by Brian Hodge
He was slipping. Once upon a time, Gabe had had all the angles covered. Never had a situation arisen that he hadn’t considered, with a contingency plan at the ready.
Paul’s hospitalization, though, was something he had never foreseen. So far as he knew, it had never happened to any of the Scapegoats of Paul’s breed. Gabe had been taught that, so long as the balance was maintained, they enjoyed splendid health and physical well-being. But expecting the status quo wasn’t good enough, he now realized. Speculation and conjecture were everything. He should have planned for this. Paul had been holding in the flipside of his burden for far too long. Which couldn’t be safe, like too much steam — he could blow.
Ah, but to witness that … now there would be a once-in-a-lifetime miracle, wouldn’t it? Such grand spectacle.
The scrotal clamp rode high and hidden, and everything looked clearer now. Probably should leave it on for the next few hours, at the very least. Maybe days. It left him no choice but to focus.
Donny had failed to phone him with news of Paul’s collapse until this morning. Ignorant bastard, the man had no idea, did he? After sending fresh-brewed tea across his living room in fury, Gabe had hurriedly dressed and raced to the hospital. He’d peeked in on Paul only to find the room empty, and suppressed the urge to ravage himself for his failure until he ascertained from a nurse that there was no cause for alarm. Paul had only been taken downstairs for tests. Gabe had gotten a chance to speak with Preston for a few moments during the doctor’s rounds. No reason to stick close. It would be a while before results were up, and the kid seemed in no danger now. And take it easy, Gabe, you look worse than Paul this morning.
Gabe had located the nearest bathroom after hearing that. Leaned with fists on the sink and counter, staring at a reflection he trusted did not lie. Eye to eye, glazed and shining within dark circles in a pale face. He was sweating too much. And this visage was ample motivation to spend some time repeating the belief that had gotten him this far in life: I am whatever I need to be in the moment I need it. I am all the resources I will ever need.
He showed up at Donny’s front door a half-hour later, all warmth and optimistic concern. Perhaps they should pray and await word on Paul’s condition together, and Donny thought the idea a fine one.
Gabe spent the hours after prayer reading in Donny’s front parlor. David Hume’s An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding. Hume was a comfort, a focal center, and if the philosopher had closed his mind to the existence of a world of spirit beyond mind and matter, he had at least provided a framework for precision in thought. Gabe found his own mind expanding even as he read passages he’d read a dozen times before…
While we cannot give a satisfactory reason why we believe, after a thousand experiments, that a stone will fall, or fire burn; can we ever satisfy ourselves concerning any determination, which we may form, with regard to the origin of worlds, and the situation of nature, from, and to eternity?
How long had it been since he had truly felt the thrill of new discovery? Gabe no longer remembered. While he once might have thought it something akin to heresy to deny that The Quorum had all the answers, Gabe felt confident enough to admit it now. The key was in Paul, of course. They may have seen him, they may have overseen his kind for centuries, but did that necessitate they truly understood him?
A revelation: Nay, they did not.
But I do.
He had no idea how much time had passed until the phone rang, but when it did, the jangling hit him like a cattle prod. So far as he knew, Donny was still on the third floor, probably trying to make nice with the queen bee. Salvage the shambles that her newly awakened sensibilities were making of their marriage. Gabe could see that one coming a mile away, and was not without pity. In over their heads, those two.
He answered in the middle of the second ring, finding it to be the dutiful doctor. Yes. A successful interception, and all the saints be praised.
“I’m sorry, Irv, but Donny’s out of the house for the moment. Is it Paul’s results? Is he all right?”
“He’s still doing fine, but…” A sigh of weary bones, and this did not sound promising. “There’s something very unusual that’s come up. It’s not the type of thing I like to discuss over the phone.”
Gabe murmured total understanding. “Tell you what. Why don’t I meet with you and see what the problem is. If I can locate Donny I’ll bring him along. If not, I’ll give him the rundown later tonight. How’s that sound?”
“Fine. I’m at my private offices now. Do you know where they are?”
