The Last Church

by Richard Lee

  “Babe, does this look like the twenty third century?”

  Ami shook her head again.

  “When did the Reynox finally make a lasting stay on Earth?”

  Josh answered, “Twenty three forty one.” When he saw Ami’s tears, he softly said, “Sorry, Ami, I didn’t think.”

  Rachael wiped the tears off Ami’s cheeks. “This is real life history.”

  “Only frozen,” Penny said with a smile.

  Ami smiled. She gave Rachael a hug and whispered in her ear, “Let’s rock and roll.”

  Each of them wished they had an old camera, one of those digital ones. They each had a built in camera in their visors. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t work in this time zone. Penny had given this situation the nickname “Time Zone” and it seemed apt. They all knew this chance would never present itself again.

  They rounded another bend and saw the start of Opera Sands.

  It looked like a rectangle of concrete and mirror glass rising high into the sky, surrounded by the greenest trees they had even seen. Buildings like this were non-existent in the dome. They weren’t required. Most people worked from home, connected to work via a satellite. The salary men that did go in wearing a suit had to. These were usually government workers.

  The light reflecting off the black mirror met with the sun and formed a bright star on the blackest of all buildings. The team members gave each other apprehensive looks as they headed along the road into the city. They had been following a row of yellow reflectors running down the middle of the street. No one knew what they were, but each was too afraid to ask, so they pretended not to notice when the “cat’s eyes” stopped at the edge of Opera Sands.

  There were a lot more houses near to the city and a few high-rise apartment blocks. One thing they had all noticed were the many houses in the country and not a lot of apartment blocks. The houses they saw had names like Homestead Sweet or Riverview. The apartments had names like Terry V. Hugh Mansions.

  They entered the city. A lack of wind and endless empty streets gave it the feeling of a ghost town.

  “This is the place,” Michael said, “that the professor’s been looking for.”

  No one replied.

  “Camera shop,” Josh said, stopping to look through the window.

  “So what?” Ami replied, joining him.

  “So what? Well, they must have digital cameras here.”

  Rachael joined them. “I hope you’re not thinking of stealing one?”

  Josh smiled. For the first time, Rachael saw something other than seriousness in his eyes. They danced with a new light, if only briefly, and in them she saw a sneaky little child looking to play.

  “I doubt any connection we have would work with those old things.”

  “I’ll tell ya what, Michael,” Josh replied, “let’s take a chance.” He stood motionless in front of the door for a moment. Rachael wondered what he was thinking when he suddenly said, “Oh, forgot, they probably don’t have entry teleport yet.”

  Rachael laughed in spite of herself. She had never known Josh to make a joke before and it took her by surprise.

  He pushed open the door and disappeared inside. The others waited a few moments before joining him. Penny decided to wait outside. She had no interest in antiques and was tired from the walk. She sat on the pavement, leaning her back against the shop’s glass front.

  It was like looking at an antique store in holo-photos, back in the dome or on the net. The photos they had seen were exactly like this store, except for a “Discount Area” sign. Glass cabinets showed the latest display models with price tags turned upside down. Large posters advertised the quality of digital cameras with stunning color. There were stand-alone shelves rising from the floor with accessories and a whole heap of other items the group didn't recognize. These were things that were in holo-photos but were not described in the text that followed.

  Rachael was beside herself with joy. Ami and Eric were carefully checking items dangling from chains in the wall. Michael had joined Josh at the digital camera counter.

  “Any idea how these work?” Michael asked, showing a small shiny box to Josh.

  “No, but it can’t be that hard,” he replied, taking the box and examining it. “Ah,” he said, finding the on button. “Just push this.” The camera front slid open and the lens popped out. The sudden movement and sound shocked him and he dropped the camera. He bent to pick it up and visibly shuddered. “Did anyone else feel that?” he asked. His face had lost some color.

  “Feel what?” Rachael asked. She had stayed close to the entrance in order to see the whole shop and to be able to watch everyone at roughly the same time.

  “It felt like someone just tried to grab my hand.”

  Eric carefully and slowly mouthed the words, “Time difference.”

  “What?” Josh directed the question at Rachael.

  She had caught the words but didn’t understand what he meant. She thought about the two words and this place and situation. She said, “For a fraction of a second, time caught up with you.”

  “Really?” He sounded more shocked. “That means someone saw me drop the camera and tried to grab me?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. An interesting thought occurred to her. She was about to mention it when Penny screamed from outside. She charged into the shop, throwing the door open far too hard. It hit the stopper and the glass shattered.

  “I saw people,” she almost screamed. “Only a split second but I saw them and they were looking at me strangely and at this shop.”

  At that moment they all felt something brush past them. It felt like wind and tingled with electricity.

  “It seems as though time is catching up with us. And that is not a good thing.” Michael added, “Because we’ll get caught in this time zone and won’t be able to get back.”

  “Josh,” Rachael said urgently. “Grab a digital video camera and digital camera. We’ll document everything from this moment on.”

  Eric approached Rachael and removed a sheet of paper from his breast pocket. She took it and read it. It was a street address and was signed by the professor.

