You're Only Dead

by Jack Parker

  Victor made a face. "Why? What's the difference?

  The man stepped forward and spat on the ground between Victor's knees. "Your stupid fucking accent's getting on my nerves."

  Victor set his jaw and turned a look on Kurt. "Nice friends you got, Gabler."

  Kurt scanned said friends warily. They appeared to be merely standing guard, waiting for their leader to arrive no doubt. The surliest of them was the one looking down on Victor with disdain. The other man was large, eyes flicking to Kurt in a predatory manner here and there while he stood beside him watching the door. Kurt cleared his mind in preparation for the encounter he knew was fast coming.

  Sure enough, a few moments later Thompson himself was entering the room. He emerged through a side door alone with a casual stride, looking first to his prisoners and then to his men with an approving nod. He slowly walked over and placed himself beside the man facing their party, looking down on each of them with careful study. Gunfire still sounded from outside and Thompson's eyes drifted away as he appeared to be listening. Then he set them back on Kurt. "Hello again, Mr. Gabler."

  Kurt didn't respond.

  Thompson's gaze shifted to Georgie then, his expression neutral. "Ms. Faraday."

  She looked up at him and quickly cast her eyes back down.

  "Come now," Thompson continued. "There's no reason to be so morose. We're all here for the sole purpose of solving a predicament. I'd expect enthusiasm before resignation, frankly."

  "I thought we were just here so you could gloat," Victor sniped.

  Thompson paused and looked down at Victor. "No, Mr. Scott. I fear that would be premature."

  Kurt evaluated this statement thoroughly and attempted to dissect the situation. He hadn't ordered them killed right off, so there must have been something that he desired of them. But what? What did they have that Thompson was unable to take for himself? He kept his face straight as Thompson's eyes again landed on him.

  "You've done a very impressive job, Mr. Gabler. On all fronts. And what's more is that you did it all without complaint, without a single failing, and without arrogance. That sort is a damned hard find. I'm really quite fond of you, you know."

  "You intended to let Sheridan kill me," Kurt reminded.

  Thompson shook his head. "Of course that's what I agreed to, but I think you and I both know it wouldn't have come to that. Once he'd served his purpose he would have outlasted his value. Your value, on the other hand, is exponential." He looked up again as shots burst louder outside the facility. "This time I think you've outdone yourself. I gave you elite men and a two month timeframe in which to train them, and here you've taken the most unsuitable refuse London's streets have to offer and turned them into a serviceable militia in a matter of mere days. I suppose I underestimated your sway over lesser men."

  For a moment Kurt debated whether or not it was in his best interest to take credit for this, or whether or not Thompson even truly believed him to be responsible. Whatever the case he had nothing to add. He carefully tested the bindings around his wrists only to find them secure.

  "However I can't say that this isn't an inconvenience. Time and resources are being spent unwisely on this conflict, which is why I'd prefer to end this peacefully. If I can expedite this outcome with a concession or two, I'd perhaps be willing to consider it."

  Kurt looked up at him curiously.

  Thompson leaned forward. "Call off your men."

  Kurt hesitated for a long moment as he absorbed this request and the way it was prefaced. Slowly the revelation sank in. Thompson wanted to negotiate. He was unconfident…Hennessey's men truly were making a notable dent, and had swarmed the building as he'd recommended. Kurt shook his head. "I don't control them. They followed Aaron Hennessey, not me."

  "You're a born leader of men, Mr. Gabler. I have to believe you've got more influence over these ruffians than you admit to, or perhaps simply more than you yourself realize. Whichever the case, I'm every bit assured that if you were to issue these men an order, they would follow it."

  "Oh, fuck you," Victor replied unasked. "What kind of asshole has the gall to just ask if we wouldn't mind surrendering? At least have the decency to put the screws to us first."

  Kurt gave Victor a look of sincere censure and saw his chastisement mirrored in Georgie's features.

