Amnesia

  He returned to Lissa, spun her around, pulled up the back of her shirt, and strapped the twin box to her back. He then depressed the button on the box, which looked much like a garage door opener, and took it over to Drake, thrusting it into his right hand.

  Fixing Drake’s eyes with a malevolent, icy stare, Marcuse leaned closer until their faces nearly touched. Through clenched teeth muttered, “Now you will see what becomes of those who dare mock me. You may have slowed me down, but you will never win!”

  He backed up slightly and added, almost cheerfully, “Besides, trying to get what you want from Lissa will only cause you pain. I should know, I worked on her for months and this is how she repaid me. If I were you I’d let her go quickly, put her out….”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish the thought before Lissa cracked him with a branch that had been sitting next to the fireplace. He hadn’t seen her slink over to the stack and return, so intent was he on gloating over his supposed victory. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again.

  He whirled away to his left, receiving only a glancing blow down the right side of his head and shoulder. He raised his right hand intent on bringing the gun down against Lissa’s exposed cheek, inflicting blinding pain without killing her. Fleetingly he hoped it would even cause her to lose her grip on the trigger and rid the world of his little brother.

  He swung his arm down, heading straight for the side of her neck, but didn’t make it, the hurled body of his brother crashing into his back, sending the three of them crashing to the ground.

  Frantically Lissa clutched the remote trigger to her breast, afraid of losing her grip on it, leaving her completely vulnerable on her right side. She landed painfully on her tucked arm, and slid harshly across the sunbaked ground, shredding her exposed skin. She felt something hard slip out from under her side, but took no notice, too caught up in the horror surrounding her.

  She was terrified of Darrion. His predilection toward self-aggrandizement pushed him to use violence as a means of fulfilling his goals. If only she could have hit him squarely with that branch she found stacked near the fire ring! She turned over onto her back, cradling her torn arm, searing pain throbbing through her with every heartbeat as she watched the nightmare before her.

  Drake rolled over quickly and hopped back to his feet. He searched frantically for the gun. Desperately he searched, praying he would be quick enough. He still held the hated trigger in his right hand. He was determined to give his life before loosening his hold on the abhorrent box. Still he couldn’t find the firearm. Out of the corner of his eyes he noticed that Marcuse was starting to rise, raging like a dangerous bull absorbed on destroying those who dared defy him. Despair hit him like a punch in the gut as he saw his older brother still held the accursed weapon.

  Knowing he had to do something before Marcuse got his bearings, Drake lowered his shoulders and rammed the still rising form in the midsection, sending both men flying. Together they landed, rolling across each other, one right hand gripping a small black box, the other a steel instrument of destruction.

  Back and forth the two rolled, each grappling for the gun. Drake was handicapped by his constant pressure on the trigger in his dominant hand. Marcuse also had the advantage of his greater strength. Curses could be heard coming from the upheaval, as well as moans and cries of pain as one or the other landed a hit or kick. In the end the advantages won out, with Marcuse on top, straddling his nemesis.

  Wiping the blood trickling from his injured mouth with the back of his right hand, Marcuse spat, spewing more blood into the air off to his left. Turning back to his brother he swore loudly, cursing at the other’s interference and affliction. Depraved wrath sparked in his eyes as he spoke. Pure evil radiated in his countenance.

  “I told you I will always win Drake! Did you think your puny little mind and impotent morals could ever compete with my genius! Never! I am greater than you or your precious woman over there could ever be. Someday the world will come to understand that. The will kneel before me in awe and adoration. My plans will continue, just somewhere else. I’ve had my eye on Phoenix.

  “Now it’s time to say goodbye, little brother. It would have been so much more enjoyable to watch the two of you blow each other up, but I guess I’ll just have to speed things up. When you’re dead, you will release your trigger killing her, then you too will be destroyed beyond recognition, while I walk away unhurt. Oh, and by the way, when I finish with you two, I will have to kill all of your friends as well. All victims of your foolish bumbling. You should never have gotten involved. As I said before, you should have just stayed in San Diego with Mother.”

