Bruce remained with his palms pressed together, feeling helpless for the first time in his life.
Chapter 23
Mr. Brar looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand. To his surprise, he’d been reading for the past two hours. That rarely happened. It had been a while since Mr. Brar read a good book, and this particular one had reeled him in.
It was a love story that mirrored the love he and Ekam had. Mr. Brar read this book five times now, in the past five years. It was something he’d done on the anniversary of Ekam’s death. Reading the love story reminded him how amazing Ekam had made his life. Not just joy, but hope that true love did exist and he was the lucky one to experience it.
He let out a yawn as he laid the book on his nightstand. He lay in bed, with one hand under the pillow and the other on his chest, his thoughts focused around Ekam. She was one of the most supportive, energetic, and compassionate human beings he’d ever met. Sometimes Mr. Brar felt she saved him from falling into the dark hole. Given all the missions he’d been on, there was no doubt a person’s life was capable of changing at the SEA. The blood on his hands for handling business for someone else, the torture, the screams and desperation to live another day—it haunted him with each sunrise. He vividly remembered every day after work, he’d take a shower just to feel less dirty. He knew the water didn’t wash away his sins, but somewhere in his conscious, he felt a little better after stepping out of the shower.
When Mr. Brar was at his lowest point in life, the SEA crept in, presenting the perfect solution to his financial problem. The SEA had been keeping their eye on Mr. Brar for months as he juggled two jobs, struggling to make ends meet. When the time was right, they recruited who would have been one of their best agents yet. Ekam kept Mr. Brar sane. He lived and breathed for her.
Mr. Brar shifted back and forth on his sides, trying to get comfortable. After a few failed attempts, he gave up and roamed over to his window, passing his wheelchair and oxygen tank. Arms crossed at his chest, he peered out in his backyard. Right across, the neighbors were still up. At least their kids were.
The Butlers had three children—one boy and twin girls. The girls were finishing up high school and the boy would be graduating in the spring from middle school. Mrs. Butler was an interior designer at Storm Inc. and Mr. Butler was an engineer in the tech industry. Mr. Brar envied the Butlers; even behind closed doors, they truly were the picture perfect family.
Mr. Brar knew everyone in the neighborhood—their likes and dislikes, where they did their shopping, the people they didn’t get along with, who their relatives were, whether they had kids and where their kids went to school, who their friends were—it came with the territory. At times, having all this information was overwhelming. Being an excellent agent required a memory such as Mr. Brar’s.
Standing in the quiet, cold dark was peaceful. Mr. Brar leaned his head against the windowsill. He wore a white T-shirt and navy striped pajamas, like always.
Before his mind was able to wander off into the world and its problems, the flickering yellow light caught his eye. Mr. Brar gazed over at Evan’s house, where the kitchen was visible. He was taken aback by what he was witnessing. The kitchen was up in flames. From a distance, Mr. Brar could see Evan was hunched over in a chair. His heart immediately jumped out of his chest.
Rushing to grab his phone, Mr. Brar dialed Bruce, hoping he’d pick up. He dashed back to the window, as the phone continued to ring. C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, Bruce. Pick up, Bruce. Pick up! It went to voicemail. He dialed Bruce again, only to catch his voicemail again. Mr. Brar’s fingers started to quiver. Something wretched had happened and his gut assured him it all was linked to the SEA. God dammit. Somebody pick up the goddamn phone!
Mr. Brar dialed 911. C’mon, c’mon, pick up. While holding the phone close to his ear, he jolted toward the treasure box set in front of the bed, where his bathrobe remained. He staggered downstairs as he slipped into his robe and wheeled out his wheelchair to the door, carrying the oxygen tank in the other hand. No one in the neighborhood knew Mr. Brar didn’t need the wheelchair or tank. It was all a ploy.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“There’s a fire across the street and someone’s trapped inside,” Mr. Brar relayed breathlessly. He rattled off the address.
“We’ll send fire trucks and paramedics. What’s your name, sir?”
Mr. Brar hung up.
He hurried into the kitchen and grabbed the spare key he was given from the cabinet. Before leaving, Mr. Brar phoned Venice, telling her of the situation in a ten-second call.
Mr. Brar sprinted across the grass, his heart racing. When he reached the front of Evan’s home, he jabbed the key into the doorknob. Once inside, Mr. Brar entered a deadly environment. Smoke snaked around him. He heard the roars of the flames from the kitchen. Subconsciously, Mr. Brar covered his mouth with the inside of his elbow. It would only be a matter of time before it would become useless.
It was going to take exactly twenty-two steps to reach the kitchen. From there, it was more trial by error.
Mr. Brar pushed forward, squinting through the heavy air, and continued to hold his breath.
He’d taken ten steps so far. There were twelve more to go. His lungs begged for air, but Mr. Brar ignored the human instinct of survival. He was going to get through this. Certainly he would be able to get Evan out of the house under a minute. The ambulance he called was going to be here in three minutes. The clock was ticking. It had been already twenty seconds.
