Sometimes he envied the dead.
There was once a fierceness in him that radiated to every corner of a room; now all that was left were the steel-gray eyes that could still flash at injustice great or small, like the great injustice of growing old.
He set the wheelchair in motion, out of the musty, oppressive bedroom to the cool sanctuary of the red brick patio. The brief whir of the electric motor made the seabirds resting nearby take wing in shrill protest. A sharp ocean breeze sent his thin white hair straight up and his ill-fitting shirt flapping against his shrunken arms and neck. Like the bright, earnest young men who sought him out, then left visibly distressed at who they found, the old man could not believe what had become of him. In what seemed like the mere snap of his fingers, he had gone from the dynamic, premiere scientist of his era to being nearly bedridden and obscure. Even teachers who made their living reciting his theories that forever changed the world often spoke of him in past tense, the bright young men reluctantly confirmed—their eyes averted—as if those mere reciters could ever shoulder the mantle of scientific eminence that still rightfully belonged to him.
The professor clenched his jaw and his eyes flashed again.
Afraid you’re not quite rid of me yet.
As the seabirds cautiously returned and circled above, he stared down at the moonlike landscape of rocks and sand mounds and white foam waves that raced ashore less than fifty yards away. The wind took days to move the mounds noticeably, like waves in slow motion.
He saw a small sand pile forming at the edge of the patio, burying the bottom of the rusting iron fence partially enclosing the weathered bricks. The professor shook his head. Years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to grab a coal shovel and toss back the invasion; now he wondered why on Earth he had been so eager to fight such a losing battle. In a few days the wind would sweep the patio clean and another sand mound would begin to take its place. He liked the steady, dependable rhythm, could appreciate it now that his youthful impatience was gone.
The professor gasped, sat up straighter in his wheelchair. He noticed a small yet startling distant bump on the ocean, shimmering like a city in celebration. But that was impossible, he thought in confusion. Could atmospheric conditions bend light that far? He had seen mirages before—dozens of them—but this was far more focused and clear. Why, the shores of Europe were two thousand miles away, he marveled, yet it seemed he could almost reach out and touch . . .
. . . and he realized he was staring at a ship on the horizon, its image wavering where the boundary between sky and water blurred.
The professor dropped his trembling arm and slumped in defeat. Why hadn’t he immediately realized it was only a ship, as any fool could plainly see? Was his eyesight failing him now too? My God, he thought, leave me something! And even though it was an insignificant mistake, he closed his eyes and sobbed once, despising his relentless decline.
He turned and propelled himself back into the bedroom, aware his feelings of hopelessness meant only one thing; he had forgotten to take his antidepressant.
As he took a pill from one of the open amber vials on the crowded nightstand, the thousand-red-hot-needles pain in his chest that was becoming more frequent and severe struck him again, pitching him forward unceremoniously out of the wheelchair. He landed hard on his side on the worn carpet, fighting for every breath and clutching his throat, not just for air but to keep from making a sound. As before, the needles withdrew as fast as they had come, leaving him panting, forehead wet with sudden sweat and his eyes burning with determination to keep hidden from Natalie for as long as he could how he fought these little skirmishes with death.
He did not want to be taken from here to die in a faraway place, his slim chance to live again lost because his memories had degraded beyond Dorning’s ability to save them.
He grasped at the wheelchair, straining to pull himself up until he was finally sitting again. His shoulders heaving from the effort, he suddenly realized to his slight amusement that he was still clutching the pill in the palm of his left hand.
There were three familiar soft raps on the bedroom door behind him.
He closed his eyes to compose himself and blot his forehead with a handkerchief before answering.
Much too close that time.
“Dorning? Is that you?” The professor tried to sound nonchalant as he hastily tucked his handkerchief away. “Go ahead and let yourself in. I can’t help.”
The door swung inward, revealing a plump, perspiring man in a taut blue suit and a coffee-stained tie. The man held white-knuckle tight to the handle of an overstuffed briefcase.
