by Lynn Sholes
John left the door open to the outside letting the breeze in. "Can't say I didn't warn you."
Cotten looked around the drab, shabby room. There was a double bed with a faded gold spread-over the headboard a framed poster of dogs sitting around a table playing cards-beside the bed, a dark-colored wooden nightstand with a cheap gooseneck lamp. The bulb couldn't have been more than 40 watts. A small desk and chair sat under the blackout-drape-covered window. The closet was only an alcove with a solitary wire hanger on a rod. "About the only thing that would help this place is arson," she said.
"We've already been down that road," John said.
Cotten laughed. "Or down that mountain. Guess that's what brought it to mind." It was the same kind of humor that often came up at funerals, she thought. Even during the bleakest situations, the human spirit attempts to uplift itself.
John switched on the TV and sat at the foot of the bed. He tried to adjust the volume with the remote but nothing happened. "No batteries," he said, holding it up to show Cotten the battery connector dangling like an empty fishhook. He reached out and turned up the volume on the set as the weather report segment of the local news started. The young, attractive girl with a slight Cajun accent swooped her hand over the map of the country, as the screen behind her zoomed in on the Crescent City. She explained that high pressure brought fair weather just in time for Fat Tuesday, but warned that it was still winter and parade-goers should keep a sweater or jacket in tow.
The news anchor appeared-a shot of St. Peter's Square at the Vatican shown over his shoulder. It dissolved into a procession of red-cloaked men walking two abreast past the camera. "Coming up next, the ancient ritual known as a conclave got underway today in Rome as the College of Cardinals gathered from all over the world to elect the next pope. Stay tuned for details."
The station went to commercials.
"So it begins;" John said.
"Maybe my friend Mikey from the Rathskeller is a contender," Cotten joked.
"You are incorrigible."
"I've been thinking about the message on my answering machine. The voice. It was disguised, but there was something vaguely familiar. I just can't place it. And why wouldn't this guy tell me everything on the phone instead of all the stupid intrigue?" She stared at the numerous leak stains on the ceiling.
"No idea who he was?"
"No. He sounded nervous, though. I could tell that much. What if this is a setup?"
"I'd be surprised if it wasn't. But we don't have much choice. It's the only thing we've got to go on."
The news was back and the anchor said, "To recap our top story, front-runner independent presidential candidate, Robert Wingate, put to rest the rumor that due to his health, he would drop out of the race. His recent health scare proved to be just that, only a scare. In an impromptu news conference held during his visit to the Crescent City, Wingate announced he has gotten a clean bill of health."
Cotten leaned toward the TV screen, watching the clip of Wingate. He stood in front of a bank of microphones-the Tulane University Hospital in the background.
"I have no intentions of letting down all those who have supported me, and I definitely plan to stay in the race," Wingate said.
The clip ended and the newscaster wrapped up the segment. "Stay tuned to News Central for complete coverage."
Cotten jumped to her feet. "Did you hear that? Health scare, my ass. He must have paid off the blackmailer." She read the parade schedule that appeared on the TV screen. "What is the Krewe of Orpheus parade, anyway?" Cotten asked. "I thought everything was on Fat Tuesday, but this one is supposed to be tomorrow, Monday."
John flipped through a brochure he'd picked up in the airport. "Lundi Gras parade. One of three on Monday. The floats will carry over twelve hundred costumed riders. Says here they'll pass in front of almost a million parade-goers along the route. And our mystery man thinks we can find him among a million people?"
Cotten closed the door to their room. She would rather smell the staleness than be chilled. "He said he'd be dressed as a pirate, and he explicitly said the northeast corner of St. Charles and Jackson. That should narrow it down a bit. I don't think we'll have to look for him, anyway. He'll find me."
John opened a city street map and held it close to his face in the dim light. "You'd think they could put a slightly larger bulb in that lamp."
"You don't need a lot of light to do what most people rent this room for." She sat beside him on the end of the bed.