  “What is that?” Michael asked.

  Rachael saw Josh search for a tape for the digital camera. When he found what he was looking for she realized it wasn’t exactly a tape, it was a small disk. It kind of looked like a thing she had seen called a compact disk. Taking her eyes off him for a moment, she handed the paper to Michael, who quickly scanned it.

  “It’s just an address,” he said. His eyes suddenly lit up. “It’s Peter’s address, isn’t it?”

  “He knew we would come here,” Ami said. Her voice held a tone of disbelief but she had chosen her words well.

  Rachael nodded.

  “So all the other times,” Josh said, joining them, “weren’t what he called “locations of possible burial.” They were meant to be “locations of possible entry”.”

  Penny said, “I don’t know if I’m upset with his lying to us or overjoyed to be here.”

  Then to Josh, Rachael asked, “Got everything we need?”

  “I think so,” he said, checking the video and camera. He pushed the ‘rec’ button and a red light came on. “Wow, look at that.”

  “We better go quickly, find Peter’s place and document everything.”

  “Rachael, don’t you think we should bring something from his apartment?” Ami was heading out the door as she asked the question.

  “Like what?”

  Ami shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know yet.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Christchurch 1994

  Walking up the steps took the rest of Peter’s energy. He couldn’t remember a time when he had been as physically, emotionally and mentally tired as he was this moment. He pushed open the basement door and kicked it shut behind him. The kick had little force and the door didn’t close completely. He didn’t care. All he wanted was sleep. He wanted a lot of sleep.

  Dragging his body to the bedr
oom, Peter clutched the knife tightly to his chest and barely managed to twist the knob to open the door. By the time he finally managed to make it to the double bed, he was breathing hard.

  He dropped face down on the quilt and was instantly asleep. The dagger slipped from his hand and dropped to the floor. It landed on its point, digging deep. A ray of red light flashed from the hilt and encompassed Peter in a warm cover of peaceful dreaming.

  In his dream he wore a nice Gucci suit. The jacket was open, exposing a white silk shirt opened to the third button, baring his naked chest. His hair was stylish and a two-day stubble covered his cheeks and chin. He was talking to a group of ladies all in their early twenties, all fashion models and far too skinny for his taste, when he spotted a vision of beauty walk into the room. She was everything he looked for in a woman, a full figure who walked proud. He approached her, but she didn’t seem to notice him. Everyone else was interested in him and what he had to say, everyone except her. She was the woman he wanted. She was the unattainable woman of his dreams. She was in all the dreams, always looked hot and always ignored him.

  Ah, but he had the dagger. He could make her want him, if only for one night. He could picture her lying naked on his bed, dark brown hair fanned over the pillow, her dark eyes half-closed in ecstasy. Her voluptuous body rising and falling with every thrust he gave her.

  But she didn’t exist, did she? The unattainable woman of his dreams, the perfect woman for him, wasn’t real. He had never seen her on the streets or in the movies; only in his dreams.

  A woman wrapped her arms around his chest from behind. She whispered in his ear and Peter found himself smiling. She wasn’t his dream woman, but she was close enough for tonight.

  In his Mercedes, from the party to his parking lot, she had been all over him. Rubbing him, licking and finally sucking. It was hard to keep control of both the car and himself, yet he managed and was so keyed up he couldn’t wait to get into the bedroom.

  She had insisted on taking a bottle of wine home with them and he agreed. Champagne was the preferred drink, but wine would suit his plans for tonight. He pictured a nice furry place to drink it from. After all, hadn’t the ancients used a woman’s body for a table? Or was that just a bullshit myth?

  He led her upstairs to his penthouse apartment.

  She fell across his bed, stretched out and holding the bottle in both hands. Her small hands worked at the bottle’s top as Peter removed his jacket, carefully folding and placing it on the back of a Victorian-era chair. He smiled as she struggled with the bottle. Their eyes locked for the first time that night. She sat up and undid his silk shirt. He, in turn, did the same to her. Embracing in a passionate kiss, his left hand worked the hook of her bra open. His right hand massaged her breast.

  Gently squeezing the nipple, he broke from the kiss and said, “Give me that bottle.” She did as asked and Peter reached over and smashed the top against the headboard. “There,” he said, “no more problem.” He proceeded to pour red wine over her naked breast.

  Next he unzipped the mini skirt and watched her wriggle it off. She shook her head of long, wavy blond hair, tilted her head sideways and gave him the most provocative look he had ever seen as she pushed her underwear to the floor. She lay back and smiled. She wasn’t a true blonde.

  The red wine washed down her body as she arched her back in the sudden cold. Peter lapped at the alcohol.

  Between giggles, she said, “You’d better wake up, Peter. Someone’s about to break into your shop.”

  He gave her a quizzical look, amazed by her sudden change in behavior, and said, “What are you talking about?”

  “Wake up, damn it, or you’ll be too late.” She sat up on the bed and snatched the bottle from him.

  “I am awake, darling. In fact, I’ll show you how awake I am.” He smiled. “I’m living my dream.”

  Frustrated, she spat, “You are in a dream. This is a dream and you know it. Now wake the fuck up!”

