One has to pay dearly for immortality; one has to die several times while one is still alive.
Western Wyoming
Five days earlier
The old wooden sign read, Welcome to Beckon. You’re not here by chance.
At the time George Wilcox didn’t pay much attention to the sign, as he was more occupied by the rustic clapboard buildings grouped along both sides of the road. A crusty, weathered gas station stood at the edge of town like an old watchman at the city gate. Beside it were a general store and a diner among a handful of shops and houses. The whole town seemed as out of the way as it could possibly be, cradled in the embrace of a steep, wooded bluff. And high above it loomed a gray mountainside that cut a jagged edge against the sky.
George pulled their white Lexus into a parking space in front of the modest one-story office directly across from the diner. The white hand-painted lettering on the front window read, Dwight Henderson, MD.
“Well, I guess this is it.” George shook his head and sighed. Not even the GPS had been able to locate this town, and had George not gotten directions over the phone—very specific directions—he’d never have found it at all.
Miriam sat quietly beside him, staring out the window. Her gray hair was pulled back neatly into a bun, and her gaunt face held no discernible expression. But she had come through their three-day road trip up from Texas like a trouper. Then again, she had always loved to travel. It seemed to be one of the few things about her that hadn’t changed over the last four years.
George would never have driven this far with her, but the opportunity was too compelling to pass up and he was well beyond the point of desperation. Though now that he saw the town for himself, doubt was creeping back into his mind, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made the worst mistake of his life.
George got out, and his aging body popped and creaked as he stretched. Being in the car for the better part of ten hours had stiffened his already-stiff joints. He was still in pretty good shape for seventy-three, but despite all the walking, swimming, and elliptical workouts, seventy-three sure didn’t feel like forty. Heck, it didn’t even feel like seventy.
He opened the door and helped Miriam out. It would do her good to stretch and walk around a bit.
“What beautiful mountains,” she said brightly. “How long are we staying?”
George took her arm, quietly thankful that she was in a good mood. “As long as you want, sweetheart.”
“Lovely. Did you see the mountains?”
“Yes, dear. They’re beautiful.”
George found the doctor’s front door unlocked and swung it open. “Hello?”
The place was tidy and quaint, George thought, exactly what most people would’ve expected a small-town doctor’s office to look like. But it wasn’t what George had expected.
Although he wasn’t sure what he’d expected.
He heard a vehicle approaching and turned as a rust-colored Ford pickup pulled up and two men got out. The driver was a tall and sinewy fellow with reddish-brown hair, wearing a red plaid shirt and blue jeans. The other man was a much shorter, mousier chap, though slightly better dressed in a white shirt and tan trousers.
The taller man smiled and waved as he approached.
“Mr. Wilcox,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Malcolm Browne, Mr. Vale’s business manager. It’s good to meet you.”
“Thank you,” George said and motioned to Miriam, who was standing nearby. “This is my wife, Miriam.”
“Of course.” Browne smiled and kissed her hand gently. “A very nice pleasure to meet you too, Mrs. Wilcox.”
Miriam was all grins. “I’ve seen you on my paper towels.”
Browne chuckled and turned back to George. “And I believe you already know Dr. Henderson, correct?” He motioned to his companion.
George blinked and nodded. “Oh… yes, we spoke on the phone a few times. Though you’re a little younger than I had expected.”
Henderson smiled somewhat sheepishly. “Yeah, I get that a lot.”
Browne rubbed his palms together. “Well, you must be tired after your trip, and I know Mr. Vale has been very eager to meet you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” George said. “So where is he?”
Browne pointed up the wooded hillside to a magnificent log home perched near the top of the bluff, partially hidden by pine trees. “Just up the hill there,” he said, moving back toward his truck. “You can follow us and we’ll head right on up.”
George shepherded Miriam into the car, and they followed the truck through town to a narrow gravel road. The road twisted up the steep, wooded incline, and as it did, George’s doubts began to grow.
He knew Miriam would have counseled him to keep an open mind. She had always taken such a levelheaded approach to life. So calm and even-keeled. Mostly because of her faith, George thought, though he had only paid lip service to Miriam’s religiousness before. Her devotion to her Bible and her steady reliance on prayer. He had always taken those things for granted but had come to miss their influence of late. Now that they were no longer there.
Now that she was being taken from him one memory at a time.
They had met in college fifty years earlier. George had graduated from Baylor as an aeronautical engineer and was immediately recruited by Lockheed. He worked his way quickly through the ranks of their management program while Miriam finished her degree, and they were married shortly thereafter.
George worked at Lockheed for twelve years before striking out on his own with a pair of fellow engineers. They started Aerodigm Technologies to manufacture select components for jet engines out of a plant in Ohio, but their business quickly expanded to more complex chemical-propulsion and missile-guidance systems. In a few more short years, they had plants across the country, and George had quietly built a solid reputation with Aerodigm’s largely military clientele.
Meanwhile George and Miriam purchased a four-hundred-acre ranch outside of Austin. George drove the black Jaguar to work and saved his Porsche for the weekends, while Miriam preferred the less ostentatious silver Mercedes or the Lexus. The only point of stress they might have had was that after forty-eight years of marriage, they remained childless. Miriam had often suggested that they adopt, but George refused, preferring the freedom to travel over the burden of raising children that weren’t even his own. They bought a second home in Colorado and a third in Maui. Life had been good to them. Very good. And for the most part, George Wilcox had always slept well at night.
Until four years ago.
George hadn’t been prepared for the reality of Alzheimer’s. The pain of watching himself become a stranger bit by bit to the woman who had once known him better than anyone else had. He would have rather lost her all at once than endure this slow, steady decay of her mind.
She had been the brightest ray of sunlight in his life for nearly fifty years. But now he hardly knew her. And all he had left of their life together were a few old pictures and videos.
Ahead, the road opened to reveal a better view of the log home. Pea gravel crunched under the tires as they rolled onto the wide, circular driveway. George whistled inwardly as he got out of the car. The place was palatial—at least fifty thousand square feet, he guessed. It looked too big to be a house, more like a small inn or lodge. Thick log beams and tons of smooth river rock provided a rustic yet majestic exterior, and George found himself eager to see the inside.
“Nice place.”
“It used to be a rather exclusive little hotel,” Browne said, now sounding more like a tour guide. “It was originally built by the Vale family in the early 1900s. They catered mostly to wealthy city folk who wanted to get out into the country and try their hand at hunting elk and such. Mr. Vale has gone to great lengths to restore and upgrade the facilities. I think you’ll find them quite comfortable.”
Browne led them through the thick, wooden front doors and into an expansive flagstone foyer.
The woman who greeted them there was slender and attractive, with thick locks of burgundy hair pulled back in a tight bun.
“Welcome, Mr. Wilcox,” she said. “I’m Amanda McWhorter, Mr. Vale’s personal assistant. He’s very eager to meet with you.” She gestured to the hallway beyond the foyer. “If you’ll just have a seat in the great room, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”
The spacious, vaulted room beyond the staircase contained a set of leather couches facing each other. Behind them, an old barrel with rusted iron bands stood off to one side of the massive stone fireplace, and an antique wagon wheel garnished the other. And above the hearth hung an impressive rack of elk antlers.
Browne motioned to the couches. “Make yourself at home. I’ll have your luggage brought up to your suite.”
George helped Miriam settle into one of the couches, and Dwight Henderson sat across from her. George walked over to take in the view from the wall of windows. The bank of glass overlooked a steep cliff with a dense forest of pines far below. Amid the trees, he saw sections of the gravel road that ran from the house through the wooded hillside to the town below. Beyond it lay a vast stretch of rolling bluffs that seemed to spread for miles to a row of mountains off in the distance. George breathed a sigh and shook his head. It was quite the vista.
“No matter how many times I look out there,” a voice said, “I never get tired of that view.”
George turned to see the man he assumed to be Thomas Vale. He looked to be perhaps in his early thirties, with an angular face and long black hair. His body appeared lean and trim beneath his black silk shirt and gray trousers.
“Welcome to Beckon, Mr. Wilcox.” Vale shook George’s hand. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. Can I offer you a drink?”
“No, thank you,” George said. He could see Vale’s green eyes seemed to hold bright flecks of yellow pigment in the irises. The effect was slightly disconcerting.
Vale glanced at Henderson, who also declined the offer of a drink.
“Well, I guess I’ll be drinking alone,” Vale said as he poured himself some brandy from the liquor cabinet across the room. “I imagine it must have been hard to believe when Dr. Henderson first contacted you. After all, how does one begin a conversation of this nature? I’m guessing you were pretty skeptical.”
“Still am.”
Vale sat down with his drink. “No doubt. But hopefully we can assuage those concerns.”
“I certainly hope so.” George nodded toward Henderson. “Dr. Henderson was pretty cryptic about the nature of this… treatment. Which, frankly, didn’t help to inspire much confidence.”
“And yet here you are,” Vale said, spreading his hands. “I’m guessing you’ve gotten beyond a certain level of desperation. Perhaps to the point where you wondered what you had to lose.”
George sat down beside Miriam and ran his fingers across her shoulders. She’d been ignoring their conversation. Lately it seemed like she’d been ignoring him more and more, slowly drifting like a boat that had lost its moorings, floating away from the dock down a dark river.
“But you said this treatment has never been tried on someone with Alzheimer’s before. How do you know it’ll actually help her?”
“The human body is its own best medicine,” Henderson interjected. “Essentially all this treatment does is help the body heal itself.”
“I’m afraid the nature of it forces us to maintain a certain level of secrecy.” Vale let his gaze drift up to the ceiling and offered an odd sort of half smile. “You see, it’s not exactly a conventional medical treatment.”
“What do you mean?”
Henderson leaned forward. “It’s a remedy that a local Indian tribe has been practicing for… well, probably for hundreds of years.”
George stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “You’re joking, right?”
“Now, Mr. Wilcox, we’ve actually—”
“You dragged me all the way up from Texas for some crazy Indian remedy? Are you kidding me?”
Henderson looked flustered. “As—as you recall, I explained that you would need to keep an open mind. I told you—”
“You didn’t say anything about this being some hokey, superstitious nonsense. I never would have come.”
“Which is precisely why we didn’t tell you,” Vale said in a calm tone.
“Mr. Wilcox,” Henderson said, “I’ve personally witnessed this treatment’s effectiveness. Look, I don’t believe in the supernatural either, but this is an organic compound that produces a real physiological effect. Now… of course the local… medicine woman insists on a certain ceremonial procedure, but the cure itself—I assure you—is an actual, physical compound.”
“What kind of compound?”
“It’s called perilium,” Vale said.
“Yes, but what is it?” George said again. “You say it’s some kind of organic compound, but that doesn’t really tell me much.”
“For the moment all we can tell you is what I explained over the phone,” Henderson said. “Perilium enhances the body’s natural immune system. And the body, in turn, responds to whatever disease state happens to be present. The end result is the same regardless of whether the patient suffers from cancer, MS, or indigestion. Or Alzheimer’s. Perilium simply helps the body heal itself.”
George glanced at Miriam, wondering what he’d gotten her into. Though it wasn’t as if they had many other options. If this perilium didn’t work, she would spend the next three or four years suffering with her Alzheimer’s and would eventually die. Or perhaps she’d have some sort of allergic reaction to the drug and die right away. Either way, she was no better off if he refused.
He took a breath and leaned back. “You’re asking for a pretty big leap of faith. And a lot of money.”
“And in exchange, you get your wife back.” Vale’s pleasant demeanor had evaporated a bit. “Exactly how much is that worth to you, Mr. Wilcox? How much would you pay to cure your wife’s Alzheimer’s? To not spend the next years watching her die a protracted and unpleasant death?”
George fell silent, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. “And if it doesn’t work?”
Vale shrugged. “Then you’re under no other obligation. The only condition is that you abide by the nondisclosure agreement you signed. But you and your wife will be none the worse for wear.”
George shook his head. “So why do I feel like I’m being hustled?”
“Not at all,” Vale said. “Say the word and I’ll call the whole thing off. You can keep your money and go home.” He downed the last of his drink. “The only thing you’d lose would be your wife.”
George stared at the man. Vale sat on the leather couch entirely nonchalant.
Miriam seemed equally placid and leaned into George. “I like this house,” she whispered.
George looked into her eyes and could see a vague sense of recognition there, that he was still familiar enough for her to feel comfortable being with him. But he wondered how long that would last. He wondered what it would be worth for the chance to have her back. He was ready to retire and enjoy his golden years. He pictured himself living in Maui and spending his afternoons out on the ocean fishing.
But he had always pictured Miriam on the boat with him.
George took a breath. “So what exactly does this… treatment… entail?”
It was just after ten o’clock when George brought Miriam up to their suite on the second level of Thomas Vale’s mansion. Vale and Henderson had spent the evening making preparations for the ceremony, as they put it. But the whole thing was making George feel more and more uncomfortable.
