Yesterday's Gone: Seasons 1-6 Complete Saga

by Sean Platt

  The elevator stopped on the third floor, and the man rushed off, saying, “Good day, sir,” only when he was three steps away.

  Will couldn’t think of anything to say before the elevator doors closed and he was on his way to Level 7. Alone, his mind returned to his son who had somehow miraculously, recovered. The doctors said he might never surface from the coma. The operation to remove the tumor in his brain was enough of a risk to be considered a death sentence.

  And yet, four weeks later, he had opened his eyes.

  Can he really be fine?

  Will tried to pick up his son’s thoughts, but couldn’t feel him “online.” At first, Will was nervous, wondering if the child’s thoughts were somehow dead, but given the drugs in his system, he was likely still in a fog. Some drugs had a way of interfering with Will’s abilities.

  The elevator stopped. Will squeezed through the still-opening doors, then practically ran to the recovery room. He passed a few nurses, then opened the room’s door to his two adopted sons, separated by more than two decades and different parents.

  Luca’s eyes lit as Will stepped through the door, “Dad!”

  Will’s heart practically melted. “Oh God, you’re awake!” he cried, falling to Luca’s bedside and hugging him through the tangle of wires running to an IV drip, then over to the bank of machines monitoring his vitals. “Thank you, God.”

  “Why are you crying?” Luca asked, his voice brittle and full of scratches.

  “I’m just so happy,” Will said.

  Will stood, then turned to Boricio, pulling him into a bear of a hug. That’s when he sensed it — the secret Boricio had been hiding. The doctors had done something radical to revive Luca, even though they were supposed to wait for him to come out of the coma.

  How the hell did they keep this from me?

  Then Will saw that, too.

  Boricio hadn’t told anyone outside of a small circle, at least not until the last minute, and somehow managed to shield his thoughts enough to prevent leaking the information himself. Boricio could do this better than anyone, especially when Will was busy, which he had been for the majority of the past several weeks.

  Will pulled away, and met Boricio’s eyes.

  Boricio knew he knew. “I’ll explain later,” Boricio whispered.

  Will swallowed his knot, furious, wanting later to fuck itself so Boricio could explain immediately.

  “I’m thirsty,” Luca said.

  “Hold on, I’ll get you some water.” Will smiled at Luca, rubbing the top of his son’s head before leaving the room. He nodded at Boricio with a silent instruction to follow him out into the hallway.

  The door slid closed behind him; Will narrowed his eyes, stealing a glance around them to see who, if anyone, was within earshot. The coast clear, he said, “How could you?”

  “He was inches from dead,” Boricio said. “How could I not?”

  “The serum hasn’t been tested on humans,” Will said. “You had no right to use Luca as an experiment.”

  “Oh please,” Boricio said. “He wasn’t an experiment. Haven’t you been reading the research notes? You’ve seen what the serum can do! Apes, mice, monkeys, pigs, and anything else Old McDonald can throw in the lab. It’s worked everywhere they’ve used it. And it worked on Luca.”

  Will swallowed again, trying to control his rising anger. He had never wanted to hit anyone in all his life so much as he wanted to smash his fist into Boricio’s arrogant face right at that moment.

  He exhaled from his nose and drew a deep breath. “What if something went wrong?”

  “The doc said he’s in perfect health,” Boricio said, standing straighter. “And you’ve known me long enough to know I’m not wired to sit around and swing a sack of nothing while my baby brother is beating on his final breath.” He shook his head. “Not a chance. Those vials were a gift! You know it’s just a matter of time before we’re using the serum as a chemo-cocktail to cure everything from cancer to carpal tunnel.” He took a step toward Will and bored into his eyes. “Shit, Dad, isn’t that the ditch you said we’re supposed to be digging?”

  “Not like this.” Will shook his head. “How can you not see how foolish this is?”

