A Kiss Before the Apocalypse

Chapter five

"Maddie come home?" Marlowe asked from the backseat of the car, tilting his head and pointing his moist, jet-black nose toward the flow of air coming in from the partially open windows.

"No," Remy responded more sharply than he meant to as he tried to navigate Huntington Avenue's rush-hour traffic.

It had to have been the fourth time the dog had asked about Madeline since they'd left Cresthaven. Remy understood exactly where the pup was coming from, which just made it all the harder for him to explain why Marlowe's favorite female wasn't going to return to the pack.

Remy brought the car to a gradual stop at a traffic light near the Pru and casually looked into the rearview mirror to check on his buddy. He found himself staring into the dark, reflective eyes of the Labrador.

"Why?" the dog asked.

Remy sighed, turning the corner as the light changed to green.

"You know why," he told the animal. "Madeline's sick and needs to stay at the get-well place, where they'll take care of her."

The dog's head suddenly turned, zeroing in on a particularly interesting scent as they made their way down Boylston Street toward the Public Garden. Remy hoped that he would lose interest in the discussion of Madeline, but that wasn't the case.

"When?"

They always ended up in this uncomfortable place. He could tell Marlowe just about anything: tomorrow, two weeks from tomorrow, a year from next Tuesday, and to the simple animal it all meant pretty much the same thing. The dog, as with almost all animals, had no real concept of the passage of time. He lived for the moment, the now. That was what Marlowe truly wanted. He wanted Madeline home with them now, probably just as much as Remy himself did. Marlowe wanted the pack to be whole again, wanted life to be how it used to be.

How it was supposed to be.

But things had changed, and life never would be the same again. And how did he explain to this simple, loving animal that what it desired most could never be? Remy was the alpha male… The master, the provider. How could he not make this happen?

Instead, Remy ignored the dog, concentrating on getting home as quickly as possible. The remainder of the ride was filled with silent tension as Remy waited for the animal to press the issue, but Marlowe chose not to. In fact, he seemed more concerned with barking a greeting through the open window every now and again as they passed people walking their dogs.

The gods of parking must have been feeling especially benevolent, for Remy managed to find a space right on Hancock Street, near the State House. With a dazzling display of parallel parking — one of the most dif-

ficult things I've had to master as a human — Remy parked the Toyota for the night.

After a leisurely walk back to the brownstone, Remy retrieved his mail from the basket in the foyer and, unlocking the inner door, let them both into the hallway. The house was stuffy, and he walked around opening the windows to let in some fresh air. Marlowe followed at his heels, sniffing the influx of air for anything of interest.

Remy glanced at the wall clock as he left the living room, and saw that it was past the dog's supper time.

"Hey, pal, want to eat?" he asked, going into the kitchen. He got the dog some fresh water and then went to a cabinet beneath one of the counters for the container of Marlowe's food. With a plastic measuring cup he filled the dog's bowl and turned to put it down.

Marlowe still stood just inside the doorway, his stare intense. Normally the Lab would have been pushing Remy out of the way to get at his supper, but tonight something was different. There was a look in the animal's eyes that the angel immediately understood — the conversation that had begun in the car was not yet over.

"When?" Marlowe said pointedly.

Remy set the bowl down on the place mat next to Marlowe's water. The Labrador still didn't move, showing a self-control that he'd never displayed before.

The dog continued to stare, and finally Remy knelt, calling the Labrador to him. Tentatively, Marlowe approached, head low, ears flat, obviously thinking he was in trouble.

"Not bad," he grumbled.

"No, not bad," Remy said with a sad smile. He pulled the dog closer and lovingly rubbed the animal's ears. "You're a good boy, a very good boy."

He took Marlowe's blocky head in his hands and held his face close to his own. The dog's pink tongue shot out, licking Remy's face affectionately.

"I am good boy," he agreed, tailing wagging. "I am."

"Yes you are, but we need to talk about Madeline."

Marlowe's tail slowed, dropping down, only twitching slightly. "When coming home?"

