Panacea

by Brad Murray

  Yes, Cooper’s head would spin in wonder of it all.

  And his hands would shake with delirious excitement.

  And his feet would dance a jig.

  He would walk again; and together they would live again – the Porter family – restored.

  I am my brother’s keeper.

  Something clicked in Jimmy’s mind - something Minkowski had said. He had missed it earlier because he’d been too excited at the prospects of a cure for Cooper. Jimmy pulled himself away from the family hug, anger welling up.

  “Wait. You’ve known for months about this,” said Jimmy, taking slow steps towards Brumeux. “And you did nothing?”

  Brumeux shot a hard glance at Minkowski.

  “Cooper’s injuries can be addressed at any time –“started Brumeux.

  “Then why not when it first happened?” demanded Jimmy.

  “We – we must be careful about administering such things,” Brumeux stammered. “The world is not ready for miracle cures –“

  “Bullshit!” said Jimmy. “You have the power to do so - don’t lie to us! What’s the real reason?”

  Brumeux looked meek; defeated. He searched for the words as he held his hat in hand. He had transformed from the commanding presence of a few minutes ago when railing against the Wickers. Now, he seemed like a whipped dog.

  “James,” pleaded Brumeux, “you must listen to me carefully and try to think of all that you’ve learned today. The big picture of a future state in which the Alicante – the Wickers – have exterminated millions of people. I could not risk millions of lives in exchange for Cooper’s immediate ability to walk. Unalterable plans had been set in motion; the train had already left the station, and there was no calling it back. Years and years of planning and preparation were in play, James, with today’s moment – this moment right now – the end game. It is my obligation – my duty – to put an end to the threat the Wickers present. This has been the only priority.”

  ”I-I don’t understand,” said Jimmy, shaking his head. “What does that have to do with Cooper?”

  Brumeux placed his fedora squarely on his head and stood erect. He needed to reaffirm his domineering presence in the room. He’d been pathetic over the course of the past few minutes; his affection and sympathy for James having escaped from its restraints. But there was no room for feelings; he needed to complete the task at hand. He was so close now.

  “If we had cured Cooper before tonight,” said Brumeux, “it would have been hailed as a modern miracle. He’s a quadriplegic, James. There’s no fixing that in the world of contemporary medicine. You don’t just roll out of bed and begin running and jumping again. No, he would have been a media sensation, with Springfield, Missouri the center ring. And who knows what might have happened then. Perhaps you both would have run off together to some desolate, remote corner of the world to escape all of the attention. And if you did there would be risk of losing you, James. No – we couldn’t have that. Couldn’t take a chance that something might go awry and demolish the plans we had already set in motion. While I’m sorry Cooper has spent an agonizing three months in a hospital bed, I’m not sorry for our course of action. He will walk again James. Just not tonight. Your brother’s health is secondary.”

  Brumeux turned away from Jimmy, focusing his intention on the Wickers.

  “Secondary?” Jimmy roared, lunging forward at Brumeux furiously.

  All the aggravation and frustration that been accumulating during the course of the day finally overcame the dam that had been containing it. Jimmy was blind with rage; his singular focus on getting his hands around Brumeux’s neck. Nobody would consider the well-being of his little brother as “secondary.”

  As Jimmy lurched forward, Stern reacted in the manner in which his security training demanded. Stern was the bodyguard, Brumeux was the man he was protecting, and Jimmy Porter was a threat. He instinctively lifted the Glock 9mm pistol that he’d been holding at his side and set aim at Jimmy Porter’s foot. It would wound him yes, but it wouldn’t kill him. But as Stern raised the weapon, the Sisters and Malvado were already in motion, focused on their particular targets. Their bodies were a blur; a flash of flying red hair and a glimpse of Malvado’s white shirt dashing across the room. The precise moment Jimmy reached Brumeux, the blast of a gun shot echoed through the crowded living room of the old farmhouse.

  33

  Today – May 29, 2011

  The Porter’s living room had transformed into a scene of mass chaos; a panorama of whirring limbs, and flying bodies, and splattering blood. The smell of gunpowder hung in the air and eardrums rang from shrieks, blood curdling screams, and the unmistakable thumping of fists connecting with human flesh.

