Elixir. Part 25

Wally wiped his mouth and stared at the floor for a moment. "The papers said you murdered a colleague and blew up a jetliner with a hundred and thirty-seven people."

"Thank you," he said. "Now let's get those beers, then I'm going to explain how I was framed for those crimes."

As they walked into the kitchen, Wally looked at Roger. "By the way, you look d.a.m.n good for fifty-six."

"Because I'm not, and I'll explain that too."

They got the beers and returned. Then over the next two hours Roger told his story, leaving out very little. Without getting too technical, he explained how the tabulone molecule worked on the DNA sequence to prolong cell life. As doc.u.mentation he showed Wally the old Elixir brochures from Darby and the videos of Methuselah and Jimbo.

Wally was astounded, of course, and asked lots of questions. Every so often he'd examine Roger's face and hands, amazed at their condition. At one point he even tugged at Roger's hair to see that it wasn't a wig.

"You've discovered the mother of all miracle drugs," he said. "But, man, I'm looking at you and seeing something that shouldn't be. It's G.o.dd.a.m.n creepy. If I were religious, I'd say you'd been touched by Jesus."

A long silence pa.s.sed as Wally nursed his drink and let it all sink in. Finally, he said, "What's it like not to age?"

Roger smiled. "Mirrors no longer depress me."

"I've conquered that myself. I avoid them."

They both laughed. It was the same old Wally, the same self-deprecating wit. And it came back to Chris why he had been so fond of him. Yet, despite the renewed warmth, Roger reminded himself that Wally could still think him a killer.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I was framed. It's the truth, and I want you to believe it. I did not kill anybody."

"There's got to be another reason you're here."

Chris nodded. "I want you to go to back to the FBI and tell them that you were wrong. That you checked old photographs and it wasn't Christopher Bacon you had spotted, just a guy who resembles him. He's too young to be Bacon."

Wally listened without response. "I want them off my tail, Wally. I've got a kid and a wife, and they don't deserve to be put on the run again. We have new lives and we want to continue living them out."

"Well, I guess my head is still spinning."

"I understand, but a lot of people have already died."

Wally's face hardened. "What does that mean?"

"It means that if I were a guy who blew up a hundred and thirty-seven family people heading for vacation, I would have little compunction eliminating anybody else."

"You mean me."

"And your son. Instead I'm drinking beers with you in your living room."

"Aren't I grateful!"

"Of course, if you do it you'll be out the million-dollar reward."

"Well, there's that."

"A lot of money. Could make for a nice early retirement."

Wally's face darkened. Roger picked up his jacket, feeling the comforting weight of the pistol. He reached his hand into the right inner pocket, firmly gripping its contents. "I hate to spoil things, but so will this."

Wally made an involuntary gasp as Roger whipped out his hand and aimed it straight at him: A long gla.s.s ampule. "Elixir."

"What?"

"Elixir," Roger repeated. "Earlier you asked did it work for anybody. To my knowledge, two people in the world today. You could be the third. Compensation for forfeiting the million dollars: perpetual life."

Wally stared blankly. It was too much to absorb all at once.

"You don't have to make a decision now, but it has to be soon. They're watching us. I'm offering you an unlimited supply of Elixir to keep you alive indefinitely. In return, I ask that you retract your claim."

Wally contemplated the offer. They both knew he was the perfect candidate-divorced, lonely, overweight, aging all too fast, and looking at maybe ten years at best before he died.

"You don't have to take it, of course."

Wally rolled the ampule of tabulone in his fingers, studying the promise locked in gla.s.s. Outside the night wind had picked up, and someplace in the dining room a banjo clock chimed midnight.

"Run by me the side effects again."

"There are no side effects in the ordinary sense-just a rejuvenation surge that sets you back about ten years. It's hard to measure. But it takes place over six weeks to three months. Once stabilized, you would need injections infrequently-once every two weeks. Eventually, once a month. But once you start you can't stop or you'll die. That goes for me too."