Miriam hesitated in the doorway of the bedroom, her eyes darting about warily. “Where are we?”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” George said, drawing her gently into the room. “This is where we’re going to sleep tonight.”
“Where’s my bed?” Miriam said. “I want to go home now.”
George had worried that all the travel would be too much for her. He tried to smile reassuringly. “But we’re on vacation, remember? Up in the mountains. I made a special bed for you. Just for you.”
That seemed to work as Miriam peeked over his shoulder at the beautiful, king-size, log-post bed on a low dais. Her expression softened, and just then Henderson arrived with a small cup of hot tea. Miriam normally had a cup at bedtime back in Texas. It was the only way George could get her to take her medications.
George took the cup and cast a wary glance at the doctor.
Henderson offered what George assumed was intended to be his own reassuring smile. “Just a mild sedative. Like I said, there’s nothing dangerous at all about the ritual. My only concern is that the woman wears ceremonial native garb. And we want to avoid causing Miriam any undue alarm.”
Henderson had explained earlier that since the ceremony had never been performed on anyone who was “cognitively compromised,” he wanted to make sure Miriam wouldn’t react violently or do anything that might disrupt the ritual. It seemed that this medicine woman was hypersensitive to protocol during the rite.
But despite all of Henderson’s assurances, George was still filled with misgivings and doubt. He insisted that he remain at Miriam’s bedside during the entire ceremony, and Vale had agreed to allow him to stay in the room only as long as he kept out of the way.
George helped Miriam as she drank the tea and then got her ready for bed. He had brought along her favorite nightgown. Then he kissed her on the forehead and wished her a good night, just as he did every night.
Vale arrived as Miriam was settling in. He pulled George aside and spoke in urgent but hushed tones. “Nun’dahbi is on her way up. It’s extremely important that you remember not to approach her or speak to her at all. And avoid any eye contact.”
“Nun’dahbi?” George said, noting how strange Vale was acting. He seemed downright nervous.
“It’s her title,” Vale explained as he lit several candles situated around the room. “She’s the spiritual head of her tribe. And this ritual is actually a process whereby they welcome a new member into their community. It’s an extreme honor and should not be taken lightly.”
“What tribe is this?”
“They call themselves the N’watu. They’re one of the oldest tribes in North America, tracing their roots back more than two thousand years.”
Henderson interrupted them and pointed to the bed. “It looks like she’s asleep.”
George could see the sedative had indeed taken effect and Miriam appeared to be resting comfortably. Henderson turned off the lights and stood out of the way in the sitting room. Meanwhile Vale pulled George off to the side and took up a position right beside him—George assumed it was so that Vale could prevent him from doing anything foolish during the ceremony. He stole a glance and saw a single bead of perspiration trickle down Vale’s jaw.
After a moment George leaned over. “What now?”
Vale hushed him with a curt whisper. “She’s here.”
Just then, George heard a soft rattling sound outside the suite. The door opened slowly to reveal a shadow in the entrance. It was a figure of slight build. George assumed it to be a woman. Her face was hidden behind a black veil of some sort. In fact, she was dressed completely in layers of black garments and adorned with bracelets, beads, and necklaces of various sorts. She stood for a moment in the doorway and then seemed to glide into the room. George noticed that Vale immediately bowed his head and nudged George to follow suit.
So George lowered his head as well but kept his eyes on the shadowy figure as she approached the bed. She seemed to hiss as she walked. Though not really a hiss—more like a soft rattling sound, not unlike the sound a rattlesnake might make. In fact, George’s first thought was that perhaps she’d brought a snake with her. But then he saw the source of the sound: a small gourd-like object atop the long wooden staff that the woman rattled gently. A pair of feathers and a string of claws were tied around the gourd.
She stood over the bed where Miriam lay sleeping and passed the staff over her from head to toe, rattling it softly. Back and forth across the bed, hovering just inches above Miriam’s body.
Then the woman reached out a pale, thin hand and passed it over Miriam as well, making a soft humming sound that quickly grew into a low, monotone incantation, though George could not make out any words.
The woman’s voice began to rise and fall, muttering and mumbling. Her tone held a gentle menace like the soft growl of a cat. It seemed at once placid and vicious. This went on for several minutes with the incantation rising and falling in both pitch and volume.
Then she stopped suddenly and turned in George’s direction. George lowered his gaze slightly but still tried to glimpse what would happen next. The medicine woman approached him, and George could feel Thomas Vale tense up.
She muttered a similar incantation to George. He raised his head instinctively and caught the briefest glimpse of vague white features behind her veil. And eyes that seemed to glow like two sparks.
Nun’dahbi hissed and snapped her staff up between them. George quickly lowered his gaze, and a moment later she continued her incantation. Her hand swept across George’s face, inches away, as if trying to feel the heat radiating from his body. He could see her hand more clearly now. Her skin appeared completely void of all pigment, and long black nails had been filed into points so that they looked like claws. Or talons.
Her chanting lasted nearly a full minute, and after she finished, she took his hand in hers. George almost recoiled at her cold, bony touch as she pressed something into his palm and closed his fingers over it. Then she turned in a single fluid movement and glided out the door.
After she had gone, Vale seemed to breathe a relieved sigh, and George opened his hand to see a small glass vial with a black cap. Inside was a milky, yellowish liquid.
George stared into his wife’s eyes. And Miriam was looking back at him. She had finally awakened after nearly thirty-six solid hours of sleep, looking a bit groggy. But… she was there. All there, it seemed. George could see the recognition in her eyes. Her complexion had regained a rosy hue, and her eyes had brightened. In fact, she looked better than she had in years.
“How are you feeling?” George said.
Miriam stroked his cheek. “I feel fine. You look tired, though.”
“I didn’t get much sleep the last couple nights. Too busy pacing.”
After the ceremony, Henderson had administered the mysterious remedy through a hypodermic. He told George that while perilium was typically ingested, due to Miriam’s compromised mental state, it was wiser not to risk upsetting her by forcing her to drink the bitter substance. Besides, Henderson said, injecting it directly into her bloodstream would provide a purer dosage than allowing the body to absorb the substance through its digestive system.
Miriam frowned. “What time is it?”
“Nine thirty. Tuesday morning.”
“Tuesday… Where are we?”
“In Wyoming. Do you remember coming to Wyoming?”
“Wyoming?” Miriam sat up, and her gaze traced a path around the bedroom. George could see her piecing the memories together, working things out in her mind. “Did… did we drive here?”
George laughed. “Yes, we did. I found someone who was able to help you with your condition. Well… actually, he found us. They’ve got some kind of drug here. The local Indians originally discovered it.” George struggled for the words to explain it to her. “I think it’s making you better.”
Miriam turned back to George and clutched his arm. “I had dreams about you. I feel like I haven’t seen you in years. Only for a few seconds here and there. It was like I would catch a glimpse of you passing me on the street, and I would try to stay with you—hold on to you—but then… something kept dragging me away. And each time I felt like I was never going to see you again.”
Her eyes moistened, and George pulled her close. “I missed you too, sweetheart,” he said, fighting back his own tears. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.”
George soaked in the warmth of his wife’s embrace, feeling her arms around him and the flesh of her cheek against his, afraid that at any moment she might slip away from him. That she would suddenly pull away and become a stranger again. He breathed in her scent, felt her heart beating against his chest, and he wanted to freeze the moment to keep her here with him forever. Seeing her like this made the thought of losing her again that much more intense. She had been away so long.
The longer George held on to Miriam, the greater his resolve grew. He would do anything to keep from losing her again.
Anything.
George heard a knock at the door and found Thomas Vale in the hallway.
“Mind if I stop in?” he said. “Dwight said she seemed to be responding favorably. I wanted to see for myself.”
George led him into the bedroom.
Miriam peered at Vale for a moment. “I remember you, I think. Have we met?”
Vale smiled. “In a manner of speaking, yes. How are you feeling?”
Miriam shrugged. “Actually, I feel great.”
“Wonderful.”
Henderson returned with a clipboard and took Miriam’s vitals. Vale motioned for George to come out into the hallway.
“At this point, you’re probably the best person to gauge her progress,” Vale said in a hushed tone. “I think Dwight will be wanting to get your assessment of her recovery. Her memories and personality.”
“She seems almost completely recovered.” George was shaking his head. “Like her old self. I can’t believe it. I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s incredible.”
Vale nodded. “The perilium will continue to take effect throughout the day. We’ll keep her under close observation for another twenty-four hours or so. But Dwight seems to think she’ll be completely restored within a day or two.”
George felt giddy. “You’ve given me my wife back. I’d forgotten how much I missed her.”
“I know you’re going to want to stay with her all day, but she’ll need a few more hours of rest. In the meantime, there’s something else we need to discuss.”
Vale led him downstairs and along the hallway to his office. A row of windows lined one of the walls behind an enormous desk. Outside, the morning sun lit up the countryside. To the right of the desk was a bookcase stacked with thick, weathered tomes and newer books on a variety of topics. Thomas Vale appeared to be an avid reader. George wasn’t surprised.
Vale took a seat behind the desk and motioned for George to sit in one of the chairs opposite him. George assumed they were here to discuss the details of payment for his wife’s cure. He was filled with a new hope at seeing Miriam’s progress. The perilium certainly seemed to have lived up to its miraculous billing, though George wasn’t ready to sign anything just yet. He needed to verify that the effects were permanent.
Vale rubbed his chin as if trying to choose his words with care. “I think we can both agree that your wife’s condition this morning is better than it’s been in several months, wouldn’t you say?”
George nodded. “She seemed perfectly healthy to me.”
“She’s responding very well. However, you recall Dr. Henderson’s initial discussions with you over the phone. This is not a one-time treatment.”
George did recall that Henderson had indicated the treatment would require an ongoing regimen. “He mentioned that Miriam would need to remain in Beckon for a while.”
“Yes, she’ll need to remain here.”
George frowned. “For how long?”
Vale gazed at George for a moment, tapping his fingertips lightly together. “Indefinitely, I’m afraid.”
George blinked and leaned forward. “Indefinitely? You mean she can’t go home again?”
“Understand, we can’t just call this in to your local pharmacy,” Vale said. “The only person who knows exactly how perilium is made is Nun’dahbi. It can’t be synthesized, and there are limits to how much she can produce and how quickly she can produce it.”
“That’s why you targeted me,” George grunted. “You need funding to keep making more of this stuff.”
“Everything has a cost. Perilium is an extremely difficult formula to produce. The organic components are indigenous to the caves here and aren’t easily harvested. It’s just not something we can replicate on a large scale.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because you might not have agreed to the procedure,” Vale said.
“No, I wouldn’t have agreed.” George rubbed his forehead. He knew this was too good to be true. “So you lied to get me here.”
“We didn’t lie to you, George,” Vale said. “We simply didn’t tell you everything.”
George’s shock was quickly turning to anger and he stood, shaking his head. “Well, I’m not going to let you get away with this. This… this is—”
“What?” Vale’s countenance darkened, and he stood to face George. His yellow-green eyes turned fierce. “This is what, George? Your wife was dying a slow and protracted death. And now we’ve given her back to you. We’ve given you the chance at a normal life together. You tell me, where is the evil in that?”
“I don’t believe this.” George felt his anger wavering, and he sat down again. Vale was right—what other choice did he have? “What happens if she stops taking it?”
Vale’s gaze beat a trail across the room, and for the first time, George saw hesitation on his face. “The effects would… diminish.”
“Diminish? Meaning what? Her dementia will return?”
Vale sat down. “As we explained, perilium affects the body’s immune system. But its influence is evident only as long as it remains active in her system.”
George tried to process this new information, fluctuating between anger and despair. But he knew he had few options. “So how long does the effect last? How long before she’ll need another dose?”
“Two or three days, perhaps.” Vale shrugged. “It depends. Everyone responds differently. Dr. Henderson will continue to monitor her progress and administer another dose when her symptoms reappear.”
“So… then what? You expect us to just move here? To Beckon?”
“You must understand that we choose our candidates with a great deal of care.”
“Candidates?”
“Yes, George.” Vale’s eyes grew a little colder. “Your wife’s condition along with your assets and skills made you an ideal candidate to join our community.”
George felt himself wince. “What’re you talking about?”
“I understand that over the years you’ve secured numerous government contracts for your company. I’m guessing you’ve developed your share of connections within the Beltway during that time.”
George’s frown grew deeper. “A few.”
“I’ve found that one can never have too many friends in Washington. My point is that I’d like to take advantage of your political talents. You see, I occasionally find the need to deflect certain intrusive elements of the state and federal bureaucracies. And having someone here who knows which strings to pull in Washington can be invaluable in this regard.”
George shook his head, still trying to get his mind around this new development. “I’m seventy-three years old. I’m not ready to start a new career anymore.”
