Chapter 5.  Euthanasia

 

Victor hurried to the Plant Repository on campus.  He had memorized the list of herbs mentioned in the Sanskrit recipe.  He was eager to gather them.  He stopped by his car to retrieve a special tote, designed for the transportation of potted plants.

 

At the Repository entrance, he greeted Jason, the Security Officer on duty.  The facility housed a priceless collection of rare, dried herbs and live potted plants from every niche of the globe.  The pots were stationed in environmentally controlled zones: arid, for desert plants, wet and warm, for rain-forest plants, etcetera.

 

Vic showed Jason his empty plant box.  Jason  barely glanced at it.  Vic was a well-trusted researcher who often took plants home for study.  Jason waved him on.

 

Quickly, Vic collected the greens he needed.  As he expected, they were in plentiful supply.  He took four of each of the five plants he needed.  According to the facility’s rules, he had to give Jason a list of the materials he removed from the premises.  Knowing that no one would approve of his project, he decided it would be best to make a couple of purposeful “mistakes” in filling out the requisition form, just in case someone actually read it.  He didn’t want anyone to be suspicious.  For sure, that would not be Jason.

 

When Vic presented his chart, Jason marked it with a date and time stamp and tossed it into a tray labeled “Take Outs”. 

 

“Still looking for some medicinal molecules?” Jason queried.

 

“You bet,” Vic replied with a grin, while he hurried out the door.

 

As he drove home, Vic reasoned, “If this works, Grandma will get better before she dies.  Her skin will glow with apparent health.  Then, she’ll perish peacefully, with her skin radiating a bronze flare.  That will be better for her, for Mom, and for me.  Hey, that’s what I’ll call this sugar ... ‘Flare’.”

 

Making Flare was a dangerous project.  Vic had given it much thought.  He did not want to inhale any fumes from his witch’s brew, and certainly, he did not want the concoction to touch his skin.  He had smuggled two goose-necked, distilling jars and a beaker from the Chemistry lab. 

 

He began by donning latex gloves.  Then, he boiled

the foliage from the plants in one of the closed, distilling jars, letting the rising steam cool and form droplets in the goose-neck.  These fell into an open beaker on the kitchen counter.

 

After an hour of boiling, he allowed the jar holding the vegetation to cool.  Then, nervously, he removed the goose-neck from its base jar and poured the liquid into the base of the second goose-necked jar and placed the original jar with its mass of greens into a waste basket lined with a thick, plastic trash-bag.  Next, using the replacement jar, he resumed boiling the brew.  This time, he let the mixture boil dry, leaving a crust on the bottom of the distilling jar.  Surprisingly,  the crust was snow-white. 

 

Next, he removed the goose-neck from its base unit and deposited it in the trash-bag.  After allowing the crust to cool, he carefully scraped its surface with a knife.  This produced granules that looked much the same as table sugar.  He was able to collect about ten ounces of Flare.  With great care he used a spoon with a tiny bowl to load the sugar into a salt shaker designed for picnickers.  It was a plastic cylinder about three inches long with two caps; an inner cap with holes through which the sugar could be sprinkled and an outer cap to seal the perforated cap. 

 

Next, he scrubbed the sealed tube, to make sure that none of the deadly substance was clinging to its outside.  He emptied the distilled liquid in the beaker into the sink and placed all of his gear in the waste-basket with the plastic liner, threw in his latex gloves, washed his hands thoroughly, and then, put on a new pair of latex gloves.  Again, he scrubbed the gadget containing the Flare sugar.

 

Finally, he was satisfied that the outside of the tube was safe for him to touch.  He dried it, held it up to the light, and admired the Flare crystals.  Curiously, at that moment, he felt noble.  He told himself, “I have liberated this ancient formula from historical oblivion.  Now, I’ll put it to good use.  Grandma Berkmann’s suffering will soon be over.”

 

He carefully closed the plastic bag in the waste-basket.  With his gloves still on, he carried the bag to the dumpster in back of his apartment complex.  He tossed the bag into the bin and, then, removed the latex gloves he was wearing and pitched them in, too.  At last, he felt safe.

 

Back in his apartment, he picked up the phone and called his Mother.  When she answered, Vic said, “Mom, you know I start my new job Monday.  I’m going to be very busy, so I thought I might take a turn feeding Grandma before I get swamped ... maybe tomorrow ... the evening meal?”

 

“That would be wonderful,” Mom replied.  “I have errands to run.  I’ll appreciate the help.  You know, Grandma just does not look well at all.  I wonder how long she can go on.”

 

Vic knew Grandma would be dead shortly, but to further divert any suspicion away from himself, he added, “Maybe I can help out again after I get my feet on the ground, but I expect to be tied up for a couple of weeks.”

 

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Mom, Vic hung up.  His plan to administer Flare to his Grandma was complete.