  "I'm not suggesting a surrender. I'm suggesting a merger," Thompson said. He folded his hands in front of him and returned his eyes to Kurt. "Surely none of us wants to see any more death. We've both already suffered undue losses. Killing you would be a tragic waste of potential besides. Those men out there are leaderless now that Mr. Hennessey's met his end. They'll need a new general to follow, won't they? And you've already shown that you're more than capable of whipping the most unlikely candidates into shape given the need. It would be trading quality for quantity surely, but your cooperation at this juncture may even make up for your demolition of the first regiment I assigned to you."

  "And in exchange I suppose that my party and I will be unharmed," Kurt said flatly.

  Thompson shrugged. "Unless there's something you find you desire more."

  Kurt set his jaw. "You've already promised me a loved one's life once with no intention to follow through."

  "It's true; I wasn't forthright with you regarding our initial arrangement. But I'm afraid it's looking as though you haven't much choice other than to trust me if you plan on surviving."

  Kurt looked to Victor, who was staring out at the wall with and angry expression, then to Georgie, whose eyes were on the floor. Kurt turned back to Thompson with a stoic face. "There's always a choice."

  Thompson looked up then, making some gesture towards the open door from which he'd come. "Ultimately I suppose you're right."

  Kurt tensed slightly as footsteps approached from the hall. A man entered the room. He was tall and built and was dragging a stumbling man alongside him—Emery. Kurt's eyes widened.

  "Oh god," Georgie cried in shock.

  The man shoved Emery, who appeared to be in some sort of daze, hard towards Thompson, where he toppled to his knees and struggled not to collapse into the cement with his hands being bound behind his back. Kurt attempted to jerk forward, but a strong hand from the guard nearest him wrenched him back to his spot. Suddenly every ounce of Kurt's reserved demeanor shattered, his emotions torn to the surface in one sickening lurch. "Emery," he blurted painfully.

  Emery slowly dragged his eyes up to Kurt's, his expression blank and his skin pale. Then he looked down, heaved once, and splattered the floor beneath him with vomit.

  "What the fuck did you do to him?" Victor demanded furiously.

  Thompson looked down as Emery dizzily wavered on his knees and feigned concern. "I only meant to incapacitate him, truly. I've never seen quite such a poor reaction to the drug before. For all of that fighting spirit I supposed him to be of a stronger constitution, but I see now that I calculated incorrectly."

  "You can't do this!" Kurt barked, yanking hard against the man restraining him in panic. "You bloody well need him. He's the only heir to the Eaton estate; he's the only one who can give you what you want."

  "Yes, Mr. Gabler, and he's refused," Thompson said, sounding somewhat impatient. "He's exercised his choice, just as you've done."

  Emery coughed weakly and looked back up at Kurt, blinking heavily and looking terribly ill. "…I…I'm so sorry…" he rasped.

  "Emery," Kurt breathed. "Don't apologize, don't…"

  Thompson called attention back with a clearing of his throat. "But I'm nothing if not a fair man. I will give you precisely the opportunity I gave to him. A second chance. He has decided to be useless to me, so his only hope at survival lies in your hands. I estimate he has a matter of minutes before he's beyond help, Mr. Gabler, so I wouldn't dawdle if you claim to love him."

  Kurt's heart felt thoroughly wrung. It pounded and seized in his chest as if gasping for breath while he watched tears slide slowly down his lover's cheeks. His world threatened
to crumble. Kurt closed his eyes, looking inward and attempting to center himself. Two years ago his heart was impenetrable. Now it had fallen open so wide that it invited destruction at every turn. Love had made him fearful and vulnerable. He knew that he had to find a way to repress these feelings. He despised the thought of harkening back to the person he once was, but Emery's life depended on his ability to narrow his focus. To shut down. To view this circumstance impartially and pretend that it didn't gut him beyond repair. Kurt slowly let out a breath and began to think.

  The man who'd carted Emery in had left, leaving just the original two gunmen in the room as well as Thompson. He would be unable to stand thanks to the guard closest to him. His allies were bound. He was unarmed save the heroin needle in his sleeve, but he could not access it. That's when he shifted his arms and realized that his previous struggle had loosened something. Yes. Just there, on his left hand where the last finger was missing, the binding had slipped. He carefully worked the wrist and surmised quickly that with a bit of effort, he may be able to pull the incomplete hand free thanks to the gap. Which meant that all he needed now was time. His eyes opened and he met Thompson's waiting countenance calmly. "What are your demands?"