Remy gently held the dog's face, gazing into his deep, brown eyes. "She's not," he said firmly, feeling his own heart break with the words. "Madeline has to stay at the get-well place, Marlowe. They are going to take care of her there, because we can't do that here."

The dog whined sadly. "No. Want Maddie. Now. Want Maddie. Home."

"I'm sorry," Remy said. "But she is not coming home. She's very sick and…" He paused, trying to find the right words. There wasn't any easy way to say it, so he simply let the words come. "She's going to die, Marlowe."

The animal tried to pull away, but Remy held him in place.

"No die," he whined, the nails on his feet clicking upon the tiled floor. "No die."

Remy let the dog go and he left the kitchen, tail tucked between his legs. "I'm sorry," he called after the animal, and no truer words were ever spoken.

"I'm so, so sorry."

Remy thought he might be able to relax a bit by watching some of his favorite home-improvement shows, but he never got that far.

The evening news caught his attention, every story worse than the one before it. Escalating violence in the Middle East, hunger and disease running rampant in the African nations, and then the disconcerting report on how scientists from all over the world had begun to take note of a sudden decrease in death rates, and how dangerous it was becoming to an already strained ecosystem.

Dangerous isn't the word, Remy thought with a sigh, picking up the remote from the arm of his chair and turning off the set before yet another story could send him plummeting further into the depths of depression.

The evening had become pretty much a wash, and Remy decided that he might as well go up to bed. Maybe a few more chapters of Farewell My Lovely would help ease his funk.

He headed for the kitchen, calling Marlowe, for one last trip outside. When the canine didn't answer, Remy strolled down the hallway to the spare room that the dog had claimed for his own. The black Labrador was curled into a tight ball on his tattered blanket, the floor about him strewn with stuffed toys.

"I'm going to bed now," Remy said. "Do you need to go outside?"

"No outside," the dog mumbled, not even lifting his head.

"Are you sure?" Remy asked.

"Sure," the dog answered, obviously still very upset over the news that Madeline was not returning to his pack.

"Well, good night, then," the angel said, waiting to see if the dog was going to join him in bed, as he often did. But Marlowe remained in his own place, closing his eyes with an elongated sigh. He didn't even want his bedtime snack.

"I guess I'll see you in the morning."

In all actuality, Remy didn't have to sleep, but he had learned to do so out of boredom and loneliness during the early morning hours while he waited for the rest of the world to awaken. It hadn't taken him long to teach himself, and he soon found that he quite enjoyed the act of shutting down to recharge his batteries. It felt good to escape the constant conflict between his angelic nature and the human guise he worked so hard to maintain, even if it was for just a short time.

Once again Remy found it difficult to focus on Chandler's words, and finally decided that it was time to call it a night. He laid the book facedown on his bedside table and was reaching to turn off the light when he sensed that he was no longer alone.

Marlowe stood in the doorway to the bedroom, staring.

"What is it, bud? Do you have to go outside?"

"Leave pack too?" the animal asked. "Leave Marlowe like Maddie?"

Remy sighed, a wave of empathy for the animal's sadness passing over him. "No, Marlowe," he said gently. "I won't leave you."

He patted an area of bed beside him, and the Labrador bounded from the doorway up onto the bed, tail twitching nervously. Remy rubbed the dog's floppy black ears, allowing the animal to lick his face.

"You're the best boy," Remy told him. "How could I ever leave you, huh? How could I?"

"Marlowe best," the dog said, happily panting. "Marlowe best boy ever."

"Yes, you are," he told the animal. "Why don't you lie down now?"

The dog plopped heavily beside him, and even though there was plenty of room for both of them, his butt was pressed firmly against Remy's leg as he settled down.

"That's a good boy." Remy patted Marlowe's side. "We'll get a good night's rest and be able to look at things more clearly in the morning. How does that sound?"

"Love Remy," Marlowe said, tail thumping upon the mattress, looking, with deep, soulful eyes, over his shoulder at the angel.

