Judgement Day

by Andrew Neiderman

  “Permit me to order for you. Is there anything you don’t like?” James asked Magdalena.

  “I was never happy about the taste of Communion wafers,” she said, and again, John roared.

  Alexander James leaned over to whisper.

  “I haven’t taken Communion since I was eleven.”

  “It’s cannibalistic,” John said. “Even thinking of it figuratively. You’re eating the body of Christ. It’s probably where Hannibal Lecter got the idea.”

  “Who?”

  “One of my favorite fiction villains, Alex. You’ve got to read other things besides legal briefs.”

  “Right, right. Back to the food. What about Lobster Fra Diavolo?”

  “I can’t believe it,” Magdalena said, looking at John. “It’s my favorite.”

  “Mine, too,” John said.

  “Done,” James said, and he ordered two bottles of what he knew was the best and most expensive wine. He was sure he would drink practically all of one.

  John brought up only one serious issue during dinner. “Have you spoken to Bill about my ideas for expanding the firm?”

  “Oh, yes, yes. I liked your proposed candidates, too, and told him so.”

  “That’s good, Alex. I’ll follow through, then. We will definitely justify the expansion.”

  “Sure, sure,” James said.

  John smiled. He could have suggested they repaint all the offices and fire every secretary but his own tomorrow, and James would have nodded. Not that he would need his support much longer, anyway. This is all going to be easier than I imagined, he thought, and then sat back, enjoying the food and letting Magdalena run the show. She had done it many, many times, and he was never disappointed.

  After dinner, John insisted that James see Magdalena’s penthouse apartment. It was really John’s, but there was nothing in it that would tip him off to that. James made a weak attempt to pass it up, referring to his early court date, but Magdalena was too persuasive. When they got into John’s limousine, she was all over the senior partner. It wasn’t until minutes after they drove off that James even realized they were in a limousine. He was that much under a cloud.

  “Excuse me, John, but is this your car service?”

  “Exclusively,” John said. “It’s one of the perks I insist on for myself, but no worries. I’m not billing the firm for it.”

  “Oh, no, I wasn’t worried about that,” James said, even though he would never extend such a personal service to himself. They called for cars when they needed to and had none exclusively.

  Both he and Bill Simon did very well, but it wasn’t until James stepped into the penthouse apartment he had been told was Magdalena’s that he realized he might be just a little too frugal in his lifestyle. He knew for sure that Simon was and that Simon’s parsimony was always ripe fruit for argument between himself, his wife, and his two college-age daughters, one a sophomore and one a senior, both at Vassar.

  The penthouse blew him away. He stood gaping at the large rooms and the flow of them, moving from the wide entryway to the living room, into the dining room and the open kitchen. It had rich marble floors, red velvet curtains, and upscale modern furniture to fit an otherwise minimalist décor. They walked into the apartment. There was a separate media room, and then came what was, oddly, the only bedroom.

  “No room for guests in this Citizen Kane apartment?” James asked.

  “My guests stay with me,” Magdalena whispered. She was holding on to his arm. He wobbled a bit. Her lips were touching his earlobe. He could feel the delightful chill churning through his heart and quickly turning into delightful warmth.

  “How about an after-dinner drink?” John suggested.

  “I thought we had one,” James said. He tried to look at his watch, but Magdalena put her hand over his wrist and turned him toward her.

  “One can’t be enough, Mr. James.”

  “Oh, you can call me Alex by now,” he said.

  “Alex,” she whispered. Her face was so close, her lips lining up with his.

  “I’ll go make myself a drink,” John said, and he left them just as Magdalena kissed James and sealed him firmly with the promise of her body.

  John poured himself a glass of sambuca on the rocks and sat back on the rich leather sofa in the living room. He didn’t have to be there to hear and see what was happening. He had only to close his eyes.

  The sound of the door buzzer interrupted the unfolding scene. James was undressed and in bed, with Magdalena about to slide in beside him.

