Days’ End
Scott L. Collins
Outskirts Press, Inc.
Denver, Colorado
This is a work of fiction. The events and characters described herein are imaginary and are not intended to refer to specific places or living persons. The opinions expressed in this manuscript are solely the opinions of the author and do not represent the opinions or thoughts of the publisher. The author has represented and warranted full ownership and/or legal right to publish all the materials in this book.
Days’ End
All Rights Reserved.
Copyright © 2009 Scott L Collins
Cover Design by Amanda Kerr.
www.kerrscreativedesigns.com
V2.0
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PB ISBN: 978-1-4327-3991-1
HB ISBN: 978-1-4327-4387-1
Library of Congress Control Number: 2009932021
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Dedication
Dedicated to my two energetic boys who fill my days with joy and love, and my gorgeous wife who told me to shut up, stop talking about it, and write the book already. Thank you all for your encouragement and support.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to Mayim Bialik for sharing your knowledge of biology. Thanks also to Becca McConnell and Robert Gardner for your assistance with DNA retrieval techniques and security system set-ups respectively. To my father, brother, sister, and good friend Margit Crane, thank you for your input in the early stages of development. Thanks also to my editor Candie Moonshower who polished my book to truly make it shine. To Amanda Kerr, thanks for the book cover design and website setup. Last, but not least, I’d like to thank Patrick Leyden, PJ, for your computer savvy. The book wouldn’t be what it is without your guidance. Cheers, and I love you all.
This was to be his last day on Earth. He stood at the Zion Gate in Jerusalem, facing south, watching the shadows stretch out before him as the sun rose in the eastern sky. The glare of the sun off the windshield of a slow-moving taxi cab caused him to squint.
His black overcoat hung open and swirled in the wind gusting through the narrow streets. His brand new black and white pinstriped suit was still stiff with starch and his gold watch glistened in the morning light. The freshly pressed black shirt and tie complemented his suit perfectly. He’d had his shoes polished this very morning and could almost see his reflection. His dark brown hair was tossed about by the wind.
His eyes drifted over the old bullet holes still scarring the ancient wall around the Zion Gate. The brown stones used to construct the wall had held up remarkably well over the years since it had first been assembled. He looked down at the Star of David built into the road leading into the tunnel. His wandering eyes finally found what they’d been searching for.
He stared intently at the building in the distance, the powerful gaze of his blue eyes focused only on that ancient monument. Ahead of him, atop Mount Zion, stood the Dormition Church and beside it, on the second floor, the Cenacle. That was the room where his seemingly timeless journey had started, and after waiting what seemed an eternity, this was where he wanted to be for the end. It wasn’t quite as he remembered it, but that had been so long ago. He found it remarkable how the landscape changed over time. Buildings he had believed would stand forever were torn down, although in this case the church had been rebuilt.
He held his sign loosely, content with the message he was trying to spread, his ego demanding the attention. People in long coats scurried around him, trying desperately to get home or to work before the storm moved in. The day had begun sunny yet brisk, but a severe thunderstorm was expected for later that morning.
The cold didn’t bother him on this day; he was at peace. Finally, everything he had been waiting for was about to unfold. He absentmindedly ran his right thumb over the scar running from behind his right ear and down across his throat and watched as the clouds he exhaled evaporated into the cold dawn air. He became lost in his memories, drawn backward to that fateful day. An eternity had passed since he had received that wound. It was his last mark of humanity. Everything since then had been a curse. He could hardly believe it was all about to finally end.
Drawn back to the here and now, he realized that not many people would make eye contact with him. Many would stare at him and then glance down at their shoes the minute he looked back. Strange that they would treat him like a vagrant on the street, rambling on to himself about the end of the world. They didn’t know. They didn’t want to know. They all wanted to think he was crazy, but he knew he was right. He had been planning for so long, saving for so long, wanting for so long. Now all of his hard work would pay off. His perseverance and enormous expense would come to fruition. Now, on this day.
He didn’t speak. His sign said it all. The end is now.
January 1, 2012-12:01 AM
“Wow,” Nysa breathed. “I never get tired of kissing you.”
“C’mon lover, let’s go outside for a smoke.”
They had been together for just over two years and although they’d had their problems, he was grateful to have her in his life. As they worked their way to the door Alastair reached into his pocket and pulled out his box of Camel Lights. God, he was grateful to have come back to California from New York. He hated having to walk outside to have his cigarette, but it was worse to have to walk out into a ten-degree blizzard. He handed one to Nysa and they walked hand in hand to the door, squeezing through the overcrowded bar and past the few booths that lined the walls. They had stopped at the House of Blues on the Sunset strip after taking in a movie. They managed to wind their way through the room without jostling anyone’s drink. Alastair opened the door for Nysa and swatted her lightly on the bottom as she walked out in front of him.
Alastair took out his lighter, making sure to light hers first. Alastair relished the feeling of the smoke filling his lungs. He held in the first drag briefly and let it out with a long sigh. He could feel the tension drain from his body, almost like it was floating away with the smoke he’d just exhaled.
