Thomas Sniegoski - A Hundred Words for Hate

Remy wondered why nothing could ever be easy.

According to Malachi, Zophiel had eventually ended up on Earth as well, and now that Eden was returning to this plane of existence, he too was hunting for the keys. The elder angel had mentioned violent incidents at other Sons of Adam locations around the globe as proof that this danger was real.

Remy glanced to the left at Jon, who was driving him back to the airstrip. He didn’t look so good.

“You all right?” he asked.

Jon didn’t answer, lost in thought and staring straight ahead at the desert road.

Remy reached across and touched his shoulder.

Jon started, looked at him, and then back to the road. “I’m sorry. Is there something wrong?”

“No.” Remy shook his head. “Just wanted to be sure you’re okay.”

Jon gave him an odd look, then reached up, pulling a tiny hearing aid from his ear and stuffing it into the breast pocket of his shirt. Remy hadn’t even noticed it was there.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “The batteries must be dead. You’re going to have to speak a little bit louder.”

“Have you always had a hearing problem?” Remy asked, raising his voice.

The man shook his head. “I lost it in my early teens,” he said, staring out through the windshield. The plane came into view through the shifting dust blowing across the desert. “Actually it was when Malachi first arrived.”

He smiled, but Remy could see little amusement there.

“The whole voice-of-the-divine thing,” Jon explained. “He was rather loud with his proclamations and damaged my eardrums.”

They reached the plane; Jon shut off the van’s engine and turned toward Remy.

“I want to thank you for coming,” he said, extending his hand.

Remy shook it. “My pleasure. I hope I can help.”

“Those should make certain you can,” Jon said, pointing to the papers resting in Remy’s lap.

When the volunteer’s mind had connected with them, showing the Sons all that Eden had to share, two had written down what they had seen, providing Remy with a detailed map and specific information on where the second half of the key could be found and who it was the detective had to find.

“The pilot has already been instructed to bring you to an airport in Thornwell. From there you can rent a car and head to the designated location,” Jon said as they got out of the van.

He met Remy in front of the vehicle and reached out to shake the detective’s hand.

“Good luck,” Jon said. “Hopefully we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”

“Take care,” Remy said, clutching the important papers beneath his arm as he proceeded toward the foldout stairs that would take him up into the jet.

The pilot was standing there waiting, saluting Remy as he passed through the rounded doorway inside. The stairway was retracted, and the door closed and secured as Remy took the same seat he’d sat in on his way out. Buckling himself in, he removed his phone from his jacket pocket to check for messages.

This was a new phone, finally replacing the archaic one that he’d had for the past ten years, and he had to think about the steps to play back voice mails.

A message from Fernita was the first he heard. It wasn’t uncommon these days for him to get calls from the older woman, but this one sounded a bit off. Remy didn’t like the hint of panic he heard in her voice. If he’d been heading home, he would have taken a drive over just to be sure she was okay. He considered calling her back, but then thought better of it, deciding that maybe it would be best to just wait to see her until this case was over and done, but the tone of the old woman’s voice disturbed him.

An idea began to take shape. An insidious concept, but one that the more he thought about it, the better it became.

The new phone had texting capability—his old one probably had too, but it wasn’t something Remy had ever thought to use. He tried to recall what he’d read in the owner’s manual as he set about sending his very first official text message.

Madeline would have been so proud of him. His wife had always been the first to embrace technology. He probably wouldn’t have even owned a cell phone if it weren’t for her.

Slowly his fingers played over the tiny keyboard, spelling out the message he would then send to Steven Mulvehill. Remy finished the message, then read it over and could barely contain his smile. He had told his friend about the wonderful old woman recently, and Steven had seemed genuinely amused, wanting to meet her. Well, here was his chance. In the message he asked if Steven would mind stopping by and checking things out, just to be sure that she was all right. As a special incentive, Remy promised the homicide cop a steak dinner at the Capital Grille and a bottle of twenty-five-year-old Macallan single-malt if he did this special favor for him.

There was very little Mulvehill wouldn’t do for a steak and a good bottle of Scotch.

The plane’s engine began to whine, the private jet starting to taxi down the runway, preparing to take him on to the next leg of his journey. He hit Send, watching the message disappear into the ether, and smiled as he returned the phone to his coat pocket.

Remy was certain he’d be hearing some serious shit from Mulvehill on this one, but what were friends for if they couldn’t be taken advantage of?

Nathan had been Jon’s closest friend.

They had grown up together in the various Sons of Adam communities, mortal enemies at first, but gradually becoming as thick as thieves.

And so much more.

Jon ran his key card through the security gate and entered the biodome, placing the card back inside his pocket. Nathan had always wanted to help; he was just like that. If it would advance the cause in any way, he would be the one to try to march it through. When they’d first begun to discuss human testing in regard to the fruit of the tree, he was the first to put his name on the list.

Nathan had described it as wanting to do something, to not sit around waiting for things to happen, but to actually contribute to things moving forward.

I hope wherever you are, you’re happy , Jon thought angrily. There were plenty of others in the Sons who would have volunteered, others Jon wasn’t so close to. It made him feel awful, but he secretly wished that one of them had been the one to taste the fruit, and not Nathan.

Another door slid open before him with a hiss of hydraulics, and he was hit with a blast of unusually frigid air. The air-conditioning must have been on the fritz again.

As he moved down the silent corridor, his mind continued to wander. A chill not caused by the air-conditioning ran down his neck as he recalled the moment Nathan’s thoughts—imbued with the power of Eden—touched his mind. Jon had never experienced anything like it, and hoped never to again.

He had been dwarfed by the immensity of it, a feeling so big that it threatened to swallow him up where he would disappear forever. Was that what returning to the Garden would be like? he wondered. Becoming part of something so big that one would lose any chance of individuality? If that was the case, he would much rather stay where he had been born.

From birth he’d been taught about the Sons of Adam’s holy mission, and had applied himself to the rules and regulations of the order’s cause, but deep down he had never expected their beliefs would come true.

Although he’d kept those thoughts to himself.

And now they were that much closer to its actually becoming a reality. The Garden of Eden was coming here . . . to Earth. It was a concept that he was having a difficult time wrapping his brain around.

Jon’s mind raced as he passed through a doorway into the cafeteria. A cup of coffee was what he needed, before the sad task at hand.