He was about to scream. To let loose his sadness and his rage. But when he wiped his eyes, he saw something that stopped his heart cold.
A woman was walking toward him. Not fast. Not slow. She was just walking, as though there were no fire, and no sirens. It was as though there were only the two of them.
At first she was just a silhouette, a black figure against the sea of fire. When she neared, though, there was no doubt in Vince’s mind.
It was Maggie.
He dropped the blanket from his shoulders. He ran toward her and threw his arms around her. Though her hair stank of smoke and her clothes were covered in black dirt, she was unblemished. There was no hint of the wound that had put her so close to death only minutes before.
After everything he’d seen, it hardly took a moment to suspend whatever disbelief still lingered in his mind.
They held each other for a long time before Vince finally asked a one-word question.
“Sean?”
“He’s gone,” she answered.
“Gone? How? He said we’d …”
“We’d all get what we want,” she interrupted.
Vince looked dumbfounded. That was always how he looked when he got emotional.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“Don’t you see? This is what we both wanted. What we all wanted,” she answered, moving into his arms again, and laying her dry lips against his.
It wasn’t the most passionate kiss. But it said as much as either one needed to say.
EPILOGUE
FREEDOM HAD COME TO THE CHILDREN OF NESTOR, for better or for worse. Leaderless, those who survived the tumult dispersed from that place in New York, and ventured out into the world that they had feared for so many years. They remained among us, wandering, watching, seeking to live as Lucifer had told them.
But still they waited. Waited for that day when they could finally emerge from their secrecy. The day when humanity would come to know them again.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
THIS WAS TO BE A BOOK ABOUT IDENTITIES. WE ALL have several. There are the ones we show to the world and the ones we hide. The ones we take on out of necessity, and the ones we allow only a few people to see.
Which one is our “real” self, or are they all just guises?
What if you had no identity, if you could be anyone in the world that you wanted to be? Would it be a blessing, or a curse?
Maybe there are no answers to these questions.
What Sean always wanted was an identity. He doesn’t have one of his own. He spends most of the book stealing other people’s, and in the end he just wants to belong somewhere. He wants a home, he wants to love and be loved.
Does Sean become one with Maggie? I think so. But is that really what he always wanted?
Only time will tell. When I know the answer to that, I’ll have another story to tell.
CHAPTER 1
Watch your step, Jack. Those ancient builders set traps all over the place.” “Frank, what do you think we’ll really find?”
“I’m not sure.
“Sure you are. What does it say? Tell me what the crystal says.”
“If you must know, it says treasure, treasure of Thoth.”
“What does it mean?”
“You idiot! What do you think it means? Gold, lots of gold, mummies, statues, like that.”
Sand crunched beneath their feet as they inched along a passage so black it ate the light, oblivious to the small mounds nesting here and there. Sweat beaded. Hearts pounded. It seemed the air was thin. Their flashlights lighted, in bouncing rings, a featureless corridor hammered out of stone thousands of years ago. A dank musty odor reached into their nostrils, signaling the absence of life for a very long time.
“Oh, Jesus, Frank!” Jack stumbled, dropping his light.
“God damn it, Jack, watch it.”
Jack picked up his light and shined it. “What the hell is that?”
“A figure carved in the wall. Let’s go.”
“Well, shit. It scared the piss out of me. What is it for?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“You don’t have to talk to me like that, Frank. I can understand if you give me a chance.”
“I don’t know why I brought you along.”
“I know. Because you need me, Frank. You need me to help you, that’s why.” Jack’s feelings were hurt. He was a slow person and knew little about archeology, but he would do anything for Frank, even when he talked bad to him.
“Jack, what is that?”
“What?”
“That!” Frank shot his light at chunks of broken pottery on the floor. “You broke it. Damn you, Jack, you broke it.”
“I didn’t. I stumbled right here. I didn’t touch that.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know, I …”
“There’s just you and me in here, Jack.”
“Yeah, but I thought I saw …”
“Don’t give me any shit, Jack. I told you this place was booby trapped.”
“Yeah, you told me. But, I didn’t do it, honest.”
“There! Shine your light over there.”
“Frank, it’s just some sand trickling …”
“SHUT UP, damn it! Do you hear that?”
“Yeah, I hear it. It’s the dirt under your boots.”
“I’m not moving, Jack.”
“Frank? What is it?”
Stone ground against stone. The earth shook. Walls trembled. In a gush, sand poured from slots in the wall. Dust swallowed the air.
“I can’t breathe.” Jack fumbled his light. He clutched his nose, his mouth.
“Let’s get the fuck out-a-here!” Frank screamed.
“What about the treasure?”
“We can always come back for the treasure. Now go, damn it!”
“I can’t see, Frank!”
“God damn it, this way!”
Jack’s arms flung in the darkness. He grabbed Frank’s shirt.
“Let go! Follow the goddamn wall!”
“I don’t wanna die, Frank. I can’t see.”
“Use your fuckin’ light.”
“It’s dead, Frank. I dropped it.”
In the thick dust-soup, Frank’s light was less than a glow. Gasping, lurching forward, their fingers were torn ragged as they grasped and pawed the wall. With the next several steps, the quickened, tumultuous rasping of stone on stone drowned Frank’s reply. Jack did not hear Frank say, “We’ve got to make the corner,” as a huge granite plug smashed him to the wall.
Just making the elbow of the tunnel, Frank could not see what happened to Jack, but he smelled hot blood and felt the splatter of body fluids drench his head, his back.
1n the sudden silence he whispered, “Jack?” He shouted, “Jack!” His voice slammed back, repeating in the dust filled passage.
Again, he heard the hiss of pouring sand and scrambled for the mouth of the opening as another monolith rumbled somewhere, shaking him to his knees.
Frantically, he crawled toward the mouth, trying to stand, sucking air, and reaching out in pitch darkness. His brain said twenty feet more, just twenty feet more. A breeze … Another thunderous clap.
Once more … absolute silence.
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The Lucifer Messiah Page 28