The Final Rule (16 page)

“He chose to die so he could protect you. Just like I chose to survive my illness so I could carry the light for Ellis. I’m his brother. I came back because it was my job to take care of him. The same way your brother wanted to take care of you.”

“You were children. How could either of you agree to anything?”

“When you are on the edge of death you are no longer a child. You understand things you couldn’t even comprehend as an adult.”

Jon waved a hand across the field. “So all of this was so Ellis would suffer and I would think I’d lost my mind?”

“It has to be stopped.”

“And where’s my vote in this?”

“No one can make you fight this war, Jon. You can always choose freedom.”

“Is that a nice way of saying I’ll die?”

“Death will be less painful than what could happen if you go back. Because you will suffer, Jon. In order to stop
The Big and Terrible
you
must
suffer.”

Hadn’t there already been enough? His brother, his partner, Rudy. “At least tell me why?”

“Rule number six, Jon. Save the innocent.”

Jon opened his eyes to a dimly lit space filled with the electronic hum and beep of machines.

The urgency to inhale was inhibited by an object in his mouth, yet there was no numbness from oxygen deprivation, just the autonomic response of his body’s programming to breathe.

His throat constricted in an attempt to push out whatever invaded him.

Jon clawed at the tape stuck to his cheeks. The IV lines in his arm threatened to entangle with the tubes extending from his mouth.

A high-pitched electronic cry cut the air.

A hand grabbed one wrist then the other. Out of the haze of shadows was Ellis’s tear streaked face. Another man was there. White coat, glasses, thinning hair. Jon knew him. His name, what was his name?

“Jon.”

Bramblet. Dr. Bramblet.

“Jon, I need you to calm down.”

He fought to reach the source of the pressure around his face. A nurse pushed Ellis aside, but Jon was able to grab his hand before he got very far.

Faded bruises peppered Ellis’s jaw and the bright pink line of a healing cut crossed over his left eyebrow. Vertigo accompanied the memory of falling cans of food, a jug of bleeding milk, mud, cold, and broken glass.

The car. Lenny. They’d wrecked.

“Jon, I need you to listen to me,” Dr. Bramblet said.

Another nurse was there now, doing something to the machines.

“You have a tube down your throat to help you breathe. I’m going to take it out, but I need you to be still.”

Jon coughed, but it went nowhere. The intrusive object seemed to expand, pushing his mouth wider, filling his throat more as his body fought to expel it.

Ellis squeezed Jon’s fingers and whatever it was Bramblet busied himself with didn’t matter anymore. Closer, he needed Ellis closer. As if he knew, he pressed his cheek against Jon’s palm. Dried tears, new tears, coated his fevered skin.

The invasion in Jon’s throat slid over his tongue and brushed the roof of his mouth. Cool air rushed in. He coughed, then he couldn’t stop coughing. Everything had been sandpapered raw.

Dr. Bramblet shone a penlight in Jon’s eyes. He batted it away. “Jon, hold still.”

A pitcher of water sat on the roll away table. “Wa—” Another bout of coughing set his throat on fire.

Bramblet nodded at Ellis. “Just a little or he’ll choke.”

He brought a cup with a straw to Jon’s lips.

Chlorine-flavored and lukewarm, it was ambrosia. Jon managed two sips before Ellis pulled it away.

One of the two nurses retreated behind Dr. Bramblet. She watched Jon with frightened eyes. The other stepped back, but she appeared more fascinated than afraid.

“Jon.” Dr. Bramblet made Jon look at him. “Do you know where you are?”

“Hosp—” Jon nodded.

“Do you know your last name?”

Last name? “You’re ki—” He cleared his throat. “Kidding.”

“Your last name, Jon.”

“Foster.”

“What year is it?”

“It’s 1992.”

“How old are you?’

“I’m thirty-eight. Why are you asking me all these—” He reached for the water. Ellis held it to Jon’s lips. Droplets escaped the corners of his mouth and ran down his chin.

Dr. Bramblet spoke to the nurse behind him. “Go downstairs and find Dr. Crawford and see if the MRI is free.”

The woman hurried away.

