Panacea by F. Paul Wilson Page A

faded.
    No woman in his life—his vow of chastity assured that. He didn’t think he was meant for a relationship anyway. He knew many women, of course. Came into contact with them every day. But they didn’t tempt him and he was sure most would find him dull. He couldn’t argue with that. By current standards he was dull. He didn’t have a life outside the Company and the Brotherhood and, quite frankly, didn’t want one. He maintained a bland exterior that belied the iron will within. He liked an organized life—which translated as dull .
    Take his taste in art. He knew most would call it “monotonous.”
    That was because the average person would be blind to its significance. Monotonous? Hardly. The walls were adorned with prints by Thomas Cole, Dor é , Masaccio, two by Chagall, and others—even one by “Anonymous.” Someone with narrow vision might find the subject matter repetitious.
    True, all the art depicted Adam and Eve’s banishment from the Garden of Eden. But that was where the similarity stopped. They were all so different. Even the two Chagalls were nothing like each other—so dissimilar they could have been painted by different artists.
    Nelson never tired of his prints. Each piece depicted the most crucial moment in human history, the turning point when everything changed and Mankind’s fate was sealed for eternity. Most Christian scholars said the Crucifixion and Resurrection of Jesus were more important. But then, for their ilk, the Old Testament barely existed. Nelson took a broader view. In the panorama of Scripture, the Crucifixion and Resurrection would not have been at all necessary had not Eve succumbed to the Serpent’s temptations and precipitated Mankind’s banishment from the Garden into the outer world of sin and death.
    Though Jesus’ suffering might have gained forgiveness of Mankind’s sins, it did not change God’s Plan for Mankind after the Garden: Man was to know pain and grief and suffering and death. Chapter 3 of Genesis contained all anyone ever need know on the subject:
    Cursed is the ground because of you! In toil you shall eat its yield all the days of your life. Thorns and thistles it shall bear for you, and you shall eat the grass of the field. By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread, Until you return to the ground, from which you were taken; For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.
    Thus was Man’s lot until the Second Coming announced the End of Days, the end of all suffering.
    But the panaceans … the panaceans and their potion sought to subvert that. One look at their tattoo and who could harbor the slightest doubt that here was a servant of evil? The Serpent itself had center stage, coiling around the Tree of Life, waiting for Eve, while the star of Mankind began its precipitous fall from grace.
    Uncle Jim had taught—and Nelson firmly believed—that tracking the panacea was part of God’s plan too. But Nelson needed human help as well as divine. Deputy Director Pickens was key to that human help. And now he had the means at hand to bring him into line.

 
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    As soon as Tommy rolled over in bed to shut off his alarm clock, he knew something was different. He stared at his outstretched hand. The fingers had lost their sausagey look and were no longer crooked and twisted. He made a fist— without pain .
    He jerked upright and checked his other hand: the same.
    He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and pulled up his pajama legs. His knees … the balloonlike swelling was gone. He could see his kneecaps. Same with his feet. He could see his ankle bones.
    â€œMom?”
    He slid off the bed and put his feet on the floor. Then he pushed his butt off the mattress and stood. His legs were shaking but he felt no pain.
    I’m standing. I’m STANDING!
    He took a wobbly step. And then another.
    â€œMom!”
    He was halfway to the door when she