“I do,” said Gabe, and when he hung up, he glanced over his shoulder. Still alone, but moments later he heard footsteps treading down the stairs. He’d cut the call just short enough.
“Who was that?” Donny asked. For the first time, Gabe noticed he had actually lost weight. Body, face — a leaner, more harried look. Not an altogether unappealing change.
“Irv.” Gabe spread his hands while his groin throbbed with subjective truths. “Paul’s fine. But they’re going to be running more tests. We should know more tomorrow.”
And Donny bought it. Just as Gabe had bought an entire night in which to operate. Only the hours of darkness, but nights were longer now, and a motivated man could accomplish a lot before morning.
He put in his appearance, a Gabriel Matthews of pure dichotomy. Outer Gabe apologetic over Donny’s unavailability, but Amanda’s fragile state of mind meant some hard decisions of priority. Outer Gabe listening to Irv Preston as he summarized the test results, looking sympathetically distraught when the doctor got to the meat of things. Expressing brotherly compassion…
While inner Gabe fell to his knees over his proximity to Paul, victim of a body that had become a runaway train of misbegotten physiology.
Ye gods, what a miracle this ancient child was.
Nothing could have prepared him for this. Gabe was curious if anyone had ever cut a Scapegoat open before. He’d heard their wounds were self-healing, but had of course never witnessed this. Perhaps they really were treading new ground here. Unknown territories, with Gabe a pioneer of iconoclasm like none other.
As Preston enumerated pertinent facts, Gabe tried sorting them, matching them with what he knew of Paul’s wild talents. Here, at least, he was several jumps ahead of Preston. Growths in Paul’s brain and belly, linked via spinal cord — they had to have concrete functions. It was just a theory, and he would never know if he was correct, but Gabe saw the abdominal organ as a kind of evolutionary modification for absorbing the essences and physiological configurations of every disease and injury with which he came in contact. A data bank, of sorts — imagine — where it all could take root and grow and flourish. Until he could just as easily turn around and project the physical and biochemical information into another human body. Aided, perhaps, by the brain tumor, to use Irv’s vernacular.
Truly a man of miracles, and Gabe considered himself blessed to be alive to play his own part.
So Gabe nodded his concern to the puzzled doctor, assuring him that he would give Donny a full briefing tonight, tomorrow, whenever it seemed prudent given the Amanda situation. Gabe ascertained that Preston — long respected by Donny for his discretion — was the only one who knew of these test results, apart from the radiologist, and had all the documentation. Preston was good at keeping a lid on things.
Gabe smiled with worry and loss as he squeezed Preston’s shoulder before leaving the office. All the while, making a mental note as to where Preston had filed Paul’s results. Exact cabinet and drawer.
Short-term memory would be sufficient.
Back at home, he planned well and hard and quickly. Above all, efficiently. With a certain amount of justifiable optimism that the unerring rightness of his mission would push him through to success. Failure was not an option because failure no longer fit into his worldview.
It was six hours ahead in Scotland, but the time difference was no longer a relevant factor. He possessed the mandate and called, had
Gavin awakened. No, no emergency had arisen.
Gabe sat naked on his hardwood floor. Lights out, meditations by moonlight with thin stripes of blood cooling to a crust across his inner thighs. Walls of white traced with the morning’s tea, dark and dried and sticky, like painted runes. He modulated his voice to betray nothing but calm reason.
“I wanted to warn you,” Gabe said, “you may have called to your attention a few news items with the word miracle kicked around. Paul did some more high-profile healing last night, at an oil refinery fire.”
Listen to the questions, talk talk talk. He had anticipated it all.
“Paul was in and out before anyone spotted anything unusual. His profile will stay low, don’t worry there.”
More talk, and this man was getting tiresome in the extreme.
“I was there. We were together when we first learned of the explosion and fire, so I went along with him. There was no stopping him, Gavin, it was go along for the ride and keep an eye on him, or nothing.”
Gabe could feel his skin crawling, could see it ripple under the light of a moon of benediction. He hooked his fingers and let the poisons of self-doubt concentrate in the one arm, let it quake with tremors worthy of Richter scales while his voice held steady.