  Thompson raised his head, seeming satisfied by this inquiry. "You will issue a ceasefire to the remainder of Hennessey's men."

  Kurt glanced towards the left wall where gunfire still sounded off and nodded once.

  Thompson looked down on Emery again and reached a hand to tangle in the young man's hair, pulling his head back and observing his intoxicated features. "You will convince your little friend to be more sensible. Curb his rebellious attitude and remind him what's at stake. You work for me now; if he wants to remain my enemy, he will become yours. If I decide at any point that your feelings for him are subverting my work in terms of your priorities, I will not hesitate to eliminate the competition."

  Kurt bowed his head, affecting reluctant submission.

  Thompson studied him for a moment, then his eyes wandered to Kurt's left. "And I require Mr. Scott."

  Kurt glanced to Victor, who seemed just as flummoxed.

  "What?" Victor demanded.

  "You're a bright fellow, Mr. Scott. I'm interested to know if you can cause me as much success as you have grief. You have quite an impressive track record, and an intriguing…albeit inadvertent…recommendation from Mr. Sheridan himself."

  Victor looked dour, but when his gaze found Emery again he wilted somewhat. "…I'll do what you want, but leave him alone."

  Kurt fought hard at his restraints to find them far too gradually shifting. The rope cut into the skin of his ring finger and the flesh strained. The fingers of his right reached towards it. If he could break the digit, he could get the hand free immediately. One quick snap…but he couldn't manage to grasp it. Instead he kept on wriggling. He'd have to stall more. He began to tap his wrist behind him rapidly, hoping that Victor would see it and take the hint.

  Victor seemed to see the motion from the corner of his eye. Suddenly he straightened up. "And Faraday, too."

  "Begging your pardon?"

  "I want her safety guaranteed."

  "Her worth has expired," Thompson argued. "And besides that, she's proven herself untrustworthy."

  "Who here hasn't?" Victor fired back. "Get whatever you can from Gabler, but you won't get anything from me if she dies."

  Thompson appeared severely vexed by this ultimatum. He shoved Emery away, sending him crumpling back towards the ground in a shivering heap. "You intrigue me, Mr. Scott, but don't overestimate how much. Your existence is tenuous as it is. I will not entertain stipulations."

  Victor snorted unpleasantly. "Come on, like you're even thinking about keeping your word on any of this. We both know you're full of shit. Am I not even worth one more lie?"

  "Victor, please," Georgie attempted. Kurt couldn't be certain whether she thought him genuine or whether she interpreted his goading for what it was and sought to help, but either way he continued to focus on making careful word of the rope. His ring finger was nearly freed, and with it the rest would easily follow.

  Thompson was smirking slightly. "What a cunning creature you are, Ms. Faraday. It would seem that even a man of the most brilliant repute is nothing but a grunting beast in the grasp of feminine wiles, mm? It's a shame he doesn't seem to know better than to pin his hopes on a cutthroat such as yourself."

  "What would you know about feminine wiles, huh?" Victor cut back in. "Sure, I bet there's a nine mile line outside your bedroom door, you circus freak. Let me ask you something: do you have to dope 'em up before you fuck 'em, or do you just hold guns to their heads?"

  Thompson was unruffled, eyes lidded. "There's no need to be crass, Mr. Scott."

  "Well excuse the hell out of me, but this is feeling an awful lot like my last chance to be crass."

  "Stop…" Emery begged from his place on the ground, pushing wearily back upright as best he could. "Please…please stop…"

  Kurt at last felt the rope segment give way and his left hand was free. He glanced up to make sure that the guard next to him didn't notice before gently shaking the syringe down towards his palm.

  Thompson looked down at Emery and bent over until his large hand could cup the young man's chin. "My apologies, Mr. Eaton. You have good reason to be in a bit of a hurry, don't you?"

  Emery blinked up at him and it was painfully slow.

  Thompson turned back to Kurt. He strode a few steps closer, hands clasped behind his back, cool and collected as ever. "So we've come to the end, Mr. Gabler. I think it's high time we both prove we are men of our words. Don't you?"