They sat and smoked, watching the cars cruise up and down the street, some looking for parking, others just wanting to be seen. Scantily clad women meandered up and down the street hoping to be discovered. Men with less than good intentions followed behind, hoping to do the discovering. Horns blared, voices laughed and yelled back and forth across the busy boulevard. Ferraris, Lamborghinis, and Aston Martins rolled lazily back and forth, back and forth. It was enough to make Alastair sick. What good were these people? All they cared about was who knew whom, and if sleeping with someone would advance their career. Alastair pushed the thought from his mind, trying to focus on having a good time ringing in the New Year.
“Beautiful night out tonight, don’t you think?” Nysa asked Alastair.
“Lovely,” he replied. He would much rather be inside where it was warmer. He pulled out another cigarette for each of them and leaned over as he flicked his Zippo open, lit her cigarette, paused to light his own, and shoved the lighter back in his pocket. He leaned back and they continued to watch the pedestrians outside the bars crowding both sides of the street, hundreds of college students, wannabe actors and actresses and, on occasion, an actual movie star, although they didn’t have to wait in the lines that had formed outside.
“What do you say we blow this joint, go home, and get
naked?” he asked her, slowly exhaling his first drag.
She immediately crushed out her freshly lit cigarette, took his hand, and pushed her way through the packed area in front of the bar, beating him to the car. He walked around to her side and opened the door for her. She gave him a quick peck on the lips and then brushed her rear seductively across his groin as she turned and sat in the car, causing him to gasp.
Nysa smiled up at him. “Let’s go.”
He walked around to the driver’s side of the BMW and climbed in beside her. After pulling out of the parking space, he made his way back to the 405 South to start the short trip to Venice and their apartment. Alastair drove quickly. He was breathing hard and trying to concentrate on the road ahead instead of on his growing desire. He was tempted to pull onto the shoulder and attack her right there on the side of the freeway. Nysa wasn’t helping. Her hand had been in his pants from the moment he had closed his door. Alastair returned the favor. A truck driver, watching them in his rear-view mirror, honked his horn and flashed his lights as they passed. Nysa was apparently too involved in her task to either notice or care, as she didn’t seem to react to the noise and lights. Luckily no Chippies were out and about.
They pulled into the driveway a short thirty minutes after leaving the bar. When they arrived, they hurried up the stairs to their front door and walked immediately to the bedroom. He slowly removed her heels, stockings, skirt, and blouse. Nysa was not as gentle or patient. Alastair lost two buttons from his polo shirt and would have to spend some time tomorrow removing his boxer briefs from the fly of his khakis.
He lay in bed afterward, having another cigarette and thinking about how far they had come in their relationship. They still had arguments and tiffs but things continued to be good in the bedroom. They had met at a Halloween party a little over two years ago at a mutual friend’s house. It had been one hell of a get-together. One of Alastair’s friends had bought a house in Studio City shortly after college. He and his roommates had spent days prepping the house for the party. The lawn out front was adorned with tombstones, fake spider webs hung from the ceilings and doorways, coffins and bodies lay on the tables, and black-lights filled the house. The music was loud and the temperature warm from the body heat of those packed into the rooms.
Alastair had been sitting on a sofa in a relatively quiet room chatting with a friend from work. He’d been dressed as a Scotsman, complete with kilt and bagpipes, which were sitting on the couch next to him. Alastair wasn’t sure if Nysa hadn’t noticed them or just thought them to be a pillow, but she sat down right on them. She’d leapt into the air like she’d just been probed with a hot poker and sprayed her drink on all those within a three-foot radius. Everybody in the room turned to look at her.
Alastair had also turned and was instantly hooked. Her long blonde hair spilled down her back like a golden waterfall and her beautiful brown eyes were captivating. Nysa had been dressed as an angel that night and, in Alastair’s opinion, fit the role perfectly. Although he discovered later that her blonde hair was naturally straight, she’d curled it that evening. The golden locks pouring over her shoulders and onto her white robe, the way the delicate wings complemented her perfect skin, the rope tied around her waist to give him a hint of her figure—every detail had combined perfectly into the gorgeous being standing before him.
After the laughter had died down, Alastair had moved his bagpipes to the floor so Nysa could sit. He fetched new drinks.
Handing her a glass, Alastair had introduced himself. “I’m Alastair by the way. I live here. Who, might I ask, do I have the pleasure of embarrassing with my bagpipes?”
Nysa smiled. “Nysa, Nysa Knight. I came with my friend Sam. Nice place.”
They had spent the rest of the evening on the couch talking. He had been surprised to learn that she was a doctor and berated himself silently for being so preoccupied with her looks that he hadn’t really considered her intellect. What had impressed him most, however, was not only how deep her knowledge was, but how broad. They’d spent the evening discussing a variety of topics and she had an opinion on them all, and the facts to back them up. Alastair had been mesmerized by her eyes and had spent the evening lost in them. The attraction was mutual.
