The Will to Die

by Joe Pulizzi

  I ran over to him. He was on his stomach convulsing. I felt for his two back pockets. Nothing inside. I reached around to feel his front pockets and found what I was looking for—a small black container. I unzipped it to expose the epinephrine injector that looked like a large Magic Marker. I removed the black tip, exposing the needle, and jammed it into the back of Alex’s neck.

  I pulled back the injector from his neck and breathed a sigh of relief. I looked over at Sam. I could see her eyes. She tilted her head. The warning was too late.

  I was knocked forward. Something hit the back of my head. Almost in slow motion I could see the shards of splintered wood falling past me to the ground. It had to be the old man’s cane. I fell on top of Alex. I tried to move my arms. Nothing happened. I couldn’t feel my legs.

  I was beginning to lose consciousness. I looked up to find Sam but couldn’t see her. I couldn’t hang on. Please hold on.

  The last thing going through my mind, before I blacked out, was the sound of a rifle shot.

  Chapter 40 – Win One for the Gipper

  I woke up in what looked to be a hospital room but different. The same in that I was in a hospital bed and had machines to my left and right that played the part. A tube stuck out of the top of my right hand and led to a bag above my shoulder.

  Different in that there was no outside-looking window, no pictures, and nothing around that projected comfort. There was a small glass square at the top of the door and I could see what looked to be a large man standing outside. Keeping guard, I supposed. Somewhere off in the distance I could hear an instrumental version of Bowie’s “Let’s Dance.”

  My mind was still on Jess and Sam. Robby and Denise. I pushed the covers back and sat up straight. Then I brought my legs over slowly so they were hanging off the bed. My head started pounding. I tried to grab on to something to keep balance but only managed to grab a blanket with my right hand and a pillow with my left.

  The door opened, and I started to panic. There was pressure on my chest. A hand pushed me back into the bed. Someone picked my legs up and set them back in bed.

  I looked up. It was Sam.

  “Will, can you hear me?” Sam asked. She sat down on the bed, to my left.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Do no try to get out of this bed again. Everything’s all right. I promise. You’re at Firelands Hospital.”

  I breathed in.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” she asked.

  “Someone hit me.”

  “Good. Someone did hit you.”

  I breathed out. “Where’s Jess?”

  “Jess is fine. She’s down the hall. I called Zoe, and she’s with her. They have Denise two floors up. She’s pretty shaken but will be fine. They put her on a morphine drip. Robby is in intensive care. He lost a lot of blood and has some kind of infection in his leg, but the doctor said he’s going to be fine in a week or so. They pumped all kinds of blood into him. He requested a black doctor,” she said, smiling.

  “And Jack?”

  Sam chuckled. “Jack’s been trying to bust himself out of here for the past two hours. They patched up his leg. He’s fine and wants to go, but he killed someone tonight and they’re being fussy about it. He’s on the other side of the building, and his wife is with him.”

  “His wife?”

  “I know, right? She’s actually a really sweet person. They’re very affectionate with one another. Go figure.”

  I breathed in and out again. “Did you say two hours? How long have I been out?”

  She looked at her watch. “It’s almost seven a.m., so you’ve been unconscious for what, four, five hours? Doctor said you have a concussion. And technically, I think you’re under arrest, or you’re going to be until they figure this mess out. None of us are allowed to leave the hospital until Alan gives us the all clear. He was here a couple hours ago and filled me in on what I missed.”

  I looked up at Sam. “Are you okay? Did he ... hurt you?”

  “You mean Alex? No. His guys roughed me up a little, and I can’t say I was that happy to be naked in front of so many guys while they wrapped me in Ace bandages, but yes, I’m fine. And before you ask, the same with Jess and Denise. Robby got the worst of it, with his leg and all. Alex’s crew has no love for black people, I can tell you that. He looks like Apollo Creed after Rocky II.”

