NOTE: I do not own any of the characters of Left Behind nor do I own the stories presented in the series. I just like playing with them once in a while. Happy reading!
Nicolae Carpathia sat in his wood-paneled office unamused, his blonde hair fluttering from the breeze of the nearby fan. It was hot in New York City, unlike his often rainy hometown in Romania in the shadows of the Carpathian Mountains. On humid days like these, he almost missed the simplicity of it—tall, wet grass squeaking on his shoes after a storm.
But now he found himself in a storm of his own—the world had erupted in chaos when people had suddenly floated out of their clothes and ended up elsewhere. Some said it was a work of god. Others said radiation or some sort of virus.
Nicolae knew the reason but didn't want to acknowledge it. It had played itself out on paper eons ago. But somehow, without much of his consent, he'd gotten wrapped up in this political hurricane that perched him in power. Sure, he was ambitious, but he didn't want the puss that came along with being in charge—the disease of the world that had been rotting it from the inside out since the beginning.
Drearily, he changed the television from a smoke-filled building on the screen to an old episode of Matlock. He smiled at the thought of the hot-dog-loving lawyer creeping around corners to solve murders that always seemed to solve themselves as he watched the credits roll, hearing the horns of that same theme song.
"Excellency, someone is here to see you," a familiar voice crackled over the intercom.
You would think with all of this technology, I'd have an intercom that didn't sound like a bag of leaves on the ground!
He pressed the button on his desk and responded to his loyal assistant, "Leon, I'm not really—"
"Your Excellency, this is about your book. The writer that's going to observe you—a Ms. Jade Kotter—is here to see you."
Nicolae huffed reluctantly, "Fine. Send her in. And can you get someone over here to fix this goddamn intercom?!"
"Yessir. Right away sir."
The large, wooden door to his office barely opened and he watched as dark eyes and purple hair inched through the crack.
"Your Excellency, if this isn't a good time, I can—"
Her voice was quiet, but firm. And it wasn't every day someone with purple hair walked into his office.
"I apologize for my conduct. Please, come in."
Her purple hair was in curls and hitting her shoulders. He smiled as she adjusted her cat-eye framed glasses, then closed the door behind her. She was at least a foot shorter than him and he watched her shuffle toward him, the curve of her breasts and belly beneath her red tunic shifting as she moved. Before she sat across from him, she looked back to see the white-haired Andy Griffith move across the screen jollily.
"I didn't take you for the Matlock type, Your Excellency."
He watched as Griffith began to cross-examine the scared-looking man in notoriously eighties clothing. The guy didn't stand a chance.
"Just a guilty pleasure. And you can call me Nicolae," he reached out for her hand.
She looked down and firmly gripped it, making eye contact with the slight clap. He watched as a bead of sweat fell from her brow to the corner of her lips.
She waited to sit until he did, "Thank you. That's very kind."
"'Excellency' is entirely too formal."
Her face was perfectly round and the line of her chin completed the circle. She tilted her head and one purple curl fell into her face.
"Well, you seem to deserve the title. You've done a lot of good for the world—uniting everyone in the name of peace, feeding the world's hungry with the Eden formula, being an advocate for those without a voice. Most of all, you brought together a population of mourning people during a time of crisis. You gave them something to believe in."
She pushed the strand of hair around her ear and he watched the tip of her small, thick fingers move from her ear to his wooden desk.
"I did not do that on my own. I had assistance from others."
Nicolae's eyes diverted from Jade's gaze and fell to the floor. He didn't get any sense that she held any sort of prior judgements about him nor did she seem to have any sort of hidden motive. In fact, she seemed to possess some naivety that he didn't want to take from her.
Also, regardless of his ambivalent feelings, he still retained some sense of responsibility for the current status of the world. Maybe he shouldn't have been so swayed.
He remembered those days being tempted, his throat dry and face haggard. His only way out meant calling out to an entity that he didn't necessarily believe in. Then, the red light of some sort of fallen entity appeared and promised him power beyond what he could have ever imagined on his own. He fell prey to his own ambition. And weakness. And words already on paper somewhere spelling out his name.
Antichtist.
He wasn't even sure what that meant. All he knew was that he was going to rule. And die.
"You Ex—I mean, Nicolae. Are you ok?"
Jade's fingertip was on his knuckle. He reeled back, almost startled by the transfer of energy.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you. You just looked lost."
She was frightened, but her gaze was still soft. He returned it with a smile and the touch of his hand on hers. He wasn't sure his palms were clammy from the heat or the spark they'd just created.
"Forgive me, Jade."
And, in that moment, he forgot who he was.
Until the door to his office squeaked open—