The evening had passed quickly and both were unwilling to let it end. When Alastair had asked if she would like to go back to his apartment, Nysa quickly accepted the offer. They hadn’t been at his place for long when their emotional bond turned physical. What Alastair had intended to be a brief kiss became long and passionate. As Nysa caressed his shoulders and held him to her, Alastair’s hands had moved down to her waist, and he’d admired the contours of her body, thin but far from feeling like a bag of antlers.
They moved to the bedroom, pausing only to remove their clothes and for another lingering kiss, Alastair pinning Nysa to the wall. She was the perfect height for him. He didn’t have to bend down to kiss her nor did he have to look up at her.
Alastair had been surprised by Nysa’s passion. They spent the evening wrapped in each others arms, until they both had collapsed exhausted. They had been together ever since.
They had had their share of difficulties though, primarily because of him. Alastair had always been a heavy drinker, but it wasn’t until their first anniversary that he’d realized it was a problem. They’d returned the next year for the Halloween party, except this time they didn’t wind up in bed together. Once again, he’d had too much to drink. He remembered exiting the freeway at Venice, could once again feel how he had lost control of the car and struck the barrier separating the exit from the on ramp. The car had flipped and they had both spent the night in the hospital. The next day, he’d had a couple drinks to kill the pain. But the pain kept getting worse, and so did his drinking. He’d missed quite a few days of work because he was still passed out and had shown up hung over for the rest. He’d finally been forced into attending AA meetings by his boss, who threatened to fire him if he didn’t go. He’d thought it all a crock of shit the first few times he went, but he kept going back, sometimes loaded.
One night, listening to a speaker talk about his life, Alastair had started to understand that he had a problem and that these people understood and could help. After all, they’d lived it, and they’d conquered it. He’d gotten a sponsor and had his last drink at 1:33 P.M. on December 3, 1999. It had been a Jack and Coke, his favorite drink.
Alcoholics Anonymous was where he’d picked up smoking; smoking and coffee. He couldn’t figure out how anybody could be in AA and not smoke. Everyone stood outside before the meeting smoking like a chimney, and as soon as there was a break there was a crowd outside the door puffing away. Then everyone gathered again after the meeting to smoke and rehash the meeting. It was only a matter of time before he took up the habit, standing outside smoking next to ashtrays the size of trashcans, always with a hot cup of coffee in his hand.
I don’t know that I will ever be forgiven for what I have done. My best friend and mentor is dead, and I am to blame. How could I have been so blind to their true intentions? I don’t think I can take the pain much longer. Everywhere I go people look, point, and throw stones. Their hatred for me is very clear. I deserve it; I have betrayed the finest man the world has ever known. Please forgive me.
January 2
Nysa woke up early, showered, and got ready for work. She dressed quickly in a pair of black slacks and a white blouse, stepped into her shoes, and grabbed her purse. She kissed Alastair softly on his stubbly cheek as he slept and slipped out the front door. Making her way around the apartment complex to the parking lot, she climbed into her ancient blue Mazda, snapped on the radio to KROQ, and drove quickly but prudently to work.
She was excited about how far she had come in her research. She tapped her foot and sang along as she made her way slowly through traffic toward the freeway, careful to avoid the ever present assholes. Nysa had been working at the UCLA Medical Center since 1995, doing studies in cloning applications and techniques for
the last three years. Although still quite young, she was considered one of the most knowledgeable in the field of cloning techniques.
While she had never actually cloned an animal, she had developed several important methods used in procuring the DNA required to begin the cloning process. It wasn’t difficult to clone something that you had handy, like a cow or sheep, but she wanted to enable science to study dinosaurs, caveman, or even, perhaps, an historical icon like Abraham Lincoln. The possibilities were endless. For now, she would just focus on the tasks at hand, developing procedures to retrieve complete DNA samples from aged remnants, or at least fragments large enough that the strand could be reconstructed.
Nysa arrived at her lab before anyone else as she did every morning. She quickly checked her samples before going to her lab to prepare for the day. Hanging her purse on the hook on the back of her door, Nysa made her way over to her desk and sat down. Her first order of business was to check her incoming e-mail. As she scrolled through her inbox, deleting the constant influx of garbage, she spotted an address she didn’t recognize, but not one pitching Viagra or the newest method of penis enlargement. This one was direct and to the point. The subject line read: Job Opportunity for Nysa Knight. As it had obviously been personalized and didn’t appear to be spam, she opened it.
“Dr. Knight,
I am very interested in your career. Based on extensive research on you and your peers, I have selected you as my primary candidate to head up a private project. I will provide any equipment and funding you need to complete the project and upon completion will compensate you generously for your time and effort. I must warn you however, I do not tolerate failure. If you accept this offer, I expect your full dedication until such time as the project comes to fruition. If you decline, I’m sure that Dr. Robert Platte will be happy to seize this opportunity to make history. Please reply back with your decision by midnight tomorrow, as I intend to move quickly on this project. If you accept, additional instructions will follow. If you decline, good luck and farewell.”
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