by Kelly Moore
“You did this saving my dad, didn’t you?” I nod, and she places the softest kiss in the palm of my hand. “Thank you for saving him.”
“Listen to me really quick. You are going to hear that my brother died from your vaccine and that I want revenge. If you are ever in a position to defend me, don’t. Make it seem like you hate me and that you’re terrified of me. Do you understand?”
She shakes her head yes as tears spill over her smudged face. “Brooklyn, we have to go,” her father says walking toward us, surrounded by his guards. “Thank you for saving my life and my daughter’s.” He offers his hand to shake.
I return his firm handshake just as Brooklyn almost tackles me to the ground, wrapping her arms tightly around me.
“I love you,” she says, giving me a kiss and taking the taste of me with her. Her father pulls her off me by the arm as he tugs her into the blacked-out SUV that he arrived in.
Jake steps in and hugs me to him. “You take care of yourself. Don’t go getting yourself killed. I still need you, man,” he says in his deep, gravelly voice.
“I love you too. Now get the hell out of here and take care of her.”
He nods as he climbs into the vehicle with them.
I stand back and watch them go, leaving me and the wreckage behind them.
Chapter Thirteen
John
When I no longer see the taillights of the vehicle, I turn and look over my house, my family’s house.
It looks like the fire was started on the left side of the house, working its way to the right. Somehow, the garage is untouched.
With my bleeding feet, I hobble into the garage since the fire is pretty much put out. The firemen try stopping me, but I push through them and make my way inside. The inside of the garage is hot, and the smell of smoke is overwhelming, but I snatch my gun out of its hiding spot and place it in the waistband of my jeans. As I approach the door, I turn and look over the room, one last time. My eyes land on my Augusta, the bike that Brook loves.
I’m flooded with memories of what we did on that bike. I make my way over to the workbench and find a piece of scrap paper. I pick it up and read over it. It’s nothing more than a list of bike parts I’ve been meaning to pick up, so I take the pen and write a quick note.
Brook,
I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, but I want you to know how much you mean to me.
You know how much I love this bike, but to make sure you have something to remember me by, this bike is yours.
Ride fast and free.
Always yours,
John
I place the note on the bike, sliding the edge of the paper underneath the seat, and walk away without looking back. I can’t afford to waste time. Now, I have to put plan C into action.
I walk over to the Rover that was left in the driveway and open the back. Our bags are where I left them. I pull out a pair of shoes and pull them on my bloody feet before taking my place behind the wheel.
I turn the key, and the engine starts right up. I put the Rover in gear and drive away from my memories that went up in flames.
I start my drive back to Chicago but don’t even make it out of town before I have to stop for the night. I’m bloody and sore, my lungs still burn from inhaling the smoke, and I’m so exhausted that I can barely keep my eyes open.
I find a twenty-four-hour Walgreens and run in for some supplies. I’m back in the car five minutes later and making my way toward a hotel.
I rent a room for the night, and as soon as I’m locked away inside, I get to work stitching up my cheek.
Of course, Walgreens didn’t have any suture kits, so I have to make due with a regular sewing kit. I soak the needle in alcohol before threading it. I lean closer to the mirror and inspect the gash. It’s deep and still bleeding. I splash some alcohol on the cut and bite down on a rolled-up towel while I’m flooded with pain.
When the pain subsides, I place the fingers of my left hand on either side of the cut and pull the skin back together while working up the nerve to start stitching.
I count to three and poke the needle into my skin. I scream, but the rolled-up towel muffles the sound while I continue to work.
God how I wish I had some bourbon right now. Not only would it help with the pain, it would ease the shaking of my hand as I stitch myself up.
After putting in six homemade stitches, I tie off the thread and cut it away from the needle. I splash it again with the alcohol before placing a clean bandage over it.
Now that that is taken care of, I sit on the edge of the bed and pick pieces of broken glass from my feet with a pair of tweezers.
After all the glass is removed, I place a towel I soaked in alcohol around them while applying burn cream to my hand.
When I have myself taken care of, I lie back on the bed and am asleep before my head hits the pillow.
I wake late the next morning to someone banging on the door.
“What?” I yell.
“It’s time to check out, sir,” a nervous-sounding woman says from the other side of the door.
I roll over to my side. “Bill me for another day,” I tell her before going back to sleep.
When I wake a second time, I force myself up. I have too many things to do to sleep the day away.
I remove the towels from my feet and check to see how bad they look. Now that they’ve been cleaned up, they don’t look as bad as I thought they would. There are several small cuts, but they’ve already started healing. I check out my hand that is still pink and then remove the bandage from my face. I move closer to the mirror and can tell it’s going to leave one gnarly scar. It wouldn’t have been bad, had I had it stitched up right, but with the homemade job I did, I’ll be surprised if I don’t get the nickname Scarface.
I push the thought away and step into the hot shower.
The water burns the cuts on my feet, but I take a deep breath and will the pain away, thinking about how much worse I could be right now.
