Lucifer's Lottery by Edward Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

would be nice to have a little cash for his remaining days in town.
    Hudson grimaced when a knock resounded at the door.
    Oh, for pity’s sake
. . . It had to be somebody selling something. No one else
ever
knocked on Hudson’s door. He pulled on his robe inside out.
    “Look, whatever it is you’re selling,” he preempted when he opened the front door, “I’m flat broke—” But the rest was severed when he looked at his caller.
    An attractive but blank-faced woman stood without. The cause of Hudson’s jolt was her attire: a long black surplice and, of all things, a Roman collar.
A female minister?
he hazarded.
Must be asking for donations
—He could’ve laughed.
Lady, you picked the WRONG door to knock on today!
    Her blonde hair had been pulled back; her eyes were an odd dull blue. She was in her forties but striking: shapely, ample bosomed. A stout wooden cross hung about her neck.
    “Are you Hudson Hudson?” the woman asked in the driest tone.
    “Yes, and I’d love to give a donation but I’m afraid—”
    “My name is Deaconess Wilson.” She stared as she spoke, as if on tranquilizers.
    “I’m sorry . . . Deaconess, but I don’t have any money—”
    “I’m here to tell you that you’ve won the Senary,” she said.
    Hudson stalled. “The
what?
”
    She handed him a nine-by-six manila envelope. “May I . . . come in, Mr. Hudson?”
    Hudson winced. “I’d rather you didn’t, the place is a—” He looked at the envelope. “What is this?”
    “It . . . would be easier if I told you inside . . .”
    He stepped back. Obviously she was Protestant. “All right, but just for a minute. I’m very busy,” he lied.
    She entered slowly as if unsure of her footing. Hudson closed the door. “Now what’s this? I’ve won the
what?
”
    She turned and stood perfectly still. It occurred to Hudson now that whenever she spoke, she seemed to falter, as if either she didn’t know what to say or she was resisting something.
    “The Senary,” she said in that low monotone. “It’s like . . . a lottery.”
    “Well I never signed up for any
Senary
, and I never bought a ticket.”
    “You don’t have to. All you have to . . . do is be born.” She blinked. “I’ve been instructed to inform you that you’re the twelfth person to win the Senary. Ever. In all of history.”
    “Oh, you’re with one of those apocalyptic religious sects—”
    “No, no.” The deaconess ground her teeth. “I’m just . . . the messenger, so to speak.” Then she flinched and shook her head. “I’m-I’m . . . not sure what I’m supposed to say . . .”
    Crazy
, Hudson thought, a little scared now.
Mental patient with some religious delusion. Probably just escaped from a hospital
.
    She groaned. “You see, every . . . six hundred . . . and sixty-six . . . years, someone wins the Senary. This . . . time it’s . . . you.”
    She reminded Hudson of a faulty robot, experiencing minor short circuits. Several times her hands rose up, then lowered. She’d shrug one shoulder for no reason, wince off to one side, flinch, raise a foot, then put it back down. And again he had the impression that some aspect of her volition was resisting an unbidden impulse when her hands struggled to rise again.
    Shaking, they stopped at the top button of her surplice. Then, as if palsied, her fingers began to unfasten the buttons.
    Her words faltered. “Ssssssss-atan fell from Heaven in 5318 BC. The ffffffffff-irst Senary was held in 4652 BC. It was wuh-wuh-won by a Cycladean coppersmith named Ahkazm.”
    Crazy. Pure-ass crazy
, Hudson knew now. Yet, he didn’t throw her out. Instead he just stood . . . and watched.
    Watched her completely unbutton the surplice, skim it off along with the Roman collar and cross. She jittered a bit when she faced Hudson more resolutely, as if to display her total nakedness to him.
    I don’t BELIEVE this
. . .
    “Listen,” he finally forced himself to say. “You’re going to have to—”
    The image of