“We’re almost to your beloved. A few steps more and we’re home free.” Despite the barriers the footsteps pounded just behind us now.
“Is it really Michelle or just another Durand sleight of hand? I’ve got to know before I see her.”
Durand paused and looked at me—with concern and empathy. The floor was trembling under the barrage heading towards us. “I too have known loss, Chris. Far more than you could ever imagine. My work will bring a new, better order to life on planet earth. It is what I live for. But that will have to wait. Right now I present to you your dearly beloved.”
Durand sprung us through a door as the wall behind us came crashing down. My wife was recoiled at the far end of the room, arms behind her back, eyes locked on a monitor above her.
“Michelle!” I raced towards her.
“You killed your best friend in cold blood, and you’re helping this madman carve up innocent people? Chris, how could you?” Tears streamed down her crimson face. Her words stopped me in my tracks. Michelle stared at Durand now. I had never seen that look of pure anger and hatred before on her face. A gun appeared from behind her back as she screamed at him. “You made him do these things to save me! You bastard!”
The FBI was bearing down on us. The door flew open behind me as I yelled, “Michelle, put the gun down. Don’t shoot!”
Shots rang out. The smell of gunpowder filled the air as I slipped to the ground and tried crawling forward on the floor. Blood pooled in front of me.
Feds and the NYPD blew past me on each side. They grabbed Durand first. Then one took hold of me.
“I’m so sorry, Chris. There was no other way,” the agent said, sadness washed across his face. “She would have killed you.”
Michelle was heaped in front of me, blood billowing out of her, filling the floor between us.
“No! She had the gun pointed at Durand, not me, you idiot!” I lunged forward, hysterical, out of my mind. I pulled Michelle towards me, cradling her head in my lap. Her eyes and face were sallow, lifeless. “No! No! Not my Michelle! Not again...”
Epilogue: Monday, November 30th
It has been three weeks since we buried Michelle—again.
A lot has happened in that time.
Durand is in federal custody in New York, awaiting trial. It doesn’t matter what high-priced wizard he hires, he’s going away for life. Unless he’s executed first. We have been through his facility in Westchester County, NY. A disturbing place right out of a sci-fi story. Organs, limbs, and bodies strewn throughout. We found one of the missing babies there. It was too old to be Tracey Lin’s and too healthy to be April Cassidy’s. The baby could have been Rakel Ingi’s or from the Ferkarian or Newdern surrogates. Or the baby could belong to someone else we don't even know about. The Ferkarians and Newderns are battling it out in court to get a DNA sample from the baby in the hopes it will be one of theirs.
The link between Durand's cloning and aging research is now clear. He succeeded initially in creating cloned fetuses, then figured out how to rapidly age the clones, creating adult clones of his victims. Durand’s notes suggest he was very close to taking his cloning to the next level; creating people with whatever physical attributes he desired by altering the DNA of his previous victims and then cloning the altered DNA.
Durand’s journals outline a plan to deposit the clones into key positions in society—within law enforcement, the legislature, medicine, and religious institutions. Amazingly, Durand implanted nanometer-sized devices in all his clones to insure they were under his command at all times. The clones would first erode public resistance to human cloning and, when the time was right, allow Durand to take control of the country. A grandiose and delusional plan, if I’ve ever heard one, but unsettling nonetheless. Durand isn’t talking to us or the Feds, so we don’t know how far his plans progressed, but thank God we stopped him when we did.
The NYPD and FBI have been through Durand's facility several times over and uncovered a lot of damning evidence. But what is really odd about Durand’s lab is what we didn't find there. Durand's notebooks and computers outlined what his goals were, and some of the experiments he carried out, but much of the details were missing. Perhaps Durand had all the important information locked away where only he could retrieve it? There was no way to know for sure.
Gerry Buehler is cooperating with the Bureau. No telling how harshly the Feds or the court of public opinion will treat him. He was the conduit. Boxin, other cosmetic compounds, and a host of illegal pharmaceuticals made their way through him to Durand. We’re not sure how Durand found him, maybe it was through April Cassidy or Tracey Lin. Whatever the case, greed and desperation drew him in. The pharmacy he dumped his life’s savings into in Ossining, New York was crumbling to the ground, on its last legs, really, before a new and difficult to trace stream of revenue resurrected it and Buehler. We don’t think he committed any murders himself. In fact, I don’t think he knew what he had gotten himself into. Like water drawn towards a drain, he just found himself being pulled further and further into Durand’s plans.
