eager at the same time. "No matter what happens from here on out, remember you are doing this for the church, and you are doing it for God."

* * *

"What's over there?" Jason asked, pointing to a walkway barred off with wooden sawhorses that lead into the woods.

"Oh, that leads to the Ship of Fools."

"The Ship of Fools?"

"Yeah, it's like one of those pirate ship rides, only it doesn't go upside down, it goes up and down in a circle. It's pretty cool, but it useta be kinda slow. I guess they sped it up for the reopening, but when they tested it, it was too fast, so they had to close it again."

Michelle stopped suddenly, and put her hand on Jason's stomach to stop him. "Look funnel cake."

"What is that stuff anyways?" Jason asked as Michelle led him over to the tables in front of the vendor window.

"You've never had funnel cake?"

"I didn't know what it was. That and it only seems to exist in amusement parks, and I didn't go to any that often after middle school."

"Didn't you grow up in LA?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't go to Disneyland?"

"Nah, too expensive."

Michelle pulled Jason to the window and the vendor leaned forward, "How can I help you?" he asked with a thick southern accent as he tipped his hat.

"Can I have a funnel cake?"

"Half or whole?"

"Half's fine."

Michelle opened her purse and took out some more money.

"You know, you really don't have to do that," Jason said touching her shoulder.

"Look macho man, when I run out of money you can pay, but I dragged you here, so it's my treat." She paid the vendor and took the funnel cake.

The two of them sat a table in the center of the clearing with a large red and white umbrella over it.

Michelle pulled off a piece of funnel cake and stuck it in Jason's mouth. Jason chewed it slowly and nodded in approval as he swallowed.

She picked off a piece for herself as Jason turned away slowly. She clasped her hands as she chewed and they moved into an awkward cloud of silence. Jason stared at the trees on the other side of the fence lining the clearing.

"You okay?" she asked, sliding closer so their knees touched lightly and putting her hand on his thigh.

"Yeah, I'm all right—I guess."

"What's up?"

"I guess I'm a little worried about what to do about Max."

Michelle grabbed his chin and turned his eyes to meet hers. "Look, today is _our_ day okay? That bastard has monopolized enough of our time, not to mention too much of _your_ life. Shrug the weight of the world from your shoulders for just a day. You'll have plenty of time to worry about him before you have to go, okay?" She leaned forward and kissed him lightly on the lips. "Besides," she stood one finger on top of his head in the center, "Your head's starting to come to a point."

She put her hand on top of his on the table and squeezed it lightly as she put another pinch of funnel cake in his mouth with her other hand.

"I have to go to the restroom. Try and think happy thoughts until I get back okay?" She slid her hand delicately off his as she stood and slid her leg from under the table. She turned and walked through the table toward the walkway and then glanced and waved over her shoulder as she passed the last table. Jason watched the way her legs and hips moved. The way the firm form of her body moved in graceful, sinuous strides. He wanted to touch her, to run his hands across those soft, seductive lines. Even with the problem of Max looming over them, watching Michelle walk away from the eating area, her hips and thighs retreating in their intoxicating feminine rhythm, it wasn't hard to think happy thoughts.

* * *

Harvey Quint sat on his bed, his head filled with Jim Beam, eyes focused on the postcard he held in his hands. He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest, with all the veins and arteries still attached, and squeezed before his very eyes. The clown in the upper left-hand corner of the postcard mocked his pain with painted-on laughter. The pristine white walls of Jovial Hall, which he, himself, helped re-paint each year, seemed dull and gray in the postcard.

On the nightstand, Deborah stared up at him with biting accusation. He had dedicated the re-opening to her memory but he had disgraced even that now—all because of one simple mistake. He had thought he'd rather see it go on without him than be lost, but now he realized, without it, he _was_ lost. He had worked his entire life to build Happy Land to what it was today, and the blood and sweat of his labor had been returned ten-fold in the joy he saw in the faces and laughter of the kids that came every year. Now, with all that betrayed, his entire life behind him, his blood and sweat and labor for naught, his life seemed forfeit. Useless. Fifty plus years for nothing. Harvey set the postcard on the nightstand and lifted the phone to his ear—he couldn't let it end like this. Perhaps he had sold his soul, but he could still salvage his dignity.

As the dial tone rang through his ears and echoed through his head, he lifted the Magnum revolver from the bed and checked the chamber. Seven empty holes, one bullet—but one was all he needed. He turned the gun and let the chamber flip closed. Then, he pulled back the hammer as he dialed 911.

* * *

Jason sat in the beaming winter sun despite the umbrella that grew from the center of the table. He was having trouble believing any of this was actually happening. He felt like Michelle would probably never come out of the bathroom. That it was all some cruel joke, and at any moment, that old MTVguy was gonna jump out a bush and stick a microphone in his face and ask him how he felt about being punked, and afterwards, everyone but him would have a good hearty laugh. He'd be left here at this table, under this useless umbrella, completely alone as usual. And his anxiety over Max didn't help either. It was true, he could use some time in the real world as Michelle had put it, away from this whole business with Max and the COG, but he couldn't put it out of his mind. Jason was sure his actions here had changed things drastically, but he remembered Pierce Daen explaining the Paradox Theory to him. "Even though your actions may have minimal, or cataclysmic effects, it is impossible to know how they will manifest themselves or even to what extent, until they have already manifested. That is the curse you must face." Every action of every man carried weight, but how much and to what effect could never be known until it was too late. Perhaps he and Michelle had disturbed Max's plans enough that he could never grow as strong as he had in Jason's time frame, or maybe their actions could somehow make him stronger. Jason couldn't be sure he had fulfilled his obligation until Max was dead, and that ate away at him like so many drops of acid.

As Jason stuffed another bite of funnel cake in his mouth, he saw two clowns walking in opposite directions stop and raise their hands in preparation for a high-five. They swung and missed the connection of hands, followed through, and each grabbed the other's lifted ankle and shook it. They both turned and waved in unison at two children sitting at a table closer to them than Jason. They then turned and ran in opposite directions. Jason shook his head. They should have called this place Disturbing Land.

Jason pulled off another bite of funnel cake and put it in his mouth and noticed the novelty shop just past where the clowns had greeted each other. One of the clowns had stopped running and was standing at the corner of the building smoking a cigar the size of a two liter bottle. Where he had been keeping that Jason didn't even want to ponder, but he noticed the waist of his pants was about four times as big as his midsection and was held in a circle with a wire frame that was supported by thick suspenders. Just as the college kids passed, one pointed at the clown and made a comment about the cigar, and just the kid pointed, the cigar exploded in confetti, leaving black soot all over the clown's face. Jason looked back to the novelty shop, back to the clown, and then stood as he got an idea.

Michelle emerged from the restroom to find Jason in the same spot, in almost the same position, with the same worry lines on his face. "You know, if you keep looking like that, your face is gonna stick that way." She said, sitting on the stool next to him, purposefully brushing her legs against his.

"My face is already stuck this way," Jason held his somber visage as he dropped more funnel cake in his mouth.

"Oh, is that so?"

Jason nodded.

Michelle slid closer to him, her knees on either side of his leg, stuck out her index finger, and poked him in the stomach. "Doughboy!" she blurted as she pulled her finger back.

Jason looked at her with utter surprise as he instinctively grabbed his stomach. He giggled airily as though he had been tickled. Michelle smiled at him and lifted both hands in the air as if she had just won a marathon. "No one can resist the Doughboy!" she exclaimed. Jason looked at her and she noticed he actually smiled again, so she took advantage of the situation and stole a piece of funnel cake. As she chewed, she laughed maniacally.

"You need medication," Jason said still smiling.

"That's what my shrink keeps telling me." She stole another piece of funnel cake. Michelle closed her legs and squeezed his lightly between them as she put the cake in her mouth. He looked into her eyes as she chewed slowly. Jason had no idea exactly what he was feeling now, but he knew it permeated his entire body. He brushed her hair aside and rubbed his finger across her cheek, and she met the back of his hand with hers, pressing his hand lightly to her face. She swallowed the cake and kissed his palm. That was when Jason noticed the clown with the cigar, sitting at the table directly behind her with another fat cigar.

Jason pointed to the clown and Michelle turned. "Seems everywhere you go to eat, someone's smoking." Michelle giggled, and then, as the cigar exploded, leapt back in surprise. The clown's legs kicked up, and he fell backward off the stool. The clown practically bounced to his feet and turned to Michelle and Jason with his hand over his mouth.

"Nasty habit," he said, "That stuff'll kill you." He took a step over to Michelle. "My, you're a pretty one aren't ya? I'd crawl a mile buck-ball naked through broken glass just to masturbate in your shadow."

Michelle just looked at him, "I don't know whether I should be flattered or vomit."

"Well, here, I think I got something for ya," the clown reached down into his pants and made an 'oh' shape with his mouth as if rummaging around in his pants was exciting him. Michelle leaned back as he shuffled through his pants. He let out a chortle and then snatched a half-dozen roses from his crotch. "I believe these are for you."

Michelle smiled and sniffed the roses as she took them. She noticed a card nestled between the roses and the dressing and took it out. She opened it. It was a blank card with a few words scrawled on it. "To Michelle: Thank You. Jason."

Michelle turned to Jason and threw her arms around him. She held the roses behind his head as she lay on him and caught his bottom lip between hers. She slid from her chair onto his leg as she widened the kiss and the tips of their tongues brushed lightly together. She gently slid her lips from his lip as she rested on his knee with her arms around him and looked into his eyes.

"I..." Jason began to say, but she shushed him with her left hand and kissed him again.

Jason heard the clown screaming "Woo hoo! Woo hoo!" repeatedly as he ran off.

Michelle leaned back again and kissed Jason on his forehead. "All my life, I'm looking everywhere for prince charming, and some clown I barely know comes and sweeps me off my feet."

"Is that a compliment?"

"Who said I was talking about you, dork?"

"Oh, first I'm a clown, now I'm a dork?" Jason put his arms around her, "What was that about being swept off your feet?" Jason lifted her in one swift motion, laid her on her back on the table and began tickling her sides wildly. Michelle thrashed, laughing hysterically as she tried to push his torturous arms away. She lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist and squeezed with each tormenting giggle.

Jordy Hanson licked his ice cream cone, wincing as he watched the man and woman a few tables over kissing each other like they had both just turned into funnel cake. Suddenly the man picked up the woman and dropped her on the table, and she put her legs around him. Jordy tapped his mother and pointed at them with his ice cream cone. "Look ma, X-rated action!"

Jordy's mom turned and was appalled.

Jason stopped tickling Michelle and put his hands on the table on either side of her head. She pulled him closer with her ankles and he leaned over to kiss her.

"Hey!" Jason stopped just before their lips touched. "I heard Tom Bodet left the light on for ya!" the woman sitting at the table with the two kids belted at them.

Jason sat up quickly and lifted Michelle up off the table.

"There oughta be a goddamned law!" The woman continued to rant as Jason grabbed Michelle's hand and pulled her quickly away from the table. "As a matter-of-fact, I think there _is_ a goddamned law _._ What on God's green and plentiful earth are you two thinking!? I got kids here!" they heard fired behind them as they left the eatery. They ran around the corner laughing. As they ran past a bush next to a door that read 'Authorized personnel only,' Michelle turned and caught Jason both off-guard and off-balance and pushed him against the wall. She pinned his stomach with hers and ran her fingers across his hair.

"Why couldn't you have been born twenty four years ago?" She twisted his curls in her fingers. He opened his mouth to answer but she closed it with a kiss. He put his arm around her and lifted her so only her toes were touching the ground.

Even though Jason knew one way or the other this would have to end soon, he put all that aside, and for once, he just savored the moment as it was.

* * *

"Hey, it's Jovial Hall." Michelle said to Jason as they walked past a miniature train ride with toddlers on it—most of them crying

"What the hell is a Jovial Hall?"

"It's like this opera house, but they serve food and have clown shows. I think a new show is starting soon. We should go."

"I thought you hated clowns?"

"I do, but I admit it is fun to watch them beat the shit out of each other." Michelle grabbed Jason's hand and pulled him past a statue of a clown toward Jovial Hall.

Michelle and Jason sat in the front at a table facing the stage. Michelle held Jason's hand as the waitress set a milkshake on the table for her, and water for Jason.

Jason watched as a man went back stage. He thought he recognized him from somewhere.

"You all right?" Michelle asked noticing Jason's blank expression.

"Oh, sorry," Jason turned and looked at her. He looked worried. "That guy, he looked like one of the ONF guys from the airport."

Michelle reached out and took his hand. "Come on, you're just paranoid."

"Yeah, maybe."

"Besides, even if it was, couldn't he be here having a good time just the same as us?"

"Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Besides, we're here to relax and enjoy each other's company. You can think about Max and the ONF tomorrow, right now you shouldn't be thinking about anything but me." She leaned over and kissed him.

"You certainly do make it hard to think about anything else."

Suddenly, raucous laughter erupted behind Michelle. She turned and saw a table of old ladies cackling as a clown squirmed on his back on their table. Michelle turned around again sharply, "They must get these guys straight outta the booby hatch." As she turned, she brought her elbow around and felt it collide with something. Before she turned completely, she knew it must have been the shake. She turned to find Jason, doused in whip cream and ice cream, with his hands out, looking at the mess in frozen silence.

"I'm so sorry," Michelle gasped.

Jason reached for a napkin, and then his mouth formed a smile and he laughed, "It's okay," he said wiping away some of the whipped cream. He looked at the mess across his shirt, and then at the napkin that was already soaked through. Michelle handed him a napkin trying hard not to laugh. "This is so incredibly nasty," Jason said with his hands still held at his sides and laughed again.

"Yes it is," Michelle giggled, then stifled it, "I'm sorry Jason."

"It's okay, it's not life threatening, but it _is_ nasty.

"Maybe you should go to the restroom."

"I'm gonna need a dry-cleaner for this." Jason noticed a little kid pointing at him and laughing.

"Don't you have another shirt in the car?"

"Yeah."

"Well, let's go."

Jason stood up, trying to keep the shake from his pants with napkins. "Here, you stay here, I'll be right back. There's no sense in both of us missing the show."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," Jason brushed some more ice cream into a napkin. "Besides, if you're here, you can't slime me with anything else."

