The Brotherhood

by Jerry B. Jenkins

  “I wouldn’t lie to you, babe. Now you have to work on getting better.”

  “Boone.”

  “I’m here. I’ll never leave you.”

  “Boone.”

  “I’m here.”

  She said two words he didn’t understand, and he asked her to repeat them.

  “Not deaf.”

  “I know.”

  “Heard doctor.”

  He didn’t know what to say. If she had been awake and heard Dr. O’Connor, she knew everything about her own condition.

  “Ready,” she said.

  “Ready?”

  “Heaven.”

  “Oh, honey, no. Your parents are on their way. We’ll work together—”

  “Boone.”

  “Yes.”

  “Love you.”

  “I love you too,” he said. “With all my heart.”

  “Take care of Josh.”

  “You know I will.”

  “Good-bye.”

  The whole point of this was to say good-bye, but now he couldn’t bring himself to say it. All he could say was, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  “Boone.”

  “I’m here, babe.”

  “Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.”

  5

  The Valley

  Boone watched the MONITORS, which still showed a pulse and brain activity, though Nikki was quiet. There was so much more he wanted to say, but she had plainly worn herself out.

  He sat down and watched the numbers on the monitors begin to diminish. He pulled the call cord. Catherine O’Connor quickly entered alone.

  “We talked,” he whispered. “She heard what you told me.”

  The doctor grimaced. “Maybe that’s for the best.”

  He nodded and pointed to the monitors. “Is this it?”

  “I’m afraid so. I can’t say how long it will take. It’s up to you if you want to stay.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “And I assume you want no heroic measures taken.”

  “Right.”

  “Then I’ll leave you till it’s over. I’ll send someone in to replace the morphine again. The end will be painless.”

  It was anything but painless for Boone, who sat waiting for the inevitable. Two agonizing hours later, Nikki’s heart monitor flatlined, and the brain wave machine began to beep. Dr. O’Connor swept in.

  “With your permission,” she said kindly, “I’ll shut off the oxygen feed.”

  “Will she be aware?”

  “Cognition is gone, sir. You want to stay?”

  Boone nodded and stood trembling as the doctor shut down the machines. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. Two nurses entered, one with Nikki’s chart. Dr. O’Connor made a few notes, glanced at the clock, and said, “Let’s call it. 8:48 p.m.”

  “What happens to her now?” Boone said.

  “She’ll be taken to our morgue until she’s picked up by a mortuary of your choosing.”

  “Is that where my son is?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I need to see him.”

  “Oh no, now I thought Dr. Sarangan told you—”

  “No, I just mean, I assume he’s wrapped.”

  “Of course.”

  “I just need to see where he is.”

  “That can be arranged. Give us a few minutes and we’ll put your wife next to him. I need to know who would be going down there with you.”

  “Oh, uh, Jack Keller and Francisco Sosa. I’ll ask his wife, Maria, but she might not want to come.”

  “Mr. Drake, you know you can remove your mask now. That was more for her sake than for yours. And you may also touch her now if you wish.”

  Boone hesitated and Dr. O’Connor motioned to the nurses to follow her out.

  And there he stood, before the bandaged, ravaged remains of his wife. He approached slowly and laid a hand softly on the bindings that covered her forearm.

  “Nikki. Nikki. By now you know I lied about Josh. Forgive me. Take care of him till I see you again.”

  Boone’s intuition about Maria had been right. She embraced him and asked if he minded if she declined.

  “No, no, I understand.”

  “You need a place to stay tonight?” she said. “We have a guest room and you’re more than wel—”

  “That won’t be necessary, ma’am,” Jack Keller said. “Already thought that through. I’ll take Boone to his place to get whatever he needs, and then he’s gonna stay with me at my apartment for a little while.”

  Boone could have wept with relief. The last thing he wanted to do was stay with the pastor and his wife and their young family.