  He pulled himself off the supine man, ready to escape the forthcoming blasts. Then he crouched down and put the gun to Drake’s forehead and slowly started to pull the trigger.

  Lissa achingly watched as two struggled for dominance, frantically searching for some way to aid her downed love. Back and forth she watched them twist, kick and punch, torturing her heart as she saw her fiancé pummeled by the nefarious creature who had once sought to make her his own. She stood up cradling her injured arm, ignoring the oozing blood and the blazing pain radiating throughout her body. Agonizingly she pulled herself over to retrieve the discarded branch she had used earlier, hoping to find some way to sway the fight to Drake’s side.

  She picked the wood up, and took note of how pitifully thin it was. It was obvious why the puny thing had not damaged Darrion in the first place. Disappointed, she threw it back down and searched for a big rock. There must be something. She had to do something to save them all.

  Then she noticed a large rectangular object, about the size of a man’s pocketbook, with the appearance of black leather. She ran over to it, certain she recognized it, but unable to place where. She leaned down and picked it up, wracking her mind to place the pack. She open the thin zipper she found on the side, praying fervently that it would help her.

  Inside she found a red plastic case, several syringes, a vial, and a monitor. It was Drake’s diabetic kit! The vial contained NovoLog, the fast acting insulin needed to keep his blood sugar in check, the monitor to test his Blood Glucose level, and the label on the red plastic case stated that it contained an emergency glucagon kit, for extremely low blood sugar. This was exactly what she needed!

  Acting quickly she removed the vial of insulin and one of the syringes, drawing thirty units of the liquid, automatically checking for air bubbles. Discarding the rest of the pack for now, she trudged over to the pair, ignoring the repugnant words spewing from Darrion’s mouth. She shuddered realizing she had once passionately kissed that mouth, bile forming in her throat making her want to vomit.

  She heard Darrion say goodbye to Drake just as she reached them, and saw the finger squeezing the trigger. For what seemed an eternity she was certain that her efforts were in vain, that she was too late to stop the fatal bullet. The thought nearly paralyzed her, but fury boiled inside cauterizing the fear, driving her instead into action. Aiming for the left external jugular vein, to ensure the insulin enter directly into the bloodstream, she leapt forward with her left hand holding the syringe, stabbing the needle deeply into the aggressor and slamming the plunger home, praying it would be enough. She jumped away, wary of the backhand she knew was coming. She was not disappointed.

  Marcuse spun around, letting loose a string of epithets, swinging the gun with all his might into the direction he thought Lissa was, firing it twice where he thought she stood, missing her in his carelessness.

  “What have you done?” he yelled at her. “What have you…?” He paused, feeling suddenly lightheaded as the drug raced through his system, eating away at the sugars in his body. Heat seemed to course through him. Sweat poured from his brow, running stinging into his eyes, causing him to start blinking to rid the salty substance away. He backed up, trying to fend off the reactions, and tripped over the branch Lissa discarded earlier. He crashed to the ground, his body unable to steady itself as it fought for control over
the onslaught. Colors began to pale from his sight, replaced by blinding whiteness as his pupils dilated in response to the sugar drain. Then his hands began to shake to the point he could barely hold the gun. In a rare moment of clarity he knew he was about to die. But not before these two.

  He raised the gun in his shaking right hand, barely able to get it high enough to aim, and pointed it toward the shadow that he believed was Lissa. “It won’t matter, Lissa. You may have killed me, but I’ll meet you there!”

  Pulling the trigger he fired again and again aiming straight at Lissa’s heart, knowing that as she died Drake would too. Finally he stopped as the clicking of the empty magazine reached his numbed mind.

  The emptied gun dropped harmlessly to the ground.

  Marcuse dropped his arm, giving himself up to death.

  It was finally over.