"I'd offer to lick it off, but I'm afraid we'd run into that mom-Nazi from the funnel cake place."

Jason shook his head. "Are you always this frisky?"

"Only when provoked," she winked.

"Order yourself another shake and I'll be right back okay?" Jason turned to leave but stopped. "Here, I can take the flowers to the car if you like."

"Nah, I'd like to look at them a little while longer."

"Okay, well, I'll hurry back."

Michelle waved and Jason turned. He looked down at his shirt as he jogged through the crowd of tables and out the door.

* * *

Jason opened the trunk and searched through his duffel bag. There were no more button-up shirts. The only clean clothes left were a tee shirt and a sweatshirt, so he took them out and set them across the back lip of the trunk. The winter air was getting colder, and the wind less forgiving, but there was no point in walking all the way back to a bathroom and coming back here to dump off the wet shirt, so he unbuttoned the shirt as fast as he could, tossed it in the trunk, then snatched off his tee shirt. A cold breeze whipped across his body leaving goose bumps in its wake. Jason shivered as he threw the clean tee shirt on and then the sweatshirt. As he pulled the sweatshirt down around him, a shiver moved through him as the chill on his skin passed slowly.

That was when he heard the sirens.

As the lights dimmed and the curtains opened, the waitress set Michelle's new milkshake on the table. Michelle hugged herself as the curtain lifted, and she could almost feel Jason's arms around her. Jason was everything she'd ever looked for. There had been guys before who were great in one respect, but they usually fell short in others. But Jason seemed to have the whole gamut. And it wasn't that he seemed perfect per se, but that his imperfections were innocuous, and even cute in a certain way. In a weird way he seemed indestructible, and yet perfectly fragile at the same time. She hugged herself tighter and wished he was there right then so she could kiss him again, but as the curtain rose and the stage lights came on, she was left only with a clown in a burglar's mask and a striped prison shirt shushing the crowd as he tip-toed toward a small white stage house.

Jason peeked around the trunk as two state police cars drove through the parking lot and stopped at the entrance of Happy Land. Behind him he heard another set of sirens, and over his shoulder, he saw another police car kicking dust and dirt behind it as it drove along the dirt road and stopped at the service gate.

Something wasn't right. It could have been some kind of petty disturbance or theft or something—but that wouldn't have been cause enough for the state cops to show up. This was something serious. Jason took the shotgun out of the trunk and closed it. He walked to the front of the car with the gun close at his side, and as he opened the door and got in, he felt his left eyelid begin to jump.

Max sat in the meeting room on the second floor of Jovial Hall with Jeff. "Hopefully this place will create a nice little nest egg," he said before taking a sip of his Crystal Pepsi.

"We've already made over ten thousand just today."

Max jumped as his radio hissed and Fennon's voice screeched into his ear. "Brother Powers! The police are out here! They're demanding to speak to the new owner."

"The police? Why are they here?"

"I don't know, but they seem pretty cross."

Max put his drink down and looked to Jeff.

"Maybe Quint folded after all," Jeff said, almost sighing.

"This is no good Jeff."

"The Barbarians keep snatching the rug from under our feet."

"Well, maybe it's time we took a stand."

"What?"

"You knew it would come to this someday."

"Yes, but when we were ready. The Order is full of neophytes, and it is too small."

"Jesus and his disciples were but thirteen."

"Yes, but they weren't soldiers."

"Weren't soldiers? That's all a matter of semantics. We are fighting for a better, cleaner way of life. A way of life free from the avarice, selfishness, and decadence that are the vile spawn of the Whore of Babylon. The same thing they were fighting for. Only now the time for speeches on mountains has passed. It's time to take up arms against the oppressors—if indeed they seek to oppress us."

"But that's suicide."

"Perhaps. But maybe our deaths will pave the way for others. The plan is in order is it not? It is in place to insure our plans are carried through in the event of my death. You still have faith, do you not?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then what more do you need?"

Michelle sipped her milkshake as the burglar clown handed a cop clown a bag that looked like the bag of money he had taken from the house. The burglar held the real bag behind his back and shushed the crowd. Kids behind her began screaming "Don't take it!" and "Look out!" and "That's not the money!" The policeman clown opened the bag, and with a look of exaggerated horror, pulled out a big round black bomb with a sparkling fuse. Laughter spread through the audience as the policeman clown tossed the bomb to the burglar, then the burglar back to him, and then back again. Finally the burglar tossed the bomb over his shoulder and it flew into the window of the white prop house. He dropped the money bag and plugged his ears as the room shook with a loud boom and flames jumped out the top of the house.

Michelle smiled. This was ridiculously silly, but it was the same old act she had seen many times before. She wished Jason would hurry back though. It all would have been so much better if she could curl up next to him. She took another sip of the shake as a fireman clown ran onto the stage with a hose.

Jason watched inside his car as two plain-clothes policeman stood at the ticket booth with their hands on their hips as if they were waiting for something. Whatever this was, it was really serious if the plain-clothes guys were here too. Jason put another AM shell in the shotgun.

The fireman clown stood on the end of the money sack and sprayed the house with the hose. The burglar tugged at the bag, but it wouldn't budge, and the policeman clown was knocked out, spread eagle near the house. The burglar clown stood and tapped the fireman on his shoulder. Michelle ducked and covered her head because she knew what came next. The fireman whipped around toward the audience, the burglar clown ducked, and the water from the hose flew over the auditorium. The audience filled with screams and laughter as the fireman turned back to the house, not seeing the burglar, and not moving his foot. As the burglar moved to touch him again, Michelle saw a new clown emerging from the shadows in the back of the stage. This must have been a new part of the act. As the fireman clown turned back to the audience again, and everyone screamed in preparation for another deluge, the water coming from the hose sank to a dribble. The fireman clown and the burglar both looked at the end of the hose in true surprise. Then, Michelle saw the clown at the back emerge from the shadows—only it wasn't a clown. It was Max, and he had a gun.

As Jason filed the last shell into the shotgun, he heard his watch go off. He lifted his wrist to his face and saw the distress beacon that the credit card gave off. He pressed a button on the side and it showed a number and an arrow—the distance of the card from the watch in feet and the direction. This was getting worse by the second. Jason set the shotgun in the passenger seat, engaged the engine, and shifted the car into reverse.

Max stepped into the spotlight in the center of the stage and fired his gun into the air. People began screaming and children began crying, and as he spoke into his mouthpiece, his voice spread over the audience like locusts. "I'm sorry, but due to technical difficulties I'm afraid we have to cut this show short."

Some people near the back got up and moved toward the door but were stopped at the exits by two Order members with machine guns.

"I'm afraid, this is going to have to be a closed session," Max said letting his gun-hand drop to his side as two more Order members with machine guns came from back stage and jumped into the auditorium. People and children were screaming and crying, and Max gave a signal to the Order member on his left, who then fired a long volley into the ceiling. The screaming rose in a crescendo, but then silenced quickly.

"Now, that I have your undivided attention," Max added as the volley still echoed through the auditorium, "I need you all to listen closely. I'll only be holding you here until our business in concluded, but if anyone feels the need to get heroic, he or she will get a free serving of lead with their dinner. Understand? I don't want any problems, but I will meet any that present themselves head on."

Michelle watched as two Order members covered the crowd with their guns. She couldn't figure out what was happening. It didn't make any sense. Why was Max here? Why now? And why was he doing this? She just looked on in confusion and horror, pressing the button on the green card in her purse frantically, and praying Jason had made it outside okay, and could make it back in here.

Max looked over the crowd, covering them with his gun. As he looked, he saw a girl, sitting alone at a table, startled. Their eyes met and he saw an aura flare up around her like he had never seen before. Max smiled as he stepped off the stage. She dropped her hands to her sides and recoiled as he moved toward her with the gun.

Jason backed out of the parking spot and crept slowly toward the exit that led to the street. The plain-clothes cops were still standing at the gate like outlaws that had just called the marshal out of the saloon. Jason drove to the end of the line of cars and turned right. He could see the dusty service road ahead of him and the police car at the end next to the gate. Jason turned onto the service road, took in a deep breath, and stepped hard on the accelerator.

Roger stood at the back of the auditorium and looked over the faces of the crowd as he pointed the MP5 at them. He had seen faces like theirs on people before, more than he would like to admit, but he had never seen this many at once, all looking at _him_ in fear and in anger. This didn't feel right, but Max was right, lobbyists and politicians were all the cops ever cared about, his own experience attested to that. And if the cops were truly outside, then this was the only thing they would listen to. Reason didn't exist for them, only their paychecks. And even though this felt weird, it was the only thing they understood. Money.

And fear.

A father in a flannel shirt and a Big Johnson hat looked at Roger with disdain as his wife and kid cowered next to him. Roger walked over to him and stuck the muzzle in his face, but the father just glared at him. This close, Roger could see the rough texture of the man's wind-worn face, but he couldn't see fear.

The hardened lines of the man's face gave way only to anger. The man looked at him in silence. Roger backed away. What would his mother think of this? But it didn't matter, his mother had fallen from the path a long time ago, she would never be able to see anyway.

He watched the father flexing his fingers and knuckles and his jaws puffing slightly outward and sucking inward as his chest raised and lowered. Roger prayed this redneck didn't get ambitious. He had joined the church to stop shooting people, but if this man forced his hand, he'd have no choice but to put him down. Roger was not happy with his choices.

Jason sped toward the gate, leaving a wave of dust and dirt behind him as he cruised down the service road. As he got closer, he heard the chirp of the police loud speaker coming on and then an authoritative, "Please slow down your vehicle and turn around or you will be arrested for interfering in official police business." Jason smiled mischievously as he pressed the accelerator to the floor. He gripped the wheel at ten-and-two and jinked slightly to the right, barely clearing the rear end of the police car and crashing through the gate. The Prelude carried the gate with it as it kicked up dirt from under the sides. Jason turned right, hitting the sidewalk as he heard the cop car's tires spinning in the dirt behind him and the sirens caterwaul back to life. Jason turned right and smashed through another fence with the gate still on his front end. The fence segment folded down and the Prelude bounced over it, tossing the first gate off to the side as the tires hit the pavement and left black streaks. Jason drove down the sidewalk between two rides as people scattered here and there. He heard the cop car stop at where he had crashed through the gate, and as the siren died, he heard the authoritative voice tell everyone to evacuate. Jason dodged a group of college students and smashed through a hot dog stand, sending hot dogs and a rain of condiments into the air. A mustard bottle hit the windshield and exploded across Jason's view. He hit the wipers and through the streaks of yellow, caught a vision of mothers, children, and college students running in horror. Jason hit the wiper fluid button and the image through the windshield cleared to reveal more people in abject horror. Jason turned left between two small buildings to avoid an old woman in a wheel chair. The right side of the car hit a small tree and rolled over it, lifting the passenger side up and onto a long brick planter that ran the length of the building. Jason's heart felt like it was trying to ooze out of his anus as the car tipped up like it was going all the way over. The car sped between the buildings at a thirty-degree angle, bucking with each collision with the small trees in the planter. The car passed from between the two buildings and stayed at an angle for too long after the wheels left the planter. The car came down hard in a back walkway, and the back end slid out to the right, hit a fence, and then sprung back as the spinning front tires caught traction. Jason cruised down the sidewalk toward another fence that led to the forest alongside the park. He crashed through the fence and the section popped loose at the corner with three metallic snaps. The Prelude vaulted over a ditch and sent chunks of dirt through the air as it landed on the other side. Jason whipped the wheel right, and the car slid, bouncing off a tree. Jason drove through the woods along the fence at a speed far from sane. He dodged tress when he could, but hit more than he would have liked. The car was Treated and could take it, but it did nothing for his bones and his teeth. But riding on the sidewalk was dangerous, and he needed to get back to Jovial Hall before whatever was happening all hit the fan—if it hadn't happened already.

"What? They're inside already? How?" Max said over the radio.

"Well, they said they wanted to the handle this without incident, but evidently someone came crashing through a service gate, and they followed him in. They're evacuating the people outside now. It's turning into chaos out here." Max could hear Terrence breathing heavily, almost panting.

Max had dragged Michelle to some meeting room on the top floor with a gun in her side. She could still feel where the muzzle of the gun had pressed into her rib. Max had grabbed her before she could grab her purse, but she had managed to slip Jason's card into her pocket. She sat quietly, afraid, frantically pressing the outside of her pocket, hoping she was hitting the button on the card.

"We need to hold off the cops so we can get away. I can leave and stay at the Farm until this blows over," she heard Max say to the mousy looking man that was in the room when they got there.

"We'll let the hostages downstairs go. We'll keep a few close to us, and we'll escape in the ensuing turmoil," she heard Max say behind her. Then, the voice came closer. "She's awful nonchalant for a hostage isn't she? Varson, Joseph, keep a close eye on her."

Max and the mousy man left the room, and a large man, not much older than her, came into the room and stood in the doorway with his gun trained on her. Looking at him tied knots in her stomach, so she turned away. Either he would shoot her or he wouldn't, but if she wasn't looking at him, that grim thought moved just a little farther from home.

She turned and saw a set of books on the table. There were two phone books and a few hardcover coffee table books. One rather large book caught her eye, _The Illustrated History of Weaponry_. She reached over and pulled it to her side of the table. As she reached, she heard the large man shift behind her, and she felt the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prick up, but she didn't turn to face him. She had to stay calm.

She flipped through the book, looking at pictures of swords and sledgehammers, then guns, then tanks. Then, she heard gunfire and screaming downstairs. She pressed her pocket again. She heard the screaming milling around under her and then spread outside the building and merge with the chaos that had been building in the courtyard. It sounded like a nightmare. She felt like she had something large stuck in her throat and she couldn't swallow it, but she had to appear to be calm. She flipped to a page near the end and saw a two page spread of a hydrogen bomb explosion. An idea clicked in her head. She reached into her pocket, and pulled out the credit card in a deliberate motion.

"What is that?" she heard the large man say behind her.

She felt the lump in her throat rise, but she pressed the button anyway. The floorboards creaked as the man moved over to her, raising his voice. "What the hell is that? Give it to me!"

