You're Only Dead

by Jack Parker

  Ludkov sighed. "You must listen to me now, Emery. Whatever happens, you must not trust his word. Do not be swayed."

  Emery stared over at him apprehensively for a moment before turning his head back towards the ceiling. A few seconds later more footsteps sounded and a new group of men entered the medical bay. By what Emery could see leaning back it was three armed men and an individual he surmised by descriptions given to be the Dutchman. He cut a grotesque figure, all limbs and bones, eyes sunken in to a lugubrious face. His pale eyes shifted casually between Emery and Ludkov before settling back on the former. He paced to Emery's side to look down at him with interest. When he spoke he seemed to barely move his lips and his speech was terribly slow. "Mr. Eaton... I did hope we'd be meeting under less theatrical circumstances. You'll forgive my egregious lapse in hospitality, won't you?"

  Emery didn't know what to say. He simply stared up, feeling like a child so dwarfed by the man's disproportionate height.

  The Dutchman looked down on him for a long moment of silence before nodding. "I must say your loyalty is rather impressive, if a tad predictable. You're quite the resourceful little fellow…but I think we both know that you haven't spared anyone just yet."

  Emery swallowed, eying him up and down, but still remained silent.

  The Dutchman 'tsked'. "Come now, Mr. Eaton. We're civil men, you and I. Civil men have civil discussions—they don't gawp at one another like posturing beasts. If it puts your mind at ease, I'll point out to you that this is a medical facility, not a torture chamber. I haven't the slightest intention of intimidation. My favored method of achieving my goals is reason."

  "Then why am I tied down?" Emery replied.

  The Dutchman cocked his head. "Because I'm also a cautious man, and you are technically a trespasser. Surely you can empathize with my rationale."

  Emery mustered his courage and set his jaw. "Two months ago you sent me an assassin so that you could kidnap my lover and torment him. After which, when you'd grown tired of it, you planned to throw him to your dogs to be ripped apart. No. I do not empathize with you."

  "I see," the Dutchman said, laying a hand on the table near Emery's arm. The hand was twice the length of his own. "In that case you'd be well-advised to separate your emotions from the facts of the matter. Things have changed considerably in two months, wouldn't you agree? As I tried so frequently to convince Mr. Sheridan, a grudge is a perfect waste of energy. It comes purely from the ego. And while the ego has its place, business has no use for it."

  "Well this isn't business," Emery argued. "It's crime. Robbery. Blackmail, murder. You can dress it up all you like, but there's nothing civil about it. This whole big bloody organization you've got going doesn't fool me—you're just like any other petty crook that's ever had his hand out for a share of the Eaton fortune."

  "Oh, but Mr. Eaton," the Dutchman interjected, "I'm not interested in your fortune."

  Emery glanced at Ludkov, who appeared irritated, before responding. "Then what do you want?"

  "You."

  Emery's brow furrowed slightly. "…What do you mean, me?"

  "I want you as you are, Mr. Eaton. I don't want you to change, I don't want you to pay, I don't even want you to dirty your hands. In fact I hardly want a thing from you when all is said and done."

  Emery was confused, but supposed he shouldn't comment.

  The Dutchman continued. "Did you know that your stepfather's hand in his company's affairs was technically very minor? In the past few years of his life he was relegated to the role of a figurehead. Power remained his, but it was rare that he exerted it. Instead he left most of his business in the hands of trained employees, as one of his wealth typically does. How else could it continue to run self-sufficiently these past few weeks in his untimely absence?"

  Emery wriggled uncomfortably. "I don't know anything about his business and it isn't mine to run, if that's what you think."

  "It isn't yours yet," the Dutchman corrected. "But you stand to inherit every bit of his legacy, you realize. It was all left to your name. A stroke of a pen nets you whatever of his you seek to gain."

  This he wasn't expecting. The money certainly, but Hunter's firm? He eyed his captor uncertainly. "What on earth do you want with a brokerage?"

  "That's quite irrelevant to your situation, Mr. Eaton, but suffice it to say you may even keep that. I don't want your possessions, your assets, or your inheritance. I only want your allegiance."