  EPILOGUE

  Jack sat back in his overstuffed blue easy-chair, repositioning his right arm to ease the mild ache remaining from the two Darvocet tablets he had taken earlier. He took a quick sip from the hot cocoa he held, enjoying the opportunity to relax. It was Sunday afternoon, the clock on the wall approaching the two o’clock hour.

  He looked around his living room, taking in the changes to the place in the past twenty-four hours. Carrie, along with her sister Shirley, had done a fantastic job of cleaning and making the damaged room presentable. The sofa just off to his left was now covered by an afghan, covering several holes caused by shooting glass, as was the loveseat. The broken window was covered with clear plastic, awaiting the arrival of the windows from the factory to replace those destroyed in the blast. Some picture glass had been replaced, and the pictures themselves moved to cover holes in the walls. Carrie had even found a throw rug to cover the blood stained carpeting until the carpet could be replaced. Nancy would have loved their ingenuity.

  The one truly sad thought was that Nancy was unable to join him this beautiful Sabbath. She would have appreciated the cooler weather, the temperature dropping down to the low nineties, a blessing bringing people back out of their homes to enjoy the sunshine. Unfortunately she was only be able to see the brilliant blue sky adorned with white fluffy clouds from her hospital room where she recovered from her wounds.

  The prognosis was good for Nancy; her heart was working correctly, just needing to heal from the surgery. Her eye, although damaged, would heal in time, with minimal loss in sight. She would be in the hospital for a few more days for observation. She was alert, though very tired, and had been capable of holding a long conversation with her beloved husband. Jack had explained everything that had happened, and they discussed lessons they had learned, along with changes they would make in their lives because of them. That was the reason Jack brought all the kids back together here today for one final time. He looked around the room again, this time evaluating the people he had grown so fond of.

  On the sofa to his left Bill sat holding Carrie closely, their relationship blossoming over the past several days. He still wore a sling on his left arm, more to relax his shoulder rather than immobilizing it. He was recovering nicely and would heal with no lasting damage, a far cry from when Paul stood over him holding the weapon to his head. The two were a wonderful couple, Jack decided, a match that would make Lacy proud.

  Next to her sat Lissa, snuggled closely with Drake, as if afraid she might lose him as she came so close to doing so many times. Her upper right arm and shoulder were covered with bandages reminding all of her ordeal. It was still amazing that the two had come through so much, and yet seemed happier and more carefree, rather than cowering and afraid. It stood as testament to their inner fortitude and religious conviction.

  On the loveseat sat Beverley and Peter, the latter released from the hospital just this morning with strict guidelines as to physical exertion and rest. They held hands tenderly, their love obvious, but not desperate; rather it was patient and peaceful, as if they knew they were in for the long haul, and there was no reason to rush things.

  Although he hadn’t known her before, Jack recognized a maturity in her eyes he was certain wasn’t there two weeks earlier. She was another on his list of most admired persons, having survived horrendous events and grown in wisdom and serenity despite the afflictions. This girl had a beautiful and successful future laid before her.

  On Jack’s right was a futon brought in from the spare bedroom by Carrie and Shirley. Closest to him sat Curt and Shirley, arm in arm with that special love that attends the newly engaged. He couldn’t help but smile at their obvious love, reminiscent of his own betrothal to his sweet Nancy.

  At the other end of the futon sat Tawny Windham, looking uncomfortable but resigned to her role. She was new to the group, but also held a stake in the planned conversation, having played a significant part in the drama of the last couple of weeks.

  Next to her, on a lone kitchen chair, sat Gregg Windham, looking content and serene, a man that had faced his fears and conquered them. There was hope in his eyes, a determination to rise up from the ashes of his folly to be reborn a better man, a model of the legendary Phoenix of myth. He glanced lovingly at his wife, then reached out and took her hand, wanting to be close to her, but knowing she was still struggling, though not faltering, with her new resolutions.

