Vertical blinds split the faint glow of early-morning sun, giving Gavin's apartment a golden aura usually associated with honeymoons.

Jon was sprawled across the couch. Chris sat in a heap of bloody towels and leaned against the base of the recliner. He held his shoulder with one hand and popped a handful of painkillers with the other.

On the coffee table—catching bits of light from the sunrise—stood five vials of T4.

"Call him," Chris whimpered.

Jon rolled his head on the couch. "He told us not to."

"His med-kit is under the bathroom sink."

"You don't know how to administer a shot."

"They know who I am. My car is parked right behind this building. I've seen every season of House. I know how to give a fucking shot."

"We're waiting for Gav."

"I saved your life you ungrateful—"

Footsteps pounded through the hall. Keys jangled. The door opened and Gavin stepped inside. "Please tell me you got the vials."

Jon nodded.

Gav clasped his hands, looked to the ceiling, and mouthed, "Thank you!" Then he kicked off his shoes and stripped off his scrubs.

"How bad was it?" Jon asked.

"Bad." Gav rushed around the apartment in his tighty-whiteys and necklace. "You're in the clear. Everyone assumes you were part of the HLA, so that's where they'll begin their investigation. Also, their description was terrible. David pinned you at six-two."

Chris scoffed. "I guess the mask adds six inches."

"What about you?" Jon asked.

"The cameras showed that I didn't lock the dispensary door. They haven't made a final decision yet, but they'll fire me on Monday."

"I'm so sorry, Gav—"

"I knew it would happen. But, thanks to you, I have a new way of making money."

Jon could feel Chris's glare lashing his neck.

"What about me?" Chris asked.

Gavin looked to his friend. "You're screwed."

He sighed. "Figured as much."

"You need to leave today. They don't have a description of your car and nobody could remember your last name, but they know your face."

"Do they know we're friends?"

"If they knew we were friends, they wouldn't have let me go."

"That damn security guard..."

"They axed him too."

"What? Why?"

"He fired a gun in a populated hospital and dropped it after the first shot."

"Thank God," Chris muttered.

Gavin stooped beside his friend, touched his wrist, and gently pulled his hand away from the wound.

"You can't do this with clothes on?"

"I don't want blood on my shirt."

"They're scrubs!"

Gavin pulled the make-shift gauze from Chris's shoulder. "It's just a scrape. You're gonna be fine."

"Merely a flesh wound," Jon added.

Gav stood. "Luckily, you don't have many friends."

"Yeah..."

"We'll worry about that later. Right now we need to fix this arm and get you out of the city." He turned to Jon. "You got The Vaccine?"

Jon nodded to the coffee table.

Gavin saw the five vials, then looked back to his brother. "Where are the rest?"

* * *

It wasn't an accident. Jon didn't grab thirty vials and drop twenty-five. No, he made a conscious decision to destroy Gavin's dreams.

"I'm sorry," Jon pleaded, his tired eyes drooping with a total lack of sincerity.

Gav snatched the vials from the table, marched to the bathroom, and slammed the door so hard that something broke off inside the handle. He pressed the lock button but it wouldn't click. He rattled it, hit it, and cursed in his mind, but nothing worked. "Forget it," he said aloud, then placed the vials on the white counter beside the white sink.

The last six hours had been the most exhausting of his life. Hearing the gunshot. Observing the aftermath of his semi-successful master plan. Listening for incriminating details as his coworkers blabbed to the cops. Then lying, lying, lying through his teeth and his tongue and his whole fucking mouth.

At the time, it all seemed worth it. At the time, he thought Jon had grabbed all the vials.

Gavin stood between the white toilet and white cupboard and leaned his head against the white wall.

Why didn't God answer his prayer for safety? Was Gavin not faithful?

Don't give into doubt, he told himself. God always knows what's best. He smiled at the thought. And as he finally surrendered his fear to his creator, he suddenly understood the master plan.

God may have allowed Chris to get hurt, but he also gave Gavin the power to make Chris better. The Vaccine was a modern miracle, and God was using Gavin to answer prayers!

He washed his hands and found his med-kit beside that stupid gun. He pulled it out. He removed a syringe, needle, cotton ball, and bottle of iodine. Open the needle; inspect the needle. Open the syringe; inspect the syringe.

He rolled the first vial between his hands, unscrewed the cap, inserted the needle into the bottle's rubber top, turned it upside down, and pulled only half of the amber liquid into the syringe. If they ever make it free, he thought, I'll get the rest.

Tap the barrel; iodine on his arm. Then one, two, three and he jabbed his flesh, inhaled hard, and pressed the plunger.

Gavin looked in the mirror. He half-expected his eyes to glow yellow or his muscles to bulge like Popeye's. Instead, he simply felt better.

You can think about it later, he told himself. Just finish the job.

Back to the med-kit; two more needles, two more syringes.