The same cannot be said of Doctor Richardo Viejo. He is evil to the core. Stripped of his license in Bogotá, Columbia because of repeated sexual liaisons with many of his patients, Durand set him up with false credentials and a swank practice in LA. In return, he delivered a steady supply of medical experiments and corpses. None of his high profile clients suffered that fate, of course. No, the victims were hand chosen by Durand for their anonymity. Each had no family and few friends. Viejo performed experiments on them for Durand, and then, when he no longer needed them, he finished them off with tainted treatments, usually facial fillers laced with a neurotoxin such as curare or some other plastic surgery injectable. Vanity leading to death. Buried in all the perversity, there is a message there somewhere.
Tramboli and that whole crew are, and I hesitate to say it given their backgrounds, entirely innocent. Guilty as sin I’m sure in many other crimes against humanity, but one hundred percent not guilty in Durand’s doings. Johnny Briganti will soon be arrested by the FBI for producing and distributing synthetic street drugs, but he’s off the hook for anything related to April Cassidy’s murder or any of the other victims.
Dietz’s life is in utter shambles, a civil suit against local, state, and federal government is his only chance at maintaining fiscal solvency. His story is a real tragedy. A brilliant doctor and scientist, he may very well have discovered the best stem cell research had to offer, avoiding the myriad ethical and practical pitfalls inherent in the field. But with his reputation ruined and his employment at MMC terminated, we’ll never know what good could have come from Dietz’s work.
That cunning bastard Spatick, through a series of political gymnastics, came out smelling like a rose. He distanced himself from the NYPD and the Fed’s failures and the taint of impropriety due to a possible traitor within one of the organizations, and positioned himself well for a run at the presidency. I have a bad feeling Spatick and my head-butting days have just begun. I also have a bad feeling about us never finding the mole in the NYPD and/or FBI who was helping Durand.
Kennedy, of course, is alive and well, unscathed by the whole showdown. I won’t say events unfolded as expected—Michelle’s dead, after all—but the confrontation between Kennedy and me and his subsequent “murder” were staged—for Durand’s benefit. The murder was the final step in my burgeoning degeneracy. Had he not been caught, the murder would have convinced Durand of my new allegiance to him. He would have welcomed me into his world with open arms, and we would have eventually arrested him because of it.
As for me, I’m far from unscathed. Having the love of your life snatched away from you—not once, but twice—well, that leaves scars I know will never heal. The kids and Dad are doing their best to help me through it, though. And a grizzled, bearded psychiatrist from NYPD, well, aside from making a name for himself by writing up my case as a new psychological affliction, he’s doing the best he can for me. My private phy
sicians too are working hard for me, trying to figure out how I can better control my disease. But it’s way too early to even dream about having a normal life again someday. For now, I’m just living day by day, leaning on those around me, riding it out as best I can.
Kennedy and I pump a lot of iron. Shit, I need to work out the anger somehow, right? And a certain internationally renowned swimsuit model is also trying to pitch in, offering her compassion and tenderness, but I'm not buying any of it. Holly has been nice to me. But her reputation as a bitchy, mean spirited diva is well documented and the last thing I need in my life at this point.
Besides, I am pretty much dead emotionally right now, a walking corpse if ever there was one. But my emotional well-being is of little concern to me now. I’ve got to be there for Christine and James. They are my priority and need me more than ever right now.
There is some good news to come of all this mess. The Division of Medical Crimes, about ready to be shut down just a month ago, is back on solid ground after such a remarkable arrest, and I have earned at least grudging respect from the many officers at the force who doubted me.
But hell, I know none of the help I am getting, none of the good things that have happened, will amount to much unless I take care of one final piece of business.
So, that’s where I am heading off to next. I’ve been dancing around it for weeks, pretending it wasn’t an issue. But it’s time now to face it head on….
§
I was in the big office, actually the anteroom to the big office, chatting it up with Commissioner of Police, John Kelly’s secretary, Diana D. My insides twisted in knots, I nonetheless put on a lighthearted and carefree appearance.
“…I’ll probably go back up to the Vineyard for a while. My buddy’s got a lobster boat up there and remodels homes in the off-season. Dad said he’d come up with me and help me take care of the kids while I sort a few things out. The hard work and isolation will do me some good. I’ve heard the Vineyard is—”
Diana picked up the phone on the first ring. “Commissioner Kelly will see you now, Detective Ravello,” she said in her most official manner before softening with a warm smile, “and good luck with everything, Chris.”
I was through the door and shaking Kelly’s hand in no time. I had a weird, out of body feeling rippling through me.
“Been a rough few months, Detective. What can I do for you?” Kelly said as he motioned me towards a seat in front of his large maple desk.
“I’ll stand, sir. This won’t take long.”
“Suit yourself,” he said with a puzzled, hard look as he sat down.
I steadied myself on the edge of the desk and began.