  Kurt kept his eyes staring ahead into his enemy's knees and nodded. "Yes… Two months ago I made you a promise, and you can rest assured that I mean to keep it."

  The knees before him slowly bent. Thompson's long, arachnid body lowered down until his full, boney frame was crouched in front of him, arms hung over his knees as wraithlike eyes bored into his with amusement. "And what promise is that?"

  Kurt held his gaze for a long moment. Then he sprang. Thompson had little time to react as Kurt lunged forward, causing him to stumble back as the syringe was driven deep into his neck. The last thing Kurt was able to register was the almost alien look of shock spread across Thompson's features before he was hauled off by the guard at his right and his world toppled. He was winded as he crashed to the floor on his back, head spinning when the guard's fist cracked him across the face. Somewhere in the blur was the barrel of a gun in his face.

  "Don't!" Thompson's voice bellowed.

  Kurt blinked away the stars and craned his head to look up. Thompson was on his feet, staggering back, a snarl of fury plastered over his usually expressionless face. His long hand reached up and wrenched the now emptied needle from his neck with a short spurt of blood. He looked down at it before setting his murderous glare back on Kurt, but the anger was slowly draining back to disdain. Then he closed his eyes, straightening himself up and brushing off his suit.

  "Mr. Gabler, you are exactly as much a marvel as you are a disappointment…" His eyes opened and he shook his head, looking again down at the syringe. He then gestured to one of his guards. "Get me my antagonist," he said quietly, and the man rushed off out of the room.

  Kurt stayed where he was, looking up at the guard who had him pinned.

  Thompson weighed the syringe momentarily in his palm before tossing it away. "A commendable effort, but an ill-devised plan… Over the decades I've earned quite a resistance to the drug. Even such a high dose can be easily counteracted." Thompson reached behind him and produced a handgun, which he held at his side before sighing deeply. "I had such high hopes for this alliance. Each of us could have gotten all that we wanted, but I see you've made up your mind on the matter. The only thing left to do is decide how best to dispose of you."

  "Regardless of what you do, you're finished," Kurt said, eying the far wall. "Hennessey's men will breach your walls at any moment if they haven't alre
ady."

  Thompson gazed around him and raised an eyebrow. "Do you really suppose that, in the event of a collapse at this site, it will erase the entirety of such a carefully constructed empire? Changing the point of manufacture is a nuisance, but a recoverable loss. Like any single component of my operation, yourself included, this facility is expendable. No one thing is dependent on another, provided one has prepared for every outcome. I thought you would know it by now…I see everything." Thompson paused for a moment, leaning his head back and blinking. It seemed as though he was beginning to feel the dosage. "Diacetylmorphine is a fascinating drug, you know… In its earlier years it was marketed to the public as a form of cough suppressant. Something to replace morphine as a non-addictive alternative…and here we are, more than a century later, and it is regarded as one of the most harmful, addictive substances at man's fingertips. It's interesting how its medicinal properties are so staunchly overlooked in favor of the individual's proclivity to abuse."

  Kurt kept his eyes worriedly on Emery. The man in question was fading towards unconsciousness, his eyelids heavy, his kneeling posture slackening. He looked as though his might fold to the ground at any moment. "Emery," Kurt said quietly to catch his attention. He didn't know what he wanted. Perhaps just to remind him that he was there.

  Emery's eyes found him with some difficulty. In their depths Kurt could see defeat. Then they drifted back up to Thompson deliriously.

  Thompson ignored this exchange. "What's even more interesting is how so many clueless consumers ingested this substitute without question…gallons of seemingly innocuous cough syrup a year without ever even knowing what was there. What else do you suppose has crept into our lives under the guise of relief and sank its hooks into our oblivious minds? What do we willingly embrace today that we will find tomorrow kills us?" He pointed his gun at Emery's head. "…Love, perhaps?"

  Kurt struggled helplessly and was pushed harder into the floor in a painful crush.

  Thompson fell back a small step, rebalancing himself and shaking his head. "No. It would be a waste to shoot him. He's nearly gone as it is…" He paused, then raised his gun to Victor and Georgie.