The Last Church Read online

  “Probably just a dream.”

  He was bowled sideways as a body tackled him to the floor. He had seen the man from the corner of his eye as he passed a vase stand. A second was all he had seen; no time to even react before the man was on him. The man pinned his arms to the floor with his knees, followed by two quick, hard punches to the nose to remove any resistance Peter might have given.

  A cold steel blade pushed up against his throat, its edge sliding through skin. Warm blood broke the surface.

  “Where’s the money?” the attacker asked, his voice deep and calm. He was sitting on Peter’s chest. His dark skin and scarred face were immediately intimidating, especially with his eyes covered by mirrored sunglasses. He smiled, and when he spoke a second time, his voice was quiet. “I asked you where the mother-fucking-money was. Are you deaf or something?”

  Peter felt more pressure on the knife. He tried to answer, but with the attacker’s weight on his chest, it was hard enough just to get some air.

  “I’m giving you to the count of five before I push this knife through your fucking throat. One... I don’t usually give people a chance, but you caught me on a good day. Two... Three... Do I need to go any further?”

  Peter shook his head.

  The man smiled and rose slightly. With a turn of the wrist the knife was gone from his throat and its point was aimed at his right eye.

  Peter’s heart thumped against his chest, his breathing was coarse, and it appeared that losing an eye was, for him, more terrible than having his throat sliced apart.

  “Where is it?” the man asked.

  After a couple of quick breaths, Peter said, “I don’t have any money.” His voice was barely audible, and the words came in spits and spats.

  The attacker’s smile vanished. “I don’t think I heard you right, prick.”

  In a clearer voice, Peter repeated, “I don’t have any money. You can check if you like. Look at my faxes, the bank’s about to take my shop for lack of payment. If I had money, the bank would be ignoring me ’cause I’d be a good customer.”

  The man stood up and placed the knife between his belt and jeans. He looked around the shop and walked towards the bookcase.

  “You’re a pussy,” he said.

  Peter remained on the floor.

  “You’re a fucking pussy. There’s at least twenty seven ways to get out of the hold I had on you. As a martial artist, I expected you to know these.” He looked over his shoulder at the man on the floor and slowly shook his head in disappointment. “Fear got the better of you, huh? Well, at least you didn’t piss your pants like some others my employer has chosen.”

  Peter hadn’t the faintest idea what this man was talking about. Employer? Chosen? What the fuck was this guy up to? He decided to remain silent and try to work out the game being played. And try and find a way to escape.

  In a foreign tongue, the man said, “This is no game, Peter Clement. Behind this very bookcase you’ll find a gift that was offered to your father forty-two years ago. A gift he chose not to accept.” The man pretended to be reading the book spines, while he was waiting for understanding to take hold.

  “What are you talking about?” Peter asked, surprised to understand what the man said and to hear his own voice reply in the same tongue. “How can I...”

  The man held up his hand. “All the chosen can. Your father could. His gift is waiting for you behind here.” He nodded at the bookcase. “Read the first three pages. If you agree...whatever you wish for shall be granted.”

  “Why did my father turn the offer down?”

  “Fear.”

  “Of what?” Peter sat with his legs crossed. His heart had slowed to a pace just above normal. He believed there wasn’t any danger from this man anymore.

  “Of nothing but the feeling itself.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I am—” He paused for effect. “—the Meph-Man.” He pulled a few books off the shelf. He looked at the cover of one. His eyes lit up. “This is a beauty. You have no idea what’s in your bookcase, do you?”

  Peter shrugged. “Just some dusty old books. Ten bucks and you can have that.” He smiled. The Meph-Man did not.

  “I used to own this. Read it many times. You should check the printing date; it’s a first issue.” He tossed the book to Peter. “You’re holding three hundred dollars. How does it feel?”

  Peter couldn’t believe it.

  “Find the book I mentioned and make a choice. This is a sampling.” The man stepped around Peter. At the door he said, “Behind the bookcase,” and stepped out into the early morning light.

  He watched the Meph-Man walk past the window. Then he slowly got to his feet, went to the door and looked down the street. The Meph-Man was nowhere in sight.

  Perplexed and still scared, he felt the adrenaline from the fight dissipate and his body started shaking. Peter closed the door and secured the lock.

  Chapter Three

  Area City 2368

  Professor Cotter was a large man. He filled every inch of the soft cushioned chair he sat in. He had a thick white beard and curly silver-white hair. Gray bags hung from his eyelids due to lack of sleep. His net visor was down and he looked busy typing away on the holographic keyboard.

  He didn’t like the new system of projecting thoughts onto the screen and sending that as mail, and there was always the fear of someone tapping into his brain, like those poor girls who’d been mind raped recently. He felt mildly sorry for their foolishness. Why on earth would someone want to be connected to the net all day? He couldn’t understand it and had no intention of researching the subject.

  Instead, he had bigger and better things to think about and research. Like today’s dig in Zone Three. What a wonderful discovery it was. It had taken years for him to find the right area. Three times he had been wrong. Well, not exactly wrong. The first find was Peter’s old house. He concluded it had an earth basement. The kids had found nothing but a hole—a hard molten hole leading deep into darkness.