“It’s been an insane year, sir, chasing down criminals. The ghosts of my mother and her killers have always been close by, the wind at my back, pushing me—always onward and upward. But this Durand case, it’s taken more than its toll on me sir.” I pulled my badge, ID, and gun out of my pocket and slid them across the desk to Kelly. He glanced at them before locking in on my eyes.
“We all go through it, Chris. It’s part of the job,” Kelly said, a hint of his Brooklyn accent breaking through. He slid the gun, ID, and badge back towards me as he continued, “And at the end of your career with NYPD, all the insanity fades to black and you’re left a better man for having served the greatest city in the world.” He rose up to just short of my height. “Take a few more weeks off, enjoy some time with the kids. We’ll see you back just after the New Year,” Kelly said as he rested a hand on my shoulder and smiled.
“Afraid I can’t do that, sir.” I averted my eyes, choked back the emotion. “A lot has changed since I joined the NYPD. I’m a widower now with two beautiful young children. I was just about at peace with my mother’s death when Michelle was taken from me. Should have never happened,” I said with a shake of my head as I fought back tears. “If it wasn’t for what I said to Kev during our theatrics, she wouldn’t have been confused, wouldn’t have lashed out at me…wouldn’t have been killed.” My voice trailed off as I bowed my head, a few tears running down the sides of my face. The pain was searing, too much to handle. I bent forward a bit and resisted clutching my chest. I could not allow myself to have an attack here. One reason for leaving now was to avoid them finding out about my disease, about falsifying my medical records.
“Chris, are you okay?” Kelly said as his eyes sought out mine.
In another moment I’d have no way to support my family, but I’d have honor and the respect of my family and friends, and those I had worked with in law enforcement. That would vanish if they knew I was a fraud, a liar.
I needed to wrap this up quickly.
I straightened up and through gritted teeth pressed on. “Too much time spent chasing demons. I need to know if there is a better way for me. Thank you for everything, sir.” I walked around to get closer to Kelly. I patted him on the shoulder and shook his hand, then I turned and walked out the door.
As I headed out of One Police Plaza, I was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions.
I was really good at being a cop. I had a lot to offer, and the work made me feel good about myself. But I also had a body that was breaking down, betraying me with attacks that were more frequent and severe. Doctors warned me: unchecked, the pheo would lead to severe and crippling organ damage, disability, and death. Christine and James had lost one parent. I couldn’t let them lose another.
Walking away from NYPD I felt like a failure once again. How would I support my family? How would I fulfill my vow to my mother to make the world a better place in her name? Would I ever hold down a meaningful job again?
I climbed into the Firebird and started the engine.
A year ago I failed at medicine.
Now I had to walk away from police work that used my medical training.
I shifted my car into gear and eased out of my parking space.
I wasn’t sure what I’d do with myself now, but I’d figure it out, I knew I would…for Michelle, for the kids…for ma…and for me.
THE END
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Eilene and Andrew, dear friends whose insightful beta reading, advice, and inspiration are invaluable.
Kudos to Christine Keleny for her excellent cover art, design and formatting, and editorial work.
Many thanks to Diane and Jimmy. You inspire and amaze me on a daily basis and for that I am ever grateful.
About the Author
William Rubin is a practicing physician who enjoys weaving tales of medical/scientific intrigue. For William, writing is equal parts catharsis, creativity, and escape from the rigors of a busy medical practice and the joys and challenges of raising a family. The works of James Patterson, Michael Crichton, and Patricia Cornwell inspired Dr. Rubin to create the Christopher Ravello Series. Challenges and tragedies in Dr. Rubin’s life, particularly the untimely death of his mother, provided some of the underlying drama, conflict, and turmoil for the series’ lead character.
When he isn’t busy practicing medicine or crafting his next medical thriller, Dr. Rubin enjoys time with his family and friends, running, playing piano, and traveling. If you want to find out more about William and what is coming next for Chris Ravello, visit his website: werubin.wordpress.com or his facebook page: facebook.com/William.erubin. You can also connect with him on twitter: @werubin671 and on Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/56738535-william-rubin
William values your thoughts, insights, and feelings on Forbidden Birth. Please leave a review on your favorite website.
Discussion Guide
What are the main themes in Forbidden Birth?
What benefits does stem cell and cloning research offer for mankind? What are the ethical pitfalls associated with this research?
Who was your favorite character in the book? Why?
What do you feel was the most emotional part of Detective Ravello's journey in the book? What parts of his journey resonated with you most? Why?
; What do you hope will happen to Detective Ravello in the next book in the series?
What kind of antagonist would you like to see in the next book? What medical/scientific story-lines would you like to see next?
The author, William Rubin, states he was influenced by James Patterson, Patricia Cromwell, and Michael Crichton. How can you see these influences at play in this story?
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