  "My allegiance," Emery echoed without understanding.

  "Yes. I want you to be every bit the beloved son your story makes you out to be. I want you to be the Emery Eaton England was only just getting to know two short years ago. Young, affable, handsome, rich and kind. The boy who takes in a few drinks at the pub and buys its patrons a round. The charitable philanthropist, the charming prince. A poor young man whose entire family was torn away from him one after the other, right up to his loving stepfather. A publicly approved man who no one on earth would ever suspect of any wrongdoing."

  Just like Hunter. Emery felt nauseous. "You want me to be your puppet."

  "Puppets are controlled. I don't wish to control you—I simply wish to utilize you as an ally. All I expect from you is discretion and cooperation when I see fit. If I should find myself in need of a dock, perhaps you'll look the other way. Should I require a decision be made of your company, perhaps you'll see fit to push it through. If something needs immediate funding, perhaps you will find yourself feeling gracious. In all other respects, your life and what you do with it will remain your own, and your friends will all live their lives to their natural ends."

  "…And if I refuse?"

  The Dutchman frowned, straightening up. "Then logistically I cannot afford to allow any of you to live. But that isn't ideal."

  Emery bit his inner cheek and looked to Ludkov. The Russian was staring at him tensely. Emery briefly closed his eyes before looking back up at the Dutchman firmly. "…Do I have your word that Kurt and the others won't be harmed?"

  "Of course, Mr. Eaton. With your submission to these terms, their deaths serve me no purpose. You have my word."

  Emery narrowed his eyes. "Just as Kurt did."

  The Dutchman glowered dubiously.

  Emery looked away. "I'm not stupid. I know that regardless of what I agree to, you're going to kill them anyway. Perhaps not today and perhaps not right off…but you've made it every bit clear how you handle people you've got no use for. You exterminate them. And you lie."

  The Dutchman shook his head with a disappointed look. "Don't allow your pride to supersede your judgment, Mr. Eaton. What I'm offering to you now is a chance to make victors of us all."

  "You've already won and I've already lost. Don't insult my intelligence by suggesting that I don't know it," Emery said. "The only card I have left to play is spite. I won't agree to anything. Your only option now is to kill me and reap every bit of trouble that comes along with it."

  There was a long moment of silence before the Dutchman pulled back, letting loose a windy sigh. "That is a poor choice."

  Emery glanced to Ludkov, who was gazing at him with something akin to pride. "Perhaps. But it's mine to make."

  The Dutchman gestured to two of his henchmen, who walked off to one of the medical counters where Emery could then hear the shuffling of things being set there. "Very well, Mr. Eaton. I suppose that brashness is a youth's prerogative. I sympathize with your passion. With your inability to think clearly in a time of duress. Which is why I'm going to do my best to guide you."

  Emery tried to look over at the men at the counter, but they were quickly coming back into view. One of them had a medical tourniquet in hand. They both approached Ludkov's table and began to fasten the tourniquet just above one of his great biceps. The other produced a syringe and Emery's blood ran cold. "Stop," he demanded. His head whipped back over to the Dutchman before looking back to Ludkov. "Stop it—what are you doing to him?"

  "He is acting as my teaching aid," the Dutchma
n replied. "It's quite easy to be noble in theory, but quite another to be so in practice when the consequences are directly available for your viewing pleasure. I want you to fully realize how dire your decision will be. Refusing me once has cost Mr. Ludkov his life. While you watch him perish, it will give you time to think. Time to reconsider the merits of my proposal."

  "Don't—get away from him!" Emery snapped at the man holding the syringe.

  "He's bloody big," the man said to his employer. "Maybe we ought to hit him with two?"

  "The drug is strong," the Dutchman said dismissively. "Believe me when I say that's enough to kill a man twice his stature. Especially one who's never experienced it. Now, if you'd please…"

  "This isn't his fight!" Emery insisted as the man tapped a menacing-looking Ludkov's most prominent vein. "Leave him be. Don't do th—I said bloody leave him be!"

  Emery watched with helpless horror as the needle pierced Ludkov's skin and the amber liquid was slowly plunged into his body. Emery's eyes followed the draining fluid until it was empty, his jaw slack. Ludkov was watching the injection with a mild sneer.

