The Book of Paul -- A Paranormal Thriller (59 page)

“Not something. Precisely that. We can’t end this epic story without a big finish. Good versus evil, angel versus devil, Pagan versus Christian versus Muslim.”

“What’s going to happen? What does the Wheel actually do?”

“What doesn’t it do? If I can make a golden egg out of pure aether sit in the palm of your hand in the world of dead gravity, what do you reckon could be accomplished at the heart of the Maelstrom if you possessed such an instrument?”

“You could do anything…make anything.”

“Yes, but I only want to make one thing.”

“What?” I asked, suddenly afraid to hear his answer.

“A God.”

“A God,” I repeated numbly.

“Even if I do nothing, even if I’d never been born or chosen or filled with the spirit—the
Becoming
will still occur,” Paul continued, disregarding my stunned reaction. “It was ordained by the prophecy six thousand years ago. The Singularity will set the stage, and shortly, very shortly afterward, the
Intelligence
will become fully manifest in human flesh. There is nothing in this or any universe that can stop that from happening. It is the irresistible intent of the
Nous
—the point, the
sole
point of everything that has ever existed. To facilitate the proper outcome of this event is what we have dedicated our lives and our deaths to since the building of the first Tower in Babylon—and the Great Wheel beneath its foundations. Our enemies have tried to steer the
Nous
in their favor, convinced that their path is the only true course to victory. But regardless of what they do or believe, or what we do or believe, the
Becoming
is inevitable. The only questions that remain are
when
and
where
and
how
and most importantly to me…
who
.”

“Who?”

He gave me a sly smile, striding back to the altar, resting his hands heavily on the ancient leather codex.

“If there’s a God to be born…he’ll surely be holding the Book.”

I came unstuck from Paul’s mind just as the elevator opened.

“Honey! I’m home!” he shouted as he walked inside. Rose looked at me in absolute terror. I thought she might trigger the trap just from the way she was quivering.

“Well, if it isn’t Billy the Kid!” he cried, savoring our expressions. “Hello, darlin,” he said sweetly, walking over and giving her a kiss on the forehead while she tried to duck it. “I see you’re all bright eyed again. Hmmm. Even had a little drinky!”

He gave me a dirty look and set the Beretta down on the tea table. Daring me. He even turned his back to take his overcoat off, draping it over an eighteenth century love seat. When I didn’t move for the pistol, Rose glared at me with such anger and betrayal that I thought she would trigger the impaler again. All in due time, I wanted to tell her. All in due time.

“I don’t know why Martin bothered with those band-aids,” Paul said, turning around. “It’s not like you’re going to leave this place alive.”

“Shoot him!” Rose screamed. “Pick up the fucking gun and shoot him!”

“Why in the world would he do a foolish thing like that? Even if he wanted to rescue you—and I can assure you he doesn’t—he’d still need to get you out of that chair.”

Paul waited for me to say something or do something. Rose motioned with her chin toward the pistol again. I looked at her and the Beretta and Paul’s smiling face. Then I closed my eyes and tried to find Martin. He was in the elevator, pounding the button. I could see the bulges in his big coat pockets. I knew what was inside.

“What were you just looking at?” Paul growled as I opened my eyes. “Is there something you want to share with us?”

His glare felt like a crowbar, but I didn’t think he knew. Even so, I had to buy more time. “What’s that?” I asked, staring at the bulge in his shirt pocket.

“Oh, this little trinket?” he whispered, giving me a conspiratorial wink. He stood up and clapped his hands over his head like he was calling the tribal council to order. The stench from his armpits was almost enough to make me heave.

“Why, this is the most glorious jewel I’ve ever laid eyes on. The Star of India, the Hope Diamond…mere baubles by comparison. I was going to stop by Cartier on the way over and have it put in a proper setting, but first I wanted to show it to the lassie in all its unadorned perfection.”

Paul dipped his fingers into his shirt pocket like a magician reaching for a rabbit. I had to hand it to him, he sure had a flair for showmanship. He pulled it out slowly and when it was fully exposed, he swung it back and forth like a hypnotist’s pendulum.

Hypnotized we were. For about three seconds. Rose let out an ear-splitting shriek when she realized who it belonged to. Her scream went on and on. Then she stopped as suddenly as she’d started, staring at the fireman in the doorway.

“I think that belongs to me,” Martin said.

“Here you go!” He threw the eye toward Martin in a low, lazy, underhand arc. Like a softball pitch. Martin watched it fly and felt the pistols in his hands taunting him. His reaction was instinctive. He dropped the gun in his right hand and caught it. It was all the time Paul needed. He made a lightning fast tuck and roll, snatching up the gel cap gun Martin dropped.

Shit!
screamed the voice in Martin’s head as he saw Paul’s “gotcha!” grin and watched Rose’s face dissolve in terror.

If there had been time, I would have told him not to be so hard on himself. How could he not catch it? After all, it was
his
eye.

Martin didn’t dwell on his fuck-up. He made another one instead.

“Are you okay?” he foolishly asked Rose, putting his eyeball and sunglasses in the big coat pocket while he kept his remaining gun on Paul. Rose let out a horrified cry when she saw the empty socket, which gave Paul a sufficient distraction to pop back up behind Rose’s chair and grab the wood with his spare hand.
Sonofabitch!

