Paradox - Progeny Of Innocence (bk2) (Paradox series) by Patti Roberts Page A

otherwise darkened room. The hum of the air-conditioning droned overhead, like a blowfly circling his head, looking, but not finding a suitable place to land. He sniffed, wiped a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand, and stared at a color photograph in his hand.
    A woman with shoulder-length fair hair, and a face that made you want to smile just looking at it, beamed out from the photograph. Beside her stood two girls, both eight, twins, tiny replicas of their mother, dressed in matching jeans and pink t-shirts. He closed his eyes and ran his fingertips softly across the glossy paper. But it wasn’t the paper he felt beneath his fingertips but soft skin, lips, the tiny dimples that followed a smile. He could even imagine breathing in the smell of their hair, ripe with the scent of strawberry shampoo.
    "I’m so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," he said softly to each of the faces that he held firm in his memory. He opened his eyes and let a fresh stream of tears run down his cheeks. He placed the photograph down on the bed beside him, and then he turned away, as if in shame, and picked up a pistol from the top drawer of his bedside table. He grabbed a bottle of bourbon and swallowed down the last of its contents before discarding the bottle on the floor. He turned the weapon over in his hands, acutely aware of the weight of the cold steel against his palms. The pistol was empty, except for one perfect bullet. That was all that was needed to complete his final task. He lifted the pistol and pressed the cold steel barrel hard against his right temple. His eyes were wide open; he was not afraid to die. Death would be a welcomed blessing.
    "You don’t want to do that. Lower the weapon, lower it now," said a voice beside him, inside him; he wasn’t sure. He couldn’t hear the droning of the air-conditioning anymore, just the voice. The voice was all around him, in him.
    "Put the gun down; put the gun down, put the gun down."
    Wade lowered the weapon. "Where the hell are you?" he asked, scanning the confines of his darkened room. "What do you want?"
    A figure stepped out of the shadows and stood beside him.
    "Who are you? How the hell did you get in here? I locked the door..." Wade said, looking up into the man’s face then over his shoulder. The door was still locked.
    "I don’t know how you got in here, but you can turn around and get the hell back out." Then another thought crossed his mind. He realized that he recognized the man’s face. "They told me you were in an accident. I thought you were dead."
    "I need your help," the man said.
    "Well, you’re asking the wrong guy. I can’t help you. I can’t help anyone. Just get the hell out… go and find someone else, for God's sake."
    "There isn’t anyone else; you’re the only one here that can help me now."
    Wade rubbed his eyes with the ball of his palms. "For Christ’s sake, go and ask someone else…I can’t help you."
    "I’m asking you, " the man insisted.
    "And I told you , I can’t help you," Wade replied, a ripple of anger spurring his words.
    The man reached down and picked up the photograph lying on the bed beside Wade. "Your wife and children?" he asked.
    Wade snatched the picture from the man’s hands, looked at it and smiled, "yeah." A new wave of sadness tore through him, tears blurring his vision. The pain in his heart was excruciating. He blinked tears away and exhaled long and slow. "You don't understand…" Wade buried his head in his hands and let his tears come.
    "You will see them again, you know," the man said softly.
    Wade, with his face wet with tears, looked up and smirked. "Yeah, right. Are you a messenger from God? Well you ask your God where the hell was he when my family was dying. You ask him that. Then you can get back to me. But you better make it quick, because I don’t intend to be here for much longer."
    The man said nothing.
    Wade continued. "So, I’ll see them again in heaven, waiting for me by the 'white pearly