The Last Church

by Richard Lee

  “After the shower I went to my room and picked the sexiest dress I owned. But it seemed wrong. It was too elegant. Long and black with a slit up the side running all the way to the waist. It would not do. I decided to wear nightclub clothes. Hell, I’m still young. I’ve got at least another eight to ten years in this business. Eight to ten years at eight hundred bucks for four nights of work. Wow, it’s the stuff dreams are made of.

  “It’s seven thirty now. So I better get going. My hands are still shaking from what I did last night. Maybe the fresh air will calm them. I’m so excited. I can’t wait to write down my experience with Peter tomorrow. Until then, see ya.”

  The professor stood up.

  “End of audio file private seventy-eight,” the house computer said. “Please select next file.”

  “End audio,” he answered.

  Nothing. There was nothing he hadn’t already known. Peter’s journal only confirmed his earlier thoughts. If Peter’s journal didn’t have something more he’d be at another roadblock, but this time there wouldn’t be a way around it. He would have to give up his life long quest. And without his quest, what was the point of going on? There didn’t seem any reason. His life without the quest would be so mundane.

  The house computer spoke; the sound was back to standard computer voice. “You have an email with a video attachment. One hour twenty-seven-minutes to download into holo projection file.”

  The professor was confused. No one sends holo video attachments, and they are usually beamed straight through.

  “Who’s the sender of the email?” he asked the computer.

  “Sender unknown.”

  “Virus attached?”

  “Video and audio file only.”

  “From where?”

  “Unknown.”

  The professor frowned. Most likely one of them sex sites, one free watch and the rest you have to pay for. They did not interest the professor at all. He felt too old to be interested in that sort of stuff.

  “How much of file has been downloaded?” he asked

  “One percent.”

  “Pause download and check file for sexual content and try to establish sender.” As an after thought, he said, “Computer, what is title of email?”

  “There is no message title.”

  The professor went to the kitchen. “Coffee,” he said, “with milk and two sugars.” From the counter a cup of coffee rose. He took it and returned to the living room and his large chair.

  “Status,” he said, placing the cup of coffee on the table.

  “Running.” A pause, then, “Analyzing.” A longer pause, before the computer said, “Completed.”

  “Results?”

  “Email has no sexual content. Attachment is from security camera.”

  “Security camera?” the professor asked himself. “Who would send a file like that?”

  “There is a picture match from the video to your private files.”

  “Who?”

  “Kyle Cotter.”

  My brother sent a security file? Why? To the computer he said, “Resume download of entire file.”

  “Processing now.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Peter held the dagger in his hand. No blood had splashed the clothes he wore. Thorn colored suit pants and a matching long sleeved business shirt that hung open, exposing a cream colored tee shirt. He wore Nike Air Pump shoes. He had no idea where these clothes came from or how they happened to be on him and he didn’t care, because his dream woman was right in front of him.

  She looked afraid and he couldn’t blame her. He would have just appeared and that was scary in any perspective. She was sitting on her bed with a blanket covering most of her body. He wanted her and could easily take her, but he wouldn’t. The girl from the television news was right here, wherever “here” might be.

  “I’m not here to hurt you,” he said, letting the dagger drop to the floor.

  The woman stared at him.

  He expected her to run off the first chance she got. Peter wouldn’t blame her if she did. What a terrible way to meet the woman of his dreams. He had always pictured something different.

  The wall screen flashed. The house computer said, “Incoming call from Ami. Are you available?”

  Peter tilted his head, listening to the wall speak. He smiled and looked around the room for another person.

  “Unavailable,” the woman said.

  The wall stopped flashing.

  “I updated,” she said. “Before when someone called, the phone was automatically answered. I’ve been caught in some...compromising positions.”

  Why did she feel the need to explain herself? Peter wondered and asked. “It’s a computer?”

  The woman nodded.

  “And the man?”

  “Ex-boyfriend.”

  “You just broke up, huh?”

  She laughed. Peter liked it.

  He said, “You have a nice smile.”

  The woman’s cheeks turned red and she looked at her feet. “I’m Rachael,” she said softly.

  “Peter.”

  “I know.”

  “You do?”

  “You’re a mega-star of sales,” she said, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. She looked like a shy high school girl caught doing something bad.

  “Get dressed.”

  She nodded. And waited.

  Peter watched her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Nothing matched her. She was his dream.

  Rachael made a turn around action with her index finger.

  “Sorry,” he said, but didn’t want to turn his back on her. If she was going to bolt, this was the time. He decided to trust her and see what happened. Slowly he turned a full one hundred and eighty degrees. Behind him he heard movement. A rustling of bed covers, her body sliding off the mattress and then silence. He waited a bit, but didn’t hear anything more. He glanced over his shoulder. Her back was to him. She had a bra and panties in one hand and was looking through the mess on the floor for other clothes.

  She caught him looking. “Hey, I thought you were a gentleman?”