He stuck the gun out, and she thought she could feel it moving closer to her head. She closed the book and flattened the credit card to the back of it. She turned swiftly, praying she hadn't made a mistake.

Michelle swung the book around and connected with the inside of the large man's wrist. The gun clattered across the wooden floor as she stood and shoved the corner of the book forward, into his throat. He collapsed, gagging and clutching at his throat, and Michelle, book in hand, stuffed the card in her pocket and made a run for the door.

Just as she ran through the doorway, she saw another older man at the door. She swung at his head but he effortlessly smacked her arms down and brought his own fist around. He hit her hard on the right side of her chest. She heard her lungs echo the thump as they coughed out all her air and pain swelled across her chest. She went down on one knee and coughed hard, trying to get her breath back as a bulb of drool slipped out of her mouth. She saw the man's booted foot come into view and she looked up to see him bringing his fist around and down. She snapped the book up quickly between the man's legs and felt the corner of the book dig through the soft, pliable flesh there and stop at hard bone. She heard the spine of the book crack and the man let out a gasp as his body stiffened. Michelle used what little air she had left to draw the book back and stab at him with the corner again, digging deep into his stomach. As the man's body slumped over, she stood and brought the edges of the book backward across the back of his neck. She heard his body hit the ground, but she was already halfway to the stairs, gasping with every step.

Jason stopped the car next to the statue in front of Jovial Hall as droves of people poured out and scattered in all directions. Jason searched through the crowd as it fanned out around the car, but he didn't see Michelle anywhere. It was hard to tell, but he couldn't see her. The alarm on his watch began beeping again. He looked at the distance and the heading. For some reason she was still in the building. Jason turned on the thermal imaging and saw what looked to be four people still inside, but they each were standing like they were holding something in both hands.

Machine guns. These were not civilians.

Jason drove the car forward and he saw one of the windows explode outward as gunfire erupted from the building. Jason jinked to the left to catch the handicapped ramp at the edge of the stairs. The right side of the car hit the ramp first, and then the left side jolted up to meet it as it hit the stairs. The left side went up with force and kept going as the car crashed through the front doors and part of the wall, sending splinters of wood and chips of paint everywhere as the red humanoid blobs in the image dove out of the way. The car turned sideways as it coursed through the air, spreading bits of glass and wood across the floor as it hit the ground on its side. One of the men fired a salvo at it as it rolled over onto the roof and slid into the doors to the showroom, buckling the closed doors inward slightly. The men recovered and opened fire on the car, all four tires still spinning. The bullets ricocheted and sparked off of the surface of the car and windows, and caromed into the walls and doors around the car. One man went down hard as his leg was taken from under him by a ricocheting bullet.

"What the hell!" someone exclaimed as he watched the man go down, grabbing his shin and wailing.

Jason stood with his back flattened to the outside wall of the kitchen and holstered the large remote on his side. He drew his pistol as two clowns and a cook burst out of the kitchen door. He swung into the door as it closed and dove to the ground behind a counter as he was met with a barrage of gunfire. Jason's shoulder hit the bottom of the counter hard as bullets rattled the pots and pans hanging overhead. Some of the pans fell around him and he felt something hit him hard on the back of his shoulder and then something hit him on his head with a resounding ring, forcing his eyes closed. As he opened his eyes, he saw the large blackened skillet that had hit him in his shoulder spinning to a stop on its back as the Teflon pot that had hit him in his head rolled against the refrigerator. Jason picked up the skillet with his left hand. On the way in, he recognized the jackets the ONF wore. _What the hell were they doing here?_ This situation had gotten out of control. He didn't want to kill anyone but Max, but he felt he only had a limited amount of time to find Michelle. And they were leaving him no choice.

As Michelle rounded the stairs to the first floor landing, another goon popped through the door in front of her. In a panic, she closed her eyes, screamed and jumped. She covered her face with one arm and as she plummeted toward the landing, she felt something hard collide with her knee. She heard a muffled "Oof" and she extended her legs. She landed as she opened her eyes and stumbled into the wall. She looked over her shoulder expecting the goon to be reaching for her, but instead she saw him on his back with his legs propped up on the stairs, holding his eye.

She heard him yell like an animal as he swung his arms and flopped himself over onto his stomach. She looked at her hands and realized she had dropped the book. She turned and ran further down the stairs, slipping the credit card from her pocket.

Jason tested the weight of the heavy iron skillet as he crouched, and then he lobbed it over the counter. As soon as he released it, he dove to his right and heard the man at the door fire. As he cleared the counter, he expected a burst of bullets to send him backward, but as he extended his pistol in front of him, he saw the man had taken the bait. Before he could turn back, Jason fired three rounds. The bullets rocked the man's body first left and then right as he collapsed against the oven. Jason landed on his shoulder and then hopped to his feet as the man's body collapsed. There was a tray shelf next to the doorway, and Jason heaved it in front of the door with a monstrous crash of dishes and silverware. It was a Dutch door, but it would add interference. Jason tucked his gun under his belt, snatched one of the microwaves from its housing over the counter, and threw it on top of the rack. He looked around for something else and saw the label on the oven. 'Oven does not have pilot. Use pilot on eye to ignite.' It was a good thing this place was so piecemeal. Jason turned the oven to broil and opened the oven door. On the counter were various sauces with masking tape labels. There was cooking sherry, cooking oil, sesame oil, soy sauce, and white and balsamic vinegar. Jason snatched up the bottle of cooking oil, took off the top, and doused the door and his makeshift roadblock. He set the bottle on top and ran back toward the other side of the counter. As he crouched behind the counter, his watch went off again. This time, the distance said Michelle was right next to him, but that was impossible. That meant one of two things. Either she was upstairs or downstairs, but how was he going to get to her?

In the wine cellar, Michelle hit a dead end. The floor was hard cement, and the room was filled with an odd rumbling. There were four hot water heaters in a corner and two walls lined from floor to ceiling with various wines. Michelle picked up a wine bottle by its neck and pressed the credit card button. She heard hurried footsteps coming down the stairs and the hall toward her. Where the hell was Jason?

Jason crouched behind the counter and stood just enough to peek around the room. There was a freight elevator on the left wall of the kitchen, and next to the door were the two massive ovens. On the right wall was a large walk-in freezer next to a hatch about four feet from the ground that looked like it was a portable fridge. _Dumbwaiter_ , Jason thought, _this place really was old_. Just as Jason smelled a hint of the gas hissing out of the oven, the door pushed inward, knocking the microwave over and toppling the cooking oil, which emptied and spread across the kitchen floor. Jason saw a blonde head and a brown-haired head appear as the door was pulled back the other way. The blonde boy stepped over the tray shelf and slipped on the oil. His leg slipped from under him, and he slid forward clumsily, but he caught himself as he fell toward the ground.

The other ran up to help, covering the kitchen with his gun, but he slid forward as soon as he hit the slippery floor, and his shins crashed into the tray counter. He fell forward over the blonde boy, but lifted himself quickly. That was when Jason's watch went off again.

Michelle backed toward the wine rack slowly, holding the wine bottle out menacingly with her right hand and pressing the button on the card frantically with her left as the two men walked toward her.

"We don't want to hurt you," the one on the right said inching toward her with his machine gun out in front of him.

"Then let me go," Michelle snapped back, shaking the bottle at him. Her wrist was straining to hold the full bottle this way, but if he came at her, she was damn sure going to row him one good.

"Now why would we do that?" the other one said, brandishing a pistol. Michelle pressed the button and held it.

Jason's watch let out a long extended beep. He heard the two men scrambling harder as a new voice exclaimed "What the hell!" Michelle was in some kind of serious trouble, but he was pinned in here with these numbskulls. Jason took two strong, quick breaths and braced himself. With his last breath, he smelled gas, even on his side of the counter. That was his cue. Jason turned, popped over the counter, and fired at the mouth of the oven. He saw the blonde guy was standing up on the other side of the tray shelf when the oven spewed out an orange and blue fireball. The flames spread out of the oven and billowed to the left and the right with a deep whoosh. The blonde guy turned and looked at the oven as the fireball spread across him and licked at the door, igniting the oil on the tray shelf, the door, and his clothes as it spread across the brown-haired boy and the floor. Jason ran to his right and fired a shot at the doorframe. Flames spread across the kitchen floor toward him as he bounded over the oil.

"Don't make this any harder than it has to be." the guy with the pistol said, taking a bold step toward her. Michelle lifted the bottle and swung it at him in a wide arc. The guy took a step back and pulled the hammer back on his pistol.

"Be realistic. Who do you think is gonna win this little standoff?" the one with the machine gun said.

"Fuck realistic," Michelle said, swinging the bottle again. "Come near me and shot or not, I'm crackin' open a goddamned skull."

The one with the machine gun laughed and took another step forward.

Suddenly, there was a loud whining to the left and a muffled crash like someone had dropped a big platter of food. They all looked to the edge of the wine rack as the door to the dumbwaiter flew open, and an arm thrust out firing a pistol. Michelle covered her head and fell against the wine rack as the two men in front of her spun in a fountain of blood. The one with the machine gun fired a burst into the ceiling as his body fell, and then the gun slid away as his lifeless hand hit the ground and opened. Jason squeezed himself out of the dumbwaiter. Michelle pushed herself off the wine rack slowly, but Jason heard steps in the hall as he moved toward her. He tossed the gun into his right hand, and with his left, pulled the shotgun over his shoulder by the strap. In one motion he whipped the strap off his shoulder and flipped the gun around, cocking it. He fired, and the hallway filled with white light. He fired into the hall again and the light intensified.

Suddenly Jason heard the doors to the freight elevator open and Michelle yell "Look out!" Jason turned and lifted his pistol, but a large tray cart was already on top of him. The cart hit him hard, sending him down and the shotgun sliding across the ground toward the dumbwaiter.

"Get under the table!" he yelled to Michelle just before the guy who had pushed the cart into him opened fire. Jason dove around the cart as bullets tore into the floor behind him and he slid under the table with Michelle. Panting with fear, he kicked the edge of the table up and flipped it onto its side between him and the man as the man opened fire again. The table was thick, but a few bullets passed through on either side of them. Jason opened his mouth to tell Michelle to curl into a ball but she was already in the fetal position. Jason reached his arm over the edge of the table and fired three rounds. He heard a plate shatter and bullets ricocheting off metal, but no return gunfire. Jason peeked over the edge of the table and saw the tray shelf come crashing to the ground toward the freight elevator and the man duck behind it firing.

Jason ducked again as more bullets impacted the table, three more holes piercing around him. The table couldn't take much more of this. Jason fired over the table again. He was ice skating uphill. He had to think of something. Jason peeked over the table again and saw the broken silhouette of the man ducking behind the tray counter just in front of the water heaters. Jason heard Michelle whimper, and he pushed her head down as another volley of bullets tore into and through the table. Then, he heard the magazine release on the other side of the room. If he was going to do anything, he had to do it now.

As Jason dove to the side of the table where he heard the man slap in a new magazine. Jason fired three shots as he landed on his shoulder and they all hit their marks along the side of the water tank closet to where the man's silhouette had been. Steam puffed from the holes, and water sprayed from the tank in three streams with a hiss. The man howled like a wounded animal and dove away from the streams, thrashing. He landed on the floor across from Jason flailing his arms and Jason fired two more shots. Steam rose from his body as it rolled and then settled. Water spread out from under the tray shelf across the floor toward the dumbwaiter. A mist rose from the water as it spread, and Jason heard more people in the hallway. He stood up on one knee and saw a black jacket in the doorway. He dove over the bodies of the two men he'd shot from the dumbwaiter and slid through the water on his chest. He fired two shots as he slid across the doorway, taking the closest man down. He slid past the doorway and rolled as he threw the door closed. His sweatshirt was drenched and hot, and tendrils of steam rose off his chest as he stood to shove the bookcase over in front of the door. Shelves clattered and slid across the wet cement as the bookcase hit the ground. Jason ran over to the shotgun and picked it up. "Come here quick," he yelled to Michelle as he cocked the shotgun. Michelle ran over to him, and he fired into the elevator, cocked the gun and fired again.

"What was that for?"

"To alleviate any more surprises."

"But we're trapped now. How are we going to get out?"

"I don't know, but if we don't make it, no one will."

Jason heard the commotion outside stop, and he grabbed Michelle and dove into the corner as bullets tore through the door and the bookcase. The firing stopped and there was pounding at the door. The bookcase buckled with each pound. Jason looked and saw the other bookcase where the wine racks met. It was just as sturdy as the first one. He stood, slapping out the shelves in one sweep of his arm, then motioned for Michelle to come over.

"What are you doing?"

Gunfire erupted through the door again.

"I don't know how many are out there, but eventually they're gonna get in." Jason took the remote to the car from his belt and pressed a number sequence on the keypad. "I don't like this, but it's our only option."

"You don't like what?"

"Put your feet against the shelf and lie flat on your stomach."

"What?"

"Just do it!"

Michelle crawled back and put her feet against the shelf and covered her head. Jason flipped the guard switch on the remote up and pressed the flashing red button underneath, and then grabbed the top of the bookshelf and fell, pulling it over him and Michelle.

Major Streck moved down the stairs and motioned for the three men at the door to stand behind him. The wiring and pipes in the walls around him were exposed, sparking and spilling into the hallway. Major Streck flipped a LAW rocket tube over his shoulder and prepared to fire at the door. "Fire in the hole!" he yelled as he pulled back the trigger.

An explosion rocked the room and Jason felt bits of something impact the top of the bookshelf as the bright numbers on the display screen of the remote read 'three,' then 'two,' then 'one.'

Officer Buck Williams grabbed his shotgun as he stopped his squad car in front of Jovial Hall. It was a damn shame. The place was destroyed. There was a massive hole where the doors should have been, and what looked like a car upside down inside the main hall. He had fond college memories of this place, and now it had come to this. Was anything sacred anymore? He pumped his shotgun and reached for the handle to open the door when he heard the high pitched squeal that made his eardrums feel like they were pressing into his head. He let go of the shotgun and pressed his hands to his ears, and then he saw the rays of white light spreading out from the center of Jovial Hall, growing into a bright, blistering ball. The squealing built until it was unbearable, and Buck tasted bile as he felt his stomach rise into his throat. As his mouth opened, his eyes spread wide, and vomit sprayed over the dash, he saw the entire second floor of Jovial Hall collapse into the lozenge of white light. Buck rolled backward as the pressure in his eardrums persisted, and he reeled onto the pavement as the door opened, showering another burst of vomit up and over his own face. Then, as suddenly as it came, the pressure in his ears was gone, and the light died out and his eyesight blurred as his pupils struggled to open again.

