Last Days Trilogy

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Last Days Trilogy Page 23

by Jacqueline Druga


  The door opened and Kyle and Marcus walked out.

  “Is he awake?” Reggie asked.

  Marcus shook his head. “Still unconscious, but at least he’s straightened out.”

  “And he’s still naked,” Kyle added. “So don’t peek.”

  Reggie smiled. “Is he all right, though?”

  Marcus shrugged. “He appears to be fine.”

  “Yeah.” Kyle nodded. “And after he sleeps it off, he’ll be much better. I’m heading to the roof to relieve Herbie.” He kissed his daughter on the cheek. “Goodnight.” He brought his mouth to her ear and whispered, “You can worry about your drunk later. Right now, your friend needs you.” He kissed her again and backed up, then turned toward the attic hatch.

  Reggie took a deep breath and looked at Marcus. “Can I just peek at him, then we can go to bed?”

  Marcus took a step closer. “Sure.” He motioned his head toward the door. “Reg, you really believe he fell from the sky?”

  “I do.” Reggie stepped into the room. “He arrived right after I prayed.”

  The man rested on his back, the sheet and blankets coming up to mid-torso. As she neared him, she noticed the contrast of his features. His peaceful aspect stood in relief to his rugged good looks. She walked around to the side of the bed, where his head tilted over the edge, and started to bend over. Just as she lowered herself to get a closer look, his eyelids opened.

  His eyes were a remarkable green. His focus seemed hazy, his stare wavering until they found her eyes.

  His lips parted. “Reg... gee.”

  Reggie’s eyes widened when he spoke her name. “Oh. Hey.” She scrambled for words, but he closed his eyes again. “Shit. I scared him.”

  “Let him sleep.” Marcus reached down to her. “Come to bed with me.”

  Reggie slipped her fingers in between Marcus’ and stood upright. Holding his hand, she led him from the room, then stopped at the bedroom door and turned, looking once more at her gift. “Everything will be all right, Marcus. I feel it. I really do.”

  Marcus laid his hand on her cheek and stared for a moment at her. She felt his sadness. Leaning into her, he kissed her softly, then turned her around, but she paused once again to look at the stranger who slept in the bed. Marcus pulled the door shut.

  Los Angeles, CA

  As the first glimmer of light peeked from the east, Todd packed up the van with his and Devante’s things. A man named Chad would accompany them as far as San Jose, where he would head east until the Nevada camp, their next stop, so that he would arrive ahead of Devante and Todd.

  By the time the van was loaded up and gassed, the city streets were no longer quiet, even though it was still well before dawn. Well-wishers milled around, hoping for a chance to say goodbye to Devante, as Todd rushed from building to building searching for his master.

  Todd found him standing atop the same four-story apartment building where he’d been hours before. He hadn’t moved, and was still staring out over the rooftops.

  “It’s time.” Todd called out. “We have to go.”

  Devante nodded slowly, eyes ahead.

  “Looking for someone?” Todd walked up to him. “You’ve been like this all night.”

  “I’m staring east,” Devante said.

  “Waiting for the sun.”

  “No. East is the direction from which he is to come.” Devante said solemnly. “Rather, he has arrived. He is here.”

  “Who?” Todd questioned.

  Devante turned back to his eastern vigil. “The warrior.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Seville, Ohio

  As the morning sun winked into the basement window, Marcus was cursing and fiddling with his wig. Then he suddenly removed it. “Over here, Herbie.” He cleared a space on the counter.

  “Why’d you wear the wig, with no one in town, huh?” Herbie asked, setting down two boxes.

  Marcus mumbled another curse, and then cautioned “Better not to take a chance.”

  “Looking good. No kidding.”

  Marcus started to protest, but decided to take it as a compliment. “Thanks.”

  “Get everything?”

  “For now, yes,” Marcus said. “We may need more later.”

  “Well, when you need me, let me know. I’ll go grab that last box.”

  “Thanks Herbie.”

  Herbie turned at the basement door and asked, “Will it take you long to figure him out?”

  “By the time our visitor awakens, I’ll have an answer,” Marcus said, lifting the container of jelly-like substance from Kyle’s small beer fridge. “Hopefully.”

