Beyond the Event Horizon of the Damned: The Anomaly, #5

By Loyd Gardner

In the fifth and final book of The Anomaly series, Gary and Cherie are surrounded by people who have to choose a side. Now that the anomaly is flesh and blood, the goals and the stakes have never been higher. Can Gary change the world and, if he can, will he be surrounded by friends, sycophants, or enemies?

 

Previous books in the series include: Invisible Threads, The Gathering Storm, Breaking the Seals, and The Chosen.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Loyd Gardner
• Release date: Mar 23, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224181063

Loyd Gardner

Loyd Gardner has lived and worked throughout the world and uses that experience to create unusual stories with unusual characters in unusual situations. While he focuses on speculative fiction, his work includes aspects of psycholigical thrillers and the supernatural. The Anomaly Series, which starts with Invisible Threads is a series of four novels which are complete and will be published throughout 2023 and 2024. Loyd has also published a series of ten novella-length Scooby Doo fan fiction stories at www.fanfiction.net as glide10001. These stories approach the Scooby Doo Gang as they are now adults and dealing with real-world financial and relationship issues while still solving mysteries.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The scream which woke her was, of course, her own.

Cherie waited for Gary to lay down beside her in the dark and put his arms around her shoulders. She slid into them and allowed him to hold her. The tremors quaking her tiny frame became more noticeable as she pressed herself against him. Her hair was drenched in sweat and plastered down on her forehead. It felt nasty. The inside of the sweatsuit in which she slept was also sweaty and nasty. She knew that she would be more comfortable in shorts and a t-shirt but she didn’t want to switch to less clothing and possibly give Gary ideas.

And she also didn’t want to be held by him. She didn’t want to need to be held by him. What she wanted was to cease waking up screaming night after night, but that was not meant to be. This nightly ritual had been earned by them both. The burden of guilt which they shared bound them together more than any ring, contract, or antiquated church ritual ever could.

The Mark of Cain multiplied by fifty-two million.

She knew that Gary could remove the guilt from her. All she had to do was ask and it would be gone as if it had never existed. He could reach into her mind and just erase it. But then he would be left alone with their joint crime against humanity and as guilty as he was, he did not deserve to bear that burden alone. And she did not deserve to be free from it.

This faux redemption had been offered and she had said ‘no’. Were he to offer it again, she would say ‘no’ again. Were he to continue pressing after that, she would kick him in the balls. There were limits to her patience.

Then the tears came. The nightly deluge that drenched his t-shirt as he held her close. The tears made her furious with herself since she knew that she was not crying for the fifty-two million people they had killed but for the loss of hope in her own life. The selfishness of these tears showed exactly who she really was and confirmed that she deserved the guilt which lay so heavily on her. 

Gary held her silently. He knew better than to try words. Words were useless in the world in which he and Cherie now lived and words had been a tool that he had never been able to wield well even for lesser things. He had no chance in finding the right words that would heal this gaping wound. If he did, he would say them to himself. Words were his enemy.

The nightly cycle was working its way to completion. Exhausted from screaming and crying, Cherie was settling back into a restless slumber. Gary listened for her breathing to settle into the rhythm that indicated that she was again asleep. Laying her gently back down on the bed, he pulled the covers away from her so that the sweat would dry from her hair and clothes.

Once this was done, he stood and looked in the mirror at the haggard face with the black circles under the eyes which stared back at him. Alone, he awaited the dawn.

CHAPTER ONE

Bill had tried all day to talk himself into calling Michaela back and cancelling dinner. Although the precise words had not been spoken, he knew that this dinner was a return to his obsession with Gary Richardson and Gerald, the anomaly.

He imagined himself standing halfway between Gary and Ruth, Bill’s own daughter, who loved and trusted him. Every step toward Gary was a step away from Ruth. Every step toward Ruth was a step away from Gary. Right now, he was driving toward Gary at forty-five miles per hour. Ruth was in his rearview mirror. But he didn’t stop and turn around.