“Morning, Professor!” The voice boomed with enviable baritone strength and just the slightest shadow of a German accent. “Did you sleep well last night?”
“Of course,” the professor lied. He fumbled to slip the secret pill into his shirt pocket then maneuvered to face his visitor.
****
Carl Dorning was relieved to see the old man looked about as well as could be expected. Dorning towered over the wheelchair and its frail occupant, loosening his tie in the warm, stale room.
He smiled primly. “Well then. Did you remember to take all your medicine this morning?”
The professor bristled with open resentment. “Yes, yes.”
Dorning bowed his head; he knew he shouldn’t always open their conversations with the same condescending questions, yet despite the housekeeper’s steady assurances at least every other week, he had to see and hear for himself how well the old man was doing.
Dorning wasn’t quite prepared for the professor to die. Not yet.
He waved his free hand to dismiss the professor’s resentment, smiling weakly again. “So! Your birthday is in a couple of weeks, isn’t it? I imagine the cards and letters are already pouring in. Another milestone, Professor.” He sat down on the corner of the sour-smelling bed and swung the heavy briefcase up onto his lap.
The professor shrugged. “A year older but not any wiser, I’m afraid.” He motored past his guest and grabbed a glass of water from the book and paper cluttered dresser before turning away.
Dorning said nothing as the professor clumsily tried to hide what he was doing—swallowing a forgotten pill. As guilty as Dorning felt for thinking about it, he couldn’t help but imagine he was watching a crude marionette as the professor’s arms shook, head bobbing on a ridiculously thin neck that looked ready to snap under the weight. It was almost as if someone horribly unskilled was making the old man perform with jerking motions. Cut the strings, and the figure would never move again.
Done, the professor wiped his mouth with an unsteady hand and rolled back around to face his guest. “So, do tell me. How is that great experiment of yours coming along, Dorning? I take it your visits are to make sure I’m still well enough to take part in your future Nobel Prize-winning procedure, but the older I get the more you fret since you’re still not ready after all this time. Isn’t that right?”
Dorning fiddled with the latch on his briefcase. “The experiments are going just fine. In fact, I’ve made considerable progress recently.” He spoke quietly. He disliked talking so directly about his life’s work since it ultimately required the professor’s demise to be proved or disproved in humans.
“Ah.” It was the professor’s turn to be dismissive. He whirred back towards the patio, away from his guest. “I don’t know what the point is, Dorning. It’s not going to work nearly as well as you think it is, you know. You’re just wasting your time and mine. Not to mention all my money.”
“What do you mean?” Dorning stood up and followed the professor outside. “All indications so far are that it should be a great success.”
“Indications? Not good enough, Dorning. Besides, you haven’t experimented with anything higher up the evolutionary ladder than mice. How would you know?”
“Guinea pigs,” he corrected the professor. Dorning loosened his tie further down, grateful for the fresh ocean breeze. “And I have two primates coming. Don’t ask me how. I’m going to try . . . something new.”
His confident, almost smug expression faltered for a moment then returned.
The professor rejected Dorning’s comments with a wave of a hand. “Come back when you have success with the primates. Then I might finally believe your scheme will work.”
Dorning huffed. “Scheme?” He especially disliked this part of their conversation, when the professor played devil’s advocate. It was almost as though the professor enjoyed mocking him, as if that proved the professor’s intellectual superiority. “This could be the secret to nearly eternal youth, assuming the procedure is repeatable indefinitely. Which it might be.”
“Yes, but at what cost, Dorning? Tell me again whose life you take away in the process and who would volunteer for such a thing?”
“No one’s life is taken away. You already know that. Someone else, someone younger, will simply . . . accommodate you. It’s a chance to live again, to finally finish your life’s work. Lots of people would be willing to become a whole lot smarter practically overnight if they could. You’re still highly regarded and admired, you know. I assure you, if it weren’t for the narrow age restriction there would be no shortage of volunteers, no end to the number of people lined up to help Percival Marlowe any way they could.”
