Terminus (8 page)

As she drove off, she turned on Jonathan Hartwell again.

“...and I say to you now...Your best days are just ahead, and closer than you think”

15

IT MADE LITTLE SENSE NOW, but the first thing Yuri did after seeing Jonas’s corpse was to try and pull it back on board—until the sickening vibration of the dead skipper’s  neck bones deterred him.  He rushed back down to the hold, sloshed around in the water, and found a flashlight in a toolbox that floated by and banged into his shin.

He swept the entire compartment from edge to edge.  The water, he found, was deeper on one end and shifted each time the boat shifted.  The flashlight beam disclosed several dead fish floating by his ankles, their eyes and mouths open wide in an expression that made him think of Jonas, still hanging on the side of the boat.  With a shudder, he shook the image from his mind and continued to search the hold.

The crate which held his precious cargo must have broken open during last night’s storm.  The only thing in it was packing materials and splinters, one of which caught under his thumbnail.  Yuri cussed in Russian. 

I’m sorry, Mommochka.

She hated it when he used “vulgar” language because she believed, deep down, that he was good.  Not so his stepfather—Sascha had beaten him almost every day of his childhood. 
You’re worthless, useless, you’ll never amount to anything. 
Deep down, he’d always believed Sascha.

He’d made ten-year-old Yuri steal liquor from the corner store, then forced him to watch dirty videos with him, taught him to drink, smoke, deal drugs, and worse.  By the time he was fourteen, he’d experienced more debauchery than most men would in a lifetime.

And Mommochka knew.

But she couldn’t do anything about it. Sascha blackmailed her with an ongoing threat to Yuri’s life should she ever tell anybody, try to stop him, or leave.  And with all the beatings she took from him, Yuri had no doubt he would kill her, too.

Naturally, the first person Yuri ever killed without being paid was Sascha.  But it was too little, too late.  His mother was dying in the hospital from lung cancer, Yuri holding her hand till her last breath, when he whispered with tears in his voice, “You’re free at last, Mommochka.”

Damn, he was
crying.

He hadn’t thought of his mother for so long, and now was no time to start looking to the past.  He had to find the package, find a way to get this ridiculous boat back to dry land.
 God, if you help me get to Mexico safe I promise this will be the last
—

Something gently bumped the back of his ankle.

He whirled around with the flashlight.

Floating like a rectangular life preserver was the suitcase containing the components for the package he was delivering. 

“Thank you!” he cried, then grabbed the suitcase. 

There was hope after all.  Someone might rescue him if he could get onto Jonas’s radio.  He hurried up the steps to search for it.

Having gotten past the border authorities of at least four countries and survived the deathly grip of the Pacific Ocean, Yuri now felt invincible.  Not even Jonas had survived—the madman of the seas now hung like some gruesome ornament from his own boat.  Yes, Yuri would get to his destination, complete his job, and become obscenely rich in just a few days.

Nothing could stand in his way now.

Except for the large white ship with a large red diagonal stripe and a thin blue one that now stood at the fishing boat’s bow with the words U.S. Coast Guard emblazoned on its hull.

16

HOW COULD SUCH A NICE BLOKE as Jonathan Hartwell be so dangerous an influence?  Nick found it hard to see this loving father as a future threat to millions of people.

He’d read Matthew a bedtime story and put him to bed a couple of hours ago.  Now he sat in his plush leather executive chair staring at the screensaver. Photos of the wedding.  Elaine, the world’s most beautiful bride.  Matthew, sitting in a stroller at two. 

Hartwell was thinking now, and some angels could discern human thoughts.  “Listening in” wasn’t one of Nick’s outstanding abilities, like that ridiculous power of healing he was forbidden to use.  But he could do it.  In fact, he was finding himself able to hear more clearly than ever.  Which was convenient if he was to prevent Hartwell from his daily studies and routines over the next two weeks.

Hartwell sighed.  He thought.  Remaining invisible, Nick heard.

// SHE’S RIGHT.  IF I’M EVER GOING TO GET TO THAT NEXT LEVEL I’VE GOT TO TAKE THINGS MORE SERIOUSLY. //

He reached for his notebook and Bible.