He was at war with himself and he was losing.

He arrived at the restaurant five minutes early. Nearly a week after the last case of the disease, people remained hesitant to crowd together and go out, so most of the tables were empty. Michaela had arrived even earlier and was sitting at a table near the back of the room with her back toward the room’s corner. Something about that reminded him of a mobster movie. It would have felt better if he were reminded of a romantic comedy but that wasn’t the vibe.

He smiled and waved. She smiled and waved back. So far, so good.

To sit directly across the table from her would put his back out into the room which was uncomfortable so he sat on the side of the table next to her.

She was not perusing the menu and no bread sticks or whatever this restaurant brought out first were on the table.

Taking his lead from her, he did not pick up the menu. I didn’t expect to hear from you again.

She smiled. It was a very pretty smile even if it didn’t quite seem to reach her eyes. I found something out during our last date. And that is that when I see you completely outside of work and in a social setting, I still don’t like you. Not at all. Not one little bit. You annoy me. She sipped her water.

Then why are we sitting here?

Because I have a proposition for you.

What? Is this a booty call?

I’m warning you. If you keep saying stupid shit and cross my line, I will not give you a feminine slap. I will take you out. Do we understand each other?

I understand that you need something from me or we wouldn’t be sitting here. You either stop the bullshit posturing or I leave. Any more ground rules we want to set?

Round One ended in a draw.

She flushed it and moved on. Are you still interested in Gary Richardson?

No.

No? You went from totally obsessed to disinterested?

No. I went from totally obsessed to destroying my marriage to fighting for the right to be a part of my daughter’s life to starting my life over from scratch, to sitting here with a woman who is threatening me and finally to disinterested. Or, more accurately, much more interested in other things.

Round Two to Bill.

Michaela started spewing words in order to regroup and figure out her next point of attack. You know those conspiracy theories about the Government keeping all of these secrets from the people? They’re all horseshit. The Government leaks like a sieve. I wouldn’t trust us planning a surprise party.

She paused for effect, but he wasn’t going to give up his temporary advantage by seeming interested. She continued, The rumor floating around now is that the President is sending Gary to Jerusalem to broker peace in the Mid-East.

Peace in the Middle East?

She nodded.

He thought for a moment. And this is going to take place in Jerusalem?

Round Three to Michaela.

The rumors seem pretty solid and Jerusalem seems to be the place.

Bill felt his anger rising. If you’re making this up, I’ll do whatever it takes to end your career.

It won’t be hard. All you have to do is tell my boss we’re having this conversation.

Match to Michaela.

What do you need from me?

I need help figuring Gary Richardson out.

And Gerald.

Who? Oh, the anomaly. Yeah, him too.

So, what help can I be?

Sometimes it’s easier to figure things out when you’re not wearing a badge.

Like when what you are trying to figure out is protected by an executive order?

Yeah, exactly like that. But right now, I need for you to follow me home.

There were times for off-color jokes and this was not one of them. Okay.

As per the prearranged deal between Michaela and the waitress, she had never bothered them and expected no order after water. Michaela left a $20 tip. Bill followed Michaela out of the restaurant and into the parking lot. She gave him her address which he programmed into his phone. It was farther from the restaurant than he would have expected but maybe she made it a habit to meet men in restaurants as far from where she lived as practical.

He didn’t need the map app as traffic was light and she drove slowly. Her car remained in sight.

She lived in a small single-story house in a subdivision with no trees and quarter acre lots. There was no grass or landscaping to speak of but it looked well-kept in an arid desert style. The house was probably two but maybe three bedrooms. He couldn’t tell at night and there was no reason to ask.

The front door opened directly into the living room without a trace of a foyer. There were pegs on the wall for coats. He didn’t have one. It was open concept and he could see the living room, kitchen, and a third room which was intended as a dining room but used as a home office. The living room was immaculate, the kitchen clean and tidy, and the office was a mess.