Vale’s eyes seemed to sparkle at that comment. “You know, I’ve found that nothing keeps a man’s zest for life going like his career. I’ve always thought that something terrible happens when a man retires. A vital part of him dies. I think a man needs his work in order to feel like a man. He needs something to accomplish with his life. Something he can sink his teeth into and be proud of. Something he has a passion for.”
“I have a passion for warmer climates and deep-sea fishing.”
“You’re not a quitter, George.” Vale’s words became crisp. “I know you better than you think. You’re driven, competitive, and demanding—not unlike myself. And you created a nice little empire during your life. However, as you and your wife are without any heirs, you must be wondering what will happen to everything you’ve built when you’re gone. I imagine that thought must gnaw away at a man like you.” He leaned forward. “I’m giving you the chance to fold your life’s work—and yourself—into something greater. To become a part of something bigger than yourself.”
The words struck a chord with George. His business had been his life’s passion for the better part of forty years. But after Miriam’s diagnosis, he had begun to gain a new perspective on the company he had created. Life was short, after all. Shorter than he had expected. One minute he was a young entrepreneur with a beautiful wife, a big house, and the world at his doorstep, and the next thing he knew, he was on the brink of retirement and his wife was slowly dying from Alzheimer’s.
George had struggled with Miriam’s illness from the start, hating it and raging against it like an old sea captain fighting through a squall. But he knew this storm offered no peace for him in the end. In the end, Miriam would be gone. And the worst part was that he knew those final years would be especially painful. He had denied it at first, but he knew at some point he would actually look forward to Miriam’s death, when she would have relief. And that thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
The truth was, he felt beaten and at the end of his rope. He had weathered her slow demise for the last four years, and now he was growing weary, like an aging boxer being pounded into submission by a younger, stronger contender. And his heart had begun to ache with brief, forbidden thoughts, fleeting wishes that perhaps something tragic might happen and she would die quickly, sparing him the torment of having to watch her die slowly. For even though Miriam was still with him in body, her mind had left him months ago.
And part of him just wanted it to all be over with.
“I understand what you’re saying,” George said and rubbed his eyes. “I really do. But unfortunately there comes a time in a man’s life when he has to accept the inevitable. He has to learn when it’s time to step aside gracefully and let the next generation have its day in the sun.”
“Gracefully?” Vale scowled. “Grace has nothing to do with this. A man fights and claws for what he can get in life and then… what? He has to give it all up? Who made those rules?”
“It’s just a fact of life,” George said. “You’re still young, so I don’t expect you to understand. You’ve got plenty of years ahead of you. But I think when you get to be my age, you’ll see there comes a time when you get tired of the fight. And stepping aside doesn’t seem like such a bad thing anymore.”
“Not likely,” Vale laughed. “But the fact is, your services are nonnegotiable. I’m afraid that’s just part of the deal.”
“So none of this was about my wife at all? You just wanted to get my money and turn me into some kind of… indentured servant?”
Vale shook his head. “I think you’re underestimating the value of my proposition. There are considerable fringe benefits you might find appealing. You and your wife could have your own private suite or your own home if you like. I’ve also managed to put together a rather extensive library and media center. Plus, you’ll still have the freedom to travel. Albeit on a limited basis.”
George continued to pace. Now Vale was sounding like a cheap time-share salesman. A huckster. The whole scenario was too bizarre to even be believable.
But he seemed to have them over a barrel. George had no idea what this perilium was or where to get more. And now Vale expected him to move here? To sell all of his other properties and move to this isolated town in the Wyoming mountains? George turned to the windows and stared out at the countryside. Would he be willing to do that, even for Miriam?
He couldn’t help feeling like he’d been lured to this town for some ulterior reason. He felt trapped, and now each turn he took was only getting him further entangled in their web.
Shortly after noon, George returned to the suite to see how Miriam was progressing. His mind was still buzzing with the events of the last few days but more specifically with the news he’d just been given by Thomas Vale.
In less than forty-eight hours, his wife’s health seemed to have been completely restored, but just when he thought their lives would return to normal, Vale’s additional news had turned everything upside down again. Now George and Miriam would need to make plans to move to Wyoming for good. That meant selling their homes along with most of their possessions to prepare for an entirely new life here in the mountains. Vale’s home was magnificent to be sure, but it was still hard for George to get his head wrapped around the idea. More than that, he wondered, how would Miriam respond?
He opened the door to find her in the bathroom, dressed and running a brush through her hair while singing softly to herself. It had been years since he’d heard her sing. She saw him in the bedroom and came out, smiling.
“Hi, sweetheart.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, passionate kiss.
At first, George tensed. It had been so long since she had kissed him at all, let alone kissed him like that. But then he relaxed and pulled her tight to himself, savoring the soft, moist touch of her lips, the scent of her hair, and the gentle press of her slender body against his. It cast his mind back to their honeymoon in Bermuda, standing on a moonlit beach with the waves sweeping up the sand to their bare feet. And he suddenly lost himself in her kiss, forgetting everything else.
Miriam finished the kiss with a soft nibble at his lower lip and pulled her head back, grinning. “Don’t ever leave me again.”
George cleared his throat, regaining his composure and running a hand through his thinning gray hair. “No worries there, my dear.”
Miriam giggled and turned back to the mirror to finish brushing her hair. She looked positively radiant to George, more alive and effervescent than she had in years. And there was something else about her that looked different as well, something he couldn’t quite place.
She made eye contact with him in the mirror. “Dr. Henderson said I should get some exercise. He said there are trails around the estate. Let’s go for a nice long walk.”
“That sounds like fun,” George said. “Actually, it’ll give us a chance to talk. We need to disc—”
Miriam turned and held a finger to his lips. “But first, I’m starving. Do they have room service here? Or do I need to fix something myself? Where do we go for something to eat?”
“The kitchen’s downstairs.”
Miriam grabbed his hand and tugged him out into the hallway. “Lead the way.”
They made their way downstairs, past the main dining hall, and through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. The room was enormous, clearly built to accommodate numerous guests back when the place was a hotel. Miriam quickly set about foraging through the cupboards while George pulled open a metal door to what appeared to be a walk-in cooler. Three of the walls were stocked with shelving units containing stacks of meat. The shelves themselves were labeled: Fillets, Ground Chuck, Tenderloins, Pork, Veal, Chicken, Fish.
George stepped into the kitchen. “It looks like they’ve got a whole butcher shop in there. How many people are in this town?”
But Miriam had found bread and cold cuts in the refrigerator and had already set out making a sizable sandwich, slapping layers of beef, turkey, and ham onto a slice of bread.
George laughed. “Whoa, sweetheart. You know I’m supposed to be watching my cholesterol. Just a little turkey is fine.”
Miriam looked up with a bit of embarrassment in her expression. “Oh… I’m sorry, dear. I was actually… making this for me.”
George stared at her as she licked her fingers and pressed a second slice of bread onto the top. “You really are hungry,” he said.
Miriam’s eyes gleamed, and she curled up a corner of her mouth in a sensual grin. “Famished.”
She bit into the mammoth sandwich with great relish. No formalities, no condiments, and no plate. Not even a napkin. She closed her eyes and chewed luxuriously.
She polished off the sandwich in minutes, chasing it with a tall glass of milk. Then she began looking around the kitchen again. George was watching her with alternating fascination and concern when he heard a voice behind him.
“Oh, good, I see you found something to eat.” Dr. Henderson stood in the doorway.
“Sorry,” George said. “They told us to help ourselves to food. And, well… Miriam said she was hungry.”
“No worries,” Henderson said. “I was going to suggest it to you anyway. She hasn’t eaten anything substantial for nearly two days.”
Miriam opened the refrigerator again. “Yeah, and I’m still hungry.”
George frowned at her. “You wolfed that sandwich down in two minutes; give it a few seconds to reach your stomach.”
Henderson chuckled. “Actually, that’s a normal response to the perilium.”
“What, increased appetite?”
“It’s a good sign. One of the things perilium does is increase the body’s metabolic rate to aid in healing. So as the body repairs itself, it’s going to naturally require a higher level of nourishment. Mostly protein.”
George scratched his head. “That explains the Dagwood sandwich.”
Henderson laughed again. “Yeah, you’ll notice an increased craving for meat especially. That’s very normal.”
Miriam wasn’t paying much attention to their conversation and had set about making a second sandwich, nearly as big as the first.
George stared as she sank her teeth into the beef-laden sandwich. “You know, she used to hate red meat.”
Miriam paused midchew and looked up. “What’s that?”
“Nothing.”
Henderson smiled and turned to leave. “I’ll leave you two alone. Bon appétit.”
He slipped out of the kitchen as George watched Miriam devour the rest of her second sandwich. Afterward she leaned back, belched politely, and dabbed her lips with a napkin.
“Whew, that hit the spot.”
George could hardly believe this was the same woman he had married. He wondered if the perilium was having some mood-altering effects as well.
He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m guessing you could use a walk right about now.”
Miriam grinned. “Let’s go.”
A set of glass doors off the main dining hall opened onto a wide cobblestone patio that looked out over the cliff and the town below. A narrow walkway led around to the back of the mansion and skirted a sharp ridge before coming to a set of stone stairs leading up into the woods.
George tried to keep up but found that the altitude was forcing him to pause every hundred yards or so to catch his breath. Meanwhile Miriam seemed completely unaffected by the thinner mountain air and walked as casually as if she were strolling along a beach at sea level.
At length the path emerged from the woods and came to a low, circular parapet built along the ledge of a cliff overlooking the Vale mansion and the narrow gravel drive that led to the town. Moreover, they could view the hills across the highway that stretched far off into the distance. A wooden bench had been set up on the ledge for hikers to stop and enjoy the view. George gratefully collapsed onto it.
Miriam stood, leaning out on the wide brick parapet. Her shoulders lifted as she sucked in a lungful of air and let the breeze tug at her hair. Then she turned and looked at George, who was wheezing on the bench.
“You know, I really feel wonderful.”
“Good… that makes… one of us.”
“I mean, I feel like God’s given us another chance to be together. This medicine is a miracle. It’s incredible.” Then her expression clouded slightly. “Before, when I was sick, I felt like I was locked up somewhere. In some kind of prison or… dungeon. And I couldn’t get out. I couldn’t even see how awful it was. It was like having a horrible dream that I couldn’t wake up from. But then it felt as if somebody just came along and opened the cell door.” She closed her eyes again and let the wind flow around her.
George rose and folded her in his arms. She leaned into him, and they stood in the warm breeze for an endless minute.
“It’s good to have you back again,” he whispered.
Miriam kissed him. “Don’t let me go back there. Please… just tell me I can stay here with you.”
George stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. “I’m not letting you go, ever again.”
She smiled. “Make love to me, George.”
George blinked. “Wh—uh… here?”
Miriam pulled away and took his hands in hers. “Yeah, right out here under the sun and the sky.”
George felt himself flush, and he laughed nervously. “You mean… right here on the gravel?”
Miriam’s smile broadened. “Who knows how long this will last. Let’s make the most of every second.”
“Okay.” George grinned back at her. “But… how about we make the most of it back in our room?”
George awoke to see the afternoon sunlight peeking in through closed drapes. For a moment he forgot where he was; then he felt Miriam curled against his bare chest, snoring softly, and it all came back to him.
She had made love to him with a passion and vigor that George had never experienced before. Perhaps yet another benefit of the perilium. And afterward they had both fallen asleep. George hadn’t realized just how tired he’d been. Now he looked at the clock. It was just after three; they’d been napping for two hours.
George eased out of bed, taking care not to wake Miriam. He slipped on his shirt and trousers. He needed to get out and take a walk, clear his head. He would have to think about telling Miriam that they would be moving here. Perhaps for good.
He left the room and walked down the hall to the balcony overlooking the great room. No one was in sight. George crossed the balcony to the other wing. He’d never been on that side before and guessed this was where Vale had his own room. He needed to find out more about this man and this place.
The idea that Vale would want George to come work for him at seventy-three was bizarre enough, though George had to admit he’d made plenty of connections with congressmen and senators. He’d even had his picture taken with a president or two. He’d become an excellent negotiator in his day, making countless deals over eighteen holes and drinks, but he failed to see how his talents would be of much use to Vale—or why he would even have need of them. Besides, all that effort took a lot of time and energy, and really… how many good years did George even have left in him?
He came to a window at the end of the hall and saw a flash of light outside, like sunlight reflecting off something metallic. The window overlooked the main garage entrance, and George looked down to see a white passenger van backing up to one of the four bays. The windows were tinted, but George could see two men up front. The man on the passenger side got out. He was dressed in a green jacket and blue jeans with a black cap pulled low over his eyes. The driver got out as well—a giant of a man, closing in on seven feet, barrel-chested and thick-limbed. He was bald with a thick black goatee on his chin. The guy reminded George of one of those professional wrestlers.