His shoulders relaxed a bit.

// CAN’T BELIEVE I’VE LET THINGS SLIDE FOR SO LONG //

He was about to commence his daily studies.  Nothing so terrible about that—especially since his materials included the Good Book.  But Nick’s assignment was clear.

A smile lit up Jon’s face as he zipped open the leather cover of his Bible and began leafing through the pages.

Nick flicked a finger.

Hartwell’s computer sounded an email alert chime. Not that the computer actually chimed, it was just a small auditory construct.

About to read the first lines of the sixth chapter of the gospel according to Matthew, Jon looked up for a second at the screen. He deliberated for all of two seconds.

// NO...EMAILS CAN WAIT //

“Oh, come on.”  He didn’t feel right about getting in Hartwell’s way at the moment, but—    

Nick’s phone rang.

And at the same moment, so did Hartwell’s.  The young preacher let it ring a few times before Nick answered Lena’s call.

“Nikolai, are we having any difficulty with the assignment?”  He could just see the smirk on her face.

“Of course not. As a matter of fact, I just—”

“Hold on...”

Before he knew it, she was standing before him.

“I don’t need any hand-holding, Lena.”

Shushing him, she looked over at Hartwell, who was still on his cell phone.  Tension furrowed his brow.

Nick turned to Lena.  “What are you doing here?”

“Saving you and your cute little angel butt from blowing it.”

“I just got started!”

“If he even begins to read his Bible tonight, it’s going to make both our jobs
much
more difficult down the line.  I’m not about to let my director chew me out for your mistakes.”

“I’m not making any. In fact, I already—hold on...Listen.””

Hartwell walked over to his shoes and slipped them on while he talked.

“You sure?...I suppose so…. Well, it can’t wait if she’s that desperate.”

Nick and Lena looked at each other.

“Again, what are you doing here?”  Nick said.

“I’ve already done it.  Just watch.”

Elaine came to the door, her arms folded.

“Who’re you talking to?  And why in the world are you whispering?”

“It’s all right,” Hartwell said into his phone, “I’ll be there right away.”

“Jon?”

“Ten minutes, see you there.”

“Jon, who are you talking to?”

He hung up, put on his jacket, and walked to the door.

“That was Carla. There’s an emergency at church.”

Elaine blocked the doorway.

“You’re going out
now
?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Jon, if you don’t start valuing your own time, your family time, your followers will never respect it.  Trust your wife on this.  Set some boundaries.”

“Excuse me.” 

He took her wrist and gently began to pull it away from the door frame.  Elaine jerked it out of his grip and slapped it back down, again blocking the way. 

“No.  I’m insisting you stay.  You’re going to thank me one day for this tough love, baby.”

“What do you want from me!”  Now, for the first time, Nick saw healthy indignation in Jon’s eyes.  Elaine’s, on the other hand, were shimmering.  Crocodile tears, no doubt.

Jon stood there, waiting.

“I...I just want...”

“What!”

“I just want you to set some boundaries!”

He took hold of her wrist again.  This time he lifted it off the door frame and put her hand down at her side. 

“I’m setting some now:  You don’t control me or my schedule.”

And without looking back, he left.

17

TRANSPORTED OUT OF THE HARTWELL’S HOUSE, he stood on the front lawn with Lena, who was massaging the back of his neck.  Her fingers caused a prickling sensation he’d not experienced for a while.  The rain had stopped.

“Nice work, Nikolai.”

“I’d still prefer it if you call me Nick.” 

“Hope you don’t mind my help on your first assignment.”

He shrugged.  “I didn’t need it.”

“You’re welcome, anyway.”

Hartwell’s Audi backed out of the garage and sped down the street, engine roaring as though fueled by the anger Elaine had ignited in him.

“Remember,” Lena said, “all you have to do is keep him distracted.  As you can see, the land mines of his life will take care of themselves.”

“Well, that’s...grim.”

“This from a reaper?”

“Ex-reaper.”