"What about cancer cells? What if I've got a spot on my lungs or something in my liver?"

"The stuff holds them in diapause. They don't replicate but sit there, while normal cells continue to divide."

"So, it's like a kind of chemotherapy-the good cells grow while the bad ones are held in check."

"Something like that, except the good cells go on indefinitely."

"What happens when the Elixir stops coming?"

Roger could still see Jimbo dying, his body exploding in carcinoma gone wild. "You die."

"What about your organs-heart, kidney and liver? Don't they eventually wear out?"

"Theoretically, they shouldn't as long as you take care of yourself. And if they do, there are always transplants-every ten thousand miles or fifty years, which ever comes first."

Wally laughed. "As we kids say, 'Holy s.h.i.+t.'"

He got up for another beer. Roger escorted him, though he no longer expected Wally to go for the phone.

When they returned, Wally said: "You've lived unchanged for nearly fifteen years. Are you happy?"

Are you happy?

While Chris hadn't expected it, it was a legitimate question. But the answer was far from simple.

His impulse was to declare, Of course I'm happy. Never aging. Never growing weary, depressed, infirm. Not watching your body fall apart. Never having to die. Being around to see all the great changes-manned rockets to Mars, nano-engineering, controlled fusion, a cure for AIDS. To go on indefinitely learning and doing the things you enjoy. To prolong your time with those you love. h.e.l.l! Who wouldn't be happy?

But it was more complicated than that. Yes, he loved his wife and son. They were the fundamental conditions of his life. But all that came at a price. When Chris Bacon took his first injection, they were on the run trying to become strangers. That was behind them now, but he could never go back to the man who wanted to live forever to do his science. Without credentials, he could never step foot in a lab again.

Likewise, Laura had abandoned her dream of becoming a full-time writer, nor could she go back to teaching without college degrees as Laura Glover. When that all came to an end bitterness and boredom set in. What saved them was Brett. His existence relieved them from the claustrophobia of their secrets. He provided them love and cause outside themselves. He kept them from depression and divorce.

While flower arrangements didn't do it for Roger, he threw himself into fatherhood, and not just the male stuff-baseball, wrestling, and fis.h.i.+ng. He took charge of monitoring Brett's schooling, setting up piano lessons, doctor exams, shopping. To keep the rust off his brain, Roger tutored neighborhood kids in biology, chemistry, and math, sometimes performing simple experiments in a makes.h.i.+ft lab in his garage.

"Are you happy?"

But Wally wasn't asking about the joys of parenting and playing Mr. Wizard. He wanted to know if there was happiness in being stuck in the moment.

Roger still wore a watch and saw life in segmented chunks, shaped by schedules and deadlines. Yet, biologically speaking, time was what other people experienced. He was a mere spectator, living with clocks, but impervious to their movement. Except for Laura who got older and Brett who grew up.

Like an exile on an island in the timeflow, Roger was unable to determine which was worse-watching his wife drift off or his son pull toward sh.o.r.e.

"Are you happy...?"

Roger knew what Wally meant. But he'd lie because, in part, he missed his old life and his wife and the tick of the clock.

"Yes."

"You're not bored with the sameness?"

"The alternative is watching yourself grow old."

"Been there, done that," Wally said. "So, it's like being thirty-something forever."

Roger had to admit to himself a selfish impulse to his offer. If Wally agreed, he would have someone else to share vast stretches of slow time with. Laura, of course, had no interest. "Yes."

"My G.o.d!" He again grinned in wonder at Roger. "If you can't lick 'em, join 'em," he said.

"I don't follow."

"Just that I've reached the age when it's finally hit me that this ride isn't forever. I'm beginning to think like an old man even though part of me still feels twenty-one. As a result, I find myself resenting the younger set because I'm not one of them anymore. I don't even go to movies anymore because n.o.body in them is over thirty. Worse still is TV which is a nonstop p.u.b.erty fest. Christ, I sit here sometimes wis.h.i.+ng there was an AARP channel. Instead, I rent Randolph Scott videos or listen to the Russian Five. Sure, laugh, but every morning I go to work expecting to find some kid who hasn't started shaving yet sitting at my desk. I'm telling you, we live in a culture that eats its old."