  At the morgue, Sosa and Keller hung back as Boone peered through a window to where two gurneys had been set side by side. The gurneys were the same size, but of course the bodies were not. A morgue tag had been affixed to one of Nikki’s huge, mitted hands, and another was clipped to the tiny bundle next to her. Boone was grateful he had been talked out of looking past the wrapping on both bodies. This was enough. He knew it was them. He didn’t need to see the carnage their bodies had become. He would remember them the way they were—healthy, happy, gorgeous.

  An attendant stood silently near the door, his head lowered.

  “Would I be allowed to touch the baby, sir?” Boone said.

  “I’ve been instructed to leave him wrapped.”

  “No, I mean, just . . .”

  “Certainly.”

  He held the door open for Boone, who stepped inside and just grazed the tiny wrappings with his fingers. The crater in his soul told him he had lost his every reason for living.

  At the hospital exit Boone embraced Sosa and his wife and nodded as they promised to keep in touch, to pray, to accede to his every wish. Then he had to pass through a phalanx of both church elders and uniformed colleagues from District 11, shaking hands and hearing endless expressions of sympathy. Though the condolences were heartfelt and kind, to Boone it seemed like enduring a gauntlet.

  Boone paused at the door and called Pam McNickle’s cell phone. That it immediately went to voice mail told him they were en route. He recorded the awful news, then told them where he would be and asked them to call anytime.

  Finally outside in the humid darkness, it was just him and Jack again, as it had been right before the fateful call to Keller’s cell.

  “Thanks for taking me in,” Boone said as he headed around to the passenger seat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “’Course I did. You think I didn’t see the look on your face when that pastor’s wife invited you? Anyway, I was plannin’ it all day. I knew you wouldn’t want to stay at home, regardless.”

  Keller put the key in the ignition and hesitated. He sighed heavily and his voice sounded shaky. “I just don’t know what to say, Boones. We say ‘sorry for your loss’ to somebody every few days, but that just doesn’t seem to cut it now. Just know I’m here for ya.”

  “I know, Jack.”

  Boone shouldn’t have been surprised that his little house was still a hub of official activity. Why anyone thought he could make use of the place, despite the annihilation of the garage, was beyond him. All the utilities were centered in the garage, so there was no power, and for all he knew, no water. Forty or so onlookers had gathered to watch CFD investigators still picking through the ashes and debris.

  Keller pulled their oversize flashlights from the car to use inside. In a daze, Boone found a couple of suitcases and threw in whatever he thought he might need over the next several days. He hoped he would never have to return to this place, but he had no idea.

  The place smelled of smoke and gasoline, and everything he saw that reminded him of Nikki and Josh stabbed him to his core. He noticed Keller scooping up a couple of family pictures for him, but he was too exhausted to even thank him. They were in and out of the place in minutes.

  “I wonder if she’s still up,” he muttered as they headed back to the car. Several firemen approached
shyly with sad looks, offering handshakes.

  “Sorry, man,” many said. “Awful sorry.”

  Jack threw the suitcases in the backseat. “If who’s still up?”

  “Mrs. Gustavson.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s after ten, but her lights are still on.”

  “You wanna check?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  The crowd parted silently as he started up her walk and rapped on the door. She pulled back a curtain to peek out, then immediately burst into tears and hurriedly unlocked the door.

  “Oh, Mr. Drake!” she said. “I’m so sorry! I did everything I could. I didn’t know what else to do!”

  “Just wanted to tell you I appreciate it, ma’am. They didn’t make it.”

  Mrs. Gustavson nodded. “I just saw it on the news. I couldn’t imagine they would survive that. I’m so sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  On the way to Keller’s apartment, Jack pulled into a drive-through.

  “I can’t eat, Jack, really.”

  “You mind if I do? Sorry, but I’m starvin’ and I don’t keep much at home.”

  “No, sure, go ahead.”

  Keller ordered for both of them and Boone gave him a look.

  “So sue me,” Jack said. “You gotta eat whether you feel like it or not.”