He lifted himself up on all fours slowly and coughed. Strings of bile and hydrochloric acid dripped from his lips and chin, and as his pupils adjusted, he looked up and for a moment, he thought his eyes were still adjusting. But he coughed again and realized what lay before him was real.

Jovial Hall was gone. Completely. Only a squarish hole that must have been the basement, piled with wood and brick and cement remained. Buck coughed as he stood to his feet and wiped his mouth with his sleeve, embarrassed. He looked around and everyone else looked just as surprised and confused as he felt, and most were brushing vomit from one body part or another as a large, thick cloud of dust and dirt billowed around the wreckage.

Jason pressed his back up against the bookcase, but it was too heavy to budge. He moved to the side of the bookshelf and lifted up with his hands. The muscles in his back and his arms strained as he pushed up the weight. He felt debris slide, and as he rocked, the bookcase popped up suddenly as the rubble slid away. Michelle got up slowly and looked around. Large rafters, pieces of wood and chunks of cement, shingles and bits of red clay were piled across the walls of the basement here and there.

"What happened?"

"AM self-destruct. Brinkmeyer built a failsafe in case I had to leave the car in 1991. " Jason looked around, and then ushered her to what had been the back of the building and helped her climb up a rafter. "We need to get out of here before the cops get ahold of us."

As they climbed out of the pit, Jason ushered Michelle quickly behind a building that sat behind Jovial Hall. "In here," Jason said, opening an 'Authorized Personnel Only' door. "What the hell happened?" Jason asked as they entered.

"It was Max. I don't know how, but it was Max." Michelle said in an airy voice, shaking her head as she spoke.

"Some part of the legend must be true. Either way..." Jason said as he closed and picked up a metal pipe from a neatly stacked pile against the wall. "...at least you're safe. But now, we have to deal with it," he added as he barred the door.

He hoped the cops didn't see them. He didn't want to have to deal with them too.

Max led Roger and Joseph behind the small building and through the 'Authorized Personnel Only' passage. He told them to split up and cover the passageways. It wouldn't be long before an over-zealous cop or two made it through the chaos into the tunnels.

Roger took the far passage as Joseph and Max went the other way. He walked through the tunnels with the gun in front of him, listening to the muffled screams overhead. This didn't feel right at all. He knew what he was doing was for the church, but it didn't feel like anything good could come of this. Above him sounded like someone had opened the gates to hell. Perhaps Babylon was trying to bring them down as Max had said, and that's what had caused all this chaos, but as he rounded a corner and walked down the empty hall, and he heard the horrible cries grow louder, he couldn't help wondering how right this was.

Suddenly, he saw someone emerge from the intersection in front of him. He raised the gun and ran towards the person—a woman—and saw it was Lolita. Confused and horrified, she walked up to Roger. "Roger, what is this? What's going on?"

"Loli, why are you here?" Roger said, furrowing his brow in confusion.

"I came today to meet Brother Powers here, but I was late. But what is the meaning of this?" She pointed to his gun, "I thought you didn't want any more of this."

"I didn't. I mean I don't... but this is different."

"Different how? You're still terrifying people."

"But Brother Powers said this was for the church."

"How? How can _this_ be for the church Roger?"

Roger shook his head. He looked everywhere except her eyes.

"I was hiding behind a building from the terrorists when I saw you come in here. Now I see _you_ were the terrorist. This doesn't make sense to me."

Max had made a complete circle and he saw the man he recognized from the Kismet disaster and an Asian girl come around the corner. _So he was the one behind all this again? What does this man want from me?_ Max saw Lolita standing in front of Roger talking as he ducked behind the wall. He took his pistol out, reached it around the corner, and fired.

Roger heard the gunshot as he reached out to hug Lolita to try and get her to understand, but her body went limp, her eyes widened, and she collapsed as the shot rang through the hallway. He felt his stomach jolt as she collapsed, her weakening grasp dragging slowly down his arm and across his hand as her body slumped, her eyes fixed blankly on his the whole way down. He saw Tara, lying in that alley, bleeding from her mouth as Lolita fell forward to his feet. He looked up, screaming as though the bullet had passed through him, but no sound emerged, only an eerie gasp. Then, he saw the man, the one from the airport, in the same purple sweatshirt, gun out in front of him, as he ducked into a side hallway.

Jason threw open a door exposing brooms, mops, cleaners and other janitorial tools. He took a bottle of cleaner from the floor and pushed Michelle into the closet. He took the top from the bottle and sniffed. The smell of ammonia overwhelmed him and made his eyes cross.

"What..." Michelle began to ask.

Jason shushed her and whispered as a scream echoed down the hall and moved closer rapidly. "Take this and this," he handed her his gun. "Keep quiet. And if anyone opens the door, throw this in their face. If it's not me or a cop, shoot them."

"But..."

"No time to argue. Just do it." Jason slammed the door, drew his other gun, and jumped to the other wall next to a staircase. Jason grit his teeth to steel himself as the battle cry grew closer.

Roger rounded the corner firing as he screamed. He saw the man in the purple sweatshirt drop back into a stairwell as the bullets hit the walls around it. He fired two shots as he retreated, but Roger didn't care. All he could feel was the void where his stomach had been and the furious heat that spread over his skin. As he reached the stairwell, he dove to the ground and slid on his back with the gun toward the stairwell firing. Chips of cement flew back at him from the edge of the opening around the stairs with the man's gun flashes, but Roger slid under them. As the man scurried around the landing, Roger's bullets sparked off the metal that supported the steps.

He pulled his feet under him and ran up the stairs after him. This man had shot Lolita—his chance for a new life. Now everything was back where it had been before, and this man in the purple sweatshirt was going to pay for that.

Jason fired twice under his left arm as he reached the top of the stairs. There was no door at the top of the stairs, but there was an opening leading to a bright yellow room with no windows on the outside. Jason bounded off the second to the last step and dove into the room as he heard the plaster and cement shatter around his feet. Jason slid on his chest across the floor and then swung his legs around, spinning his body on the floor so he faced the door. He trained the gun on the door, waiting until he saw the man chasing him, but he never saw him. Suddenly, the muzzle of the machine gun pointed around the doorframe and Jason rolled to his right as bullets dug into the ground where he had been, sending chips of tile into the air. Jason stopped on his stomach next to a partition and fired two shots at the doorframe. The shots had gone through the wall, but he wasn't sure how far. He noticed the room was separated into partitions. There were tables, drink machines, and video games on his side. There were windows in the partition just above him, and a door just in front of him. Jason crawled to his hands and knees and scampered into the partitioned room.

As Roger saw the man roll out of view he instinctively backed away from the wall and dove to his right. He heard two shots and saw plaster give way to holes where he had been standing. Roger rolled into the room firing at where the man had rolled. He saw him scramble behind the divider that separated the room as his bullets danced around him. Roger wanted to grab this guy and squeeze his brains out. Roger saw his life coming back together and this man single-handedly destroyed it all in one brief moment. Roger dove into the break room as he heard another gunshot. As he stood, he saw the man running to the door in the divider that formed the briefing room.

Jason ducked as he ran to the doorway in the second partition. He saw the man stand just as the glass in the partition separating them exploded toward him. Jason's leg gave as he scampered toward the door, and he fell and slid on his knees into a room that was set up like a classroom. He slid to a stop and stood as he closed the door. The room looked like a classroom. There were elementary school desks in four rows of five and a dry-erase board hanging on the partition next to the door. Peach Venetian blinds hung over windows like the one that had just shattered behind him. He heard a clattering in the room he had just run through, the sound of anxious footfalls on glass. He dove over a desk just as the dry-erase board began to dance on the partition to the tune of the machine gun fire in the other room. Pieces of dry-erase board scattered over Jason as he rolled into a plastic chair, then onto the floor. The dry-erase board fell from the wall stood there for a moment, then fell over onto the desk Jason had jumped over as he rolled off the chair onto the floor. A yardstick slid from under the dry-erase board and stopped as it collided with the legs of the desk in front of Jason. Jason noticed the yardstick was one of the good metal ones as it clinked against the metal legs of the chair. He pushed himself back sliding the plastic chair back with him. Over die edge of the desk, he saw a shadow move in the room opposite him through three of the scattered bullet holes in the partition. There was more gunfire, more holes, and then repeated clicking. Jason used the chair to get up to his knees. If he was going to do anything, he had to do it now.

Roger saw only the deep, deep purple of anger squeezed into a fine point in the center of his vision. He didn't just want to kill this guy, he wanted him to suffer. Suffer like _he_ had for the past twenty-five years. Suffer the lifetime of pain he had suffered in the second it took Lolita to fall from his arms to the floor. His arms shook as he pulled the trigger back again and with each shot he saw Lolita's eyes, big and glazed—round frozen dreams falling from his grasp. Then his arms were shaking and there was only clicking. Empty.

Jason crashed through the blinds and the glass and fired off two shots. The blinds surrounded him like the hundred fingers of some alien fist, and the glass glimmered in the light like displaced stars. Through a hole in the collapsing fist of blinds he saw the man's body twist as he squeezed off his last shot. The slide on the gun stayed back as Jason rolled across a table, caught in the net of blinds as he rolled onto the floor next to a drink machine.
Roger felt his arm snap back as heat built at a point in his shoulder and spread through his arm like slow flames. He pulled the pistol from his back with his left hand and, ignoring the fire spreading through his arm, fired wildly at the maniac who had just flown through the window. He saw two shots hit the mass of blinds, shimmering glass, and purple that had rolled across the table into the floor. He tried to lift his right arm to steady the gun as he pointed it at the pile, but it just hung at his side burning. He saw red dripping from his right middle finger to the floor and he knew he had been shot, but he didn't care. He kicked the pile and he heard a moan. "Why? Why motherfucker?" he screamed and kicked the pile again. "Why did you have to kill her?"

Jason had heard a barrage of gunshots as his head hit the drink machine hard. He felt the blinds release their grip momentarily, then, as he tried to breathe in, he felt there was no space left in his lungs. It was as if his lungs had turned to cold, inflexible metal. He felt a hard throbbing on the entire left side of his body like it was filling with hot water. He felt the blinds loosen again as something hit his hip hard. He tried to take in another breath, but only produced a guttural sound. "Why?" he heard, "Why motherfucker?" Something struck his hip again, harder this time. "Why did you have to kill her?" Jason realized he was squeezing his eyes closed, and as he opened them, he saw the gray of the Velo slats twisted around him, and a mosaic of yellow, black and blue through them. Between two of the slats, he saw a deeper black than the rest, a deep circle of black that could have only meant death.

Roger pushed the gun closer to the pile and kicked again. "Tell me!" he screamed. Another kick. "Tell me!" He held the gun right over the pile and pulled back the hammer with his thumb. "I want you to stand up and tell me!"

There was another moan as the pile shuddered. Roger saw a flash of metal shoot out of the gray of the blinds and blur in the yellow light from above.

The blur came around, and before Roger could react, it collided with the outside of his wrist. The feeling shot out the tips of his fingers, and he tried to keep them tight around the gun, but it had already flown from his hand. He heard the gun go off next to the drink machine, and then he felt his left knee give.

Jason swept the blinds aside with the swing or the metal yardstick, and he kicked left with his right leg at where the man's knee should have been. He felt contact, and as the blinds swept away from his face, he saw the man go down to his knees. As Jason arose, he brought the sharp side of the yardstick back across the man's temple. The blinds, still tangled on his arm, rattled with the swipe. Jason stood as the man's head rolled from the contact, a spray of red fanning across his head. Jason brought his right leg up swiftly and connected with the man's chest knocking him onto his back. Jason exhaled with the kick, but no air seemed to come from his lungs. He coughed as he held the metal yardstick at the man's throat like a sword. His chest began to flutter erratically as he tried to breathe, and each spasm felt like hot daggers driving into his left side. He must have broken a rib. He coughed again and phlegm came up. He spat it out, but it wasn't red. "I didn't kill the girl," Jason said.

The inches that led up the yardstick to the man's face before him looked like miles. He felt a cold line across the right side of his head, freezing at first, and then rising in temperature until it seared, constricting the entire side of his head, squeezing his jaw and scalp into a fine line along his temple. In the purple of the man's sweatshirt, he saw Lolita's face, her smile fleeting, her image fading into the look of glassy horror that had supplanted her smile as she slumped to his feet. Roger crossed his legs around the man's right ankle and rolled to his right.

Jason saw the man's legs shoot out between his, but before he could bring the yardstick around to attack, he felt a geyser of agony rush up through his leg from his ankle. His leg buckled, and the man rolled, bringing Jason to his side and down hard on his knee. The pain spilling from his ankle through his leg coupled with the shock that shot through his knee as it slammed against the hard tile in an excruciating marriage that stretched up his groin and through his abdomen and made his body go limp. Jason caught himself with his right hand, but his eyes rolled in his head as the shock that had coursed through his body rolled back like frothy surf. Jason felt his side pinch again and he coughed violently as his lungs refused to pull in air. He heard a click, and through the black static that obscured his vision, he saw the man by the drink machine, on one knee, with the gun pointed at his head.

The man in front of Roger coughed and spat has he lifted his eyes slowly to meet his. Roger had seen the eyes of killers before. People who thrived on the pain of others. But he had never seen eyes like the ones in front of him now. They were wide, as wide as Lolita's had been when she had died. He saw the man's left eye quiver as his eyes stayed fixed on his own, not blinking.

"I may have killed your friends, but I did not shoot the girl." The only movement in his eyes was the vibration of his left eyelid. He brought his right hand up to his chest and coughed again.

Roger was confused now. His entire head was throbbing, his right arm felt like a solid piece of rubber, and his body below his waist felt like it had turned to mist. "But I saw you," he answered, his voice quivering.

"Do what you feel you have to."

Were these the words and actions of a man that would shoot a helpless girl in the back? Roger pushed the gun closer to the man's forehead. It was like trying to push it through a thick, invisible curtain.

