Annie XC: Rapture

(Chronological index: High School)

It was Annie's idea. But it soaked into the minds of the gamers like an incendiary. And Raymond's energy set it ablaze.

She couldn’t participate, not directly, but they let her help. She painted the signs.

Raymond had handlettered a couple of signs on a sheet of paper. Her words, his punctuation. Then he borrowed Mom's art projector and broadcast them over poster paper.

With that penciled in, Annie could walk across and paint in the letters.

"The Rapture Is-" Dad read, walking into the spare bedroom. Annie froze on the poster, the pot of paint beside her, the brush at port-arms.

Dad couldn't make out the letters remaining and guessed. "Bullshit? Delayed?"

"Coming!" Annie said. "With four exclamation points."

"Do I want to know?" he asked after a moment.

"Do any of your superiors attend Saint Joseph's for services?" she asked without hesitating. He shrugged. She shrugged back.

He shook his head and wandered down the hall, calling to his wife.

Annie went back to painting between the lines.

------

Parishioners at St. Joesph's found a bit of pre-service entertainment that Sunday. Six youths were protesting. Or at least parading.

They wore suits, glasses and decent shoes. And they carried signs. Signs exhorting them to find the True Way, to avoid false idols and to prepare for the coming Rapture.

Most of the Catholics were pleased there were no references to the Whore of Babylon.

A few did approach. Jack, the spokesman, pointed out they were polite and nonconfrontational. They were across the street from the church and not on church property.

"But you are on private property," one man pointed out.

"Of a store that's closed on Sunday," he replied, "so our presence cannot possible be affecting the bottom line of the owner's materialistic, capitalistic attempts to secure the hard-earned legal tender of the masses. If the police ask us to move, I'm sure we'll be vindicated in the subsequent lawsuit."

Jack's intensity and vocabulary shut down any further protests. Fearing to be cross-named in the lawsuits, the lay leaders kept anyone else from interfering.

Finally, everyone that was going to attend the scheduled service was inside, the doors shut.

The protesters lowered their signs.

------

Annie also got to work the video camera. It was inside a box atop a stack of boxes in an apparently empty parked van.

None of the gamers joined her immediately, wanting not to draw attention to it. She saw the door open and started the film, zoomed in on the people coming out.

The first few were intent on getting to their cars. The people in a hurry would be the first ones out.

After that, though, they started to pause.

Across the street, the protesters were gone. Mostly.

The signs were scattered over the lot. As were six pairs of shoes. Smoke rose from the shoes.

There were eyeglasses near each pair. Along with one handkerchief, two sets of wires that might be braces, a wallet and a glass eyeball.

The responses ranged from curiosity to kneeling in prayer. But no one crossed the street. No one found the hideously false ID in the wallet for one Peter Mark of Luke, Florida.

And no one found the dry ice in the shoes.

After a few minutes, Raymond wandered down the street from the opposite direction. Dressed more naturally, he ignored the consternation down the block and entered the van.

"We okay?" he asked.

"Okay!" Annie shouted cheerfully. "Lots of close-ups."

He started the van and drove a couple of blocks. Annie opened the flap in the front of the box. "I am ungodly hot, though."

Raymond was already pulling over. He stepped between the seats and approached her. Then he knelt and opened the flap in the front of the bottom box of the stack.

She watched, curious, as he drew out a cooler. Water sloshed inside, and ice clinked.

"Not an ice bath," she protested.

"Not quite," he said. She saw him open it. There was a plastic bag submerged and he drew it into the air.

Water ran out through copious holes. Annie saw that it was a bunch of grapes. Green ones, her favorites. "Oh, that'll be nice."

He opened the bag and placed the grapes in the cooler's tray. Water slid off the fruit and sluiced through the bottom.

Then he reached for her. Ice cold fingers chilled her to the bone, a welcome change from the sweat box.

Her naked body was placed in the center of the bunch like a bumpy sofa. Heat sluiced off of her, following the condensation down.

Raymond bit a grape in half, slicing his teeth straight down. He handed one half to her.

She sat on her cold couch, holding a cold grape like half a melon, and recovered.

"Comfy?" he asked.

"Sufficiently," she acknowledged. "Now, my servant, let's away to the castle that we may review the tape and regale each other with our successes."

"As you command, my lady," he said with a nod and a smile. He moved to the front and shifted the cooler around so he could see her. "So, what was your favorite part?"

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