  Boone nibbled at a burger and sipped a Coke as Keller pulled out. Boone’s cell phone rang. “Oh no,” he said. “My parents.”

  “Gotta talk to ’em, pal. It’s all part of the deal.”

  His mother and father cried with him, expressed their love and grief, and insisted on meeting him at the district station house the next morning. “We’ll walk you through all the funeral stuff,” his father said, and Boone had to admit he could use the help.

  “I’m not working tomorrow. You want to just meet me where I’m staying?”

  “Officer Keller told us someone from downtown was going to be meeting with you at headquarters tomorrow,” his dad said. “No?”

  “Just a sec.” Boone covered the phone. “You talked to my parents already?”

  “Yeah, they heard it on the news and called the station.”

  “What’s this about a meeting tomorrow with somebody from downtown?”

  “Yeah, sorry, I was gonna tell ya. Somebody from HR or benefits or something wants to go over a bunch of stuff with you. And you know bereavement counseling is mandatory. Time off too. All that.”

  “This has to be tomorrow already?”

  “None of this is gonna be easy, pal.”

  6

  In Limbo

  Jack told Boone to go on in and that he would carry the stuff from the car, but Boone would have none of it. He was glad to have something to do. Bone weary as he was, activity was the only antidote to the devastation in his mind. He was grateful he had not seen the destroyed bodies of his loved ones, but his imagining of their terrible deaths was just as bad. If this had to happen—and for the life of him he couldn’t think of a reason—could they not have been spared such torture?

  He was surprised to see the size and quality of Keller’s apartment. All the man had done for the last year was complain about his various alimony payments. And while he had enough years on the job to enjoy a decent salary, Boone had not expected him to have such a nice, big place. The guest room even had its own bathroom.

  As Boone busied himself unpacking his suitcases, Jack stepped in with the family pictures he had taken from the house. “I figured you’d want these eventually. I mean, I can only imagine how hard it would be for you now.”

  “No, you can’t, but thanks. Yeah, if you could just store ’em somewhere for me. Someday I’m going to want to have them.”

  “You need anything from me, Boones? Anything at all? I can leave you alone. I can order you some food. The fridge is full, but it’s nothing much.”

  Boone shook his head. “Unless you can turn back the clock twenty-four hours, there’s nothing else I want. Thanks for staying close today.”

  “’Course. My advice? Turn your phone off or even put a message on your voice mail that it might be a while before you call people back. Everybody’s gonna be, you know . . . calling.”

  Boone sat on the edge of the bed, suddenly realizing he was still in full uniform, bulletproof vest and all. “You’re right, I know, but I’m just not up to it. I’ll turn it off.”

  “Want me to put a message on there for ya?”

  Boone shrugged and tossed it to him, telling him his voice mail pass code. Jack recorded, “Yeah, thanks for callin’. This is Boone’s phone, but this isn’t Boone; it’s his partner. Boone appreciates your call, but I’m sure you understand he may not be able to get back to you right away. Don’t leave a message unless it’s urgent, because his mailbox will just fill up right away. Watch your e-mail for funeral arrangements and all. If you need anything immediately, you can call me at the following number . . .”

  Boone thanked him, stood, and began peeling off his uniform. “I feel like I’ve been run over by a truck,” he said, “but I don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep.”

  “Too tired? Been there.”

  “Just too much firing through my brain. I’m not going to be able to shut it off.”

  “Take a shower, whatever you need. You want to stay up and talk, I’m game for that.”

  “Think I’d rather be alone, Jack, but thanks.”

  “I understand. You know, if you really have trouble falling asleep, I’ll bet that Indian doctor guy from your church would prescribe something.”

  “Ah, I’ve never used that kind of stuff, and I wouldn’t want to bother him.”

  “Bet he’d be glad to help.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind, but I’ll tell you the truth, Jack: I can finally see why people overdose. Put a bottle of sleeping pills in front of me right now, and I wouldn’t trust myself not to scarf it down to try to join Nikki and Josh.”

