Forever Young: Blessing or Curse (Always Young Trilogy)

by Morgan Mandel

  Her sweater still hung over the top of the passenger seat and the uneaten sandwich below. A glance inside her purse assured her all was accounted for: pills, cell phone, charge cards, keys, and about a hundred dollars in currency.

  She buckled up, finding it hard to believe everything looked so normal, almost as if she were embarking on a shopping trip instead of fleeing for her life.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  Dorrie clicked the garage doors shut as she exited. Where should she go? Before she could decide, a contraction hit, making her wince. Hopefully, it was another Braxton Hicks and not the real thing.

  Her eyes smarted and her back ached in protest at driving into the night. The dashboard clock read nine, but so much had happened since she’d spoken to Keith, it seemed an eternity had passed.

  With her head in a fog, she headed out blindly, not paying attention to where she was going, only knowing she dare not head for Tomahawk, her true home. That would be the first place the squat man would look.

  The gas gauge showed a quarter of a tank full. She had to get more money out for gas, before the gnome got the opportunity to trace her withdrawals and charges. When she got far enough away, she’d take out her daily five hundred dollar limit while she could. Frowning, she wondered if she’d ever see the rest of the savings she worked so hard to get.

  The specter of losing a healthy chunk of badly needed cash sent her drifting into the next lane. A blaring horn shook her out of her trance, jolting her attention back to the road. Hers and the baby’s lives were more important than money.

  Five miles later, she pulled to the shoulder to get her bearings, and discovered she’d automatically headed toward Phoenix. She’d find a bank and gas station there with no problem, but dare not remain in the vicinity.

  She hit speed dial for Keith’s number, but it kicked into voice mail.

  Keith, where are you?

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “Keith, you were right. I’m in real trouble, and need your help. Please call as soon as you can.”

  Okay, Keith was out of reach, and she couldn’t use him as a crutch. It would have been so easy to place her troubles on his doorstep, let him take over and tell her what to do.

  Dorrie bit her lip in thought, then thrust her shoulders back and took a shaky breath. Okay, she could do this. She had to. When faced with an insurmountable task, the best approach was to move one step at a time. First, get gas.

  After she’d done that, instead of going to a bank, she discovered an all-night drugstore where she pulled out her five hundred dollar max.

  Next stop, Flagstaff. The contractions came and went on her journey, spaced forty-five minutes apart, distracting her from her other worries. If the baby decided to make an appearance, the chances of discovery would increase.

  On the outskirts of the city, she noticed an all-night Wal-Mart, and pulled into its parking lot. She’d heard somewhere the chain’s management encouraged travelers to sleep overnight in their lots, so her presence there would not seem unusual. This would be the perfect spot to eat something, but the dried up, now germy sandwich on the seat was out.

  As she slid from the car, wouldn’t you know it, the torn seam spread higher. Hopefully, not many shoppers would be around this time of night to notice her unkempt appearance.

  The bright lights of the store blinded her tired eyes. Once she’d adjusted to the glare, a nearby cart proved helpful not only for carrying items, but also for making her dress rip seem less noticeable.

  A few other shoppers milled about, seemingly intent on making their purchases. It all seemed so mundane she started to relax and even began humming to the Muzak. At the register, a half-asleep, middle-aged woman did the check out. Dorrie couldn’t help noticing her ring finger was bare. Did she work here to stave off the lonely nights?

  Dorrie’s bags were light enough to carry without using the cart. Inside the Hyundai, her stomach growled as she spread the turkey sandwich, chips and milk chug on the seat beside her. She was so famished the sandwich and chips tasted like a five course meal.

  The sound of a car engine interrupted her last chug from the milk. Heart in her throat, she nonchalantly wiped her face with the napkin, and checked to make sure her doors were locked before stealing a glance at the driver who’d taken the space next to hers.

  The Oriental man didn’t bother to look in her direction as he adjusted his seat into a reclining position. He was probably harmless, but she didn’t care for his close proximity. What if someone questioned him later? The longer she stayed here, the more he might remember.

  Dorrie drove a few more miles, searching for a safe place, before coming upon a church with an adjoining lot. She parked under a tree near the edge, turned on the inside light, and spread her purchases on the passenger seat.

  “I wish I didn’t have to do this,” she muttered, grimacing in the rear view mirror, and mourning each blond lock which fell past her extended belly into the bag on her lap. Since her reversion, she’d admired her long shiny hair. Gone now was its beauty, replaced by a horrid, choppy looking punk cut. Her hair’s mutilation was but the beginning.

  She opened the driver’s side window to reduce the possible fumes and mess. Next, she picked up the two drop cloths and spread one in front, the other to the right. She donned a pair of latex gloves, then, while shielding her eyes with her left hand, sprayed black coloring onto her punk cut. That done, she deposited the used items in the bag and closed the window.

  For further effect, she applied pale pancake makeup so her skin would look pasty, followed up by charcoal eye liner on her eyebrows, and grey eye shadow under her eyes to make it seem like she had circles. She pulled out the weak bifocal reading glasses she’d found in the optical display, and lastly, applied remover to her pretty pink nail polish before clipping her fingernails down.

  After she’d destroyed her appearance as best she could with the Goth look, she slid onto the passenger side and turned off the light. Though she hadn’t heard any car motors in this new spot, she couldn’t help but glance furtively around before pulling out the rest of her disguise.