“Whatever.  Now, your next assignment—”

“About that,” he said.

Lena’s penetrating gaze made him uneasy. 

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“Good.  Because this one is the most important of the three.” 

She snapped her fingers and a three-dimensional image that looked like a holographic projection appeared before them: that same disheveled woman, oily hair snaking around her grimy face, eyes shut tight, lips moving like a crazy person’s—and he had enough experience to know what those were like.   

“Something about this subject make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all,” Nick said.  “I just...”

“Her name is—”

“Don’t tell me.”

Lena’s eyes opened wider for a moment and a curious smile pulled at the corners of her mouth.  She snapped her fingers and the image of the subject winked out of sight. 

“Why?”

“I mean, knowing her name would only make it more difficult.  You see, ushering someone to the Terminus is one thing, but
causing
a human’s death?”

Lena smiled.  “You’ve got such a tender heart.”

“I’ve nothing of the sort.”

“I just adore that about you,” she said, gently taking his hand.

A tingling warmth ran through his hand, arm, chest.  But rather than alarm him because it was so physical, the touch brought him comfort. 

“Doesn’t sit well with me is all,” he said.

“You’ve got to remember a couple of things—things you can learn from human wisdom.”  She drew quotation marks around the word
wisdom
.  “First, looks can be deceiving.  And second, you’re an accessory to a crime if you don’t seize the opportunity to stop it.”

“She’s just a poor homeless woman.”

“Nick, you’re not causing her death, okay?  It’s suicide—her
own
doing.  You’re just keeping her on track.”

“How?”

“By reminding her of what she feels about herself, her life.  Look, she’s already condemned herself.  It’s that simple.  But if she talks herself out of it, if she lives, she’ll destroy the future of innumerable souls by misguiding them.”  She stepped close and looked into his eyes, her red lips parted enough for him to see her pearly teeth, the tip of her tongue dancing as she spoke.  “You don’t want that on your record, do you?”

“I guess not.”

“Come on, Nikolai.  It’s just like ushering them to the Terminus, only a little earlier.”

For a brief moment his knees threatened to give out.  His thoughts and feelings blurred, had no clarity.  Lena’s voice, her eyes, her lips—they weakened him. 

Like a wound
.

Lena blinked.  “A wound?”

“Did I say that out loud?”

She gave him a queer look.

“I only meant...well, allowing a dangerous person like this unnamed subject to go unchecked would be like allowing a wound to fester.”

“That really how you see it?”

“Is there any other way?”

“Good.” Much to his surprise, she pulled his head down to her and brushed her lips against his ear as she whispered.  “Then you’re ready.”

“As I’ll ever be.”

“Off you go, then.”  With a gentle nudge, she prodded him to the sidewalk. There she opened a portal mid-air and Nick, dazed, stepped inside without looking back.

Without noticing the wisps of the dark vapor that followed him in.

18

LENA BREATHED A SIGH OF RELIEF as Nick left.  The assignments seemed simple enough, but why did Morloch consider them prerequisites for consideration of her proposal?  Did he really believe two humans at one stadium event could create so much damage to the cause?  

It didn’t matter.  Nick was more than capable of carrying out these orders, he just needed a bit of nudging and direction.

She turned to the house to find Elaine standing at the open window of her bedroom, gazing down at the street on which her husband had just driven away.  She wore the expression of one who’d been devalued, maimed by cruel words and insensitivity.  Feelings that resounded in that catacomb of memories Lena tried to keep sealed but could not help allowing to reopen on occasion like the old wounds they were
.

“You have to hang on—I’m going to get help.” 

“Be...strong, Punkin’...”

No!  This is nothing like that.

A sob from the window brought Lena back to Elaine, her face laced with regret, sadness, guilt.  This broken and contrite spirit within her could prove troublesome—better do something about it.  Whispering to her soul, Lena projected the thoughts:

// WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS, JUST TOSSING YOU ASIDE LIKE THAT?//

A sudden alertness lit Elaine’s eyes.  The sadness in her face yielded first to a neutral look, then a growing suspicion.