  Boricio pointed at the door and the brother on the other side. “How can you not see how right this is? You taught me to take risks. You taught me to believe in myself. It’s about damned time you listen to your own advice. If this had been some random test subject, cleared through the proper channels, you’d be the first one popping the cork! So, stop looking at the red tape and start walking on the red carpet, Dad. This is our time. Three surgeons made a miracle in there today! A miracle that would have never happened if you and your buddies hadn’t found those vials. At some point you’ve gotta start being able to see destiny dancing, Dad, especially when it’s twisting in a tango in front of you!” He shook his head again. “You’ve gotta stop turning your head from what’s supposed to happen.”

  Will took a step back and stared through the door’s window at Luca, lying in bed, smiling and waving. It was a smile Will had been afraid he’d never see again. Boricio was right. Will hadn’t allowed himself to believe in miracles for far too long, even though he had always believed in fate.

  Maybe this was an even blend of both.

  Two

  Boricio Wolfe

  Kingsland, Alabama

  The Sanctuary

  March 28

  Sometime after midnight …

  FIVE MONTHS AFTER THE EVENT …

  Well, this is some beer-battered bullshit.

  The second the old fucker pulled the trigger, Luca’s memories started spinning through Boricio’s brain — how Luca and Will had met, how Will had comforted him after his dog died, plus dozens of others — like a bad acid trip, blended with anger, betrayal, and confusion.

  Boricio shook his head, trying to flush the memories so he could deal with the immediacy of the old man with the gun.

  “What the fuck?” Boricio said, raising the shotgun he looted from one of The Sanctu-fairy fucksticks, and drawing aim at Will, pointing the barrel right between his eyes.

  Will acted as if Boricio wasn’t even there, dropping his pistol to the snow and staring down at Luca. “I’m so sorry,” he said, falling to Luca and cradling the man-kid’s head in his hands as blood pooled beneath him, spreading like an angry, dark stain in the snow.

  “How do you get off swinging a sack of sorry, you Santa Claus-looking pile of shit? You’re the motherfucker who shot him!” Boricio stepped forward to hit the old man, but stopped when he nearly lost his balance.

  His head was still dizzy from Luca being inside, and odd as a smiling bitch who wasn’t asking for crap, Boricio still felt a lingering need to protect the kid. He wasn’t sure what sorta voodoo bullshit Luca had done in his head, but he’d definitely done something.

  Luca had said he’d “fix” Boricio, but what in the fuck-all did that even mean? What was there to fix? Ain’t no one ever had any complaints about the way Boricio worked before. At least no one still breathing.

  Boricio took a step closer to Will. “He said he fixed me. You wanna tell me what in the hell that means? I’m guessing by the way you tore in here like Steve McQueen, you have a pretty good goddamned idea.”

  Will looked up at Boricio, eyes watering, as if he were going to break down and cry. “I don’t know. But you’re a killer, aren’t you?”

  Boricio showed Will all his teeth. “I’m a heartbeat adjuster. What in the fuck does that have to do with the price of tea in China?”

  “You haven’t killed me yet,” Will said, an odd smile crossing his face, like one of those fuckers who thinks his IQ has another digit to keep his shit from stinking.

  Boricio stepped forward, craving a pull of the trigger, and barely resisting the urge.

  See how he smiles with half a face.

  “No, not yet,” Boricio growled.

  Will said nothing, staring down at Luca’s closed eyes. Then he looked
up to Boricio and said about the dumbest fucking thing that could’ve come from his mouth, “He’s dying.”

  “No fucking shit!” Boricio said, and this time he couldn’t resist. He swung the barrel of the shotgun and hit Will hard in the forehead, knocking him back to the snow.

  Boricio looked down at Luca, confused as an odd, new feeling flooded his body, filling him with something he couldn’t remember feeling before: sympathy.

  Fixed me? More like he took out my batteries!

  Fuck.

  Boricio felt tears welling in his eyes.

  What the fuck is this shit?

  He turned away, wiping his eyes. The anger returned, and he shoved the barrel of his shotgun at Will’s head.

  “Why the hell did you shoot him, you Sasquatch-looking pile of shit? He trusted you!”

  “I had to. The dreams told me.”

  “Dreams? If I did everything my dreams told me to, Brad Pitt’s head would’ve been an ashtray on my coffee table watching me bang Angelina sunrise to sunset. The fuck you talking about? Start speaking English, or I’m gonna shut you up permanently.”