  Thank God. I leaned back into the pillow and closed my eyes. I listened to my breathing, the silence around the room, and I began to cry. I covered my eyes with my right hand, trying to hold the tears back. Sam put my left hand in both of hers. “It’s okay, Will. It’s over. Just let it go.”

  And I did. At least as much as I could for now. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at Sam. She pulled two crumpled tissues from her pocket and handed them to me. “Here,” she said.

  “Are these used?” I asked.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Not really.” I wiped the tears away, blew my nose, and wadded the tissues in my right hand. I looked back at Sam. “Do you have to go, or can you fill me in on what happened?”

  “I can stay as long as you want,” she said. “There’s a lot I don’t know, especially after I talked to Alan. As soon as the old man cracked your skull, Jack literally blew his head off from the other side of the room.”

  “Jack?”

  “You couldn’t see it because you and Alex and his dad were talking, but Jack was sliding across the floor, as slow as I’ve ever seen him move. He opened the door you came out of and reached for his gun. Then he just lay there, waiting for the right moment. When you ran at Alex, the old man ran after you. By the way, he can walk just fine. He made it over to you in record time. He slammed down his cane on you and as soon as he stood upright over you to do it again, his head just disappeared. I looked over, and Jack was leaning against the wall holding his rifle.”

  “God, I love that man.”

  “And then all hell broke loose. There must have been twenty feds that busted through the door you came through. Actually knocked Jack to the ground, which was a good thing or they probably would have shot him. They cuffed Jack, and a few agents attended to us. The old man’s body fell on top of you, so they pulled him off, then pulled you off of Alex. I really hope they took a picture of that.” Sam smiled.

  “You are a sick, twisted woman.”

  “I know.” She smiled. “Anyway, they rushed Alex out on a stretcher, from where the old man came in. He’s in recovery, and they’re guarding him. By the way, how did you know about the peanut allergy? The popsicle thing was ingenious, but as it was happening, I thought you’d lost your marbles.”

  “Sophomore year, Alex and I went for ice cream. We both ordered sundaes. After we started eating, he began to suffocate. His throat was closing. I called 911, but he had an epinephrine injector in his pocket. I just didn’t know it at the time. He almost died. Apparently, the person making the sundaes used a spoon that was in the peanuts. That’s the day I found out he was severely allergic to them. But the man loves popsicles. At least he used to. We devoured them together when we were friends. I was betting both the allergy and his love for popsicles were still in play.”

  “Why didn’t he know better? I saw him look at the box.”

  “I had Jack switch the contents before we entered the room. He thought he was eating chocolate triumph but ended up eating fudge blister, which has a shit ton of peanuts in it. In preparing for the PopC pitch, I learned every ingredient in every single kind of PopC popsicle.” I started to chuckle, but it hurt all over. “Sorry. Please continue.”

  “When we made it outside, you would have thought it was World War III. There were bodies everywhere. I guess hundreds of residents responded to your little text message and took out Alex’s guys. Alan said they found over twenty dead guards around the crematory. A couple of the guys from the Sandusky Alliance were injured really bad in the fighting. Barry White didn’t make it at all. Last I heard more than fifty residents of Sandusky lost their liv
es tonight.” She paused. “But hey, your girlfriend fought back as well. She’s here actually. She took a shot to the shoulder but she’s going to make it. What Alan didn’t know is how you sounded the alarm.”

  “Dad’s notebook. The one we found at Carol’s. It took me a second, but I figured it out when I saw the bible passage.”

  “What bible passage?”

  “The last page of the notebook said Joel 2:1, and then there was a phone number. Four-one-nine area code. Sandusky. I can’t believe I almost forgot, but my dad would sometimes leave me little notes before a sporting event or a math competition, and he would include that bible verse. It says, ‘Sound the alarm in Jerusalem. Raise the battle cry on my holy mountain. Let everyone tremble in fear because the day of the Lord is upon us.’”