There was no map of pictures tacked to the wall connected by strings. Just a few pictures of what Bill assumed to be family members. But every horizontal surface was littered with papers.

The bathroom is through there. First door on the left. She pointed at a hallway which exited between the kitchen and the office and headed back into darkness.

Bill needed to relieve himself and was not trying to impress her, so he took her up on the offer and used it. The bathroom was perfectly clean with no personal effects which meant that the house had a master bath. Since she had sacrificed the dining room for an office, that probably meant it only had two bedrooms. He was feeling like Sherlock Holmes as he deduced a bunch of useless trivia.

When he returned, she was sitting at her desk with the desktop computer booting up in front of her. A very uncomfortable-looking folding chair was placed beside her. He assumed that was where he was supposed to sit. Elementary, my dear Watson.

Anything here confidential or that I shouldn’t look at?

What? Oh, the papers. I don’t bring work home especially in paper form. Disaster waiting to happen. This is genealogy stuff.

Genealogy?

Right. It’s a hobby. Me and Alex Haley.

He had no clue who that was. Interesting.

Only to me. Does the name Aniston Long mean anything to you?

Is that a member of your family?

No. I’m going to show you a video.

A YouTube video popped up on the screen.

Bill recognized the location even from the different angle. That’s the airport in Van Nuys.

Yes, it is. The person who videoed this did not know which terminal your group was going to exit from, so they kept panning back and forth up and down the street.

She started the video and waited through half a sweep and stopped it. She then zoomed in. What do you make of that?

It looks like a guy squatting behind a car. Who is he? The man’s head was popped up and he seemed to be looking around. The camera was high enough quality and close enough that he could make out the man’s features. She had zoomed to the point where pixilation was just starting but Bill would be able to recognize him.

She hit play again and Bill watched the sweep from one end of the street to the other until it returned to the parking lot. She paused it again. Now the man was squatting behind a different car.

Bill looked from the screen to Michaela. I take it that this is Aniston Long.

Play. Sweep. And another stop on the parking lot. This time, the man was carrying a big box up a landing of steps.

Michaela reached over and lightly touched his forearm. She did not look up from the screen. The next one is gold.

At the end of the next sweep, she zoomed in on the landing and the man was behind the guard wall on the landing and pointing what was very obviously a rifle at the airport.

Holy cow!

She hit play again and the gun was gone.

Wait... What? Rewind that.

She reversed it to the end of the last sweep and started it over. There he was on the landing with his rifle in hand and the rifle disappeared.

Reverse it again and go slowly.

She reversed it again and went frame-by-frame. The disappearance of the rifle was instantaneous. One frame it was there and the next frame it wasn’t. He would have been sure that it was edited if it were not for what Gary’s abilities.

Okay. Keep going.

The camera stayed pointing in that direction for a few more seconds and they saw the man stand up and begin to applaud. Suddenly the scene jerked around and focused on the entrance to the terminal. Gary was standing there with Gerald. Gary was looking in the direction of the shooter.

She stopped the video and zoomed on Gary’s face. His face carried a pained expression.

Michaela looked up from the screen. What do you make of that?

Bill took a deep breath. This Aniston Long guy had a gun and wanted to kill Gary. Then the gun was gone and he was clapping. Looks like the work of our friendly neighborhood messiah.

"Yes, it does. Now for the fun stuff. I was able to run the license plates of both the cars he was working on and one of them was registered to him. I was able to do that much of a search without anyone questioning. Mr. Long is sixty-two years old and lives in Los Angeles. According to his social media, he is very religious and has a strong internet presence as an expert on the End Times.

In his social media, he has three posts about Richardson—one before this day and two afterward. The one before was questioning and concerned and the two afterward were praising his name as a likely Second Coming.

That fits what we saw. What do you need me for?

I want to take a week-end road trip with my new sweetie and talk to Mr. Long. You’re my translator. I don’t speak his lingo.

You mean Christian.

