Through the Flames (5 page)

Back at the house Vicki sat reading the paper while the television droned on. Every channel still carried news and emergency bulletins. No one complained that regular programming had not returned and likely wouldn’t for a long time. The world was in chaos, and that was all anyone seemed to care about.

“Magazine Writer Assumed Dead,” the
USA Today
headline read. “Cameron Williams, 30, the youngest senior writer of the staff of any weekly newsmagazine, is feared dead after a mysterious car bombing outside a London pub Saturday night that took the life of a Scotland Yard investigator.”

“Judd!” Vicki called. “You’ll want to see this.”

Judd read the whole story over her shoulder. “Man, I can still hardly believe it. I sat right near that guy on the plane.”

Ryan watched the news on television. Lionel was also in the room, but he was not watching. He was pacing, mumbling about finding his uncle André if it was the last thing he ever did. He ignored Judd and Vicki’s talk about the dead writer. Judd noticed Lionel perk up, however, when the news shifted to the United Nations headquarters in New York.

“Even the press remains stunned this evening at the performance of Romanian President Nicolae Carpathia at the General Assembly of the United Nations,” the news anchor said. “Just before Carpathia was scheduled to appear, the media was shocked to learn that Cameron ‘Buck’ Williams of
Global Weekly
was in attendance. Watch closely and you can see him, there, as the camera pans the press gallery. Williams had been thought dead in a car bombing in London last night. Investigation continues into his involvement in that scene, but as you can see, he is safe and sound now.”

“What
is
this?” Judd said, his hand atop his head. “I can’t keep up with everything! So now he’s
not
dead?”

“Shh!” Vicki said. “Look at this guy!”

CNN was replaying the afternoon appearance at the UN of Nicolae Carpathia. He entered the assembly with a half dozen aides. He stood tall and dignified, yet he didn’t seem cocky. He appeared an inch or two over six feet tall, broad shouldered, thick chested, trim, athletic, tanned, and blond. His shock of hair was trimmed neatly around the ears, sideburns, and neck, and he wore a navy blue business suit with a matching tie.

Even on television, the man seemed to carry himself with a sense of humility and purpose. He dominated the room, and yet he did not seem impressed with himself. His jaw and nose were broad and prominent, and his blue eyes were set deep under thick brows.

First to speak was UN Secretary-General Mwangati Ngumo of Botswana. He announced that the assemblage was privileged to hear from the new president of Romania and that an Israeli dignitary would formally introduce him. A little old man with a heavy accent introduced Carpathia as “a young man I respect and admire as much as anyone I’ve ever met.”

With courtly manners, Carpathia remained at the side of the lectern until the older man was seated, then stood relaxed and smiling before speaking without notes. Judd was astounded to notice that he never hesitated, misspoke, or took his eyes off his audience.

Judd was impressed that Carpathia spoke earnestly and with passion. He mentioned that he was aware that it had not been a full week yet since the disappearance of millions all over the world, including many who would have been “in this very room.” Carpathia spoke in perfect English with only a hint of a Romanian accent. Occasionally he used one of the nine languages in which he was fluent, each time translating himself into English. He was articulate, carefully enunciating every syllable.

Judd realized how strange it was that he was watching news like this. He would have cared nothing for this kind of thing a week before. Now he was fascinated. Here was a man with confidence and maybe some answers. He sure seemed like a great guy.

Carpathia began by announcing that he was humbled and moved to visit “for the first time this historic site, where nation after nation has set its sights. One by one they have come from all over the globe on pilgrimages as sacred as any to the Holy Lands, exposing their faces to the heat of the rising sun. Here they have taken their stand for peace in a once-and-for-all, rock-solid commitment to putting behind them the insanity of war and bloodshed. These nations, great and small, have had their fill of the death and maiming of their most promising citizens in the prime of their youth.

“From lands distant and near they have come: from Afghanistan, Albania, Algeria. . . .” He continued, his voice rising and falling dramatically with the careful pronunciation of the name of each member country of the United Nations. Judd heard a passion in his voice, a love for these countries and the ideals of the UN. Carpathia was clearly moved as he plunged on, listing country by country in alphabetical order by memory.