  I wiped a tear from my eye. “He used that as a little motivation piece when I was growing up. He wanted me to know that as long as I had the Lord everyone else better watch out. Well, when I saw the bible verse and the phone number, I put two and two together. I didn’t know how many people the message went out to, I was just hoping it was the cavalry.”

  “What did the message say?” she asked.

  “Something like, ‘This is Abe Pollitt’s son, Will. Now is the time. I’m on my way to take Alex down tonight and need your help. We’re at the crematory. Today is the last day Sandusky is held hostage by the Traynors.’ I was trying to do a ‘win one for the Gipper’ speech.” I chuckled. “It’s a lot harder to do in a text message.”

  Sam looked away for a moment. “Will, I know this isn’t the best time, but what Alex said about the tuition bill?” She turned back toward me.

  I shook my head. “Alex wasn’t lying. I have the invoice. I should say invoices. But I didn’t have the money to cover the tuition bill.”

  “Why didn’t you just tell me? We could have figured it out.”

  “I’ve messed up so badly over the past few years. I was trying to take care of it myself.” I started to tear up again. “I thought I had it covered, but I need help. I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

  “We can discuss it later.” She paused. “Well, you did good, kid.” She leaned over and kissed my forehead. “I’m going to make the rounds, but I’ll come right back.”

  She opened the door and, just before she closed it, looked back and smiled.

  Epilogue

  The city had never seen anything like it. Half the downtown streets were closed for what was called a “death parade” in the newspaper. Thousands of residents came out to line the streets in honor of a woman they never knew. There were floats and costumes and clowns dressed in black, riding Segways. The casket was painted black and white in some kind of tribute to Beetlejuice, and the pallbearers were all made out as movie characters. There were Freddy and Mike Myers, that guy from Krampus, and a woman dressed up like Sandra Bullock in Bird Box. She kept bumping into the crowd, but Jack kept pushing her back to the center and kept her safe.

  To date, it is our most profitable funeral ever. Probably the most profitable funeral in history. In all, we took in over sixty thousand for the three-day event, including all the special orders and coordinating with city officials for the parade.

  The call came in last week. Another blog subscriber. The woman who passed on was a nut for horror movies, and the family apparently had some money to burn.

  It’s been this way for the past couple of months. Well, ever since Robby started publishing Dad’s crazy stories. I fought him at first, but he told me to trust him, and I did. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Robby publishes one of Abe’s stories of the past, with gentle editing by both Robby and Jess. He called the blog On Death’s Door, and it links directly to the Pollitt Funeral Home site.

  Jess needed an internship as part of her major, so she’s been a paid intern at the funeral home since she finished spring semester. The first month of Robby publishing was met with little fanfare. Whatever attention we did receive was negative. I mean, how many funeral homes publish weird stories about death? Plus, most Sandusky folk thought it worsened the reputation of the battered city. But once Jess got involved, everything changed.

  Not only does the blog come up in many death-related search engine inquiries, but she recruited a couple of YouTube influencers who were super interested in the topic. Of course, they did videos on it. Then someone created a subreddit, and there’s a small yet growing following of over fifty thousand people who dissect every one of Dad’s stories. A short time after, someone from the New York Times did a story on the crazy funeral home from Death City, a.k.a. Sandusky, who started a “Death Blog.” It was a rather negative article, but it ended up driving so much traffic the site crashed seven times that day. We now have over one hundred thousand subscribers to the blog and add a couple thousand every few days. Last week, a book publisher called and wondered if we’d like to put Dad’s stories in a book. I have a feeling Dad wouldn’t mind at all.

  While this would all be great in and of itself, it blew the doors off the business. As Robby predicted, Pollitt Funeral Home is now in the event business. We just happen to cater to extremely weird events around death and dying. One guy requested to drop his mother’s ashes from a hot air balloon over Lake Erie. We made that happen. Another woman wanted to hold a Barenaked Ladies concert as part of her son’s wake. BNL was his favorite band. The band was so intrigued with the offer that they cut their rate to almost nothing and flew down from Toronto in economy seats. I love Canadians.