"Yeah, I guess you're right. That's probably the original bulb." He put down the map and picked up a phone book, turning to the yellow pages. "Costume shops," he said, leafing through. "At least your friend on the phone didn't tell us the kind of costumes to wear. We know how he'll be dressed, but he won't know which ones of those million people we are."
"But he said when I get to the corner, I'm supposed to remove my mask," Cotten said. "That's how he'll know it's me. And, John, not us-only me. He said I had to come alone."
"I don't like it. That's not going to happen. If we're both in costume, as far as he knows, I'm just another parade-watcher. I can't let you go alone, Cotten. It's way too risky."
"No," she said. "If it's a setup-"
"There's no argument you can give me. Nothing you can say. I'll stay back a short distance, don't worry."
She put her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. "John, I couldn't do this without you."
He returned her embrace, then said, "Why don't you try to take a nap."
Cotten let go and parked herself on the edge of the bed. "I am tired," she said. As soon as her head touched the pillow, she slept.
When she awoke, it was dark. John sat at the desk by the window-a second dim lamp barely illuminating its surface. He studied an open book while making notes on a small pad of paper.
Cotten lay watching him for a long time. It was hard remembering anything about her life before John. She wondered what his destiny was, and hers.
"You hungry?" John asked, looking up from his notes.
"Starving," Cotten said. "I crave pizza. Sloppy with cheese and covered in pepperoni."
"It's a deal." He pointed to the nightstand. "I put the phone book back in the drawer. Should be a place around here that delivers."
Cotten sat on the side of the bed and pulled out the directory, thumbed through it, and found a Dominoes. After placing their order, she stood behind John and peered over his shoulder. "What are you working on?"
"Some things about this mess we're in that have been nagging at " me.
Cotten saw that the book on the desk was a Gideon's Bible. Beside it, he had filled a couple of pages in the pad with notes and diagrams. "You think the answers are in there?"
"I think the Bible contains the answers to everyone's problems, Cotten."
"You believe it's that simple? Want to share the enlightenment with me?"
John turned to face her. He sat quiet a moment, just looking at her. Finally he said, "Not yet. In a little bit."
She could tell he didn't want to talk. At least he didn't seem offended by her flippant remark. If reading the Bible made him feel better, she shouldn't spoil it for him. "I think I'll go shower before the food arrives," she said.
John nodded without looking up.
Everything about the shower, the whole bathroom, she found seedy. The toilet seat slid to the side when she sat on it, the mirror needed resilvering, and the tile was held together more by mildew than grout. Even the toilet paper was slick and stiff like gift wrap tissue.
Under the water trickling from the showerhead, Cotten finally let go and cried. It seemed unfair that she was alive while Vanessa and Thornton were gone. And Uncle Gus, fighting for his life-all because of her. John sat in the next room searching for answers in the Bible. He said it gave him understanding and strength. Would it have the answers she needed? Would it help her understand? Give her strength? Don't hold your breath, Cotten.
Her life had come down to this moment in a dank, see
dy motelher only friend, a man searching for his destiny, trying to find answers in a book written thousands of years ago.
She held her face up to the sprinkling water. "If you're really there, God, then how could you-"
John rapped on the door. "Pizza's here."
Cotten turned off the water and climbed out of the shower. Her hair would have to drip dry. There were no amenities like a hairdryer mounted on the bathroom wall at the Blue Bayou Motel. She dried herself, then turbaned her hair in the thin white terry towel and wondered how much water it would be able to wick away.
She threw on a pair of jeans and T-shirt they had bought on the way to the motel. "That was fast," she said, coming out of the bathroom.
"Apparently, they're just around the corner," John said. "The guy told me he walked over here."
"Ready to eat?"
"You go ahead."
He seemed pensive, and she asked, "Is everything all right, John?"
"I think so. I mean, I'm starting to put things together. And it's caused me to lose my appetite."
"Like what?"
