The First Book of the Pure (26 page)

Goyahkla, or Geronimo as he is best known, is
a man whom history tells us could not be killed. Attacking men
armed with guns with just his knife, he was never shot, never
killed. He was captured but never kept. We found out here that he
was indeed shot, but wasn’t killed. He’s lived since 1829 and was
most recently a detective in New York City.

These people’s lives are the meat of this
first book of the Pure. They’re woven throughout our own history,
usually unseen for what they really are. They live on, in more ways
than memory. Enjoy their stories and their lives. Watch closely for
them, because they could be nearer than you think.

Three people helped immeasurably in this
first account of the Pures.

My wife and best friend, Barbara, for reading
this book more times than anyone should be expected to read
anything, and making helpful notes again and again.

Lisa Bradman, who read it in its infancy,
correcting innumerable items which improved the story and its
readability.

A friend (unnamed) who is an author herself,
smoothed out the prose, improved the story, and made it, over all,
a better book.

These questions are provided to help the
conversation and thought processes in a discussion group. Share
some of your thoughts about the characters, situations and
possibilities that come to mind.

General

1. What other books have your read that you
might compare this one to, at least in genre?

2. Assuming the main characters would be more
fully explored along with new ones, would you read the sequel?

Style

1. Did the author’s writing style add to the
book?

2. Was the book driven by plot, idea, or
characters?

Characters

1. Why did it take Kenneth so long to accept
the truth behind his Host’s story? The details, personal narrative,
and historical accuracy of so much should have made it
credible.

2. Think about a woman who lived through
hundreds of years of various cultures. From the perspective of a
woman, what kind of things might she have seen and lived
through?

3. When Ruby was Mary Parker, living in
Salem, how could she possibly not take more precautions to avoid
accusations?

4. Gheret, many years into his life, found
love. Does it seem likely that someone so ancient could truly lose
his heart to a Normal? Why or why not?

5. Is Geronimo tragic, with all his loss, or
fortunate, having had two families to love and nurture?

6. Would you expect most Pures to be quite
old, like Karl or Gheret? Might some of them still be young, and
not even know what they are as yet? Strength, vigor, resistance to
aging; we have all known people like that. What public figures are
you familiar with who have the makings of a young Pure?

7. Was Ruby justified in testing An’Kahar as
she did? Why such a “life and death” kind of test?

8. Should Kenneth have been able to do more
to extricate himself from his dilemma? What traits in the young
reporter impressed or distressed you?

9. In this book’s sequel, Pure Power, more
Pures enter the action. Which of the current characters would you
anticipate seeing rise to centrality and even leadership? Are there
any other historical characters who might fit the Pure profile?

10. Which character(s) do you identify with
most, and why?

Now you are invited to read the first three
chapters of the sequel.

The Second Book of the Pure.

Chapter 1

Partners

Detective David Lacy lay as still as a corpse
in the morgue at midnight except for the fact that he was still
breathing. He was very close to becoming said corpse, with a hole
in his right kidney and an inadequately repaired puncture in his
pericardium. His wound was critical, so he was in the ICU, tubes
running from a central machine to every orifice on his body. He
looked at first glance like something from a science fiction movie,
skin as pale as a child’s school paste. Even the rasping pulse of
the breathing machine gave the room a Darth Vader sense.

Two bullets at close range had laid out the
law enforcement officer of twenty five years. His partner of the
past fourteen, Detective Gerard Goyette, was sitting in the too
quiet room, listening to his friend’s shallow breathing. As he sat
in the stillness he could hear his own heart beating. He was a
hard, fit, six-foot-two gumshoe, as he liked to call himself. He
had a fine career with the NYPD except for some reprimands for
taking too many chances. His immediate boss had some trouble with
Gerard’s hair too, but usually, as now, it was held back in a pony
tail. He had a sculptured face with lightly shaded skin and ebony
black hair.
Oh Dave, it should have been me
, thought Gerard
Goyette, calm as a department store manikin on the outside, but
aching inside.