“He’s doing fine today, he’s in no pain. We went to a movie this afternoon, in fact. And yes, the balance is being maintained. I know that for a fact. I’m quite sure he let it out into one or two of the mortally wounded casualties last night. For certain a fellow with two severed legs, Paul knew he couldn’t heal him without attracting attention, so he put the man to sleep, if you will. I’m sure it was an act of mercy.”
Talk and speculations and tedium.
“Yes, he did them both a favor, I’m sure that’s how Paul looks at it, too…”
And when Gabe was certain that Gavin had taken all this to heart, he let the man return to bed. For the sleep of the innocent, and the dreams of duty performed. What he did not know would not trouble him.
Too much knowledge could indeed be a dangerous thing.
Gabe was hoping to catch him asleep in bed, but Preston apparently kept the hours of a night owl. To watch from the yard until lights-out was no good at all, for the night would by necessity be a long one. Schedules were best adhered to rather than bent for convenience.
Preston lived in a neighborhood of solidly upper-middle-class virtues, as one-track as it was secure. The ranch-style was a surprise, though. Gabe had him figured for Cape Cod, or some other quaint two-story affair. Either way, the house was a lot for a man who lived alone. The good doctor’s marriage had crashed on the reefs of estrangement four years ago; no divorce had made it official, though, so they remained permanently separated. One of the few times Donny had been of spiritual benefit to the man.
Great thing about the upper income brackets — they loved their shade trees and evergreens, their shrubs and bushes. That hunger for privacy leading them to erect a living screen around their homes that could shield a prowler as much as protect them from their neighbors’ prying eyes.
Dressed in black stretch material, skintight gloves, Gabe felt ridiculous, like some wannabe commando, but submerged all doubt as soon as he chose the proper outer window. No lights on at this end of the house. He layered several thicknesses of white medical cloth tape over one of the glass panes. Tapped it from center-outward with the barrel of his automatic pistol, gently, gently, as if cracking the shell of a boiled egg, until it gave under pressure. He peeled the taped glass from the frame and fed in one hand to release the lock. Up with the lower half of the window, the pressure steady and even, no sudden squeals of wood.
One last precaution: He pulled a nylon stocking over his head. Not to worry if Irv saw him, but it would help keep him from leaving microscopic remnants behind. Hair, skin, whatever evidence a forensics team could sweep up from the floor. Genetic fingerprints could destroy the careless.
And with poise that would do a gymnast proud, he was in.
Crouched on the carpet, window overhung with curtains behind him, Gabe took stock by moonlight. Bed, dresser, nightstand. Guest room, most likely. It had a smell of nonuse, of frozen preparation for company that never came. He could almost feel sorry for the man, what a lonely life he must lead. Dweller and intruder were kindred souls under this roof. Gabe knew what it was like to live with only lies for company, and no, no, these were not the thoughts he should be entertaining tonight. They served only hesitancy and indecision.
Forward, then, footfalls as light and silent as feathers. Rubber soles, just like a hospital nurse, an irony Irv would never live to appreciate. Dim light beckoned to guide him through the halls, toward his prey, and he kept the pistol before him to lead the advance.
He was armed with a Jericho 941 nine-millimeter, Israeli-made. Officially, this firearm didn’t even exist within U.S. borders. He’d had it ever since getting his assignment from The Quorum to infiltrate Dawson Ministries. Handguns were issued upon assignment, to be used only as a last resort for worst-case scenarios. Gabe’s had been locked away in a strongbox for years. As sidearms were culled from underground sources, there was no such thing as standard Quorum issue. Gabe’s had been smuggled transatlantic five years ago, its last official register in Ulster years before, the confiscated sidearm of a fallen IRA gunman. Lost forever within British bureaucracy.