  The moment the stranger opened his eyes, he jerked up in bed, as if at attention. He shifted his eyes about the room, uncertain. He sniffed at the air where a medley of aromas mixed. One was warm, it smelled of food, the other sweet and flowery. Like a dog, he sniffed and zoomed in on each scent. He lifted the covers from his lap and brought them to his neck and smelled. A field of flowers. He smiled pleasantly.

  Flinging the covers off, he swung his legs out of bed and set his feet on the hardwood floor. Standing, he looked down to his bare feet, and then stomped up and down slightly, as if taking in the odd feel of the floor. Cool, hard and smooth. It creaked when he stood. The furniture, like the odors, seemed strange to him.

  The hall light suddenly reflected to his left. He turned and saw something shiny. The mirror seemed to frighten him. He jumped back, startled at his unexpected reflection. Then he grinned, like a child.

  In the hall, Reggie heard the creaking of the floorboards in the stranger’s room, and then sounds of movement. Wanting to be the first to welcome him, she knocked. No answer. After a few moments she knocked again, waited, and then turned the knob and poked in her head. He stood with his back to her, naked, in the center of the room.

  He glanced over his shoulder with a blank expression. Neither Reggie’s presence nor his naked state seemed to draw a reaction. “Can I come in?” she asked.

  He nodded.

  “I brought you clothes.” She shut the door, showed him the stack, and then set them on the foot of the bed. “How did you sleep?”

  He kept his eyes fixed on her. “Reg... gee.”

  “Yeah,” she smiled. “That’s my name. So you speak English?”

  “English?”

  “Maybe not, huh? En-glish.” Reggie said phonetically, slowing her speech down. “My language.”

  “I speak the same tongue as you,” he said softly.

  “Oh, it’s just that you say my name weird. Is it a stutter?”

  He tilted his head.

  “You say... ‘Reg... gee,’” she said. “It’s Reggie.”

  “Reg... gee.”

  “See, like that.” Reggie said. “But not like that.”

  “I say your name wrong? Is it not, Reg... gee?”

  “Yeah, it’s Reggie. Not Reg... gee.”

  His eyes crinkled.

  “You have to say the syllables together. Never mind.” Reggie fluttered her hand. “And I should let you get dressed instead of talking to you.” She picked up the clothes. “Here.”

  He took them and looked in wonder. “What are these?”

  “Your clothes. You put them on.”

  He laid them back down. He lifted the boxer shorts.

  “Underwear. They go on first,” Reggie explained.

  “I do not know these garments.”

  “Here.” Reggie took them. “See these two holes. Your legs go through them. You slip them on.” Reggie pantomimed putting them on and pulling them up. “But make sure you leave this little opening here...” She poked her fingers through the crotch opening. “In the front.”

  “You speak with haste.”

  “Yeah,” Reggie giggled. She handed him the underwear. “At least put these on.”

  He took them and Reggie turned her back. She heard him awkwardly fumbling with them, and then she heard the elastic snap of the waistband.

  Reggie turned back around a
nd snickered at his success. “See? You did well. I’ll let you get dressed for breakfast. Everyone is waiting.” Reggie grabbed a pair of blue jeans. “These are jeans. They go on like the underwear. And they zip up.” She moved the zipper up and down. “And this is your shirt. Just put it on and come on down.”

  “Down?”

  “The steps.” She pointed downstairs. “We’re below you.”

  “I smelled the food,” he said. “I have not felt hunger for some time. I feel it now.”

  “Good.” Reggie walked to the door. “Oh, by the way. Do you have a name?”

  “Yes. You do not know it?”

  Reggie shook her head.

  “You should know my name.” He sounded annoyed.

  “I don’t. I’m not psychic. What is it?”

  Clearly offended, he huffed out, “Michael.”

  “Okay.” Reggie stood by the door a little upset. “And how was I supposed to know that?”

  “You asked for me.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You asked God.” Michael moved across the room toward her. “In your prayer, you asked for me.” He paused and stopped walking. “I am Michael, the angel warrior of God.” Michael bowed his head.