Dave stirred and opened his eyes marginally.
Two nurses came in at that moment to remove the tube from his
throat. Removing it was gruesome to watch and painful for Dave, but
he could at least talk after that, though with difficulty. He
blinked at Gerard, which encouraged his friend to come closer. Dave
had to struggle to talk, but he would not be silenced by Gerard’s
concern. “Hey partner, don’t worry, it wasn’t your fault. You know
that, right?”

“I do.” He knew that was what Dave wanted to
hear. “But I’d have gladly taken those hits for you. You have to
know that. I tried.” His voice caught and it was obviously a
struggle for him to get that much out.

All Dave could muster was a hoarse whisper.
“Crapola. We pays our money and we takes our chances.” He almost
managed a smile as he usually did when he spoke in odd
platitudes.

Of a sudden Gerard had an overwhelming need
to share some things with this friend, his partner. He was in some
ways closer than family. Gerard had once had family, well,
more
than once
he thought to himself more honestly. But it would be
dangerous both for himself and for Dave. It might not make a
difference for Dave, since his chance of recovery was slim at best.
Right now it just didn’t look very likely based on what the doctors
had shared. The doctors were negative, but they wouldn’t give odds.
Probably a good thing to not take odds on a cop’s life
,
thought Gerard with a chuckle. He made his decision. He quietly
scooted his chair very close to Dave. “Can you hear me if I talk at
this level, Dave?”

Dave nodded, very slightly. “You can be
pretty loud when you want.” It was the first real smile he had worn
since the shooting. “It won’t bother me.”

“No, but having this overheard would bother
me. This is very private. I need to tell you some things I should
have told you a long time ago. It’s like a story, but it takes a
lot of time to tell if you’re willing. But you’ve got to understand
that what I’m going to tell you must forever be a secret. This must
go with you to your grave some day.” He immediately regretted his
choice of words, since Dave seemed so close to the grave now.

“Got nuthin’ but time. Go ahead. Make it
good.” It was obvious it would be far easier for him to listen than
to speak.

Gerard thought about how to approach this,
and did as anyone who knew his pattern would have expected: he made
a quick decision and never looked back. He jumped in, as he did
with life in general. “It started a long time ago, in a place not
too far away.” He smiled. With that intro, he became comfortable
with his decision to tell his story.

“There was a man named Gheret, who lived a
long time ago,” he began. “He was, and is, a Pure. That doesn’t
mean he had what you would call pure bloodlines. It means he
regenerates tissue at an impossible rate. If he had been shot like
you, he’d already be walking out of here, looking to take revenge
on his attackers.”

Dave moved his head to look straight at
Gerard. “No lie, partner. Truth?”

“Oh yes, this is a true story, my friend. And
a long one, so let’s get you as comfortable as we can.” He fluffed
Dave’s pillows and eased his back into a better position. When Dave
nodded to indicate he was as comfortable as he was going to get,
Gerard went on.

“Gheret was the first of, well, not many, but
of a new kind of human. Let me start with some more recent history,
back when you and I first partnered up, and talk through some
things.”

Chapter 2

A New Old Enemy

Detective Gerard Goyette remembered Karl
Schmidt’s death. He recalled it vividly and with conflicting
emotions. He regretted not being the one to pull the trigger, but
he was grateful Karl was dead. Everyone in his line of work had at
least felt some relief at that particular death. Schmidt had been a
ruthless man, although high class and seemingly unconnected with
much that his organization had done during his years leading it.
That same organization had been responsible for killing someone
Gerard had been close to, and he had sworn revenge, and justice.
Long ago he would have just sought revenge. Now it was truly
justice as well. That was over twelve years ago. While Karl had
been killed, Gerard decided someone else should still pay. He
studied, he interviewed, he researched, and above all he
remembered. He spent much of his work time and all of his own time
developing the case, and finally had a lead that could bring out
the truth. Very recent changes to this old case had come up, but
Gerard was still going to find out who was directly responsible.
They would pay.