  In the center of the floor laid Jack’s daughter Kate, coloring in her coloring books quietly. She was scribbling furiously at the moment, endeavoring to fill in a large section of a blue dress on Ariel from “The Little Mermaid.” The hope of a new generation, her spirit of wonder and acceptance filled his heart with renewed love and peace, a feeling that all would indeed end well. Now, though, it was time to begin the discussion and end the drama.

  “Now that we’ve been well fed, thank-you Carrie,” Jack began, gesturing toward the girl, “I bet you all have a thousand questions on what happened and what happens next.” He paused a moment, noting the nodding heads, but unsure where to begin. Beverley saved him the trouble.

  “So the guy that kidnapped us, Scardoni, he was just working for Darrion Stanton, right? Why us?” she asked.

  “I can answer that one,” her father replied. “Stanton was trying to get me to swing some political weight and have a new ‘Medical Czar’ position created in the government, and giving him the appointment. He was trying to use you as leverage.”

  “It appears that there were actually two separate plans,” Jack included. “First, he was just trying to wear your dad down, have him do it just because he was too weak to push back. But then you escaped and Peter was found which ruined that idea. Then he tried intimidation and scare tactics, threatening to use his connections to find you, which was really a bluff since you were already free, or hurt you if Gregg didn’t comply.”

  “Did you ever do it?” Beverley pressed. “Talk to the president I mean?”

  “Actually, I almost did. I called the president, like he asked, right after they found Peter. But before I asked him to do it, he extended his support for you, and told me to keep my faith. I decided that I had to answer to my own conscience and backed out. Something about Stanton, and his father too, always bothered me. I could always tell he was evil, and that if I bowed down to his pressure a lot of people would get hurt.”

  “Did he know that you wouldn’t do it?” she continued.

  “Never had a chance to tell him actually. You came home before I could, and the point was moot. However I did decide that I had given up enough of my soul to compromises and maneuvering, hence my ‘retirement.’”

  “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Tawny interjected. “I was trying to set him and my baby up, and the whole time he was using her to get to you.” She shuddered with the realization, remembering how she had once thought about giving up her daughter for no real reason.

  “Well,” Gregg stalled, trying to form an answer, “first off, I didn’t realize it was him setting things up. I didn’t know it was him until Jack called yesterday from the hospital. Secondly, you never seemed interested in my work, only in the
results.”

  He hesitated, wondering how she would handle the truth, then continued. “But mostly it was because I really didn’t think you’d care. I know that you now understand how badly your dream was getting in the way of our family, but at the time you wouldn’t have listened. In fact I had been considering leaving you and your dreams, until you came in on Friday night and talked with me.”

  Tawny bowed her head in shame, knowing if their roles were reversed, she would have felt the same. “I’m sorry,” she intoned, quietly. Then felt her daughter’s hand covering her own, graciously offering her forgiveness. She glanced up with tears in her eyes and smiled at Beverley, each trying to convey her love and acceptance.

  “So how was this ‘Medical Czar’ supposed to take over the world?” Shirley piped in. “Wasn’t he still under the thumb of the President?”

  “Yes,” Gregg answered, politics being his specialty. “But the president is ‘under the thumb’ of Congress, and all politicians are ‘under the thumb’ of large, and usually multinational corporations. That’s where Lissa fit in.”

  “Lissa’s a doctor,” Shirley interjected. “How does that make a difference?”

  “I got that one,” Drake answered. “Her dad was huge in business and organized crime. Her mother still has many of those contacts, although I doubt she knows they are criminals. His way to them was through Lissa, then through her mother, who would undoubtedly bend over backward to introduce her successful son-in-law to everyone she knows.”

  “So what ever happened to Marcuse, Stanton, whatever his name is?” Beverley asked.

  “He’s in the Ada County jail infirmary,” answered Bill. “When Jack and I heard the gunshots we bolted in that direction, but when we got there we saw that Lissa and Drake were just fine, and that Stanton was already unconscious. By the time the EMT’s showed up, Lissa had already administered the Glucagon, and he was beginning to revive. Personally, I don’t know why she did it. I probably would have let him die.”