  John rose and went to the door.

  “I’m not late, am I?” Lilith asked.

  “How could you be? I summoned you,” John said, smiling. “You’re a tease, you are,” he said, pinching her silky-soft cheek.

  “How do you like it?” she asked him, and spun around to show him her sexy evening dress, lacy, tight, and with a low V-neck. Her platinum hair flowed down to her wing bones. It emphasized her dark complexion and made her stunning blue eyes absolutely radiant.

  “It’s times like this when I really question who makes the more beautiful creatures, me or him?”

  Lilith giggled. “Do I get to vote?”

  “Hardly,” he said. “Only he can stuff the ballot box. Okay. They’re in the bedroom.”

  “Already? Without me?”

  “Magdalena is hornier than usual, I fear. Be gentle at first, but drive him to the point of exhaustion. Pull back after that. I don’t want him to die in bed tonight. I have other plans for that event tomorrow. Here,” he added, and gave her a packet of cocaine. “Use wisely later. It comes with instructions.”

  She laughed. “You always save the best for last,” she said, and sauntered through the apartment. She paused before turning toward the bedroom, raising her arms and pretending she was about to dive into a pool.

  “Go on. Stop showing off,” he said, smiling.

  “Yes, Daddy,” she replied, and went into the bedroom.

  He looked at his watch. It was so extraordinary, this thing called time, measuring it so precisely. He wondered if he would ever get used to it. How could anyone who measured centuries in seconds ever get used to the hands of a clock?

  To him, it seemed like a frivolous waste of energy and attention.

  Oh, the sacrifices and accommodations he made in order to carry out his eternal revenge.

  He laughed.

  He doesn’t understand, he thought, just how much I enjoy it.

  20

  “I can believe she has some spiritual powers,” Michele said when she and Blake entered the loft apartment and saw that the table had been set for three.

  Blake looked at her askance. “You texted her when I wasn’t looking.”

  “You were always looking,” she came back, and he smiled.

  “Yes, I was.”

  “My aunt doesn’t have a smartphone. She gets her messages from another system operating in another world.”

  Aunt Eve came out of the kitchen carrying a large casserole dish. “I heard you come in,” she said. “Perfect timing.”

  “Why doesn’t that surprise me? This is Lieutenant Blake, Aunt Eve. Will you confirm that I did not call ahead of time to tell you we would be coming for something to eat?”

  “She didn’t call. She didn’t have to call. There are things anyone can tell if you have patience and really pay attention to what people say and how they say it. Please, have a seat.” She put the casserole on the table.

  “Yes, but how about . . .” Michele nodded at Blake.

  Aunt Eve smiled. “Now, you don’t want me to reveal the little hints and indications that told me you would be with the lieutenant tonight, do you?” she teased.

  Blake laughed.

  “I almost feel it’s unnecessary to introduce you to him,” Michele said.

  “Hello, Lieutenant. Welcome. And please call me Eve.”

  “What is in that casserole, Aunt Eve?” Michele asked.

  “It’s top secret. Please.” She nodded at the
chairs. “I have some wonderful white wine that was given to me recently by a man who owns and operates his own vineyard in Napa Valley, California. I helped his sister get over her fear of flying so she can visit him more often.”

  They sat, and Aunt Eve began to serve what looked like a parmesan-cheese-crusted meatloaf, but Michele knew she was a vegetarian. Steam rose from the plates, and the aroma was enticing. Aunt Eve gave herself some and sat across from them. She handed Blake the bottle of wine and the corkscrew.

  “If you please, Lieutenant Blake. Do us the honors.”

  “Love to,” he said, and went about opening the bottle. Then he poured some into their glasses and his own. “May I offer a toast?”

  “I expected no less,” Aunt Eve said, and winked at Michele.