  Reggie looked at the floor. “Really? God sent an angel.”

  Michael raised his eyes. “I am not just any angel... you do know that, do you not?”

  “You’re Michael.”

  “Yes,” he nodded, “as you requested.” He had an edge to his voice. “I would not be here, if you did not ask for me. Now you show a lack of gratitude. Your heart should be full and pleased. You requested. I arrived. Where is your respect for me?”

  Reggie started to wise crack, but refrained, smiled distantly and backed up. “I have to get breakfast on the table.”

  “Woman,” Michael called, “you offer no response?”

  “Fine.” Reggie lifted a hand. “I was cordial, now I’m not going to be. I asked for help. Period. And you seem angry that you’re here. So, I didn’t ask for you. I just asked for help. God sent you.”

  “You asked for me. God told me so.”

  “God lied.”

  Michael gasped. “You dare blaspheme when the Lord has answered your prayer?”

  “Sorry.” Reggie shrugged. “And I’m getting out of this room. You’re being mean and I’m trying to be nice.” Reggie started out.

  “Reg... gee.”

  Reggie turned back around. “Reggie. Reggie-Reggie-Reggie. Get it?”

  “Yes,” he said. “You will be at this meal, will you not?” Michael demanded, and then added, “You are supposed to be where I am at all times.”

  “I have nowhere else to be. But make sure you’re dressed. My father’s convinced you’re the new town drunk.”

  After the door closed, Michael turned to the bed and lifted the clothes. Grasping them, he lifted his eyes to the ceiling. “What have you sent me to?” he implored, shaking his head, and sorted through the clothes as if trying to solve a riddle.

  “He’ll be down in a second. He’s getting dressed. Where’s Marcus?” Reggie walked into the kitchen. She stopped to kiss Seth, then moved to Eliza. “How are you doing today, Eliza?”

  “I’m doing.” Eliza patted Reggie’s hand.

  “Things’ll get better.” Reggie kissed her cheek. “I promise. God sent us help. But he has a little attitude. He doesn’t seem to want to be here. But who would?”

  “Mommy?” Seth looked up. “Did he really fall from heaven?”

  “Yes,” Reggie set the plate of scrambled eggs on the table.

  “Reggie!” Kyle chided, sipping his coffee. “The man did not fall from heaven.”

  “Yes, Daddy, he did.” Reggie moved to the cupboard for a cup. “He, well, I don’t know, he has this air about him. This feel. His name is Michael....” She paused as she poured her coffee. “Michael, the angel warrior of God.”

  Crash!

  Reggie looked over to see Eliza scurrying to clean up her broken cup, her face gone pale.

  Reggie grabbed a paper towel and hurried to the table. “You all right?”

  “Michael?” Eliza muttered as her hand missed the spill. “He told you ‘Michael’?”

  “Yes.” Reggie went back over and grabbed her cup. “Why?”

  Herbie, silent until now, decided to join in. “What do you mean why? Michael is an archangel. See, in the beginning of heaven, the devil was an archangel too, but he wanted power and Michael and the other angels battled the devil and his crew. Michael was the one responsible for casting him out. He defeated him.”

  “Oh my God, Herbie, I didn’t think of that.”

  “If he’s the real thing,” Eliza said, “he’s just the expert this world needs.”

  Kyle grunted with contempt. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, please. He is not an angel.”

  “Daddy.” Reggie snapped, “I prayed. For some reason, God answered my prayer. I don’t know why. But... just like in that movie, It’s a Wonderful Life, this Michael dropped from the sky, only he didn’t fall into a river, he fell into the garden.”

  “He didn’t fall from the sky! And in that movie, the angel jumped in the river. He’s not an angel! He’s a drunk who fell into some Jell-O.”

  “It’s not Jell-O,” Marcus corrected as he walked into the kitchen. “Good morning,” he said, looking around the table, rubbing Seth’s head as he passed. He tried to kiss his mother, but Eliza turned her cheek.

  Seeing this, Reggie moved next to him and kissed him warmly. “Good morning.”

  Marcus closed his eyes and mouthed the word, “thank you,” and then kissed Reggie again.

