Miracle Cure (39 page)

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 TDon'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, 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, Mary'..." 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 andhcl..."and they started to fly..." HC1 was hydrochloric acid.

Acid.

Harvey's tortured voice pursued after 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 deadbolt..."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 de-program 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.

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 to 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."

With tears running down her face, Cassandra turned away.

"Let go of the knife," Michael said.

"It's over."

Lieutenant Bernstein came flying around the corner. Sergeant Monticelli followed with his gun drawn. He aimed at Harvey's head.

But Harvey had already dropped the knife. There was no point in continuing. Killing Sara would no longer benefit AIDS because Michael knew the truth. So did Cassandra and Lieutenant Bernstein and that other police officer. He could not kill them all. He could not hide the truth any longer.

So what should he do now?

His whole body went limp. The officer with the gun tackled him and flipped him roughly onto his stomach. There was no need. Harvey offered no resistance. Through his one good eye, he saw Michael pick up Sara. They embraced for a very long time.

He was cuffed and dragged to his feet. Cassandra could still not face him. A pity. He had really cared for her. He might even have loved her. But how could he make her understand that his happiness was irrelevant? How could he make her understand that he had become merely a shell, a tool, a valuable asset in the war against AIDS? His personal life was immaterial. It was Harvey the doctor and researcher that mattered; Harvey the man had always been superfluous.

His eyes still burned from the acid, but he was not thinking about that anymore. He was mulling over his options. He would get a lawyer, a lawyer who could stall for as long as possible. Just a few months of freedom was all it would take to perfect SRI..."You have the right to remain silent," the police officer was saying.

"Anything you say..." and even if he had to spend time in jail, so what? He might be able to work on the formula in prison and correspond with researchers in the outside world. He had read about a doctor doing that somewhere. He could still make a contribution, still give the world his expertise.

But first, he would call a lawyer. A good, smart lawyer.

Yeah, that was it. That's what he'd do. That's exactly what he would do.

Thursday, April 9

Lenny walked into the 87th Street Precinct.

He strode past the usual ugly glares and catcalls with a smile.

When he arrived at his destination, Lenny said, "Take that pencil out of your mouth."

Lieutenant Max Bernstein looked up.

"Hi, Len."

"Ready to go visit Sara and Sam?"

"Let me just finish this up."

"What is it?"

"Paperwork. That's all I do now."

"Hang in there," "Lenny said.

"Someone has to blaze the trail."

Max began to fiddle with his new mustache.

"I never thought of myself as much of a trailblazer."

"Sometimes greatness is thrust upon you."

"No one talks to me anymore," Max said.

"All I get is shit detail."

"Being a leader is a lonely business."

"It's not funny, Len."

"Do you wish you never said anything?"

Max remembered the news conference seven months ago.

Newspaper and television reporters from all over the globe were there to cover the capture of the Gay Slasher and the revelation that SRI was a hoax. On that day Max had not planned on saying anything except the usual "this was a team effort" bullshit. His mouth, however, had other ideas.

A reporter had asked, "How does it feel to be a hero, Lieutenant?"

"I'm just glad the case is over."

"Do you realize that you're an idol? Parents consider you a role model for their children."

"I doubt that."

"Don't be so modest, Lieutenant. Do you think this case is an example of how far the gay community will go to deceive the American public?"

"I don't understand your question."

"Do you think this was a plot by a subversive gay group to get more money for AIDS?"

"There is no doubt that Dr. Riker acted on his own," Max said.

And then he added, "Furthermore, since I am your hero of the week, I will tell you that it just so happens that I myself am..." and that was when he spilled it.

"Well?" Lenny said.

"Are you sorry about coming out of the closet?"

Max shrugged.

"I don't know."

"You've done a lot of good."

"My career is in the toilet." Lenny smiled.

"You take the good with the bad. Give it time."

"Have any other comforting cliches?"

"No. Just remember that legally the police department can't do a damn thing to you."

"Except assign me shit detail. I should have gotten a shot at that Masquerade Killer, but they put someone else on it. I only get the minor fag cases because, as the captain puts it, that's my 'field of expertise'."

"He's a homophobic Neanderthal," Lenny said.

"Want to go into his office and make out in front of him?"

Max chuckled.

"I think not."

"Don't worry. They'll start accepting you soon. Trust me.

Progress comes slowly."

Max took the pencil out of his mouth.

"Doubt it."

"Hey, Twitch."

Max spun toward Willie Monticelli. He had not seen the sergeant since the day he had made himself a national gay celebrity seven months ago.