"I love you too, pal," Remy answered, reaching over to turn off the bedside light. "Now let's get some sleep."

Remy lay in the darkness, the rhythmic changes in Marlowe's breathing as he gradually drifted off helping him to relax.

It wasn't long before he too was asleep.

And dreaming.

It was like something out of a spaghetti western.

Remy found himself standing in front of an old train station. The wood of the place was weather beaten and dry, and the floorboards creaked noisily as he shifted his weight.

The angel was alone.

He looked out across the broad expanse of desert, following the dark, metal tracks as they curved off into the horizon, where an angry orange sun was just starting to rise. A sudden wind kicked up, blowing thick clouds of dust and sand off the desert, and Remy shielded his eyes from the grit and grime. He looked down at himself and

saw that he was wearing his Brooks Brothers suit — his best suit — the one that he wore to weddings and funerals. Offhandedly, he wondered what the occasion was.

At first, he mistook the sound for the wind, a low, moaning sound that seemed to come up out of nowhere, filling the empty expanse around him. But then he heard it in tandem with another sound, and he knew exactly what it was.

A train was coming.

He put a hand upon his brow and squinted into the morning light.

The train appeared as an unsightly blotch against the orange of the rising sun, a thick plume of black smoke trailing from its smokestack.

Remy walked down the length of platform toward the oncoming locomotive. It was big, larger than any train he'd ever seen before, its metal body blacker than the smoke that plumed from its unusually tall stack. But it wasn't just its appearance that was strange; the way the train moved along the track was almost as if it were somehow more than just a machine — strangely alive, like some huge, prehistoric predator, slithering down the length of track, following the scent of its prey.

He knew then, as he stood upon the lonely platform, that the train coming into the station carried no more than four riders. And each of these riders brought with them a means by which to begin the Apocalypse.

The Horsemen were coming.

And the end of all things followed them.

Remy awakened with a start, the image of the fearsome locomotive barreling toward him as he stood upon the station platform seared into his mind's eye.

His heart was racing, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his entire body. He lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, an occasional car passing by on the street below causing oddly shaped shadows to slide across the white surface. But he paid them little attention; his thoughts replaying the events of the bizarre dream.

He heard the train whistle, moaning somewhere in the back of his memory, the rhythmic pulse of the locomotive engine as it drew closer.

The Horsemen on the way.

It was then that he realized he was alone. He turned his head on the pillow, looking for Marlowe where he'd normally be, curled up into a tight ball near his head. But the dog wasn't there.

He sat up, looking down at the foot of the bed. He wasn't there either.

Remy was about to call out the dog's name when he heard a soft whimper from somewhere in the room.

"Marlowe?" Remy asked in the darkness.

Something scrabbled beneath the bed, nails scraping across the hardwood floor. Remy rose and knelt down, lifting the blanket and sheets that hung over the side of the bed and peering beneath. Marlowe's dark, glistening eyes stared back at him.

"What the heck are you doing under there?" Remy asked the animal.

"Scared," the dog told him.

"Scared of what?"

"Something coming… something big."

Remy felt an electric jolt of surprise. Had the animal shared his dream? "A train?" he asked. "Did you dream about a train?"

"Train," the dog agreed. "Train coming. Bad. Scared."

Remy reached into the shadows and scratched the dog behind the ear. "You don't have to be afraid," he soothed him. "Come on out."

"Scared," the dog said again.

"Well, okay, then," Remy said, dropping the sheets and beginning to stand. "Guess I'll just have to go for a walk by myself."

"Walk?" Marlowe barked, creating a racket as he clambered to extract his seventy-five pounds from the cramped confines beneath the bed.

"I thought you were too scared," Remy said, slipping on a pair of dark gray sweatpants.

Marlowe emerged from his hiding place, standing alert, tail wagging furiously, his fear already forgotten.

"Yeah," Remy chuckled as he pulled a sweatshirt on over his head.

"Walk."