  Malvado had managed to bum-rush Stern and sent the both of them spilling backwards into the kitchen door. The power of Malvado’s tackle forced Stern’s finger to squeeze the trigger, sending a reckless bullet streaking wildly into the ceiling. The gun flew from his hands and slammed hard against the kitchen door, landing with a dull thud on the carpet. Mere feet away from the gun, two highly trained warriors fought like wild animals in a life or death effort to possess it.

  Just a few feet from the men, Jenny and one of the Sisters were in the midst of their own clash. The diminutive red-haired terror had sprung from her position near the Wickers the precise moment Malvado had made his move. She made a beeline towards Stern, who had been standing behind Jenny. But, Jenny rared back and caught the Sister directly at the bridge of the nose as she was about to pass, sending her toppling over the edge of the sofa. Jenny pounced on the pile of red hair that was sprawled out on the floor. But before she could reach her, the girl had drawn back her knees to her chest and, like uncoiled springs, sent a powerful two-foot kick square into Jenny’s sternum. Jenny crashed backwards into the wall, her head shattering the glass of a picture frame. She was dazed and before she could gather her wits, the girl was on her, wailing away with her fists. Finally, La’Roi came charging in. He lowered his shoulder and ran the girl over like a freight train.

  He stood, straddling over the girl, who writhed on the ground in pain.

  “You okay, Jenny?” La’Roi asked.

  Jenny rubbed her temple and slid down the wall. Her hand brushed against something metallic on the carpet next to her.

  Stern’s gun.

  Malvado and Stern were still grappling for their lives just a few feet away; each man with his hands around the other’s throat. Jenny grabbed the gun from the floor, if for nothing else than to keep it out of Malvado’s hands.

  Across the living room, the Sister standing near Minkowski had seen enough. Letta’s spoiled granddaughter had made a terrible mistake by punching Sis. But it was immensely enjoyable watching that bitch fly into the wall and smash her pretty little head against the picture frame.

  “Kick ‘er prissy arse, Sis!” she shouted in encouragement. At that moment she cared little for the fact it was Letta’s granddaughter who’d be receiving the beating; nobody sucker punched the Sisters and lived to tell about it. But just about the time Sis was going to rearrange her teeth, that skinny black ambulance man – the one they called Dawkins – had cowardly flattened Sis from behind.

  “Jaysus, ye bastard!” yelled the Sister as she whipped out a silver pistol and took aim at La’Roi. She lined up the sight with the back of La’Roi’s head. She’d blow his brains out for having the nerve to –

  A jolt knocked her off kilter just as she squeezed the trigger, sending another bullet screaming across the crowded living room. A tingling sensation emanated from her neck, and when she searched the area with her fingers, warm liquid oozed over their tips and flowed heavily down her collar bone. Confused and shocked, she knew something was terribly wrong. The strength in her legs waned, and she collapsed to her knees, dropping the pistol from her suddenly feeble hands.

  “That was for Tatiana,” a voice whispered softly into her ear.

  She keeled over onto her side, the pain overtaking her senses and
sending panic coursing through her every nerve. Minkowski hovered over her, grinning through bloodied lips, a broken nose, and a swollen eye. He held in his hand a shard from a broken Jack Daniel’s bottle, its edges lined with her blood.

  La’Roi’s attention had been diverted from the Sister at his feet; the earsplitting sound of gunfire from behind sent him ducking for cover. He turned just in time to see Minkowski pull the broken bottle from the Sister’s neck. La’Roi realized immediately that the bullet had been meant for him, and that he owed Minkowski his life. The Sister who lay below him saw her opportunity. From her back, she sent a knee-buckling kick to La’Roi’s groin, her toes connecting squarely with its target. La’Roi howled like a hounddog and crumpled over into a ball, writhing in pain while he tried to catch his breath. In a flash, the Sister cartwheeled on top of him, and began unleashing a series of furious blows from spinning fists and elbows. Each was expertly placed; a fist to the rib, followed by an elbow to the forehead, followed by another fist to the gut. La’Roi could do nothing but grunt in pain with each passing blow.