"Hi, Willie. Long time, no see."

Willie hesitated.

"Who's this? Your boyfriend or something?"

"Lenny, this is Sergeant Willie Monticelli. Willie, this is Lenny Werner."

"I've heard a lot about you, Sergeant."

Snickers from nearby cops.

"What sort of things?" Willie asked suspiciously.

"That you are a good cop," Lenny replied.

Willie shrugged.

"I do my job."

"What can I do for you, Willie?" Max asked.

A voice from the corner: "Careful how you answer that, Willie.

Might get more than you bargain for."

"Shut the hell up, Owens," Willie shouted back.

Max's fingers plucked nervously at his shirt.

"What's up?"

"Got me," Willie replied.

"I was assigned to assist you on this Masquerade Killer. Seems the mayor was not happy about the results Owens and his buddies were getting. Wants to offer us a chance at it."

"You're kidding."

"Look, Twitch, let me put it on the line." Willie hitched up his pants by the belt.

"I'm no fag lover, I gotta be honest. But I've seen a lot of cops in my day. Some are straight, some like to do it with whores in the basement, and yeah, some are fairies.

So you like fondling balls instead of tits as long as they ain't mine, I don't give a shit. I just want to solve the case, ya know?" Lenny smiled at Max.

"You see? Progress already."

"Mail call."

The prison guard tossed the envelope threw the bars.

"There you go, Doctor Loony-Tunes. A letter for you."

Harvey scrambled for the envelope. His heart lifted when he saw the return address was from Washington. His hand quickly tore the seal.

Dear Dr. Riker, Our staff at the National Institutes of Health has examined the files and evidence that you sent me.

While we appreciate hearing from anyone who might expedite our search for an AIDS vaccine, we must confess that we no longer consider you a reputable scientist.

Moreover, I must take exception to the absurd and unsubstantiated accusations you level in your confidential letter to me. I categorically deny any and all such claims of a "conspiracy," but it seems to me that the government and AIDS movement would be best served by discouraging you from making false charges. For this reason, I believe we can reach an arrangement that we will both find satisfactory.

For my part I will be delighted to update you on the NIH's progress and pass on your suggestions to the board. I will do all I can to see that you are given information on the progress of AIDS research during your incarceration.

For your part you will never again make mention of your absurd and unsubstantiated accusations. The men you mentioned in your letter and I no longer converse.

We no longer work together toward the common goal you described as "vile," and what they might do separately is of no concern to me. I have paid my debt to the man you call "pious scum" and hence will no longer be communicating with him.

Thank you for your time. It is encouraging to see that some prisoners wish to make productive use of their time while paying their debt to society.

With best wishes, I remain Sincerely, Raymond Markey, MD Assistant Secretary of Health and Human Services Harvey put down the letter, tucked it away neatly, and sat back.

That was when he spotted the back page of yesterday's New York Herald lying on the cell floor.

He had been so caught up yesterday in working out new calculations that he had not even glanced at the paper. Now he saw the gigantic back page headline.

DOUBLE VICTORY FOR SILVER MAN

Triumphs in Comeback Performance And Becomes A Dad In One Night!

Harvey read down the page.

(New York) For the first time all season, the sound of classical music could be heard in the New York Knicks' locker room. It was a sweet sound for all.

"Did you see what he did out there?" close friend and teammate Reece Porter exclaimed after the game.

"Mike is most definitely back!"

After a lengthy illness, Michael Silverman, the New York Knicks' veteran co-captain, made a triumphant return last night in front of a Madison Square Garden capacity crowd, leading the Knicks to a 123-107 trouncing of the Chicago Bulls.

"Now that we're heading into the play-offs, we really need him," said Coach Richie Crenshaw.

"He gives our team that extra lift."

"No one believed he'd make it back," added Jerome Holloway, the odds-on favorite to win this year's Rookie of the Year honors.

"But he showed them tonight."

Basketball was only part of the story for Michael Silverman last night.

Right after the game, Silverman got word that his wife, popular Newsflash co-host Sara Lowell, had gone into labor. The entire Knicks team followed Silverman to the hospital.

"We all paced around the waiting room like a group of nervous, expectant fathers," Porter later joked.

At 11:08 p. m." the suspense was over. A teary Michael Silverman came out to announce that Sara had given birth to their first child, a healthy baby boy named Sam 7 pounds, 6 ounces.

Harvey put down the paper and smiled.

It was wonderful news.

Then he went back to figuring out why the T cell receptor was not reacting the way he had predicted.

Perhaps if he changed the compound...