George watched as the bay door opened and Henderson appeared. He spoke with the two men briefly and then opened the side door. From his vantage point, George could tell someone was sitting in the backseat. He only saw a glimpse of a leg, but he could swear there was more than one passenger. He just couldn’t tell how many.
Henderson closed the side door quickly and motioned for the big man to back the van into the bay.
The man in the black cap followed the van inside, and then the bay door closed.
George bit the inside of his cheek. Other than Vale himself, the only people George had seen here over the last couple days were Amanda, Henderson, and Browne. And now a whole vanload of people showed up. He wondered who the two new guys were and who the passengers in the van might be. People from town? Or visitors perhaps?
He decided to head downstairs, hoping that while everyone else was occupied with the newcomers, he could get a look in Vale’s office. Maybe he could learn more about the perilium.
The whole place was eerily quiet. Not a soul in sight. George continued through the lobby and down the corridor toward Vale’s office.
Suddenly Vale emerged from the door at the end of the hall. George guessed it led to the garages.
George stopped in his tracks, unsure how to react. He’d been given some liberty to move about the lodge during their stay, but he hoped now that he hadn’t raised any suspicions. The last thing he needed was for Vale to think he’d been snooping around.
Even though he had.
But Vale just smiled. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m planning to have the others up for dinner tonight. A little celebration in honor of Miriam’s recovery. And it’ll give you a chance to get to know everyone better.”
George put on his best look of pleasant surprise. “Well… that sounds wonderful. I think Miriam will enjoy that.”
“Excellent. We’ll meet in the dining hall around six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock. I’m looking forward to it.” George beat a hasty retreat to his room, where he found Miriam up and apparently enjoying the view out the windows. She looked radiant, George thought. Better even than she had that morning.
“So Vale’s throwing a party tonight,” he said. “Apparently it’s a celebration in honor of your recovery.”
“Lovely,” Miriam said. “Will there be any food? I’m starving.”
“All-you-can-eat Dagwood sandwiches.” George tried to sound jovial.
“In that case, I better take a shower.”
They both showered and dressed and two hours later went downstairs, where they found the dining hall decked out with cocktails and appetizers while several people milled about the room. Classical music was playing in the background, and Amanda was bustling in and out of the kitchen.
Dwight Henderson was there along with Malcolm Browne and a tall brunette whom Malcolm introduced as his wife, Loraine. Loraine immediately engaged Miriam in small talk and pulled her toward the food table.
Vale waved George over and introduced him to another couple. The man was even shorter than Henderson but with a thick mop of black hair slicked back across his head. He was with a tall, dreary-looking redhead who seemed to look past George instead of at him.
“This is Sam Huxley,” Vale said. “And his wife, Eleanor. Sam’s the lawyer here in Beckon. In fact, we were just discussing the terms of our agreement, and he’s getting all the paperwork together. I trust we can find a time in the next day or so to finalize the arrangement?”
“Yes… of course.” George shook hands with Huxley as the enormity of this decision struck him. The arrangement. The multimillion-dollar arrangement that would alter the rest of his life. Not to mention Miriam’s.
“Good.” Vale slapped George’s shoulder. “I’d also like to discuss your role in our community in more detail at some point.”
George pressed a smile onto his face. “Yes… yes, of course.”
With that, Vale steered him toward the others in the room. The first man was medium height but with a solid, muscular build, a square jaw, and a tight crew cut. George recognized him as one of the men from the van. To George he looked like a military man. Or ex-military.
“Frank Carson,” Vale said. “Our local law enforcement.”
George nodded.
Carson shook his hand with a tight grip and a terse “Goodameetcha.”
Beside Carson stood the hulking driver with the shaved head and black goatee.
“Henry Mulch.” Vale gestured to him. “He’s sort of our all-around handyman.”
Mulch didn’t even bother with a handshake but seemed content with a nod and a grunt. And with a name like Mulch, George hadn’t really expected much more.
There was another couple hovering over the appetizer table. Vale introduced them as Max and Fiona Dunham. They gave George weak, European handshakes, and from their lofty British accents he wasn’t surprised.
“Delighted to meet you,” they both said in highbrow, nasal tones.
“Max manages our finances,” Vale explained. “He and Fiona came over from England a while back and just fell in love with Wyoming. So they decided to stay.”
George noticed how Vale seemed occupied with the careers of each of his guests, as if to point out how each member fit into the community, perhaps indicating how he hoped George and Miriam would fit in someday as well.
George, however, felt increasingly uncomfortable. At first he wasn’t sure why, but now it dawned on him. There was no one else his age here. Apparently no other seniors from town had been invited to Vale’s little party. Not that George minded the company of younger people; he just found that age and experience often produced a certain level of camaraderie with others who’d been through the same struggles in life.
And he suddenly felt alone and out of place.
As if sensing George’s discomfort, Vale gestured across the room. “Everyone here has been in the same situation you are in now, George. Each one has faced some incurable disease and found a miracle cure in perilium.”
“So they all had to move here too?”
“None of them were forced to move here against their will,” Vale said. “They were prematurely facing death and recognized this as a reasonable cost for what they were being offered.”
“Better to live in Beckon than die in Texas, eh?” George grunted.
Vale spread his hands. “Is our little community such a dreary place? Is it such an unacceptable trade?”
George glanced around the room. Everyone seemed pleasant enough—perhaps with the exception of Carson and Mulch. “And everyone here seems to have their own special job to do—their own role to fill?”
“As in any community.”
“I assume they were all considered suitable candidates, just like us? Meaning they were wealthy enough to afford your treatment.”
Vale shrugged. “Unfortunately at present there’s just not enough perilium for everyone in the world. So the resulting cost makes access prohibitive for some—as is the case with any scarce resource. But you must understand: the financial resources that each one here has brought into our community have allowed our research to continue.”
“Research?”
“Yes, for some time now Dr. Henderson has been working to find a way to synthesize perilium,” Vale said. “Our goal is that someday we’ll be able to manufacture enough for anyone who needs it.”
“Very noble. I’d be curious to see his research.”
“That could be arranged,” Vale said.
“And what about you?” George said. “What’s your role in the ‘community’?”
“Balance,” Vale said with a half smile. “I maintain the balance between secrecy and progress. If word of perilium got out prematurely, we would be overrun by hordes of scientists and businessmen. Well-meaning though they may be, they would ruin the delicate balance I maintain with the N’watu. I’m trying to respect their culture while attempting to—”
“Exploit their knowledge?” George raised an eyebrow.
Vale’s expression darkened momentarily, but then a thin smile curled on his lips. “Think about it, George. A day is coming when we can potentially wipe out all disease. When cancer and diabetes and even Alzheimer’s become things of the past.” He leaned close, and his tone grew serious. “Imagine what kind of world that would be.”
George looked across the room, his thoughts coiling around Vale’s words. What kind of world indeed. Free from sickness and disease and the stigma that accompanied them. He’d always thought such dreams were the realm of wishful thinkers or religious hopefuls.
He felt Vale’s hand on his shoulder. “I’m offering you the chance to be a part of it, George.”
George watched Miriam laughing as she chatted with Loraine and Malcolm Browne and the Huxleys. Just a few days earlier she’d been all but a stranger to him. But now it was as if he’d gotten her back from the dead. This perilium was perhaps the most significant discovery in the history of the world. Its impact would be enormous. How could he not be involved?
Amanda came up to Vale and said softly, “We’re ready to eat.”
Vale called for attention. The lights dimmed, and everyone took their places around the main candlelit table with Vale at the head and George and Miriam sitting to his right. Numerous covered platters had been set out along with several bottles of wine. But before anyone began eating, Vale stood and raised his glass.
“My friends, it gives me great pleasure to welcome George and Miriam Wilcox into our circle of fellowship. As most of you know, Miriam was suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s when she arrived the day before yesterday. Just two short days ago she could barely recognize her husband of fifty years, and yet now she sits among us completely restored. Their marriage has been made whole again, and she becomes a privileged recipient of nature’s greatest miracle.” He turned to George and Miriam. “May you be blessed to enjoy a long and healthy life together.”
“Hear, hear,” Max Dunham said to a chorus of clinking glass.
Amanda circled the table, lifting the covers off the platters to reveal steaming vegetables, fresh-baked dinner rolls, and a large salver of meat. Fillets and tenderloins were stacked high on the plate.
All of them quite raw.
George suppressed a gasp. Was something wrong? Was this some kind of sick joke? Miriam seemed repulsed as well and clutched his arm. George looked around the table, but no one else appeared to be disturbed by the sight. Everyone was serving themselves and shoving forkfuls of the red, bloody meat into their mouths. Vale was enjoying a particularly thick fillet, mopping the blood up with a dinner roll. He seemed to notice George’s look of disgust and smiled. “I see our custom doesn’t sit well with you.”
George grabbed a roll. “I guess I just prefer my steak grilled.”
Vale clucked his tongue and slipped another forkful of meat into his mouth. “Did you know that the Inuit in the Far North eat raw meat almost exclusively? So do the Masai of Africa. Both of these cultures are known for their extraordinary health and freedom from disease.”
“Still… if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with cooked meat.”
“Suit yourself. I can have Amanda put something on the grill.”
“Actually,” George said, “it’s all right. I’ll be content with vegetables and some rolls.”
Malcolm Browne was seated across from George. He wiped a few drops of blood from his chin. “You know, I was the same way when I first arrived. But I discovered it’s an acquired taste.”
“So I’ve heard.”
George was no longer hungry. The Inuit notwithstanding, this was one custom he was definitely not going to adopt. Miriam, however, was staring at the platter. George watched her expression slowly turn from horror to curiosity as she studied the others dining on the raw flesh.
He leaned over and whispered, “Tell me you’re not thinking about trying that.”
Miriam’s lips tightened. “I’m starving.”
“So have some vegetables.”
“Haven’t you ever felt a craving for something? A certain kind of food? And no matter what you try, nothing else seems to satisfy it?”
George was mortified. “You’re not serious. It’s raw.”
Miriam looked away. “Just a little taste.”
She reached out and plucked a small fillet off the platter with her fork, then sliced off a thin piece while George looked on, dumbfounded. She doused it with table salt, raised it to her lips, paused a moment… then put it in her mouth. George watched her chew on the morsel. Her eyes closed and George’s widened. She looked like she was actually enjoying it! She carved off a second slice. Her expression looked like a person dying of thirst getting her first sips of cold water.
Vale took a drink of his wine. “The human body craves protein, George. It needs it to survive. We’re built from it, after all. There may be other sources—nuts and legumes and such.” He grinned. “But nothing provides the raw material our bodies need like real, fresh meat.”
George was feeling slightly faint. “Fine, so why not cook it? At least sear it a little.”
“The body assimilates the protein more readily when it’s ingested raw,” Vale said. “Understand that as perilium accelerates the rate at which the body repairs itself, it naturally requires a ready store of raw material with which to work. The best source of this is through the regular consumption of protein. Copious amounts of protein.”
George wrinkled his forehead. “Copious amounts…”
Miriam had polished off her fillet and reached for another. As George watched her eat, he couldn’t help feeling as if she was somehow drifting away from him again.
George barely made it through the meal. The conversation around him ranged from art to politics to philosophy, with Vale behaving as though he were holding court in the dining hall, encouraging debate and discussion among the other attendees.
Dwight Henderson and Malcolm Browne diverged on the specific points of obscure economic philosophies, while Max Dunham and Frank Carson got into a rather heated tangential debate over whether or not the reparations in the Treaty of Versailles had led to hyperinflation in Germany and ultimately to the Second World War.
George alternated between fascination and disgust. The level of intellectualism in the room was staggering, yet all the while they were chewing on raw meat like cavemen.
Afterward, Loraine continued to monopolize Miriam’s attention, so George, wearied as he was by Vale’s cohorts, went out to the patio for some fresh air.
He leaned on the railing of the narrow parapet and gazed down the sheer side of the cliff into the jagged rocks and twisted pine trees more than a hundred feet below. Above him, the sky looked like a diamond-studded, black velvet blanket. It seemed like he could see into eternity. He was lost in thought when the door opened behind him and Amanda stepped outside.
She didn’t seem to notice George standing in the shadows as she walked to the rail, placed her hands on it, and leaned over as far as she could. The woman, George noted, did not seem happy. He had not seen her smile at all during the meal nor talk much to anyone. And yet she was actually quite beautiful, though she wore no makeup, pulled her hair back in a simple fashion, and was dressed far more plainly than George would have expected a woman of her looks to be.
He was intrigued. “It’s not that bad here, is it?”
She straightened up quickly and spotted him. “What?”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” George smiled and nodded over the edge of the rail. “For a second there it looked like you were going to jump.”
