The Butterfly Pt 14 Mortal

This is part fourteen of our story. Reading previous chapters will help you to get to know Christine, Peter, Madeline, Sid, and Shan better. We join our story in progress. Christine travels with the Immortals to the site of their people's secret history, the hidden library at Alexandria. There they meet Cassandra, a former wife of Peter's, who has visited with Alaric, an imprisoned Immortal...as they depart, a sniper and IED attack rocks their vehicle, claiming one of their lives...

*****

The next hour or so was very chaotic at El Mowasa Hospital, which was more of a teaching hospital, and quite modest by Western standards. All surviving passengers of the crash were dutifully placed on stretchers, despite their protests, and brought in. It took some time for a set of doctors to get around to seeing to them all, as most appeared to have no serious injuries. Two fatalities were recorded in the crash, including the driver.

Peter could have gotten up and walked out of the hospital, but in that moment, he couldn't be bothered. He lay in a bed in a non-private room, designed for five, along with Sid, Madeline, and two elderly local residents. They assumed Shan was in another room. Madeline had thought she would have felt relief at Christine's death, but all she knew in that moment was that the man she cared most about in the world was deeply grieved. She knew it would happen this way, just not so soon. She thought Peter would have more time to prepare to lose this one. She also felt guilt, and some shame. It was she that forced the issue, pushed Peter to tell Christine the truth. Had she not done that, this would just have been another business trip, and Christine would have been safe and sound at home, blissfully unaware. She wondered if Peter would end up blaming her for this, for the long eternity to come.

A doctor who was fluent in English came to Peter's bedside. He consulted his chart. "Mr...Walsh, I am so sorry for your loss. The paramedics have told me that you were close to the deceased."

"Yes, her husband."

"Sir, I know this is a terrible thing to ask, but I must. Do you know if your wife was an organ donor? We have a number of individuals in the area that would greatly benefit from an organ donation, and we must act quickly. Again, I am so sorry to ask."

"Yes, I'm sure she would have liked that." he said without looking at the doctor. Peter continued to stare off to his left, at an elderly woman on a dialysis machine, likely near death.

"Very good, sir. I just need to ask you to sign these documents. And, ah, there is one more thing. Before we can make a donation, you would have to identify the body for us. I know this is not a good time, but we must do things by the book."

"Of course. Of course."

Peter followed the doctor to the very small morgue downstairs. He was on auto-pilot, looking neither left nor right, other than to look morosely at his friends as he left the room. Sid was overcome with emotion as well. He had only known Christine a short time, but had grown very close to her. Madeline was lost in her own head, but took Peter's hand in hers briefly before he followed the doctor out.

They arrived in the small and heavily air conditioned room, which smelled of clinical death, not true death that Peter had encountered thousands of times in his long life. The doctor offered him a mask that he waved away. He had seen more death than this man ever would, but this time it would be his wife. This was not the first time a wife, lover, son, or daughter had died prematurely, but he had felt such a deep connection to Christine that despite his many thousands of years of desensitization to the passing of the mortals in his life, he knew this one would hurt for a very long time. His eyes were still swollen and red as the doctor pulled back the plastic cover.

It is not easy to shock an immortal being; one who has seen everything, and maintained poise throughout, but Peter's reaction would have fallen right in line with what the doctor would have expected, given the situation. Peter stared without comprehending, his mind whirling.

"Sir, I'm so sorry. I know this must be very difficult."

"Yes. No... I don't understand."

"Sir?"

"This isn't my wife. This isn't my WIFE!" He gripped the side of the metal table for balance. His world didn't make sense. He looked down at the short frame of a young Asian girl, her head on the right side mostly obliterated, with what he knew an autopsy would reveal were explosive rounds. He didn't understand any of this. This shouldn't have happened. He needed to find Christine. He needed to get this body out of here.

"Was there another young woman in the crash? An American? A Caucasian woman?"

"Yes, sir. She's in intensive care right now with a concussion and cracked ribs."

"Can I see her? I need to see her right now! THAT's my wife you've got up there!"

They went upstairs two flights to the intensive care area where Christine was the only patient. Peter was not allowed in the room, but the unconscious woman on a respirator was definitely her. His tears flowed freely now and he couldn't help but smile. His emotions were swirling but he knew his wife was alive. But for his wife to live in his mind, the girl under the cover had to be Shan, and that still didn't make any sense.

"Thank you, doctor. She's going to be okay?"

"We're hopeful. We need to perform some tests once she wakes up before we can be certain."

"Can she be moved?"

"Well, yes, but I wouldn't recommend it."

"Doctor, I mean no offense, but I can get my wife the best care in the world, and I can get it for her immediately. I just need to use your phone."

