The Rising: Antichrist Is Born (23 page)

“God, help me!” she cried. “Save me!”

Marilena was aware she had shifted focus. That last desperate call had not been for the return of her son but for the salvation of her soul. Could the true God, a God of love, ignore that request? She felt herself calm ever so slightly, rocking back painfully on her knees. How she longed for peace of mind. But would she recognize it if it came? Would it not be clouded by the desperate longing for her child?

  A faint picture came to mind. A memory. A flash. What was it? Biseried Cristos. Christ Church. Where had she seen that? A sign. With an arrow, pointing off the highway somewhere between the cottage and Nicky’s school. How far away? Too far to walk? And was she in any condition to try?

Marilena was no mystic. Never had been. It had taken tangible proof to get her to acknowledge that the spiritual realm even existed. But could she attribute this— this whatever it was—to her frantic prayer? Her learned mind fought it, but she was without recourse. She wanted to believe with all of her being that this was an answer from God.

Marilena hurried to the phone and called for the listing, her hands shaking. An answering machine picked up, informing her of the times of Sunday services and that other questions might be answered by church staff anytime after noon, Monday through Friday. She left her first name, her number, and a message. “I need to talk with someone. About God. I don’t know what I need, really, but I would appreciate a call.”

Having connected with only a machine, Marilena still felt better. She was able to drag herself to the shower and then dress. Hoping someone got that message, she also prayed that the woman at Planchette’s could persuade him to call. She was prepared to say whatever was necessary, promise anything, accede to any condition. Marilena determined to keep her wits about her and get something accomplished in the meantime.

By ten o’clock, she had forced herself to take another pain pill and have breakfast. Unable to stop herself, Marilena called Planchette’s home again. No answer. Not even a machine. Half an hour later, she called again. A mechanical voice informed her the number was no longer in service.

Marilena dialed Nicky’s school and asked to speak with Mrs. Szabo.

“Oh, Mrs. Carpathia, we were just about to call you, but we understood you were on vacation. Mrs. Szabo has had a crisis arise in her family and had to leave us virtually without notice. Her mother died suddenly, and her father is unable to care for himself. Apparently she was the only sibling available. Anyway, we will be announcing a replacement for her as soon as we find one.”

Panic rising, Marilena resorted to something she had told herself she would never do. She called the university and asked for Sorin. In the years since she had left him, he had never once connected with her without her initiating the contact. She had sent notes, pictures of Nicky, even school reports. When she did hear back, she got cordial notes, thanking her and wishing her the best. Each contained bromides about what a handsome son she had produced and how Sorin hoped she was happy and productive. He even said occasionally that he had heard good reports about her research work.

Not once, however, had he written or called unbidden. He apparently had no real interest in her or her son’s well-being. Marilena had to face that she had been merely a roadside stop on the highway of his life. She was convinced that if she had not intermittently kept him up to date, he would have forgotten her in no time.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she was told, “but Dr. Carpathia. is no longer associated here.”

  “Excuse me?”

“It’s been nearly two years, ma’am.”

“Well, where is he?”

“Retired, I believe.”

She was reeling. “Connect me with Dr. Baduna Marius then, please.”

“Oh, they left at the same time.”

Marilena, shaken, asked for one of her former colleagues. But she was in class. “I’m sorry to be such a pest,” Marilena said, but she asked for a woman professor she had known from the psychology department. The woman had always been good for the latest gossip, but they hadn’t spoken in years.

After the usual how-good-it-is-to-hear-from-you, Marilena got to the point. “Whatever became of my former husband and

his lover?”

“Well, they married, as you know.”

“Yes, but they left the university?”

“More than eighteen months ago. Of course, it was only a matter of time. They must have won the lottery, Marilena. Had it been a known prize, we all would have been aware, but—”

“What are you saying?”

“Well, not long after you left, right around the time of their marriage actually, Sorin and—what was his name… ?”

“Baduna.”

