by Brad Murray
Benjamin glanced at the Lincoln. Its two occupants remained in their seats, staring fixedly. Despite the fact that every nerve in his body was screaming to make a run for it, Benjamin tried to remain calm.
“Just picking up some boxes,” said Benjamin, glancing up at the man’s protruding nose.
“Are these your boxes?”
“They are now. A friend left them for me to pick up. Said he was leaving town and that I could come get them.”
“I see,” said the man, a steady stream of smoke curling around his nostrils. “Your friend isn’t Mr. Porges, is it?”
“No. Never heard of him. Now if you’ll let go of my door, I’m leaving.”
“Oh, I’m quite sorry,” said the man, leaning closer. “How very rude of me. I’m sure you and your beautiful family need to be going and I’m holding you up. My apologies.”
The man eased the door shut, the latch clicking in place.
“No problem,” said Benjamin. “Good luck finding your guy.”
Benjamin slipped the car in gear and started to ease forward. He glanced at Juliette, whose stricken expression only worsened his fear.
“Benjamin?” the man shouted as the car eased away.
“Yeah?” said Benjamin, looking back at the man over his shoulder. As soon as he said it Benjamin realized his mistake, confirmed by the smirk on the man’s face. The man nodded to his colleagues in the car.
Benjamin slammed his foot on the accelerator and the Fairlane lurched forward. The car squealed onto the street and veered past the Lincoln. Juliette gasped as they passed mere feet away from the silhouetted faces of the two men in the Lincoln. Benjamin flipped on the headlights and checked the rearview mirror. The Lincoln had already made a u-turn, and was preparing to give chase. Benjamin caught a glimpse of its passenger door flying open and the small hawkish man jumping in to rejoin his friends. His heart sank. He had hoped that these weren’t the very men he had feared encountering his entire life and that they wouldn’t give chase. But as their headlights cast a dim glow into the Fairlane’s interior, Benjamin’s hope had vanished.
The two cars thundered down the faintly lit residential streets of Longueil. The Fairlane screamed as Benjamin tested her limits. They cornered dangerously hard through sharp left and right turns, down narrow alleyways and against traffic on one-way streets. The engine roared down straightaways, reaching sixty miles per hour in mere seconds. They ran stop signs and stop lights alike and, as they sailed downhill near the business district, the underside of the Fairlane scraped the pavement, sending sparks flying and Juliette shrieking. They rocketed up a hill, completely blind to the massive city bus that would be in their path at the top. As they reached the summit, Benjamin reacted and jerked the car to the right to avoid a collision that would have most certainly been their end. Juliette screamed as he yanked the wheel. She lurched into Benjamin’s shoulder, causing him to temporarily lose his grip on the steering wheel. The car sped towards a row of sidewalk diners, who scattered like roaches as the Fairlane clipped one table and several chairs, narrowly missing an elderly couple. Benjamin veered back onto the street, hoping the Lincoln had met its fate with the bus. But no such luck; the black vehicle and its dark occupants were as close as ever, nipping on the Fairlane’s back bumper.
No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many twists and turns he took, Benjamin couldn’t shake them. And as the chase ensued, the cars found themselves on the outskirts on Longueuil, away from the relative protection of the city. Here, the streets were long straightaways, and the backdrop was open fields instead of buildings and alleyways. Benjamin had resigned himself to the sobering notion that in all likelihood, he would be forced to come face-to-face with the fear that had harbored within him for as long as he could remember. Soon, he would have to confront his fear of these, until now, faceless men and their dark intentions.
“Jules, you have to promise me something.”
Juliette’s nails dug into the seat and her right hand held a death grip on the door panel.
“Stop talking and concentrate Ben!” she cried.
“Jules, promise me that if something happens to me you’ll take Andrew and disappear. Change your name and go somewhere you’ll never be found…”
“We’re not going to be separated,” she interrupted. “I can’t…we can’t. Just drive!”
“Listen to me!” said Benjamin. There was a solemnity to his voice, a grave tone that was rooted in the feeling that he wouldn’t be able to keep his family away from the men behind them.
