Miracle Cure

There was no time to react. The liquid flew across the room and splashed onto Harvey’s face.

He screamed.

The acid ripped at him. It burrowed into his face, eating away at his flesh, shredding his corneas and pupils, tearing apart the milky whites of his eyes. Pain engulfed him, but the pain in his skin was nothing compared to what was happening in his eyes. Thousands of sharp flaming darts punctured the soft gel of his eyeballs.

His hands flew to his face; his fingers pulled at his eyes in a futile attempt to lessen the pain. He could hear his skin and eyes sizzle, smell the burning flesh on his own face.

As Sara struggled to her feet, she saw the gun fall from his hand and bounce underneath a shelf. She thought groggily of trying to get it but decided against it. It would probably take too long and give Harvey the time he needed to recuperate. Better to make a run for it.

Before she took a step, Sara heard Harvey manage his first words since the acid had landed on his face. They started low, almost inaudible, but they grew louder with each syllable. He repeated the same words over and over as though they were some sort of ritual chant:

“You must die, Sara. You must.”

* * *

The elevator moved so damn slowly. After thirty seconds of pushing the close-door button, the door grudgingly obeyed by sliding shut. With a grunt it began to ascend.

“You check the second floor,” Max said to Willie. “I’ll go up to the third. Yell if you see anything.”

“Right.”

The elevator stopped on the second floor. The door had not yet opened when Max and Willie heard what sounded like a long, primal scream.

“Third floor,” Max shouted.

Willie repeatedly pressed the third-floor button, but the elevator’s course had already been set and it was not about to be rushed by a human scream. The door opened slowly on the second floor and then paused.

Impatience overcame Max. He sprinted across the portal. “I’ll take the stairway. Meet me up there.”

Willie withdrew his revolver from its holster. “Got ya.”

* * *

“You must die, Sara…”

Sara wasted little time. Summoning up strength she did not have, she maneuvered past Eric’s body, shoved Harvey aside, and hobbled toward the door. Even with the adrenaline flow, her movements were slow. The cold had stiffened her limbs and constricted her lungs. She had spent so much energy on the quick swing of her arm and pushing Harvey that she feared she might not be able to make it.

Have to. The baby…

A few minutes earlier Sara had been ready to give up. Trapped in the cold room, no way of escape, no hope of a last minute rescue… no Michael — in truth, she had almost welcomed defeat. There was nothing left. Her spirit had been crushed. Michael dead. What difference could survival make when there was no Michael?

She had begun to drift away. Delirium took control, and it too was welcome. Anything was better than reality. She would just drift and drift, not think about Michael, just drift, look around, let her mind replay “(Don’t Fear) the Reaper.” She could almost hear Buck Dharma singing about the Grim Reaper’s visit… “It was clear she couldn’t go on, / Then the door was opened and the wind appeared, / The candles blew and then disappeared… ”

She was looking around, looking at all the test tubes and fancy equipment on the shelves, looking until too exhausted to look anymore, eyes beginning to close…

… “the curtains flew and then He appeared…”

… yes, there were all the various test tubes and glass dishes and beakers…

… “saying ‘Don’t be afraid, come on, baby’…”

… lots of beakers, so many sizes with all the fancy codes labeled on the front.

… “and she had no fear…”

… Sara had not held a beaker or test tube since tenth-grade chemistry. God, she hated that class. Seemed like all they did was the damn periodic table. She remembered very little of it now, like the Spanish she took for four years and never used again. A few words she remembered. Hola was hello…

… “as she ran to him…”

… adios was good-bye. Buenos dias was good morning. The same with chemistry. H₂O was water. CO₂ was carbon dioxide and HCl…

… “and they started to fly…”

… HCl was hydrochloric acid.

Acid.

Harvey’s tortured voice pursued her. “You have to die, Sara. You have to…”

Sara glanced behind her. Harvey had scrambled to his feet. He pried his hands off his face and took a knife from his pocket. His face was red and blotchy.

Sara turned back around and moved forward. Behind her Harvey began to lunge toward the lab door. He moved like a maniac — without reason, without concern for what might be in his way. And like a maniac, he moved fast.

“You have to die. You have to…”

She tried to hobble faster. Her eyes fixed on the doorknob. Just a few more seconds, just a few more steps, almost there, almost…

She reached out. Her hand touched the doorknob and then closed around it. Harvey was right behind her now, just a few yards back. He stumbled and dove forward, landing inches away from her. Sara turned the knob.

The door was locked.

Her heart sank. Her fingers quickly moved to the dead bolt…

“You have to die, Sara…”

… and twisted it clockwise. She heard the bolt slide back. Her hand moved back to the knob again.

That was when she felt cold fingers wrap around her ankle.

From the floor below her. “You have to die, Sara. You have to.”

She screamed, trying to pull her bad foot free, but he held on. He suddenly tugged hard and Sara toppled to the floor beside him. Pain rushed up her leg. She kicked at him, but the blows did not seem to bother him. He was beyond pain now, beyond any form of rationality. He was like some robot set on destroy and nothing she could do would deprogram him. He had to silence her. He had to save his clinic. There was nothing else.

He pulled her ankle and her body slid toward him. Her fingers reached out, trying to grasp anything that might slow him down, but there was nothing but the slick tile.

“… have to die…”

He grabbed her hair and tugged harshly. Holding her in place, Harvey raised himself up. He lifted the knife above his head. Sara made a fist and swung. It landed in Harvey’s groin. He made an oofing noise and fell off her.

Sara scrambled to her feet. She twisted the knob. The door opened. She heard Harvey scream.

“NO!”

She fell out into the hallway as Harvey stumbled to his feet after her.

Then Sara heard somebody say, “It’s over, Harv. Drop it.”

They both froze.

The voice, Sara thought… but it can’t be.

Her line of vision traveled past Harvey. It traveled down the corridor until it reached the spot where the voice had come from.

“Michael!”

* * *

Still holding the knife, Harvey spun toward the voice. The acid had rendered his right eye useless, but his left could still make out shapes. A man was standing about ten feet away from him. It was Michael. And the figure behind him… He squinted, trying to make out the face….

His tormented voice said her name. “Cassandra.”