"Very well," he said, "I'll tell you." And after clearing his throat he proceeded to do just that.
When he finished he was surprised by Maria's reaction. Far from being angry as he'd expected, she looked stunned. All her arrogance seemed to leave her and for a fleeting moment he thought he detected fear. When he rose and walked over to press the buzzer she didn't even look up. The guards who came to take her away had to lift her out of the chair physically. The whole time she kept on staring at the message he'd left for her: "It is more blessed to give than to receive."
She now understood what the message meant, but Tom still couldn't understand why his revelation had so affected her. How could what he had told her change anything? She was going to be executed in a few hours. It wasn't as if she expected to live beyond today.
Chapter Twenty-Nine.
Execution Chamber
Massachusetts State Penitentiary
As the hour of midnight approached Maria Benariac kept replaying Dr. Carter's words in her head.
Carter must have been lying, she told herself, as the prison doctor injected her with antihistamine. She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she didn't register the irony of a doctor worrying about her adverse reaction to poisons he would later help inject.
But I saw Holly alive, she thought, and the scientist couldn't have known about the plan, therefore it must be true. When she'd first realized Holly had been brought back from the dead, she had been as excited as she was outraged, because it proved her plan would work. But after the scientist had explained, her excitement had evaporated. The more she obsessed about what he'd told her, the more worried she became that perhaps the plan wouldn't work.
As the female guards made her put on the diapers for when she voided herself at death, she tried to look for other possibilities. Dr. Carter had admitted that he didn't know exactly how the genes worked, so he could be mistaken. That meant her plan wasn't necessarily affected. If only the Father were here to advise her.
Yes, but how could he help? If the scientist was right, then it was too late to put another plan in place. She had to face facts; the die had been cast and all she could do now was hope Dr. Carter had been mistaken.
It was on these thoughts that her mind frantically ruminated as the guards led her down the white corridor toward the execution chamber. But when the door opened and she saw the room in which she was to die, her mind went momentarily blank.
The white chamber, no larger than ten by fifteen feet, was dominated by a black upholstered table in the shape of a drooping cross. Both arms and the main body of the table were fitted with thick leather straps for restraining the condemned prisoner. Beside each arm was an intravenous tube linked to a free-standing chrome box the size of a large TV. On the top of the box was a battery of plunge syringes used for administering an anesthetic and two separate poisons through tubes into the prisoner's arms. Two intravenous drips were used to safeguard against the unlikely event one should fail.
She had been told earlier that the poisons would be released from behind the Plexiglas that divided the witnesses from the condemned prisoner. In this area there were two telephones, one of which was connected directly to the state governor's office, allowing for reprieves to be received right up to the last minute. It was tradition for the prison warden to stand by this phone and wait for three minutes after the designated execution hour of midnight before giving the order. However, with the U. S. President's Crime 2000 initiative, this had become little more than a meaningless ritual. Since February 8, 2000, not one last-minute reprieve had been given to any condemned prisoner on any death row across the United States of America.
Scanning the witnesses standing behind the Plexiglas barrier, Maria's eyes alighted on the short, wizened figure of Father Ezekiel. He was dressed in a simple black suit that hung loosely on his bony frame and owed no fealty to the fashions of the day. She had never really noticed before how old he looked, but tonight his wrinkled face reflected his ninety-six years. To her, he was still timeless. He was simply the Father, the man who had given her support and direction when the world had turned its back on her. How she wanted to talk to him now, to share her doubts with him--her fears. She felt sure that he could reassure her.
But she couldn't speak to the Father. She had to have faith and face her Golgotha alone.
As the guards guided her to the table she looked through the Plexiglas, trying to catch Ezekiel's eye, suddenly desperate to warn him that something might be wrong. He just smiled at her, a smile of encouragement and complicity that stopped just short of a wink.
But you don't understand, she wanted to shout at him. It might not work. She began to struggle when the guards angled the table vertical and tried to strap her to it.
"Something's wrong," she shouted. She tried to push one of the guards away and lunge for the glass. "Make them stop," she shouted. "I'm not ready."
Ezekiel's eyes clouded with concern, not understanding. But the warden and other witnesses looked on impassively as the four experienced guards wrestled her to the table, each man responsible for strapping a particular limb. First her right and then her left leg were strapped to the table, then each of her arms. Next her torso and head, until her whole body was secured. Finally the table was returned to the horizontal. The prison doctor then inserted the intravenous drips into the vein on each of her outstretched arms, and attached the monitoring device to her heart that would tell him when she was clinically dead.
It was when she saw the simple white clock above the Plexiglas screen showing 11:58, that the full implications of what Carter had told her came into focus. There was no more time for selfdelusion. If his theory was correct, then not only was she doomed, but her life had been wasted. Not only had she failed to stop Carter but she had squandered her gift of healing: devoting her life to killing in God's name instead of saving.
She was left now with only one truth: the lesson of forgiveness and redemption taught by the first Messiah--the one who had died so all might repent and find eternal life.