"Your friends died because they followed without questioning. The girl, because she was duped." The man coughed again. "Look around you. Listen." The screams and sirens outside sounded like one, ominous cry—like the world itself was dying. "Does this sound like God's will?"

Roger looked at him, at his eyes. His pupils merged with his irises to form a bottomless sea of black. He thought he saw his mother in those eyes, her determination, her resilience. And he heard the terror. The sound of horror. The sound of pain that echoed through the brick walls, thickened the air, and resonated through his bones. He thought of Lolita's smile, the brief glimpses of heaven he saw whenever she raised her eyebrow or whenever she smiled over her shoulder at him, but it was shattered by the dismal chorus of screams outside—the grand opus of dread outside he had helped create. This wasn't right.

Jason watched as the moisture built in the corner of the man's right eye and crept slowly over his cheek like blood. The man's chest rose and he flipped the hammer of the pistol forward and hung his head down letting his arm lower to the floor. Jason stood, holding his side with is right arm. His right leg from the knee down felt like a solid piece of burning wood. He expected the man to look up at him as he stood, but he knelt there frozen, head slumped forward, right arm limp, left hand settled on the floor. Jason walked away in silence, dragging his right leg toward the door.

Roger couldn't get the screams out of his head. What had he helped to create? And why? Because he wanted _his_ life to be better. Because he wanted things to be better for _him_. He had broken his mother's heart, and for what? He had wanted to get away from the pain, the darkness, but all he had created was suffering—suffering and death. He looked down at his hands slumped against the floor, the gun in his left hand, blood spreading slowly over the right. Only the blood wasn't just his own. He could see Lolita's blood spreading across his palm, spilling between his fingers to the floor. He closed his eyes but he couldn't see her smile anymore.

It wasn't for him to see.

Slowly he raised his left hand to his head. He looked at the blood on his right hand and begged God to forgive him.

As Jason stumbled down the stairs, he heard a solitary shot echo through the stairwell. He closed his eyes and wondered why any of this had to happen.

Michelle leaned against the back of the closet. The gunfire had stopped, but she still heard the faint sounds of sirens. The fumes in the closet made her head feel as though it was filled with some lighter-than-air gas and trying to lift from her shoulders. She heard footsteps moving erratically toward the door and she held the gun to her side and drew the bottle of cleaner back. As the door opened she slung the cleaner forward spilling a clear, green liquid out in front of her, but no one was there. She lifted the gun and saw brown and purple. She stayed her finger on the trigger as Jason reached in with his left hand and pulled her from the closet. She noticed he was clutching his side with his right arm, and he was limping worse than she had seen him limp before.

"Are you all right?" she asked as he closed the door.

"No."

"What happened?"

"I got shot." He put his hand behind her back and began leading her down the hall.

"Shot? Are you bleeding? Are you hurt badly?"

"The sweatshirt, it's Treated, it kept the bullet from penetrating, but I think it broke some ribs."

"We need to get you some help."

"I'm not spitting up blood.Lungs aren't punctured, just hurt like hell. I'll be fine until..."

He stopped suddenly. Michelle took a step forward but then turned as she felt his arm leave her back. As she turned, she saw Max smile at her, with a gun to Jason's head.

"We meet again."

Michelle raised her pistol as Max held his arm around Jason.

"So, you two are together." He pressed the muzzle hard into Jason's temple. Michelle could see the fear quivering through Jason's eyes, though the rest of his body was still. "I thought I recognized you."

"What is it you want from me?" Max asked with sincere interest.

"I want you to die," Michelle's own voice was calm, focused. She would not have Jason taken away from her. Not like this.

"Well, that isn't going to happen. At least not as long as I have a gun to your boyfriend's head. So why don't you do him a favor and put your gun down."

Michelle knew if she put the gun down, neither Jason nor she would walk out of there. She could see that in Max's eyes. She stiffened her arm and focused her eyes on Max's. "I let you live once because I didn't have it in me to kill you. But if you shoot him, I swear I'll put you down before his body hits the ground." She could feel her stomach churning on those words. She would do it as sure as she said it, but the thought of it curdled in her gut.

"Michelle, don't worry about me, just do it!" Jason yelled. Max tightened his arm around Jason's chest and he winced as lightning coursed under his skin from his side through his torso. Max pressed the muzzle even harder against his head.

Michelle took a step toward Max, raising the gun slightly. Her eyes focused around the site on the gun onto his. Then, she remembered she still had the cleaner in her right hand. "You claim to be some great savior, to have the answer to it all," she leaned closer, the gun only inches from his forehead, and now she could see the fear in his eyes as well, "but all you've brought that I've seen is despair." She heard a click and knew Max was pulling back the hammer on his gun, but she continued anyway. "You remind me of something my mother used to say,"

"Get away from me." Max said, the anger vibrating in his words.

Michelle ignored him and continued, "She used to say, " _Wushi ni de yanjing_."

Jason saw the determination in Michelle's eyes and he knew, this time she would do it, but she was hesitating. She was trying to save him. He wanted her to just do it. Just shoot Max and go from there. Then, he heard the words " _Wushi ni de yanjing_." That wasn't any proverb he had ever heard. And then he understood. He saw the bottle of cleaner in her hand, and followed her command and closed his eyes.

Michelle saw Max's eyes focused on hers as she brought the bottle up. The green liquid leapt from the bottle and across Jason's face as he closed his eyes, but Max didn't see it coming.

Jason closed his eyes and brought his elbow back hard as he felt the liquid hit his face and smelled the ammonia. He heard Max wail in pain just before he felt his elbow dig into soft flesh. Max's body doubled over as Jason lunged forward. He kept his eyes closed as he felt the liquid tingling on his face. Jason reached out and grabbed Michelle with his right arm and wiped his eyes free with his left as he pushed her toward where the end of the hall should have been. He heard gunfire and felt Michelle's body shake with each blast. He threw his eyes open in horror but saw Michelle firing the gun behind her as they ran.

Michelle hadn't expected the gun to come back into her hand with such force as she pulled the trigger, and she almost lost the gun after the first shot, but she held on and fired two more. Her wrist and elbow filled with heat as she ran forward, trying to keep under Jason's arm in case he stumbled on his bad leg. She hadn't expected to hit anything, she only wanted to buy time. Jason stumbled as they rounded the corner and Michelle ducked under him to keep him from falling. They rounded the corner like contestants in some nightmarish tree-legged race as Max's cries died off and shots hit the hall haphazardly behind them.

"Up here," Jason motioned as they came to a doorway leading to another set of stairs. They hurried in tandem up the stairs. Jason stumbled on the last step, and they fell through the door. Michelle strained to hold him up on his feet but he fell to his knees coughing as the door closed behind them. Jason scrambled to his feet, steadying himself on Michelle's shoulder, and then pushed her to the side. They had emerged on a deck alongside a wooden shelter that covered a cement foundation with a maze of metal piping that probably corralled people toward a ride on better days. Jason looked around, his face still tingling and his eyes watering from the fumes. He saw a ship that looked like a galleon with fake oars on either side and a large, grinning clown face carved on the front. The ride hung suspended by two large clown arms that had large servomotors at the hands and bright yellow bars hanging from them that supported the galleon. The ship was surrounded by an ocean of blue cement with lines of frothy white waves painted across it. The ocean was surrounded by a large wooden fence with waves that reached up to an orange horizon and a big setting sun that looked like a bubbling egg yolk. The fence seemed to be holding back the evergreens that were blowing in toward them, tossing nettles across the abandoned ride. A sign that looked like a billboard stood between the fence and the evergreens perpendicular to the sunset and depicted a galleon on a stormy sea, packed so full of court jesters that some were hanging from the sides. Above the galleon in bright yellow letters read 'Ship of Fools.' Just under the billboard hung a yellow sign with black, blocky letters that read 'Closed for Repairs.' Under the front of the ride, just below the clown's chin, were a variety of tools that reiterated the message on the sign. Jason noticed the butane torch and the portable butane tank next to a family of monkey wrenches and an open toolbox.

Jason pushed Michelle into a booth that grew from the landing and connected with the wooden roof.

He reached for the gun and she handed it to him. "Stay here," he said, motioning for her to duck out of site.

"What are you gonna do?" she asked, her voice quivering.

"I'm gonna go back and finish this thing."

"But you're in no shape..."

"This has to end now Michelle."

Jason looked away as she crouched down behind the wooden walls of the booth. "If the cops come, flail your arms and scream and cry hysterically, like you're scared out of your mind and have no idea what's happening." She nodded, but he didn't see. He was still looking toward the door.

He took a step toward the door and held his gun out in front of him in his left hand as he reached to open it. The door flew open to meet him, knocking his left hand out, folding his right hand in and against his chest as the door swung open and smacked him across his face. Jason threw his right leg behind him to catch himself but his ankle folded. His head snapped back from the force of the door, and he went down hard on the cement ocean. He heard the gun clatter into the metal under the ride, and he saw Max emerge from the doorway with his gun swinging wildly in front of him. Even from the ground, he could see Max's eyes were blood red. Max swung the gun around in front of him as though he were trying to find a target in a crowd. He stopped his hand just to Jason's left, and Jason rolled to his right and under the galleon as Max fired. Jason stopped under the shadow of the clown head and snatched up a monkey wrench as he rolled across it. He saw Max take a step forward and fire again where he had been, but then he turned toward the front of the galleon. Jason grabbed the butane tank, snatched out the hose connecting it to the torch, and rolled it toward Max's feet. Max pointed the gun downward as the tank wobbled under him and Jason lunged from under the ship and ran across the cement ocean. Max turned at the sound of his steps and fired. Jason heard the bullet ricochet off the clown's face as he vaulted over the wooden fence onto the landing. Jason ducked in front of the booth and lifted his finger to his mouth in a shush as Michelle crouched in front of the controls. He took the plastic wastebasket from under the shelf and stood slightly, favoring his left leg. He peered over the controls in the booth and saw Max kick the butane tank behind him and then look around, eyes burning like Satan himself, trying to find a target. Jason held the wrench along his right forearm and tossed the wastebasket around the booth with his left. As soon as he released it, he was up, coming around the booth, praying he hadn't made a mistake.

Max's eyes felt like they had swollen in his head and were pressing back into his brain. It felt as though his tear ducts had burst, and blood and tears were pouring uncontrollably from them. The world around him had turned into bas-relief—one solid shadow jutting out at various points, forming loose images as he whirled around, looking for the two demons that would not go away. He knew they were here, could feel they were here, but where? Suddenly he heard a scrambling to his right and he turned. He saw the form of someone rolling across the ground. He had him this time. Max pulled the trigger, anxious to send him back to hell.

Max turned to his right as Jason came up on his left and the wastebasket hopped into the air as Max fired. Jason brought the wrench back with both hands, but Max turned back toward him, bringing the gun around. Jason had to swing sooner than he had planned and had to extend himself. He brought the wrench around in an awkward arc and hit Max in the hip. Max stumbled to his right, toward the galleon, but managed to get the gun around. With his weak leg, Jason couldn't trust himself to dive so he bit down and lunged forward. Jason reached his hands forward for Max's arm, but the gun went off. Jason felt something tear at the outside of his shoulder but didn't feel the impact. Jason grabbed Max's wrist and thrust it upward, and then turned under Max's arm and brought it down across his shoulder. But Max was already moving to his right and bringing his left hand in. Jason felt a train wreck under his left arm as Max's fist dug into his side. Jason coughed and thought flames would come out of his mouth, but he stayed focused. He brought his left arm back and felt it stop, but couldn't feel the contact. He snapped it back again, twisting Max's wrist back over his elbow, trying to wrench the gun free.

But Max held on.

Jason felt Max's foot sweep at his right ankle and then found himself falling forward under Max's weight. Jason held onto Max's arm, but his stomach hit the edge of the control booth, his chest folded over the console as he smashed face-first into the controls. Jason's chest felt like one large, erratically throbbing heart, and, as the wind rushed from his lungs out his mouth, he was surprised no blood came with it. He felt a knee hit the small of his back, but he lifted himself anyway as he heard a whirring under his head and a mechanical sputtering behind him as the ride slowly came to life.

Jason held onto Max's wrist and turned under it to face Max as he brought his own knee up and buried it in Max's groin. Jason saw the clown face rising above them as he brought his right hand up under Max's chin. As they stumbled backward, Jason pressed Max's right wrist back and across his body and squeezed his right hand over Max's. The gun fired, sending the bullet over Max's shoulder and into the forest. Jason heard a sizzle as the shell casing ejected from the gun, rebounded off Max's cheek, and slid under his collar. Max's body convulsed as the hot shell rolled across his neck and settled deeper under his shirt. Jason brought his knee up again into Max's stomach and shoved his right forearm into Max's chest. The gun fell over Max's shoulder as he trashed at his collar, trying to smack the hot shell loose.

The shadow of the Ship of Fools rose over them as the galleon lifted up to its zenith and receded as it swung slowly backward, summoning momentum for descent. Max lurched under the shadow of the comic ship but caught his balance. Max looked up, and then took a step back as the ship swung downward, gaining velocity as it passed just in front of Max and toward Jason's left.

Jason dove backward as the ship swung by, landing on his butt on the hard cement. As the ship swung upward again, it came around almost without hesitation at the peak of its arc. Jason pulled his left leg under him as he saw Max, across the shadow of the galleon, searching the mock-up ocean beneath him.

Max didn't know whether his eyes were working better or he was getting used to the etched images that had replaced light, shadow and color. The carriage swung between him and his assailant, and he looked for the gun. He could feel the shell ablaze against his left nipple but he knew his attacker could see, and he couldn't let him get to the gun first. He looked as the carriage swung upward again and then, a as tiny raised L of bump on the cold cement, he saw the gun. As the carriage began its decent, separating him and the demon once again, he knew this was his only chance.

As the shadow grew and the galleon swung back and down again, Jason saw Max reach down for the gun. He couldn't tell if Max could see yet or not, but he seemed to have more composure now and Jason couldn't risk it. As the galleon came swinging downward, Jason dove forward, cupped a socket wrench, and rolled across the metal mesh surrounding the hole that housed the buzzing gearing and machinery of the ride. Jason felt his bones shake as the galleon brushed across his jeans with a Jurassic roar, rattling the mesh under him as he rolled upward. As his feet rolled under him, Jason stretched out his body and swung the wrench.

