by Jeff Altabef
As they approached, the guard rose from his stool, twice as wide as Steven and towering a few inches over him. The giant tapped the baton sharply in his right hand. Raymond Smith was embroidered on his black shirt. He had a bent nose, a wispy thin mustache, and dead eyes.
***
Within six feet of the guard, Steven stopped. “Simmens sent me to relieve you. He wants me to work the rest of the night.”
Raymond checked the time on his watch. “I still have another three hours. How come I’ve never seen you before?”
Steven shrugged. “I’m new. They stuck me with the midnight shift.”
“Who’s that?” He pointed the edge of the baton at Tom.
Steven smiled. “That’s Doctor Polen. He’s supposed to be some type of genius.”
“He looks young to me.”
Steven stepped forward and whispered, “You know these new eggheads. They race through school, but I doubt he’s ever kissed a girl.”
Raymond snorted. “I know the type. They’re crawling all over here. I’ll have to call in and check this out.”
He reached for a cell phone in his pocket, and before he could react, Steven grabbed the baton, twisted it toward him, pressed the power button, and blasted him.
Steven held the thin stick steady as the guard fried. When Raymond slumped unconscious, Steven wedged his body against Raymond’s weight and jammed his hand into the DNA/pulse reader.
***
Tom glanced over his shoulder. Halfway down the hall, two orderlies were laughing, oblivious to the quick alteration. The entire episode took no longer than ten seconds.
The steel door clicked open.
“Hold the door open for me, Tom.” Steven dragged the heavy guard behind the steel doors and dropped him on the other side. “I’ll wait out front. They’ll know something is wrong if there’s no guard. Be quick.”
Adrenaline jolted Tom’s body as he scanned the hallway and crept forward, uncertain what he would find. Butterflies fluttered in his throat. Am I too late?
The first door on the left led to a well-appointed office—empty. Tom’s heart pounded. The next door on the right opened into an empty kitchen. His skin crawled, but he moved forward.
A photograph of a man’s face and the name Terry written underneath it was fixed on the half-open door on the left. Tom swung the door fully open and saw a small, tidy bedroom—also empty. Still, the bedroom looked like someone had just left it, because the sheets on the bed had bunched up where someone had recently been sitting, and a trashcan had been tossed to the middle of the room.
Why would someone toss a trashcan?
Fear shook him, and he bolted down the hallway to the last door on the right.
Maggie had been a good athlete when she was younger. She often told Jack he had inherited his tennis ability from her, as Paul had been a little clumsy.
When Terry stood over her, she did the only thing that came into her mind—she kicked upward, driving her foot into his crotch. If she had been on the soccer pitch, she would have curved the ball beyond the goalkeeper.
Terry looked totally stoned, but the blow registered. He doubled over and his eyes rolled into his head.
Maggie twisted away, scooted to her feet, and raced to the living area.
Terry recovered quickly and stalked after her, muttering to himself.
She darted behind a long oval cocktail table and kept it between them.
He waved at her with the baton. “There’s nowhere for you to go. You’ll need my DNA to get past the reader at the door.”
Her heart galloped. “Cooper will be very angry with you if you hurt me. Leave me alone, and I won’t tell him anything about this.”
He flashed a sick, knowing grin. “Cooper’s done with you. You’re all mine and I’m going to enjoy myself.”
He stomped to the left and swerved back to the right. Each time he moved, she matched him. The dance continued around the table for a few minutes, until he grabbed the edge and toppled it toward her. That forced her to the right, where he greeted her with a hard slap across the face that sent her sprawling to the floor.
Tears welled up in her eyes as he moved toward her.
I am a strong woman.
He kicked her while she was still on the ground, his foot pounding her broken ribs. Firecrackers exploded in her head.
He raised the baton, grinned, and....
The door to the suite crashed opened.
***
Tom stood in the doorway and glared at his mom’s attacker twenty feet away. Only thick carpet separated the two. “Get away from my mother!”