With one call Peter arranged for immediate medical transport and security, all in one. Within thirty minutes, a caravan rivaling the American President's arrived to extract the group, along with an unconscious Christine, and Shan's body. El Mowasa's Administrative Head was stunned by the effectiveness with which Peter's phone call had cut through any red tape on issues surrounding discharge of the patients and the body of their friend. Their destination was Clemenceau Medical Center in Beirut, a short helicopter flight away.

Peter had returned to Sid and Madeline and had broken the news in two parts, mindful that they weren't able to speak privately just yet. They were both incredibly relieved to hear Christine was alive. Then they were both dumbfounded, likely the greatest understatement of their long lives, to hear that Shan was dead. They said nothing until they were on the helicopter flying North-east.

"Pyotr, what does this mean? Could we have been mistaken about her?"

"I...I don't know. Everything checked out. All the signs were there. She even exhibited all the traits of advanced cellular regeneration. No doubt the damage was severe, but it shouldn't have even gone that far. She should have been more resistant. This doesn't make any sense."

"We have to take her body to Louis. He'll have to run some tests. Maybe something will turn up." Sid suggested.

All three considered the ramifications of this silently. The helicopter landed and the next 24 hours were mostly spent at Christine's bedside as countless tests were run. Before they could wake her, she opened her eyes on her own. The first thing she saw was Peter, sitting next to her.

"Peter..." she said groggily, "Where am I?"

He took her hand. "You're okay darling. You're okay. You're in the hospital. Don't try to move too much. Your ribs are cracked. But you were very lucky."

"What happened? We were in the car. Shan...got shot?"

"Yes, Shan got shot. Don't worry about that now. Just rest, darling. Just rest."

Christine closed her eyes again. She was feeling no pain, but her mouth was dry and she was so tired, so tired. The hospital staff woke her up repeatedly and continued performing tests. She saw Madeline and Sid nearby. Sid had come over to her and given her hand a squeeze and told her to "hang in there kiddo" and "you'll be kicking ass again in no time". Madeline even came over, and gave Christine a light kiss on the lips. Her lips were wet, moistening her own dry lips. Christine looked up into her eyes to see tears streaming down her face. Madeline kissed her again and left the room saying nothing. She wondered where Shan was. Clearly she would have recovered by now?

After a day, she found out the truth. She was amazed as well, but because immortality was a newer concept to her, she tried to rationalize what happened. She asked many questions, but to Peter, Sid and Madeline, it was still unthinkable. It had never happened. Not ever. They could not be killed, yet somehow, one of them had been.

"We have sent Shan's body to Louis, one of our foremost medical experts. He has spent much of his life working to cure man's diseases, and also to understand our biology. Perhaps he will offer us some answers after the first ever post-mortem of one of our kind." Peter explained, quite sadly.

Christine understood. While Peter had been elated she was alive, he considered Shan his responsibility. He had found her, helped her leave her old life behind and would have helped her start a new one. But that was no longer to be. The worst part, to Christine, was that this sequence of events was shattering his usual sense of poise and confidence. For once in his life, he didn't have all the answers or know what was around the next corner. Suddenly, everything had been called into question.

Christine spent another week in the hospital and was finally discharged, her ribs wrapped tightly. Sid went back to Sesamus to work on some security matters, he said. Christine didn't entirely believe him as he was being quite vague, but was in no position to forcefully argue. He gave her hand a squeeze, gave her a kiss on the forehead and told her to get better. Rather than heading back with him, as she expected, she left with Madeline and Peter heading back to Paris, where they were told Louis would meet with them and discuss what had happened. He apparently wanted to speak with her directly about what she saw at the moment of the attack, and Christine agreed. Louis, Christine would later discover, was already famous several lifetimes ago as Louis Pasteur. But when they arrived at his lab, he seemed only a kindly old French gentleman that got along famously with Madeline and Peter. They switched quickly to English so Christine wouldn't feel left out of the conversation.

"My dear," Louis said, "I am so sorry about your accident. Pierre...Peter has told me you are feeling a little better?"

"Yes, well enough to get out of Beirut, that's for sure. Best care in the world, my ass! My ribs are hurting. Torn cartilage apparently, but supposedly I'll be back up to speed in four to six weeks. Could I sit down?"

"Of course, my dear, my apologies. Let's go to my office."

Louis' office hadn't changed much in 150 years. It was like something out of a period film, despite the modernity of the rest of the facility. Christine laid down on an antique couch to rest, and the others gathered around her. She propped her legs up on Peter, and told them all whatever she remembered about the moment she saw the light go out of Shan's eyes. Eye, as it turned out, as the first bullet had struck her directly in the right eye and seemingly exploded from there. Two or three more shots were added for security, all on target.

"It was a very professional job." Madeline assessed. "There is no chance they were aiming for Christine. To land those shots, with that accuracy, at those speeds, just before an explosive impact. Their timing was perfect."

"Do you think everything was planned, mademoiselle? Even the placement of the shots?" Louis asked her.