  Michele had sobered up during the trip home. She really didn’t know what to make of Blake’s suggestion that John Milton had followed them to the tavern. Why would he? How could it possibly affect the trial for him to spy on her and Lieutenant Blake, unless he thought Blake was going to give her some new evidence. But how could he tell anything by sitting in a limousine and watching for them? It just didn’t make any sense, but what made her concerned was how concerned Blake seemed to be.

  “To better days to come for all of us,” Blake said, and they clinked their glasses. “Was that okay?” he asked Aunt Eve.

  “Oh, perfect. It’s important to wish for things, but when you do, try to envision them,” she replied. “It puts us on a path we might otherwise not travel.”

  Blake nodded and looked at Michele, impressed. “See? Your aunt and I speak the same language.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of,” Michele said.

  They started to eat, the two of them slowly and carefully at first, and then they looked at each other and smiled.

  “It’s delicious, whatever it is,” Blake said.

  “Yes, it is, Aunt Eve. You’d better give me this recipe one day.”

  “One day,” she said. She looked at Blake for a long moment. “I heard what was said about you in court. You left the spiritual life?”

  “Not the spiritual life so much as a career in it,” he replied.

  “But you had doubts. You still have great doubts.”

  “Here we go,” Michele said. “I warned you.”

  “That’s all right. Yes, I do, Eve. I have doubts.”

  “Doubts are a burden, a burden sometimes too heavy to bear.”

  He ate some more and nodded. “Yes, they can be heavy.”

  “You didn’t just wake up one day with these doubts. You saw something that opened the door to them. Most who choose to be members of the clergy, regardless of the religion, build a fortress of faith that’s practically impenetrable. Am I right?”

  “Yes, you are.”

  Michele sipped her wine, looking at Aunt Eve and then at Blake. It was the first time since she had met him that he looked vulnerable. There were times when a man became something of a boy again, no matter how old he might be, and his face would reveal it. He could look frightened, helpless, or suddenly terribly dependent. Any woman worth her femininity who cared for him would reach out, try to offer some motherly, soothing touch or words. She felt like reaching out to Blake but hesitated. She didn’t want to embarrass him.

  “It’s not important for you to reveal it now, Lieutenant, but someday it might be important to reveal it to Michele,” Aunt Eve said, nodding at her.

  “What the hell are you two talking about?” she finally asked. “You do speak another language.”

  It broke the heavy moment. Blake smiled, and Aunt Eve shook her head, shrugged, and ate some more of the casserole.

  “Maybe neither of us really knows,” Blake offered. He continued to eat. They drank more wine. Then he paused and looked at Aunt Eve.

  She smiled. “Go on, Lieutenant. Ask me what’s on your mind to ask.”

  “You told Michele that you saw John Milton metamorphose into a big, dark shadow?”

  “I did. It was not an unfamiliar shadow, as I said. Be wary of him,” she warned.

  “As I am of all high-priced, media-centered defense attorneys,” Michele said.

  “Don’t become bitter about your work, Michele,” her aunt advised. “It will spread like a plague into every aspect of your life. At the moment, I don’t see that happening to you,” she added, smiling.

  “How did this come about, this visionary power you possess?” Blake asked.

  Aunt Eve talked about the traffic accident, the loss of her husband, and the subsequent coma she had been in. “I believe I crossed over and back,” she said. “And when I returned, I brought the power of the vision with me.”

  “Makes sense to me,” he said. He didn’t look as if he was humoring anyone, either.

  “I guess I’m the only one who isn’t a little nuts here,” Michele said.

  “How lonely that must make you,” Blake said, and they all laughed.

  “I have some illegal brownies to serve with my herbal tea,” Aunt Eve told them after they had finished the casserole. “One of my clients brought it to me as part of her payment. Can I risk it?” she asked Blake.

  “I’m not on the narcotics squad. I specialize only in murders, rapes, armed robberies, the easy stuff,” he replied.

  Aunt Eve laughed. “I like a man with a sense of humor.”

  “I like a man with any sense,” Michele countered.