  Jenny could see that La’Roi stood no chance against the Irish girl. If she didn’t do something, La’Roi was finished. Not wanting to shoot her, Jenny instead searched her surroundings for something heavy and found it in the form of a porcelain vase sitting on top of a bookshelf. She grabbed it with one hand and smashed it with all her might over the back the Sister’s head. She collapsed in an unconscious heap on top of La’Roi.

  “I woulda handled her,” La’Roi croaked as he shoved her body aside.

  “Sure you would have,” said Jenny, extending a hand to help him up.

  Just to their left, Stern had gotten the upper hand on Malvado. His sheer size and strength had worn down the slimmer, more athletic Spaniard. Stern had Malvado on his back and both meathook-like hands gripped firmly around his neck, choking the life out him.

  To Jenny and La’Roi’s right, Jimmy and Emma were stooped over the sofa, inspecting something.

  “Dad, stay with us!” Jimmy wailed, anguish filling his face.

  “Andy, no!” Emma sobbed.

  Jenny and La’Roi rushed forward to the sofa. Andy was on his back, the lower third of his sky blue dress shirt soaked with blood. He held both hands over his stomach, trying in vain to hold the blood inside.

  “What happened?” cried Jenny.

  “The bullet meant for him missed,” said Minkowski, nodding to La’Roi, “Hit Andrew instead.”

  “Do something!” Emma demanded of La’Roi. “I can’t lose him again.”

  La’Roi dashed around the side of the sofa, shoving Brumeux out of his way. He ripped open Andy’s shirt, sending buttons flying. La’Roi worked feverishly, inspecting the bullet’s point of entry and looking for an exit wound. Andy’s breathing was labored, his pulse weak.

  “I need clean towels!” shouted La’Roi. “Bandages, tape. We need to get this bleeding stopped and get him to a hospital!”

  Brumeux’s head was spinning. He couldn’t believe what had occurred. In all the scenarios he’d so carefully planned for this night, none of them ended like this. None of them included Andy Porter getting shot. He felt empty as he watched Andy bleed out on the sofa.

  He felt guilty.

  No matter how hard he had always tried to justify the notion that sometimes innocent people were casualties of the greater good, the guilt was always there. He’d lost Traugott this morning. And now, he was losing Andy Porter. Casualties of his war for the greater good. If only he could stop this one. It served no purpose for Andy to die. Not here, and especially not now. Not after what he’d put the Porter’s through – even if all he’d done was meant to protect them.

  If only he had the serum with him; it might have saved him. Jimmy’s wondrous blood, when mixed with the catalyst, worked miracles. It would heal the wound, would stop the bleeding. Yes, if only he had one more vial of the precious gold –

  Brumeux frantically searched through his coat pockets. Where was it? He fumbled from one pocket to the other, grasping for it but coming up empty. It had been almost an afterthought really, grabbing that second vial before he left the Outpost this afternoon. He only needed one – the one that was designated for the black mouse. But for a reason Brumeux couldn’t readility identify, he had brought two. Perhaps there was a higher power that had put the thought in his mind – fate’s reward for Brumeux’s efforts all these years. Or, perhaps it was the simple wisdom of an old man, who had learned along the way to always have a backup.

  There it was.

  Brumeux exhaled a sigh of relief, feeling the edges of the forgotten small box that contained the second vial in a side pocket in his vest. He wrapped his fingers tighly around it. His heart leapt.

  Andy would live.

  Just as he opened his mouth to let La’Roi and the Porters know of the miracle, he felt a tap at his shoulder. Brumeux turned, and found Lars standing almost on top of him. Lars jammed a finger into Brumeux’s stomach, knocking him back a half-step.

  “Brumeux,” croaked Lars in a strange, gruff tone. There was sadistic, twisted look in his eye.

  “What?” said Brumeux.

  “I’m not the coward you are, Brumeux,” hissed Lars as he looked purposefully at Brumeux’s stomach. “I look my enemies in the eye before I kill them.”

