Precinct 11 - 01 - The Brotherhood (5 page)

“Are you sure, buddy?” Keller said. “It’s not pretty.”

“I’m about to lose my whole family. I have to know why.”

Keller peeked at his notebook. “The garage will have to be rebuilt, but they were able to save the house. . . .”

“I don’t care about the stinkin’ house. I couldn’t live there anyway. What do they think happened?”

“They have a pretty good account, actually, because of an old lady next door.”

“Mrs. Gustavson?”

“That’s the name. She says Nikki brought Josh home from the pool in the stroller and he was fast asleep. They chatted for a few minutes, and Nikki told her she was going to take him inside and put him down and then mow the lawn. She says Nikki said something about hoping the mower wouldn’t wake him.

“Several minutes later, Nikki had the mower out and was having trouble starting it. She went into the garage for a can of gas, but when she went to fill the tank, she said it was already full. She found some switch that had to be flipped to start the thing.”

“The gas line release,” Boone said.

“Anyway, she put the can back inside the garage and started mowing. This woman, Gustavson, says it wasn’t five minutes later that she heard this horrible blast and the whole garage looked like a ball of orange, flames shooting out the utility door.”

“How’d it get to Josh?”

“Listen, Mrs. Gustavson said she stood up from her gardening and caught Nikki’s eye. As soon as Nikki let go of that mower—it must have an automatic shutoff—”

“It does.”

“—they heard screaming from the garage over the roar of the flames. She said Nikki didn’t even hesitate. She ran right into that fire, Boone. And then Mrs. Gustavson heard both of them screaming. She said Nikki was in there so long that she never expected to see either of them again. She was about to run in her house and call 911 when Nikki finally came staggering out of there with Josh in her arms.”

Boone covered his mouth and the sobs began anew.

“That enough for now?”

Boone shook his head and took his hand away. “Go on.”

“Mrs. Gustavson says Nikki and Josh were completely engulfed in flames. Nikki dropped and rolled on the grass, but it was doing no good. The woman hooked up her garden hose. She feels so bad, Boone. She says it took her way longer than it should have because she was shaking and crying and trying so hard to hurry. She dragged that hose through her hedges and into your yard and sprayed water on them until the fire went out. But she says Nikki had stopped rolling and was unconscious before she even got to them. Other neighbors came running and CFD was there in minutes. The EMTs determined that Josh was gone, but they didn’t dare try to separate him from Nikki till they got to the hospital. It was all they could do to keep her alive.”

Boone buried his face in his hands. “Tell me I’m going to wake up soon.”

4

The Good-bye

Pastor Sosa draped an arm around Boone. “Father,” he said, his own voice thick and shaky, “we hate this. We don’t understand it. We wish we could go back to before it happened. But we also believe you’re sovereign. All we can do is trust you and beg you to help us endure.”

Beyond horror and grief, rage began to roil in Boone. What had he ever done to deserve this? He so desperately wanted to see Nikki and try to communicate something to her, anything. But he was also still thoroughly confused.

“CFD still investigating?” he said.

Keller nodded. “Yeah. From what they can piece together, Josh must have gotten to the gas can in the garage and tipped it over, and the gas ran under the water heater closet door. The fumes would have been ignited by the pilot light.”

Boone sat shaking his head.

“But wasn’t the baby down for his nap?” Keller said. “Isn’t he still in a crib?”

“He’d been getting out on his own lately. I should have done something about that.”

“Don’t do that, Boone,” Pastor Sosa said. “We can’t control everything in this life.”

For much of the next hour, Boone sat in the conference room, lips pressed together, slowly shaking his head. This couldn’t be happening, mustn’t be happening. How was he to accept such horror? He had so many questions for Pastor Sosa, but he didn’t dare start because he knew his venom would spew. Everything he would demand to know would come out as a challenge. How could God do this? And if he didn’t do it, as he knew the pastor would say, how could he allow it? It made no sense.

So many people deserved to die, some even to be tortured to death by fire. But why Joshie? And why Nikki?

