End of Days by Frank Lauria Read Free Book Online Page A

said innocently. “… It’s a guy … a priest.” He glanced at Jericho. “Got to find the priest.”
    Detective Francis didn’t buy it, but there was nothing she could do. Even if she pulled them in for questioning, Jericho still had friends at headquarters. As she watched them leave, she felt a grudging admiration for Jericho’s detective skills.
    Chicago took a deep breath when they left the decrepit building. By comparison the New York air smelled like a pine forest. He pulled out the photograph Jericho had found, and stared at the carefree young blond girl smiling up at him.
    â€œFive million women in New York City.” Chicago sighed. “How are we going to find her without a name?”
    Jericho didn’t answer. He was still wondering how Thomas Aquinas managed to speak to him without a tongue.

C HAPTER FOUR
    The afternoon subway was sparsely populated. Christine read her book, Infinite Jest, and tried to avoid eye contact with the albino panhandler, who stood watching her fixedly. Christine peeked over the edge of her book, then looked away from the albino’s glassy pink eyes.
    The subway entered a tunnel, car lights dimming. When they went up again, Christine saw the albino man was still staring. His bleached white skin and matted pale hair seemed to radiate intensity. Finally Christine surrendered. She fished into her purse and handed the albino a dollar.
    The albino took the money, but he didn’t leave. He continued to stare as if transfixed. She glanced around. The other passengers were all looking somewhere else.
    â€œHey, I gave you some money,” Christine said calmly. “Can you just move on?”
    â€œHe’s coming for you,” the albino warned. “He’s coming for you, Christine.”
    An electric prickle crawled up her spine. “Christine? How do you know me?” she demanded. “Who are you?”
    The albino smirked obscenely. “He’s gonna fuck you. Fuck you. Can you see him? Can you see him?” He started to move off.
    â€œWho are you?” she repeated. “How do you know my…”
    Christine reached for the albino’s arm. It shattered like porcelain in her hand. Just then the car lights went out.
    As the subway hurtled through the tunnel, strobing lights swept the car, revealing demonic faces leering at her. The car began to violently shake and rattle. The albino man crashed to the floor and smashed into a hundred pieces … each piece bursting into flame …
    Christine screamed.
    Suddenly it was quiet. The lights blinked on as the train slowed and came to a stop. Everyone in the car seemed startled by her outburst. They were looking at her strangely. Christine glanced around the car.
    The albino had vanished.
    Embarrassed, she retrieved her book. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I’m sorry.”
    But they continued to stare.
    *   *   *
    Home sweet home. Jericho had to admit his décor compared favorably to Thomas Aquinas’s Neo-Inferno style.
    He filled his glass with vodka and downed it. The place is starting to look better already, Jericho noted, refilling his glass. He moved to the bedroom and pulled off his shirt. He stood at the mirror and dropped his Kevlar vest.
    Two large, yellow-green welts marked his massive chest where the bullets had struck. And they ached with each breath. Two aspirin, another vodka, and some sports cream lubricated his bruises. Like any good athlete, he knew how to play hurt.
    Trying to sort out the day’s events, Jericho wandered over to the window. The dark, restless sky above the city rolled with gathering thunderheads. Jericho tried to remember what Thomas Aquinas had shouted at him.
    When the thousand years are ended … When the thousand years …
    Abruptly Jericho turned and went to his closet. He reached back through the clutter and pulled out a cardboard box. He set the box on