“Just in case, Jules. Go far away where you can start a new life. Change your names. And stay away from doctors and hospitals. If they….”
Benjamin’s voice trailed off as he spotted blinking red lights on the road ahead. Juliette noticed the lights as well. Hope had returned. Perhaps they could get away after all.
“Police?” Juliette hoped.
“Train crossing,” said Benjamin. The line in his jaw jutted out as he gnashed his teeth. He was determined to make a final full-fledged attempt to escape the sinister threat that was nipping at his heels. The white light emanating from the locomotive cut through the darkness like a blade and was boring down on the intersection ahead of them at a rapid clip.
“Bennie, are you crazy? We’ll never make it!”
He focused on the intersection ahead, and pressed the accelerator to the floor. The Lincoln remained in step, only a few feet behind.
“We’ll make it,” murmured Benjamin. He glanced in the rearview mirror and the Lincoln’s headlights. “But they won’t.”
Juliette closed her eyes and prayed silently as the last few feet drew near. Benjamin gripped the steering wheel and straightened in his seat, tightening his muscles in anticipation of impact. The train’s whistle blew. The Fairlane and its three occupants launched through the intersection, the crossing gate exploding into shards of wood as the car missiled through it. They ramped high into the air and over the tracks. Ecstasy coursed through Benjamin’s veins as he realized they would clear the oncoming train. But the elation was only temporary; a fleeting sensation as he realized something was wrong. The car had tilted slightly while in air and as a result, landed with the left front tire hitting the pavement a split second ahead of the right. The force of the uneven impact wrenched the steering wheel from his grip. He desperately tried to regain control, but it was useless. The car skidded heavily to the left and then to the right before it careened off the street out of control. Benjamin was but a powerless passenger now, with no ability whatsoever to control the vehicle. And he watched helplessly as the telephone pole in the distance ominously approached his driver’s side door.
***
Traugott tried in vain to block out the chirping voices of Adler and Brumeux in his ears while he labored to keep up with the Fairlane. The surprise encounter with the bus at the top of the hill had nearly done them in but his quick reflexes maneuvered them clear of the bus and within inches of an elderly couple who had narrowly missed being hit by the Fairlane.
“Bump him Martin,” said Adler. “Spin him out.”
“No,” said Brumeux. “We’d risk killing him. We must take him alive.”
“So we’re just going to chase him all night long? We have to take him out now before he turns back into the city and we are forced to deal with the police. Or worse yet, before he wraps himself around a telephone pole.”
Brumeux sat thinking, knowing there was truth in what Adler said. They couldn’t let the potential Super go - that was out of the question. This Porges fellow had already packed his belongings, and it was clear he knew why the Order wanted him, at least it seemed that way. He was bound and determined to disappear, and if they let him get away they’d likely never find him again.
“You’re right Ernst,” said Brumeux. Adler turned in his seat, his eyebrows raised. It wasn’t often Brumeux agreed to a plan hatched by Adler.
“Stay close behind. Next time he turns, spin him out.”
Traugott n
odded. He punched the accelerator and the Lincoln roared to within a few feet of the Fairlane. As they raced down a straightaway, Traugott noticed something in the distance.
“Oh shit,” said Traugott, motioning to the horizon. “He’s going to try and beat the train.”
“Stay on him Martin!”
Brumeux sat back in his seat and fastened the lap belt snugly.
“Bullshit!” screamed Adler. “Let him go! He’s going to kill us all!”
“No! We cannot let him out of our sight! Stay on him!” commanded Brumeux. Adler put his head in his hands and cursed aloud.
“Shit, it’s going to be close!” yelled Traugott fearfully. The sounds of rumbling car engines reverberated in the still night air. The train’s horn eerily belched its warning as the two cars approached the intersection. Porges’ Fairlane leapt as if on springs over the tracks, clearing the path of the train. The Lincoln was a split second behind as it launched towards the stars. Brumeux looked out the window to his left and came face to face with the light of death. The locomotive’s headlamp was so close it blinded his vision - like staring into the sun. He closed his eyes, anticipating the inevitable impact. The train clipped the tail of the Lincoln, sending it and the men spinning like a Frisbee. The car hit the ground like a meteorite, rolling countless times before eventually coming to rest right-side-up in a grassy field.