Right. I can’t tell him I’m FBI because in this case I’m not. We need to be fellow religious types wanting to speak with him about the End Times and Gary. We start with a friend request on-line and then we happen to be heading to LA. You do the talking and I smile vacuously and look pretty.

With his eyes wide open, Bill made the worst decision of his life. I have two rules: I cannot lose this job and I can’t miss a visitation with my daughter.

Done. We can schedule around those things. Are we partners? She extended her hand.

He looked down at it for a moment. Partners. He was already regretting the decision before they shook hands.

In reality, she was his handler and he was her confidential informant but part of handling him meant that she knew the word ‘partner’ would go down easier. It was just a matter of syntax.

Now call this dude. I’ll send you his number.

Call him now?

It’s not after 9:00... She looked at her phone. ...by much. Call.

Okay.

He made the call.

CHAPTER TWO

Regan felt a sense of foreboding.

She had never felt foreboding before. Depression... regularly. Anxiety... daily. Depression was the weight of the past crushing the present and the future. Anxiety was the uncertainty of the present amid a myriad of options and possible outcomes. Foreboding was new and very different.

Foreboding was the future. Foreboding was certain.

There was no doubt in her mind that forces were already in play which were leading her toward... What? Doom? A bit melodramatic but not inappropriate. If not doom, then an unhappy ending. The cosmic powers of the universe had picked her up and hurled her toward an ending neither of her choosing nor liking. And all she could do was wait for it to happen.

She didn’t like foreboding. Not one little bit. She did not like it in the dark. She did not like it on a train. She did not like it in the rain. She did not like it Sam-I-am.

Being the de facto leader of the twelve who had been chosen to follow Gary had its plusses and minuses. Whenever there was a meeting, she got to attend on behalf of the whole group. This meant that she got to talk to Gary who she found funny and he would actually laugh at her jokes. No one else laughed at her jokes.

This brought about the minus of getting glared at by Cherie. Regan was a lot older than them both and had no romantic feelings toward Gary. He just made her feel normal. And there was no indication that Cherie thought that there was anything romantic going on between Regan and Gary. Cherie just seemed more jealous whenever Gary laughed or smiled. It seemed like that was not allowed.

Another plus was that since Gary had eradicated the disease, there had been nothing for the twelve to do. Daniel kept them on the payroll and kept flying them from place to place and the food was free. It was a great gig. The last two cities they had visited had been Houston and Toronto. Houston hadn’t been much but she had taken two of the others and went exploring anyway. Meh.

Toronto was in another country. She had never been to another country before and that was very cool. She enjoyed seeing the Canadian flag everywhere instead of the US flag. And she also liked using different money. Those two things were very foreign. Nothing else was.

But they were still places that she probably would never have seen without all of this. Was it worth being in a mental institution and the waves of terror? No. Not close. But at least it was something.

That led her to the biggest minus of all. Gerald. When she was close to Gerald and especially when he looked at her, she didn’t feel normal. She felt extremely abnormal. The terror had never reoccurred but it had been replaced with this sense of not-rightness. That was a stupid word but it was the best she could do.

He had never spoken with her. It was as if he didn’t need to. She was going to do what she had to do within whatever plan he had. It felt destined. Unstoppable. And there she was back at the foreboding part.

Now she was back in the plane with the twelve and the support staff and headed to Washington DC. The other plane with Gary and Daniel was taking a detour to Las Vegas. Apparently, Father Cisco and the other woman, Debbie, were rejoining the group. That was fine. They had never interacted much but they seemed nice enough.

The idea of landing in Washington DC brought her foreboding to a crescendo. Washington DC was the start of whatever was going to lead to the unhappy ending.

***

Here they were. Sitting in the charter terminal of the airport. Waiting for the Gary Richardson air force to land. And holding hands. Debbie sat fixated on their intertwined fingers—hers and Cisco’s. How on earth had this happened?