  “Tell me. Did he try to heal the others?” Will asked.

  “Yeah, a couple. But he said it’s not working now.”

  “Yes,” Will nodded, “that’s what I saw in the dreams.”

  “You wanna stop speaking in ancient Chinese secret and tell me what the fuck you’re goin’ on about, old man?”

  “You can save him,” Will said. “In fact, you will save him.”

  Boricio laughed.

  “Me? Save him? Clearly you’re new to this program, hombre. I ain’t the fucking hero. I don’t save the day.”

  Will shook his head, pointing back at Luca. Blood was spilling from Luca’s mouth.

  “Hurry!” Will said.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do?!” Boricio asked, annoyed, and suddenly feeling a need to try and save the man-kid. “Tell me what to do!”

  “Put your hands on him,” Will said, his voice rising in anger or urgency. “Like you saw him do with the others.”

  Boricio was going to argue, but something in his head, maybe instinct, or remnants of Luca playing puppet master, pushed Boricio to kneel beside Luca. He saw in his mind what to do next, like a memory.

  How do you have a memory of shit that ain’t happened?

  Boricio felt like he was on another trip like when he drank that shit back in the rich fuck’s house.

  He leaned down and put his hands on either side of Luca’s face, feeling warmth like liquid fire spreading through his limbs and into his fingers. And then from his fingers and into the man-kid.

  Boricio stared at his hands, as if they were being moved by another. He wondered again what in hell’s sweet honey pot Luca had done. He had fixed him, but he’d sure as shit done something else, too.

  Luca’s eyes shot open like someone had flipped a switch inside him, and he started coughing up blood then sucking at air and gasping for breath.

  Boricio started to pull away, but couldn’t. His hands were locked onto Luca, as some sorta whatinthefuck kept flowing from Boricio and into Luca — as if the boy were sucking his life from him. Warmth turned to pain and started shooting like a scattergun through all of Boricio’s body, as he clenched his teeth and tried to work up the strength to break the connection.

  Let go!

  Boricio pulled, but felt as if someone had glued his hands to Luca and if he pulled too hard he might rip the kid’s face off. The pain, however, gave him no choice but to keep trying to break free.

  Finally, Boricio was able to wrench himself away. He fell back into the snow, writhing in pain.

  Luca rose from the dirt, staring at Will, who was still sitting on the ground from when Boricio knocked him down. He looked at Boricio, then back at Will, his face twisted in confusion.

  “Why?” Luca asked, his voice caught between confusion and anger.

  “I’m sorry,” Will said, wiping a tear. “It was the only way.”

  “Only way for what?” Luca asked.

  “For that,” Will said, pointing at Boricio, rising to his feet, body feeling like it was on fire.

  “Why you all looking at me like that?” Boricio asked.

  Luca’s eyes were wide, as if he were staring at a two-headed demon sucking on a dick made of fire. Luca opened his mouth, but said nothing.

  “What the fuck you looking at?” Boricio growled.

  “I’m so sorry,” Luca said.

  “Sorry? For what?” Boricio asked, confused, and feeling another new feeling: fear. They were clearly looking at his face.

  What the hell happened to me?

  He reached up to touch his face, but his hands were buzzing, too numbed to know what he was touching. He looked around, then saw the headlights of Will’s car shining on them. He stepped past Will and Luca, moving toward the car as fast as he could despite the 15 bags of fuck-all that had slapped him in the face and now seemed to rest on his shoulders.

  Boricio reached the car, driver’s side door still open, then bent to see his reflection in the mirror.

  Oh Fuck.

  He looked like he’d aged a decade, maybe more.

  “What the hell did you do to me?!” Boricio roared, spinning around.

  “I don’t know,” Luca said, surprising Boricio by not stepping back. “I swear.”

  I should shoot this pair of fucks right here, right now, and get the hell out of Dodge.

  But Boricio couldn’t leave.

  Something was holding him here.

