The Nephilim Imperatives: Dark Sentences (The Second Coming Chronicles Book 2)

by Terry James

  “Well, yes. Their children… That’s all it would take to get me to go with them, too,” Christopher said, his eyes staring into his own thoughts while he spoke them.

  Susie understood Mark’s and Lori’s thinking in accepting the invitation, too. But she was troubled. Things had developed just too conveniently.

  “Doesn’t it seem odd that this guy from the Department of Defense, or whatever, just happened to be at FBI headquarters to make that offer?”

  “I thought the same thing,” Randall Prouse said. “It wouldn’t be so odd if it wasn’t for this history of weird things, the visions, or whatever. There is definitely something strange going on.”

  David Prouse and Casandra Lincoln walked hand in hand in front of the quaint shops that were just opening for the morning’s business. The Tyrolean motif of the shops presented the image they were intended to convey by the architects who conceived them. The white-washed lattice work shone brightly in the morning rays of sunlight that streamed from between the mountain spires and reflected off the wooden strips that crisscrossed the window panes and the building’s façade.

  “This is a long way from Manhattan,” Cassie said. “I think I could make this my home permanently.”

  “Quite a difference,” David agreed, bending slightly to examine a miniature Tyrolean village model displayed in the window.

  “Maybe we can let you take your new home back to New York with you,” he said, tugging her by the hand.

  They walked through the Swiss Chalet-type sculpted door of rough-hewn hardwood, causing a small bell to tinkle.

  He walked, with Cassie still in tow, to the counter.

  “Hi. Say, how much for that little village model over there in the window?”

  His question caused the short woman, dressed in antiquated dress of the Alps, to move from behind the counter to the window display.

  “This one?” The clerk bent to touch the model.

  “The very one,” David said.

  The woman went again to behind the counter, checked price listings, and said, “Two hundred fifty dollars and forty-five cents.”

  “That’s too much,” Cassie said before she could catch herself.

  “Yeah. That is a lot,” David said. “Tell you what,” he said, looking at the woman and squinting, as if he was squaring off for a bargaining session. “You knock off the 45 cents, and we have a deal.”

  “That sounds like a deal to me,” the clerk said, David Prouse having won her sales-clerk’s heart with his charm.

  “What’s your brand?” He took out his wallet and began thumbing through the many credit cards.

  Ten minutes later they sat at a small outdoor area of a coffee shop.

  “Thanks for the gift,” Cassie said, seeing the handsome face through senses that had, she knew, already fallen under this wonderful guy’s spell. Could this be the one? Could he? …

  “Always wanted to have my own town,” he said, sipping the mocha latte. “Maybe you could call it Prouseville…”

  “Prouseville it is,” she said, sipping from her cup of hot chocolate.

  Silence sat between them for several seconds, their eyes meeting. Hers dropped to the chocolate, then shifted nervously away to the mountains.

  “This is meant to be, you know, Cassie?”

  She looked at him, a puzzled expression on her face –the most beautiful he had seen.

  “God puts things…situations…people…together, you know?”

  She didn’t know how to respond. She believed in God. Didn’t know him very well. But believed there was a God, a Heaven…

  “He’s brought us together. And, I owe him big time for that,” David said, reaching across the small wrought-iron table to take her hand.

  “Do you think you could ever… Come to feel about me…the way I feel about you?”

  “How--how do you feel about me?” She didn’t know how else to answer.

  “I love you, Cassie.”

  Nigel Saxton wondered why the rottweiler refused to move more than a couple of meters from the man’s side. He had to stop and rest every 50 meters or so, because the backpack was cumbersome while trying at the same time to support the man, who could limp beside him but couldn’t speak.

  They stopped at the point just where the concrete of Alamosa met the beginning of the mountains foothills. This was the time to do it.

  He removed the backpack after helping the man lie on the snowy grass. The canine came and lay behind the man, sniffing his face, and giving a lick and a high-pitched whimper.

  The dog knew this fellow, the Brit assured himself, taking off his right glove and holding it in his teeth while he rummaged through a pocket of the pack.

  “Ah. Got it!”

  He brought out a small, leather-covered notebook.

  “Yes!” He patted the man, who tried to lift his head, but shut his eyes and drifted to semi-consciousness again.

  “Your name is Clark, Clark Lansing,” Saxton said, pleased with himself that he was always faithful to jot down the names of those he met, no matter the circumstances.

  This was Clark Lansing, the journalist he had met on the ride into this very town--the Bigfoot hunter. And, a successful one, at that.

  His thoughts were becoming giddy, he recognized. They had to find rest and get Lansing some medical help. No telling how much damage that… whatever it was… had done to him…

  When he had put on the backpack and convinced Clark to begin limping again toward the town, they moved through what appeared to be a small park, with children’s playground equipment that obviously would be unused for the foreseeable future because of the onset of the mountain winter.

  He remembered something he had meant to do.

  “Stand here, Clark,” he said, letting go of his companion, then taking the backpack from his shoulders.

  He took from the pack a long, thick cord.

  “Come here, boy,” he said, kneeling to meet the rottweiler, who at first pulled away from Nigel, seeing the cord.