  “Nobody could blame you, Boones, but you know I don’t wanna hear that kind of talk. No sense making a tragedy even worse. Listen, if you get desperate for some shut-eye, I got some cheap wine in the fridge—oh, that’s right, you don’t drink. Well, I won’t tell anybody if you do. ’Least that won’t kill ya.”

  Boone threw on a bathrobe as he heard Jack opening and closing cabinet doors in the kitchen. Part of him wanted to collapse and sleep for days. Yet he had an idea there would not be any sleeping this night.

  “Boones,” Keller said, knocking softly, “I’m happy to stay up if you want me to.”

  “No, please. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Listen, you need a thing, just knock and don’t give it a second thought. Promise?”

  “Sure.”

  Boone had no intention of bothering Jack, but being left alone for the first time since driving to work that morning was not something he relished. That kind of solitude used to be something to look forward to. Usually, after interacting with Jack and the public and other cops and staff all day, he enjoyed just listening to some tunes and anticipating the welcome waiting for him at home.

  Boone turned the shower as hot as he could stand it and tried to stifle his loud sobs, hoping Jack couldn’t hear. When the water ran so long it began to grow lukewarm, he shut it off, toweled down, and pulled on sweatshorts. He sank down on the edge of the bed and hung his head.

  Another light knock on the door.

  “Yeah.”

  “Your in-laws called. They’re at the hospital, and he wants you to call. I can tell ’em you’re asleep.”

  “No, I’ll call. G’night, Jack.”

  Boone had never heard the buttoned-down Air Force lawyer sound so shaken. Though there was nothing he wanted less, Boone offered to meet the McNickles somewhere.

  “No, no. You try to get some sleep.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “I know, me either, but we’re all going to need it. Pam is having a prett
y hard time. So am I, of course, but one of the doctors here prescribed a sedative.”

  They agreed to get together the following evening with his parents. Boone did not look forward to that but could think of no way to get out of it.

  When he hung up with his father-in-law, he had to wonder what it was like for a man to lose his only daughter and grandson. Boone wished he could transfer some of his grief and empathize with the man. Steve McNickle had known and lived with Nikki for eighteen years. Boone felt cheated of a lifetime with her.

  Did it make sense to be alone with his thoughts? They were jumbled, and his emotions made them worse. Mixed with his horror and grief and loss was that rage over the unfairness of it all. He knew what all the church platitudes would be, and they were no help to him now. People would fall all over themselves to try to help, and while he knew they would mean well—as he would in reversed circumstances—the fact was that there was absolutely nothing anyone could ever say or do to make this better. And right then it seemed nothing could even dull a pain so sharp it threatened to slice him in two.

  How long had it been since he had told Francisco Sosa that his wife was his life and that he would die for his son? He meant it then and doubly now. Without Nikki he didn’t want any kind of a life. And he would have given everything he would ever own if God would have allowed him to trade places with Joshie and let Boone suffer such a horrible death so the baby could live.

  His hands and feet felt weighed down from exhaustion, yet Boone could not sit still. He paced the bedroom, then the living room, peeking out onto the street and idly watching the occasional car, cab, or truck pass.

  If he could talk with anyone, anyone at all, who would it be? Pastor Sosa? Maybe someday, but not soon. His parents? That would come too soon as it was. Jack was a great partner and friend, but he had nothing to offer. Oh, how he longed to talk with Nikki. She knew him, understood him, would grieve with him, stand by him, love him unconditionally, allow him to rage, to question God, to weep, to despair over his very life.

  What did other people do in this situation? The devout talked to God, but the sad fact was, that wasn’t Boone. Though he’d been a Christian since childhood and a churchgoer his whole life, his prayers were limited to grace at mealtime and pleading with God for something he really wanted or needed—like safety in a life-threatening situation. He had not, as he had heard Pastor Sosa put it so succinctly, maintained his spiritual disciplines.