  A few weeks ago, I sold my share of PT Marketing to Robby, using the proceeds to pay for Jess’s next two years of tuition at Penn State. Of course, Robby agreed to keep me on as a special consultant, especially since he wanted me to continue working with him on the PopC account. PT Marketing signed a two-year agreement with PopC to create a network of media sites, which happened to increase the notoriety of PT Marketing substantially. Robby is bringing in new business like crazy and has rehired a few employees we’d had to get rid of just a year earlier.

  With Denise’s permission, I moved into Dad’s house on the water full-time. I’m still getting used to it, but Jess is staying with me over the summer, so that makes it easier. Dad would have loved it. We drive to work together every morning, and she learned to fall in love with coffee just like her dad. We’ve become regulars at Coasters coffee shop. I have the loyalty card to prove it.

  A combination of our new marketing plan with the simultaneous closing of Traynor Funeral Home meant we could barely keep up with all the business. We were actually cash positive, and I was able to start paying down my massive debt. But funeral home staffing was now a concern. Denise has been studying under Sam to become our second embalmer. Jess suggested hiring Zoe on to run our marketing. We think she’ll ultimately do a fantastic job, but she’s still a bit too emotional about everything that happened three months back. A few weeks after old man Traynor took me out with his cane, we found out that Zoe’s dad was on the list to be poisoned and killed. She, of course, thinks I’m her savior, but for now, I’m not going to spoil her with the truth.

  Sandusky, the city, has had a rough go of it. The events hit national news the next morning after the old man lost his head. The explosion killing a dozen FBI agents was the first to unravel, followed quickly by the Traynor’s plot to remove anyone who was not straight and white from the earth. The life settlement plan, the poisonings, the Big Brother technology scam—all of it was covered by every major media outlet in the world.

  Up to this point, Alan and the FBI have uncovered more than eighty million dollars in illegal life settlement deals. The bureau thinks that’s not even a quarter of what’s really out there. In the wake of the Sandusky disaster, Alan became an FBI celebrity and moved off WMD full-time to investigate the Sandusky aftermath. I think he’s considering an offer for a DC post. His investigation into Traynor’s plans also continues to uncover new players, although he doesn’t think John Traynor was the main architect. Alan’s team just identified funding to Traynor from a group of wh
ite nationalists, one of whom has ties to the White House.

  The papers are giving me, Sam and Robby some much-deserved love about our detective skills. But whenever possible, I deflect it to my father. The FBI would have very little to go on without his notebook of times, places, and transactions. And thanks to Sam, we had enough of the tissue samples left over to link the poisonings, the deaths, and the insurance transactions together.

  As of now, Alex Traynor is keeping his mouth shut, spending all of his time in provisional detention awaiting trial. I don’t know the final numbers, but they have him on multiple counts of murder, extortion, and laundering. His trial date isn’t for another three months, but they’ll be pushing hard for the death penalty, especially with the killing of twelve federal agents on his hands. Word on the street is that he’s going to plead insanity, and judging by the little thirty-year wall of fame he built for me, he could win the case.

  But most Sandusky residents just want to go back to their normal lives, at least as much as possible. Almost all the technology installed around the city is in the process of being dismantled, with the parts being split up between local high schools and colleges to their computer programming and engineering courses, as well as to up-and-coming YouTubers and podcasters.

  The Sandusky Alliance decided to disband. Although the city elders still believed in the core cause, they also believed a radical leader could come in and take it over again, like John and Alex Traynor did. Plus, the remaining SA board members, minus Uncle Dan, my dad, and Barry White, will be serving time once their court dates hit next month. I’m told deals have been worked out, and each one will be serving six months in minimum-security prison plus a hefty cash penalty. Even Uncle Dan’s coroner nephew got a deal.