FanStory.com - DUEL with the DEVIL - Chapter 1by Jim Wile

Background
A brilliant young chemist creates a new opioid with unknown benefits and pitfalls.

Part 1

Chapter 1

Kernersville, NC
2004

I was 12 years old on that awful morning when my big sister Francine shook me awake.

“Brian, wake up.”

I opened my eyes and looked at her. She had pulled the covers down and had a firm grip on my shoulder.

“Leave me alone.” I yanked the covers back up and closed my eyes again, hoping she’d go away. Francine was 18. She was a big girl and a terrific athlete. Although not an especially good student, she was tough and smart and good at most everything she did, although I could beat her handily in chess. She had graduated from high school last spring and was now enrolled in a law enforcement program at Forsyth Tech Community College.

“Brian, I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”

I opened my eyes again and sat up. We normally kidded around a lot, but I could tell from the gravity of her voice and the grim look on her face that this wasn’t any kind of joke.

“What bad news?” I said, sitting up. A sudden fear sent the adrenaline coursing through my chest. I suppose it is every child’s worst nightmare that something bad has happened to his parents. They had gone out last night to dinner and a movie—one of their “date nights.”

I studied Fran’s face closely as she hesitated a few seconds before she finally said, “I got a call early this morning from the police. Momma and Daddy were hit by a drunk driver on the way home from the movies last night. It caused their car to leave the road, where it then struck a tree and caught fire. They didn’t make it out of the car.”

Although this had always been my greatest fear when they went out, I just sat there, refusing to accept what I had heard. “No, I don’t believe you. They must have made it out. They’re probably wandering around in a daze somewhere. We’ve got to go find them.” This all came tumbling out of me as I got out of bed and started heading to my dresser to find some clothes.

Fran grabbed me on the way and held me in a tight hug. “Brian, they’re gone. The police found them in the car.”

“No, you’re just teasing me, right?” I began shuddering. “Right?” But she continued holding me firmly and began rubbing my back. As the realization set in, the tears started, followed by wracking sobs as she continued to hold me for a long time while I cried. This kind of thing happened in shows or books, but not in real life and not to me. No, this couldn’t have happened. Just, no!

After what felt like an hour, she finally released me from the hug but put her hands on my shoulders and looked me right in the eyes. “Brian, we’re going to be alright. Things are going to be different now, for sure, but I’ll be taking care of you until you’re 18 and no longer a minor. We’ll still live here, and you’ll go to the same school. But that means we’ll have to take care of the house and do all the things Momma and Daddy used to do for us ourselves.”

“But I don’t know how to do all those things. I mean, I know how to mow the lawn and make a sandwich, but I don’t know how to pay bills and fix the sink when it clogs up and do laundry and all that stuff.”

“Well, you’re going to have to grow up fast and learn how. We’ll do it together. I don’t know how to do all those things either, but what we don’t know how to do, we’ll ask Gram and Gramps for help.”

“What’ll we do for money, Fran? I know you have a part-time job while you’re going to school, but that won’t be enough money to support us.”

“Momma and Daddy provided for that. They bought insurance, which I’m sure will be enough to support us and probably pay for our education too. I’ll be looking into all that. I don’t think we have to worry about that for now. We just have to make sure to keep up the house and pay the bills when they’re due and take care of Chloe. She can become your responsibility. She doesn’t pay that much attention to me like she does to you.”

Chloe was our 10-year-old tabby cat. We grew up together. I was only two when we got her as a kitten, and through the years, I always played with her a lot. I already cleaned her litter box regularly, but now it would also be my responsibility to feed her and make sure she came in at night. I guess I would have to take her to the vet now, too, for her annual checkups.

Fran said, “Seeing how it’s Friday today, you can have the day off from school, but I’ll expect you to go back on Monday. And I know Momma used to drive you, but you’ll have to start taking the bus from now on. I won’t be able to drive you because I have classes early each morning. I’m going to call Gram and Gramps now to tell them the news and ask if they would come and stay here until after the funeral.”

This was typical Fran. She seemed so calm and responsible, although I knew she was probably dying inside too. But Fran was tough. She wouldn’t show it but would just suck it up and do what had to be done. I loved my sister. What she thought of me, I don’t really know. She had always been the responsible one, where I tended to be spoiled and got away with doing as little as I could.

But that would have to change now because a new reality had set in.

When I’d been 10, Momma and Daddy took the family on a day trip to Pilot Mountain. It was only an hour away from Kernersville. I used to call it Nipple Mountain because it looked to me like a woman’s breast with a very pronounced nipple sticking up at the top. Momma told me to hush whenever I used to mention it.

That had been a bright, clear spring day. A long, winding road leads most of the way to the top of the mountain. We parked in the parking lot and decided to go for a hike before having a picnic lunch Momma had packed for us. One of the trails leads right around the base of the nipple, and we took that trail.

On a clear day, you could see for miles in every direction. You could see Winston-Salem from here and even Kernersville, a few miles to the east of that. As we hiked around the base of the nipple, we could hear a faint sound overhead. There were eagles swooping low over the top of the mountain. It was windy up there, and in the spring, the temperature could drop 10 degrees when you went from the sun to the shade. It was beautiful, and Momma said that when she dies, she’d like to be cremated and have her ashes spread in the wind from up here. Born and raised in North Carolina, like Daddy too, that’s where she said she wanted to remain—spread all over her home.

It was now 10 days since they’d died in that accident. The wind was from the west, so Fran and I hiked around to the east side of the pinnacle of Pilot Mountain. Fran held Momma’s urn, and I held Daddy’s.

“Do you want to say something?” she asked me.

I thought about it. Today was nothing like that clear spring day two years ago—cold and overcast with a slight drizzle—and was a perfect reflection of my mood.

With a lump in my throat, I managed to croak out, “I’ll miss you guys,” but that’s all I could manage. In my mind’s eye, I just kept picturing two blackened bodies still strapped into their seats inside a crumpled car. I couldn’t seem to get that picture out of my mind.

When it became clear that’s all I was going to say, Fran said, “Momma and Daddy, you did a great job being our parents. You raised us the best you knew how. I’ll try to take good care of the squirt and see that he stays out of trouble. Thank you for all you did for us. I’ll always love you.” She fell silent then. We stood there in the cold on that gray afternoon, lost in our own thoughts.

After a couple of minutes, Fran looked at me. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

We had practiced what we would do at home. Holding the urns in both hands, we took our arms back like we were holding a baseball bat, then swung them forward, tilting the urns to the side at the same time and flinging the ashes into the air, where they mingled in the wind and were carried far to the east and out together over their home.

We stood there for another minute or two, then headed back to the parking area, where we met Gram and Gramps, who had been waiting for us. The hike to the pinnacle had been too arduous for them to go with us. Fran and I exchanged hugs with each of them, then we got in the car and drove home.

They ended up staying with us for two weeks. Before they left, Gram prepared about a month of meals for us, which we put in the freezer in the garage. Gramps also showed me how to do a few things around the house and yard. They lived in Asheville, which was just over two hours away to the west, and they said they would come anytime we called. We thanked them for handling the funeral arrangements and for being there when we needed them.

Now it was just Fran and me.