Judd noticed the other three kids were as riveted by this as he was. At the UN, people began standing and clapping with the mention of each new country name. More than five minutes into the recitation, Carpathia had not missed a beat. He had never once hesitated, stammered, or mispronounced a syllable. When he got to the U’s and came to “The United States of America,” Judd applauded, Vicki smacked her hands together once, Lionel raised a fist, and Ryan said, “Yes!”

By the end of his list of nearly two hundred nations, Nicolae Carpathia was at an emotional, fevered pitch. Delegates and even the press stood and cheered. The tape ended and TV viewers were switched back to CNN news where the anchorman sat shaking his head in amazement. “Talk about a man taking a city by storm,” he said. “They’re already calling him Saint Nick, and he’s the toast of New York.”

“The Antichrist, whoever he is, will have to face this guy sometime,” Vicki said. “I’d like to see that.”

“Me too,” Judd said. “Wonder how he missed the Rapture. He sure seems like a Christian.”

“I never cared about politics before,” Lionel said. “But this man is something else. Just hearing him makes me want to find my uncle, and right now.”

“I’ll help,” Ryan said.

“We all will,” Judd said.

L
IONEL
Washington didn't really want everyone else's help, and he told them that. “Talia is André's old fiancée. I didn't know they were back together, but if they are, maybe she'll tell me something.”

“You don't want us to go with you?” Judd asked. “I could drive you.”

“I'm going to ride my bike. You guys don't need to get in trouble with these people.”

“Why don't you go during the day?” Vicki said.

“Yeah,” Judd said. “It's dark. How do we know when to come looking for you?”

“I'll be fine.”

“Don't even say that,” Vicki said. “You heard what almost happened to Ryan.”

“If we don't hear from you by eleven,” Judd said, “we'll come after you.”

“I have no idea where I'll be. André's not going to be at my house.”

“What are we supposed to do if we don't hear from you?”

“I'll be fine, all right?”

“No,” Judd said. “We agreed to look out for each other. We're going to have to follow you, that's all.”

“I don't like this,” Lionel said.

“You won't even see us,” Judd said. “We'll worry about you, but you won't have to worry about us. Now get going.”

Lionel jogged out to his bike and rode directly home. Judd had been right. Lionel was not aware of Judd following him. He was still certain he would be safe, but it did make him feel better to know that the others cared about him.

Lights were on, but no cars were in the driveway. Who was there? Lionel stepped to the door and raised his hand to knock, suddenly realizing how silly that was.
This is my own house,
he thought. He walked in and went straight upstairs to his room. He heard quick footsteps from a back room downstairs. They came across the hardwood floors in the living room, into the dining room, and up the stairs.

“LeRoy?” Talia called out. “I didn't see you guys pull in.”

Lionel stepped into the hall and could tell he had startled her. “Hey, Talia,” he said simply. “I need you to take me to André.”

“Yeah, right,” she said. “Like I know where he is.”

“I know you know where he is,” Lionel said. “And if you don't take me to him, he's going to be upset.”

“I heard he was dead,” she said.

“Cut the baloney,” Lionel said. “We both know you chased off a friend of mine today. He heard you talking to André on the phone, and it was obvious he was worried about me.”

“If I hear from him,” she said, “I'll tell him you're fine.”

“Is there a car in the garage?”

She hesitated. “No. There's not. Why?”

Lionel sensed she was lying. “I know there is,” he said. “C'mon and take me.”

“That's LeRoy's two-seat roadster. He'll kill me if I take it.”

“You're not takin' it,” Lionel said. “You're borrowing it. You'll probably be back before LeRoy is.”

Talia appeared to be thinking it over. “I wouldn't mind seein' André myself,” she said. “LeRoy and them haven't been getting back before one or two in the morning the last coupla nights anyway.”

“Let's go,” Lionel said.

“I'd better call him first.”

“Who? LeRoy?”

“No! André!”

