Margaret's Ark (4 page)

She needed to get back to the sanity of the school.

By the time she pulled into the teacher's lot, someone else had called to talk about
their
“flood dream.” She left the engine running and stared at the radio. They were calling from Carmel-by-the-Sea, seventy miles southwest of her. With some exceptions, the dream was the same. Delivered by an angel named “Shirley”. After substantially more abuse from the host for not coming up with a more divine name, the call was disconnected.

Commercials. Margaret turned off the engine. Her hands were shaking. In the silence that followed, she sobbed once but pushed it down. This wasn’t true. She was hearing it wrong. She sat in silence, not caring if Katie’s practice might be over. She stared at the dark radio, the shaking of her entire body which she’d only begun to notice finally slowing, calming.

It was only a dream. It was only a dream.

“Mrs. Carboneau?”

She shouted in surprise, twisted in her seat.

A tall, handsome boy stood outside the open driver's window. Jeans and a denim shirt with cut-off sleeves. Carl Jorgenson already sported the beginnings of his usual California surfer's tan and sun-bleached hair.

Margaret looked away and wiped her face.

“Oh, Carl. Sorry. You surprised me.”

“You looked kind of upset.” He turned away himself and shoved his hands into his back pockets. “You've been crying.” He was a smart kid, but his mannerisms always struck her as too simplistic, constantly teetering at the edge of adulthood.

She tried to smile. It didn’t work. “No, no. Allergies are starting up, that's all. What are you still doing here?”

Carl hesitated, looking around as if trying to remember something. “Oh, baseball practice. Mr. Z's been pushing the seniors pretty hard, thinks we’re slacking off, taking away....”

Margaret got out of the car before he could finish. Carl got the message and shut up. “You coming to get the girls?”

She began to walk. Carl followed a pace behind. “You want me to go with you? Are you sure you're okay?”

Margaret stopped, turned towards him. “I'm fine. Well, no, I'm not, but it's personal. I'd like to be alone.”

He looked relieved. Nodding and turning back towards the few cars remaining in the student lot he said, “No problem, Mrs. C. I hope everything gets better.”

Margaret continued alone towards the athletic fields, looking at the sky. No clouds. No sign of rain.
Just a dream. I don’t need to build anything
.
Just a stupid dream.

56

“Marty! It’s great to see you --” she almost added
again
but caught herself. The first time hadn’t actually happened. “Come in; come in.” Margaret opened the front screen door for him. Marty Santos nodded a silent greeting and stepped in. The fire chief looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His clothes were wrinkled. He looked at her with red-rimmed eyes and smiled.

“Hey, Maggie,” he said. “How've you been? I'm not interrupting dinner, am I?”

“No, not at all. We just finished.” She motioned to the couch then sat herself in an adjacent chair. “Marty, if you don’t mind me saying, you look terrible.”

He laughed – a short, sad sound, then craned his neck to see into the family room. Katie lay on the floor next to her sister in front of the television. The two girls whispered to each other, now and then looking into the living room. Marty lowered his voice.

“Maggie, I hate to bother you, but something's been nagging at me and I need to ask you a question. Please understand....” He paused, one hand moving over the other in constant motion.

If Margaret didn't know him better, she’d think he was about to propose. It probably had something to do with Vince. He hadn’t been able to console her after the fire. He’d been such a mess himself, forced to take a leave of absence to recover from the loss of one of his men – and his best friend. She’d tried to keep a distant eye on him, asking others about him when she had the chance. He seemed to be doing well, except for a touch of insomnia. She leaned over, held his hand. “It's okay, Marty. Just say it.”

He squeezed her hand in return, then held on for a moment, cleared his throat and released her. He straightened the wrinkles on his pants.

“Marty. Out with it.”

He stared into her eyes. “I know this will sound kind of weird, but Sunday night, just before sunrise,  I swear I saw you standing outside the fire house with someone.”

