Free Don't Fear The Reaper by Lex Sinclair Page B

the closed-in corridor that reeked of damp and was covered in cracks
and fissures running up the walls, branching off into other cracks.
    Number 3 led the way down the short, cramped corridor to the black,
timber door and knocked upon entering.
    The room beyond the threshold was bare, save the oak desk, three leather
upholstery chairs and Persian rug. Four gooseneck bedside lights were
positioned around the room in each corner. On the oak desktop two candles
burned, flickering amorphous shadows across the crumbling walls.
    The elderly man closed the door behind them and left the three men to
their private business. Number 3 took the vacant chair, which groaned beneath
his weight. He regarded the other two middle-aged men, both nursing a glass of
Scotch. Both had the same shiny, scarlet eyes where the whites should have been
as himself.
    The gentleman at the desk had lank, grey hair and was clean shaven. The
other gentleman to number 3’s right had a moustache and short, thick black
hair. He nodded in greeting to number 3.
    ‘Care to join us, number 3?’ the man seated behind the desk, known only
as number 1, asked.
    Number 3 nodded with assent.
    Number 1 poured a short glass from the bottle. ‘Number 2 and I have some
acceptable news we’d like to share with you. But first, indulge us by giving
details of how the prince of darkness is doing. Have you seen him with your own
eyes yet?’
    Number 3 accepted the glass and took a thirsty sip. Then he rested the
glass in his lap. ‘I haven’t caught sight of the little one as of yet. The
father is alarmed of my constant presence. He made reference to the weather
upon seeing me the first time. The second was when I thought all the skin on
his face would fall off when he saw me standing, watching him through the
window several hours later.’
    Number 1 nodded approval. ‘The chosen one’s father died in an automobile
accident a week ago in the fog. The mother is frail, breakable. She can be
destroyed. The Reaper has shown us the way, but we must enforce its wishes.
Number 2 is set to go and seek an opportunity while the chosen one is still in
his mother’s womb. But we must be careful. This is paramount, above everything
else. Is that understood?’
    Number 2 and number 3 nodded in unison.
    Shifting uncomfortably, Number 3 pulled the tail end of his raincoat off
the seat and let it fall over the arms, dripping. ‘What about the meteorite
shower? Isn’t that the first, unequivocal sign of the new age? If we aren’t
successful killing the mother and child won’t the meteorites take care of that
for us?’
    Number 2 silently agreed and turned his attention from Number 3 to Number
1, awaiting the response.
    ‘The meteors have already been detected as we know by an amateur
astronomer somewhere in the States. Unforeseen incidents have occurred which
buy us time. But soon the Earth all over will feel the wrath of global
devastation. Countries will be wiped out. Others, like this old nation will be
destroyed but not completely.
    ‘Whether we deal with the mother and the chosen one now or during the
aftermath is not paramount. What is vital is that it’s done.  And even if it’s
not, I ask you two fine gentlemen, what will a man born of this world do when
he realises his destiny and decides to confront Death?’
    The uplifting pep talk filled with confidence and bravado assured number
2 and number 3, for their lips curved upwards in mischievous smiles.
    Ordinarily, the three men if observed would have without doubt been
considered as mad members of a sinister cult, nothing more. However, in spite
of their bleak surroundings and implausible talk that a sane person would have
instantly described as gibberish, the men knew of things no other human could
possibly know, unless they were clairvoyant.
    It was then that all men remembered the fable depicted to them in their
dreams on the eve of June 6; the dream that wasn’t really a dream but a message
from Death. Even upon