  She felt a strong urge now to reach for Blake’s hand under the table. She did so, and he took it and smiled at her. When Aunt Eve went into the kitchen, he leaned over and kissed her.

  “Maybe we don’t need the brownies,” he whispered.

  “Power of suggestion, but I feel like there was something soothing in that casserole.”

  “A little more than soothing. I’m floating.”

  “Aunt Eve,” she called. “We don’t need anything more. Thank you.”

  “I really didn’t think you would,” she called back. “Maybe it would be overkill.”

  They giggled like children and stood up. She was still holding his hand. Neither spoke. She turned and led him through the loft to her bedroom. As soon as they had entered, she stopped.

  “This is insane,” she said. “I should be crying in my beer, not acting like I’m celebrating.”

  “Maybe you can cry in your beer later,” he told her, and turned her to him. “Right now, I can think only of champagne.”

  She smiled, and they kissed, slowly and gently at first but quickly turning it into something more demanding, their hands moving like small animals that had been unchained, pressing, exploring, pulling, and stroking in a delicious frenzy.

  The moved to her bed, where their clothing became intolerable. Anything that lay between their naked bodies was quickly discarded. The rush of desire that consumed them wouldn’t even let them speak. There was no time for words, for promises, or for pledges. Nothing was needed to convince either of them that they should search and discover the wonder of each other’s body. Her breasts craved his lips as much as his lips craved them, her nipples, her neck, her stomach, the warmth between her thighs. Her moans were demanding, her legs locking around his hips. He pressed his mouth to hers and entered her, first seeming amazed at himself, and then, finally, unable not to speak, he whispered, “You’re wonderful, beautiful, everything.”

  She didn’t want to speak yet. She didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with the lift he was giving to her spirit, her ego, her desperate need to feel pleasure in the midst of her depressions and fears. He was taking her away with every stroke. She could feel herself climbing, coming, building toward more and more. It was different. It was better than any other time with any other man. Something magical was happening. Just before she finally cried out her exquisite pleasure, she laughed to herself, thinking maybe it was Aunt Eve’s casserole after all.

  Afterward, they lay silently. He held her hand, and they stared up at the ceiling like two teenagers overwhelmed with what they had just disc
overed about themselves and each other. The only sound was the ticking of the miniature grandfather’s clock Aunt Eve had brought into her room recently.

  “So when do you tell me?” Michele finally asked.

  “Tell you what?”

  “What you saw that opened you up to doubts and drove you to leave the seminary and pursue a career as a detective.”

  “Your aunt was right. I believed that those who were devoted to their faith and wanted to pursue a role in it were so fortified by their beliefs that they formed an impenetrable wall around them, a wall that the devil could not breach.”

  “Not everyone can be a saint, Matthew. Saint Matthew,” she added, smiling and turning to him.

  “I know that. I expect we all have some weaknesses and commit some minor sins in our lives but not mortal sins, and even if someone commits a mortal sin, there is supposed to be room for redemption if there is repentance, confession, a firm resolution to sin no more. What I saw was a prince of the faith commit a mortal sin and, instead of repenting, cover it up and blame it on someone lesser who suffered severe punishment.”

  “Someone was framed by a priest?”

  “A bishop, actually, yes. I suppose I always had a talent for solving problems, crimes. I put together the proof and presented it.”

  “And you were ignored?”

  “What I had accomplished was shelved for a supposedly higher good.”

  “So the doubts began?”

  “In spades,” he said. “I found myself thinking more like a deist.”

  “Refresh my memory.”

  “Deism is basically the belief that God does not involve himself with what happens in the natural world. He allows it to run according to the laws of nature. Such a belief denies the existence of miracles. I tossed this around in my mind for a long time, even after I left the religious world. And then . . .”

  “Then?”

  “I began to wonder if leaving it all to the laws of nature didn’t essentially turn it over to evil. I started to think that there are supernatural forces at work but not the forces they preach about in church.”

  “And so you see conspiracies, evil conspiracies?”