Slowly, very slowly, Margaret leaned back in her chair. Blood rushed from her face. He'd seen her. Just as she’d seen
him
. But none of it really happened.

Oh, God, please don’t do this to me
.

She needed to stall. “You saw me
where
?”

Marty no longer looked tired. He leaned forward, scooting toward the edge of the cushion. He said, keeping his voice low, “The center of town, on the common. Early, before the sun even came up. I guess that’d be Monday morning, actually.”

He'd
seen
her. She couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
Bad. Very bad.
He could confirm everything, including what the angel told her. Everyone on the planet was about to die. She’d have to build an ark, in the middle of the town square, find thirty people....

No
, she thought.
I won’t not accept that.

Unable to smooth the shaking in her voice she said, “Marty, you haven’t been sleeping, have you? You've lost weight, too.” She had to turn things around. She took the man's hand again. It felt limp. What Margaret said next she
had
to say, or everyone would die.... “Marty, I wasn't on the common, at least not Sunday night.” She looked away, hating herself, playing her part well. “I think the last time I was there was for the lighting of the trees before Christmas.”

Marty's expression fell to its original, weary look. She felt like an ass, wanted to scream,
You were right! You weren't seeing things. I was there with an angel who’s been terrorizing me and saying horrible things!

The chief blushed, uncomfortable with the sudden silence between them. “Sounds dumb, doesn’t it? And you were - never mind... never mind.” He stood up and pulled his hand away from hers. “Sometimes I fall asleep and don’t realize it. Mostly I don't.
Sleep
I mean.”

“Have you seen a doctor?”

He nodded. “Once a week, every Wednesday if I'm not needed at the station. Maybe I need a new one, though.”

“Why's that?”

Marty unconsciously rubbed his left arm. “No reason. Change of opinion, maybe. Do I look that bad?”

She laughed softly, felt dirty doing it. Faking it. “Yes. “

“Well, I'm glad you weren't there. It had to be a dream. How often does a giant boat spring up in the middle of town then just disappear?” He let his gaze linger a few seconds longer, then walked towards the door.

Margaret didn’t follow. The room was tilting too much.

“Good night, Margaret. It was nice to see you.”

She forced herself to look up and say, “You take care, Marty.”

The night was cool, flagstones slippery in the premature dew. Spring was here, no question. As long as Marty's back was to the house, he allowed himself a nervous smile. He might be losing his mind, but he couldn't miss her reaction. She
was
there the other night. Somehow, what he'd seen was real. Tonight's conversation wasn't complete proof, but coupled with other things he was starting to hear from people, it was enough for the moment. His chest tightened. He needed to see another doctor soon, but not for his insomnia. Sometime he wondered if he was deliberately letting himself fall apart, as if the world had already ended for him but he was too stubborn to realize it. Still, he needed to keep a closer watch on Margaret Carboneau. He didn't understand what was going on, but it was starting to feel very big.

55

“Margaret, it's time to get to work.”

The angel spoke in a quiet voice, sitting on the picnic table in the back yard. Margaret stood at the corner of the house, not daring to come any closer.

She said, “Am I dreaming, or have you dragged me outside half-naked again for real? Someone saw us!”

She wasn't exactly half-naked his time, having gone to bed fully dressed. Tonight she'd been certain the angel would pay a visit. Her certainty had most likely been spawned by the guilt she felt for lying to Marty.

David rose from the table but did not approach her. “No, Margaret, you
are
dreaming, I assure you. The other night was a dream, yet not a dream. I don't suppose that makes any sense.”

She stormed forward and slammed both fists into his chest. It felt like punching a feather pillow. He made no move to defend himself. “Marty Santos
saw
us! We were really there!”

David kept his hands in his pockets. He nodded. “Yes... in a way. You needed to be there physically, to feel the area, to sense completely what I wanted to show you. But you were also safely in bed.”

Margaret punched him again, shouted, “How can that be? I was either in bed or I - “

The angel's face darkened. “Stop asking so many damned, insignificant questions!”