His knees were bouncing, so eager was he to see her before she slipped away. Would he pray that she died rather than suffer from such ghastly injuries, as Dr. Sarangan had suggested? He’d seen the results when people survived massive burns. Their faces looked rubberized, their extremities stubs if they existed at all. From what he gathered, Nikki would be worse than anything he had ever even imagined. No limbs, no eyes, some rebuilt face and scalp harvested from the little expanse of skin protected by Josh’s body.

If her brain was intact and she was able to speak, would that be enough? Was he willing to care for her around the clock for as long as she lived? He had made that vow, and he was one for keeping promises. But would she want to live that way? Would anyone? Boone sure wouldn’t.

Part of him wanted to pray, to plead, to beg, to promise. He would pledge to be as devout and passionate about his faith as Pastor Sosa wanted him to be, if only . . . if only what? Nikki survived? It would be selfish, mean even, to expect her to endure such agony just for him. No, he would make such an earnest supplication and promise only if God would restore her. Couldn’t he do that? Didn’t he still work miracles?

Wasn’t it enough that he and Nikki had lost the most precious gift they had ever received? Was there not something in modern medical science that could allow Nikki to grow tissue, get eye transplants, keep her limbs, even her fingers and toes? Boone didn’t care if her dramatic beauty never returned. He loved that about her, of course, was proud of her, had never tired of just gazing at her. But what he really loved was her person, her character, who she was.

“You’ve got to be hungry,” Pastor Sosa said. “You didn’t get any lunch, did you?”

“We didn’t,” Keller said. “I’ll get us all something, but you know it’s gonna be something out of a machine.”

“I couldn’t eat,” Boone said.

“Even if you don’t feel hungry, you need nourishment,” Sosa said. “Just something to keep you functioning.”

“I need to see Nikki. I just know someone’s going to come in here with the bad news, and I’ll have missed any chance to say good-bye.”

“Murari won’t let that happen if he can help it, Boone. You know that.”

Keller stood to go get the food. “I’ll see what I can find out, too.”

Boone felt himself beginning to hyperventilate and puffed his cheeks to blow and try to slow his respiration. “What’m I gonna do, Pastor? I can’t live without them.”

“You’re going to find out what the body of Christ is all about, Boone. You will not believe how your brothers and sisters will rally around you, stand by you, minister to you.”

It was all Boone could do to keep from slamming both fists on the table and cursing the pastor and God. He knew the man meant well, and he had little doubt that the people of Community Life would do just what Sosa had said. But nothing would be enough to dull this pain, and Boone couldn’t imagine attending that church alone.

“I’ve got to call Nikki’s parents. How am I going to tell them?”

“You need me to do that?” Sosa said.

Boone shook his head. “They have to hear it from me.” He dialed their home in Alaska, where her father, Steve McNickle, was stationed at the Elmendorf Air Force Base as an attorney with the Area Defense Counsel. Nikki’s mother, Pam, was a nurse at the base hospital.

The phone went to voice mail, and Boone panicked. “Uh, yeah, Mom and Dad McNickle, I’ll try to call you on your cells or at work. We’ve got a serious emergency here, so call me on my cell if you get this before I reach you.”

Boone tried to reach Steve at his office, only to be told that he was researching a case in the field. He left a message and, while dialing Pam McNickle’s cell, got a call from their home.

“This is Boone.”

“It’s Pam. What’s wrong?”

It sounded like such a cliché to urge her to sit down, but he didn’t know how else to start. He knew she could tell from his voice that this was no broken arm or ordinary emergency room visit. “Pam, this is the hardest call I’ve ever had to make.”

Boone heard her stop breathing. To spare her even worse agony, he gushed the news of the fire, that Josh had been killed, and that Nikki was not expected to live.

“Oh, God, oh, God,” she prayed. “No. Boone, no.”

He told her he was at the hospital and gave her the address and phone number.