“We both know he's hiding out. He's not going anywhere.”

“You think of everything, you little brat. And there's no way you're only thirteen.”

Lionel ignored her, taking both comments as compliments.

The roadster was a cool car, Lionel thought, and had it not been for the disappearances of his family and the danger in which he now found himself, he might have been impressed enough to really check it out. He had been interested in unusual cars since he was a small child. But now this was just a way to get to André. Something to ride in.

Talia seemed unable to concentrate even on where she was going. All she could say, over and over, was “Ooh, LeRoy's gonna kill me if he finds out about this!”

Lionel tried to talk to her, mostly to simply change the subject. “So, Talia,” he said, “where were you when the disappearances happened?”

“What?” she said, as if demanding to know what in the world he was talking about. “Where
was
I?”

“Yeah. Simple question. Everybody remembers where they were. I was sleeping in my basement with André. Where were you?”

“I was at a party André shoulda been at. So he was with you?”

“He didn't tell you where he was?”

“No! I told you! He's usually at all the parties, but he owed these guys some money, so I figured he was laying low.”

“I thought he was hanging with us because we're family.”

“Oh, yeah,” Talia said. “That's André. Big family man.”

“He could be, at times.”

“I know. Whenever he really needed something, he played you guys like banjos. When he needed cash or a place to crash, he'd run back to the family and get religion. Am I right? Huh? Am I right?”

Lionel shook his head and looked out the window. Talia was driving toward Chicago. It didn't seem to slip past her that Lionel had ignored her question. “Tell me,” she said. “Isn't that what André pulled on your family every time?”

Lionel nodded, but she must not have seen him. “Isn't it?” she pressed.

“Yeah,” Lionel muttered. “So, what did you think when people disappeared?”

“Nobody disappeared from
that
party, honey. Made me start believin' it was only Jesus' people who flew away.”

“You believe that?”

“No! I'm just sayin' . . .”

“That's what I believe, Talia.”

She whirled to face him. “No lie?”

“No lie,” Lionel assured her, nodding toward the road where another car was signaling to move into Talia's lane. Lionel hated when she took her eyes from the road. She was an erratic enough driver when she was paying attention.

“So,” she said, “how'd you miss out then, comin' from a family like yours? André says they're all gone but him and you.”

“Right,” Lionel said, and for the next several minutes and most of the ride to Chicago, he told her his story.

Lionel almost wished he hadn't started on the subject. Within minutes, Talia was wiping her eyes with her fingers while still trying to maneuver LeRoy's roadster through Chicago traffic. Lionel was eager to reconnect with André, but he didn't want Talia crying and driving at the same time. He was relieved when she finally pulled to the side of a street about six blocks south of where the police found the body they thought was André's.

Talia shifted into park and buried her face in her hands. “My mama's gone too,” she wailed. “I knew the truth. I always knew the truth. I was raised the same way you were. Well, maybe not the same, but Mama warned me and warned me about this!”

“It's not too late, Talia,” Lionel said. “I'm a believer now, and so are three of my friends and lots of other people—”

“No! No! It's too late. When Jesus took the Christians away, the Holy Ghost left and nobody can be saved anymore!”

“That's not in the Bible,” Lionel said. “You need to talk to our pastor.”

“Your pastor was left behind?” Talia said.

Lionel told Bruce's story. “And he told us the Bible talks about a great harvest of souls during the last seven years of the world. Something like a billion and a half people will get saved, and there'll be like 144,000 Jewish evangelists.”

“Even if what you're saying is true, Lionel,” Talia said, “I know I'm too far gone. If there really is a second chance, I don't deserve one, I know that.”

“Nobody deserves a
first
chance. If we had to deserve it, nobody would make it.”

To Lionel it appeared that Talia suddenly realized she was pouring her heart out to a thirteen-year-old boy. She quickly wiped her eyes again, turned the rearview mirror so she could check her face, and quit crying. “André is close by,” she said, “but I'm gonna have to let him know you're here and find out if he wants to see you.”

“Never mind,” Lionel said, reaching for his door handle. “He does.”