Amanda wiped the errant strands of hair from her face. “It’s just been a long day.” She didn’t smile, though George noted that she didn’t appear rude. Simply tired.
“Do you cater all of Vale’s parties?”
Amanda offered a mild shrug of her shoulders. “Everyone in town has a job.” Her eyes flicked back toward the mansion. “Mine is managing the food services… among other duties. I make sure there’s enough for everybody to eat.”
“And how long have you been here?”
Amanda let out a sad sort of chuckle and gazed over the cliff as a breeze brushed her hair back. “Too long. Most of my life.”
George moved closer. “So… are you happy here?”
“Happy?” She frowned. “I don’t remember actually being happy in a long time.”
“Why not?”
“Because sometimes this place feels like a prison,” she said.
“How did you end up here?”
“When I was young, I had cancer. I was dying. My father was an investment banker in Philadelphia and was very wealthy. My parents tried everything, but all their money couldn’t save my life. The doctors couldn’t do anything for me. Then one day Mr. Vale contacted them and told them about this miracle drug. He said it would cure me. He guaranteed it.”
George nodded. He’d been right—Vale had built his little empire by offering his perilium only to the very wealthy. “He is a shrewd businessman.”
“It cost my father his entire fortune,” Amanda said. “Vale had asked him what he would pay to save his only daughter’s life. What it was worth to him.”
The question hung in the air for a moment, and then George sighed. “Everything.”
“The only condition was that I had to come live here in Beckon. Become a part of his community, as he called it.”
“And what about your parents?”
“They stayed in Philadelphia at first so my father could keep working. They came to visit as much as they could. But they were struggling financially. My father died a few years after I came out here. And my mother died not long after.”
“So now you’re… what? You’re stuck here? Working for Vale?”
Amanda sighed. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful to be alive, I guess. And Beckon’s a beautiful place; I… I love the mountains…”
She looked out into the night.
“But I can never leave.”
George awoke the next morning to find that Miriam was up already. The light in the bathroom was on, but the door was closed and he could hear water running inside. George got up and opened the curtains. The morning sun wrapped the rolling countryside below in a warm amber hue.
It had been nearly midnight by the time they got back to their room last night. George had been contemplating how to explain their circumstances to Miriam, but he wasn’t ready to do that just yet. Perilium was truly a miraculous substance, even if the effect was only temporary. But still, there were a thousand unanswered questions. George’s background was engineering, not biomedical research, but he knew enough to know that you couldn’t just bypass the system like Vale was attempting to do. Maybe what Vale wanted was for George to help facilitate the process of herding this project through the proper government channels.
Or maybe he had other ideas.
Over the sound of the water in the bathroom George heard a gentle sobbing.
He knocked on the door. “Sweetheart? Are you okay?”
“I… I don’t know….”
Miriam opened the door, and George gasped. “Miriam?”
He grabbed her shoulders and moved her into the light. She looked like a different woman altogether. Her skin was smooth and the crow’s-feet at the corners of her eyes had practically disappeared. The creases around her mouth were nearly gone as well. And her hair…
Most of her glistening black hair color had returned, leaving only vague traces of gray. She looked twenty years younger—or more. George turned her toward the mirror and stared at the two of them side by side.
“You… you look like you could be my daughter.”
Miriam touched her cheeks and laughed as tears continued to stream down. “I don’t believe this is happening.” She looked up at George. “How do I know I’m not still senile and just imagining all of this?”
George shook his head in disbelief. “Then I must be too.” He held up her hand in his and inspected them both. All the telltale signs of her arthritis had vanished, most of her liver spots had faded, and the skin around her knuckles and wrists was smooth. His hands were gnarled and leathery, creased and mottled with years of work and stress.
“How can this be happening?” Miriam said.
George was almost too stunned to think. “I’m guessing there’s more to this perilium than they told us about.”
They dressed and went downstairs, where they found Thomas Vale sitting alone at the table in the dining room, eating breakfast. He stood when he saw them come in and smiled at Miriam as they sat down.
“I see the full effects of the perilium have begun to manifest themselves.”
“The full effects?” George frowned. “So it’s true, then… this stuff reverses aging, too?”
Vale shrugged. “Of course. Aging is merely caused by the body’s inability to keep up with overall cellular deterioration. Perilium increases this ability.”
“So why didn’t you mention this before?”
Vale chuckled and sipped his juice. “There are some things people need to see for themselves. We felt that claiming a cure for Alzheimer’s had already stretched your credulity far enough. You never would have agreed to participate in the treatment if we explained all the benefits.”
George leaned back in his chair. “You’re right. I would’ve thought you were crazy.”
“What exactly is this perilium doing to me?” Miriam said. “I look… I feel like I’m twenty years younger.”
Vale lifted the corner of his mouth in a smile. “You’ve met Sam and Eleanor Huxley?”
“Yes.”
“Eleanor was dying of cancer when they first arrived. She was seventy-nine and Sam had just turned eighty.”
“What?” George and Miriam gasped in unison.
George’s head was spinning. “But… they don’t look a day over thirty. Neither one of them.”
“No, they don’t. Not since they began taking perilium.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Oh… I think it was 1972. Thereabouts.”
Miriam gasped. “That would make them around 120 years old.”
George couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The whole thing was just too bizarre to be true. These people had stumbled on an actual fountain of youth? No wonder Vale went to such lengths to keep it a secret.
He found himself stammering, “Well… I mean, that… that’s amazing. You’ve actually discovered a legitimate antiaging compound. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”
“Now do you understand the impact of what I’m offering you?” Vale said, looking at George. “Both of you?”
George blinked. “Both of us?”
“You didn’t think we would give your wife this gift and not make it available to you as well.”
George was momentarily stunned as he considered the opportunity Vale offered him. This perilium not only gave people a second chance at life, but a whole new life altogether. It was almost too incredible to wrap his mind around. He was seventy-three years old, and by drinking this substance once every few days he could turn the clock back… forty years? Fifty?
Miriam leaned forward. “So then… excuse me for asking, but how old are you?”
“I was born in Richmond, Virginia, on October 16… 1847.”
“Eighteen…,” Miriam breathed. “But… that’s impossible.”
“Impossible?” Vale raised his eyebrows. “You’ve looked in the mirror. Is that impossible? Is that too good to be true?”
George was shaking his head. “So you’re more than 160 years old?”
Vale’s smile faded slightly and his yellow-green eyes were solemn. “Now you understand why I must keep perilium a secret. And why I have to go to such lengths to protect this place.”
George could barely think clearly enough to consider the ramifications of what Vale was saying. This was the most significant medical discovery in history. It screamed to be shared with all of humanity, yet George understood what chaos would ensue if this ever became known. Vale’s little retreat would be overrun by the masses. Everyone in the world would come to Wyoming seeking a slice of immortality.
But now—to make the matter more intriguing—Vale was offering this miracle to him. George looked again at his own aging hands. What would he give for the chance to reverse the effect that time had had on him? The chance to be young again with Miriam? The chance to live… forever?
Then Miriam’s voice drew him from his thoughts.
“This isn’t natural.” She put her hand on George’s arm. “You can’t just cheat death like this. Not without suffering some consequences.”
“Consequences?” Vale said. “Do you mean consequences like having three lifetimes’ worth of acquired knowledge and experience? Perfect health? Resistance to illness and injury?”
“Injury?” George repeated.
Vale nodded. “The body’s natural healing processes are hyperstimulated. We’re not certain precisely how it works, but we’re getting close.”
George looked from Vale to Miriam. “So someone taking perilium can’t be killed?”
Vale chuckled. “I wish that were the case. No, our bodies can sustain physical trauma to such a degree that not even perilium can help. It won’t grow back a limb, for example. Nor does it prevent someone from, say… drowning or suffocating. But I can tell you that most injuries—even gunshots, if not immediately fatal—can heal within minutes. Broken bones, depending on the severity of the break, will heal within a few hours.”
Miriam was shaking her head. “So… forgive my cynicism here, but what’s the catch? I can’t believe this perilium has no negative side effects.”
Vale narrowed his eyes at George. “You haven’t related our conversation to her?”
Miriam frowned and turned to George as well. “What conversation?”
“Uh… well…” George had hoped to explain the situation to her in his own time. On his own terms. But truthfully, he hadn’t even figured out exactly how he was going to broach the topic. Now he stammered, trying to find the words to explain it all to her.
Finally Vale interjected, “The beneficial effects of perilium require a regular regimen to maintain. But as long as you continue your treatment schedule, you should retain your health—and youth—indefinitely.”
“Regular regimen?” Miriam fell silent a moment. “What exactly does that mean? Just how often do I have to take this stuff?”
“That all depends on your body’s specific response to the treatment,” Vale said. “But in your case, most likely once every few days.”
“And how often do you have to take it?”
George stared at his wife. A few days ago she didn’t even know her own name. Now she was back to her old self again, going after Vale like an attorney questioning a beleaguered defendant on the witness stand. George watched Vale draw a breath and could see a slight tightening of his lips.
“Those of us who have been here longer take a daily dose.”
“Daily,” Miriam said. “So then, the older you get, the more you need.”
“A minor consequence.” Vale tried to shrug off her comment. “It was to be expected.”
“And if you stop taking it?”
Vale’s eyes narrowed. It was as if that thought had never even crossed his mind. “Then of course the beneficial effects would wear off as well.”
“And I assume everyone in town… they all have to get their daily allotments from you?”
“Yes.”
“And where do you get it?”
Vale glanced at George as if expecting him to intervene, but George could only shake his head. Vale’s eyes flicked back to Miriam. “From a local tribe called the N’watu,” he said. “They discovered the secret of perilium a long time ago.”
“But you don’t know what it is.”
“We’re… addressing that issue.”
“Addressing it? So this tribe—the N’watu?—right now they’re the only ones who know how to make this perilium?”
“From what we’ve been able to determine, the primary element is an organic component that we believe exists only in the caves in this area.”
“But still,” Miriam pressed, “you don’t know how to make it yourself.”
Vale sighed and seemed to concede the point. “It’s an ancient secret, yes. They’re very guarded about it.”
Miriam laughed. “So you’re just as much a prisoner here as everyone else.”
Vale shook his head. His tone grew terse. “To be completely free from disease, from aging—you call this a prison?”
“It’s not just disease and aging we suffer from, Mr. Vale,” Miriam countered. “You can never leave this place, can you? You’re like a drug addict. And you have to do whatever they tell you to; am I right? The one who supplies the drugs always has power over the ones who take them.”
Vale stood. George could see his pale complexion turning pink. “You’re making judgments about things you know nothing about, Mrs. Wilcox. I suggest you discuss this decision in depth with your husband. If I can’t persuade you of the benefits of this arrangement, perhaps he can.”
As soon as Vale had left the room, Miriam turned to George. “How could you have gone along with this?”
George hung his head. Now he was on the stand. “You don’t know what it was like to watch you drift away from me over the last four years. To have you looking at me like I was a stranger. To watch you… fall out of love with me.”
“I was the one with the disease, George.”
“And you said yourself you didn’t want to go back there again. You know how terrible that was. What would you have done for me?”
Miriam paused, her lips tightened a moment, and she looked down. “Do you really think you can live forever?”
“I don’t know what to think,” George said. “They told me it would cure your Alzheimer’s. They didn’t say anything about longevity. Or that we’d have to move here. I just knew we’d be together again.”
Miriam touched his cheek. “Sweetheart…”
“But we could live another eighty or ninety years at least. Maybe twice that. What could we do with that kind of time? Think of all the things we could accomplish.”
“But is it worth it?” Miriam said. “What good is living so long if we have to spend it cooped up in this town? Doing whatever Vale tells us to do? That’s not life—not real life.”
“We’ll be together. That’s enough for me.”
“George—” Miriam’s voice grew gentle—“I know what you intended, but this feels like we’re trying to cheat the natural order of things.”
“Natural order?” George grunted. “If your Alzheimer’s was part of the natural order of things, then I’m fine with cheating it. I refuse to let you go back to that condition. I don’t care what it costs me.”
“I’m not saying this isn’t a wonderful opportunity. It’s incredible and I’d love for it to last forever. But something about it just feels wrong. Everything has a cost to it—more than just money.”
Miriam’s comment was hauntingly perceptive. George knew if he were Vale’s employee, he would end up having to do as he was told. And he would be helping keep this place a secret. George had never been above bending the law a bit in order to get a business deal done or to gain leverage over a competitor. Still, he’d never gone so far as to do anything overtly illegal. But then, he’d never had quite so much to gain before.
Or so much to lose.
He felt Miriam’s hand on his arm. “You know what I believe, George. I’ve lived a good, long life—a full life. And I know there’s something better waiting for me after it. So much better than this. I’m not afraid to die.”
“I am.”