 

He was full of anticipation.  He tried reading, but his mind was too restless.  TV could not hold his attention.  Finally, he went to bed early.

 

Even there, his thoughts were full of Grandma Berkmann.  She had always fawned over him.  A wealthy widow from an early age, she had showered him with gifts; not just on holidays, either.  Yes, she had often said to him, “You’re the apple of my eye.”

 

She was still giving him a large allowance.  That’s how he was able to live in his swanky apartment and drive a nice, used, sports car.  And, whenever she passed, he was slated to receive a substantial inheritance.

 

Endorsing the wicked urgings of some demons within him, he had re-branded his murderous plot.  He had begun calling it a “mission of mercy”.  He was eager to repay Grandma’s many acts of love.  In a few days, through his kindness, her pains and disabilities would disappear.   

 

The next day, Thursday, seemed to creep by.  Vic knew that his plan to liberate Grandma from her miseries would not set well with others.  And, he did not want to arouse any suspicions at the nursing home.  So, he forced himself to wait till the time he normally went to feed Grandma.  He tried to seem nonchalant, yet, his enthusiasm showed.  He entered the building with a bounce in his stride.  He offered wide smiles to everyone he passed in the halls, and he greeted Grandma with a warm kiss.

 

Still in sad shape, she managed a slight smile, and uttered, “So-o-o ... glad to see you ... You look well ... I wish I was better ... Sometimes ... I just want to ... close my eyes ... and fly away to Jesus.”

 

Nurse Edith, arriving on schedule with the food tray, heard Grandma’s comment.  She exclaimed,  “We’re not ready for that, Sonja!  We want you here, not there!”

 

Vic’s mind whirled, “It’s good she thinks she’s on the way to Heaven.  I don’t think it exists, but she finds comfort in her hope.  If she’s right, she’ll be there in a few days.  She may not be in Paradise, but she will be out of her pain and suffering.” 

 

Of course, Vic had to keep his thoughts to himself.  He gave Edith a big smile and watched as she placed the tray on the bed table and rolled it up to Grandma’s chest.

 

Edith misinterpreted Vic’s friendly demeanor.  She thought he was showing an interest in her, finally.  She wanted to linger in the room and expand her relationship with him.  She began to feed Grandma and pump him with questions: “Are you still in school?  Where do you live?  What are you doing tonight?”

Vic gave brief answers, trying to remain amicable.  But, inside he was very tense.  Thoughts tumbled through his head, “When is she going to leave?  I can’t ask her to go.  That might raise suspicions when Grandma dies.”

 

He did say, “Here, now, let me feed Grandma.  That’s why I’m here.”

 

Even then, Edith remained in the room and fussed about, straightening things and cleaning things.  “What’s your favorite club?” she queried.

 

Vic was about to explode.  Then, a crackling sound came over the intercom, followed by a directive, “Nurse Edith Kilmaury, you are needed in room 224, immediately!”  Edith blanched.  Vic relaxed, as she raced from the room.

 

“Now,” Vic said to himself, “I can do my good deed.”  He reached into his pocket and found the sugar shaker.  He removed the cap and positioned it over Grandma’s pudding.  He sprinkled it with Flare.  “Grandma always finishes her pudding,” he remarked to himself.  He screwed the cap on the shaker, put it back into his pocket, retrieved Grandma’s spoon, dug in, and raised the first bite to her twitchy, blue lips.

 

The excitement was over.  Vic casually fed the dessert to Grandma.  Soon, the Flare was not visible.  What Grandma had not swallowed, had melted into the residue.  Vic breathed easily.  His secret machinations had left no incriminating traces.

 

An eerie feeling washed over Vic.  He wasn’t sure what to say to Grandma.  This would be his last conversation with her.  He decided to build on what she had said earlier, “Grandma, when you get to Heaven, I hope it will be as fine as you expect it to be.”

 

“Better!”, she proclaimed with a slight smile, “Eye ... ahh ... hath not ... se—en ... nor ear heard ... ahh ...  neither ... have entered ... into the ... ahh ... heart ... of man ... the ... ahh ... things which ... God hath ... ahh ... prepared ... for them ... that love him!”

 

Vic was startled.  “How could Grandma recall that Bible verse?  Surely, the Flare could not have started working already,” he mused.

 

For a moment, he wavered.  He wondered if he had done the right thing, since she had just demonstrated some mental acuity.  Then, he reassured himself, “She said she wanted to move on.   I just assisted her!”

 

Edith returned.  Vic and Grandma and her exchanged  small-talk, while Grandma finished her meal.  As soon as it seemed appropriate, Vic took one last look at the woman who had done so much for him, kissed her forehead, said goodbye, and left.

 

As he stepped outside, into the sunshine, he had an odd thought, “I’ve just committed the perfect crime.  No one else knows a thing about Flare!  Just me!  Really, this wasn’t murder.  It was an act of love.”