Panacea by F. Paul Wilson Read Free Book Online Page A

who saw to his daily needs during his uncle’s frequent absences. But Jim always brought Nelson interesting little artifacts when he returned from his trips.
    As Nelson grew, Uncle Jim taught him the lore and the ways of the Brotherhood.
    Nelson owed Uncle Jim everything— everything .
    â€œNelson?” Jim said in a slightly slurred voice as he looked up. His smile didn’t reach the left half of his lips. “What brings you here at night? Everything okay?”
    â€œEverything is finally right. Can we talk?”
    â€œSure. This hand should put me and Jerry over the top. Meet you in my room as soon as I’m done.”
    Nelson had to cut through the lobby to reach Jim’s quarters. He noticed someone different at the reception desk.
    â€œWhere’s Ceil?”
    The new gal looked up from her rosary beads and said, “Just left. Her shift was over.”
    Nelson nodded at the beads in her hands. “Nice to see such devotion. Not enough people say the rosary anymore.”
    â€œI’m flying to California tomorrow,” she said with a shrug and a smile. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”
    â€œI’m glad to have a good Catholic working in a Catholic facility.”
    Another shrug. “I don’t know how good I am, but I am a Catholic.”
    Interesting, Nelson thought. “In what way might you not be so good, may I ask? Do you go to church every Sunday and on the Holy Days of Obligation?”
    â€œOh, I do all that, but I just can’t get behind some of the stuff the pope says.”
    Uh-oh. He ran into these folks all the time, but rarely were they saying the rosary.
    â€œLike what?”
    â€œWell, you know, birth control, like the pill. I don’t believe—”
    â€œYou don’t get a choice what to believe,” Nelson snapped, feeling his ire on the rise. “The Catholic faith is not a Chinese menu—‘I’ll take that one from column A and these two from column B.’ No-no. When the pope is speaking on matters of faith or morals, he is infallible.”
    She blinked. “Yeah, but—”
    â€œThere is no ‘but.’” He was aware of his voice rising. “If you don’t believe in papal infallibility, you aren’t a Catholic. You’d do better calling yourself an Episcopalian or maybe a Presbyterian, because you most certainly are not a Catholic! Which means you’re wasting your time with those beads, so put them away. Or better yet, give them to a real Catholic!”
    With that he stormed away.
    He managed to calm himself by the time he reached Jim’s room. The “room” was more like a studio apartment with a full bath, a small kitchen equipped with a little fridge and a microwave, an electric bed nestled in the rear section, and a small sitting area at the front. Jim might have been able to live on his own, but it wouldn’t be easy, what with his left side totally useless. He had no family but Nelson, who would have been glad to take care of him. But Jim wouldn’t hear of it. He’d found the Advocate, moved in, and was adamant that he liked it here. They served three meals a day down in the dining room, they cleaned his quarters, made his bed, changed his sheets, and he’d made a lot of friends. They bused him to the local Catholic church every Sunday to hear mass.
    As basic as it was, the Advocate was not a step down from how he’d lived before the accident. Despite a decent income from the Company, he’d stayed true to his vow of poverty and always lived below his means—like the monk he was.
    The Lord does everything for a reason, Jim kept saying. I’m in His hands.
    Because he was injured while on assignment, the Company paid the monthly fees. Twenty years now … the injuries fell into the “shit happens” category: The police report had said a teenage girl applying mascara behind her steering wheel ran a stop sign