  "You're fucking mental!" Emery snapped as he jerked at his restraints, eyes locked murderously on the Dutchman above him. "You really think I'm going to do anything for you now? Flush that out of him! Counteract it! Do something! Save him, or I promise you I won't reconsider a sodding thing!"

  The Dutchman stepped away from the table. "It's too late for Mr. Ludkov. You enquired upon the cost of your refusal and I mean to demonstrate."

  Emery watched frantically as the men stepped away from Ludkov and exited the room.

  The Dutchman looked after them for a moment before addressing Emery once more. "If you suppose me to be a man who exterminates those he has no use for…you may think long and hard about whether you mean to have any use." With that, the Dutchman turned and walked out of the room, leaving Emery and Ludkov alone.

  Emery swallowed and his throat was dry. He turned back to Ludkov, who huffed angrily. "Ludkov. Ludkov, oh god."

  Ludkov stared up at the ceiling, glancing briefly at his arm before relaxing back in defeat. "Do not fear for me, Mr. Fletcher. My death will be painless."

  "You're not going to die," Emery stated resolutely. "Just hold on. All we've got to do is buy time—Hennessey's men are still out there and they've still got a chance. They'll come for us. You've just got to endure."

  Ludkov chuckled weakly and sighed. "I am afraid not. I doubt Hennessey's men will be concerned with your rescue, let alone mine. It will please them to see me go."

  "Not if they want my money it won't. We're a team, Ludkov. Just stay focused. We'll make it through."

  Ludkov looked over at him for a moment before his eyes went back to the ceiling. "You have done all that you can. I have great admiration for you, Emery Fletcher. I feel no shame in dying for this cause…in fact I might even express gratitude."

  "Gratitude?" Emery said numbly.

  "Mm," Ludkov agreed. "I think, if my memory serves me, I was like you once… I had courage. I had ambition. I even loved. I was, for a short period of my life, a good man. A man who had more to die for than he did to kill for, who did what was right by others because it was what his mother taught him he should do. There was a time when Aleksei Mikhailovich Ludkov's name did not inspire fear. These are comforting memories for one to have in his final hours."

  Emery squirmed in his bindings a bit, eyes locked on Ludkov across from him. "These aren't your final hours, mate, just stay awake. Just don't nod off, yeah? Just keep talking to me."

  "I have nothing left to say."

  "Just tell me something."

  "Tell you what?"

  "Anything, like—like how did you meet Georgie? What's that story, eh?"

  Ludkov snorted. "When I met her she was just a girl. A naïve but fearless girl. However, her story is not mine for the telling."

  "Then tell me something else." Emery could see that Ludkov was already beginning to look woozy. "Make a bloody effort. You know she'll be crushed if anything happens to you, don't you?"

  "Georgiana will be fine without me," Ludkov decided. "I have spent many years making certain of that. At times I have even considered that I did this job too well. But it meant that she was independent enough to choose her own survival, as you can see very plainly she has done. I know that she did not choose to work for the Dutchman with the intent to betray me."

  Emery gaped at him, his facing falling slowly. "…You…you knew?"

  "She has been my protégé for seven years. You do not think I would keep tabs on her?"

  "But you forgave her…"

  Ludkov's eyes grew wearier. "My initial reaction was not forgiveness. I sent a man to kill her…but then I recomposed myself and I called him back. I know her. Perhaps better than she knows herself. I suspected that she would return, even if I did not wish her to."

  Emery paused in awe, brows knitting. "Then why didn't you ever confront her about it?"

  "To be spiteful… Her punishment for this transgression was to suffer the guilt for what she had done and maintain the fear of my finding out. I purposefully gave her tasks that I knew her experience with the Dutchman would make impossible. In part, I had hoped that she would stop taking me for a fool and confess it to me. But I understand why she did not."

  Emery felt his stomach churn with regret. All of this time thinking that Ludkov was little more than a volatile beast. He should have known to trust Georgie when she told him otherwise. He could see Ludkov's eyes closing and he cleared his throat loudly. "Ludkov, wake up."