Mr. Brar pressed onward as if guided by an invisible hand. The flames roared even louder as he approached, which meant he was getting closer to Evan.
Still holding his breath, Mr. Brar began to feel faint. This was not good.
Fourteen steps were taken. Eight more steps to go.
He battled with his mind, which was starting to give up. Still ignoring the thoughts of death, he moved forward with eyes closed. The heat licked his face and his bare hands.
Evan. He needed to save Evan. He’d promised Bruce he would look out for Evan, even if it meant putting his life on the line. Nothing was going to stop Mr. Brar.
There were only four more steps to go until he would reach the kitchen. The table was to the right. As he slowly crept into the kitchen, his knees began to spasm in pain. He grunted in agony. Putting the pain aside, he staggered to the right, hand out trying to get a feel of Evan’s body. Mr. Brar moved his hand in slow circular motions, hoping to get a hold of something. A hair, his ear—anything.
Nothing.
He stepped forward, now doubting his count. He moved forward with one hand covering his mouth and the other in front of him hoping to find Evan in the next couple of seconds as time was ticking.
Nothing.
He staggered around the area, with his heart in his stomach. He continued to search and cringed every time he felt nothing but the heavy smoke. Finally, after a few seconds passed, he felt the hair on Evan’s head, wet with heat. It had been already a minute and a half. Mr. Brar uncovered his face. “Evan! Hang in there…son.”
Mr. Brar began to cough as he inhaled the poisonous air.
“Evan, Evan…stay with…me…son…I’m going…to…get…you out…of…here,” he coughed.
He stood Evan on his feet, feeling faint himself and wrapped Evan’s arm around his neck. Evan’s head dangled against his chest as Mr. Brar brought him out, staggering over to the grass and laying him down.
It’d taken Mr. Brar two minutes and forty-five seconds to get Evan out of the home. The ambulance and fire truck were going to be here any moment.
Leaving Evan astray on the front yard, Mr. Brar darted back into his home and changed into a fresh pair of clothes, ones that didn’t reek of smoke. Walking into the bathroom, he washed his face then patted it dry. He propped himself in his wheelchair with his oxygen mask to keep the suspicion of who rescued Evan
at bay. As he fixed himself, the sirens of the ambulance and fire truck started to near.
When Mr. Brar wheeled himself out onto his front lawn, neighbors started to step out of their homes to see what was going on. Some stood in their doorways while others gathered in the middle of the street, asking one another whether Evan was still alive. Some pointed at the paramedics, wondering why they wore a red uniform, a question that would linger and soon slip away with other important thoughts.
It was the SEA. Paramedics and firefighters were called to the scene. They would treat Evan at the Lake View Hospital on the tenth floor, only accessible to the SEA.
The paramedic put an oxygen mask on Evan as the other checked for his heartbeat.
Firefighters were already starting to hose down the kitchen while the neighborhood watched.
As Mr. Brar approached one of the paramedics who was overlooking Evan, he saw the burns that were uncovered on his feet.
“How is he?”
The paramedic turned around and took a quick glance at Mr. Brar before he turned his attention back to Evan.
Mr. Brar raised his voice. “I said, how is he?”
The paramedic was stolid as he turned around again to look at Mr. Brar. “First degree burns on his face and neck. He’s got second degree burns on his feet and legs. It’s painful, but he’ll survive.”
Mr. Brar watched as the paramedics carefully turned Evan to his side, sliding the stretcher underneath him.
Moments later, the ambulance was driving down Knight’s Drive with Evan in the back. The firefighters were still hosing down the fire. Two of them, in their red fire-retardant uniforms, trooped their way back to the truck.
Mr. Brar looked out on to the street. Some of the neighbors started to go back into their homes as some still stood, shivering in their nightgowns, wondering what happened. They too wouldn’t know the real truth.
This brought back Mr. Brar to the day he had tortured and burned an innocent girl just to send a message to her father for his client.
He slowly coasted himself back indoors. He closed the door behind him and removed the mask. That was all he could manage to do.
Evan would survive, but things could have been much worse. He could’ve lost Evan tonight. The more the thought started to sink in, his heart began to feel what he learned to make numb. He sat in his wheel chair and cried. The last time Mr. Brar cried was when Ekam passed away.
Chapter 24
Venice studied the ground intently as she paced back and forth in her long gray pea coat, in front of Lake View Hospital. The tip of her nose had frozen. Her breath puffed out through the translucent air.
She’d been waiting for the ambulance to arrive for the past twenty minutes—it felt like a lifetime. Mr. Brar hadn’t gone into great depth about exactly what happened but whatever it was, she was definitely not prepared for it.
She peered through the glass doors as she walked by. The receptionist at the front desk was taking a call. A nurse was wheeling an old lady back to her room. Her stomach was doing a somersault, waiting for the siren of the ambulance to near and when it did, her heart dropped.
When the ambulance arrived in front of the hospital, Evan was wheeled out on a stretcher. Venice squealed after seeing the visible parts of his body that were covered in burns. She stood, paralyzed. She could only look for so long before she turned her back to the ambulance. She had to crouch to the floor to prevent a panic attack.