He hesitated, obviously gathering his thoughts. "Let me preface by saying I believe that God speaks to us through the scriptures. Whenever I need answers, I turn to this book. One way or another, it always gives me what I'm looking for." He paused and glanced at her. "After you fell asleep, I decided to pull it out of the bedside drawer and read. As I opened the book, this was the first thing I came across." He lifted the Bible. "It's from the book of Revelation. I saw a woman sitting upon a scarlet beast that was full of names of blasphemy, having seven heads and ten horns. The woman was arrayed in purple and scarlet, and adorned with gold and precious stones having in her hand a golden cup full of abominations."
"I don't get it."
"I didn't at first, either. But then I started thinking about the list that Cheryl read to you. Thornton put that list together because he believed those people are connected to the Grail theft. Thornton ends up dead. Then you give the list to your uncle; he somehow makes a connection and winds up almost killed in a car crash. And then there's Archer's death at the start.
"There are seven names on the list, all of them powerful world leaders. They cover the entire gauntlet of politics, economics, communications, and the military. Remember the Bible quote-the seven heads-the seven world leaders. The cup, full of abominations. The Grail. Someone, some group, with enormous resources managed to switch the real Cup with an almost-perfect replica right out of the Vatican's Secret Archives. I think the Templars are alive and well, and they are the seven heads. The ten horns puzzled me for a while, but then I realized the list probably didn't include everyone, only the world leaders. There must be a core, those who are directing the chorus. My guess is there are three more, one of which is the Grand Master. I think Thornton figured it out, set off some alarms, and he had to be stopped."
"But if the Templars are Guardians of the Grail, why would they be such bad guys in the Bible?" Cotten toweled her hair. "And why abominations? If the Grail contains Christ's blood, how could that be considered an abomination?"
"That's the part that really rocked me. It's not the blood, it's what someone could do with the blood ... that's the abomination."
"I still don't understand."
John turned the pages in the Bible until he came to one he'd dogeared. "You might want to sit down for this."
She sat on the edge of the bed, and he joined her.
John didn't say anything for a few moments.
"Come on, tell me."
He heaved out a sigh. "I think I have some idea of what God has planned for you ... for us-why we have been brought to this place at this time. I believe that you are someone extraordinary."
Cotten's stomach clenched. He was leading up to something that she felt sure was going to scare the hell out of her. "Just tell me," she said, closing her eyes.
"You are very special," John said. "I believe you are more than special. Chosen. Gabriel Archer thought so, too. He said you were the only one. The old priestess told you the same thing. What if they were messengers? Delivering a message from God? And they did it by speaking to you in a language only you could understand-the language of heaven, the tongue of angels. You thought they told you to stop the sun, the dawn. But you misunderstood them. Cotten, it has nothing to do with stopping the sun from coming up. In fact, that would prove easy compared to what lies ahead."
She held her breath as she watched him open the Bible again to the page he had marked.
"It's not something you need to stop, it's someone." He scrolled his finger down to Isaiah 14:12, and held it up for her to read.
Cotten scanned the single sentence. She looked back at John-her mouth agape, her breath catching in her throat, her palms dampening.
The room iced.
Looking back at the text, Cotten read it again, this time aloud, "How have you fallen from the heavens, 0 Lucifer, Son of the Dawn."
For false christs and false prophets will arise and show great signs and wonders, so as to deceive, if possible, even the elect. (Matthew 24:24)
THE FALSE PROPHET
"LUCIFER? LIKE IN THE devil, Lucifer?" Cotten said. "I don't understand. What I'm thinking can't be right. Can't be...'
John sat patiently while she tried to keep up with the hundreds of thoughts rolling through her mind like marbles spinning over tile.
"Son;" Cotten said. "So it's not the sun in the sky, but the Son of the Dawn ... Lucifer ... Satan? I'm supposed to stop Satan." Her head shot up. "Jesus Christ, are you insane?"