She rubbed his arm. “You don’t have to be. We were meant for something better than this world. For eternity. This body is wasting away no matter what we do—even their perilium can’t stop it completely. They might live for hundreds of years, but eventually death will catch up with them.”
“But what’s wrong with trying to put it off for a while?”
“I think we would be miserable here.”
“Well, the others all seem happy enough with their arrangement. You talked to them, right? Did they seem miserable?”
Miriam sighed. “I suppose not. The Brownes and the Huxleys seemed to love it here. I couldn’t get them to shut up about it.”
“Did they feel like they’d been cheated? Did they have any regrets?”
“No.” Miriam rested her chin in her palm and drummed her fingers lightly on the table. “No, they seemed perfectly happy.”
“Well, there you go,” George said. Though he’d gotten a very different impression from Amanda McWhorter out on the patio last night. She was anything but happy. Now he wondered how long she had actually been out here and how old she really was.
Miriam continued, “But we’d have to move away from all our friends. And church. What are we going to tell everyone?”
George shrugged. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you haven’t been very close with anyone for a couple years now. I stopped bringing you to church when you stopped recognizing anyone. I think in their minds, you’re already gone. You were gone a long time ago.”
“I just get a bad feeling about this place, George. Why does he have to go to so much trouble to keep it a secret?”
“Can you imagine what would happen if word of this ever got out? I mean, if the public found out there was a cure for cancer or Alzheimer’s or any disease out here—let alone a fountain of youth—this place would be overrun with crazies. And if that happened, no one would benefit from it.”
“So instead they keep it a secret only for a select few? The very wealthy? That’s not right either.”
“There’s just not enough of it for everyone. Besides, even if it could be mass-produced, can you imagine the nightmare this planet would become if everyone lived two hundred years? Or three hundred? We’re stretching our resources thin the way it is. Talk about hell on earth….”
Miriam turned away, frowning. “It just smacks of elitism, George.”
“Then so be it.” George felt a certain resolve growing inside him. He could see the logic to Vale’s methods. Elitism or not, he was starting to see the rightness of it.
Besides, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice anymore.
They spent the rest of the day indoors. Miriam had said she was feeling a bit restless, so she offered to help Amanda in the kitchen. The two of them spent most of the day together talking while George lingered on the periphery. It looked like they had struck up a bit of a friendship, and he was thankful for that. Amanda seemed to be a rather lonely person, and George knew it would be good for Miriam to have a friend as well.
Amanda shared some of her life story with them. She had apparently arrived in Beckon in 1923 at the age of seventeen. It was incredible to think that she was over a hundred years old. She looked barely twenty-five. Miriam peppered her with questions about the perilium, the town, and mostly about Thomas Vale. Amanda provided only vague answers to most.
George frowned inwardly; a hundred years was a long time to be so miserable.
He also heard them talking about God at one point and wasn’t a bit surprised. Miriam had always been able to worm her beliefs into almost any conversation. There was a time in his life when it had annoyed George. Now? Not so much.
And rather than seeming put off herself, Amanda looked genuinely interested in what Miriam had to say. Something about what Miriam was sharing appeared to have struck a chord.
That evening Miriam complained of feeling tired, so they went to bed early. George slept fitfully. He kept thinking about the van he’d seen the day before and wondered what the story was behind it. Who was inside, and why were they here? He was hesitant to ask about it since the only way he’d been able to see it was through the window in the other wing, and he didn’t want Vale to know he’d been poking around.
He woke up the next morning to gray clouds and a heavy rain pounding the glass and drumming on the roof. And for the second morning in a row, he found Miriam in the bathroom weeping softly. Though this time it sounded different.
George knocked on the door. “What’s wrong now?”
A moment later Miriam opened the door. “I don’t feel very well.”
Her complexion was pallid with dark circles lining her eyes. Her forehead was cold and clammy to the touch.
“I just feel… a little dizzy.”
George helped her back to the bed. “Lie down and I’ll get Dr. Henderson.”
He went downstairs. It was still before eight o’clock, but he hoped Amanda would be up early. He went to the kitchen to find her preparing a tray of food.
“Where’s Dr. Henderson?” George said. “Miriam’s not feeling very well; I think she might need more medicine.”
Amanda frowned, then pushed past him and hurried down the corridor with George on her heels. “Where is the doctor?” he was saying. “Can you call him?”
But Amanda just said, “Wait here,” and disappeared inside Vale’s office.
George called after her, “Can you please just call the doctor?”
Amanda emerged from the office a few moments later with a glass vial in her grasp. George followed her back to their suite and the bed where Miriam was lying, now drenched in sweat and struggling, it seemed, just to breathe.
“Do you know how to administer this stuff?” he asked.
Amanda helped Miriam sit up in the bed, then uncapped the vial and held it to her lips. “Drink this down. Swallow it all and don’t spill any of it.”
Miriam gagged slightly but swallowed the perilium from the vial. Amanda made certain she drank every drop. Miriam seemed to relax; her breathing slowed and she settled back against the pillows.
Amanda felt her forehead, then got up from the bed. “She should be all right in an hour or so. Let her rest for now. I’ll call Dwight and he’ll come up and check on her.”
Amanda left the room, and George sat in silence for several minutes watching his wife. Vale had said that the effects of the perilium would wear off, but George hadn’t expected it to happen so quickly.
When he was satisfied Miriam was sleeping again, George dressed and slipped downstairs. He found Amanda in the kitchen, leaning against the big aluminum sink, her head down, the water running.
“What was wrong with her?”
Amanda didn’t look up. “Did they tell you what would happen if she ever stopped taking it?”
George shrugged. “They said that the effects would wear off. And that her Alzheimer’s could eventually come back.”
She shook her head, and her eyes glistened. “Well, let’s just say if she stops taking the perilium, Alzheimer’s will be the least of her worries.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
She turned back to the sink. “Never mind. I already said too much.”
George grabbed her arm and spun her around. “What will happen to her?”
She pulled free from his grasp, her eyes flaring. “Why did you bring her here?”
“To save her. I had to try to save her.”
“Really? Did you do it for her or for yourself?”
George stepped back and blinked. “What?”
“I mean, was it her suffering you were trying to ease or your own?” Amanda wiped her eyes, and her tone suddenly grew cold. “Who were you really trying to save?”
She pushed past him and left George standing in the kitchen struggling with his thoughts. Her question hung in the silence, pricking his conscience. Had he brought Miriam all this way for her sake or his own? He recalled hearing Alzheimer’s described just that way: a disease where the patient’s family suffers more than the patient. He hadn’t thought about it quite like that before. But now part of him had to concede it was true. He’d been more occupied with how her disease had affected him. His life. His plans.
George returned to his room and sat at the bedside as Miriam slept. An ominous thought overshadowed him as he considered the miracle drug and its side effects. Vale had purposely withheld the information about its rejuvenating abilities until it suited him. George wondered now what else Vale hadn’t told him. What other side effects were there? He couldn’t trust Vale for information. He would need to find out for himself.
After a time he dozed off and woke up again shortly after noon. He glanced out the window and saw that the rain had let up some. Miriam was still asleep but George was starving, so he decided to head back to the kitchen and find something to eat.
In the hallway he heard voices coming from the dining room. It sounded like Thomas Vale. And George thought he heard another woman’s voice as well. It wasn’t Amanda, and it didn’t sound like any of the other women he’d met at the dinner party two nights ago.
George heard Vale’s voice drifting up through the foyer. “She wanted to find her cousin. Go take her to him.”
George snuck along the hall until he came to the balcony over the foyer, where he saw Carson escorting someone down the corridor below him. It was a woman, her shoulder-length black hair hanging in wet clumps. She was drenched. George couldn’t see her face, and it almost looked like she had been handcuffed.
“Idiots!” Vale was saying now. “How could they not have known they were being followed? Is he completely incompetent?”
“What are you going to do with her?” Amanda’s voice responded.
“We don’t have any choice,” Vale said. “She didn’t leave us any.”
George watched as Vale and Amanda emerged from the dining room and walked down the hallway.
“See what else you can find out about her,” Vale said. “I need to know if she was telling the truth or not.”
“Yes, sir.”
They headed down the same corridor where Carson had taken the prisoner. Vale exited through the door at the far end of the hallway, and Amanda turned into one of the other doors.
George stole down the stairs quietly and listened. Maybe now was his chance to check in Vale’s office. It was obviously the place where he stored the supply of perilium, or at least some of it, and George needed to find out what else was in there. It was also where George recalled spotting the only phone he’d seen in the entire complex—on Vale’s desk. And since his cell phone had no reception in these mountains, it was the only connection George had to the outside world.
The door was closed, but George pushed it open silently. The office was empty, as he suspected. The big oak desk stood at the far end of the room, and George’s heart pounded as he sucked in a deep breath and stole inside.
He moved past the bookshelves and picked up the phone but heard no dial tone. The LCD screen indicated that a pass code was required in order to dial out. George wasn’t surprised. Vale’s mission was to keep this place a secret. And that meant no unauthorized communications.
To the right of the desk was a second door. George tried the knob, and it opened to a room filled with what looked like storage equipment and monitors. It was small and dimly lit, containing two large refrigeration units built into the walls, with temperature monitors and a security system connected to a large console in the middle of the room. Across from the refrigeration units was another door that led to some sort of supply closet.
At that moment George heard voices in the hallway. Vale was coming back. George slipped inside the closet, leaving the door cracked open. The room was dark and smelled of paper.
In a few seconds Vale entered the refrigerator room and flipped on the lights. He was followed by Frank Carson. George nearly gasped at the sight of the man. He looked pale—almost ashen in appearance—with beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. He was clutching his chest and panting like he’d just run a marathon.
Vale went to one of the refrigeration units and punched in a code on the security keypad. The door beeped once, then clicked and opened with a soft hiss. George could see several glass vials of the perilium in a rack on the shelf.
Vale took one of the vials and held it out to Carson. But as Carson reached for it, Vale drew it back again just out of his grasp. “You know, I’m seriously debating whether or not to dock your pay by one dose. Just for sheer incompetence.”
Carson’s hand hung in midair. His eyes went wide and he stammered between gasps of air, “I’m telling you… I didn’t… didn’t see her.”
Vale scowled at him and then finally relented. Carson grabbed the vial and unscrewed the cap with trembling fingers. He swallowed its contents in one gulp and collapsed into the chair at the computer console.
“You didn’t see her?” Vale stood over him, shaking his head. “She followed you all the way from California, you idiot. You didn’t see her?”
But Carson seemed too weak to respond.
Regardless, Vale was not done ranting. He paced the room. “And then you couldn’t even apprehend her without getting shot!”
After a minute Carson sat up again. His breathing had slowed slightly and he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I’m telling you… she won’t be a problem. You don’t have to worry about her.”
“And what if she did tell someone else?” Vale said. “We’ll have even more guests.”
“She was…,” Carson wheezed. “She was just bluffing.”
“Well, I’m not sure I trust your judgment anymore, Frank. I don’t need this distraction. Especially now.” He leaned into Carson’s face. “You find out what she knows and who she talked to. Do whatever you need to—just get her to talk!”
Vale stormed out of the room and Carson followed a few seconds later, muttering curses under his breath. From the closet George could see out into the main office, where Vale was moving around. After a short time it appeared he had left the room. George waited several more minutes before gathering enough courage to emerge from the closet. He peeked through the door into the office, saw it was in fact empty, and breathed a sigh.
He returned to his suite, where he found Miriam still asleep, and sat down in the other room to collect his thoughts. And formulate a plan.
Everything had just taken a serious turn for the worse. What he’d seen in Vale’s office convinced him he could no longer trust the man. He could no longer trust anyone in this town.
They were holding a woman prisoner either in the lodge or somewhere in town. And it obviously had something to do with the van he’d seen the other day. This woman had followed Carson from California. But what had Carson been doing in California?
And Carson’s appearance had been more than a little disconcerting. His symptoms were similar to Miriam’s, only more severe. An unsettling thought grew in the pit of his stomach as he wondered again what the other side effects of this substance were.
Right now everyone he had met in Beckon seemed to be in the same predicament as Miriam. Frank Carson and Amanda, the Brownes, the Huxleys, and the Dunhams. Probably even Henderson.
George felt sick inside as he wondered what he’d gotten Miriam into. She had been right about Vale. Judging by the way he had just treated Carson, he seemed to have no trouble exercising his complete authority over everyone in town. They all needed the perilium, and he controlled the supply, which meant he made the rules. Quite the monopoly he had going.
But George was at a point of no return. All moral squeamishness aside, right now his top priority was to make sure Miriam had unfettered access to the perilium. At all costs. Unfortunately that meant he would need to cooperate until he could find a way to change the rules of the game in his favor.