Brumeux awoke to the hissing of the radiator, completely disoriented. His heart drummed in his head, blood coursed through his ears and hammered at his temples as if trying to burst through his veins. He felt the warmth of his own blood trace down the left side of his face. It was then he noticed the searing pain in his left eye. He groaned in agony and lifted his hand to its source. To his horror he felt a jagged piece of metal jutting out from the eye socket, blood trickling from it. The pain was so acute and the realization he had lost his eye so nauseating, that he nearly passed out.
But the smell of gasoline brought him back.
Aware he and his companions were still in danger and that the car might explode at any second, Brumeux reached forward and shook Traugott’s shoulders. But Traugott’s limp body did not respond. He shook him again, harder.
“Martin! Martin, wake up!”
Brumeux leaned forward, chunks of glass falling from his shoulders, and placed his fingers on Traugott’s neck. There was no pulse. He turned to Adler, immediately noticing his twisted and broken neck and knew he too was gone.
A thought crossed his mind that this was all just some terrible nightmare from which he would soon wake up, finding his friends laughing and joking as full of life as ever. They were an indestructible threesome and the thought of death was never a remote consideration, despite the many dangerous assignments they’d worked together. It was surreal, Death had found them in this grassy field.
Adler had protested against continuing the chase, and Brumeux had ignored him. His zest for being the leader, for being the one to make the decision, had clouded his judgment. The price for his hubris was steep; he would lose two friends, and two little boys would lose their fathers. Brumeux realized his entire life he was a hard person to know; a man who kept his feelings close to the vest. Kept hidden, just underneath this vest, Benoit Brumeux cherished the friendships of Martin Traugott and Ernst Adler as much as anything in the world, but he never found the opportunity to tell them.
And now he never would.
Gasoline fumes began to burn his throat. He turned the handle of the door. It creaked open just enough for him to slide out. With the acrid taste of blood on his lips, Brumeux started across the grassy field. As he limped forward, the stabbing pain in his eye became too much to bear. He grew dizzy, nauseous, and fell to his knees in misery. He surveyed the surroundings with his one good eye and spotted the Fairlane that had come to rest in the same field, smoldering next to a telephone pole. He crawled towards it in desperation.
***
Juliette closed her eyes and prayed as the car caught air, never once opening them during their flight. She held tight as the car crashed back to Earth. They careened back and forth across the road before the jarring impact of the telephone pole. Her first thoughts were of her son. She unbuckled her belt and turned to check on Andrew. She saw immediately that, though traumatized, there wasn’t a scratch on him. A wave of relief passed over her that only a mother could understand. The instant she knew Andrew was fine, her fear subsided and her trembling ceased. She soothed her little boy, running the back of her hand along his cheek; an unspoken assurance from mother to child that everything was going to be alright.
“We made it Honey!” she exclaimed, running her fingers through Andrew’s hair.
Juliette turned to checked on her husband and gasped. He was slumped sideways in his seat and his eyes were open, but they weren’t the eyes she knew and loved. They were but a dim reflection of themselves, like a candle burning at the end of its wick.
“Bennie?!”
He gasped for air and tried in vain to speak. His mouth formed words but no sound would come. He looked as if he were drowning, desperately gasping and lurching in order to pull in air.
“Oh my god, where are you hurt?” she bawled.
She swooped over him; inspecting him, feverishly searching for the source of the damage. She placed her hand behind his head and lifted him in his seat. As she did, the glow of the moon and the haze of a far-away street lamp lit the deep gash in his throat. A dark crimson river of blood gurgled in pulsating rhythm. It oozed through his thick beard, down the side of his neck and over her fingers.
The love of her life was dying.