  Brumeux looked curiously down at his stomach. Protruding from his gut was the black, nickel-plated handle of his Hitler Youth Knife, the swastika staring up at him mockingly. The shock of the sight was enough to send his head spinning. He hadn’t felt the pain of the dagger’s entry – it wasn’t until he saw it with his own eyes that the pain crept in. But now, he felt the warmth of the blood running under the waistline of his pants and down both thighs.

  “I kept it sharp for you all these years,” Lars whispered as Brumeux slowly melted to his knees, and onto his back on the floor.

  “Lars! What have you done? You’ve killed Jenny’s chances for a cure!” Brumeux heard Letta’s cry, though he barely registered her words.

  Realizing what had occurred, Stern rushed in - far too late - and knocked Lars unconscious. Minkowski had already taken a knee at Brumeux’s side, where he came to the quick conclusion his mentor had been mortally wounded. He reached out; taking the old man’s wrinkled hand in his.

  “I suppose I will never forgive you,” said Minkowski. “Even though deep down I know that you only gave me up because you thought it was the only way.”

  Brumeux efforted a smile and nodded feebly.

  “You were the only one strong enough for the task,” said Brumeux in a near whisper. “You are the most trusted servant of the Order. And my most cherished friend. I’m truly sorry for what I did to you. And to Tatiana.”

  Stern placed pressure on Brumeux’s abdomen in a futile effort to stem the bleeding. The old man’s thin blood gushed out like water; containing it was hopeless.

  “Thank you Stern,” Brumeux said softly. “For your unquestioning loyalty. But I am afraid my number has been called. Let this old man die.”

  Stern shook his head, denying the undeniable. He had failed Brumeux and the Order; failed to protect him from the Alicante. He stared at his blood-covered hands and lowered his head in sorrow. As the color drained from Brumeux’s face and his hands became colder, Minkowski sensed the end was near. He leaned in, ear to Brumeux’s lips, listening carefully for the final words of his long-time leader.

  Brumeux’s breathing slowed and his consciousness began to fade. As it did, a calming peace came over him; a soothing blanket of warmth that began at his toes and fingertips and spread across his chest, up his neck and into his brain. Golden light satiated his vision, the glare blocking out the sight of Minkowski’s face hovering above him. The light therapeutically massaged his soul, extinguishing pain and anguish and sorrow and leaving behind only contentment. As Brumeux’s good eye slowly closed, he found himself floating; weightless and serene. And there, silhouetted in the glow just ahead of him were three figures, beckoning him close
r. The figures - he knew without seeing - were his father, his mother, and his sister. They’d been patiently awaiting his return – but not in the form of the wrinkled old man with a blind eye. Not in the form of the man whose scars from carrying his lifelong burden had been concealed by the refinement of pristine three-piece suits and a closet full of fedoras.

  No, they awaited the return of Viktor Schwarz.

  And as he reached out to embrace the family he’d so terribly missed, Benoit Brumeux’s last breath passed; the vaguest semblance of a smile on his lips.

  Across the room on the sofa, Emma faced the terrible realization that the love of her life was dying. His head in her hands, she ran her fingers through his hair and whispered into his ear that everything would be alright. But as she observed the paramedic’s frantic blood-soaked hands and grim expression, intuition told her things would be anything but.

  Andy seemed to understand his fate as well. He looked into Emma’s eyes, tortured by the knowing that his long journey home to reunite with his family was going to come to end after only a few moments. The couple wordlessly comprehended that these would be their final precious moments together. She would stay with him until the very end and he would keep his eyes on her until his final breath, consuming every detail of her face so that he might take the vision with him. He looked into her eyes and conveyed all the love he held in his heart – without uttering a single word. It was those same eyes that made Emma fall in love with him by the end of their first date. And she loved him now and all the days in between.

  Emma turned to Jimmy, who was straddling his father’s feet, toweling away the blood from the wound as La’Roi commanded.

  “Sweetheart,” Emma sobbed. “Come up here and talk to your Dad.”

  Jimmy’s looked at her dismissively. He had work to do – he had to help Dad. He swabbed away the blood that had pooled at his father’s navel, and was exasperated when it pooled again only a few seconds later.