Fortunately Vale was a prisoner too. Miriam had determined that much herself. He was beholden to Nun’dahbi—whoever she was—to keep him supplied. Vale had indicated that she was the only one who actually knew how to make perilium, which meant she was the one with the real power.
Which also meant Vale had a point of vulnerability.
Later that afternoon, George found Thomas Vale in the great room standing at the windows, gazing out across the mist-covered landscape. Vale turned from the window, and George could see he was holding a drink.
“I trust Miriam is resting comfortably,” Vale said. “Amanda told me what happened this morning.”
“It gave me a pretty good scare. You didn’t tell me perilium would have that kind of side effect.”
“A minor consequence,” Vale said and sipped his drink. “But they can be avoided easily enough. Fatigue is one of the early warning signs that she’s ready for another dose. I suppose we should have given her one last night before going to bed. But I wouldn’t worry about it. It won’t happen again.”
George was taken aback at how casually Vale seemed to dismiss the incident. But he knew he needed to refrain from being overly confrontational at the moment. “How can you be sure?”
“Trust me, George, I don’t like it any more than you do. But we must deal with it and move on. I’ve survived for more than a hundred and thirty years without serious incident. I’m living proof it can be done.”
George shook his head. It was odd to think he was talking to a man who had lived through the Civil War, not to mention the entire twentieth century and now well into the twenty-first. Vale had seen so much history and yet he’d seen it only from this small corner of the world. No wonder the man could be so callous. He’d been the center of his own universe for too long.
“I’m curious…” George went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a drink. It had been a while since he’d had a formal business meeting, but now he found himself slipping easily into negotiation mode. It was just like riding a bike. “Everyone in Beckon seems to have a very specific function. You’ve given me some idea of what my role here would entail, but what exactly will you need me to do?”
They sat down on the leather couches, and Vale drummed his fingers on the wide armrest. “Our lives here are about balance. We have to maintain a very delicate balance in order to succeed—for all of us to succeed. And what I need is your help to maintain the status quo.”
“What status quo?”
“With the N’watu,” Vale said. “We have a very old treaty with them. We give them what they want, and in turn they give us what we need.”
George smiled inwardly. This was an interesting bit of information. Vale had obligations himself. Some sort of symbiotic relationship with the N’watu.
“So obviously you need a steady supply of perilium from them, but what exactly do they want in return?”
Vale took another sip of his drink. “Isolation.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The N’watu are a very ancient culture and fiercely xenophobic,” Vale said. “I first arrived in Wyoming back in 1878 looking for gold. And when I stumbled across the cave entrance, they captured me. I had to think pretty quick in order to save my life.”
George’s eyebrows went up. “They were going to kill you?”
Vale nodded. “If I hadn’t had one of the local Indians as a guide, I’d be dead. But fortunately he spoke their language, and I was able to negotiate with them.”
“But what did you have to bargain with?”
“The most powerful commodity on the market.”
George furrowed his brow. This should be good. “What’s that?”
Vale’s icy yellow-green eyes narrowed. “Fear.”
“Fear? Of what?”
“Well, that’s the real trick, isn’t it?” Vale said. “The key to any negotiation—as I’m sure you well know—is finding out what the other party is most afraid of and exploiting that to your advantage. Fear of losing their business or losing market share. Or losing their life.”
“So what do the N’watu fear?”
“Losing their home,” Vale said. “They have a deep spiritual connection with this mountain. I think they see themselves as guardians in a way. Priests. I got the sense that they were protecting something. Something deep inside the cave. So I explained to them how the white man was moving ever westward and even if they killed me, it would only be a matter of time before others would come. And come with more guns. I convinced them that soon their way of life, their whole existence, would be threatened.”
“Very clever,” George said. He hadn’t realized it before, but to one degree or another he’d been employing those tactics in the business world his whole life. A thought that, after meeting Thomas Vale, was a little unsettling. “What did you offer to alleviate those fears?”
“I assured them that I could keep them safe. I could conceal the entrance to their cave and keep their home hidden away from prying eyes, as it were. I staked claim to the surrounding land and built this lodge to conceal the entrance, and eventually the town to conceal the lodge.”
“Hidden in plain sight,” George said. “Brilliant.”
Vale chuckled and sipped his drink. “You know, I used to think I stumbled across that cave by accident. Pure dumb luck. But now I know it was fate. It was my destiny to discover the N’watu. We found each other, really. We each supplied what the other was looking for.”
“Kismet.” George nodded. “And now your whole life is focused on keeping this place a secret.”
Vale gestured out the window. “I’m still trying to keep the white man away and keep the N’watu hidden from the modern world. But as I said, it’s a balancing act. And that’s why I chose you. Politicians are tireless busybodies, and I need you to help keep them out of my business.”
“So this cave…” George rubbed his jaw. “Where exactly is it?”
Vale gestured to the floor. “Right beneath us. As I said, I built this lodge over the entrance. I’ve provided the N’watu with complete privacy for the last 130 years in exchange for their sacred elixir of youth. Not such a bad trade-off, I’d say.”
“They’re still living inside the caves?” George could hardly believe an entire tribe of human beings could be living under such horrid conditions. Why would they want to? He couldn’t conceive of any benefit or reason for it. “But how can they possibly survive? It’s inhumane.”
“Ah yes, they’d be much better off with cell phones and mortgages.” Vale snorted.
“No, I mean, how do they live? What do they eat?”
“I’ve only been down there once in my life. But from what I saw, a part of that cave system has been isolated from the outside world since the dawn of time. There’s a whole self-contained ecosystem thriving down there, and the N’watu are an integral part of it. They adapted to it long ago. It’s all the world that most of them have ever known. For them, coming up to the surface, into the sun, would be as alien and unsettling as it would be for you to live underground. And they are keenly single-minded in their religion. They have no real material needs, and all they want is to be left alone.”
It all seemed so bizarre to George. The N’watu should have died out from a lack of vitamin D, for one thing. Sunlight was such a necessity for human life in numerous ways. Unless they were able to compensate for it in some way. And that was probably where the perilium came in. George wondered how old they were. And how many were left. He’d only ever seen the one woman. Nun’dahbi. And she had been so covered in black veils that he wasn’t even sure what she looked like.
But George also recalled the power Nun’dahbi seemed to have over Vale when she came into the room that first night. Vale had acted like a frightened child in the presence of his domineering mother.
“I assume the N’watu need perilium to survive as well,” George said.
“Correct.”
“And by moving here—by joining your community—I can basically get my youth back?”
“And then some,” Vale said. “It’s quite literally the chance of a lifetime.”
George shrugged. “Where do I sign?”
A smile curled onto Vale’s lips. “You’re on board, then?”
George spread his hands and smiled. “At this point, I already have a vested interest in your community.”
George knew he was most definitely not “on board” with Vale. Not the way he ran things in Beckon. The fact was, George was going to make it his sole mission to undermine Thomas Vale’s little empire and usurp his position of authority altogether. If George was going to live here, he wasn’t about to put himself in submission to Vale. If he and Miriam were going to have a second chance at life, then he was going to be the one in charge. Then he could get perilium into the hands of real scientists and find a way to replicate it or even improve it and eliminate the side effects.
He would drag this whole town into the twenty-first century. And hopefully live to see the twenty-second.
“Glad to hear it.” Vale slapped George on the shoulder. “Very glad to hear it.”
Satisfied that he’d waylaid any doubts Vale might’ve had about his commitment, George went back to the room to check on Miriam once more. It was getting late in the afternoon and she’d been in bed since her episode that morning.
But the bed was empty, and there was no sign of his wife in the suite. George recalled Miriam’s voracious appetite after her last dose of perilium and returned downstairs to see if she was in the kitchen.
He found her there, wearing her robe, sitting at the table across from Amanda with her back toward him. Amanda looked up at George and winced. An odd expression, George thought.
“I figured you’d be down here,” he said to Miriam. “How are you feel—?”
He choked his words off as Miriam turned to face him. He blinked and took a step backward. “Miriam?”
Her complexion held no trace of line or wrinkle whatsoever. Her skin was like unblemished alabaster. Her hair fell in pure dark waves to her shoulders. A glossy black sheen, just like when they had first met.
She stood, her expression somewhere between joy and terror, traces of blood around her lips. On the plate in front of her was a half-eaten slab of raw meat. “George…”
George was stunned. His mouth hung open and he shook his head. “You… you look…”
Miriam ran to his arms and George held her close, wondering why he was shocked when he should have expected this. She looked as young and vibrant as a woman in her twenties.
“George… I don’t want to stay here anymore,” Miriam whispered.
“Look at you! You look like you’re eighteen again.”
“But what this stuff is doing to me—it’s not natural. None of this is. Please, can’t we just go home?”
“No. You’re going to need another dose in a day or two.”
“I don’t care,” Miriam said. “I can’t live here. I don’t care what this drug does to me. I don’t care how young it makes me. I just don’t want to stay here anymore.”
“Listen to me.” George clutched her shoulders. “Just give me some time to figure a way out of this.”
“I don’t trust him.” Miriam’s eyes glistened. “I don’t want to be a prisoner in this place, and I don’t trust Vale.”
George held her close in a long embrace. Clearly the stress of regaining her sanity and her youth had become too intense a strain on her mind. She needed time to adjust, he told himself. She just needed to get used to the idea that she was young again.
“You need to get some rest,” he whispered. “Clear your mind. Why don’t you go back to the room and lie down?”
“I don’t want to lie down!” She pulled away and her tone grew sharp. “I’ve been doing nothing but resting all week. Stop treating me like I’m still an invalid.”
“Fine,” George said. His voice softened. “You’re right; let’s find something else to do.” He looked at Amanda. “What do you do for entertainment around this place?”
Amanda showed them the fitness room in the south wing and the entertainment center stocked with all manner of games, movies, and other crafts and activities to pass the time. Miriam found an old game she used to play as a child, and her spirits seemed to lift slightly. And with a little effort, George persuaded her to go back to the room and get dressed. The two of them would get in a light workout together and perhaps sit in the hot tub for a bit. Her mood brightened further at that suggestion.
Miriam left, and once George had Amanda alone, he cornered her in the game room. “Okay, tell me what’s going on here. Who was the woman they brought in?”
“Woman?” Amanda stammered. “What… woman?”
“Stop with the act. I saw her. I saw Carson leading her away in handcuffs a couple hours ago. Who was she? And who did they bring up in the white van?”
“No.” Amanda shook her head. “I can’t say anything. He’ll find out. And it’s not your concern.”
“Where are they?” George persisted. “Are they down in the caves? Does it have something to do with the N’watu?”
“Stop it.” Amanda’s eyes darted away. “I have to go. I have work to do.”
George grabbed her arm. “Answer me! Whatever you people are doing up here, you won’t get away with it.”
“You have no idea what we’re doing.” She yanked her arm from his grasp. “And if I were you, I wouldn’t even think about crossing him. Not if you want her to live.”
George glared at her but he could see only fear in her eyes. She wasn’t his enemy. She was just a fellow prisoner living in fear. She had been shipped out here by her desperate parents, however well-intentioned they might have been. They were trying to save her life but had unwittingly relegated her to a living nightmare. An unending one. What would it be like, George wondered, to work for a man like Vale for ninety years? He could only imagine what other sorts of jobs Vale would have found for her, and he wondered if such longevity as perilium offered could become more of a curse than a blessing.
Miriam returned and they spent the rest of the afternoon together. Her strength and stamina were clearly heightened by the perilium’s effect as she long outlasted George on the treadmill. Then they sat in the outdoor hot tub and played a game of cribbage before dinner.
Vale had invited the other residents again for dinner—raw meat and all. This time Amanda provided George with a cut of meat that was cooked. George did his best to appear amiable, though deep down he had just wanted to spend the evening alone with his wife. His young, vivacious wife.
It seemed the group all came together a few evenings each week. They gathered around the big dining table as though they were at a medieval feast. And Vale sat at the head, directing conversations and moderating debates, always having the final word.
George wondered what it would be like to live within such a small community. Seeing the same few faces year in and year out. Some for more than a century. From the conversations, George gathered more details on how each one had arrived in Beckon. In most cases, their stories were not so different from his own: wealthy souls, stricken with some disease and willing to pay a fortune for the chance to cheat death.
Vale had practically built the town himself after discovering the cave in 1878. At first George wondered why he would build a town in the first place. Why draw people to the very place you’re trying to keep hidden from the public?
But then it struck him: it was obvious that Vale needed some type of human community just for his own survival and sanity. Or ego. Though still, it seemed an odd way to keep a secret.
George surmised that eventually Vale’s fortune would have begun to wane and he would’ve needed additional funds to maintain his way of life. He was a businessman at heart. So he had found a way to use the perilium to his advantage and began his search for others whose circumstances he could exploit, then convinced them to join him. Or perhaps lured them here would be the better description.