She sounded hollow and spoke in a monotone. “I’ve got to reach Steve. We’ll get there as soon as we can get a flight. Would I be able to talk to Nikki? Could they put her on the phone?”

“She’s in surgery.”

“Boone, you tell her we love her and to hold on and that we’re coming.”

“She doesn’t know about Josh.”

She hesitated. “Stay strong for her.”

Too late.

Keller returned with three perfectly awful plastic-wrapped bologna sandwiches that felt, looked, and tasted three days old. Boone chewed each bite till it was mush and still had trouble swallowing. How could anyone eat at a time like this?

“Okay, listen,” Jack said. “Here’s what I got from the Indian guy. Nikki’s about to be moved from the operating room to ICU, and while he doesn’t believe there’s any way she can survive the night, she will not be anything close to conscious for at least another half hour. Here’s the good part. He asked the attending to concentrate on her larynx and windpipe, just to see if there was any way she might be able to speak at all. He’s making no promises and wants me to remind you that even if they somehow succeed, she has very little possibility of being lucid.”

“I understand. I appreciate it anyway.”

“So, figure about forty minutes from now he wants you to come to the intensive care unit and meet the attending surgeon. Then you can be with her.”

“For how long?”

“He said that if you’re prepared for whatever might happen, you can stay with her to the end.”

Boone felt as if someone had reached into his chest and pulled the cord on the light of his life. How could anything ever be the same? His thoughts were a mess, starting to include foreseeing the funeral, both families coming, everyone trying to help, to advise, and looking at him with pity. His mother would insist on doing things for him; his father would have some sort of plan. Boone wanted none of it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go on at all.

When it finally came time for them to make their way to ICU, Boone started at a rapid pace. On the one hand, he hoped against hope that he would see Nikki before she died. On the other, he was afraid of what he would see. Eventually the stress caught up to him, and his limbs felt like lead. It was hard to put one foot in front of the other, but he was not going to stumble, and he was certainly not going to be helped along by anyone.

Pastor Sosa stayed half a step behind Boone, while Jack Keller hurried on ahead. When they reached ICU, Dr. Sarangan introduced everyone to the attending surgeon, Dr. Catherine O’Connor. She was short and dark with black hair and held her folded surgical cap in one hand.

“Officer Drake, I am so sorry for the loss of your son,” she said. “I know Dr. Sarangan has told you everything, so I trust you’ll understand if I ask whether Father Sosa would like to administer the last rites to your wife.”

“It’s Pastor Sosa, and we’re not—”

“I would be honored to pray for her, Boone,” Sosa said. “It’s your call.”

“Why don’t you do that now,” she said, “and I’ll join you in a few moments with more information. Oh, you’ll both have to wear masks.”

The sight of his mummified wife stopped Boone short. A sheet had been tented over most of her body to the neck, her bandaged arms suspended by thin wires from a contraption over the bed. Her arms were thickly wrapped in gauze, as were her hands, which looked like grotesque oven mitts. The white around her head and face was the size of a basketball. Two tubes ran into a tiny hole through the gauze to where her nose and mouth would have been.

“Oh, Nikki,” Boone whispered.

Sosa put one hand on the bed rail and the other lightly on Boone’s forearm. Boone found himself deeply moved that the pastor’s tears were streaming as he prayed with obvious difficulty. “Father, we confess we don’t understand you right now, and all we can do is thank you for Nikki and what a precious wife and mother she has been. We love her and we know that you do too. I pray, if it is your will that she leave this earth, that you would welcome her to yourself without further pain or agony. And I pray your merciful, miraculous comfort for Boone. Please, Lord. Please.”

The pastor squeezed Boone’s arm and said, “I’ll be right outside.”

It struck Boone that, besides Sosa’s admonition that Boone not blame himself, the pastor had not tried to advise or counsel or even comfort him other than by prayer, touch, and tears. Anything else would have been futile anyway, but he did appreciate that the man was there and trying. When he turned at the sound of Dr. O’Connor, he saw Jack Keller weeping openly in the hall.