Beneath the black stretch, Gabe felt a soft glaze of sweat. Not even fifty degrees out, and he was perspiring. Think of it as lubrication, oiling his joints into smooth hinges, all the better to creep with. More than human now, less than corporeal, he was spirit, and above all, he did not want to be here to do this to this man—
Focus! Strength and tenacity to purpose, he was serving a god of his own choosing. I am whatever I need to be in the moment I need it. I am all the resources I will ever need. Gabe had applied this distillation of David Hume’s ethic philosophies to his own life for years. If he needed to play the part of a businessman, he had the brains and cunning for it. Should he have need to convince Donny of pious fundamentalism in religious matters, the persona was there. If he had cause to act as a blackmailer, the criminal mentality separating victim from victimizer rose to the surface.
Behavior as a conscienceless assassin should prove no different. He’d been schooled in these matters too.
He was cool of head by the time he tracked Irv Preston to the other end of the house. Warm room, family room if he still had a family, and Irv sat in slippers and a maroon velvet robe, reading in a plush chair set before the fire. Wood tones glowing even warmer in the orange light as flames danced and embers pulsed, alive with omens and images born in one instant, long dead the next. He was the picture of soft intellectual comfort. All Irv needed was a pipe, and Gabe found it easy to hate him in this moment. Living so much finer a life of Epicurean contentment, he would never understand the harsh joys of discipline and monastic dedication to a higher calling.
This man had lost his way.
Gabe crept up from behind, never betraying his presence until he swung around the chair and pushed the Jericho into Irv’s face. Irv gasped, jerked in the chair, his book flying, and no no no, don’t you die on me, don’t you dare suffer a coronary—
“Don’t talk, don’t talk,” Gabe said flatly.
Irv’s eyes widened hugely, seeing past nylon, seeing through the voice, identity made: “Gabe?”
“Don’t talk!” Leaning in and letting him know he was real, and could trust the sight of the gun inches from his eyes. He capped the tip of Irv’s nose with the cold muzzle, stroked it along both sides of the walrus moustache, soft as a lover’s finger, almost a tickle, and watched without feeling as Irv’s eyes squeezed shut into plump folds of skin.
Irv was trembling. Rigid. Fingers curled into the chair’s arms like griffin’s feet.
Gabe knelt, held up the dropped book in one gloved hand. “Judith Krantz?” he read the author’s name aloud. “Why are you wasting your time with this pablum? Don’t you know your mind is
a temple?” He could not have this travesty around, and pitched the book into the fireplace. The flames fed well, with satisfying brightness.
“Don’t talk,” again, though Irv was doing well just to breathe. He jabbed the muzzle against Irv’s mouth until those eyes widened further, and yes, message received, open wide. Lips parting, smacking once with dryness, and Gabe jammed the barrel inside, an exact two-and-a-half inches. It would not choke him; Gabe had tried out the depth in his own mouth earlier. Preston made a frightened animal whining deep in his throat, as Gabe produced his roll of cloth tape from a slash pocket in his tights.
“Don’t flinch, either.” He hurriedly unwound a strip from the tape roll and slapped it onto Preston’s puffing cheek. Big boys don’t cry. Preston had shoved himself back into the chair as far as he could fit, and Gabe leaned with one knee on his lap while bearing in, unspooling coil after coil of tape to circle gun barrel and cheeks, chin and mouth. Muzzle to muzzle, and Gabe’s own breath panted harder, the inside of the nylon stocking beginning to feel wet and slick against his mouth.
When the gun was taped solidly in place, Gabe drew back, left hand holding the grip. He had left Irv’s nose clear for breathing, and the man’s breath whistled rapid and shallow. The pistol was not airtight, he could draw breath through there, as well, but Gabe knew from his own tests that it was unpleasant, smelling and tasting of steel and gun oil.
“Open your eyes, Irv.” Several seconds later, when he did, Gabe thumbed back the Jericho’s hammer. It brought trembling anew, no sound like that in the entire world, and dear God forgive him, but what horrible manipulation this was. “I need to ask you some questions. Simple questions. Then you need to get me a thing or two. These won’t be hard, I promise you. This tape and this gun, they’re just…” Shit, he had the word a minute ago, what the fuck was wrong? “Safeguards.” There, better, focused again. “Do you understand? You can nod if you do.”