The Resurrection Wager

Chapter 1The morning sun had just begun to shine through the narrow gap in the faded, light blue curtains. Its illumination, still faint, revealed the sight of a spacious bedroom. There was a wood framed, king size waterbed centered against the far wall and there were various other pieces of oak bedroom furniture in the room. All of this was sitting on a polished hardwood floor. Most normal people would be ashamed of the condition of the room. Many of the dresser drawers hung wide open, their contents overflowing. Various items of clothing were scattered about the floor. There were a few plates and glasses on the floor next to the bed, and the nightstand had a half dozen brown glass bottles on it. It seemed as if this was the bedroom of a sloppy and unsupervised teenager, rather than that of a brilliant adult with a doctorate in quantum theory. Eventually, the rumpled covers of the bed began to move, as a man slowly struggled to a standing position. Through the dim light, one could make out that he was moving as if he was ill or in considerable pain. Paul Kingsman stood five foot ten and had a well-toned body and flat stomach. He was clean-shaven and tended to keep his hair short. He stumbled to the bathroom, which was located just off the bedroom. His head was pounding, his vision was blurred, his mouth was dry, and the taste in it was foul. He eventually reached the bathroom and felt for the light switch. As soon as he turned it on, he knew that he had made a mistake. The bright light greatly intensified the pounding in his head, and a muffled unhappy groan came from the bed behind him. He quickly switched the lights back off and stumbled forward in the dark, his night vision now gone. Working by feel, he found the faucet and managed to get the water running in the sink. Using his hands, he rubbed the cold water on his face several times. The water caused him to feel a little better. Next, he scooped a couple of handfuls of water to his lips and drank slowly, taking tiny sips. Paul knew better than to drink too much, too quickly. Even the two small sips he had already swallowed were beginning to churn his stomach. Paul slid the door to the medicine cabinet open and pulled out a small plastic bottle. In the near darkness, he could not read the printed label. Paul shook four of the tablets into his hand and quickly swallowed them. As they were going down, he briefly thought how he hoped that the pills had been the Motrin that he had been planning on and not some of Michelle's Midol. He decided that he did not care and walked unsteadily back to the bedroom. As he left the bathroom, Michelle brushed past him, and with a grunt of a greeting, shut the bathroom door. Paul bumped the small nightstand as he returned to the bed, and heard several empty glass bottles fall and hit the hardwood floor. Fortunately, it seemed as if none of them broke this time. He collapsed back on the bed and tried to lie as still as possible. After several minutes the toilet flushed, and the sink started flowing. Paul distinctly heard the sound of the pills shaking around in the plastic bottle as Michelle fought with the childproof cap. Soon she was coming out of the bathroom, and he noticed that she was wearing the blue, oversized, knee-length New England Patriots tee shirt that she frequently wore around the house. When she dropped back down, the whole bed rocked, and he immediately moaned with discomfort as his head started pounding all over again. “Sorry,” Michelle said in a slightly slurred voice. Paul grunted a reply that she understood meant that he was not genuinely angered. They lay still, not speaking for several minutes, then finally Michelle said with a hint of humor in her voice, “Do you think we will ever learn?” “It's not as much learning, as remembering. Remembering how terrible the next morning feels.” “Are you still up to going?” Without hesitation, Paul answered, “Definitely, I'll be okay in a couple of hours, I just need some coffee and toast, and then I'll be as good as new. What about you?” Michelle took a little longer to answer, but finally agreed, “Let's not waste the day, just because we had a little too much to drink last night.” After several more minutes, they finally got up, and Michelle went back to the bathroom. This time she endured the bright light as she started the hot water in the shower. Paul headed to the kitchen and got the container of coffee from the overhead cabinet; he scooped two spoonfuls into the filter compartment of the coffee maker; he added water and hit the power button. While he waited, Paul went into the office, which was next to the living room, he sat down at the computer and checked his email. While there he also read the news and sports scores. As he was finishing reading, the coffee maker beeped that it was ready. He was finishing his first cup when Michelle came out of the bathroom. “Coffee is ready,” Paul told her as he headed off to take his shower. Michelle quickly poured hers and headed off to the computer, to conduct her own morning ritual that was similar to Paul's but lacked the sports scores. By the time Paul's shower ended, she was dressed, and there was a plate of dry toast on the table in the kitchen.