Beckon (12 page)

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?”

Chapter 22

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.

Chapter 23

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.