Read Online The Messenger by T. Davis Bunn - Free Book Online

his ticket clutched in one hand like a lifeline. He dodged one of the electric carts carrying old people, jogged alongside it, glanced back and forth and to both sides, saw nothing that raised the alarm. But somebody was there. He could feel it. Somebody was after him.
    Or something.
    Manny sighed with genuine relief as he heard his flight’s final boarding call. He raced down the concourse, feeling as though the breath of whatever had growled in his apartment was nipping at his heels. He slowed long enough for the attendant to snag his ticket, then fled down the boarding ramp and into the plane. His breath was loud in his ears as he walked down the aisle, his heart jumping more from the fright than the run.
    Then he was aware once more of the invisible guiding hand. Right when he least expected it, there between the crowded rows, the flight attendant already talking over the loudspeaker. Again there was a sense of an unseen force surrounding him, reaching down and gently directing him. Crazy.
    He checked his ticket for the seat number, slid into his place, breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to be leaving town for a while. His home turf was definitely getting to be a risky place to hang.
    He glanced over at the man seated beside him. Big, burly, barrel-chested. Biker’s T-shirt. Fists like human hammers, all gnarled and knotted. Holding a book and turning the flimsy little pages, his forehead creased in concentration. Not even acknowledging the outside world, oblivious as the plane started rolling away from the terminal. Manny leaned over, gave the book a casual glance, jerked back. The Bible. Just like he’d seen as a kid, when he had sought shelter from a heavy storm inside a street mission. Manny didn’t know any other book that had those double columns and fancy red printing here and there. He leaned back down again just to make sure, pretended to scratch his ankle while scanning the page, recognized the name Jesus. Yeah, had to be. The guy was sitting there on a plane reading the Bible. Amazing.
    This time the guy noticed him. “You want to read along with me?”
    Manny straightened up, did the casual stretch, no big deal. Palmed his ticket stub, read the seat number, no mistake, this was his place. “No, you go ahead.”
    â€œThat’s okay.” The big guy slung this little ribbon across the page, closed the Book. “I can read anytime. What’s your name?”
    â€œManny.” Sitting there next to the Hulk, and the guy wants to play polite. Manny didn’t argue, didn’t even lie about his name.
    â€œMine’s John. John Roskovitz.” Offered his hand. “You a believer?”
    Manny watched his hand be swallowed, felt strength behind the grip, but no menace. Not in the hand, not in the eyes, not in the voice. Guy with a bruiser’s face, scar across his forehead and a nose broken so often it had been set at a permanent angle, but eyes that shone with a gentle light. Didn’t make sense. “Not really.”
    â€œKnow what you mean,” the guy said agreeably. “Been there, done that. A lot.”
    â€œYeah?” Manny glanced at his ticket stub again. Not because he thought maybe he had it wrong. No. Because he had that sense of being guided into this meeting and this contact. Crazy.
    â€œYears and years of it,” Roskovitz confirmed. “All those guys, they stand up there and tell you how it felt bad and they didn’t understand why they did it. Not me. I did it because I was having a ball.”
    Manny felt himself being invited to relax, let down his constant guards, talk to somebody who understood . Normally, a stranger this size, he’d be around the corner and out of sight and gone. Not this time. “So what happened?”
    â€œSo I found something better.” The guy lifted his Book. “Couldn’t go both ways at the same time. Had to make a choice.”
    A choice . Manny recalled the moment in