He sprinted forward and tackled Terry before he could move. The two went down hard in a jumble of body parts. Tom twisted to gain the advantage, but Terry slashed the baton and jabbed him in the side, causing Tom to roll off him.
“I’m going to kill you both.” Terry sneered, a crazy look in his eyes.
Tom lunged at him, but Terry moved quicker, dodging to his left, pushing Tom hard in the back and sending him tumbling face first.
Terry laughed. “You’re pathetic. Just like your mom. I’m going to make you watch as I kill her.”
Tom’s vision clouded over, but he remembered his jujitsu training and Steven’s warning to stay in control. He steadied his breathing and advanced, each step measured and menacing.
Terry’s dilated eyes widened.
Tom threw a barrage of punches. After blocking the first three, his adversary’s arms slowed, and Tom connected with a hard left hook to his solar plexus. Normally, such a blow would have crumpled any opponent, but Terry only stumbled back a step.
Tom growled and advanced. Terry tried a right front kick, but poor technique left him off balance, so Tom darted to the side and swept his attacker’s other foot off the floor.
He fell hard.
Tom smiled.
The thug tried to get up, but Tom shot his foot out and kicked him in the side of the head. Bone broke. His nose bloodied and shredded, and he lay unmoving on the carpet.
Tom dashed to his mother’s side.
She struggled to her feet and winced in pain, her breathing shallow.
“Are you okay?” He could hardly breathe. He had never seen her hurt before. He reached to help her, his concern so intense he forgot about everything else.
His mom got unsteadily to her feet.
Tom glanced down and saw a reflection off the cocktail table’s shiny surface. He spun, but he was too late.
Terry swung the baton and connected hard with Tom’s head, and darkness took him.
***
Terry cackled. “What a loser!”
His whole body shook with laughter. He felt strong and whole--triumphant. He needed this. He needed to kill them. He was destined to kill them.
He beamed a wide grin as he raised the baton to kill Maggie’s son and embrace his destiny, his true self.
***
Clank!
Maggie had swung the shiny metal tray with all her might hitting Terry flush on the face.
He crashed to the floor, where new blood poured from his already broken nose and soaked his face.
She lifted the tray over her head again. “Leave....”
Clank!
“...my son....”
Clank!
“...alone!”
Clank!
Tom stirred and rubbed the side of his head.
She tossed the dented tray to the side, darted to him, and folded him into her arms.
“Where’s Jack?”
He looked away, and her heart missed a beat.
The next day, Darian walked stiffly, head hung low with a frown etched on his face. Random shooting pains still plagued him from his time with the interrogator, but he welcomed that pain. He deserved that pain. He wished it were worse. If he could dig a giant hole, bury hot coals in it and jump in, he would gladly do it.
He had spent the day with Jack, Maggie, and Tom. Jack lay unconscious and, based on the latest computer simulation
s, had only a day left to live. Despair and grief hovered over his hospital room in a dense fog.
It reminded Darian of how he’d felt when the Warden told him his mom had died—only more intense. He’d expected the worst for his mother, and knew her end would be bad—maybe not consciously, but the thought stuck in the back of his mind, ever present.
Maggie and Tom had received no such warnings about Jack. He was young and should have had a full life in front of him. His whole future was stolen away from them in a flash—a flash Darian had created.
He came clean to the family, explaining EBF-202 and his role in Jack’s condition. He gave them all the facts and stood before them, waiting to be judged guilty, waiting for their wrath, waiting for them to scream at him and even to strike him. He deserved it, and would have welcomed it.
Yet after he finished explaining the situation, Maggie hugged him—the same awkward embrace she had given him four months earlier when Jack recovered from his coma. She forgave him and thanked him for the four extra months they had with Jack. She didn’t believe he would have come out of the coma without his help.
Tom, on the other hand, wouldn’t look at him.
