Thousand Year Switch

Chapter 11

I couldn't sleep, again. It was finally time to admit it to myself. Weird shit was happening to me. The bus, the flower pot, the meteorite and today I nearly became lion food. A thought flashed through my head, one that gave me chills.

How am I still alive?

I reached over to my nightstand, thinking about the text message, groping for my phone in the dark. My fingers brushed the cool glass surface of the screen in the dark. I flipped it on and scrolled through the text messages from friends, finding the one I was looking for, staring at the little bubble on the screen, fear churning in my gut.

God is trying to kill you.

What the hell did it mean? I had repeatedly checked my phone lately, even more obsessed with it than usual, but no reply from this wack job had come. I thought about calling the number, my thumb hovered over the "call" button.

No, I admit it, I'm too chicken shit.

I grunted, rolling over to replace it on the night stand. It vibrated in my hand suddenly, and I yelped, the phone sliding from my fingers and crashing onto the hardwood. I swore angrily and scrambled to pick it up, kicking my sheets off to lean down.

"Oh crap." The screen was lit up, illuminating the long crack down the center of the screen. I growled words under my breath that would have had Mom praying for my soul if she could hear me. Luckily her room was down the hall, and Sarah's room across from me was empty. 

Luckily? I felt bad for thinking that, even though I hadn't meant it that way.

I slapped the phone back onto the night stand, furious with myself, and climbed back into bed, kicking angrily at the spagettified knot that my bed sheets had morphed into. My toes poked out the end and the moonlight sliced through a crack in the curtains, bathing my bare feet in eerie white light. I stared at my feet, too lazy to sit up and drag the blankets back down. I wiggled my toes for some entertainment, wondering who'd been calling before I'd smashed my phone, and if they were trying to call back right now. Good luck, the stupid thing was toast.

I blinked, realizing a tiny rendition of "Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer on the Wall" was coming from my nightstand. I sat up and stared at my phone. The screen was black. That was my ring tone though, and my skin crawled. It shouldn't be ringing, couldn't be. 

Something stupid made me pick up the phone and put it to my ear. Instantly the ringing stopped. I snorted in annoyance at myself. Obviously the phone was in its death throes, it wasn't some ghostly caller that had been making it ring.

Before I could move to bring my hand back down a deep voice said in my ear,

"Is this Lucas Rolston?"

My mouth dropped open. The voice, a man with a frosty sounding British accent, repeated itself sharply. "Hello? Is this Lucas Rolston?"

"Yes," I stammered. "I'm, I mean...who is this?"

"Not important," The voice said dismissively. "What is important is that you know you are in grave and immense danger. Now I realize that's slightly vague..."

"You're the nut case who sent me that text message!" My voice had started to increase in volume, and I had to reign myself in so I wouldn't wake Mom up.

"Who are you?" I hissed.

"Have you noticed lately," the voice said dryly, "that the universe seems intent on doing you in?"

I paused. The nut job somehow knew about the close calls.

"You're doing it," I said angrily. "You're the one trying to kill me! Tell me why? Who are you?"

"Are you suggesting I created a meteorite and threw it at you?" The voice sounded amused now.

"No," I said darkly. "I suppose that can't be true."

"I assure you, I am quite capable of such a thing, but I am also firmly on your side."

This conversation was confusing and a little scary.

"Look." I was almost begging now. "A name, a hint, anything. Who are you and what do you want?"

"For now you may call me Abaddon. And I wish only to keep you from a sudden and painful death."

"I...I appreciate that," I stammered. "But are you seriously saying that God is trying to kill me?"

"I haven't got time to chat," he said, "and yet, in short, that's the case. You interfere with his plans, so he's attempting to remove the obstacle you create. I've sent someone to watch out for you."

'Morgan," I said. That explained a lot.

"Sorry?" Abaddon's voice was annoyed again. "I've no idea who that is. Look, one of my Malake ha-Mawet is already watching over you."

"A what?" I sputtered, feeling sort of like I was drowning. This conversation was so over my head.

"Angel of Death," said the voice of Abaddon, and he muttered something about "kids these days not reading" but it was hard to hear him over the sound of my sanity shattering into tiny little pieces.

"You know what?" I snarled. "You're a funny guy. I don't know how you set this up, but I'm going to sleep now."

I punched the red button on the cell, cutting off whatever it was that the nut job had been about to say. I rolled over and jammed my pillow over my head, determined to forget the entire stupid phone call.

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