To Jon, Dr. Bramblet said, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Car wreck.” And Ellis had been… he watched Jon with worry filled eyes. There was something else too. Hope. And so much love. “I couldn’t…” But that wasn’t all.
The Big and Terrible
had come next. The things he’d said. The things he’d almost done. They tore at Jon, biting deeper than any blade. There were no words to make things right. But the look in Ellis’s eyes told Jon he understood. Not only that, he forgave him.

“It’s okay.”

Jon shook his head.

“Yes it is. It wasn’t your fault.”

But wasn’t it? That dark seed was Jon’s and Jon’s alone.
The Big and Terrible
had simply seized it and used it to control him.

“Elizabeth.” Dr. Bramblet glanced up at his nurse.

“Yes, sir?” She didn’t take her eyes off Jon.

“Will you go call Dr. Watts and tell him what’s going on?”

“I thought he was on vacation.”

“He is. But he’ll want to be here.”

She continued to stare.

“Now, Elizabeth. Please.”

“Yes, sir.” She backed out of the room but remained in the hall.

“The door.” She didn’t move and Dr. Bramblet looked back at her. “The door. Close it, please.”

She did.

Dr. Bramblet shined the light in Jon’s eyes again.

“Stop, please. I’m fine.”

He ran his gaze over Jon. There was no name for the expression he wore.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” His voice crumbled into a whisper.

“They said you wouldn’t wake up.” Ellis squeezed Jon’s hand.

Jon shook his head. The plastic end of the tubing sat hooked over the bed rail. Jon touched it. The machine it was attached to was more like a mechanical creature than a piece of equipment. But it was a machine he’d seen before while in law enforcement.

A companion to dying men, or those already dead but waiting to be cut loose.

Jon fought against the panic rushing over him. He wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even close to it.

But only because he’d chose to come back.

It had been a dream. A stupid dream.

“I want to go home.” Jon picked at the tape holding the IV in his arm.

Ellis pulled his hand away.

Dr. Bramblet said, “After I run some tests. After…” Again that look.

“I don’t want to wait.” He had to get out of here and back to the…living.

“You were in a coma for five days.”

“Well, I’m awake and I want to go home.” If only it had been a coma. The echo of creaking limbs made Jon turn. There was only the room with its white walls and stiff furniture.

“And you shouldn’t be,” Dr. Bramblet said.

Jon looked at Ellis then back at Bramblet. It was as if hearing the words made denying it impossible.

“You were declared brain dead shortly after you were brought in here. Fifteen minutes ago I received permission to turn off the respirator.” The doctor nodded at the machine.

“Maybe you were wrong?” But he wasn’t. Even as the words left Jon’s lips he knew Dr. Bramblet wasn’t wrong.

“You shouldn’t be awake, let alone talking.”

“But I am.”

“Yes.”

“Is that why I scared your nurses?” Because it was why Jon feared himself.

Bramblet gave Jon a small smile. “You came back from the dead, Jon. You scare me.”

“I never imagined lying around all day could make me so tired.” Jon propped his head up on the arm of the wheelchair. He’d protested about being rolled out, but now he was glad he gave in. Every muscle in his body quivered with exhaustion just from going from the bed to the chair.

“You didn’t really rest.”

Because he’d spent the last nine hours being poked, prodded, and stuck in a tube so they could take pictures of his brain.

“Have you decided?” Ellis said.

“I don’t know. It’s weird.”

Ellis petted the back of Jon’s neck. “No it isn’t. You’re a medical miracle, it’s only natural for him to want to run more tests and document the event.”

A miracle? Far from it. “Yeah, and have it published.”

“It will be for a peer reviewed journal. No one will see it, except for other doctors.”

“It makes me feel like a lab rat.” Worse, what if they actually found some scar left behind from that thing being inside him? Or something else? Jon had no idea what, but thinking about it terrified him.

They reached the exit. George and Eleanor were there to greet him. Jon stood with some help from Ellis. George took Jon’s arm.

“It’s good to see you, son.” George patted Jon on the back. “We thought you were gone.”

Jon jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “That’s what everyone tells me.” He tried to smile but it felt so fake he gave up.

Eleanor trapped Jon in her arms. It didn’t seem possible that such a small person could have so much strength.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She kissed him on the cheek before letting him go.