  “Are we done?” Kyle asked. “Now, you said it isn’t Jell-O?”

  “No.” Marcus walked to the coffee pot. “I finished examining the stuff. It’s a form of amniotic fluid, protein. But unlike any I’ve ever seen.”

  “See, Daddy.” Reggie nodded. “Angel.”

  “See, Reggie.” Kyle stood up. “No Angel. Harland just switched whatever he puts in that little pool.” Kyle picked up his coffee. “And I’m going to the roof to sit on watch. I’m taking the little radio with me. Even President what’s-his-name would be better conversation than... an angel.” Kyle turned to find Michael standing in the doorway. “Morning,” he nodded to Michael. “How much did you pull out last night in the ‘Diving for Dollars?’”

  Michael didn’t answer, but looked at Kyle curiously.

  Kyle waved his hand and left.

  “My father,” Reggie explained. “Come in, have a seat.” Michael limped in. “Are you hurt?” she asked him.

  “No.”

  “You move funny.”

  “These garments.” He pulled at the crotch of the jeans. “Too tight.”

  “Really?” Reggie looked. “They’re loose fitting.” She shrugged. “Anyhow, coffee?”

  “What is coffee?”

  “I’ll just get you some. Then I’ll introduce you.”

  “Not necessary.” Michael sat down, looking uncomfortable. “I know everyone here.”

  Reggie handed him his coffee. “Really?”

  “Yes.” Michael turned to Seth on his left. “This young man is Seth. You’re the son of Daniel,” Michael declared. “And this woman is Eliza, the mother of Marcus and Janice; the grandmother of Kathleen; the wife of George.” Michael shifted his eyes to Marcus. “And you are Marcus, creator of the vessel.”

  Reggie cringed and leaned toward Marcus. “I swear I didn’t tell him that.”

  “And you... you are Herb... bee.”

  Reggie brightened. “It’s the ‘E’ part of the name, you stutter. Reg... gee. Herb... bee.”

  “The names are not familiar,” Michael said. “I will try. But so must you, with patience.”

  Herbie turned to Michael. “You say God sent you?”

  “Yes. Reggie asked for me.”

  “No,” Reggie corrected. “I asked for help. I think there’s some communication problem between you and God. No offense, Michael,
but it’s probably you. I mean, I bet God can pronounce my name correctly.”

  “Why is it that you speak as if you know God?” Michael asked.

  “Because I do. God and I are like this.” Reggie said, holding up crossed fingers. “And this argument is inane. I really didn’t request you.”

  “Perhaps you do not remember what you said during your prayer?” Michael suggested.

  “Maybe you don’t remember what God said to you.”

  “I remember the words spoken to me. I remember my instructions.”

  “Which were?” Reggie asked, her voice rising.

  “Reg.” Marcus said, touching her arm. “Come on. Quit badgering the guy.”

  “I’m not badgering him, Marcus, I’m really trying. He’s edgy, so maybe I’m a bit defensive.”

  Michael looked over at Marcus. “How noble to come to my defense. I am grateful. But I will appease Reg... Reggie.” He raised his eyebrows with a triumphant look. “And I will state the instructions given to me. I have been sent here to help with a war that has begun. To prepare for the final battle. To prepare you. I have been told that I am to be with Reggie. She is to act as my teacher, of what, I do not know. I am told I have much to learn from her, and that she is to be at my side at all times.” Michael looked at Marcus. “And that... I will need her.”

  Marcus blanched at what he thought he read in the angel’s eyes. He snatched up his cup and scurried to the sink, turning his back on the table.

  “Marcus?” Reggie looked at him.

  His body trembling slightly, Marcus paused at the coffee pot, his head swaying from side to side. He poured some coffee in his cup and returned to the table.

  “So,” Marcus said, somewhat calmer now. “Why did God supposedly give so much instruction about Reggie and not about this ‘battle?’”

  “No instruction on the battle was needed,” Michael answered. “What is there about battle that I do not already know? No matter the time in history, it is always the same. But of women, and of learning from this one,” he looked at Reggie, “God felt I needed much instruction. He gave me many details, and I took them to heart. I don’t think I need to share them, at least at this time.”

 

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