When I step out of the shower, I wrap my towel around my waist and head back into the main room. I grasp the remote and turn on the TV before nabbing my bag and placing it on the edge of the bed to find some clothes.
“A total of two-hundred people have died from the ‘miracle cancer cure’ created by Brooklyn Warren with Medical Solutions.”
With the mention of her name, I turn to face the TV
“The vaccine that some have went as far as saying is nothing short of a miracle has been recalled and the creator of the vaccine, Brooklyn Warren, is being sought after for questioning. Since the break of the news, Ms. Warren has gone into hiding. We have a statement from Brooklyn’s father, the president of the United States.”
The camera cuts away from the news anchor and goes to a clip of Matthew standing behind a podium.
“Mr. President, can you tell us where your daughter is staying at the moment?” a news reporter asks.
“The only thing I am at liberty to say is that Brooklyn is in an undisclosed location, taking the proper steps to find out what went wrong with this vaccine. To the families of the deceased, you have our deepest sympathies, and you have our word that we will not rest until this vaccine is checked time and time again to find out what went wrong.” He takes a step back and says, “No more questions,” before walking off the stage.
Seeing the news report only makes me angry. Brooklyn is being dragged through the dirt, and for what? Because some company is pissed off because they will lose money? Because doctors are crooked and only looking out for themselves instead of making sure the people who actually need the vaccine get the medication they deserve? Who cares if millions of people die as long as these selfish sons of bitches get their pockets lined?
Pissed off, I turn off the television and throw the remote on the bed before digging into my bag and pulling out the first thing my hand touches. Still not paying attention, I go to put on the shirt when I realize it’s the shirt that Brooklyn made me buy.
I hold
the shirt up, looking over it. God, I miss her, and it’s only been a few hours. I know I told her that even after this was over that we couldn’t be together, but I’m too selfish for that. I need her, and as long as she will have me, I will do whatever it takes to have her by my side.
I pull the shirt on as a way to be closer to her and finish dressing.
Twenty minutes later, I’m at the local newspaper office. I open the door and walk in, heading straight to Liam’s desk. We’ve known one another since we were kids. I know he will do anything I ask.
When I round the corner, I find him sitting at his desk. His head pops up, and his short blond curls bounce with the motion. “John? How the hell ya been?” he asks, standing and pulling me in for a hug.
“Not good, Liam. I have some news.” I keep my face stock-still, void of emotion.
“Well sit down and tell me about it.” He holds out his hand, motioning toward the chair that’s across his desk.
I take the seat and take a long breath. “I’m sure you’ve heard about this new vaccine going around, right?”
He shifts forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “The one the president was just talking about? The one that is supposed to kill cancer but is killing people instead? Yeah, I’ve heard about it. The whole newsroom is going crazy about it. Why?”
I rub my hands down the front of my jeans. “My brother had that vaccine.”
Realization hits him, and I watch as his facial expression changes. “Oh, man. John, I’m so sorry. When did it happen?”
“Just last night. He was one of the two hundred.” I rub my eyes, trying to make them water. I never was a good liar, but I need this to work.
He shakes his head and tears his stare from mine, looking at his desk instead. “I can’t believe it. Jake’s gone?”
I nod, curtly. “I still can’t believe it. He’s fought for so long. We finally thought he caught a break.” I move forward in the chair, resting my elbows on my knees and holding my head, letting a long silence draw out.
“I need a favor, Liam.” Finally, I set my sights on him.
“Of course, anything. All you have to do is ask.”
“I need you to print up an obituary for him.”
“Absolutely, I’ll just need to see his death certificate.”
I shake my head. “I don’t have it. The government is holding it, wanting to do an autopsy to figure out why the vaccine didn’t work, but Liam, it needs done. People need to know and this paper, it ran my grandma and grandpa’s obituary. His needs to be in there too.”
He runs his hands through his hair. “I don’t know, John. I mean, I could get fired if I run an obituary and it turns out he isn’t really dead or something. I need the proof.”
I quickly snap my head up and turn my death glare on him. “Do you think I’d come in here if he wasn’t dead?” I can’t help but raise my voice a little.
“Of course not, John, but things just aren’t done this way. You understand.”
I stand, big and tall like I’m challenging him. “All I understand is that someone that called himself mine and my brother’s best friend, someone that grew up right next door to us for our entire childhood is refusing my brother his final right.”
He stands and moves toward me. “I wish I could help, John. I really do, but if the government is holding this death certificate until they can find out what happened…” His sentence breaks off as he runs his hand through his mop of curly hair.
I collapse in the chair, holding my head. “Liam, I wouldn’t ask if I had another option. You understand why this needs to be done, right?” I look up at him. I can see it in his eyes, he’s wavering. “My only living relative is gone. He needs put at rest in some way. And they are just going to cut him open and dissect him? Please, just print the obituary.”
He stands there, watching me with his hands on his hips, thinking it over. “Okay. But I swear, if I get fired for this, you’re paying my salary for the next year.” He moves quickly to his desk and sits behind his computer.
“I’ll pay your salary for the next five years. Just get it typed up.”