They were about to be picked up by a man with unimaginable power on a mission to do the impossible, again. Armageddon had recently been avoided – or delayed. And the strangest thing to her in this whole scenario was that she and Cisco and were sitting in uncomfortable plastic chairs and holding hands.

There weren’t many people in the charter terminal. There was still not a lot of air travel. But the few that were there didn’t give them a second glance. They were about the same age. He was attractive. She had been called extremely attractive through her adult life. But usually by people, mostly men, who wanted something from her. They were a matched couple. No reason for them to stand out.

While they held hands... in public.

She gave his hand a test squeeze. He smiled and squeezed back. Okay. That worked well enough.

So, all of their problems were over and it was happily-ever-after time. His shockingly harsh and painful schoolboy temper tantrums would cease and her emotional traumas regarding her choices would evaporate.

Yes. Her choices. She was not the victim of some evil manipulating men. Well... she was, but beyond those manipulations, the choices had been hers—eyes wide open. The surprise had not been the world she was falling into but instead the emotional and mental toll it would take on her.

She was not a victim.

She was not a victim.

She was not a goddamn victim.

Because, if she accepted the fact that she had been manipulated by others into the decisions which had ripped her psyche apart, then that would be the last emotional straw. It was easier to deal with guilt than powerlessness.

I love you.

Why had she said that now? Here? What was wrong with her?

He squeezed her hand again. His shoulders visibly sagged and his head lolled forward. His body language was... what?  He knew she was emotionally screwed up but he didn’t know how much. Although she had said those words before, he probably remained unsure that she truly had the capacity to love. Maybe she didn’t know either. And maybe the words that had spilled out of her mouth were a lie. Maybe they were just words that belched forth while she was thinking of something else entirely

I love you, too.

He had said the words before, too—once. Now they had been repeated.

She looked up at him and found him looking at her. Their eyes locked and the next words were going to shape the rest of her life.

Over his shoulder, she saw a woman putting down her radio and coming out from behind the counter.

Please, oh please be coming for us. Please interrupt this before either of us says anything else.

She looked away demurely. Buying a few seconds.

Ms. Giordano? Mr. Garcia?

Saved!

That’s us. She was proud that her voice was steady and possibly a little curt as if the interruption was not welcome.

Your aircraft is taxiing now. We should be able to get you aboard in about five to ten minutes.

She headed back to the counter and they were alone again.

I’d better hit the bathroom. Then you can go when I get back. She stood and walked across the small waiting area.

That should kill a few minutes. Then all she had to do was to find ways to avoid finishing that conversation... forever?

Sitting on the toilet, there was no interesting graffiti on the walls. So, she just sat and wondered just how screwed up she really was.

***

Daniel had decided that with all of the extra money flowing in from willing and determined investors and with offers to open negotiations flooding in from clinics, medical research institutions, pharmaceutical companies, and nations; and with the fact that they were going to be spending a lot of time traveling for the near future, they needed an upgrade. They had swapped out aircraft in Houston.

The model he had chosen did not have an actual bedroom because the only person who really qualified for using it, Gary, slept the least of any of them. But this one had several sofas which turned into almost full-sized beds. More importantly, it had an office which he could use and a conference room which allowed for private conversations. The conference room had one of the sleeper sofas which made it function as a private bedroom if ever such a thing was needed.

If this Mid-East thing worked out then he would get Gary and Cherie his and hers airplanes to separate them so he wouldn’t have to watch the eerie unspoken communications they seemed to share. Alone, Gary was basically Gary, certainly not normal but fitting a known type.

Cherie, however, seemed lost in a world of her own. There were flashes of the caustic, sarcastic, and foul-mouthed young woman that he had originally met—carrying around a chip on her shoulder the size of a Volkswagen. She had been quick-witted and smart as hell. He had immediately liked her me-against-the-world mentality. After the first meeting, he would have bet on her against the world and taken the points.

But now she was broken. Weirder than hell with Gary and deeply turned inward when alone. Everyone knew why. There was no secret. No big reveal on the next page. But there was no easy answer. The magnitude of what she was dealing with was unprecedented.