Max reached for the embossed pistol shape as the carriage swung by only inches from his head. Suddenly he heard a rustle as the bass from the passing ship ebbed, and he saw the frame of a man-sized ball extend into a body. He felt something hard and cold across his wrist as his fingers went numb and were swept away from the gun. He stepped back as the impression of the demon balled and then rose quickly in front of him, but before it could rise completely, as Max heard the bass building again for another pass, he kicked forward, connected, and extended his foot with force.

Max's kick caught Jason in his solar plexus and his vision wavered as he felt his arms spread and his weight lift from the support of his legs as he was launched backward. His body curled, and he saw darkness turn to blue as a shadow passed over him. He landed on his side, and bounced. With each contact with the ground, tendrils of lightning slammed through his side. He came to a rest face down. He lifted himself up, still hazy from the shock in his rbs and midsection. He couldn't feel his arms, but he felt the mesh under his knees began to vibrate. Then, he discovered his arms under him and lifted himself upward. The shadow moved over him again, and as the mesh under the ride coalesced in his vision, he realized where he was. Without looking, Jason collapsed on his left arm. His body rolled onto his back as he felt a rocket pass over him. Something caught his elbow, and his fingers locked as a bolt of ribbed brown swept by inches from his face. The shadow withdrew again as Jason's head and back hit the metal lattice, giving way to Max, on one knee, lifting the pistol as he stood to his feet.

Max raised his gun as the bas-relief returned, and the form of the demon that had been hounding him lifted into view. He pointed the gun at it and pulled back the hammer. He steeled himself, preparing for the darkness to consume the form again—if the demon sank back into the shadow, he wasn't going to miss this time.

Jason saw Max's body waver but then stiffen in ardent concentration. He could feel the icy grip of failure squeezing the blood from his heart. He was going to die, he accepted that, but Max had the gun. Max could still kill Michelle, Michelle would still die, and most likely, if the legends were true, the world would still end. Pierce Daen's words sliced through Jason's skull, _nature resists change_. As Jason lay on the vibrating metal bed, he focused his eyes on Max's. Even with the rattling, sputtering, and whirring underneath him and with the howl of the galleon coming around again, the hammer on Max's gun sounded like thunder as he pulled it back. Jason felt something cold roll from the corner of his eye and down his temple. As the shadow spread across him like a shroud, he looked over Max's head to the sky and said he was sorry.

Max could feel his attacker lying still on the ground, defeated. He was sure he could almost see the demon's eyes focused on his own, peering into his soul.

"I'm sorry," he heard the demon say as he raised his eyes to heaven, but it was too late for God's forgiveness now. "Go back to hell where you belong." Max said and pulled the trigger as the relief of the figure began to fade again.

Jason heard the gunshot as he closed his eyes and expected to feel his soul bleeding out of him. But there was no impact, and he opened his eyes as quickly as they had shut to see Max's face over him, contorted in horror, staring down at him. And then there was the roar, and the brown again, and Max was gone. As the galleon thundered by overhead, and the darkness passed over him again, Jason saw Michelle standing where Max had stood with the gun, the monkey wrench in her hands. She dropped the wrench and slowly fell to her knees next to Max's gun. Jason looked up and saw the galleon coming around again and rolled from under the shadow of the ride.

He rose shakily to his knee and put his arm around her. Her face was flush, as though she had seen into hell itself. Jason pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her. His entire torso throbbed with pain, but he didn't care. He felt her arms wrap loosely around him, but then they tightened as he brushed his lips over her ear. "Thank you," he whispered quietly.

* * *

Jason's body felt like a temple to the god of pain as he stood up on his left leg and Michelle stood under his shoulder to help him. Jason picked up Max's gun as he stood and looked over his shoulder where he saw Max's lifeless legs, twisted awkwardly, hanging from the control booth over a sheath of growing red. He heard the gearing under the ride grinding and scraping as the ride slowly jerked to a stop. "We need to get out of here," Jason said, hobbling, ushering Michelle over to the painted sunset.

At the wall Jason tucked the pistol under his belt and cupped his hands together. "You go first," he said, kneeling on his right knee. She put her foot into his hand and he stood, lifting her up. She grabbed the top of the top of the fence and grunted as she began pulling her body over.

"Freeze!" Jason heard behind him over the grinding of the ride.

"Go!" Jason said under his breath, loud enough for Michelle to hear. He looked down and saw the butane tank under his feet and looked up as he turned around with his hands in the air.

"Stop where you are! This is the police," he heard the cop kneeling in the line shelter yell as Michelle scrambled over the wall behind him.

"You! Drop the weapon and come over slowly!"

There were three cops, all in various defensive positions, all with their guns pointed at him. Jason took a step forward and to the side, stopping his left leg just behind the tank.

"Get rid of the gun first," the cop kneeling in front yelled.

Jason reached down and grabbed the handle of the gun behind his back and began drawing it slowly as he shuffled his right leg forward, his left hand still in the air.

"Do it now, asshole!"

Jason took another step forward as he pulled the gun from his belt, and he tripped on the tank, thrusting his left leg forward as he lowered his head in a feigned lubber. The tank rolled forward, Jason went with the momentum of the stumble, but miraculously, his left leg held his weight, and as the tank rolled under the galleon, Jason turned the gun out in an awkward grasp and fired. Angry gusts of red, orange and yellow belched out from the tank with a deep peal as Jason turned on his heel, dropped the gun and hurtled himself upward. His fingers caught the top of the fence and as gun shots, obscured by the fireball, crackled behind him, but hit the fence around him. He pressed the ball of his left foot to the fence and launched himself over.

# CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Jason felt like he was being ripped apart at his midsection as he retched over the toilet in the Phillips 76. He gasped, exhausted, as thick fluid hung from his lips, his side pulsating like a beacon. He held himself up over the toilet as his insides knotted up and he felt his side split again, expelling another geyser of bitter acid, water, and remnants of funnel cake.

There was a knock at the door. "Are you okay in there?" he heard outside as he choked on the pain that came with the stress on his lungs.

"I'm okay," he said, his voice trailing off in a gag.

He heard the door click open as he felt his intestines twist again, and he leaned forward preparing for another onslaught. He felt Michelle's hand on his shoulder as he took some toilet tissue from the roll and wiped his mouth.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again.

"Yeah," he said breathing heavy, weary breaths.

"What happened?"

"It's just..." he coughed but his cough instantly transformed into a wince as he grabbed his side, "...the killing."

"We need to get you to a hospital."

"No, I'll be fine. I can tape myself up. I'm not spitting up blood. I just need to rest."

"Well, I just called Jon. He's gonna meet us by the river. But we'll have to hike to Powatan."

Holding his side with his right arm, Jason stood and wiped his mouth again for posterity. He tossed the mottled ball of toilet paper into the toilet. "They were all just kids," he said staring at the cesspool as he flushed the toilet.

"They made their own choices."

"Yeah." Jason watched as the tainted sludge whirled away and clear, blue water replaced it.

"Jason, look at me." She turned his shoulders so that he faced her. "They gave you no choice. You did what you had to do."

"I don't know." He looked away from her again, "Knowing you did the right thing doesn't make it go down any easier."

Michelle turned his eyes back to hers and looked at him. His eyes sagged. It looked like his very soul was tired. Michelle brushed her palm across his cheek and took his hand into hers.

"Come on. There's chaos everywhere. Let's get away from this place."

Jason nodded and followed her out the door.

* * *

Jeff had managed to get out of the chaos and get home, but he knew it wouldn't be long before they caught up to him. He sat at his desk, sweat rolling down his face. His shirt was soaked as if he had been running. He hung up the phone as he heard the sirens outside his apartment. He had made the call to the Farm. His life was ruined, but perhaps he could still see the world delivered from evil. He buried his face down on the table as he heard the door burst open behind him.

As he felt his hands being pulled behind his back, and the cold metal surrounded his wrists, he gave little resistance.

# CHAPTER THIRTY

**October 2,** 1991

11:27 P.M.

The cold, dry night air sliced through Jason's sweatshirt as he waited for Michelle to round the car.

"It was nice of your friend to lend you his car." Jason said as Michelle, the wind scattering her hair, shivered up to Jason and wrapped around his arm for warmth.

"Yeah, he's a sweetheart," Michelle said, voice quivering in the cold as they crossed the street to City Hall.

"He cares a lot about you."

Michelle cuddled as close as she could, hiding from the blistering wind. "Why didn't you wear something warmer?" Jason asked stepping onto the curb.

"The wind chill factor caught me off-guard."

Jason stopped at the base of the stairs leading up to the front of the building. He stopped and lifted his sweatshirt over his head. "Here, take this."

"No," Michelle shook her hand in refusal, "Then you'll freeze."

"I'm leaving in ten minutes anyway. With or without this, I'm gonna freeze in the transfer." _That is if the transfer works_ , Jason thought without saying. With Max dead, he wasn't even sure there would be anyone on the other side to turn the machine on. He didn't want to mention that because if 11:37 came and he wasn't in 2026, his options became much more limited, and much less soft.

Jason cringed as he raised the sweatshirt over his head and the pain tweaked from his left hip to his armpit. He handed the sweatshirt to her. She was reluctant, but she took it.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Jason's watch chimed five times. "What's that?" Michelle asked, lifting his arm with her hand to get a look at his watch.

"That means I have exactly ten minutes until my rendezvous time."

Michelle turned and looked at the street they had just walked across. "It's like the entire world has gone to sleep," she said folding her arms.

"Yeah."

She looked up at the sky. The silvery moon beamed through the holes in a passing cloud that swept through the sky as if it was late for some celestial engagement. Another thicker cloud passed just behind it and revealed two bright stars, just above a band of three. "There's your guardian angel," Michelle said pointing to the constellation or Orion as it was slowly revealed by the clouds.

"The stars seem brighter today." Jason said, looking over her to the sky.

Michelle nodded and turned back to face him. He noticed the moisture forming in the corner of her left eye and he pulled her to him. He hugged her firmly, despite the protests from his ribs. "I'm going to miss you," she gasped as he pulled her against his chest.

He held her there as another cloud passed over the moon. He ran his hand behind her head and down the crease of her spine. Her warmth separated his fingertips from the cold wind. "Listen," he said, grasping her shoulders and holding her slightly away from him so their eyes met. Michelle brushed the moisture from her cheek with her finger. "You have your entire life ahead of you. I want you to promise me one thing."

"What's that?" she wiped another line of water from her other cheek, but she did not sniffle.

"Promise me you won't wait for me."

She just looked at him. The moon sent tendrils of light through another translucent cloud that seemed to ripple on the ground around them. She embraced him again and kissed him. A soft, slow kiss as though their lips were meeting for the first time. As their lips parted she lied her head on his shoulder and brought her lips to his ear. "Okay," she breathed. It sounded pained, as though her ribs had been broken as well.

Suddenly there was a tapping behind them. Jason turned quickly, sheltering Michelle's body behind his, realizing how hopelessly unarmed he was. He saw a security guard standing behind the glass doors, tapping on the glass with his baton. "You two get out of here," echoed through the slightly open glass door.

Jason looked at the security guard. He could leave and come back, but somehow he had to get this guy off his back. "Sorry sir, we were just looking at the stars."

"So is that what you kids call it nowadays?" he asked with an oily grin, "I don't care what you were doin'. There are places for that sort of thing and this here ain't one of 'em." The security guard tapped on the glass again and, without warning, it shattered. The security guard clutched at his chest and fell. Jason's mind couldn't register what was happening at first, but then it clicked. He pushed Michelle toward the falling glass and looked over his shoulder. Over the howl of the wind he heard a dull _whiff_ , _whiff_ , _whiff_ and saw the man with the Uzi and a long suppressor get out of a white Escort that had just parked in front of the building. As the man threw the car door closed behind him, he grimaced angrily, and Jason saw his face clearly.

Max.

Jason jumped past Michelle and carried her through the half-shattered glass panel with him, sheltering her as best he could with his body as the panels around them splintered and shattered in silenced gunfire.

"Go! Go to the stairs!" Jason yelled over the sound of falling glass as he pushed Michelle toward the center of the building. He saw the gun in the security guard's holster and he ducked, reaching for it, but what was left of the glass in front of him shattered as Max's head and shoulders rose over the edge of the stairs. The guard's body buckled under Jason's hand, and blood spattered over his arm as he snatched it away and dove behind the wall, still weaponless. Jason caught himself with his forearms, but the shock still jostled his tender ribs. He scrambled to his feet as he saw the door to the staircase closing behind Michelle. He ran to the door, threw it open, and jumped inside as the chips exploded off the door behind him.

He ushered Michelle up the stairs "What the hell's going on?" she screamed as she rounded the landing.

"It's Max, again! Somehow he did it again!"

"Hey what's happening over here?" Jason heard echo into the stairwell as he and Michelle bounded over the second landing. Suddenly there was a cry of "Holy Shit," and a series of grunts, and then only the sounds of their hurried steps as they came to another landing.

Jason heard the tattered door on the first floor fly open as he peeked over the railing and down the stairwell. He saw the suppressor peek up at him and leapt back, covering Michelle as he heard the _whiff_ , _whiff_ , _whiff_ again—louder this time—and felt chips of cement spray over his ankles. He pushed Michelle up another set of stairs as the firing stopped.

Jason heard the firing again as they passed the sign for the fifth floor, but the whiffs had turned to soft, hollow pops.

Jason crashed through the fifteenth floor door behind Michelle and looked around the halls. The carpet felt soft even through his shoes. The doors on the offices here were thick, expensive looking wood. There was a fire extinguisher on the wall, and between it and the elevators was a fire hose. Jason moved Michelle to wall where the staircase door swung. He could feel the gooseflesh on the back of her wrists. "Stay here, when I give you the sign, run up to the roof."

Jason turned and snatched the fire extinguisher from its post on the wall, removed the safety pin and clasped the trigger, holding out the thin hose in anticipation. He heard steps clattering up the stairs toward him and he braced himself.