  The second and third finds were errors also. Disappointing, but all part of the fun.

  This time he was positive he was right. He had found an old web server and managed to get it to run. From there he had found and downloaded an old telephone directory. The information on it was astounding. The information and technology of the twenty-first century was so advanced. He often wondered why the advancements that were possible had stalled and then been lost in the third war.

  Stop it, he told himself, concentrate on what you’re doing, you old fool.

  In the net visor he saw the old map of Opera Sands. A red “X” marked the spot of Peter’s address. There was a blue line next to the “X” reading: For articles, click here.

  Professor Cotter had no idea what “click here” meant. This was information downloaded from the old server, which had provided many articles on Mr. Clement. The main and longest article was about Peter’s disappearance, containing many speculations and rumors. Unfortunately, the last few articles were unreadable. They were loaded as something called a .pdf, and in the six months since getting this information he had yet to find out what a .pdf was. It was another mystery he wanted to discover. He desperately wanted to read those remaining articles. Who knew what they contained?

  A knock at the door broke his already fleeting concentration. He looked up at the monitor panel to see Rachael and her team smiling up at the camera lens. They thought it was hilarious for him to use a camera when all other doors read the knocker's DNA and produced a picture and file on the net visor. He saw no need to change. The old system worked fine and there was no way he was going to be online during his entire working day, especially with so many hackers around. He had stored information which no one except him and two others needed to know.

  “Enter,” he grumbled.

  The door slid open and the team members approached his desk.

  “Ah, Rachael, good to see you. How was your weekend?”

  “Pleasurable, Professor.”


  “Good, good. Well then, are we all looking forward to this excursion?” He looked at each person in turn. Only Ami’s face was alight with hope. He gave her a warm smile. “This is the real one,” he said.

  “Will you be coming with us, Professor?” Ami asked.

  “No, dear, I’m afraid I must give a lecture in half an hour.” He shook his head, smile vanishing. “But,” he added, “I wish I could be there with the six of you.”

  Michael said, “Shall we capture net link?”

  The professor laughed. “No, Michael, but thank you for the offer. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with my lecture and other duties.” His eyebrows rose. “I doubt whether a net link would work where you’ll be.”

  Words appeared on the professor’s net visor, appearing on top of the image of the map. Everyone else heard what Eric said.

  Shall we capture our progress stage by stage and mail them? Or would you prefer to direct download later?

  “A direct download later would be best, Eric. Thank you.”

  Eric nodded agreement.

  “There are three reasons why I asked you here this morning before you left for the dig.”

  I believe we all have our exit passes, Eric said.

  “Oh, hell,” Ami said. She opened her bag and rummaged through. The others tried to suppress their laughter, all failed. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”

  Ami dropped her bag and started searching her pockets.

  Penny Lacort said, “What’s in the bag’s side pocket?”

  Ami lifted the bag by its long side strap and checked the pocket. She pulled out the bar-coded pass. Her cheeks brightened. “Oh, whoops.” She shrugged and said, “I’ve got mine. How about you others?”

  They already had their pass out by the time the question left her lips and she looked up.

  “Well, aren’t we the prepared bunch?” Ami said with a smile.

  The professor coughed. “May I continue?” he asked.

  “Sure,” Ami said.

  He smiled at her. “Thank you, dear.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The professor sighed loudly. “First off, Zone Three may be considered safe by most government agencies, but I’d feel better if you all carried your masks, okay?”

  The group nodded in unison.

  “Second, be careful. The ground out there is unstable at best. The deeper you laser in, the more caution you must take.” He looked at each to be sure they absorbed his message.

  “And the third?” Rachael asked.

  “Yes, the third. Don’t touch anything. Document it all. Capture holographic images and save them. I know you’ve heard me say all this before, but I find that nice little reminders like this are needed. We get excited when we find relics of the past—” He looked at Rachael when he said this. “—and we know how damaged and contaminated they become if we handle them incorrectly.”

  Rachael blushed. She knew he was talking about the music disk she had found.

  “All right.” The professor clapped his hands twice, fast. “Go explore.” He watched them file out one by one.

  Chapter Four

  Christchurch 1994

  Peter leaned against the locked door until the sun rose and he saw people walking the sidewalks. Reality finally seeped back into the world, making the meeting with the Meph-Man even more dream-like.

  Peter pushed himself off the door and placed the book on the sales counter on his way to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. It was impossible for him to start the day without that first hit of the many that would follow.

  He made six cups of instant coffee and poured five of them into the jug of the coffee machine and turned on the heater pad. It would keep his coffee warm for up to four hours before the instant tasted terrible.

  He sipped the steaming cup with three sugars as he stared at the massive work ahead of him. He was wondering where to start and where to stack the books when there was a knock at his door.

  “I’m closed,” he said without turning around.

  “Sir,” the voice from outside spoke, “I was in here last week.”