Cherie was the Gary-whisperer. If she could get her mental and emotional legs back under her, then Gary would follow.

She had never shown any particular fondness for Debbie but also never shown her any real antipathy. Debbie was probably the only person that he could think of that was almost never the recipient of one of Cherie’s verbal onslaughts. Cherie needed someone to talk to that did not remind her of guilt. Maybe that was Debbie. If not, he would either have to find a way to keep Cherie and Gary apart or just deal with it. Probably the latter. He wasn’t going to win going head-to-head against the young woman.

The plane taxied up to the charter terminal. Cisco and Debbie walked across the tarmac holding hands. Well, at least one thing was settled. The co-pilot lowered the door/stairs and the pair got on. There were no hugs. No jubilant greetings. Gary smiled and spoke for a moment with Cisco without standing up. Debbie sat in the chair across from Cherie and started asking questions trying to catch up with the last few days. Cherie was more involved in the conversation than he had seen in a while.

Refueling went quickly with little competing traffic and Daniel spent the time on the phone with Patricia, his top advisor. She started updating him with reports from the investor marketing team. A marketing budget was unnecessary since the international media was doing that for them.

They were mainly answering the phone and internet queries and trying to prepare files on the potential investors. Her next report was from the business development team who was trying to figure out who customers would be for Gary’s services. Again, little marketing and lots of responding to queries. Some potential clients required vetting and research while others, like the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, were financially pretty self- explanatory.

They were still wrestling with what exactly they were selling. The requests coming in for Gary’s services were diverse and disparate. Ranging from billionaires wanting to hire him to keep them alive virtually forever to non-profit organizations wanting to wipe entire diseases from the face of the earth.

Others were even more varied. Mining companies wanting ore extraction with no digging or environmental permits. Countries wanting unlimited access to international secrets. There was no request like that from the United States – score one for the US of A. The value of unsolicited offers was staggering and completely disorganized.

Daniel still could not get his head around how to maximize this potential windfall. The problem was backwards. Usually, there was limited potential with time constraints and his team had to figure out just how to hit it and when. But the potential here was not limited. It was infinite. His team was having to reverse their way of thinking and try and figure out the first chunk to bite off. Whatever they did, money would flow. They just had to make sure that it all flowed through them—or, more accurately—through him.

Amy, Daniel’s wife and the teams legal counsel, had recommended the hiring of three additional law firms to provide more manpower. One firm had as their only responsibility trying to figure out a way to patent Gary and to patent him in the name of a corporation. They were already at work patenting the process through which Gary had enabled his ability but now that he no longer needed the machinery, it got more challenging.

Their initial briefs indicated that patenting a human being was not possible but patenting his unique abilities might be in a grey area. Preliminary thinking was that for such a corporation to hold such a patent, Gary would have to be a majority shareholder or the corporation would dissolve. Otherwise, they could run into Constitutional issues which could tie things up for years.

In the meantime, Daniel had to create a new and stronger contract creating an exclusive relationship between Gary and himself. The exclusivity clause had another legal team devoted to it. He might have to take those PR guys off his shit list. Being married to an attorney was paying off in spades.

On the financial side, there was no way humanly possible to keep this many balls in the air.

But Patricia was trying. As far as investors, we have to decide whether we are going to continue to stick with our established relationships or tap into some of this new blood pounding on the door.

He nodded. Right.

And in business development, we’re going to have to pick one of the areas of opportunity and focus on it.

I understand.

We also need to decide whether to go ahead and start the official patent process or wait until we have some more informal discussions.

I see.

And are we ready to put the latest draft contract in front of Richardson?

He said a rarely used phrase. I don’t know.

Which part?

Any of it. I don’t know were not words that Daniel used lightly. He firmly believed that the only wrong decision was not making a decision. But there was just so much.

