The Last Page by J. E. Deegan	Part 1 appears in this issue.
conclusion

“Why?” Beth repeated, assuming Laura’s collected tone. “Because I don’t believe we should be afraid to talk about it, that’s why. Doug covered everything but that, yet what the damn thing is... is what we’re all thinking about. So... why not? Talking about it beats the hell out of just sitting around like a bunch of zombies.”

“She’s right,” offered Terry, feeling strangely at ease. Much more at ease than any sane person had a right to feel in this situation. It could have been the liquor; he hadn’t been shy about helping himself to the stash in Richard’s cooler. No one had. On any other day the amount he had already consumed would have had him on his back and snoring.

Not this day, though.

“Good God,” barked Laura, sinking back into a chair. “You’re all crazy!”

Terry looked at Beth, who stared back, her eyes warm and inviting, her fingers playing with the gold chain around her neck. Their eyes locked, and Terry became aware that she might be the cause of his odd sense of comfort.

“Okay,” said Doug. “I’m game. Who wants to start?”

Tony reappeared then, walking with an uncharacteristic bounce to his step. A guarded, guilty-looking smile tugged at his mouth, a can of Coors filled his right hand.

Seeing him, Laura slid to the edge of her chair, nearly spilling her drink. “Tony! The road’s open?! We can leave?!”

“No... quite the opposite,” Tony answered, his voice slightly slurred. “The road’s packed tighter than a full tick. It’s only two lanes, you know, and neither one is moving. But you should see the crowd out there. Hell, you’d think you came upon Woodstock or something. People are everywhere, and most of them are milling about... shaking hands... talking, laughing and pouring drinks like there’s no tomorrow.” Tony’s hand flew to his mouth; his eyes raced from person to person in the room. “Whoops, sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Beth let out a screech. “Hell, Tony. I thought it was great.”

Tony cast a wary glance at Laura, who had covered her face with her hands. “I was shocked at first,” he continued. “I though the whole lot of them had fallen off the deep end. I mean... for Christ’s sake, the world’s on fire and everyone’s having a party. But then I figured... what the hell... there wasn’t anything any of them could do about that inferno out there, or about the logjam they’re stuck in, so... why not make the best of it?

“And I think they have the right idea. Let’s face it, folks. There’s nothing anyone can do, and that makes our choices simple. We can moan and groan and worry ourselves gray, or do like everybody else and just make the best of it. The fire is just sitting out there and will probably burn itself out before long. And I’ll tell you this. I feel a damned sight better knowing that nobody’s going bananas over this.”

With that, Laura Glenn came apart. She jumped to her feet, her face livid and swollen with fury. Her gin and tonic took flight toward her husband, who dropped his Coors and ducked just in time. The glass detonated against the wall behind him.

“Bananas!!” she screamed. “You dumb ass! You’re out there partying with a bunch of mindless weirdoes while we’ve been sitting here waiting... waiting for!!” She went for Tony then, lunging across the room in quick awkward strides. Hissing and shrieking like something rabid, she began flailing away at the shield he made of his arms.

The rest of the group sat board stiff, wide eyed with wonder and too dumbstruck to move. Each had witnessed Laura’s tantrums before, but this one promised something special. A windmilling left hand broke through Tony’s pitiful barricade and caught him solidly beneath his left eye. He stumbled backward, cursing and grabbing at his face which showed blood from Laura’s nails.

Perhaps reflexively, perhaps not, Tony’s right hand became a fist that slammed into Laura’s temple. She went down like something dropped and lay still on the floor, a trickle of blood seeping from her left ear.

By then, everyone but Richard Temple was standing, but no one moved. They watched Tony, who was standing over his wife like a gladiator, his fists still clenched, his face red with blood and rage. “You miserable bitch... that’s it! I’ve taken all from you I’m ever going to!”

Doug Green stepped forward to firmly push Tony back toward the wall. “Easy, Tony. It’s okay. Come on now. Calm down.” Doug then squatted beside Laura and felt her temple, then her wrist. “I don’t know,” he said. “Her breathing’s not good and she’s turning pale. I... I don’t know.” He gained his feet and looked around for help. “We should move her to some place more comfortable. Where to, Terry?”

It took Terry a moment to answer. His attention had shifted to Beth, now at his side with her arms locked around his elbow. “The guest room is closest. I’ll give you a hand with her.”