She stepped back. David glared, took a step forward and continued, “Now shut your mouth and open your ears!”  Margaret backed up again. David followed. “In fifty-five days, millions of people on this planet are going to be dead. Do you understand
dead
? I think you do!
Dead
!”

She covered her ears. “Shut up! You're not an angel!”

She turned away and knelt hard on the ground, feeling nothing but a vague sense of solidity beneath her.

David was dark above her, his skin fading to the same shadowy resonance as his clothes. “We have too much to do,” he breathed. “I don’t need to screw around any further with you and your pathetic denial. I'm no demon. I am an angel to the Lord Most High, sent to pass His message to those He deems suitable to lead you people to salvation.”

“But why -”

“Don't you ever ask
why
again, do you understand me? What will happen will happen out of the natural order of the world, the end of a countdown set in motion at the very beginning of time. God will not stop it,
must
not. It is the natural order of things. But He will use this moment to test your faith, and to save as many from death as possible since, for many of them, their death will be eternal. Praise the Lord for His mercy and compassion!”

He leaned over her and shouted, “Now get off your ass and build His ark! “

Margaret awoke with the bedside lamp shining in her face, the ceiling moving in swirls above her. She was crying. Small, gentle hands were on her arm and shoulder.

“Mommy, it's OK. You were having a bad dream.” Katie rubbed her arm, back and forth with both of her hands.

Peeking from behind her big sister, a sleepy, wide-eyed Robin looked hopefully at her.

Margaret whispered, “Oh, my God,” then sat up in bed and gathered her daughters to her.

*     *     *

Talk radio programs had already become constant companions at home and in the car, both mocking and acknowledging her sanity. This wasn’t a local phenomenon. There weren't
thousands
of them, not yet, but enough to set Margaret to realize she wasn't alone. If these few brave souls were already acknowledging what was happening, how many others were not?

The reaction so far had been to suppress the callers completely, but not before playing with them like cats to mice. Everyone assumed this had become the latest trend in crank calls. Only the religious stations took the calls with some semblance of acceptance.

After last night’s dream, Margaret assured the girls that it was only a nightmare. When Katie asked if it had been “about Daddy,” Margaret almost broke down crying again. Instead she said yes, and that was the end of it.

She knew whom she should talk to. Nick Mayhew was a young pup, but he
was
her priest. He'd have an opinion. The absolute last thing she wanted was to let her class find out she was one of the “nutcases” they begun gossiping about all day at school. The names they used for these people varied, but the tone was similar. It was best to keep God out of the schools for now - the first time she'd ever thought
that
was a good idea.

Which made her confession to her senior science class all the more surprising. The conversation began quietly between two girls, until Carl Jorgenson overheard and he began his usual posturing.

“Hey, ladies,” he called from his own table. “You're more than welcome over at my boat any day.” One of the girls blushed; the other glared at him and said, “You
would
build one of those, you creep. Just to lure young -”

“You’re still mad at me for breaking up with your sister?” He interrupted, putting on his best, hurt face then added, “She dumped
me
, you know.”

“Enough,” Margaret said reflexively without looking up from the pop quiz she’d been grading. Grateful for the distraction and not the least bit interested in the experiment Margaret had assigned, Carl said, “Mrs. Carboneau, what do you think?”

She looked up. “About what?”

He shrugged. “Well, if God
is
going to flood us out, how's he going to do it?”

She should shrug off the question, but the boy seemed genuinely curious in his own, cute way. She put down the pencil and sighed. “Well, I assume rain is the method of choice.”

And that was it. Everyone stopped working and offered their own views. God’s wrath versus God’s mercy. Did Margaret actually believe them, they asked? She struggled to remain vague in her answers, but her voice had an underlying tone of fear she hoped was masked. She steered the discussion to the possible physics of a modern Great Flood – this
was
a science class, after all. The ensuing debate was lively.