As she lay there on her cross, waiting for the poisons to flow into her veins, she took a deep breath and mouthed a silent prayer.
"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."
Ezekiel De La Croix tried not to pick at his ruby ring, but his mutinous fingers obeyed their own instructions. Have faith, Maria had said, but he was still nervous. He had been shocked by Maria's obvious consternation when the guards had first brought her into the execution chamber. She had been confident this morning, dismissing all his concerns. Yet from his position behind the glass she had suddenly appeared frightened and full of doubt. He could only understand her struggle when he considered the fear that must strike even the most confident soul when faced with death. Had not Christ himself experienced a moment of despair on the cross when he thought he had been forsaken?
Ezekiel looked at the New Messiah stretched out on the cruciform table and turned to the clock above him--11:59. Now was not the time to be weak. The doubt and fear would end soon and a brave new beginning would dawn.
The other witnesses and the doctor watched the warden. The next few minutes seemed to take forever, but at exactly 12:03 he moved away from the silent phones and nodded to the doctor.
Without hesitation the button was pressed, starting the process of ending Maria Benariac's life. First sodium thiopental, a barbiturate used to put patients to sleep, was released into the intravenous tube. Then a heavy dose of Pavulon was added, a muscle relaxant that stops the lungs from functioning. Finally, an equal dose of potassium chloride was released, stopping the heart.
Ezekiel watched Maria's body intently for any signs of the poisons' invasion. But all he saw was Maria close her eyes, then after a few seconds, take a deep, final breath.
At 12:04 the doctor checked his monitors and pronounced the prisoner dead.
Maria Benariac was gone.
Ezekiel lowered his head and mouthed a brief but heartfelt prayer for her soul, and her safe return. The nex
t hours would be critical. The Brotherhood was now committed and couldn't afford one mistake. He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he didn't notice the official photogra pher step in to record the witnesses present at the execution. As Ezekiel abruptly turned to leave the room he only just raised his hand in time to stop the flash from blinding him. Waving away the photographer's apologies and blinking back the dazzle in his eyes, he quickly strode toward the exit. He had to hurry. There was so much to do.
Cells from different parts of the body die at different times. Therehave even been accounts of corpses, dead for many hours, or evendays, whose hair or fingernails have continued to grow. Likethose fanatic Japanese soldiers on isolated Pacific islands afterthe Second World War, the genes in these outlying cells don't always realize that the main battle is lost and that they shouldsurrender. Instead they keep on fighting for as long as they can,until of course eventually they die too.
Prison Morgue
In the tiled basement morgue the younger of the two orderlies kept rubbing his sweaty palms down the front of his overalls as he waited for the elevator to arrive bearing the corpse of the latest executed prisoner. Lenny Blaggs had been working down here for almost a month now, but the stiffs still gave him the creeps. Working with dead bodies was okay, even in the middle of the night. He'd done that before when he worked at the hospital. But dead murderers and rapists were something else. This was unreal, like something out of a Stephen King novel.
A rumbling of gears started abruptly above him. The elevator was coming down with its cargo.
His boss, Calvin Jetson, wheezed noisily on one of his cigarettes. "Here it comes, man. The death express."
"You keep smokin' those you're going to catch it yerself," said Lenny, waving the smoke away, although he secretly preferred the smell of Marlboro tobacco to formaldehyde and death--even if there were some who thought they were the same thing.
"I don't mind dying," said Calvin, his gray, sun-starved face wrinkling into a grin. "Death and me are old buddies."
There was a clank and then the lights on the elevator lit up and the door opened.
Calvin gave him a wink. "Tonight we are truly honored, my young protege. Because tonight we are dealing with one seriously famous bad-ass--none other than the Preacher."
"Yeah, great," said Lenny, helping roll the gurney from the elevator into the front section of the morgue, by the door. If killers gave him the creeps then the queen of the killers gave him the king of the creeps.
"You know what the Preacher did to her victims after she killed them?" said Calvin, his cigarette sticking to his lower lip as if by magic. "She got a pen with a special extra-long nib and stuck it into--"
"I don't want to know. Just leave it alone. Okay!"
Calvin laughed. "Sure thing, Lenny my boy. No need to get so uptight. Hey, could you go next door and get the stuff, and we'll clean the body up here in the light--so you don't get too scared."
"I'm not scared," Lenny protested as he walked to the back of the morgue to get the wipes and chemicals, and the bin to put the soiled diapers in.
"Sure you're not, Lenny my boy," he heard Calvin say soothingly behind him. "Sure you're not."
Lenny pulled up a small trolley and wheeled it over to the supply cupboard. As he busied himself getting the wipes--which he noticed were running low--he thought he felt a subtle breeze, a change in the room temperature, like when a door is opened. Putting it down to his imagination, he collected the chemicals and other stuff on the trolley and wheeled it back to the archway that led to the front section of the morgue. As he approached he listened for one of Calvin's "little jokes," but for once he was silent.