George learned that Malcolm and Loraine Browne had arrived in 1893, followed shortly afterward by Frank Carson, who’d once been a colonel in the Union army. And then in 1897 came Dwight Henderson, who had been a physician at the time. Henderson was tight-lipped about the precise circumstances that had brought him to Beckon, but George got the feeling he might have been trying to save someone. Someone close to him.
He also discovered that Max and Fiona Dunham were low-level British royalty who had arrived from England in 1914 just as the First World War was breaking out in Europe. Fiona had suffered from some sort of aggressive cancer.
George already knew that Amanda had arrived in 1923 and the Huxleys in 1972, but there seemed to be a big stretch of time between them, and he wondered if there had been others that he didn’t know about. Others who perhaps didn’t wish to remain under the rule of Thomas Vale. Not for all the perilium in the world.
George noticed that Henry Mulch was not present. When he asked, Vale simply said that Mulch was busy with a job he’d asked him to do.
He made it a special point to look for any hint of dissatisfaction among the group, but the general mood was light and jovial.
The gathering began to disperse shortly after ten o’clock, so George and Miriam excused themselves and retired for the evening. George wanted to get to bed early. He had plans for a morning excursion to locate the cave under the lodge. It was a risky maneuver, but he needed to find some answers.
So he arose early the next morning and slipped downstairs to look around. The place was quiet. He followed the corridor past Vale’s office and discovered a door hidden in a narrow side passage off the main corridor. It opened onto a stairway leading down into darkness. George caught his breath as a sudden wave of apprehension seized him.
“Where are you going?” Miriam’s hushed but urgent voice came from behind him.
George nearly jumped out of his trousers and cursed. “What are you doing? I thought you were asleep.”
“I woke up when you left,” she said. “And I’ve been following you, snooping around.”
George shushed her. “I’m not snooping. I’m…”
“Nosing? Sneaking? Spying?”
“Exploring.”
“Ah,” Miriam said with a stern tone. “Then I’m coming along.”
George stuck out his hand and stopped her short. “No, you’re not. You need some rest, so go back up to the room and—”
Miriam brushed his hand aside. “I am not going back to bed while you go exploring. I’m coming with you.”
George sighed. The last thing he needed was for Miriam to see more of this place than he wanted her to. But he also knew she wasn’t going to listen to him. Besides, she was now probably stronger and nimbler than he was, so even if he wanted to stop her, he doubted he’d be able to.
“It might be dangerous,” he said, lowering his voice.
Miriam peeked past him down the darkened stairway. “It’s a basement. I’ve seen basements before, George.”
“Yeah, well… somehow I don’t think this is going to be a normal basement. And I don’t want—”
“I appreciate your chivalry,” she said, placing her fingers against his lips. “But if you’re going down there, I’m coming with you. It’s as simple as that.”
George clenched his jaw and muttered to himself. “Fine,” he said at last. “But keep quiet.”
They proceeded down the stairs until they came to a narrow corridor with a door on either side and one at the end of the hall. Cold, flickering fluorescent lighting gave the area a pale glow. George tried both side doors only to find them locked. The door at the end was another supply closet containing mops and brooms and a couple of shelving units packed with cleaning supplies.
George closed the door with a frustrated sigh. Miriam frowned. “This basement looks like it should be a lot bigger.”
George tried the two locked doors again. “Yeah, I’m guessing there are more rooms behind these door—”
Suddenly they heard the door at the top of the stairs open and footfalls start down the steps.
Miriam’s eyes went round and she stifled a gasp. George pushed her back into the space under the stairwell. They watched a pair of legs descending with a five-gallon pail. It was Dwight Henderson. He continued down the hall to the closet at the end and disappeared inside.
“Let’s go back up,” George whispered.
Miriam pulled him back into the shadows. “No, he’ll come out and see us. Let’s just wait for him to leave.”They waited beneath the stairs. And waited.
And waited.
Three full minutes passed.
“What’s he doing in there?” Miriam whispered.
Another minute passed and George whispered again, “Let’s just go.”
Miriam hushed him and slipped out of their hiding place.
George grabbed her arm. “What are you doing?”
She pulled herself loose, slipped down the hall, and put her ear to the closet door. “I don’t hear anything.”
George stood at the foot of the stairs and waved her back. “Good. Now let’s go.”
But he could see Miriam was having nothing of it. She pointed to the bottom of the door. “There’s no light on.” She tapped on the door.
Nothing.
Then she opened the door and stepped back. George held his breath and drew closer for a better view.
But aside from the mops and supplies, the room was empty.
George snuck down the hall as Miriam flipped on the light. “We did see him come in here, right?”
Miriam shrugged. “There must be another way out. Some kind of hidden door?”
The room was small, with shelving units on both sides and a large pegboard with hanging hooks along the back. They inspected each of the walls and the floor, looking for anything that might be an entrance.
Miriam was shaking her head. “I don’t like this. Why would they have a secret passage? What are they hiding?”
“I don’t think I want to kn—”
Suddenly they heard muffled footsteps approaching and one of the hooks along the pegboard wall began to move, twisting to the left. George switched off the light and pulled Miriam into the corner just as a section of the back wall swung outward and a pale-green light shone in through the opening. They moved farther into the corner, behind the shelving unit, as a figure emerged.
In the shadows of the closet they could see it was Henderson again. He was still carrying the bucket, but his face looked somewhat distraught in the pale light. George held his breath as Henderson pulled the secret door closed again behind him. They heard a metallic click, and then Henderson exited the supply room through the main door. They listened to his footsteps retreat down the hall and climb back up the stairs.
Then they both breathed a long sigh.
“I’m too old to go sneaking around like this,” George whispered into Miriam’s ear.
“We need to find out what’s back there.”
“It’s too dangerous.” George flipped the light on. “If they catch us…”
But Miriam was busy feeling around the wall where Henderson had emerged. “We’ve got to find out what’s going on out here.”
George knew it was better not to argue with her. He pointed to the hook he’d seen move earlier. “I think this might be some kind of latch.”
He tried twisting it to the left and could feel it swivel on its mounting bracket. He continued turning until he felt it snap into place like a dead bolt. The doorway was disguised as a section of pegboard mounted to the cinder-block wall, hooks and all. The board had numerous mop heads and brooms hanging from it along with other supplies. It was ingenious, really. George never would have suspected it was a doorway had he not seen it in use.
The board loosened on its hinges, and George was able to push it outward. It opened into a rough-hewn tunnel carved into solid rock with a series of stone steps leading down and out of sight. A line of light fixtures was mounted to the rock ceiling, each with a pale bulb, casting a sickly glow into the tunnel.
George glanced at his wife, still not quite used to her youthful appearance. “What do you think?”
Miriam grabbed a flashlight from one of the shelves and handed it to George. Then she gestured into the tunnel. “Let’s go.”
George nodded, his jaw clenching. “That’s what I was afraid you were going to say.”
They stepped through into the tunnel beyond and George pushed the door closed behind them, turning the locking mechanism back into place. Then they crept down the stairway, ever listening for any sounds. George wondered how many of the other residents knew about this passage. He was certain that Vale did. And obviously Henderson was using it too. He also assumed Frank Carson knew about it, since he was the one who’d brought the woman down here in the first place. In fact, it wouldn’t have surprised him if all the residents of Beckon were aware of the passage. And if that was the case, why bother keeping it a secret?
The lights were spaced every forty feet or so, creating brief, dimly lit patches amid lengthy sections of darkness. They descended the stairway as it curved away out of sight, making it difficult to see too far ahead at any given time. After several minutes of cautious descent, they arrived at a large wooden door. It looked to him like something out of a horror movie. Thick wooden beams held together with iron bands and bolts.
George put his ear to the wood but couldn’t hear anything. He pushed against the handle and felt it swing open with a dull creak. On the other side the tunnel continued straight.
They had come this far; they might as well keep going. But once through the door, they paused to listen again, and what they heard sent chills down George’s spine. Voices echoed up through the dark passage. Wailing and moaning as if in torment. George’s heart pounded and his throat went dry. It was as if they had in fact descended into some subterranean dungeon of horrors. They had left the modern world behind them and gone back into the Dark Ages, into a torture chamber.
Miriam gripped his arm. “Those are people, George…. What is this place?”
George felt sick inside. The voices grew louder as they made their way down the passage, and soon they came across side tunnels off the main corridor. At this point, George was glad Miriam had found the flashlight in the supply room.
He shone the beam down one of the tunnels. There were in fact more doors built into the rock walls. It was a prison of some sort. They could hear a weak male voice pleading to them in Spanish, but George couldn’t make out what he was saying.
He called out, “Where are you?”
The voice grew more earnest, and in the beam of the flashlight George could see fingers reaching out from a slat in one of the doors.
Miriam rushed down the corridor to the door. “Here, George.” She pulled on the iron latch, but it wouldn’t budge. “Help me open it.”
George followed her and inspected the handle. “They’re all locked,” he said. “We have to try to find the key.”
Miriam peered in through the opening. “We’ll get you out…. Don’t be afraid. We’ll find the key.”
Then George heard a voice from one of the other doors. A woman’s voice, speaking English. “Who are you? What are you doing here?”
George panned the light toward the new voice and saw a hand reaching out through the bars.
“Who are you?” the woman said again.
Miriam turned and clutched the woman’s fingers. “Oh, my… don’t worry. We’re going to get help.”
“How did you get down here?”
George leaned in. “We were snooping around the lodge and found this tunnel in the basement. It’s hidden. We’re… we’re just guests there.”
“Guests? You know Thomas Vale?”
“Yes, he invited us here,” Miriam said.
“Then listen to me. You’re in danger too. You need to get out and call the FBI. You can’t trust him. You can’t trust any of them. None of the people in this town.”
“Who are you? Why did they lock you up down here?”
“I’m a police officer—from Los Angeles,” the woman said, her voice cracking with emotion. “My name is Elina Gutierrez. I was investigating a kidnapping. I followed the van here and they captured me.” Her tone became insistent. “You need to contact the FBI. They’re engaged in some kind of human trafficking here. There’s something horrible going on.”
George’s head spun as he searched the corridor. These had to be the people they’d brought in the van and the woman he’d seen the day before. “We can’t get these doors open. We have to go back and find the keys.”
“Please help us,” Elina pleaded. “You have to get help right away. Don’t trust them. Don’t trust any of them.”
Miriam was squeezing Elina’s fingers through the bars. “We’ll get you out of here. Don’t worry. We’ll get you out.”
Elina began weeping. “I was praying that someone would find us. I was praying He would send someone to save us.”
Miriam leaned close and said softly, through her own tears, “He heard you. God heard you.”
George suddenly felt as if the darkness were closing in on him. As if something were pursuing them. He grabbed Miriam’s arm. “We need to go—now.”
He led her back up the tunnel as Elina’s voice came from behind him.
“Listen to me,” she said. “Be careful. There’s something in the caves. They said there’s something terrible down there.”
George steered Miriam away. “Don’t worry. We’ll contact the FBI as soon as we can.”
They hurried back the way they had come. Through the wooden door and up the stairs. George was puffing hard as they climbed the stairs, but now Miriam pulled him onward, her new youthful stamina driving her.
“What is this place?” she was saying between breaths. “Why would they have these people locked up?”
“I don’t know,” George wheezed. “I saw her… yesterday…. Carson took her away like a… prisoner.”
“What?” Miriam turned on the stairs and glared at him. “You saw her? You knew about this place and you didn’t tell me?”
“I didn’t know about this place,” George said. “And I didn’t know… who she was. I just… didn’t want to upset you until I found out what was… going on.”
Miriam started back up the stairs. “We have to call the state patrol or something.”
“I tried, but the only landline is in Vale’s office, and you need a pass code to dial out.” George pulled Miriam’s arm and she turned around. “Look, if Vale thinks we’re going to cause trouble, he’ll have us both killed.”
“How could you get mixed up with these people?”
“I was desperate!” George hissed in a hushed tone. “I would’ve done anything to save you. You have no idea what it was like living with you like that. All our money, and I couldn’t even…” He could feel his emotions swelling up and choked off his words. In fifty years of marriage, he’d never cried in front of Miriam; he wasn’t about to start now.
She hugged him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t blame you. But we have to get out of here. We can’t stay here any longer.”
“We can’t leave.”
“George.” Miriam looked him in the eyes. “I don’t care what happens to me. I am not going to let you become Vale’s slave for me. I won’t let you live in that kind of fear.”
“I can figure out a way to get rid of him. I’m not afraid of him.”
“And I’m not afraid of death.”
They continued on to the top of the stairs. George pulled open the hidden door to the storage room. They both clambered through into the room and stopped in their tracks.
Thomas Vale stood in the open doorway. Frank Carson and Henry Mulch stood behind him in the basement corridor, arms folded.
Vale sighed and shook his head, a look of disappointment on his face. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you were just out for a morning stroll.”