Roger smiled, recalling the familiar pa.s.sion that thirty years ago had rallied protests against the Vietnam War. "I hear what you're saying, but it won't change your chronological age."

"But when they retire me I won't go home to die."

"No, you won't. But keep in mind that this is for real. It works, and there's no turning back. You will not age, yet your son and everybody else you care for will. In time, that will be a problem without precedents. Think these things over very carefully before you decide."

"I hear you."

Roger removed a new syringe from his s.h.i.+rt pocket. He put the needle through the rubber septum, extracted 1.2 ccs, and injected it into his own arm. "A booster shot. In three days I'll call you for your decision. If you accept it, you'll have an endless supply available to you."

Roger then asked for a candle and a match. He lit the candle and dripped some wax over the septum and had Wally press his finger over it as a seal. "I can't leave this with you, but if you decide you're Go, we'll inject you from the same batch just so you know that you're getting the same stuff. You can check the seal that it's not been tampered with."

"What if I reject your offer?"

"Then I will a.s.sume one of two possibilities. First, that you went to the Feds and called them off. Or, that you didn't which means we're still under surveillance. Since I cannot with certainty a.s.sume the best, I will consider my status and that of my family in peril."

"And...?"

"And you'll never see a dime of the reward money."

"You mean you'd kill me."

Roger did not respond.

"You have a gun in there." Wally nodded at Roger's jacket. "I heard the thud."

"Yes."

"Look, Chris-sorry-Roger, I think you've been straight with me all night. I think what you've told me is real-at least as real as what I'm seeing. I also believe that somebody tried to screw you. I'll do what you say. I'll go back to the Feds and retract my claim. I swear on it for what it's worth since you'll probably follow me anyway."

Something in his manner said he was as good as his word. "You won't be able to reach me for the next three days," Roger said. "But I'll call you. If you decide on treatments, I'll give you instructions where we can meet to begin."

"How much of this Elixir did you say you had?"

"Enough to keep you alive until the middle of the thirty-seventh century."

Wally let out a squeal. "The thirty-seventh century? My G.o.d! But who'd want to live that long?"

"Probably no one, but it beats three score and ten."

"I'll say. But what if you get tired of living?"

"The treatment comes with a cyanide cap."

The next morning Wally drove to the Madison office of the FBI.

Agent Eric Brown was out of town at a conference and wouldn't be back for a week. An agent named Mike Zazzaro was taking Brown's calls. He knew about the case and had read the report. When Wally explained that he wanted to retract his claim, Zazzaro asked permission to videotape the interview for Brown. Wally agreed and signed a form. Then Wally took a seat beside a table sporting a Boston fern in a gold pot and explained his retraction.

"I made a mistake. It was the wrong guy. I went back and checked on some old photos and realized my error. Roger Glover is not Chris Bacon. There's a resemblance-what had caught me off guard-but it isn't the same man. Besides, he's about thirty years too young-you can tell that just looking at him. I don't know what got into my head. Early senility I guess. So I'm here to apologize for sending you guys on a wild goose chase, and I guess I should hope this Roger Glover didn't get into any trouble. Jesus, I should call him and apologize. I met the guy for the first time a couple weeks ago at my son's wrestling tournament, and now I've got the government on his tail for ma.s.s murder. I feel terrible, really terrible. I mean, how do you apologize for that? He hasn't been arrested has he?"

"No."

"But he's still being investigated, right?"

"We're still looking into it."

"Well, that's got to end. He's the wrong guy...."

Wally rambled on. Zazzaro asked him some questions, and Wally answered, trying to affect woeful regret. When he left, he felt drained, as if he had just pleaded for his own life.

He had.