  “We’ve got to have you on leash, old chap,” Saxton said in reassuring tone.

  He tied the cord around the dog’s collar at the metal loops, then again jumped the backpack onto his shoulders.

  “We don’t want the constables putting you in doggie lock-up,” Nigel said, taking Clark’s left arm and putting it around his own neck and shoulder above the backpack.

  George Jenkins was up early and fuming. He strode in short, quick steps toward the main laboratory, a roll of papers in his right hand. He slapped the palm of his left with the papers. When he burst through the big double doors, several men and women in lab coats hurried to intercept him.

  “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

  His words were not shouted, they were seethed between clenched teeth. But everyone in the immediate vicinity knew he was livid.

  “Sir…” One of the men started to offer an explanation but was interrupted by the angry black ops chief.

  “You have him on video, don’t you? You were supposed to always keep the subjects on video.”

  “Yes, sir. We have the recordings.”

  “Let’s see them,” Jenkins said, walking faster toward the area in which all experiments were monitored.

  The others struggled to keep up with their boss.

  He exploded into the semi-darkened room.

  “Which monitor?”

  “This one, sir,” a woman said, pointing to the big monitor near one corner of the room.

  “Run it.”

  One of the scientists sat at an inclined control board and manipulated the essential controls. The video began to roll.

  Jenkins’ eyes flashed with anger between slitted eyelids while he viewed what had happened in the previous early morning hours. He twisted the roll of papers with both hands, then, realizing they were important papers, released his grip, and tried to undo the damage he had done.

  “We can’t figure what happened, sir,” the woman said. “You see, here the subject sits –like he
has been since the introduction of the sedatives. He seems barely able to function.”

  The screen suddenly grew bright, so much so that the whole recorded image was whited out, the image completely lost. The room darkened as quickly as it had burst with light, and the man who had been sitting was no longer there.

  Jenkins’ eyelids narrowed even more. He growled his angry displeasure.

  “What happened? Was this the RAPTURE? Who did this?”

  “No sir. The RAPTURE had not been used in more than 24 hours. That is, previous to the subjects being gone from the holding room. We used it to send a BORG after him.”

  “He was not to be damaged, you fools! That thing will tear him apart…”

  “Sir, we retrieved the BORG before he could harm the subject.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “Yes, sir. The device within the subject’s body shows his vital functions are good. He does remain in a sedated state. He didn’t escape. He was somehow taken from the holding room.”

  They must have taken him for some reason. Removed him from the lab setting for their own purposes. Jenkins’ thoughts caromed in his now fully-awake brain.

  “You have his location?”

  “All we know is where the BORG was placed, then retrieved. The subject didn’t yet have a GPS chip.”

  “Great! Just great!” Jenkins slammed a nearby wall with the heel of his fist, further crumpling the rolled-up papers. “Then he IS escaped!

  11:43, Alamosa

  “David is with Christopher and Susie, and his dad. You want to go get a bite?”

  Cassie stuck her head out of the hotel bathroom, looking in Kristi Flannigan’s direction while brushing her auburn hair.

  “Well, I guess I won’t have my feelings hurt by taking second place,” Kristi said, then looked back to the laptop screen at her e-mail.

  “Well, you are the one who said you wanted to make sure David and I had time to be together. We offered to have you tag along,” Cassie said, her use of the words “tag along” emphasized for playfully irritating the girl who was, along with Morgan, her best friend.

  “Yeah. I’ll ‘tag along’ with you for a bite –since Mr. Wonderful is busy.” Cassie, still brushing her hair, walked to Kristi, who continued to scan the monitor.

  “Seriously, Krissie… you are so sweet to give us space. But, you ARE welcome with us.”

  Kristi turned and laid her face against Cassie’s arm. “No, you two need to get to know each other. I’m fine, really.”

  “What is David doing with the others?” Kristi asked, turning from the screen, then standing and stretching her long limbs and body.

  “They’re trying to contact Mark and Lori by their cell. They thought they would have heard from them by now. David’s checking in Denver with the FBI people, I believe.”

  “What in the world is this all about, Cass? What are we into? Two guys just…disappear?”

  Susie is convinced it’s something to do with the end of days. I just don’t understand it, the things she and the others are talking about…”

  “Yeah. What does that mean, the ‘end of days’?”

  “Something to do with the second coming of Jesus, or something.”

  Cassie returned to the bathroom, and Kristi looked to the mirror of the closet door. Her body was shapely enough, she thought. A little skinny, maybe. But, that was due to her height.

  She moved closer to the mirror, looking at the pretty face that looked back at her. Only, she thought, it isn’t so pretty. It’s losing its tan, and she thought that a touch of blush was in order. She would take care of that when Cassie vacated the bathroom…

  Jesus. The second coming. What could that have to do with all of this? She would look into that, she assured herself, turning sideways to examine, then assess, her shape in these pants.

  “Not bad,” she thought. “Right!” she said to herself, then. “Then why are you alone, while your friends have the guys going after them?” The girls walked a block from the hotel’s entranceway 15 minutes later. The shops were now in full swing in the downtown tourist area. They looked longingly at the many trinkets for sale, amazed that the prices were higher than such things would be in Manhattan.