With each heartbeat, the warm blood that now covered her hands was being pumped out, and with it, the life inside him. She looked outside frantically, hoping to see the lights of an ambulance. But there was nothing but the black stillness of the night and the screeching of the train as it braked. For a moment, she wondered if she should leave Benjamin behind; run off in search of help. But somewhere deep inside, Juliette realized that he was beyond hope and that these would be their final precious moments together. She would stay with him until the very end.
Regardless, she put pressure on the wound, praying that the bleeding would stop and that help would somehow arrive in time. Tears coursed down her cheeks and onto his chest. She placed her hand on his face, soothing him. She ran her fingers through his hair, whispering to him that everything would be alright.
But Benjamin understood his fate.
He looked into her eyes. He looked into her eyes with all the knowingness that this would be the last time he’d see her. He looked into her eyes and conveyed all the love he held in his heart - without uttering a single word. It was those same puppy dog eyes that she fell in love with on their very first date. She loved him at that very first moment; and she loved him now and all the days in between.
She turned her head to the backseat towards Andrew. “Sweetheart,” she sobbed. “Come up here with your Daddy.”
She sobbed so hard the words would barely come out, but Andrew understood. He climbed over the seat and onto his mother’s lap. Juliette grabbed her husband’s hand and interlaced his fingers with his son’s. He looked lovingly at his boy and smiled. His eyes began to fade and his breathing slowed.
“I love you Ben,” cried Juliette. A single tear slipped over his eyelids and trickled slowly down his face. He tried to speak, but again no words would sound. Juliette leaned forward, her ear to her husband’s lips.
“It’s okay,” he whispered so softly she could barely understand.
“No,” she sobbed. “Please don’t leave us.”
“Goodbye Sweets.”
His eyes drifted shut, his breathing ceased. Juliette erupted in sobs; her hands still soothing the side of his face despite knowing he was gone. She pulled Andrew closer and held him tightly; the family knit together in one final embrace.
Eventually Juliette composed herself, the promise she had made to Benjamin willed her to move. She would take their boy and disappe
ar somewhere into the world where they would never again be found. These men, whoever they were, had killed her husband and perhaps there would be more who would resume the chase in their place. She took Andrew by the hand, got out of the car, and gazed blankly across the distance at the Lincoln, searching the dimly lit field one final time.
And then she saw him.
The man was on all fours, crawling like a wounded tortoise towards her. He whimpered like a child and held a hand to one eye. He stopped cold when he noticed them - the mother and young boy who stood there studying him as if he were a venomous snake. He meekly reached for her, his palm to the heavens, and cried out, “Help! Please!” But there was no emotion in her countenance; no sympathy or concern.
There was only emptiness.
She watched him coldly, praying he too would die in that field. The man passed out, crashing down in a heap. In the distance, sirens wailed. Juliette grabbed Andrew’s hand, turned, and disappeared into the darkness. It was that night, September 15, 1970, that Andrew Porges became Andy Porter.
10
Today - May 29, 2011
Jimmy grimaced, expecting the patrolman to pull the trigger at any moment. He wondered whether the bullet that would take his life would do its work slowly, agonizingly, or whether it would be instantaneous with no suffering. He hoped for the latter. Death was not feared but if he were to meet it, Jimmy wanted it to happen quickly and painlessly. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see the flash of the muzzle.
Yet again, an image of his father appeared in his mind. He stood in the field next to their house, appearing just as he had the day they shot the clay pigeons - their last day together. The setting sun’s magnificence illuminated him in a brilliant golden backdrop. His father knelt down with a welcoming smile, imploring Jimmy to come forward, as if beckoning him to come with him into the heavens.
“It’s okay Bud. Everything’s going to be alright,” he smiled.
Jimmy heard the click of the patrolman’s revolver. He winced, expecting to feel the powerful crush of the bullet’s impact that would knock him to the pavement. But no bullet struck. Surely another revolver click would follow and, this time, do the job as intended. Jimmy opened his eyes. The patrolman pulled the trigger robotically, gun aimed at Jimmy. His expression was lifeless; empty. Jimmy breathed a sigh of relief, realizing the patrolman had spent all of his rounds.