"It seems so. Why?"

"I have a theory, based on my examination. That someone was performing an experiment of their own. Sid let me know about the ballistics used. Explosive rounds, for maximum damage. These would not be necessary in a "typical" assassination. Whoever was hunting this girl didn't know if they would be able to kill her. They aimed for the eye, in case the skull was impenetrable. As it turns out, they needn't have bothered. The rounds ended up exploding the skull outward from within. It took incredible force to do so, however. Likely the first shot alone was not enough."

"Ugh, this is gruesome." Christine sickly muttered.

"Yes, I'm sorry to be so clinical, but that is after all why you've come to me. And to answer the next question you're no doubt going to ask, I have spent much time thinking about why this was possible, not just what happened. I have even spoken to Didaskalos and examined the Library and my own historical medical archives for information. Again, I don't know the truth, but I have a theory."

"Of course you do, Louis. You always have a theory." Peter grimly smiled. The two men had worked together before, of course.

"Yes, always! In this case, it is rather an unsettling one. There are some things about us that have never been questioned; our resilience, and our ability to heal are two of these. I have studied both at length but have taken both for granted, until now. Yes, until now, when I am confronted with the first case of an Immortal death, ever. And what I have found is rather astonishing. Before I share my theory with you, I want to bring in one more concerned party."

Louis pressed a switch on his antique desk that had obviously been installed recently and asked that Ernesto be sent in. Peter and Madeline looked at each other with a glimmer of knowledge of where this was going.

Ernesto was, to Christine, gorgeous. Like a Latin runway model with perfect black hair, sun kissed skin, dark eyes, and a perfect smile, he would fit the immortal mold perfectly, if he were, in fact, immortal. He smiled warmly at Christine, and introduced himself even though she was lying down. He shook hands with Peter and seemed especially happy to see Madeline again as he gave her a long hug and a kiss on each cheek.

"Peter and Madeline both know Ernesto. He is relatively young, and was discovered in the mid 1700's. With Shan...gone...he is the second youngest of us, after me of course! I contacted him immediately to test my theory. Now, Ernesto, I have enough information to reveal what I've found, and it will come as a shock to all of you, as it did to me."

"Shit. Shit!" Peter muttered, already knowing the answer to the question he had been spinning in his head.

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Shan exhibited all the traits of our immortality; cellular regeneration and accelerated healing being the most prominent, but as we have all seen, she could be killed. So, too, can Ernesto. So too, can I."

Ernesto sat in a long dark silence. Whatever he fundamentally knew about himself that he had accepted over the last 250 years had just turned on its head. He asked "What does it mean?"

"It means that we will not die of our own accord, you and I, but that with enough...effort...the right situation could be found to end us. We do not have the same resilience as older Immortals. I can run some additional tests while Peter and Madeline are here to see if there is some variation over time, but I suspect that what we will find will prove this out. I used myself as a sample in this equation as well, and I believe there is a change over time."

"So your theory is what, Louis? You haven't told us that yet, though I think Peter and I have taken your meaning." Madeline said anxiously, knowing that this was a fundamental change in the hierarchy of their kind.

"My theory, mademoiselle, is that as Immortals are born over time, our blood is diluted. Each generation may thus be weaker than the last, by a small increment. I don't know if I would have survived the attack that killed your friend either. Ernesto might have, perhaps. But I know from historical record that those of us who are much older have survived far worse. So this new vulnerability is a rather new phenomenon. We would have discovered it in the next several generations. It may even be that our concept of immortality will end. That new births of our kind will be little more than long lived humans and that cellular regeneration even slows and then ceases. Perhaps in two thousand years we will be indistinguishable from mortals!"

Peter stood up and began to pace in the room. Christine and Madeline both recognized this as his natural state when he was trying to solve a puzzle or dilemma of some sort.

"We never knew because there was never a reason to doubt. Not in these many thousands of years. But someone knew. They weren't after Christine as I originally thought. They targeted Shan directly to see if she could be killed, testing a theory they already had. This is madness! Who would do such a thing, or want such a thing!? This will be a great shift in how we live, how we think of ourselves and each other. We can't let word get out, but there will be little choice once news of Shan's passing has been spread around the world. Keeping a secret used to be much easier." Peter added as an aside.

As if to reinforce the gravity of this news, Christine sat up. She looked from Peter to Madeline to Ernesto to Louis trying to see some sort of difference, but of course none was visible. But their long held belief in their own invulnerability was shattering, moment by moment. That told the tale on each of their faces. Peter was more troubled about the fallout from this news than the news itself. To him, he was still the same man he had always been. But to the others, Christine could see the difference. On Madeline's face, there was just a trace. On Ernesto's was a sudden weight. Each of them knew a truth they had once known as children, and remembered something long forgotten.

They were not eternal. They could die. They were mortal.