  His eyes snapped open. "She will blame herself for my death."

  "She won't have the chance," Emery insisted. "You're reputation's going to precede you, understand? London already reveres you as the most unbeatable bastard around—this is just another story for the arsenal."

  "You and Victor are brave men…and very smart. If any men can find a way out of this, it is the two of you."

  "We will. We all will."

  "You have true loyalty. The both of you. It is something I have long since dismissed as dead…I regret that it has taken until the end of my life to see that I was wrong…I have not trusted another man since I was…"

  "Since you were what?" Emery prompted. "Keep talking."

  Ludkov blinked and seemed suddenly very spacey. "I cannot think."

  "Then don't. Just answer my questions. You don't have to think, just answer whatever I ask. What…well what was your childhood like? Any brothers or sisters?"

  "…Two brothers."

  "Okay, that's good. Did you get along with them?"

  "At times…" Ludkov murmured, then gave a few more heavy blinks. "But they died young…"

  "How?" Emery pressed. "How did they die?"

  There was a disturbingly long moment of silence. "Vladik died fighting. Always fighting. Gregor…"

  "Go on. What happened to Gregor?"

  Ludkov seemed terribly confused. "Gregor?"

  "Yes. What happened to your brother Gregor?"

  "He is dead…"

  "How?"

  Ludkov's eyelids began to fall. "I can no longer recall…"

  "Don't close your eyes. Tell me something else. What about your parents?"

  Ludkov's eyes fell shut.

  "Aleksei!" Emery snapped loudly.

  "Ya zdes'," he replied, starting awake.

  "Come on now, you've got to stay awake."

  Ludkov coughed slightly. "I am awake."

  Clearly he was losing lucidity by the moment. Emery didn't rightly know long it took for heroin to find full swing but obviously the Dutchman hadn't been bluffing about the strength of the dosage. Ludkov's gaze was now wandering and groggy. Emery knew he had to up the ante if he was going to retain the man's focus. "What are you going to do to Beletski if you get out of this? Hm?"

  "Beletski," Ludkov chuffed.

  "He's the one who betrayed you, yeah? You were loyal to him and he turned on you. Sold you out to save himself. Doesn't th
at warrant a bit of vengeance?"

  Ludkov's answering sigh was strained. "It does not matter…"

  "It does matter. All these years you spent getting to where you are and he obliterates your efforts with one cowardly swoop. One that he had the gall to cover up just to save his image. Surely it must make you angry."

  "It did," Ludkov agreed. "But now…now it does not."

  "That's the drug talking. It's numbing you up. Think past it, Ludkov. You can't just let him get away with this, can you?"

  No response.

  "Ludkov!"

  Ludkov grunted. His speech was now starting to slur. His movements were sluggish. "Do not worry…"

  Emery scanned him. "Your leg. Doesn't it hurt?"

  "…No…"

  "It's bleeding. I can see that—it doesn't hurt you?"

  Ludkov paused blearily. "It hurts some."

  "Good. Focus on that pain. You were shot, remember? It hurts."

  "Can feel it…but is not there…"

  Emery shook his head. "You're not making sense. Focus on the pain, Ludkov. Tell me about it."

  "No pain…"

  "Well what about your hands? Georgie told me they soaked your bloody hands in acid. Do you remember that? It had to have hurt something awful. Tell me about that pain. What was it like?"

  "I did not feel it…" Ludkov purred huskily, his eyes half shut again. "Not at first…later I looked down…and could see the bones of my knuckles. Then there was…burning…everything burnt away…and never…felt…again…"

  "Open your eyes," Emery demanded.

  Ludkov did not obey. His eyes were shut and his breath was deep and labored.

  "Ludov, wake up! Wake up, don't fall asleep, just a bit longer, come on now! Don't give up like this, don't you fall asleep and leave me to do this on my own! Do you hear me?"

  "…Nyet…ne plach', Katya…papa zdes'…"

  Emery struggled hard, heart hammering as he watched Ludkov's breath began to stutter. "Aleksei, wake up! Hey! For fuck's sake, open your eyes!" he pleaded, his own breath hitching in desperation. "Aleksei!"