“Yes, they started living high on the hog. Oh, I remember when it was. Not long after Mrs. Marius’s funeral. You heard about that.”

“I was there.”

“Oh, certainly. Anyway, Sorin and Baduna were suddenly living in the lap of luxury. We speculated that his wife had left him a ton of money or—”

“—or that he had taken out a massive insurance policy on her.”

“Unlikely. And don’t companies hesitate to pay for suicides?”

“Well, he and Sorin somehow came into serious money, because they sold Sorin’s apartment, sold Baduna’s house, and bought a multimillion-leu penthouse condominium in downtown Bucharest.”

  “Impossible.”

“But true. We all knew it would be only a matter of time before they left here. I’m surprised they stayed so long. They clearly didn’t need the income.”

“What are they doing now?”

“Writing, lecturing. Their books don’t sell and their lectures can’t pay much. For all anyone can tell, they’ve virtually retired.”

The baseball season had proved as dismal as Kay Steele feared. The seniors he had played with the previous three years mostly found reasons to not come out or to drop off the team early. That left Ray as the senior statesman, captain, pitcher,

and first baseman.

He was healthy, but he had lost a few miles an hour off his fastball. Ironically, that made him a smarter pitcher—he had to be—and he led the team in wins. Unfortunately there weren’t enough of those to give Belvidere even a winning season. While he was named
MVP
, it was Ray’s least fun sports experience in four years. In fact, it soured him on playing over the summer. He would concentrate on his flying and finishing up at the tool and die.

His father would make that difficult, but Ray decided that was not his problem. At graduation Ray received more accolades than anyone else—scholar-athlete, athlete of the year, and a couple of peer-voted honors: best-looking male and most popular.

Again such things left Ray feeling empty, though he enjoyed congratulations from many friends, classmates, and parents. Any time someone congratulated his parents, however, Ray heard his dad mutter, “Of course I’m proud of him, but a lot of good it does me.”

In the fall Ray would attend Purdue University on academic and
ROTC
scholarships and keep his options open for admittance to the Air Force Academy in Colorado Springs. He didn’t want to mislead the air force into thinking he wanted a military career. This was all a means to an end. He planned to be a commercial pilot and make enough money to have the kind of house and cars—and wife—he wanted.

Viv’s room proved tidy—no surprise to Marilena. But the individual locks on the closet door and several dresser drawers puzzled her. What was so important that Viv felt the need to protect it so securely?

Marilena tried picking the locks, but they were not so.  simple as the one on the door had been, and she didn’t . want to leave evidence.

She soon repented of that as her angst rose. Why no phone call from Reiche Planchette or from Christ Church? Her heart galloped as again she felt isolated and helpless.

She went outside to the shed near the tiny corral, and as the horse snuffled at her, Marilena found a hammer and long screwdriver. Was the horse now her responsibility? She hadn’t thought of that. She had never mucked out a stall and wondered how cruel it would be to leave Star Diamond wallowing in his own waste for a week. But why should he have it any easier than she? And what made her think it would be only a week? If her son had been stolen, she would be alone the rest of her life. Would the association, Planchette, and his minions allow her to stay here at all?

Well, this wasn’t the innocent horse’s fault. Later she would find the shovel and do her duty, but Star Diamond had better know to move out when she entered. Marilena had no idea how to maneuver a horse.

The lock was not about to pop off, but the frame and wall were slowly giving way. By now she didn’t care what kind of a mess she made. Soon the framing broke free, the wall crumbled at the point of entry, and the lock, still secure to itself, hung from the door.

Unless Marilena could find a handyman with skill and speed, there would be no hiding this invasion of Viv’s privacy. Marilena didn’t care. Anything this secretive likely pertained to her and her son, and she felt entitled to it.

One of the early letters from Viv:

  The carrier of the chosen child must be bright, well-read, and at least agnostic, if not one of us. According to the

spirits, the looks may come from your lover, but the intellect must come from you and whomever you select to bear

the child.