“Oh, dear God!” Tony screamed, his face the color of dry ice. “Leave her alone! Please... let me do it.” He scooped his wife into his arms, took a few steps into the hall, then stopped. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I... I don’t know what got into me.”

As he disappeared into the hallway, Beth spoke through her teeth, but loud enough for all to hear. “She’s what got into him. She’s been asking for that for years.”

Richard Temple, again heading for the cooler, laughed gruffly. “That’s cute, Beth. Just the sort of concern I’d expect from you.” Appearing amazingly sober, he took a bottle of vodka from the cooler, opened it and headed for the stairs. “You’ll have to continue the party without me, folks. Think I’ll walk down to the shore to watch the fireworks.”

“Why not take the whole cooler and stay out there forever?” Beth quipped caustically.

Richard turned, his eyes hard with contempt. “As a matter of fact, dearest Beth, I will be out there forever. Which may, if we’re unlucky enough, drag on a few more hours.” He swept the room with his eyes, pausing but briefly upon each person. “Laura’s right, you know. What’s happening out there is the end of the world.” He glared at Beth. “You wanted everyone’s opinion of that bloody conflagration? That’s mine. The end of the world. The absolute and everlasting end of it. God has finally had enough of us... of our greed and our wickedness toward one other. The world was born of fire and fire is now destroying it. That’s quite fitting, don’t you agree? Yeah... what we’re witnessing, folks, is the last page of creation. And all things considered, I’d say it’s come none too soon.”

Beth scoffed. “Get out, you drunken fool. Go somewhere and drink yourself to death.”

“Precisely my thoughts, love,” Richard laughed and raised his bottle. “And that calls for a final toast. Here’s to you, darling almost-wife. Here’s to you and your incredible yet somehow fascinating self-indulgence.” He took a long swallow then descended the stairs.

“Worthless idiot,” Beth muttered while moving toward the cooler. Doug followed her.

“Uh... not to be nosey,” he said, “but aren’t you two engaged?”

Beth sneered. “Why sure we are. The wedding’s set for the tenth of next month.” She lifted a fifth of bourbon from the cooler and filled her glass. “Money... if you’re wondering the reason. He’s filthy rich and that’s the only reason I need. As for Richard, in case you haven’t already guessed, he’s a faggot. Queer as a three-dollar bill. But he needs a cover... a wife. A fine, well-bred young Southern lady like me to make him appear respectable. Yeah, respectable, so he can sneak out at night and play around with the boys. It’s a lot easier being a faggot when you’re married, you know. We’ll both get what we want, and what could be fairer than that?”

Doug scratched his head and grabbed a bottle of Scotch. “This is too deep for me. I’m going out on the balcony for some fresh air.”

Terry stared at Beth. “Is it true?”

“About Richard and me? Every last word.”

“What about the end of the world?”

Beth shot him a surprised look. “That last page of creation crap? Oh, Jesus, Terry. Get serious, will you?”

“I am. At least I think I am. I mean... “

He didn’t know what he meant. Didn’t know what he felt. His head was spinning; his mind felt like a score of bees trapped in a jar. The booze, he knew, had to be hitting him pretty hard by now. But even with that, he couldn’t make himself believe that this daylong display of insanity was actually happening. He tried telling himself that he was dreaming; that he was simply lost in some sleep-induced demented fog that was trying to convince him that the impossible had become real. If he wasn’t dreaming, he sinkingly realized, then the world had gone crazy and he had become a madman.

Beth approached, draped an arm around his neck, then gently eased his head to her shoulder. Her lips brushed his cheek; her tongue found his ear. Her breathing was slow and even and rife with suggestion, and she smelled of bourbon, tired makeup and female sweat.

Terry, left to choose between madness and a dream, let himself succumb to the dream. He embraced her roughly around the waist, dug a hand into her hair, and pulled her head back to stare into her eyes. They blazed back with confidence and conquest. He smiled his capitulation and opened his mouth for hers.

A scream broke them apart, first to look oddly at each other then down the hallway toward the guestroom. Behind them, the door to the balcony whooshed open. “What the hell was that?” yelled Doug.

The scream came from Tony Glenn, who was lumbering toward the living room from the hallway. He stopped at the stairwell and turned toward Terry and Beth. His eyes bulged and his lips quivered in a crazy jig. “Laura’s dead,” he finally said. “Dead.” With that he raced down the stairs.