Now, twelve years after Karl’s death, Gerard
waited patiently in the alley. Ninety minutes later Donnie the
Dodger, his target, finally showed. Once having lived in the
western US, and later the south, Gerard could lay on an accent as
thick as fleas on a dog (pronounced “own a doog.”) Yet he could set
that aside as quickly and speak fluently and with an educated edge
that would stand up against any university professor. He was a
great cop and an accomplished linguist. Stepping out in front of
Donnie he used his accent. “Doanie? Ah’ve sum queastions fer
yew.”

Donnie’s first response was to pull out a
switchblade and pop it open. “Back it up, man, or I’ll cut you real
bad.”

The detective stepped closer and Donnie
raised his knife hand, brandishing the blade like a sword. Gerard
expected he would take this foolish action, and caught his arm
above the elbow, bending it back before Donnie could use the blade.
He removed the switchblade from the young man’s hand and let him
go. He flipped the knife once to gauge its weight and threw it at
an old, sagging board fence twenty feet away, where it pierced
through to its hilt. “Jest a toy.” He smiled at Donnie.

“You delivert the message what killed Jenny
Helvicki, Doanie boy.”

With a complete change in accent and tone he
continued with a grimly serious demeanor. “I need to know who you
delivered it to, and
now
.” Gerard grabbed Donnie’s jacket
lapels and lifted him far enough off the ground so his grasping
toes couldn’t quite touch the ground with his sneakers. Gerard’s
fingers wrapped tightly in Donnie’s leather jacket, constricting
his chest.

“This ain’t right, man! You can’t do this, I
got rights, I know my rights, you let me…” The rest was cut off as
Gerard jerked Donnie back to ground fast and hard and lifted his
right knee suddenly and forcefully into Donnie’s crotch. Donnie
gasped and his eyes glazed for a minute, but he shut up.

“Don’t speak until you’re ready to give me a
name, got that? Just nod.” Donnie nodded. “If you ever want to have
kids, you’d better tell me soon, because I get weary of this game
very quickly. Got a name yet?” He snarled as he brought his knee
back, ready to use it again. Again Donnie nodded in the
affirmative.

He caught his breath and Gerard jerked him
into the air again, hard and fast, holding him there. “Who?”

“DeHaan. I gave it to Mr. DeHaan. He’s a big
man in the Schmidt organization. You don’t wanna mess with him! You
gonna let me go now?”

“Sure Donnie.” Gerard slammed him back to his
feet so hard his teeth clicked together. He released Donnie’s
jacket and smoothed out his lapels with one hand, while the other
suddenly had a long, well-used knife in it. “Not a word to Mr.
DeHaan, right? You understand me, don’t you Donnie?”

With eyes as big as saucers, Donnie nodded.
“Absolutely, I won’t say nothin’.”

“If you do,” Gerard said softly, moving his
knife in a vertical motion for emphasis, “I’ll slice you open from
your neck to your groin, and you can try to hold your guts in while
you die. I know, it’s illegal and morally reprehensible, but if you
talk, you
will
die. That’s not a threat. It’s a promise. The
illegality of it won’t matter to you will it, once you’re
dead
?”

Donnie was wide-eyed with a mix of terror and
a tiny bit of bravado still lurking under the surface. “You
wouldn’t.”

This lanky man with a mane of loose, black
hair framing his face shook his head to flip the hair from his eyes
and smiled. “It’s been awhile, but I’ve done it before, boy.”

Donnie turned and ran from the alley like a
cat with its tail on fire. Gerard’s feral smile would have shown
anyone watching that he enjoyed the discomfort of this fairly minor
player in a very nasty game.

***

Gerard went back to his precinct and settled
in at his small metal desk across from his partner, Detective Dave
Lacy. They’d been partners a long time, but Gerard thought he’d
worked this so quietly that Dave had no idea he was on a vendetta
against Jenny’s killer.