Her voice struck a new tone. Thank God! I thought it was just me. Possibly the most human thing he had ever heard Patricia say.

Pat, take the day off. It’s Sunday, for God’s sake. Take tomorrow off. Go to the beach. Have a party. Sit at home and watch old movies and drink heavily. Do whatever you do for yourself. The disease is over and you’re not dead. Celebrate. Oh, and tell the other teams to do the same. Tell everybody not to think about this shit until Tuesday morning. Then we will come at it fresh. And tell everyone that this is administrative paid time off that doesn’t come out of their PTO.

I’m beginning to worry about you.

Maybe I’m going soft in my old age.

I’m sure on Tuesday that you’ll be the same hard-ass that we all know and love.

Count on it.

Soft? No. This was a business decision. He ended the call and tried to stand from the office chair as the plane shook and he fell back into it. He got up and leaned for a moment against the edge of the desk. Things were too new and different. Everybody needed time to let their minds adjust to the rate at which things were moving. Even him. Maybe especially him.

He stepped out of the little office and saw Cisco and Debbie getting up from their seats.

You two got a minute?

They both nodded, left their backpacks on their seats, and followed him into the office. The office, which had seemed pretty large when he was alone, became tiny and cramped with three people in it. The two seats in front of the desk were bolted to the floor and both Cisco and Debbie’s knees pressed up against the front of the desk. Daniel closed the door.

I’m mainly needing to talk with Debbie.

Debbie was hesitant. Okay.

Cherie is going crazy.

You mean that seriously? I mean... like... literally.

Yeah. Literally. She’s losing it. Deteriorating more each day.

What can I do?

I don’t know. She doesn’t hate you which puts you on a short list. I asked Amy to try and bond with her and that flamed out in one morning. I think she needs a friend.

The last sentence seemed odd coming from Daniel. It was almost paternal.

You want me to start being friendly to her?

Yeah. Something like that.

I’ve never made a friend on command before. Not sure how to start.

I don’t know. Figure it out. But don’t bullshit her. She’s smart and will see through it like glass. Shoot straight. Because if we lose Cherie, we might lose Gary.

And lose the payday. It was Cisco.

Damn straight. And maybe I’m not as big a dick as you think I am and I really care about Cherie and even Gary as weird a son of a bitch as he is.

Cisco didn’t back down. And maybe not.

Daniel smiled. And maybe not. He looked back at Debbie. Can you give that a shot?

Sure. It’ll be good to have a job that has some value.

What? Being a Vatican spy doesn’t float your boat?

He’s the spy. I’m fluff.

Whatever you say. We good here?

Good.

The meeting was over.

CHAPTER THREE

During the back half of Bill and Michaela’s date, things moved quickly.

Aniston Long answered the phone immediately. Bill’s cover story was that he and his girlfriend were teaching a Sunday School class on the End Times and their research had given them his name.

Apparently, that was not rare as he did not seem surprised or wary. He immediately invited them to church the next morning. An explanation that they were in Las Vegas had changed the invitation to lunch at his house. He would grill out if the weather was good.

The guy seemed really nice for an almost-murderer. Bill confirmed lunch and got the address.

This left him with his rules about Ruth and his job. He called Emily. She obviously had not taken his name off her phone. Her tone of voice was not pleased.

Hello Bill.

Hi Emily. I was hoping to take Ruth to church with me in the morning. This brought a raised eyebrow from Michaela but she maintained her silence.

Tomorrow? I don’t think so. I need more advance notice than this.

For church? Do you have other plans?

I was considering taking her to church myself.

Which one? I can meet you there.

I don’t think so.

Are you taking her to church?

It doesn’t matter. I need more advance notice. That’s reasonable.

Reasonable. Her lawyer had taught her the magic word.

How much advance notice is reasonable?

A week.

Ridiculous. 24 hours is more than enough.

You aren’t giving me 24 hours.

He paused as if beaten. Okay. But from now on, its twenty-four-hour notice.

Fine.