Doug took an indecisive step into the living room then turned and lunged back to the balcony. “For God’s sake, Tony! What happened?” His voice then roared into the living room like cannon fire. “Tony! No! Don’t do it, man!”

Terry, his heart suddenly pounding, began a clumsy sprint for the balcony. He arrived as Doug vaulted over the railing, his voice trailing behind him. “Tony! Don’t be a damn fool!”

Frozen by disbelief, Terry stood at the railing and watched the two men below struggle by the opened door of Tony’s station wagon. Behind them, like some immense rippling stage prop, the hellish wall of fire churned and twisted against the sky. Both men tugged and tore at some object held between them, and for an incredibly irrational instant Terry thought the object to be a gun.

A GUN?

Then he realized that it was a gun. “This isn’t happening,” he said aloud. “This can’t be real.” Then he knew that the gun was real. The sharp angry report it made chilled his blood and sent a ringing percussion down his spine.

Doug Green stumbled backward, one hand gripping his chest; the other shaking and reaching toward Tony. Tottering like a wind-blown tree, Doug turned and stared at the balcony. His face was white with bewilderment and he said but two words: “Terry... why?” Then he laughed, a low gurgling chuckle filled with confusion and disbelief. A quick gulp of breath stiffened him before he toppled forward and thudded into the dirt of the driveway.

Beth’s hand squeezed at Terry’s shoulder, and he snapped quickly around. That he did spared him from witnessing Tony Glenn thrust the gun into his mouth and pull the trigger. But another angry sound and the look of curious but indifferent astonishment that gathered on Beth’s face told him what had occurred.

* * *

The remainder of the day was largely a blur. When he did make an effort to think, Terry was invariably overpowered by the belief that he was trapped in some hideous nightmare that refused to end. The absurdity of this horrifying day left no other sensible explanation. He recalled awakening from other nightmares still captured by them; still seeing what his mind had conceived spin vividly through his senses as he sat sweating and panting on his bed. This was the same thing. Prolonged... yes, but it, too, would eventually give way to reality.

Drugged by that belief, he was able to impassively place the three bodies in the back of the Glenns’ station wagon. He thought of Richard Temple, but never seriously considered searching for his ghost along the shoreline. He might have found it had he looked. But what would be the point? He continued drinking and spent long periods on the balcony, totally desensitized and lethargically staring at the blazing and now, he believed, harmless inferno upon the horizon. As dusk darkened to night, he even marveled at the incredible beauty of the swirling red and orange curtain of flame. Beth appeared occasionally, cooing and laughing and drinking herself into oblivion. But she was merely part of the nightmare, and what would happen would happen.

Somehow they ended up in Terry’s bed, he upon her and vice-versa in a twisting, totally unsatisfying exercise in lust. But why not? The impossible fantasy controlled everything.

When passion had spent itself, Terry freed himself from Beth’s persistent embrace and turned facedown and exhausted to his pillow. It was then that this preposterous illusion he was enduring began one last assault upon whatever remained of sanity. For a terrifying moment he lay frozen and uncertain of what had taken place. But the assault quickly withered. Stupefied by drink, by Beth’s incessant craving, and by the utter inanity of this inconceivable fantasy, he drifted off into sleep. The irony of falling asleep during a dream danced like a jester through his mind.

* * *

Terry awoke with a start, the throbbing in his head amplified by the abrasive clamor from the alarm clock. Drenched with sweat and very much aware of a strange clawing in his stomach, he lay facing the clock on the nightstand. It read 6.00 a.m. He silenced the alarm with his second try then lifted his head.

He felt his face tighten when he saw the strange shadows dancing on the wall behind the bed. For a moment he simply stared at them, blinking erratically as if doing so would dismiss his bafflement. Then his eyes popped horribly open and he whirled to his back, a flying elbow catching Beth in the shoulder. She grumbled raggedly and turned over.

“Terry?” She reached for him and turned suddenly rigid. Her hand had fallen on his chest, right above his heart. And his heart had become a crazy machine attempting to make itself explode. She propped herself on her elbows, stared oddly at him, and focused on his face. His eyes bulged outward and glowed orange.

Her head snapped toward the huge window that looked out upon the jagged line of hills to the east. She screamed at what she saw.

The hills were on fire, covered by an immense mountain of flame that reached far into the sky.

The fire was moving steadily down the hill.

Copyright © 2008 by J. E. Deegan

Open Challenge 278...