He sucked out the second half of liquid from the first vial, tapped the barrel, and set it aside for Chris.

Then he uncapped the second vial and plunged the new syringe inside. But this time, he only filled it with a quarter of the recommended dose.

This one's for Jon.

* * *

"What took you so long?" Chris whined when Gavin finally came out of the bathroom.

"Want me to do it right?" Gav stashed the vials in the back of his fridge, then placed the shots on the table between them.

Chris winced. "Do it quick, man. Please."

Gavin knelt beside his friend, almost regal in his necklace and underwear. He rolled up the sleeve on Chris's good arm, then cleaned a circle of flesh with cotton and iodine. "Are you ready?"

Chris's face blossomed with a wide, red grin. "Yes, sir."

Gavin gave him the shot.

The men waited in silence, all eyes trained on the open wound.

"I... I think I can feel it."

"You can't feel it."

"Do you see anything?"

Yesterday, Jon would have shared Chris's joy. Today, he just wished it was over.

But nothing happened. The wound stayed a wound.

"What the hell! Did Jon steal the wrong vials?"

"Give it a few," Gav said, then traded the old syringe for the new and turned to Jon. "You ready, brother?"

He nodded and laid on the couch. "I think so."

The hand on his bicep reminded him of the days when Gavin would sit beside him at the hospital... Gameboys, books, magic tricks, prayers...

A poke in his arm... and it was done.

Jon opened his eyes. He rolled his head on the cushion. Chris was still inspecting his arm at the foot of the recliner. Gavin, mostly naked, slouched against the coffee table. Junkies in a crack house, Jon mused, waiting for our high.

Moments later, the high arrived.

"Hey..." Chris said. "Hey guys... check it out!"

The brothers crawled to their friend.

"Look at it!"

"I don't see anything," Jon said. But then he did. Around the gash—beneath the smears of blood—tiny bits of flesh began materializing a few cells at a time, rebuilding the missing chunk of Chris's shoulder.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, the wound was healed and patched by an unnaturally smooth scar. "Looks like Silly Putty," Chris said.

Twenty minutes later he was at the door, washed of blood, stomach bulging from a jacket he borrowed from Gav.

"Hang in there, man," Jon said. He extended his hand.

Chris took it, shook it. "You're a good man, Charlie Brown. We'll be playin' poker again in no time."

Gavin stepped forward. "Thanks for taking one for the team."

"Anytime, fag."

"Get as far away from Chicago as you can. You can email me, but don't call... at least not for a few weeks."

"I'll survive. I always do."

"Find good people. Play it safe."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the advice, nerd."

Gavin smirked. "No problem, dork."

They smiled. They hugged.

Chris stepped out the door, looked both ways, then trampled like a giddy rhinoceros down the hall.

The moment the door was closed, Gavin texted Hannah.

* * *

Gavin and Jon approached Samuel and Aimee like peasants to royalty. Gavin looked neat and trim in khakis, a button-up, and a forest-green tie. Beside him, Jon wore beat up jeans and a work jacket. Without a seat, the men stood awkwardly before them.

"Chris didn't come?" Sam asked.

"He's gone," Gavin replied.

"They're searching for him, I presume."

"Yeah..."

"I also presume one or both of you were involved."

"Both."

"The demon mask?"

Jon made direct eye-contact with Sam. "It was me."

"Harley and Tomas are in prison on twenty-thousand-dollar bail. You know that, right?"

"We know."

"For doing the exact same thing you did."

Gavin muttered, "It was supposed to be easier—"

"You thought robbing a hospital would be easy?"

"Chris was supposed to look like an innocent bystander. But Dave pulled a gun and... now he looks guilty."

"He is guilty."

"I know."

Sam rocked slowly on the stool. "Despicable. All the violence and lies surrounding the goddamn Vaccine... and I'm the only one who sees it."

"We're sorry, Sam."

"The news reports haven't confirmed if anything was stolen. Your little mission... did it work?"

"That's why we're here." Gav reached in his pocket and removed a leather scroll. He untied it, unrolled it, and revealed two syringes partially filled with yellow liquid. "They're yours if you want them."

Aimee looked at her husband. When he didn't speak, she spoke for him. "This is a huge decision, boys... and you know how we feel about it. If you can give us a day or two to decide, Sam and I need to—"

"No." Sam dropped the stool on all fours. "We don't want it."

* * *

The Lasker's front door was unlocked. Jon barged inside.

Hannah's dad was sitting at the dining room table. He tipped his newspaper and stared at Jon over his bifocals. "You don't knock anymore, young man?"

"I need to see her."

"She's asleep. She doesn't want—"

Jon ignored the old man and dashed to the stairs. The newspaper crinkled behind him and a chair clattered to the floor, but he was already at the top step, stumbling down the hallway, grabbing the knob to Hannah's room, and slamming open the door.

END OF CHAPTER FOUR