I sit back and wait while I tell him about Jake’s life for the obituary. Within thirty minutes, it’s written and even put in the format for tomorrow’s paper.
He pushes away from his desk and stands. “Let’s just keep our fingers crossed that the editor doesn’t see it and take it out.”
“When will you know for sure?”
“Not until the paper comes out,” he answers.
I stand. “Thank you, Liam.” I hold out my hand to shake.
He takes my hand and softly shakes it. “I really am sorry for your loss.”
I pull him in for a hug, slapping him on the back. “I know you are. Thanks for what you’ve done. I’ll never forget it.” With that, I pull away and take off toward the door.
I have time to kill until I can go back to Chicago. I need tomorrow’s paper, and I need for Jake’s obituary to be in it to prove to Miles that I want Brooklyn dead.
The day passes unusually slow. Without her, I am lost. How did I live before her? What did I do? Then I remember my old friend, bourbon. I swing by the liquor store and grab a bottle before heading back to the hotel to drink the day away.
When I wake the next morning, I take a long shower to try to beat the hangover and take my time cleaning my wounds. When everything is squared away, I drop the key card off at the front desk and pick up the morning paper.
I don’t open it until I’m inside the Rover. I toss my bag in and slowly, unfold the paper. I flip through several pages before I see his face in the top left-hand corner. My heart clenches even though I know it’s fake and my brother is completely fine. Just seeing it makes me realize how real it could be. If he hadn’t gotten that vaccine, it would be real one day.
I fold the paper so the obituary is on top and toss it into the passenger seat. I start the car and hit the freeway. Destination, Chicago.
I drive all day and night. By the time I see that nightclub I haven't been in since all this started, I grow nervous.
I park the car, hoping and praying he doesn’t shoot me on sight for being a traitor, and make my way inside the building.
It’s late morning, so the club is empty and quiet. I walk through until I find the stairs and start my way up to his office.
I don’t bother knocking. Instead, I just push right through.
When the door flies open and bangs off the wall, he spins around in his chair, aiming his gun at me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
I raise my hands in the air, showing him I’m not packing. “You win.”
He looks taken back. “What do you mean, I win?”
I let my hands fall to my sides as I walk over to his drink cart and pour myself a drink, all the while with a gun pointed at me.
I toss the drink back and pour another before walking over to his desk and taking a seat. “You win. I want to be the one to take her life.”
He lowers his gun and sits back in his chair. “Do you know how many of my guys you took out? Guys that trusted you. Guys that called you a brother? Why now? Why the sudden change of heart?”
I lift the paper that’s in my hands and drop it on his desk. I watch him while he looks at it, drinking it all in.
“Your brother took the cure?”
I let out a bitter snort. “Not much of a cure, now is it?”
He lifts the paper and takes a closer look, probably checking to make sure it’s real. “So what, she kills your brother and now you want to kill her?”
“That simple,” I reply.
He drops the paper and shakes his head. “What if I were to tell you that I’ve already got it handled?”
I stifle back a snicker. “I’d tell you too fucking bad because I’m going to be the one to end her life.” I throw back what is left of my drink, making sure he is watching me. “I want to watch as the life drains out of her eyes after what she took from me.”
A sadistic sm
ile covers his face before he leans back, relaxing in his chair. “I understand your passion about this one, I do. But it’s out of my hands. The girl has already been captured.”
She’s been captured?
Before I can even think, I’m up and moving for him. I grab him by the throat and hold him against the wall. “Where is she?”
“She’s being held for questioning. The company that wanted her dead wants the formula. They want to make the vaccine and release it.”
“Why would they do that? It kills people!”
“I don’t know!” he yells. “Maybe they know something they aren’t releasing. Maybe they know how to fix it! All I know is she’s been captured.”
I drop him, and he slides down the wall. I point my gun directly at him. “Get on the phone and find out where she is. Her life is mine! If someone else takes her life, I’m taking yours.”
Chapter Fourteen
John
Miles’s hands shake as he’s making the call. How the fuck did she get captured and do they have Jake too? Her father couldn’t know either or he wouldn’t have made a public appearance. Damn it, I need to get to him, but first I have to finish convincing Miles that I want to kill Brooklyn.
“Has she given you the information that you want?” His voice is wavering as I press the butt of my gun harder into his skull. “I need her exact location.” He tries to move back away from the gun, but I don’t allow it. “I know what I told you, but I’m changing your orders. Give me her fucking location now!” He motions for pen and paper to write on. Not releasing any pressure on the gun, I reach across his desk and grab the items he needs. His hands continue to shake as he writes down an address.
I yank it from his hand and back away from him. “She’s here in Chicago?” He shakes his head as sweat is rolling from his brow. I put my gun back to his forehead. “Tell them they better not so much as lay a finger on her. I want to be the one to torture her and then slowly kill her sweet ass.” He repeats what I tell him, then hangs up the phone. I glance at my watch. It will take me an hour to get to where she is with the heavy traffic. I need to make contact with her father before I get to her. I tuck my gun back in my belt and hold out a hand to get Miles off the floor.