“Can’t say that she is,” Paul grinned triumphantly, covering Rose’s mouth with his hand as she tried to answer. “But I’m glad to see you’re back in the pink, Martin. Did you think your sleeping beauty act could throw this ole hound dog off your scent? I must say though, I admire the fancy weaponry. Tetrodoxin gel caps! My, my! What was the plan? Have your cruel way with me while I’m helplessly paralyzed? What do you think about that Billy?”

“What the…” Martin mouthed, finally noticing me in his significantly more limited peripheral vision. He wheeled around, his mind flipping through all the images he’d seen in the Chapel, still not finding a match. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m your…” I started, but Rose cut me off.

“I knew you were lying! I fucking knew it!” she yelled at me, then turning to Martin, “He told me he came here
with
you. But he’s with Paul. They’re partners!”

“Oh we’re much more than that,” Paul chuckled, gleefully entering the increasingly volatile discussion. “We’re cut from the same cloth, me and Billy. Just like you, dear boy.”

“What’s he talking about?” Martin asked, aiming his gun at me.

I looked at Paul, hoping he would tell him. He gave me the nod instead. But now that I was finally free to spill the beans, I was extremely hesitant, especially with him pointing that gun at me. “Paul is my father. Our father,” I said, bracing myself for his reaction.

Martin said nothing, did nothing, except look from me to Paul blankly.

“Go on. Tell him the rest. Tell him about your dear sweet mum,” Paul goaded me.

I took a deep breath. “I’m Norine’s son. Paul raped her the day he took you away, when she went in the house with him. She asked me to find you. To help you.”

“Norine? Where is she?”

I cursed Paul and said, “She’s dead,” coughing to hide an unexpected swell of emotion. “She died of cancer in Port Richey, Florida on September 23, 19…”

“No need to get technical,” Paul cut in. “A simple ‘She’s dead’ will do. But you’re leaving out the best part Billy, the very best part!”

“What’s he talking about?” Martin asked, his pistol aimed at my heart.

“Tell him!” Paul yelled at me with a whoop.
“Tell him!”

I just stared at him. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t do that to Martin.

Paul could. “She was your mommy too, lad.”

“That’s not possible,” Martin croaked, looking from Paul to me, and back again. Before he even saw my nod and Paul’s sadistic smile, his own heart told him it was true.

Martin became completely still. He swallowed a fist-sized lump in his throat. A wave of old memories surged while he mouthed her name. Norine. He had left her alone with Paul. Yes, he was just a kid. But he didn’t protect her. And he never saw her again. It was all his fault.

“
You fucking fuck!”
Martin screamed, pointing his gun at Paul’s forehead.

“
Do it!”
Paul cried, leaning on the chair. “Do it and I’ll take your other bitch with me!”

Martin looked at Paul’s hand—just one push and…

He had to think. The remote! He reached his free hand into his pocket and pulled it out. “Back away from her,” he said, pointing it at Paul like another loaded weapon.

“Oh goody!” Paul laughed, not moving a muscle. “Mission accomplished! I guess all you need to do now is figure out which numbers to press and disarm my little invention.”

Martin looked at the face of the small rectangular device for the first time. There were ten buttons on it, numbered one through zero…and a big red button on the top. It was easy to guess what the red one was for, but even if the release code was only three digits long, the number of possible combinations was…fuck…a thousand!

“What’s the matter, Martin? Cat got your calculator? Oh, I suppose I should warn you that punching in the wrong combination automatically springs the trap.”

“What’s the code?” Martin demanded. “You’re not faster than a bullet.”

“You’re welcome to test that theory. But what if I were to keel over on this little tart in me grisly death throes? I reckon that would spill the apple cart too, eh?”

Martin looked helplessly at the remote and then at Rose.

“Well, now that you’ve decided not to place a wager on the fast-bullet-versus-big-man-falling-over contest, I’m quite sure I don’t care for you pointing that gun at me any more. Drop the weapon, or I’ll give her a push right now and see how well this thing works.”

Martin stared at Paul down his pistol sight.

“Bullets have a tendency to miss me, as you well know. Last chance. Drop it now or brace yourself for the grand finale.”

He dropped it. “Fuck,” muttered Martin and Rose at the same time.

“Wise choice,” Paul said, coming from behind her, picking up the pistol, placing it on the table beside the Beretta, relaxing in the chair next to it.

“I know I haven’t been as honest with you as you might have liked Martin, but I’m not alone in my heartless betrayals. Your brother here is a charming storyteller, but I do believe he left out another unwelcome surprise. He’s known your little slut here for quite some time. Did she ever tell you about their late, late nights together?”

Martin looked from Rose to me and saw the look of shock and shame on our faces. We were tripping over each other’s words, trying to explain when Paul out-shouted us.

“And that’s not all…he’s in love with her, Martin! In love!”

I didn’t know a single eye was capable of conveying that much hatred. Or sadness.

“He’s lying,” I lied. “I don’t love her. We’re not even friends anymore!”

“No, they’re certainly not friends. Alas, she dumped the poor lad. Broke his little heart. Yet still he loves her. You can see it in his face—that tormented grimace worn only by those who have loved and lost. That’s why he’s here. He can’t bear to see her in the arms of another man, especially his handsome, muscular brother with that big pile-driver between his legs. Jealousy seethes like a pestilence inside him. He wants her to die, so you can’t have her!”

“He’s lying! You know how he lies…all he ever does is lie!”

Martin did know. It was the only thing that kept him from shooting me.

“Oh sure, I’ve been known to tell a fib or two. But I can tell from this poor girl’s expression that you’ve been spinning some fancy yarns of your own, eh Billy?”