  He turned back. “You don’t seem upset over your ex-boyfriend.”

  “I’m not. In fact, I’m very glad you came along.”

  “You are?” He turned around again and faced the open doorway.

  “It’s not everyday a dead man saves a damsel in distress.”

  Peter heard the sound of a zip being pulled up and the soft clump of shoes hitting the floor.

  “Dead?” he said. “What made you think I was dead?”

  She tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to face her. She wore a red tee shirt that reached almost to her knees and a pair of light blue jeans.

  “I wasn’t dead,” he said. “Just hiding.”

  “Is that what they called it in your day?”

  “What are you talking about?” he asked. “And why doesn’t this house have any windows?”

  “The old system showed the outside. This one shows scenes from around the world.” She sounded proud.

  Peter shook his head. He felt like he had entered a science fiction movie. He walked away from her, the palm of his hands rubbing his temples. He held his arm out, palm up, and the dagger flew to it. He also saw Rachael move forward, but stop when the dagger passed.

  “It’s early afternoon, would you like to go for a walk and have a look around?”

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  “Area City. Very close to Opera Sands.”

  “That’s where I want to go.”

  “You can’t.” Her voice was harsh.

  Peter spun to face her. She looked embarrassed, as if she spoken without thinking.

  “No one tells me what I can or can’t fucking do.”

  She looked at the floor. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  Peter was gripping the knife firmly by its handle.

  “And how did you mean it?” he ask
ed.

  “Opera Sands is gone. A nuclear blast destroyed it.”

  He stared at her.

  “You’re not in the twenty first century. This is the year two-thousand-three-hundred and sixty-eight.”

  “Bullshit.”

  In a soothing voice, reminding Peter of his mother, Rachael said, “You’re in the future, Peter. I don’t know how you got here or even why. But what I do know is that we are in Area City. A city covered by an electrical dome to protect us from another alien invasion...”

  “Another?” Peter sat down on the bed. “...to protect us from another alien invasion,” he mimicked.

  Rachael continued, “Somehow, I don’t understand it myself, but my team and I were on a dig for the university and we entered a time rip. It took us to the twenty first century.”

  “You were on the TV news,” he Mom bled, holding his head to his knees. “That’s when I first saw you. It was the night I had to...” He searched for the right word. “Disappear.”

  “That was roughly three months ago.”

  “And that’s how you happen to have my dagger?”

  “I shouldn’t have taken it, I know.” She sat on the bed next to him.

  Peter ran through all she had said. He had no reason to believe her, but he also had no reason not to believe her. “Did you cut yourself on the dagger?” he asked.

  She nodded slowly. “Three months ago. It was a deep cut, but I didn’t really notice it at the time.”

  He was going to ask why, but decided not to. He suddenly noticed the presence of his old friend.

  You and the dagger are one, his friend said. Where it goes, you will follow. It has always been the way. Some things are not meant to change.

  Peter knew Rachael couldn’t hear the voice, but he spoke out loud, “I feel weak.”

  It is to be expected. You’ve been inactive for far too long.

  “Would you like something to eat? I also can get some energy drinks.”

  He looked at Rachael, smiled and shook his head. “I’ll be fine. Maybe some fresh air will do me good.”

  Your energy will return with blood.

  He looked at Rachael more closely. He didn’t know why, but it seemed as though she trusted him. Even liked him. He didn’t think it was because he killed her ex. Maybe, he was her dream man as she was his dream woman?

  Dream woman.

  If that were true, why had he just had the fleeting image of slicing her open? It would be so easy. She was very close to him, their bodies almost touching. Yet, although the image had showed itself, the urge never did. He realized he would have to take a chance with her. A chance he was willing to take.

  The woman he’d searched his whole life for was here.

  He wanted to kiss her, touch her, fondle her and do whatever he could with her. But first he had to make sure she was his woman. What were her feelings for him? Was she just playing friendly because he had a knife? Would she run the first chance she could? Was that the reason she had suggested a walk outside in the first place?

  He knew he would find the answers shortly. The blood from her ex-boyfriend was draining fast. He figured he’d have to have at least three people’s blood for the stockpile of energy to build up.

  This was a completely new experience for him. He had no idea he needed the blood of others to energize himself. Had it always been this way before he died? He remembered the thrill, excitement and energy surge after each kill. So maybe it had always been like this, gone unnoticed until now.

  He thought he was going to be very busy shortly and liked the idea.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” Peter said. Standing up, he put the dagger in the back of his pants and held out his hand and was surprised when she took it. He was even more surprised when she interlaced her fingers with his. “Show me how to leave a house with no windows.”

  She smiled. “Follow me.”

  Rachael led him downstairs. They walked through the kitchen to the front door. She pulled it open and Peter suddenly released her hand and fell backwards. He dropped to his knees and pushed his forearm across his tightly closed eyes. His back was facing the open door.

  “Peter...” True worry in Rachael’s voice. “Peter, are you all right?” She knelt beside him. Her hand gently rubbed his back.