Darian felt like the lowest creature on the planet—a dung beetle, perhaps. He needed a break from his vigil, so he somberly went to visit Lassie—the only test subject he hadn’t managed to kill.
The kennel bustled with activity. The other researchers used a wide variety of dogs as test subjects, and it was feeding time. Lassie had her own room, being the last of his test subjects to survive. When he entered the small chamber, she playfully approached him, tail wagging, unaware of the pond scum he really was.
He pressed his back against the glass wall, slid down its length like slime, sat cross-legged on the tile floor, and stroked Lassie’s thick fur. “I’m no good, Lassie.”
She jumped into his lap, dropping her head on his thigh.
“I wish you could talk. You would tell me the secret. You know what I should do, don’t you, girl?”
She lifted her head, stared at him, barked once, and plopped her head back down on his lap.
An autopsy now would be useless. The test results from her brain tissue would come back too late to save Jack.
He sat for a time, lost in his misery. An image of his mother drifted to his mind—young, healthy, beautiful. It was a child’s fantasy. Did she ever look like that?
The mental picture morphed to what she had looked like the last time he saw her—her skin a sickly yellow, her face lined with wrinkles. A purple bruise marred her right cheek, and desperation flickered behind her eyes.
What did I really feel when she died?
He’d wept for the first time. Lord help him, he was relieved—relieved the bowl of ice cream came, and that he wouldn’t have to worry about her any longer. Tidal waves of guilt and emotion had rolled through him as he mourned his mother for the first time.
He lost track of time as he sat with Lassie in his lap. He reached into his coat pocket and felt the syringe with EBF-202 inside. He carried the needle around with him everywhere he went now. After Jack died, he would inject himself with it. He had failed—not smart enough to discover the cure. Maybe with EBF-202’s help, he could figure out the inhibitor before Wickersham found another patient.
He’d almost removed the needle from his pocket when the caregiver, Ed, entered the room carrying Lassie’s bag of kibble over his broad shoulder. She jumped from his lap, wagged her tail excitedly, and barked at the familiar face.
“Easy, Lassie! You sure are excited today. Did Doctor Beck make you all riled up this morning?” Ed dropped the bag of dog food on the floor. “I’m surprised to see you during feeding time, Doc. Usually you’re busy in the lab. Is everything okay?”
Darian managed a weak smile. “I’ve been better, Ed, but Lassie seems happy.”
Ed opened the bag, dug out two large scoops of kibble, and dropped them in her metal bowl. She woofed twice more. “Usually she’s quiet. She hasn’t barked like this in months.”
Darian glanced at Lassie, and then noticed the white bag of dry dog food. “When did we switch dog food? I thought we used a red bag.”
Ed paused for a second. “It must have been three months ago. This food is cheaper.”
“Three months!” Darian bounced to his feet. “How come it wasn’t in her chart?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Doc. We changed the food for all the dogs. They were supposed to send out a memo.”
“Let me see that bag.” He snatched it and scanned the ingredients. “Lassie is supposed to eat specialized organic food. It’s important to regulate what she ingests as part of the drug trial. The beef used for this kibble comes from normal meat cows. These cows are given growth hormones.”
An idea shot like an arrow through his mind. “Those growth hormones leak into the food. One of them must be inhibiting EBF-202!”
Lassie barked three times.
He raced from the kennel carrying the bag of kibble over his shoulder, spilling little dried bits of dog food as he ran.
***
Darian and Brenda studied the results from the mass spectrometer. The new dog food contained dozens of chemicals that had no reason to be there, and a half dozen different types of growth hormones popped up on the analysis, but Darian grimly ticked off the reason each one should have no effect on EBF-202.
“The key has to be in here somewhere,” he said. He crossed his arms against his chest, sweat soaking his t-shirt.
Brenda pointed to the far end of the readings. “What about those proteins? They appear misfolded, like prions.”
He highlighted the three proteins, and the screen shifted to a detailed molecular breakdown of the prions.
