Page 145 of The End of the World As We Know It

She closed her eyes, acutely aware of the coldness of the floor beneath her feet since the heating stopped working. Her nude body shivered, covered with goose pimples. Rain pelted against the window. That damn British rain she hated and wanted to escape her entire adult life.

“How?!” she screamed.

No response from him except the memory of her dream the previous night. It was a vision of her cheek against an altar covered in a white cloth. Both her hands were tied behind her back. Her gaze shifted toward the ornate, vaulted ceiling. She knew where that altar was located. It had to be a sign.

The following afternoon, Elizabeth stood in front of the Coronation Chair in St. George’s Chapel inside Westminster Abbey, wanting to feel the sensation that royals of old experienced. Divine right. They believed each king and queen was imbued with God’s power and protection. The divine lived through them. They werechosen. To disobey meant you disobeyed God Himself. Was this true? The modern monarchy had left much to be desired. They had all seemed very ordinary and thick. Nothing divine had lived in them. If it did, they would still be here instead of her. It gave her a smug satisfaction. The dreams also made her feel this way. There was something truly otherworldly about them, and Flagg. They could be the new gods.

Elizabeth touched the decrepit old wood and chipped gold paint of the Coronation Chair. It had decayed just like the long-gone royals. The throne only possessed the power of the one who sat on it. History and war told that tale time and time again. The urge to sit on it became stronger the longer she gazed on its pathetic state of ruin. Who would stop her, and did it even matter anymore?

She had hoped the dream brought her here to meet others, yet the walk across Westminster Bridge was a lonely one. The Abbey was just as empty except for the dead.

To hell with it all. She sat on the Coronation Chair and closed her eyes. Sunlight filtered into the cold building. The warmth of it on her face made her think of the American desert. In her mind’s eye, she imagined Flagg walking toward her, the famous Las Vegas sign behind him, ready to take her as his own. She smiled thinking of him. She could feel her back straighten as she stretched out her hand.

“Finally, you are here. Dreams and reality have finally merged. My king, my dearest Flagg.”

“You hear him, too?”

She opened her eyes, startled by the sound of another voice. For an instant, she didn’t know if it was a real person in the physical realm or another manifestation like Flagg.

The young man looked about nineteen or twenty. He wore a dirty collared shirt beneath a raincoat, and black trousers. He carried a small rucksack on his back. His smooth pale skin and dirty-blond hair falling across his face made him appear like a schoolboy, like the thirteen-year-olds she once taught. Bright and round blue eyes glittered with crown jewel depth. On his hip he wore a belt with an antique sheathed steel sword. Perhaps he, too, wandered into the museums and took this treasure. But what would he do with it?

Her body tensed. She had nothing to defend herself with if he attacked. But why would he ask her about Flagg? She waited a beat before answering him.

“Yes. Do you?”

He rushed toward her and dropped to his knees. The sound of the sword hitting the stone floor echoed through the space. He looked like a helpless child with wide and wild eyes as he gazed up at her with tears welling. Relief crossed his face. “I knew it! I’m not suffering from some delusion from isolation. I’ve been praying for a sign, and that sign would be to find another person.”

He looked handsome in his desperation. She touched his shoulder. “I, too, asked for a sign.”

“He made it clear to me he only wants those willing to do their part in the new world he’s building. He’ll bring us together. If we only put our trust in him. I come here to pray.”

She leaned toward the young man, feeling a swell of excitement as well as relief. Flagg delivered. All she had to do would be keep him from wandering away. “I’m glad we found each other. What’s your name?”

“Joseph. Joseph Parks.”

Her lips curled to a soft smile while staring into his eyes. The fading sunlight through the stained glass sliced across his face. “I’m Elizabeth Gladworthy. Devoted to building something wonderful amongst the despair. He wishes it.”

“I am, too… I want to feel closer to him.”

“Are you alone, Joseph?”

He nodded his head in exaggerated eagerness. “Yes. I’ve stayed in the city because there are more supplies than if I ventured to the countryside.”

Elizabeth studied his face, the softness of it. There was a naivety she found attractive. “Very wise… Where are you staying?”

He averted his eyes in slight shame. “Here and there. I can’t stand the idea of going back to my nan’s house. Too many memories… my dormitory still has a lot of bodies inside.”

She frowned and touched the side of his arm. “That’s not good. I’m at the hotel across the river. We can have or be whatever we want there.” Her eyes shifted to the sword. “Where did you take that from?”

His cheeks flushed. “I went to the Tower of London. I loved that place as a kid. My nan was a Royalist. Didn’t think anyone would mind. I took a few things. The sword makes me feel… safer.”

“Exactly. No one will mind. Come with me to my hotel. It’s gorgeous… and free.”

His face brightened. “Do you have lots of food?”

“I am afraid I can only offer you beans on toast tonight. It’s just been me, so I have a camping stove and not much else.”

“I love beans on toast. My nan used to make it for me.”