  “The light,” he said, his voice strained. “It’s killing my eyes.”

  From the years you spent in the dark, my friend. It’ll take time for things to right themselves.

  “I need a pair of very dark sunglasses.” He looked up as Rachael stood up. “Do you have a pair?”

  “Wait here,” she said and rushed upstairs.

  Peter looked at the door. She had left it open. He couldn’t see it very well. It looked like a blurred shadow at a sharp angle, surrounded by intense, harsh whiteness. Everything in that area was blurred. He turned back and closed his now sore eyes. The whiteness was on the back of his eyelids, painted there like a photograph.

  He stood up using the kitchen table as a brace and slowly moved to an opening near the end of the kitchen. The room it opened to seemed dark in his impaired vision. He felt like a blind man in a strange area.

  He heard Rachael’s muffled voice from upstairs. Her voice, although muffled by the floor above and the ceiling, sounded casual. He doubted she was on the phone or whatever it was people used these days to contact the police.

  He was almost at the room, when he ran out of table. He fell to the floor from the sudden nothingness. His hands flew out in front of him, but didn’t save his face from the hardness of the floor as his elbows buckled.

  Peter rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling. It took him a moment to notice the clarity of his view. Taking a chance, he slowly turned his head to the door. The light was still harsh but it was now bearable. He stood up without the help of the table. He had energy and his head was the clearest it had felt since he arrived. Things were suddenly looking up. Amazing what a bang on the head can do.

  He heard quick footsteps coming from upstairs. A moment later they pounded down the stairs. Rachael hurried to him.

  “I got these,” she said and handed him a pair of Gucci sunglasses.

  They looked nice but had clear glass. He frowned, wondering how they would help against the light, which was inflicting less pain as time passed.

  “They darken automatically,” Rachael said. “See the sensors on the arms?”

  Peter nodded.

  “They can tell how dark the glasses need to be for light sensitive eyes.” Rachael looked proud of her choice and her smile of satisfaction showed itself.

  Peter was doubtful.

  “You just happen to have these lying around?” he asked.

  “No. I just bought them.”

  “From upstairs? Like home shopping?”

  Rachael nodded. “And they were transported straight here once the credit was confirmed.” She looked at the floor and said softly, “Sorry about the style. My credit’s low this month. I couldn’t get a leading brand.”

  Peter smiled and said, “Don’t worry about low credit for long.” A thought occurred, “When was Opera Sands nuked?”

  Rachael seemed to think about that as she handed the sunglasses to him. Peter put them on and looked at the open door. Instantly he could see clearly. He could see a young man standing in the doorway.

  “About a week or less after you died,” the man said.

  Rachael spun around. “Eric.”

  He stepped into the house. “What’s going on, Rachael?” He stared coldly at Peter, his hands balled into fists.

  Rachael didn’t answer.

  “Another time rip?” he suggested. His voice was clouded with sarcasm.

  Peter reached behind his back.

  “You seem better, Eric,” Rachael countered.

  “A couple of hours ago, I suddenly lost control of the cruiser. Its flight control shut down...”

  “Oh, my god.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, Rachael,” he said with a thick tone
of insolence mixed with anger. “I’m fine and the cruiser’s sensor automatically tilted me away from a group of school kids and some other people.”

  “Eric,” Rachael said slowly, “what’s gotten into you?”

  He stared at Peter and moved to the other side of the table, putting it between the two of them.

  “He’s the problem.”

  Peter smiled. “I just got here.”

  “Ever since we escaped his house from the time rip, I’ve been locked in a dream state. Not completely in this world, and not there either. A bit like Penny, but that poor girl is more there than here.”

  “Your distance was because of a dream?” Rachael’s voice sounded sweet and caring.

  “No!” He slammed his fist on the table. “I was in a waking dream constantly. Every night I fell asleep, I was locked in a nightmare about him until I awoke.”

  “Did you do that?” Peter asked with a hint of amusement, looking at the dark room behind.

  Yes, his friend answered.

  Softly, Eric said to Rachael, “We should never have taken his stuff. We brought him into the future. We bought the Anti-Christ into our world.”

  Peter laughed so hard his sides hurt. “You’re one beer short of a fucking six pack. And talk about being melodramatic.”

  Both Rachael and Eric stared at him blankly.

  “It means,” he translated, “you’re fucking crazy.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “Rachael called me,” he answered.

  To Peter, Eric said, “I know exactly what you plan to do. I know you have the original book and I know you mastered it and updated it. Or should I say twisted it?”

  Peter took a step around the table.

  “But you don’t remember everything you wrote, do you?”

  Peter held the dagger out to the side, in full view.

  “It’s all on your computer, isn’t it?”

  How did this guy know so much? “Do you have my computer?” he asked.

  Eric smiled. “You’re not getting it. What’s the old expression that you’d understand? The one where you need something desperately and without it bad things might happen? Ah, that’s right. You’re fucked.”