The Rapture: A Sci-Fi Novel by Nicholas Erik Read Free Book Online Page B

we are, old man.”
    “You’re some sort of jackass after you get a few drinks deep, know that kid?”
    “But you love me for it.”
    “That,” he says, “is a discussion for another time.” He polishes off his whiskey and sets it down with a bow. “You just holler, now, if anyone important comes in. And don’t touch my stash. I don’t share with pricks.” He walks out from behind the bar, slaps me in the back with one of his large, weather-beaten hands, and then disappears into the kitchen.
    I wouldn’t take a nap in there if it was the last place on earth, but I guess when you’re old certain things matter less.
    And then it hits me: Dizzy, that dog. His mannerisms, his way of fitting in. I figured he was just some old hippy, but that wasn’t it. Unlike most of them, he was lucid, knew that he was on this goddamn planet. No, he’d come from another time. What with his long hair and kind eyes, he could be Jesus Christ.
    Not that I believe, or anything, but I’m just saying—the man had goodness in his face, like some people do. Even if he could use a haircut to get with the style of this millennium.
    I scramble over the bar, shouting his name, but the kitchen is deserted. All that there is, in the center of stainless steel island, is a pamphlet for the Rapture.
    There’s some scrawled writing in the middle: see you again , it says, and I guess it’s by Dizzy’s hand. I rub the glossy card stock and sigh. This is all different. All so goddamn different.
    The paper even feels different, but I think that’s my imagination. I’ve only touched a couple things that passed through the continuum, but they all had a weird energy surrounding them, something like a glow.
    This thought makes me believe that I have to stop drinking. I walk back through the doors, out to the main floor, and the chick on stage gives me an eye roll. I return serve with the best fuck you glare I have, and, if there’s one thing I know, I’ve cultivated quite a mean gaze.
    The girl shuffles off in a hurry.
    I’m alone now and I could use a refresher, even though my face feels funny and buzzes when I touch it. Around me, the music plays, the lights flash, the crappy speakers boom with each drum kick blast—everything keeps on going, except without people. In a place used to kinetic chaos, it’s rather eerie—like the world has ended, except for one sliver of the universe. I worm on to the sticky counter, feet dangling, groping for the closest available bottle.
    I hear the double doors swing open and slam against the concrete walls. I try to make a graceful escape back into my seat, but nothing ever goes according to plan, and this is no exception: I knock off all the bottles with a crash, miss the stool and land square on my ass.
    “Goddamnit.” I look around for witnesses. The two sad saps, they’re still sleeping off their excessive alcohol consumption.
    “You’re going to have to pay for all that, you know,” a woman says, her voice coming from above.
    “I don’t believe we’ve met.” I wipe the stale booze from the seat of my pants and situate myself back on the stool. But oh, that’s a lie. We have. Many times. Most people in this world, they’re just stock characters, flitting in and out of your life—a guy at the bank, a woman at the grocery store.
    But her, no, not her. She was never that for anyone. People are always unknowable to start, but once you look into those eyes, you can see it all, know her story. And she knows yours.
    “Oh, we have. Earlier today.” Kristine stares straight at me, glitter and fake eyelashes and all. “You remember it, don’t you?”
    “Where now?” My heart beats a furious tattoo against the confines of my chest. I can’t screw this up; there won’t be a repeat. There’s always a last time, and this is it: the first step towards redemption.
    “You know the place,” she says, finger pointing towards Riverton proper.
    “I don’t think I understand what you’re