04 The Edge of Darkness (30 page)

SIXTY-EIGHT

MURPHY LOOKED FORWARD to his flight back to the United States. He had been gone for a little over two months during the summer. During that time he had grown to enjoy Bulgaria and its people. They had been very kind to him. And they had been very good with him in therapy. With his Irish temper and his struggle with weakness, he hadn’t been the perfect patient. He had also appreciated his time to be able to think and read and plan while recuperating. It gave him an opportunity to reevaluate many things.
But
, he thought,
be it ever so humble, there is no place like home
.

As he stepped off the plane in Raleigh, he paused and took a deep breath. It was great. It took him a little longer than usual to get out of the airport. His limp and the use of a cane slowed the process. He
even had to have a porter carry his bags. That was a new and humbling experience for him.

He took a taxi to his home not far from the university. The gardener had done a good job in Murphy’s absence. Everything looked lush and green. He unlocked the front door and stepped in. The floor was piled with bills, letters, and magazines.
Too bad someone couldn’t have taken care of all the bills too
. The postman had shoved two months’ worth of mail through the mail slot.

That should be fun to go through. I wonder how many late charges I’ll have?

He carried his luggage to the bedroom with much difficulty and a few more trips than normal. He was anxious to get rid of the cane. He unpacked and put the dirty clothes in the laundry room. He’d worry about washing them later.

He opened some windows to let the fresh air in. He then went and got a cardboard box from the garage. He hobbled back to the entry, filled the box with mail, and took it into the living room. He sat down in his favorite chair and set the box beside it. He put his left leg up on the ottoman. It was good to be home.

He then looked at the box of mail.

I don’t think so. Not now
.

He looked at the phone and sat there for moment, debating. Was he going to do it now, or was he going to put it off? He had thought about it all the time while he was recuperating.

Come on, Murphy
.

He took a deep breath, picked up the phone, and dialed her number. He began to drum his fingers on the arm of the chair while he waited.

“Parchments of Freedom Foundation. May I help you?”

“May I please speak with Dr. Isis McDonald?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but she is in a meeting on the other side of town. May I take a message or would you like her voice mail?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary. But would you possibly know what her schedule is this coming week?”

“Yes. Dr. McDonald will be gone Monday and Tuesday, but she will be giving tours here at the Foundation on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.”

“Thank you very much.”

Hmmm … Friday
.

Murphy picked up his baggage and walked out the doors of the terminal, eschewing the help of a porter this time. He hailed a taxi.

“Where to, sir?”

“Hotel Carlton.”

Murphy looked out the window as they drove by the Lincoln Memorial, thinking,
What a great man of character
.

“Here we are, sir.”

Murphy paid the driver and went to the registration desk to check in. After dropping off the luggage in his room he went back to the registration desk.

“Excuse me. Is there a flower shop near the hotel?”

“Oh, yes, sir. You just go out the main doors and turn left. It’s about half a block down the street.” The man at the desk smiled. “Are you planning a surprise?”

“Yes, I think it will be quite a surprise.”

Murphy picked up two dozen red roses and hailed a cab. He knew he wasn’t being real creative getting red roses, but they were Isis’s favorite.

“Where would you like to go, mister?”

“The Parchments of Freedom Foundation, please.”

Murphy started up the stairs to the Foundation, then paused for a moment. He took a couple of deep breaths and continued up. His cane was in his left hand, the roses were in his right, and his heart seemed to be in his throat.

Inside the building he stopped at the information booth.

“Could you please tell me where the tour group might be right now?”

“Why, yes. They should be in the Hall of Egyptian Antiquities. It’s down the corridor to your right, the third large doorway to your left.”

The closer he came to the doorway the more nervous he felt.

Come on, Murphy. You don’t get this anxious battling ninjas
.

As he rounded the corner, he saw a group of people in front of a casket of an Egyptian mummy. He heard someone speaking but she didn’t sound like she had a Scottish brogue.

Murphy waited until the young lady was through and the crowd was moving on to view the next object.

“Excuse me, miss. Is Dr. McDonald giving a tour today?”

“Oh, no. Dr. McDonald’s not here. There was a change in plans. She left on Wednesday for Jordan. It seems that someone has discovered a cave containing a number of ancient manuscripts in some jars. They’ve asked her to come and translate the manuscripts.” The young lady smiled. “They may turn out to be as important as the Dead Sea Scrolls.”

With that, she turned and walked away.

Murphy stood there leaning on his cane for a moment. The crowd had moved on and he was alone. A deep sense of disappointment came over him.

I
wonder if this will ever work out? Maybe we’re just not meant to be
.

He walked over to a trash receptacle and dropped the roses in. The echo of his shuffling steps was the only sound as he trudged back the way he had come.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

DR. TIM LAHAYE
is a renowned prophecy scholar, minister, and author. His Left Behind series is the bestselling Christian fiction series of all time. He and his wife, Beverly, live in southern California. They have four children and nine grandchildren.

BOB PHILLIPS, PH.D.
, is the author of more than eighty books. He is a licensed counselor and the executive director for the Pointman Leadership Institute.

BABYLON RISING
THE EDGE OF DARKNESS
A Bantam Book

Published by Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved
Copyright © 2006 by Tim LaHaye

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number:
2006048501

Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.

eISBN: 978-0-307-41740-4

www.bantamdell.com

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