The door flew open and the Uzi swept through the doorway and panned side to side across the hall. Jason noticed Max was holding the Uzi with his left hand, steadying the weight of the suppressor with his right. That was strange. Max was right handed, and it was hard to control a two-handed firearm with your off-hand.

Jason saw his head lurch out of the doorway and he squeezed the trigger on the extinguisher. A billow of white foam whooshed from the nozzle and coated his head with bubbly snow. Jason moved forward as he sprayed and he saw the nose of the suppressor coming around toward him as Max fell against the doorframe. Jason brought the base of the extinguisher up and then down over the suppressor as it fired, sending the rounds into the floor around their feet. Jason threw the extinguisher down on Max's foo,t and Max let out a shriek as Jason smashed his left wrist against the corner of the door, sending the Uzi past Michelle. Jason saw Max reach his right hand up, and he brought his left elbow up swiftly under Max's chin before he could complete his motion. His elbow snapped Max's head back, sending a plume of white speckles showering off the top of his head. Jason turned and grabbed him by his collar.

"Go now!" Jason yelled to Michelle. He saw her flash from behind the door as he lifted his right foot, pushed his heel into Max's stomach, and fell backward.

He saw Michelle's form pass through the door as he pulled Max on top of him. As his shoulders hit the ground, he kicked out, sending Max, arms flailing, over his head and through the glass panel beside door the office door behind them.

Jason rolled to his stomach as the tinted glass crumbled and Max's body carried a blanket of glass shards, held together by the gray film, into the office with him. His body hit something in the office with a thud and Jason heard him scream and thrash around in frustration as he rolled past the door. He had never heard Max lose his composure like that before. Jason pushed himself up on his hands and knees and reached for the Uzi. Suddenly behind him, he heard a crunching sound. He looked over his shoulder and saw Max sidle through the empty panel, firing a pistol. Max screamed maniacally as Jason dove over the Uzi and snatched it up as he fell into a roll. His ribs protested as he felt the carpet kick up around him and the small tremors each bullet sent through the floor. He rolled his back against the door of an office and pulled the Uzi up in front of him. He fired from the fetal position, but Max was already diving into the stairwell. The bullets ripped through the door as it closed behind him. Jason sprung to his feet, ignoring the pain in his ribs and ankle, and flattened his back against the side of the doorway. He listened to see if Max was on the other side waiting, but he only heard retreating steps and demented laughter echoing through the stairwell. The bastard was going after Michelle.

Michelle heard the exchange of gunfire as she burst onto the roof of the building. She could see the Coliseum and the central police station over the edge of the building, but there were no cars to be seen. She couldn't even see any police cars entering or leaving the station. The moon cast ghostly tears of light over the city. It was as though the world had died and the moon was in mourning for it.

She looked around for some place to hide as she heard laughter behind her. "I'll get you, you bitch," she heard inside the stairwell, muffled by the door.

Jason grabbed the door and threw it open but stayed flat against the wall. No gunfire coursed out of the stairwell, so he turned into the doorway, leading with the Uzi. Nothing. Only the sound of footsteps ascending, and the cry of "I'll get you, you bitch."

Michelle flattened her back to the wall of the exit and bit down on her bottom lip. She could feel her heart slamming against the inside of her chest as she held her breath. She heard the door fly open behind her. The cold wind whipped over her and she couldn't tell if the numbness came from the chill or the fear. She heard slow steps, and then the voice, "You can't hide from me, witch! I can feel you."

She heard a slow step in her direction and she slid slowly against the wall away from it. Suddenly, she saw a pistol come around the side of the wall, and she froze as Max jumped out from behind it, grinning wildly.

"I've got you now whore!" he yelled, looking up to the moon and chortling.

Jason moved up the stairs as quickly as he could without making noise. As he reached the exit he heard Max's voice, "I've got you now whore!" followed by a short, malevolent giggle. "You are a whore aren't you? The great Whore of Babylon my brother told me about."

Brother? Max had a twin brother? He must have kept him hidden somewhere. Destroyed his birth certificate. That's why none of their research had turned it up. An elaborate, decades-long plan to set up his resurrection in the event of his death. That's why he had gotten only half an aura reading. There was only half of one to get.

But that meant, if Max's twin killed Michelle, and the legend was true, his mission could still fail. And right now, this monster was out there with a gun pointed at her.

_Brother?_ Michelle thought, confused as she backed away from the gun. "You surprised, huh, you festering trollop? I always told my brother I could feel you, but he didn't believe me." His eyes were big and bulging, on fire. "That's probably how you got him, huh? But you won't get me, because you can't hide from me like you did from him." He lifted the gun to her face and took a step forward. She saw the abyss of the gun barrel staring down at her. "You can lie with your pimp in hell."

There was a loud bang behind him, and Max's brother turned quickly.

"You can lie with your pimp in hell." Jason heard beside the wall, and he lunged forward, kicking the door open with a loud crash. He pulled the Uzi around and pulled the trigger. There was only a pop followed by a series of hollow clicks as the Uzi shook futilely. Max's brother stumbled back as the first bullet caught him in the chest, but he steadied himself against the wall. "Die whore monger!" he screamed as he brought his gun up.

Jason tossed the Uzi and dove to his left. He heard the gunfire as he stretched out past the door and landed hard on his ribs. He felt blood rush into his eyes and force out hot tears as the pain wracked through his body and seized his spine. He couldn't feel his fingers, and his legs flopped insensate to the ground. As he rolled over, his vision blurred with moisture. He was left in a world where there was only him, the callous, apathetic moon, and the pain.

Suddenly the moon was eclipsed by the visage of Max's brother, hair writhing wildly in the wind as he pulled at his collar and wheezed. He pointed the Sig 9 down at him. Jason couldn't see any blood, and as he raised his hazy eyes to meet his aggressor, he saw the threaded black of the vest under his shirt.

"You didn't think I would come unprepared for you and your little strumpet did you? I know she is powerful. I can feel her power, and I can take it. My brother sent medicine to make me well, but I know the truth, only her spirit will make me whole." He smiled a wide, grin and his eyes rolled back. "Yes," he said, airy and orgasmic as Jason saw his body quiver and his hand loosen. Jason wanted to lift his leg to kick the gun away, but he felt only the burning in his side. Then, Max's brother's eyes sank again, and his smile faded to a snarl as he pointed the gun between Jason's eyes.

Jason saw a purple flash as the sweatshirt came down over Max's brother's head and shoulders. He heard Michelle yell and saw Max's brother collapse onto his knee as she brought her heel down on the back of his leg.

Jason summoned the energy to roll to his side as she yelled again and brought her foot down between their assailant's shoulder blades. The force of her foot carried him down face first to the ground as Jason rolled against the wall. He felt something rattle against his back as he stopped just outside the swing of the door.

A shrill, inhuman caterwaul shrieked from under the sweatshirt as Max's brother began to kick his legs and thrash his arms wildly. Jason saw his right hand grab around Michelle's ankle. Jason pushed himself upright slowly, but his arms were wobbly and unstable. He saw the pry bar under him as he sat up, his vision still watery with pain. As he looked up, he saw Michelle's hand reach out and the door swing open just in front of him, blocking his view of her. He heard a hard bump as the door came back toward him and then swung out again, repeatedly smashing against Max's brother's head.

11:32 P.M.

Jason used the pry bar for leverage to push himself up to his feet. Michelle stood huffing with anger over the unconscious body, still holding the door open against his head.

Jason put his legs under himself, but they felt unreliable under his weight. He shuffled over to the body as Michelle took a step forward. Jason stood over the body and kicked the gun from his hand across the roof. He knelt, holding the pry bar against the ground with his right hand and began pulling the sweatshirt off the body as Michelle held the door open.

"Is he dead?" Michelle asked, her voice deep and exhausted.

"I don't think so, but he..." Jason's sentence terminated in a staccato hack as Max's brother's left hand thrust up and clinched his throat.

Max's brother thrashed his legs wildly and one caught Michelle in her knee sending her into the doorway. She stumbled and fell, screaming. Jason heard her scream descend, abbreviated as she hit each step on the way down to the landing. The sound deadened as the door closed and Max's brother rolled Jason over, bringing his other hand onto his throat.

Jason felt the thumbs press into his Adam's apple as the lunatic throttled him. He was resting his weight on Jason's haunches, but Jason still felt the pressure in his ribs. Jason heard his watch beep twice. Five minutes. Max's brother looked down at Jason's watch as it beeped and Jason mustered all the strength he could to bring his left hand around, flat and hard against the mad man's right ear.

Max's brother let out another animalistic howl as he teetered off Jason. Jason tried to roll away from him, but he grabbed onto Jason's shirt and rolled Jason over him. Max's brother tried to follow through with the roll and roll himself on top again, but Jason pushed with his leg and they both twirled over in one full rotation. Jason thrust the psychopath's head back into the roof as he rolled on top of him, but he didn't seem fazed. He rolled Jason over again and they tumbled this way again and again. Jason felt his back roll across something hard and metal as he rolled to the bottom again. This time, he lifted his right knee as he kicked himself over with his right leg. As he rolled over, he planted his knee into Max's brother's groin and leaned into it, twisting his knee from side to side. Jason buried his knee, but there was no twitching, no loosening of muscles, no anguished howl. Jason froze, stunned as a smirk spread across the man's face. His smirk turned to guttural laughter. "I rid myself of susceptibility to the wiles of that putrid whore." He vomited out the word whore, and then his voice trailed into more guttural laughter, exposing stained yellow teeth.

Jason's stomach sank in revulsion, and he brought his face down hard, smashing his forehead into the mad man's mouth. Jason lifted his head and saw red overshadowing the yellow of his teeth. Max's brother opened his mouth and screeched again, bringing something hard and metal up into Jason's ribs. Jason couldn't feel the pressure in his throat or lungs, but heard a howl he recognized as his own as his vision faded, and the stony grasp of unconsciousness wrapped around him. He felt his body turn and fall, his arms and legs limp, as he stopped abruptly. He could feel the waves of stupor moving from his feet up to his head. The pain in his ankle fleeted as the numbness moved up his legs and over his waist, and then even the pain in his ribs ebbed as the wave came over his torso. For a moment Jason was relieved the pain was passing, but then he remembered Michelle.

Michelle. He couldn't leave her alone with this maniac. The only way out was the pain.

The pain.

Focus on the pain. If he let the pain go, it would all be over. He thought about the pain. He let his consciousness sink into his torso as the icy tentacles of stupor tried to pull him into the dark waters of catalepsy. He felt the pain in his ribs as a faint beacon in the darkness at first, but he concentrated on the beacon, concentrated until the beacon deepened into his heartbeat. Jason could feel the pain coursing through his body with each deafening blast of his heart, surging down his leg, into his arms, and up into his head. Jason could feel his jaw, slack and slightly open, and he lolled his head to the side. As the pain rang through his body like the overpowering peal of some ominous bell, Jason felt his eyelids open—but no light entered them. His vision was clouded with dark, writhing static as black as death itself.

Then, mingled with the pulsating agony that rattled his joints and tensed every one of his muscles, he felt the weight on his abdomen. The writhing darkness crawled to a slow vibration, and the center filled with a pale pink blur. In the center of the blur, closer than the pink, was black—a small rectangle of black with a darker circle in the center.

"Now, you shall pay for your transgression," he heard, distant and watery, as the rectangle and the dark hole grew in his addled vision.

Then suddenly, the pressure on his abdomen grew, and the rectangle moved away as the pink blob was eclipsed by brown. "I feel you, bitch!" Jason heard trailing.

Michelle charged Max's brother as he knelt over Jason's limp body. He turned his head suddenly and turned the gun toward her. Michelle was sure she was going to be shot, but she charged anyway. "I feel you, bitch!" she heard him yell, but he hesitated. She squeezed the trigger of the tank prematurely, but the spray gusted out and across his face. She saw him close his eyes as the foam spread across his face, but she only needed that small moment of hesitation.

She swung the base of the extinguisher behind and tensed all the muscles from her shoulders to her arms in anticipation. "Feel this, you sick fucker!" She belted as she swung upward with all her weight and might, catching the bottom of the gun and his elbow, and following through to his chin with a resounding bong. His head lifted and he rose to his feet from the force of impact and rocked on his heels. The swing carried the extinguisher up over Michelle's left shoulder and spun, she bringing the extinguisher around again, with even more momentum, as she saw the gun spiral over the edge of the roof. She brought the extinguisher around again and released it. The hard metal tube left her hands, and Max's brother threw his hands up, but the force knocked him off balance and over the edge of the roof.

She heard his scream descend into the whistling wind as she stepped over to Jason, praying he wasn't dead. She heard him groan as she approached, allaying her worst fears, but not inspiring confidence.

She knelt next to his body and rolled his head upright. "Jason, wake up. Jason, _please_ wake up."

He moved his hand slowly up and across his belly to hers and groaned again, longer this time. She grasped his hand and felt his loose grip. "He's gone now," Michelle said, pulling his hand to her breast.

Jason opened his eyes and his words came slow and deliberate, "I feel like refried death."

Michelle smiled and put her hand under his head. "Can you sit up?"

"If you help me," he grumbled. She put her hand under his head and helped him sit up.

"I feel like half of me's on the other side of the roof." His watch went off again—one long, shrill chime.

"What does that mean?" Michelle said, worry adding vibrato to her voice.

"It means you should help me to my feet."

Michelle crouched under his shoulder and his face contorted as she stood up, helping him support his weight as he struggled to command his legs.

"Help me to the other side of the roof," he said, pointing weakly to the opposite side of the building. She walked with him to the other side. She could tell he wasn't in good shape because she had to support a good deal of his weight.

11:36 P.M.

"If the police get here before you get out, tell them you got run off the road and chased up here by some psycho, some guy showed up and knocked him off the roof then jumped off himself." She could feel his body quiver with each syllable. The pain must have been unimaginable. She nodded as they reached the edge of the building. "How much time do you have left?" she asked as he tested his legs, then motioned for her to let him stand on his own. He backed away, the strength of his legs dubious, and rested against the wall along the side.

"That last beep meant I had two minutes."

Michelle was frantic. "We have to get you downstairs then! We have to go now!"

Jason shook his head. "It doesn't matter now."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter? You have to go home..."