  She swung the bottle at his head. Peter ducked easily. The jagged edges slid past his field of vision. He was laughing and didn’t notice her backhand swing as the bottle found its mark.

  A loud whooping sound thundered into his head. He awoke with a start. Still locked in the pleasure of his sleep fantasy, he spent several seconds looking for the girl before realizing it had been a dream. It was moving toward a great wet dream, yet he was surprised to find he was not aroused. It might have something to do with that damn alarm. It was too loud.

  It took a couple of minutes to sink in. He didn’t have an alarm. Then what the hell was that whooshing sound? He swung his feet off the bed and his shoe knocked something. He bent down to see what it was. His dagger reflected in the moonlight streaming through the parted curtain. He reached down and pulled it out of the floor, glad he had fallen asleep wearing shoes.

  He stood up and placed the dagger between his belt and jeans at the small of his back, then pulled out his shirt to let the tail cover it. The whooshing sound was coming from outside. He followed it to his front door when it suddenly stopped. The silence was heavy and Peter felt fear as he reached for the front door handle.

  This far out of the city, the sound of night animals was loud, except for now. Suddenly he heard his car start up. It was a sound he knew by heart. The familiar churning of the motor before it fired into life was unmistakable. All feelings of fear were pushed to one side as he threw the door open and charged down the front steps.

  His car was empty. He could see from where he stood that no one was inside. A quick look around proved nobody was about. The gate was still closed and he couldn’t see anyone standing around holding a baseball bat or crowbar or anything a normal thief would carry. He saw no thief. But his car was running. The motor was idling nicely, better than usual.

  He heard a creaking as the front gate slowly opened.

  The shop, he thought. I have to get to the shop.

  As soon as the thought registered in his head, the driver door of his car opened. Peter didn’t think twice, didn’t need to.

  At three-fifty in the morning, Peter pulled a handbrake stop in front of his shop. He killed the engine and collected his thoughts. The trip had been very fast. All the traffic lights were green and he was positive there were no cops in the area looking for drunken drivers.

  From where he sat, the shop looked normal. The lights were off, the door was closed and there weren’t any broken windows. He relaxed until he remembered the back entrance. He had had problems with drunken teenagers behind the shop before. Nothing major, nothing a threat to call the police hadn’t fixed.

  Quietly, Peter climbed out of his car and headed down the alley to the back entrance. He listened for any sound, but heard nothing. The back door was padlocked, chained, and the standard lock embedded into the door was locked as well. The last thing he wanted were horny teenagers shagging in his shop.

  He pulled the keys from his pocket and opened the door. Making sure it was secured behind him, he went into the kitchen. No lights were needed in the hallway. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness and then made his way down the short passage.

  The high-pitched sound of breaking glass flew at him, all jagged and piercing as it clattered to the floor. He froze. The cracking of more broken glass was loud in the stillness of night. It sounded as if someone was clearing away chunks still in the frame.

  Silence followed.

  Pushing himself hard against the wall, he heard something fall. It hit the floor solidly but did not break. It rolled a little, then came to stop, thudding against something else.

  The burglar swore. It was a deep and rough voice.

  Peter knew he had to do something. The burglar was going to find him and god knew what would happen then. He needed to call the police, but the phone was on his desk, just behind the counter in clear sight. It was in the same room as the burglar.

  He could hear his stuff being moved around.

  “Where is it?” the rough voice said.

  “
How the fuck should I know?” a female’s voice answered.

  There were two of them. Peter swallowed hard. They were both here for something and it wasn’t money, not the way they were searching. He had to go in there and meet them face-to-face.

  You heard two voices, a small voice inside cautioned, there might be more. It all depends on what they are after.

  “The book,” Peter answered. “They know I have it and they want it.”

  “You said you saw it,” the rough voice said.

  “I did.”

  “Well, where the fuck is it?”

  A pause. “I don’t know,” the female said. “It was in a big bookcase, but it ain’t here no more.”

  “What fucking bookcase?”

  “The fucking bookcase I destroyed yesterday,” Peter said, entering the room.

  The man was huge with no neck. He was twice the size of Peter width wise, but shorter in height. He had stubble and a scar on his left cheek. The woman looked like the one from his dream, the fake blond who liked wine.

  “Where’s the book?” No Neck asked.

  “And what book would that be?”

  No Neck came closer, but stopped a few feet from Peter. “Don’t be fucking with me, asshole. Wild Blue Blossom, where is it?”

  “Sold it,” Peter said with a smile. They didn’t know about his secret book after all. Briefly he wondered what was so special about Wild Blue Blossom. Why was that book suddenly in demand?

  No Neck curled his hands into tight fists.

  “It’s on an airplane now headed to Germany. It was the original.”

  No Neck’s face turned red. He moved toward Peter, who took a single step back.

  “Wrong answer,” No Neck said.

  The female let loose a quick scream of alarm before she hit the floor unconscious.

  Both men looked in her direction and Peter saw the Meph-Man standing where the girl had stood. He kicked the girl’s feet and smiled.

  “I do believe she’s out,” the Meph-Man said.