  The need to stay with the man-kid sang in the same, sweet tune of instinct that had fueled the engine of Boricio’s entire life. He screamed in frustration, grabbed his shotgun off the ground, and pointed it at Will.

  “Talk! Now!”

  Will shook his head, “I don’t know any more than you do. Only what I saw in the . . . ”

  “Yeah, yeah, the fucking dream!” Boricio curled his lip and gritted his teeth. “Then tell me what you saw.”

  Will looked at the ground and swallowed, “Whatever’s in Luca. Whatever makes him special. He transferred that to you. I had to make sure you gave it back.”

  Boricio wanted to shoot the old bastard right there on the spot, just to satisfy the itch. But, again, something inside him kept his finger from squeezing the trigger.

  “Why?” Luca asked. “Wait. Does this mean I can heal people again? Can I … ” Luca looked back toward the barn where Linc and Rebecca’s bodies lay in a heap, slaughtered by monsters. Then he looked toward the dungeon where Mary and Paola’s bodies lay on their way to forgotten. Finally, Luca looked past the barn where Desmond’s corpse lay, along with the dozens of others, man and creature alike, littering The Sanctuary like a battlefield.

  Luca swallowed, then whispered. “I can bring them back?”

  Will looked up from the ground after a quarter of eternity spent chewing the question.

  “Yes, you can bring them back. But not all of them. Only three. After that, you’ll have aged to near dying.”

  “Just three?” Luca whispered, eyes on Will.

  “Three,” Will repeated, as he struggled to stand.

  Something looked off about the old man. Then, as Will flinched and fell back a step, Boricio saw the crimson bleeding between his fingers and realized the old fucker had been hiding an injury to his gut.

  Will fell to the ground, gasping for air, about to add one more body to the battlefield.

  Three

  Charlie Wilkens

  Charlie was in a room he didn’t recognize, and without any memory of how he got there, or where he’d been before he woke handcuffed to a table. Three of the walls were gray concrete, just like the floor. The fourth mirrored, like he’d seen in interrogation rooms on TV and in the movies. The room was empty, except for the chair he was sitting in and the table his right hand was cuffed to: a metal bar on top of the table which seemed built expressly for the purpose.

  A bare light bulb hung limp from a chain,
flickering on and off above him with an intermittent buzzing sound.

  Where the hell am I?

  Charlie stared at his reflection. He looked like he’d aged five years or more in the last five months. He looked down at the cuffs, so sturdy, shiny silver, and official-looking. He wondered if they belonged to a cop and whether he’d been arrested for something.

  For what, though? And are cops really on duty at the end of the world?

  It wasn’t as if any law was left in the land, let alone officers to enforce the rules. Arrest seemed unlikely. Yet, here he was.

  But who else could’ve done this? And what the hell do they want from me?

  “Hey!” he called. “Show your face, pussy!”

  Charlie got only an echo as a response. And his scared reflection, which betrayed the bravery of his taunt.

  “Hey!” he screamed, loud enough to put a scratch in his throat, shaking his hand, the cuff biting into his wrist.

  Behind him, a door opened. Charlie looked up in the mirror and saw Boricio enter the room, wearing a dress shirt and pants, his hair neatly trimmed and styled.

  “Boricio?”

  “Well, I ain’t the goddamned Easter Bunny,” Boricio said, closing the door and circling behind Charlie before settling himself on the other side of the table.

  “Where the hell are we? Why am I in handcuffs?”

  Boricio looked up and held his finger to his lips, “Shhh, keep it down, Charlie Brown. You don’t want to wake the others.”

  “Others?” Charlie asked, looking around the room. “What others?”

  The light bulb lightly swayed above them, as if someone had tipped it. Charlie looked up, then watched as Boricio’s shadow bounced back and forth alongside the light’s movement.

  Boricio looked around, rotating his finger in a small circle before he said, “You don’t see them?”

  Charlie stared at Boricio, waiting for him to break into a laugh. But Boricio was playing it straight.

  “Come on, this is some kinda joke, right? You’re fucking with me. You, Adam, and Callie, you’re all fucking with me. Ha-ha, real funny. Now let me out,” Charlie said, shaking the handcuffs.