Beckon (14 page)

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.”

Chapter 26

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.”