The old man was quiet. That bit of reasoning, Dorning knew, always silenced the professor. The chance to continue being revered by so many people was the real reason why the professor was not only willing to finance but participate in the procedure.
“Besides, you will have just died when I make the attempt,” Dorning added dryly. “What difference will it make to you then whether it works or not?”
Marlowe cast an angry glance at him. “Thank you so much for reminding me. You know, I’m still surprised the authorities are going to allow you to experiment on humans. There must be considerable ethical debate going on about this, but it’s funny how you never even mention it. And where are all these eager volunteers you keep talking about, Dorning? Except for a few naive graduate students who can’t wait to leave when they see how impaired I am, I haven’t seen anyone.” He stared at Dorning with a challenging gaze.
Dorning reddened a bit but said nothing immediately. He set down his briefcase, took off his tie and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Let me deal with the authorities and select who will be lucky enough to accommodate you, all right? Those are things you don’t have to worry about. In fact, you don’t have to worry about anything at all.”
The professor looked away. “Except dying.” The voice was soft, full of sadness.
Dorning folded his tie, stuffed it in his suit pocket and stared down at the professor with pity. “Which will be a meaningless event if everything goes according to plan. That’s the whole purpose behind what we’re trying to accomplish. Oh!” Dorning lightly tapped his forehead. “I almost forgot. I have some more papers for you to sign. That’s another reason why I came here today.” He opened the bulging briefcase and extracted a slim manila folder and a pen.
Marlowe rolled his eyes. “Not more papers! Haven’t I signed enough? When will it stop?”
“This should be just about it, Professor. It’s just a legal form that prevents any heirs you don’t know about from suing me for performing the procedure on you.”
The professor clutched the pen and struggled to sign his name. “Unknown heirs. Yes. I’m sure some alleged distant cousins twice removed will come out of the woodwork once I’m dead, trying to claim whatever’s left of my estate. If by some miracle your experiment does work, Dorning, I’ll be glad to thumb my new nose at them.”
Dorning shifted his weight uneasily. “Speaking of money, you need to sign a check for me today as well.” He pulled the professor’s checkbook out of the briefcase, hastily presenting it to him for another signature.
Marlowe glanced at the amount then struggled once more with the pen. “Well, you can’t take it with you as they always say.” He looked at the amount a second time and gave a faint little laugh. “My goodness, I think I’ve given you all of my own Nobel Prize money by now and then some, haven’t I? You better share some of yours with me when your procedure finally works, that’s all I can say.”
Dorning froze briefly in surprise. That was the first time in a long time the professor had suggested the experiment might not end in failure. “Of course, Percival. You will be very well taken care of indeed.” He took back the checkbook with the signed check.
The professor nodded. “Thank you, my boy.”
They shook hands.
“I must leave now, Professor. I have to get back to my lab.” He picked up his briefcase.
“All right. Keep me posted.”
“Of course.” Dorning backed away. “Shall I ask the housekeeper to get you anything on my way out?”
Marlowe shook his head. “No, everything’s fine,” he said without conviction. Then he straightened up with a sudden thought and turned towards Dorning. “Speaking of Natalie, let me ask you something. She’s been very good to me all these years. If it’s at all possible, I would like her to be included in any future plans.”
Dorning smiled slowly, glad to hear the professor was finally talking in such positive terms. “Yes, that will be arranged when the time comes. She could be of great assistance bringing you back to us after the procedure since she’s so familiar to you.”
“I see. Very well then. Oh, and one other thing, Dorning.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t intend for any of this to happen anytime soon.” He looked defiant.
Dorning laughed. “That’s fine, Professor. More time for me to make sure it will work, especially since I only get one shot at this. Just one, you know.”
Marlowe turned away briefly to consider that, and when he looked back to respond, Dorning was already gone.