“You sure you’re ready to leave?” George said. “It’s okay to need a couple more days until you get your feet under you again.”

“No, I don’t want to stay. The food in this place sucks and I can get better exercise walking around in your yard than up and down the halls. That is, if you still don’t mind us hanging around.”

Eleanor took Jon by his other elbow. “Nonsense. Of course we want you to stay.” She and Ellis led Jon out to the parking lot.

“We already owe you more than we could ever give back.”

She smiled. “And you think we’re keeping a tab?”

No, but Jon still owed them. If they hadn’t come into the room, Ellis would be dead and he would be responsible.

“How did you know?” Jon stopped by the car.

“Know what?” Eleanor said.

“That Ellis was in trouble.”

“I told you I was a light sleeper.”

Jon grinned at Ellis who turned bright red. They got in the car and Jon put his arm around Ellis.

“Why don’t you rest a bit?” Ellis said.

“Not like we have far to go.” Jon laid his head against the back of the seat with the intention of closing his eyes just for a moment. The next thing he knew Ellis shook him awake.

“You dozed off.”

Jon rubbed his thumb and fingers against his eyelids. “Sorry. I guess I’m more tired than I originally thought.”

“C’mon, I’ll put you to bed.” Ellis held out a hand as Jon eased out of the car. His leg muscles trembled. When he got to the porch steps he made sure to use the handrail. By the time Ellis got Jon to the bedroom, sweat beaded his skin.

“Do you think you can eat something?”

“I could, but I think I’d rather lie down. That is, as long as you’ll stay.”

Ellis needed to stay. He was pale, gaunt, and looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.

“I should probably take a shower first.”

“No.”

“I smell like sweat.”

“I don’t care.” Jon kicked off his shoes then pushed the blankets back. “Get up here.” Ellis took off his sneakers and climbed in. Jon pulled him closer.

“You have no idea how scared it made me feel to think I’d never get to do this again.” Ellis molded himself to Jon’s body.

He wove their fingers together. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“No, but someone needs to apologize.”

Ellis laughed but it quickly died.

After a long moment Jon raised his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Everything.”

“That’s a lot to think about.” Jon smiled against the back of Ellis’s neck.

Ellis rolled over on his back. “How did that thing get inside you?”

Jon’s happiness wilted. “It’s not important.”

“What if Lenny comes back and it happens to someone else? That alone makes how it happened important.”

The sight of Lenny being thrown back by the impact of the bullet, the sound of the man’s body crashing against the coffee table and the smell of death, copper and wet earth, flashed through Jon’s mind.

“Jon?”

“Sorry.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“All you need to know is Lenny won’t be coming back.”

Ellis gave him a questioning look.

“He’s dead.”

“How?”

Jon kissed Ellis on the forehead. “Later. Right now you need to sleep and I don’t want you to have nightmares.”

Ellis tucked his head under Jon’s chin.

As tired as he was, sleep eluded Jon. All he could do was think about the old man, the house, the blackness, the things he’d said, and then the dream—or whatever—with Rudy. Ellis was the cure for this hate-filled disease, but Jon couldn’t tell Ellis the truth because he’d face that thing without fear and he’d probably die. No, not probably. There was no doubt in Jon’s mind that if Ellis went there he would die.

Fire cleanses…

Burning the Grove didn’t kill
The Big and Terrible
, but it drove it back for almost a century.

It wouldn’t be that difficult to set fire to a field. But the Grove was a big place. A can of gas wasn’t going to get the job done. It would take hundreds of gallons and a way to distribute it.

He needed help with a plan.

Jon eased out of bed and pulled the covers over Ellis. He smiled in his sleep.

Yeah, there was no way Jon could let him face that thing.

In the kitchen, Eleanor tapped a ladle on the side of the pot she had on the stove. “I thought you were going to take a nap?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Worry will do that.”

“It’s that obvious, huh?”

“The only way you could make it more noticeable would be to put a neon sign over your head.” She put a casserole in the oven. “Do you want me to warm you some milk and honey? Works miracles for fussy babies.”

“Actually, I was wondering if George might be around so I can talk to him?”

“He’s out back in his shop.”