"We'll need to order some more wipes," Lenny said as he went through the archway. "I'll get some--"
The sight of Calvin cut him short. His boss just stood there, directly in front of him, staring, his face even whiter than usual. His mouth was moving but no sound came out. A dead cigarette stub dangled from his lower lip, and his eyes bulged. This acting was pretty good, even for the great prankster Calvin Jetson. The man was freakin' terrified.
"Calvin? What the hell's going on, Calvin?"
Calvin's face suddenly changed and he gave Lenny a sly look. "It was you, right?" Calvin appeared to regain some of his composure, but when he spoke his voice was still so panicky it set Lenny's teeth on edge. "That was a good one. Shit, how'd you do it? I just turned around for a second, man. Two at the very most."
"So? What freakin' happened?"
With trembling fingers Calvin lit a new Marlboro and took a deep drag. "Stop foolin', man. You got me, okay? But how? I just turned for a second. Just one lousy second."
"I don't know what you're freakin' talking about," said Lenny, his nuts starting to shrivel with fear.
Then Calvin stepped to one side and Lenny understood what all the fuss was about.
Maria Benariac's body was gone.
The freakin' Preacher had disappeared.
Chapter Thirty.
Beacon Hill
Boston
The morning after the execution, Maria Benariac couldn't have been further from Tom Carter's mind as he woke from a deep, restful sleep. The kind he hadn't enjoyed since before Stockholm. Eyes closed, he reached across the bed and was about to pull his hand back---Will you never learn? Olivia's gone--when he felt her shoulder. He half-opened his left eye and smiled at the small figure curled up in a baggy red T-shirt next to him. Holly.
His joy at the memory of how she had crawled into his bed last night was some compensation for the everyday ache of Olivia's absence. Holly was here and she was well.
For a while he lay there in the half light afforded by the sunshine streaming in between the curtains, and stared at her. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly parted as her chest rose and fell with every regular breath she took. Her hair still had to grow back, but it was already returning faster than he'd thought possible, and even the neat scar on her head was fading at a rate that left Karl Lambert bemused.
He reached across and gently stroked her forehead. Only two days ago she had undergone a CAT scan, which could find no trace of her tumor. Her genome now appeared normal, all defects miraculously corrected.
He jumped out of bed and pulled back the curtains of the large windows overlooking the garden. The June sunshine streamed through the mullioned glass, covering his pajamas with squares of light. The warmth felt good through the cotton, soothing away the chill of the last few nightmare months.
He took a deep breath from the open top window and reached his arms above his head, like a cat stretching in front of a fire. Below him, the garden looked beautiful: the emerald of the lawn, the red of the roses, the yellow of the marigolds, the colors more brilliant than he could ever recall.
"Dad, what time is it?"
He swiveled around to see Holly sitting up in bed yawning, rubbing her eyes. "Almost eight. Don't forget, Jazz is coming for breakfast at nine."
"Larry too?"
"Nope. He's still busy in L. A. making his movie. When are Jennifer and Megan coming?"
Holly crawled out of the covers till she was sitting on the edge of the bed, and began scratching the scar on her head. "They said they'd be here about ten-thirty."
"Anything planned?"
"No, just hanging out."
Tom laughed and shook his head. Here was a kid who should be dead, the last five days already a bonus. But today, on one of the most fantastic mornings in creation, with her two best friends about to visit, all she wanted to do was "hang out." Talk about living life to the fullest.
"What happened, Dad?" Holly asked, her voice suddenly serious.
He walked over and sat on the bed next to her. "What do you mean?"
"During the operation."
He paused. This was the first time she had mentioned the operation in the five days since it had happened. He had purposely not probed before, waiting for her to talk about it in her own time. "We made you better," he said simply.
&nbs
p; "Mom told me you made me better."
"Mom? When?"
Holly leaned her head against his shoulder, making herself comfortable. "In my dream. When I was sleeping in the operation. It was weird. I seemed to wake up while I was still asleep. I was on a platform and you were putting me on a train. And as the train pulled away you and all these people were waving good-bye to me. There was Alex, Jazz, Jack, Jennifer, Megan--everybody."
"Where was the train going, Holly?"
"To see Mom. You said that you would be coming along later."
"Really? So what happened?"
"Well, I was kind of sad to be saying good-bye to you, but happy to be seeing Mom. Then suddenly Mom was there on the train next to me. She explained that she was there to make sure I got to where I was going. It was fantastic seeing her again; she was exactly like she used to be--the way she smiled and laughed--everything. She asked how you were, and whether you were worried about us both. I said you were okay and would come along soon; then just as the train slowed down she began to smile and cry at the same time.
"She said I wasn't getting off with her. That you'd made me better and were taking me back. I didn't feel too sad, because I knew I would see her again, and I wanted to come back and see you. The next thing I knew I was waking up looking at Jazz, feeling real thirsty."
the Miracle Strain (aka The Messiah Code) (1997) Page 34
