The Immortality Virus (25 page)

Grace remembered the grieving Jordan, Ethan’s father, talking as if he had lost his wife before her death.

“You never watched your mother die the way mine did. You never had to decide she was better off dead than continuing to live as a hollow shell.” His voice broke and for the first time, Grace felt the truth in his words. She had a glimpse beneath his mask and saw perhaps a hint that he wasn’t as evil as his father had thought–or did a little compassion in an otherwise ruthless man counteract evil?

A question for another time, assuming she lived. Which was a pretty big assumption.

“My father knew what he was doing. The Change wasn’t an accident, so finding him won’t change a thing, even if he’s alive, which I doubt.”

“So why kill me?” Grace asked.

“I don’t like to leave things to chance. I haven’t seen my father in a long time, and men can change. Besides, for all I know someone out there is already too close.”

Grace concentrated on her food.

“You should tell me what you know,” Ethan said. “You don’t owe anything to Matt. That man’s a son of a bitch, anyway. In case you haven’t figured it out, he has no intention of reversing the anti-aging process until he can figure out how to make an exception of himself. He’s got the money, the resources, and all the time in the world. He may even think he’s a humanitarian–helping the world in exchange for his own immortality. Who knows?”

He may be right.
It didn’t matter, though. At least with Matt, there would be change for the better, even if he didn’t join in. Ethan Lacklin, on the other hand, would have the entire world self-destruct.

“Go to hell.”

“Language!” Ethan said. “I’ve hit a nerve, haven’t I? I may be a bastard, but at least I’m an equal opportunity bastard.”

“Yeah, and I’m sure your birth restrictions would limit the rich as well as the poor.”

“I only had one child. Why shouldn’t everyone else?”

“I don’t have any. Why shouldn’t everyone else? This world’s a hell hole, and it’s cruel to bring children into it.”

Ethan cleared his throat. “I see. So, then, I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how you learned about my father or who else knows about it?”

Grace shook her head.

“Well, let’s explore the possibilities.” Ethan poured himself another glass of water and offered some to Grace. She refused, but listened out of curiosity. She wanted to know how Ethan knew about his father.

“First, you obviously didn’t run into this information on your own. Mr. Stanton hired you, so he must have given it to you. He’s already on my list of targets.”

“Good luck,” Grace said. She’d seen rich men go after one another before. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it turned into a small war. She didn’t understand the politics involved, exactly, but she wondered what would happen if these two powerful men targeted one another. Would The Establishment line up and take sides? Would the entire structure crumple from above?

Nah, there had to be some kind of check. It had never escalated that far before.

“Well, thank you,” Ethan said, “but I think I’m okay. You see, as a whole The Establishment doesn’t want to see aging resume. They’ll back me when I take action against him.”

Ethan stared at the empty plates in front of them. “Ready for dessert?”

The chocolates weren’t quite enough to make Grace think she’d already died and gone to heaven, but they were close. This wasn’t the cheap excuse for imitation chocolate she normally had access to. Someone had used real cocoa beans or at least, that’s what she told herself. Something in this chocolate made it rich, creamy, and smooth.

“The thing I’ve been wondering,” Ethan said, “and please let me know if it’s true, is whether Mr. Stanton somehow got hold of Dad’s diary. We never found it, you see. I’m sure he took it with him when he ran after the murders because he stayed in his cabin for a while, and we had that bugged, too. But he didn’t stay there long “

Grace didn’t remember any entries made after the murder. She didn’t let her confusion show, though.

“I know you have the diary, or have listened to it. You know where my father was when he left his last message. You know who he had met and who he might have told about his research. In four hundred years, he might have left quite a trail. I want that information.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Unfortunately, it was the truth. She wondered if Matt knew anything about it. Somehow, she thought the answer might be yes, in which case she might help Ethan kill the man–if she got out of this. The more Ethan talked, the more her mind began to wonder if escape was somehow possible.

Why not? Nothing was certain until she was dead. All she had to do was to postpone that as long as possible.

“Grace, it has been a pleasure talking to you, but I’m afraid this is the point where the niceties must come to an end unless you tell me everything you know.”

“No.”

Ethan stood. “I thought you might say that. Which is why I poisoned your chocolate. I’d better go before you start losing your supper, but I’ll be back in the morning.”

“But...but you ate it.” Grace stopped. The chocolate had come in individual pieces, and her stomach was beginning to tell her that her piece may well have contained something bad.

“Good night, Grace.”

She tried to double over from a stab of pain, but being tied to a chair, she couldn’t manage it. Instead, she heaved the contents of her stomach onto herself, especially her lap and hands. It tasted awful coming back up, and the feel of it on her body made her gag. But it didn’t end there. Tears filled her eyes and the scent of vomit filled her nose as her insides writhed again and again, past the point where there was no more left. After that, she dry heaved until she thought she might black out to escape the pain.

When it was over, Grace sat there dripping in vomit, unable to move any part of her body save her hands, which reached for and found the lock fastening the binding around her middle. She wasn’t sure why she reached for that lock when she knew she would never be able to open it.

Bringing her hands back to her front, she tried to wipe the vomit off her shirt and lap, with limited success. She reached behind herself to find a bit of clean shirt to wipe her hands, but this, too, proved only somewhat successful. The stench of bile and orange duck filled the air and grew stronger as time went on. She tried not to look at the mess, but there was little to look at in the plain, brightly lit room, and she often found her gaze lingering over bits of the meal she had stupidly enjoyed. Oh, she had been careful at first, watching to make sure she ate out of the same batches Ethan did, but by the end his ploy had worked–and he had lulled her into a false sense of security.