Jason shook his head again. He lifted his hand and dropped it as lightly as he could on her shoulder. "Michelle, I knew if I—if we—succeeded, this would b e a one way trip."

The cold wind chilled Michelle's face, but she felt streams of warmth stretching from the corners of her eyes down her cheeks.

"Jason," she began but stopped, not knowing exactly what to say. Then, it came, naturally—as naturally as the breath that preceded it. "I love you Jason."

He looked at her and smiled through the pain. And though his body shuddered in agony, it looked like he smiled with little effort.

"It looks like the cops are on their way," Jason said lifting his hand from her shoulder to point at the police station on the other side of the building.

Michelle glanced over her shoulder to look, but even after brushing a tear from her eye she couldn't see any police cars. "I don't see..." she turned, but she stopped in mid-sentence because Jason was gone.

As Jason saw the ground rushing up, he thought he could see his mother and his father, arms outstretched to meet him, smiling. Jason reached out his hands to embrace them and felt the pain in his ribs and ankle siphoned from his body. As the ground came up to meet him, and as he was almost in his parents' arms, he closed his eyes an no regrets came to mind.

Michelle stepped to the edge of the building and reluctantly looked over the wall. As her heart sputtered wildly inside her hollow, hollow breast, and her eyes reluctantly passed over the edge of the building, her worst fear passed through her like a wraith. She saw the purple, the black, and the red—so much red—and she closed her eyes to hold back the deluge.

But it didn't come. Not like she had expected. He had made his own choice. That didn't make it any better, but it made the difference.

She opened her eyes again and looked up at the sky, and through the wavy haze of mercurial tears, she saw a cloud pass over Orion.

# Epilogue

"Destiny is no matter of chance,

it is a matter of choice:

It is not a thing to be waited for,

it is a thing to be achieved."

William Jennings Bryan

# Epilogue

**August 10,** 2026

The big white squares that lined the walls, floor, and ceiling of the Transfer Room looked like big bathroom tiles. At least that's what they reminded Evander Preakness of. He looked through the small slat that was only about two tiles high into the big empty room and punched the last of the computations he had been given into the computer.

Delroy Cheetham stood next to him and turned three dials on the complicated console. Jets of clear, ionized mist, inaudible through the soundproof walls, filled the room. Then, small panels in the sides opened and siphoned out the fog. "Transfer Room disinfected," Delroy said, hollow and drone-like. Evander hated the way Delroy always took his job so seriously; like he was some military robot carrying out cryptic but immutable orders. Their instructions were indeed bizarre and had come down from the highest authority, but they were engineers, not automatons.

Evander finished the last of his computations and flipped four toggle switches to the on position. The lights in the control room dimmed slightly. "EM flux generator powering up," his voice cracking slightly. The small crowd behind him, observing his every move, made him nervous. The drone of ominous, oscillating bass, building quickly in intensity and frequency, permeated the room.

"Put your safety goggles on now," Delroy said in that same robotic monotone, lifting his goggles to his face. Evander slipped the blue tinted plastic over his eyes and looked down at his monitor. The green letters that spread across the screen were now teal.

"EMA activation in five...four...three...two...one..." Evander could feel the anticipation in the room as the first glimmers of white, now blue, pulsars stretched into existence in the center of the Transfer Room. They hovered and spun, dancing in the air as they grew together into a bright shimmering lozenge, a thin band of light stretching through the center—a small nova, stretching out before his eyes. Evander had seen this display of electric light—the stratonova—before, but each time, as now, the beauty and awe of it sent shivers across his body.

Then, the stratonova twisted, impossibly collapsing in on itself and spreading out all at once. And then it shrank, concentrating into a tiny point in the center of the room, burning with all the intensity of the larger whole, just above the body that appeared out of the contracting brightness, four feet above the Transfer Room floor.

* * *

The dark, cold gray of the ground, reaching up to pull Jason in, began to burn with a brilliant white. It burned from the center of his vision and spread quickly out to the fringes. Then suddenly, he wasn't falling anymore—as if he had awaken from a dream just before certain, nightmarish death. The numbness that had spread through him, overshadowing his pain, was replaced with a morbid chill that radiated from within, as if slow, frigid glaciers now passed through his veins. And then he was falling again. Contact with the ground came prematurely, and it hadn't come with the fleeting of his soul to some other existence, dispersing outward into the ether as he had expected. But it did come with pain—a warmth that centered under his left arm and spread across his body in an asterisk, a chafing ocean of agony that spread beneath the rancorous glaciers passing just under his skin. This time he welcomed the hand of lassitude and went peacefully into its merciful darkness.

* * *

Jason awoke slowly, his head awash with drowsiness. His eyes felt as though they were glued shut, and it took longer than it should have for him to get them open. As his eyes slowly stretched open, he felt something brush across his forehead. A strange contact, warm and comforting, but as if there was a thin film between what was touching him and his skin. Light streamed into his eyes as the lids finally lifted from his cheeks, and his pupils strained to adjust. As the light filtered down into discernable colors, Jason blinked in disbelief of what he was seeing.

A woman in a lab coat brushed her hand across his forehead again and smiled through dignified features. "Hello Jason," Michelle said as she ran her hand down his cheek. "How do you feel?"

"Like someone slipped me a rufie," Jason said lifting his hand to his forehead and shaking his head to the side, hoping the lethargy would pour out of his ear. He turned back to Michelle. Her eyes had grown slightly thinner with age and understanding, but the innocence was still there in the way she held them.

Her hair was shorter and the skin around her face was looser, but not wrinkled, and each movement, each look, held a graceful elegance; a beauty of sophistication and confidence.

"The years have been good to you," Jason said, turning slightly to his side to test his ribs. There was still some pain, but the cruel intensity of it was gone.

"You too," Michelle said with a smile.

"I think my body would beg to differ," Jason said trying to sit up.

Michelle stopped him with her hand. "Don't try to do too much at once. They had to fuse two ribs back together and they want you to take it easy to make sure the fusion takes."

Jason looked down and realized he was in a hospital gown and his torso was wrapped tightly with a warm, soothing gauze.

"Here," Michelle said and turned, taking a pillow from the chair next to her. She leaned over, lifted his head, and placed the pillow under, propping him up more. "I have someone I want you to meet," she said smiling, and went to the door at the foot of the bed. She opened the door and stepped outside, holding it. Jason saw her motion toward the room with her hand, and a man in a brown suit, who looked ten years younger than what he actually was, entered the room slowly.

"Professor Rath!" Jason said through a wide smile.

"So, you're the freak who accosted me when I was a teenager," Professor Rath said as he walked to the head of the bed and took Jason's hand.

Jason noticed the ring on his left hand. "You're married?"

Professor Rath nodded. "Yes, and I want to tell you thank you. It didn't make sense to me for a long time, but when the time came, I took your advice."

"I'm glad," Jason said.

"You probably already know a lot about me, but I look forward to getting to know you." He squeezed Jason's hand and looked to Michelle, "I'll leave you two alone."

Michelle nodded and he left. Michelle leaned over to Jason again and showed him her left hand. "I got married too," she said with an unsure smile.

Jason didn't know what he felt at that moment. He felt the air in his lungs thin, but at the same time he was happy for her. Things needed to be this way. "How long?" he asked, the ring shining under the fluorescent lights.

"Almost twenty-five years now,"

"Wow, congratulations," he said actually meaning it. "So, who's the lucky guy?"

"You'll meet him tomorrow," she paused. "That is, if you'll come over for dinner."

"When are they letting me out of this place?"

"The doctors said most likely tomorrow morning, but somehow I doubt they could stop you from leaving if you really wanted to. I'm sure there's plenty of combustibles in this place."

Jason laughed and it came without much pain. "I'm sure there are." Jason took her hand into his. "Thank you," he said patting her wrist lightly with his other hand. "Thank you."

* * *

"This is a very nice place you have here," Jason said as Michelle gave him the tour of her house.

"Thank you," she said, leading him into the study. The study was lined with dark wooden bookcases. In the center of the room was a large wooden desk that matched the bookcases. It was covered with various papers and folders under the soft glow of a reading lamp.

"This is the study."

Jason walked around the room perusing her collection of books. He noticed she had an extensive collection of Daerick Bennet books, a group of books on philosophy, and entire bookcases devoted to engineering and quantum physics.

"I didn't know if I should tell you this or not," Michelle said cautiously as Jason slipped a book by Pierce Daen from the shelf, "but that night, at City Hall," she paused bracing herself, "you died Jason."

Jason just looked at her and nodded.

"I sought out Fomalhaut and was persistent until they hired me. I worked there for thirty-three years and I helped engineer the EM flux generator myself. I didn't know if the Transfer would work—if I could get the calculations correct—but I had to try. I couldn't just let you die out there, Jason."

Jason set the book down, walked over and hugged her, trying to hold back the emotion he felt building behind his right eye. "You did this? For _me_?" His chest swelled slowly, his words, airy on the breath that escaped as it contracted again, "Thank you."

"No. Thank _you_ ," Michelle said, looking him in his eyes. "My entire life led me to this point. You just made it worthwhile."

She smiled at him and they stayed that way for a long moment until Jason backed away slowly.

"Pierce Daen developed neutral matter too, and we kept it out of the hands of the military." She added, shuffling through papers on the desk.

"How?" Jason asked. "They can be pretty tenacious."

"We kept all the necessary formulas in our heads. About seventeen or so years ago, oil prices became astronomical, and the oil companies sought after the technology in order to salvage some kind of productivity. They came to us and we worked out a compromise. Not long after, the military did get ahold of the N-matter formulas, I guess by reverse engineering, but by then, most continents had formed economic treaty agreements, and they became too financially dependent on each other. Any kind of physical war would have proved too costly for everyone involved."

"What happened to the COG?"

"Well, after the Happy Land fiasco, a lot of people were indicted, and a few were convicted of blackmail and extortion and a few other things, but they still managed to survive and grow under a guy named Reverend Diaz. They have actually started a lot a really good programs to help the public."

"Wow," was all he said, shaking his head, not knowing what else to say.

"I also got Pierce Daen to check on something else for me before we tried to retrieve you."

Jason looked at her, the solemn look in her eyes told him what she meant. "My parents?"

She nodded quietly, then took a step toward him. "I'm sorry Jason."

Jason looked down at the floor. _Nature resists change_. The butterfly effect couldn't change everything. "It's okay." There was another awkward silence until Jason looked up again as Michelle took his hand. "What about... me..."

"I had him check that also. They had a child, around the same time you would have been born, but they named him Erron. He died with them."

There was movement at the door to the study, and Jason turned quickly. The speed of the turn sent a twinge of discomfort through his side, but it was pleasant in comparison to what it had been before. At the doorway, he saw a bearded man in a sports jacket, but he seemed to recognize the beard and the mouth.

"How ya doin'? I'm happy to finally meet you—again I suppose—I've heard about nothing but you for the past twenty-five years." It was Jon. He walked over to Jason and hugged him briskly, his ribs twinged again, but he didn't mind. "I want to thank you for what you did all those years ago. I thought Michelle was crazy for a while there, but without you, my life wouldn't be the same."

The scent of turkey wafted into the study. Jason stepped away from Jon and sniffed the air. "That smells good,"

"We should get ready to eat." Michelle said, walking toward them.

As they moved toward the kitchen, Jason turned to Michelle. "So you can cook now too? You're a regular Renaissance woman."

"Don't start counting chickens. You haven't tasted it yet."

As they moved toward the kitchen, there was a bustling in the living room. Jason turned, still on edge, and saw Michelle—Michelle from 1991—walk into the dining room.

"Sorry I'm late mom, some rancid peehole doused himself with gasoline and was running around naked on the freeway threatening to light himself on fire. I woulda gotten out and lit his ass my damn self if I'da thought things would go faster."

"Selia, watch your mouth, we have company."

She looked up and Jason saw her eyes for the first time. She looked like Michelle, the same hair, but lighter, and her facial features were similar. Her skin seemed slightly lighter, but the biggest difference was her eyes. Her eyes were a deep shimmering blue, like the clearest aquamarine—the same as her father.

She stopped with her mouth open and turned to Jason. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, red filling her cheeks. She extended her hand. "I'm Selia, and you're," she cut off the questioning tone and it shifted to wonder. "Wait, you can't be..."

Jason didn't know what she was leading to, but he introduced himself as he shook her hand. "I'm Jason Dyer."

"No way!" she said, releasing his hand, "So it worked? You're the guy that saved my mom?"

"It was a mutual thing I guess."

Michelle emerged from the kitchen with a beautiful glistening turkey. Jason hadn't noticed her leave. "We'd better eat before this bird gets cold. Selia, can you help me with the rest of the stuff in the kitchen?"

"Sure mom," she said, and glanced over her shoulder at Jason as she disappeared into the kitchen.

After dinner, Jason sat on the deck looking up at the canopy of clouds passing over the sky and for once, he felt happy to be alive. The world was different, new, and with each moment, each passing cloud, he felt a little more of that naïve little boy coming back to him.

He heard the screen door slide behind him and he turned slowly. His nerves had calmed over dinner and he was less jumpy, but he still wanted to know who was behind him. He saw Selia emerge from the house carrying two small plates. She walked over to him and handed him one of the plates. There was a large slice of layer cake in the center.

"Mom said I should bring this out to you." She sat down in the chair next to him and handed him a fork.

"Thank you," he said, as she turned another fork in her hand and sliced a small piece of cake.

"You know, you're cuter than my mom said you were."

Jason swallowed a bite of cake sooner than he would have liked, "Thank you again," he said, coughing slightly, not sure of any other reply.

"It's funny," she said after swallowing her own cake, "for a long time, I thought my mom was crazier than Jim Jones on acid, but here you are."

"You know, you have your mother's mouth."

She laughed. "Yeah, my dad's always getting after the both of us. Me more than her though."

There was a long, comfortable quiet as they ate their cake. Then, Selia sat her plate down, walked over to Jason, and gave him a big hug. Jason felt something warm and wet run down her cheek to his as they embraced.

"For as long as I can remember, I've wanted to do this." She sniffled, and then released him, brushing her cheek with her finger. And as the clouds in the sky moved on to their destinies, Jason saw Orion high above the moon. Its stars were the brightest he had ever seen.