“You can't just barge in there with me,” she said.

“Yes, I can, and you know it. You know he wants to see me.”

Talia hesitated. She snorted. “True enough,” she said. “He probably wants to see you more than he wants to see me.”

Lionel got out of the car, prepared to follow Talia. As he fell into step behind her, he said, “You two not getting along?”

“I'd still marry him, messed up as he is.”

“He doesn't want to?”

“Obviously! But I'm scared to death to be facin' the future alone.”

“But André is
really
messed up,” Lionel said.

“Not as much as me,” she said.

Lionel wondered what kind of a couple those two would make.

Talia led Lionel around the back of a three-story brick apartment building in a bad neighborhood. Lionel wondered if Judd and the others were still keeping track of him. In a way he hoped they were, but he also wondered what three white kids would do to protect him in
this
neighborhood.

As they approached the rear entrance, Lionel noticed the lights went off in the apartment at that end on the top floor. As they climbed the square staircase, Lionel was quickly enveloped in odors and noise. People were apparently cooking, arguing, and fighting.

As they reached the third floor, where the lights at the end of the building had gone out, Talia put a finger to her lips and knocked four times at the door. Silence.

She knocked four times again. “Open up, André!” she called out. “It's jes' me.”

“Somebody's with you!” André hissed from just inside the door. “Who is that?”

“It's your nephew! Now open up!”

Before the words were out of her mouth, André had begun the process of unlocking, unbolting, unchaining, and opening the door. He peered out from the dark apartment, then grabbed Talia and Lionel and yanked them inside. He shut, locked, bolted, and chained the door in the dark. “Now,” he said finally. “Let's get a look at you.”

Lionel couldn't help but chuckle. His uncle had always been a little crazy, but—

“It'll be a long time before my eyes get used to the darkness and I can see you,” Lionel said. “Get a light on in here.”

Lionel heard André feeling along the wall for a switch. When a single, bare bulb came on above them, Lionel was stunned to see his wasted uncle. André was barefoot and wore a pair of old, shiny suit pants and a sleeveless T-shirt with food stains down the front. He appeared to not have bathed for days. His hair was matted, his facial hair patchy. His breath smelled of alcohol, and his dark eyes were bloodshot. It was all Lionel could do to keep from gasping and telling his uncle how bad he looked. Lionel assumed André knew that and didn't care.

“Oh, André!” was all Talia seemed to be able to say, and when he approached her, she stiffened. Whatever relationship was there or had been there or was trying to be rekindled, Lionel knew André's present condition wasn't helping.

“Ain't there no shower in this place?” she finally managed.

André shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Get your stinking self in there and get cleaned up,” she said. “Shave and brush your teeth too, and don't be comin' back out here until you do.”

André squinted at her and looked as if he were about to burst into tears, but his shoulders sagged and he skulked away like a little boy who'd been ordered about by his mother. “Oh, man!” he whined.

“Hey,” Lionel said. “I haven't got all night. I got people who worry about me when I get in late.”

“That's more than I can say,” Talia said, collapsing into a plastic chair at the Formica-topped dinette table. A heavy, glass ashtray full of butts and a nearly empty bottle of cheap wine graced the table. Talia noticed them as if an ugly insect had just landed before her.

“Oh, for the love of all things . . . ,” she said, never finishing the thought. She had just used her foot to slide out another chair for Lionel when she stood and grabbed the wine bottle in one hand and the ashtray in the other. She tossed the bottle into a wastebasket nearly full of beer cans, where it settled at a crazy angle. She held the ashtray at eye level, looked resolutely at Lionel, and let it drop. It smashed the wine bottle, and Lionel heard the last of the wine drip to the bottom of the basket. The contents of the ashtray, however, scattered on the floor. Talia swore.

Steam poured from under the door of the nearby bathroom. Over the sound of the cascading water, André hollered, “What's goin' on out there?”

“I'm just clearin' the table,” Talia answered. “What you been doin' for food, just drinkin'?”

“That's all the food I need!” André said. “Don't be messin' with my hooch.”