Prions were on Brenda’s list of things that killed brain cells. “Certain prions cause Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy.”
Darian smiled. “That’s mad cow disease. It causes brain degeneration.”
“But none of these prions cause mad cow disease,” Brenda said.
“True, but one of them must be inhibiting EBF-202 from working. The prions’ tendency to degenerate brain cells must be counteracting the drug.”
“Which one do we try?”
“All three!”
Darian switched on the music and AC/DC’s Back in Black started playing.
Three days later, Maggie watched as Tom hovered over his brother with arms crossed and eyebrows furrowed. Now that the worst was over, she’d tried to persuade him to go home and sleep, but he refused. He would not budge.
She smiled. Paul would be proud of his sons. They were different in many ways, but they had his heart. Paul had loved completely and unconditionally, and so did Jack and Tom.
When Doctor Beck explained the seriousness of Jack’s condition, she’d wanted to roll up in a ball and block out the pain and the rest of the world. As a mother, she didn’t have that luxury. Inside she felt unspeakable blinding pain, but outside she appeared a pillar of optimism. She had no choice. Jack and Tom needed her.
Now that Jack was recovering, she could breathe again. She allowed herself to think about the future and how lucky they had been. He would have a chance to grow old. Her family was almost whole. Almost.
Maggie took Aunt Jackie’s death hard, blaming herself. She refused to talk about it with Tom. She should have trusted Aunt Jackie and told her Cooper’s identity long ago. Maybe Aunt Jackie would have found a way to kill him.
Aunt Jackie was old enough to have been her mother, but Maggie never thought of her like that. She grinned. What type of mother would Aunt Jackie have made? She could only imagine the first time she brought home a boyfriend. He would have run in terror, never to return.
Aunt Jackie had been her cantankerous older sister who never failed to be honest or thoughtful or caring in her own peculiar way. Aunt Jackie would have done anything for her. All Maggie had to do was ask.
Now she would have to go on without her, and she wasn’t sure how to do that. Half of the plans behind operation
Chastity Belt had originated with Aunt Jackie. She had volunteered to pay a visit to any partner who touched her. It was no idle threat. Maggie imagined Aunt Jackie decking Mr. Grabby Hands, and chuckled.
Tom turned to see what amused his mom, the question in his expression.
“I was just thinking about Aunt Jackie,” she confessed.
Tom smiled. “She was one of a kind.”
A soft knock came at the door. Rachel entered carrying a small bouquet of carnations and a serious expression on her face. “How’s Jack doing?”
Maggie waved her in. “He’s resting. Doctor Beck thinks he’ll make a full recovery.”
Rachel threw her arms around Maggie and squeezed her tightly. “That’s great news!”
Rachel arranged the flowers into a small glass vase and made small talk with Maggie and Tom for a while. Chitchat wasn’t high on the list of things she did well. She kept glancing at her watch and nervously looking out the window.
Maggie noticed a black limo in the parking lot and assumed Charles waited for her. “Why don’t I walk you out? I’m sure you have a lot on your plate, and there’s nothing you can do here.”
“That would be great.” Relief washed over her voice.
When they left Jack and Tom behind, Rachel touched Maggie’s arm and leaned in close. “I have to ask you something. Do you want to see Cooper again? His mind has shattered, but you can still see him. You will be in full control. Perhaps seeing him one last time will help you gain closure.”
Rachel’s offer was more than the opportunity to see Cooper one last time. She had offered her a chance at retribution. She just couldn’t say the words out loud.
Maggie paused for a moment. Cooper had terrorized her for twenty years. She would always have to live with the guilty knowledge she did nothing to prevent the other women from dying. The yoke choked her. She hated him as much as she had a capacity to hate.
Still, she wanted nothing to do with his death. He deserved to die for his sins, but she would not be an instrument in his passing. To protect her children, she would have gladly killed him, but he was no longer a threat to them and she wanted nothing more to do with him.