Visions of Archer and the Santeria priestess swept past her like a flock of blackbirds. The box. The Cup. The Crusader Cross. John sipping coffee talking about the Knights Templar. Thornton. His list. Vanessa waving goodbye. Her shoe. The Guardians of the Grail.
The Son of the Dawn!
Cotten's hands flew to her temples as she shook her head. "No, this is crazy. It makes no sense. I feel like I'm watching a horror movie like The Exorcist or something."
"Cotten," John said, taking her wrists and lowering her hands. "It does make sense. Everything makes sense now. Don't you see? Gabriel Archer was there in the tomb, not to keep the Cup, but to give it to you. He was there to pass the task on to you, a task given to you by God."
"Bullshit," she said, pulling away and getting to her feet. "He was just an old man, not a messenger of God. And now he's dead! I heard him take his last breath."
"Yes, but not before he fulfilled his task-to deliver the message that you are truly the only one."
"That's a bunch of Catholic crap. I don't believe there is a God." She whipped around, turning her back. "And if there were, He'd have to be nuts to pick me. I don't even go to church. I'm nobody." She plowed her fingers through her hair. "Nobody."
John stood and placed his hand on her shoulder. "Let's back up," he said, "step-by-step."
She turned to him and forced herself to listen. Cotten felt as if her bones were dissolving, and the structure that kept her upright was collapsing.
"Lucifer was the most beautiful angel in heaven-so beautiful that his name meant Son of the Dawn. But he was cast out of heaven for leading a rebellion against God because he thought he was God's equal. After he was defeated, his name on earth became Satan. Down through the ages, he has waited to get back at God for casting him out. I believe that time is now. Are you with me so far?"
"I think," she whispered.
"Good," John said. "The Cup that held Christ's blood was preserved, and inside that vessel beneath the layer of beeswax is Jesus' DNA."
Cotten took a step back, and he slowed down, holding his hands up like a warning for her to listen and hear him out. "I know this part is going to be a leap. It was for me. But this is the crux of the whole thing, the link that puts it all together. Someone, guided by Lucifer, stole the Grail and wants to use the DNA to recreate the body of Christ. That person, the one under Satan's influence, is called the False Prophet. I believe that person is the current Grand Maste
r of the Templars. He prepares the way for the Antichrist. He is the one organizing everything-the leader of the seven heads. It will be Lucifer's ultimate revenge on God, to use God's own flesh and blood to do the bidding of the devil. That's the abomination."
John picked up the Bible. "I reread the Book of Revelation while you slept. All the clues, the answers to everything, are here." Locating the passage, he said, "Revelation 13:14: And deceiveth them that dwell on the earth by the means of those miracles which he had power to do in the sight of the beast; saying to them that dwell on the earth, that they should make an image to the beast, which had the wound by a sword, and did live. Not so many years ago, no one would have toyed with the thought of creating a real image to the beast. But with today's technology, and given the fact that we have Christ's DNA, it will be easy for the False Prophet to create the Antichrist through the miracle of cloning Christ's body, a body that rose from the dead after being crucified and wounded in the side by a spear.
"And here," he said. "Revelation 13:15: And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast. By cloning the body of Christ, the False Prophet is able to give life, to create life. Other than natural childbirth, how else but by cloning could any human have the power to give life?" John took a deep breath. "And Cotten, you are the one who has been appointed by God to stop it."
"Why me? Why not some Mother Teresa, or Billy Graham, or the pope?"
"I can't pretend to know why God does some things, but for whatever reason, He chose you. You were given the knowledge of the language of heaven-the tongue of the angels. All things are led by the Divine hand. Think about this, Cotten. You were led to me, but if it had been a different woman, maybe I would have taken no interest, and the box would not have been delivered to the Vatican. A different woman wouldn't have found me on old news footage, wouldn't have looked for me. A different woman wouldn't be a reporter. There would have been no news story to follow, no Thornton and Vanessa to drive that other woman to uncover the mystery. The Cup could have just disappeared, landed in evil hands, and Satan's plan would have unfolded without obstacles.