Evan.
That couldn’t be him. There was no way.
As they rushed into the hospital, one of the paramedics—a tall, slender, white male—towered over her for a moment before crouching down to her level.
“Are you Venice Storm?” His blond hair glistened in the light.
Venice nodded as she gulped. “Yes, I am.” Her eyes flooded with tears. “Is that Evan?”
“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to come with me,” he began in a heavy Russian accent, “Evan is in critical condition. For further details you have to discuss with the doctor. Come with me please.”
He jolted inside the hospital, with his red coat waving behind him. Venice followed closely. The paramedic sprinted to the left, turning the corner. At the end of the hallway, there was an elevator—a black elevator, different from all the silver ones she was used to seeing at the hospital. He aggressively pushed the button, while looking above the door. The elevator was stuck on the tenth floor.
He grunted. “C’mon,” he said, slamming the button with his palm.
Ignoring his temper, Venice asked, “How did this happen?” Her lips quivered.
“I don’t know. We got a call, so we came. I don’t have the details, ma’am. Sorry.”
“How bad is it?” she whimpered.
The truth was, Evan’s heartbeat dropped on the drive over. They needed to resuscitate Evan and time was not on his side.
“He’s got second degree burns,” he confessed, keeping his attention focused on the numbers above the door.
Venice’s heart dropped. She felt the paramedic wasn’t telling her the entire truth.
“The doctor will answer all the questions you have. We need to go on the tenth floor where your grandson is.”
Venice quietly sobbed into her hands, fearing the worse. First she lost Bruce, and now she was on the brink of losing Evan as well.
Once the bell rang for the first floor, the elevator doors opened. They both hopped on and the elevator doors slid closed. A couple of seconds later, the elevator stopped on the tenth floor.
Ding. The doors parted and the paramedic led Venice down the bright white hallway to the room where Evan was placed in. It was too quiet on the tenth floor. It almost seemed like no one was here.
As they reached Evan’s room, Venice peered through the window. A doctor hovered over Evan as women and men in white scrubs followed orders. The looks on their faces said it all.
“The doctor will come soon,” he said, turning around and walking back, leaving Venice alone.
A dark-skinned young woman, hair tied in a ponytail, headed toward Venice from the front desk. She smiled as Venice gave her a once-over.
“Why don’t you have a seat?” she said as she motioned to the chairs lined against the wall a few feet away from where she was standing.
Venice wiped her eyes and responded, “No, I’m fine. I want to know what’s going on in there.”
The young woman softly placed her hand on Venice’s shoulder and insisted Venice to sit down. After coaxing Venice for a little bit, she gave in. She subtly rocked herself back and forth, taking deep breaths.
“Ma’am, can I get you anything to drink? Water or something?”
“I want to know what’s going on in there!” she yelled and pointed in the room Evan was in.
“Ma’am,” she expressed, “the doctor will let you know what’s going on as soon as he can.”
Venice looked up at her for a moment and then nodded.
“Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll be right over there if you need anything,” she said, pointing to the desk.
Venice nodded, just wanting to be left alone. She knew she had to call Denise so she could come down to the hospital immediately, but the longer Venice sat there, the harder it became to reach into her pocket and pull out her cell phone. She didn’t want to have a conversation about Evan. She didn’t want to have to explain what she was witnessing right now.
Everything she’d feared was unfolding right before her eyes.
Chapter 25
Twenty-four hours later.
Bruce sat in the chamber in front of the panel where the board of directors would shortly arrive. He was agitated and frustrated. It had been a long forty-eight hours. To his left, just a little over teen feet away, was another desk positioned beside him. Moments later, Marvin was escorted into the room by an agent. Marvin took his seat as the agent
left to the back of the room, taking his position.
Marvin snickered as he faced forward. “I heard about Evan. How’s he doing?”
Bruce brought his hands together, tightly folding them in front of him, ignoring Marvin.
“Have you gone to see him yet or are you too coward to?” He chuckled. “It’s a shame he survived if you ask me.” He waited for a response, a reaction, anything he could get his hands on, but little did he know Bruce had other plans in place.
Marvin craned his neck sideways and stared at Bruce, who kept his focus on the panel even though he was raging inside. But Bruce knew better to give Marvin something to feed on. This time, he was going to let Marvin take the steering wheel as he worked from the back. He wanted Marvin to feel as if he was in control, that he was the “big dog.” In time, however, Marvin would realize who was really in control.
Bruce grinned as he turned his face to look Marvin in the eyes. “You’re wasting your breath trying to get under my skin because it’s not going to work.”
“As long as I keep pressing your pressure point, eventually you will explode.”
“Okay.”
When the door opened to the chambers, one by one the board of directors walked in, filling each seat on the panel. The brunette sat in the end, followed by the men in suits. The man who sat in the middle pointed at Bruce.
STORM: IT'S A CURSE TO REMEMBER Page 26