  Mr. Stonsgal sends his greetings and best wishes and asks that I thank you again for your many kindness to his now late son, who told him more than once that Zurich was among the happiest seaeone of his short life. In the bonds of

the spirit,

Viviana Winieova

She riffled through the documents, coming to one from Sorin referring to his first wife:

  Ms. Ivinisova:

My wife, of course, has proved unfit, as have two promising students. But I am still diligently searching. How much easier this would be, were I allowed to use our own association as a pool. But I see the value of an outsider as a

vessel, provided she is not an enemy of the cause. Still searching and humbled to be of use,

Sorin C.

Marilena could barely breathe. Subsequent letters told of Sorin’s discovering Marilena and slowly, carefully determining her suitability. It stabbed to see his references to being grateful she would not be contributing to the boy’s appearance. Later he spoke highly of her intellect and academic capacity.

  Viv urged him to be cautious but expeditious. We are being urged to make this a priority. Don’t rush, but don’t dawdle either.

Viv had responded:

  The desire for a child can be prayed into her, Sorin, if you know what! mean, it’e crucial that she thoroughly believes this is her idea.

Sorin wrote disparagingly of Marilena as a target:

  I married her, per your suggestion and with the long-term financial benefit in mind, so please assure me I am not

wasting the best years of my life.

Viv assured him of just that.

Then came the strategizing of how to plant within Marilena the longing for a child and expose her to the diversion of a weekly meeting that would introduce her to the spirit world. Sorin had been attending private meetings for years with Baduna. Marilena shook her : head at her naivete. Not only had she assumed Sorin had been seeing another woman, but she also never suspected he was anywhere but in someone else’s bed all those lonely evenings.

The maternal instinct merely a construct? Marilena had never felt anything so deeply, wanted it so badly. She could not be persuaded, despite this evidence, that it had been anything but real. Planted by Lucifer? Could that explain the driverless car?

It couldn’t be. Mariiena’s fingers shook as she flipped through the pages, her wasted life documented in computer printouts.

A major issue proved to have been her reluctance to buy into Luciferianism with the gusto they had hoped. Viv had written to Reiche Planchette:

  That would have solved everything, but she is a tough case. Even my moving in with her, which does not seem to have made her suspicious, has not seemed to move her closer. She’s a dilettante, but I am beginning to fear she will never be

a disciple.

Expendable, per J.S., Planchette had replied.

Mariiena’s eyes began to swim. Her life had been a sham, someone else’s idea. She tore through the rest of the documents, catching snatches of details she thought had made up the vicissitudes of her existence. She had merely been a pawn, her life choreographed by others for their purposes and their gain. Her own husband had used her to win a fortune and to seed a

cause in which he claimed not even to believe!

Was it possible her own son had never connected with her, never returned her affection, because he was not hers at all? Was he merely a product of the spirit world—a pseudo cheap imitation of the Christians’ incarnation—and not flesh of her own flesh? She could not accept it, not abide it. She was bonded to Nicky as if he were part of her—an organ, a limb, an extension of herself.

Marilena’s forearm throbbed, and she was horrified to notice that redness and swelling had spread from all four sides of the bandage. Infection. And a fast one. She could consult online medical resources, but she knew she was in trouble. The hand on her bitten arm quivered as if she had Parkinson’s, and her vision began to cloud. She must not let her anguish make her physical injury worse.

The phone rang and she ran to it, light-headedness forcing her to grab at the wall and then slump to the floor once she answered.

The male voice sounded middle-aged. “Yes, ma’am, is this Marilena?”

“Speaking.”

“Are you all right? You sound shaken.”

“Who’s calling please?”

“This is the protopop at Biserica Cristos.”

“Yes, Vicar, thanks for calling. I must come see you, but I fear I need medical attention first.”

“What’s wrong? How can I help?”

She told him but said it had been a dog bite.

“I’m afraid I must recommend you take a cab to your doctor,” he said. “I have obligations this afternoon and was going to suggest that you drop in to see me around five o’clock.”