“In . . .my. . .bag,” Straus said, struggling to apply pressure to his femoral artery.
Alexander, keeping the revolver trained on Straus, backed out of the bedroom and into the hub. On the shelving that ran the length of the two-way mirrors, Alexander spotted a black leather bag. He grabbed the bag and returned to the bedroom.
When he was back in the room, Thomas was standing over Derek, who had removed his shirt and was using it as a tourniquet on Straus’s leg. The flow of blood diminished to a trickle, but Straus was slipping in and out of consciousness and had all the signs of someone preparing to stop slipping and of staying on the unconscious end of the slide.
Alexander pulled the leather bag open and saw a small, black box sitting beside three syringes still in their sterile wrappings. He stood straight, pointed the gun at Straus’s left knee.
“Tell me now, Doctor. My patience is at an end.”
“Open the black box,” Straus mumbled, his eyes rolling back. “Three vials inside. Your old blood. Inject the vial labeled ‘Plan C’ into your neck.”
Alexander broke open the black box, found the vial marked ‘Plan C’ written on it with a grease pen. He tore open one of the syringes, used it to draw from the vial. Once the vial was filled, he turned to Straus.
“And this is all that I will need?”
“Not all,” Straus said.
“Then what else?”
“Your brother has a fresh supply of blood. You’ll need to consume at least two pints.”
Alexander turned towards Thomas and pointed the gun towards his gut.
“It seems that I am still in need of our heart, dear brother.”
Thomas backed away, tipping over the chair and falling onto the ground. As Alexander moved closer to improve his aim, Derek grabbed the seven-inch knife he had concealed in the small of his back and in one quick and trained moved, plunged the entire knife into Alexander’s neck.
Alexander fell forward onto the bed, holding the back of his neck with his left hand. Derek leaped towards Alexander, hoping to secure the gun. As he landed on top of Alexander, Derek discovered that, despite having a deep and what would be a fatal stab wound in any other person, Alexander’s strength was still much greater than his. With a single thrust of his arm, Derek was thrown off the bed and landed hard on the floor a few feet away from where Straus had slipped into unconsciousness.
Alexander stood, aimed the gun at Derek, and pulled the trigger.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
The .45 caliber bullet hit Derek two inches to the right of his navel. At first, it felt like he had been kicked hard in the gut. But seconds later, the burning and intense pain emerged. He reached his hand down to cover the wound. When Derek raised them to his line of sight, they were covered in bright, red blood.
“Too bad your blood won’t suffice,” Alexander said to Derek before turning back towards Thomas. Without changing the direction of his gaze, Alexander turned the gun towards Straus and pulled the trigger. Straus’s body, already battered and near death, offered only a quick jolt of movement before becoming too still.
Derek reached around to his back, hoping to find an exit wound and praying that any exit wound found was not spilling blood. As his hand returned from its exploration, Derek saw that fresh blood covered his hand. Too much blood for a clean exit wound.
“Son of a bitch,” he cried.
He knew that he didn’t have long before the internal bleeding would stop. His heart, though undamaged from the shot, would soon run out of blood to pump and would, hopefully painlessly, stop beating. Derek rested his head on the floor and watched as his vision began to darken at the edges. Slowly, his pain began to numb as he felt his skin grown cool and damp.
Derek tried to remain as still as he could, knowing that any struggle would only serve to speed up the bleeding. He closed his eyes and concentrated on slowing his heart rate. He remembered reading about Tibetan monks that were able to get their heart rates down into the teens. He would be satisfied with any rate under seventy-two.
He heard voices in the background of his mind yelling at each other, but it seemed as if they were miles away. Then, clearly and loudly, he heard a high-pitched snap, echoing for what seemed like to Derek for several seconds before fading slowly into a distant hum. Another pop, followed by a series of crackles and ripping screams. And then he saw her.
Her face, flowing with the smile he had sought for so long, filled the side of his vision. It evaporated the cloudy darkness that had crept in slowly when the pain began to fade. He smiled back, remembering so much about that face, about her smile. He remembered so vividly the times he overlooked the simple and elegant beauty of that smile and still, the smile was offered.
The vision began to drift further into an expected distance when he remembered. That was what he saw that day. This was the smile that caused him to turn his head away at the last possible moment the day he tried to end his searching forever. It was always there, waiting for him. Always beside him as he focused his sights behind. He smiled in the knowing, then everything went still.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Alexander stood over Straus for several seconds before confirming his suspicions.
“I am afraid that I lack the motivation to write out another list so that I can cross off another name,” he said. “Good night, Doctor Straus.”
Thomas had found his feet and stood, his back pressed hard against the wall. Alexander motioned for Thomas to sit on the floor. The pain in his neck was severe, and Alexander could feel that his left side was growing weaker and was charged with a disturbing sensation. The fingers of his left hand burned with the sensation, and he felt his left leg shaking under the weight of his body.
“Move an inch, and you’ll join these two,” he said to Thomas.
“I’m your brother. I helped you,” Thomas protested. “That day I saw you at the lake, when you were walking with Straus and the other doctor, I knew that what I found out was true. I knew that I had to help you. And now you stand over me with a gun and threaten to kill me?”