  Cassie bent to look at a painting that interested her. Kristi started to look more closely at Cassie’s insistence, but before doing so, she caught glimpse of something dark rounding a corner 20-feet away. It was a dog leading a man.

  “Cass!” Kristi pulled at her friend’s sleeve.

  Cassie stood and looked in the direction Kristi was looking.

  “That dog, did you see it?”

  “No. Where was it?”

  “Going around that corner,” she said, pointing toward a building of brown stucco and trimmed in white wood.

  “What about it?” Cassie asked, but knowing by her friend’s tone that Kristi had seen something amazing.

  “That was a rottweiler. And, I swear, it looked just like Jeddy. It looked exactly like the Peanut!”

  “Let’s go!”

  Cassie ran ahead of Kristi, who soon caught up.

  “They were headed this way,” Kristi said, taking the lead, her longer legs, used to afternoon runs, striding smoothly.

  Rounding the back corner of a large building, they caught a glimpse of a man moving just out of sight into what looked to be an alley way.

  “There he is!” Kristi pointed, and broke into a full run, leaving Cassie behind.

  She entered the long, narrow alley, seeing the man walking ahead, led by the dog.

  “Hey! Sir! Wait, please!” she said breathlessly.

  Nigel Saxton pulled on the new leash he had just purchased for the rottweiler.

  “Hold up, chap,” he said, causing the dog to stop, then turn to see what the man wanted of him.

  “Jeddy! Is that you, Jeddy?!”

  Kristi’s shouted words made the rottweiler come to attention. He lifted his ears in alertness, then leaped to action, moving with great strength toward the female, startling Saxton, who almost lost control of the powerful canine.

  Cassie had caught up, and knelt, as did Kristi.

  Jeddy rushed to them, his huge black body shaking in the greeting wiggles of a puppy. He licked their faces, going from one girl to the other.

  “Oh, Peanut!” both said in unison. “Is it really you, Peanut?!”

  David Prouse snapped the cell phone shut. He turned to his grandfather, Susie and Christopher Banyon.

  “There’s no breaking through this, from this end,” he said in a resigned tone. “Grandpa, you might have to call on a couple of your friends in D.C. to find out about what’s happened to them.”

  “I was afraid that would be the case,” Randall said. “They treat these secret operations –these black ops things— as almost sacred.”

  Christopher Banyon looked to Randall, then at the younger Prouse. “There is nothing to be done –other than try to get someone with influence in Washington involved?”

  “Oh, I have some ideas,” David said. “These people don’t like publicity. News people aren’t crazy about governmental secret projects, especially not about those of military significance. And, they don’t like this administration. We know that.”

  “Of course. Stir up some publicity!”

  “Or, even better at this stage, Grandpa. Threaten to stir up some stuff…”

  The cell alerted David, and he flipped the phone open. He listened for a second after the greeting, then said with excitement, “You’ve found Clark? And Morgan’s rottweiler?!”

  The words instantly riveted the others’ attention to David’s face while he continued to listen before speaking again.

  “We’ll meet you.”

  Less than 15 minutes later, Kristi led them into a small individual motel unit. She calmed the rottweiler, who stood and began to bristle when the door opened.

  “It’s okay, Peanut. They’re friends. It’s okay…” Cassie’s words seemed to put the dog somewhat at ease, and the five peo
ple moved closer to the bed.

  “Clark,” Christopher said, coming to the side of the bed and reaching to touch Clark Lansing, who blinked, glanced toward him, then seemed to lapse again into sleep.

  “Nigel Saxton,” the Brit said, offering his right hand to David, then to Randall.

  “I think he will be fine,” Saxton said. “Circumstances prevent me from getting him medical assistance at present.”

  “What happened to him?” Susie asked, feeling Clark’s face with the back of her right hand. “He doesn’t seem to have fever.”

  “Actually, the dog and I ran into him quite by chance on the way down from the mountain,” Saxton said. “The big fellow there sniffed him out –in a bit

  of wood, a small forest area just off our course. The dog smelled him… smelled something…”

  They all heard in the Brit’s words a hint of mystery. Randall Prouse spoke for the others. “There’s more to it than you’re telling, I think,” he said.

  Saxton said nothing, but they could see the truth of Randall’s supposition in the Brit’s eyes. Nigel said after a few seconds of considering the elder Prouse’s

  words.

  “Yes. Most definitely.”

  He stood from one corner of one of the two beds. He paced, obviously looking for just the right words.

  “Seems our friend--Clark--found what he was looking for,” Saxton said, finally.

  He fell silent again and the others looked at him, making him uncomfortable, knowing they expected a fuller explanation.

  “You know him. Perhaps you know about the nature of his work.”

  “He’s a reporter, a journalist,” Cassie said.

  “Yes, but I mean, specifically, the type things he is investigating--at least that he told me he is investigating,” Nigel said.

  “He told his father and mother he was looking into these Bigfoot sightings. He’s been doing this since around 2001 or so, I think,” Christopher Banyon