I’ll call you on Monday to confirm that I get her Tuesday night.

Okay.

Bye.

She hung up.

He started looking through his contacts to call Jim, his new boss. A glance up made him stop. Michaela was staring at him with an odd smile on her face.

If I overheard correctly, you just got your ex to take your kid tomorrow while thinking you were pushing for time, agree to twenty-four-hour notice for visits when her lawyer could get forty-eight, and got Tuesday night.

Something like that.

You know what that makes you?

What?

A clever dumbass. And a clever dumbass is just a little bit dangerous.

Yeah, that’s me. Dr. Danger.

We’ll see.

With that cryptic note, Bill called Jim and asked for Sunday off which was no problem.

The night had ended quickly after that as they had both rushed home to pack. He was packed by midnight and spent another two hours on the internet boning up on End Times prophecies. Long’s name did pop up a lot. The guy spent a lot of time on this.

A series of forced catnaps had ended with Bill getting up at 5:30am. Michaela picked him up at 7:00am and—four and a half hours later—it was confirmed that Michaela truly did not like him. And she also did not like to listen to the radio, or music, or podcasts, or anything. She just liked a combination of silence and making sarcastic insults.

As they made their way through the last few streets before reaching Aniston Long’s house, Bill found himself looking forward to speaking with the erstwhile attempted murderer. It had to be an improvement over the last four and a half hours. And the weather was good, so they were grilling out.

The driveway was too short to accommodate more than one car so they parked along the street. Small single-story faux-bungalows lined the narrow road and his nestled tightly in with the rest.

Unlike some of his neighbors, the house was predominantly muted sand neutral colors with dashes of turquoise around the windows. Simple and plain. His neighbors to either side were trying to make some kind of statement by using bold primary colors along the full face of each. The resultant urban design was akin to a grumpy old man sitting at a loud children’s birthday party.

The house was not well maintained and the stucco façade was replete with cracks and patches of white where the painted stucco had given up the ghost completely and dropped to the ground.

There was no doorbell and just a fading discolored spot on the door where the knocker used to be. Bill knocked with his knuckles on the wood. A brief flurry of footfalls from within resulted in the door swinging open and Bill being greeted by a smallish middle-aged man with a wide smile.

Bill smiled back. Mr. Long, I’m Bill Reynolds and...

Pastor Reynolds!  Come in!  Come in!

Uh-h-h-h-h.

I took the liberty of googling your name on the internet. You didn’t mention last night that you were clergy.

Well, I no longer am. I sell insurance now in Las Vegas.

That must be busy.

It is but my boss gave me today off. And this is Michaela Jefferson.

He shook her hand. Your girlfriend?

Bill thought back to the last four hours but maintained the cover story. Yes. That’s right.

Long looked at Michaela. You’re black.

Michaela’s facial expression didn’t change from the fake smile she had plastered on her face. Last I checked.

Long turned back to Bill. And you’re white.

Bill didn’t know where this was going, so he smiled and tried to power through it. Don’t let my mother know. It would kill her.

Aniston Long reached up and hugged them both simultaneously. Every so often, I think the human race might just be okay after all.

Michaela answered, And the rest of the time, you read books about the end of the world.

Long laughed. Exactly. What else is a sour old curmudgeon in the twilight of his life supposed to focus on? Misery loves company. The smile belied the words.

Michaela stepped through the small foyer-ish area and into the living room. You have a lot of books.

These are just the nice ones with the pretty spines. I keep the beat-up ugly ones in the back. That’s where the rubber meets the road. A pretty book is a book that doesn’t get used.

It’s like pretty food.

Exactly. Two things you should never trust. Pretty food and pretty books. Speaking of food, they’re telling us the supply chain is going to be messed up for a while so I all I could find at the store was ground pork. So, I’m grilling ground pork burgers. Neither of you are kosher, are you?

Michaela seemed to have made the best first impression, so she responded. No. Pig burgers are just fine.

"After you called last