It must have been his honesty that had tripped her up. She wasn’t used to that in anyone, and especially not in someone who was admittedly bent on killing her. Looking back over the conversation, she did not think he had told her a single lie, which had been, perhaps, the biggest lie of all.

Back in college, a Christian acquaintance had described the devil as “The Father of Lies.” Perhaps Ethan had taken lessons from him.

No one came for her for a long time, not that this proved surprising. Grace understood the game now. No food...no water...no sleep. The bright overhead lights beat down mercilessly and the stiff upright position they forced her to maintain made every bone and muscle in her body ache. She curled and uncurled her toes and fingers to try to keep blood circulating properly, but there was nothing to be done for her legs or butt, which could barely slide an inch in either direction.

If only she knew what time it was. They had taken her portable again, of course. They would probably be analyzing all the messages for clues.

Which meant they knew to target Sam. Grace’s stomach twisted at the thought, though she had barely thought of him over the past few days. He had been the love of her life, and now a part of her felt as if she were betraying him with some of the thoughts she had about Alex. It was an absurd thing to feel. She didn’t owe Sam a thing and yet...and yet she had not let her heart get involved with another man since. Her body, yes, but not her heart or her head.

Grace pushed the thoughts away and tried to fill her mind with pleasant images, but could not maintain them for long. Her mind kept going back to her days on the police force, and she wondered if somehow her entire life had been leading here. Utter nonsense, of course. She didn’t believe in fate. Or destiny. Or even God.

Not for the first time in her life, though, she wished she did.

She reached out with her thoughts and asked, tentatively,
God, are you there? ‘Cause I could really use some help about now.

He didn’t answer. Maybe He would after another day without food or sleep.

It was too bad about Alex getting himself into this mess. Idly, she wondered if he believed in God. Sam didn’t. In fact, he believed strongly that there was no God. She had never been able to manage either act of faith.

Grace closed her eyes and saw the red glow of the light through her eyelids. She had been avoiding thinking about Alex for some time now. What kinds of games was Ethan playing with him? Would Alex fall for it, or did he know his uncle well enough not to?

Could he get them out somehow?

The thought came to mind unbidden. She didn’t want to daydream about rescue attempts. Her knight in shining armor had never come for her and if he did, she imagined he’d be the dragon in disguise. Still, Alex did have the support of some of the farmers. They had fought for him a couple of days ago. Would they fight for him now, with the elder Mr. Cooper gone?

Don’t count on it.

That was easy. She never counted on much.

So then, think. What are the barriers to getting out of here?

Well, right at the top of her list of struggles was the chair. Her feet were bound together and to the floor. Her torso was bound to the back of the chair. Her hands were free, but not free to do much. The bindings were locked in place, and even if she’d had a bobby pin, like in old movies, the days of being able to break open a lock that way were long over. Keys were part mechanical, part digital encoding. Besides, she wasn’t sure where she would get a bobby pin.

If she somehow managed to free herself from the chair, there was the door, which was surely locked from the outside and had to be foot-thick steel. The cinder block walls looked quite sturdy. In the movies, a loose cinder block would be the most obvious escape. Conveniently, those blocks were always loose and big enough for a man to crawl through. She’d need to find half a dozen loose blocks in a circle to manage it.

She spotted the video camera they were using to watch her, so tiny that a casual search would never find it. She could call for the guards and ask for the bathroom, but she didn’t really think they would answer. Besides, with the mess on the floor, she had a feeling she knew what their answer would be. Too bad, because now that she thought of it she did need to use the bathroom.

Don’t think about it.
Why was it always so impossible to not think about something? The moment her bladder came to the center of her mind, it suddenly became harder and harder to concentrate on anything else.

So if she did get out of here, there was a plantation full of farmers to fight off. She needed to find Alex. He would probably know the codes to get the hovercars working. Escape on foot was hopeless.

Which meant all she had to do was get out of this chair, out of the room, fight off dozens of farmers, get to Alex, get to the garage, and she’d be home free.

Plus, she had to pee.

Think about something else.

She thought of God again and whispered the prayer of the unbeliever. “If I get out of this alive, then maybe there really is a God.”

She looked at the walls and at the camera. She waved at the camera and smiled into it for no particular reason at all. She looked at the door. Finally, she looked at the pool of yuck on her lap and at her feet.

Her stomach threatened to heave again, but she managed to keep it steady. At least she wasn’t thinking about her bladder anymore...oops. She began to squirm and stare at the floor.

Something shiny glinted out of the mess of vomit on the floor. A fork. It must have fallen from the cart when she began convulsing. Too bad she didn’t have stretchy arms. She tried to push her foot in that direction and could just brush against the fork with the toe of her shoes, but had no way to grip it.

She closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she went insane. She started writhing, making every muscle in her chained body move to its fullest extent. Her arms, free, managed to do the most damage, which was to say none at all.

Finally, exhausted, she slumped as much as she could in her chair and closed her eyes again, thinking of nothing, willing herself not to give in to their psychological torture. She was stronger than a day without sleep, sore limbs, the smell of vomit, and clothing soiled with urine and last night’s dinner.

At least she didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.

Time passed.

And then some more.

At least, Grace assumed time passed. Since the lights didn’t change, she could simply have been frozen in one long, agonizing instant. Perhaps she had died and this was the afterlife–to relive the last moment of one’s life for all eternity.