  Insurance guy, Peter thought. He turned to the door and was happy to find he was mistaken. He vaguely remembered the guy. He recognized the horseshoe grey hair, round face and red cheeks of the chubby man looking rushed and standing at his shop door. The man had spent four hours in the shop. He had scrutinized almost every book, jotting down notes in a small ring binder about three or four titles, which interested him.

  Peter set his cup on the counter and reluctantly walked to the door. He unlatched and opened it slightly.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you while you’re closed, but you possess a book which I would like to acquire.” The man spoke so fast and with a strong European accent that it was hard for Peter to hear the entire sentence.

  “What’s the rush?” he asked the man.

  “I must return to Germany this very morning and I just got confirmation about a book I would like to read.”

  Peter gave it some thought. This guy was going to buy a book, which would give him some lunch money. And when the guy was gone, he’d pull down the window and door blinds and close for the day while he cleaned up.

  “Do you remember which book you want?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, yes, indeed.” The man’s face broke into a large grin.

  “Very well. Excuse the mess. I had some trouble this morning.” Peter opened the door wide to allow access. When the man had pushed past, he closed the door and re-locked it.

  “Oh my. I hope everything is alright.”

  “Just some teenagers, no big deal. Be careful where you step, okay?”

  He remained at the door, watching the guy hunt through the third shelf, reading each title carefully. All the books damn near looked the same, big and thick in hardcover, with a few leather bound copies. The same style of writing was engraved on each cover in either gold or black.

  The guy didn’t look rich but he didn’t look poor either. He was dressed in a standard black suit with matching leather shoes. His overcoat was old and a bit tattered at the edges. But when the guy reached up to the fifth shelf, Peter saw the gold shiny Rolex watch. He didn’t look it, but the guy knew money.

  Peter was suddenly interested in helping his search.

  “It’s not here,” the man said disappointedly. His head fell to his chest and he mumbled, “I missed it.”

  “I haven’t sold any books since your visit,” Peter said and quickly explained, “I was searching for a book on the top shelf when I slipped and, well, the shelf broke and I just put the fallen books back without actually checking the titles.” He stood side by side with the buyer. “We’ll find it,” he assured him.

  “I hope so.”

  “What’s the title?”

  The man paused and seemed to be thinking. A few seconds passed before he replied, “In English it is called, Wild Blue Blossom.”

  Peter shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell, sorry.”

  “It’s a book about the Devil and one man’s journey into Hell. Well,” the man added, “it’s actually a personal account of a man going insane and curing himself after years of torment.”

  “Oh, like Dante’s work?”

  “Never,” the man said fiercely. “Never compare Dante to this genius!”

  Peter just nodded. Just find your book, he thought, give me twenty bucks and get out of here.

  The man took two steps back and sighed loudly.

  Afraid of losing his twenty dollars, Peter said, “It has to be here. These books aren’t big sellers.”

  “No,” the man replied, resigned to his loss, “I’ve read every title twice.” He turned to face Peter. “Sorry, young man, I best leave now. My flight takes to the skies shortly.”

  “Understandable,” Peter replied, looking past him at the counter and suddenly longing to drink his cooling coffee.

  The man moved past him. At the door he stopped to study a vase.

  Peter picked up his coffee
to find that it was just the right temperature. In three swallows it was gone.

  “Well, I’ll be,” the man muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “How much do you want for this?” he asked, pointing at a slightly yellowed vase.

  “Tell me what it is and I’ll tell you the price,” Peter replied.

  The man laughed. “You’re the first antique dealer I’ve meet that has a sense of humor.”

  Peter smiled back. He wasn’t being funny; he was serious.

  “How much?” the man asked again. His smile was quickly fading.

  “I’ll tell you what,” Peter said. “You look like you know antiques and have a greater love for them than I do. How about, you tell me what you think is a fair price and I’ll tell you if we both believe it.” Peter was hoping for fifty dollars. “Sound good?”

  “Why?” the man asked, a look of confusion clouding his features.

  “Why?” Peter repeated. “Because I couldn’t help you find that book. And I know it’s hiding here someplace.”

  Nodding his head while sucking his bottom lip, he came to a decision and said, “Four hundred. Not a penny more.”

  Peter was shocked. This guy wanted to pay him four hundred bills for that piece of shit? Must be a test, Peter thought, testing my knowledge. Trying to find out if I know anything about my job.

  “Are you kidding me? Four hundred dollars for that vase?”

  The man smiled. “So, you do know your antiques. I was worried last week. You see, you don’t look or act like an antique dealer.” He took a relaxed breath. “Only an imbecile would let this beauty go for anything under two and a half thousand.”

  “You said you were worried, why is that?” Peter asked, trying his best to hide his shock and damn near heart attack. He realized now why the insurance was so high. Why hadn’t his father told him of this? Given him a rundown of the prices and value? Taught him about antiques instead of just showing him? The answers were obvious. His father had done all that but Peter was too involved in his own life to take note of anything else. All he was interested in were computers and that Internet thingy.