  She’d have to change clothes for this part. Even without the interference of the steering wheel, it wasn’t easy getting undressed and re-dressed in such tight confines. She kept bumping into the dashboard and handles. Finally, she’d put herself together in the new outfit.

  Unfortunately, the car could not be disguised, since she dare not drive without her plates, and couldn’t get the papers out of the Scottsdale safe deposit box. She had no idea how long Roman could hold the gnome off before the creature came looking for her, so something must be done soon about changing or hiding her car. Though she told herself it wouldn’t happen, the possibility of discovery still loomed. Genius, whether for good or evil, had a way of triumphing.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Face burning, Roman stumbled out of the lab. His cell phone rang, but he ignored it. Nothing was more important than the present crisis.

  With one eye open, he lurched toward the men’s room. He pushed at the swinging door, and flung the gun onto the counter. Cupping his hands under the automatic faucet, he waited impatiently for the water to spout out. As soon as he’d gathered some, he threw it onto his face, then gasped at the searing pain. Each new splash brought fresh agony.

  It was no use. He needed professional help and soon. Before he got it, he must allay his suspicions.

  He had to look, though he knew he’d regret it. His legs shook in anticipation at what he’d see. His blood ran hot and cold. He could barely stand as, eyes still shut, he slowly raised his head.

  Waiting won’t make it any better. Go ahead. Get it over with. Bracing himself, he slowly opened the eye that would obey him. The other remained obstinately shut.

  For a stunned moment, he stared at the mirror, then howled in disbelief. From what depths had this hideous monster sprung? This couldn’t be him.

  He couldn’t believe that in a heartbeat he’d lost his most prized p
ossession, the joy of his life. This horror of a face, with its pealing, raw, oozing, ridged skin, was not the Angel Man’s handsome visage. It had to belong to someone else, yet he was the only one here.

  He must get to the hospital and get his face fixed. He’d call an ambulance and wait out front. To save time, he’d call the guard also and tell him to immediately admit the emergency vehicle, no questions asked.

  He pulled his cell from his pocket, but before he could dial, the door burst open. The squat man appeared, laughing like a maniac, with blood dripping from his arm.

  Roman reached for the gun on the counter, but the squat man swiped it up first, training the nozzle at Roman, laughing with that unnerving cackle. “My, my, ugly boy, aren’t you a charming sight, with your half-gone face matching your feeble brain. Try what you might, no matter what you do, it won’t get better. I chose that specific formula especially for you. It’s comprised of the highest quality, exceedingly strong, corrosive acid. Only the finest for my most honored and respected employee.”

  “You’re insane.”

  “I beg to differ. Compared to you, I’m exceedingly rational. I saw how smitten you were with the widow, and devised contingencies in the event you ignored reason. It was no coincidence the acid vials stood within reach.”

  “What if I’d gone along with you? What would you have done?”

  The squat man chuckled. “That’s my secret. All you need know is someday I’ll look normal, while you’ll still be an ugly son of a bitch. You’ll stay that way, unless out of the kindness of my heart I relent and allow you to be young again. Maybe I will, maybe I won’t. Depends on how you behave.”

  “I wish I’d never met you.”

  “Ah, but how could you resist? Where else could you show off your pretty face and get paid for it?”

  Despite his burning skin, a cold chill swept over Roman. He, who prided himself on his looks, had lost them, yet the ugly man before him would morph back to normal. Something was very wrong with this picture.

  Completely out of his element, he had no idea how to function in his new capacity. He didn’t fool himself into believing the man would take pity on him any time soon and allow him to take the pills. No, not after the sin he’d committed. In recompense, he’d suffer long and hard, clutching at the slim hope that someday the man might relent. Until then, Roman would remain in bondage, suffering the ignominy of ugliness.

  “Diablo, get used to your new name. Now, listen carefully. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll follow my orders exactly.”

  Through a haze of pain and fear, Roman listened to the devious man’s concoction, which was as far from the truth as it could be. If he weren’t in such dire straits, he’d refuse straightway and ensure that the man got what he deserved. As it was, Roman could only nod in acceptance.

  “I’ll dial, then you pick up the phone like a good boy and tell the story, nothing more, nothing less.”

  After Roman spat out the words to the dispatcher, he silently watched the squat man deposit the gun in the furthest toilet tank. With the weapon disposed of, Roman could flee if he chose, but that would prove futile. The man’s hold on him was stronger than any bullets from a gun.

  They proceeded to the front entrance. The paramedics arrived in record time. He cringed as they glanced first at him, then the squat man, and finally at the ground. If he weren’t the object of their scrutiny, he would have laughed at their discomfiture. They’d sure have a story to tell about this gig.

  When they arrived at the emergency room, the squat man was transferred to one cubicle and Roman another. The temptation to unburden himself to the nurse overwhelmed him, but fear clamped his mouth tight.

  The plastic surgeon arrived a few hours later to make his grim pronouncement of irreparable damage, confirming Roman’s deduction. He should never have forgotten his motto. Why hadn’t he looked out for Number One?

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Dressed and set to go, Dorrie sat in the driver’s seat. Darkness surrounded the car, tempting her to give in to her weariness. It wouldn’t hurt to rest a bit to avoid an accident. She closed her eyes.

  Before she knew it, sunlight streamed through the windows. She’d slept longer than she’d intended, and had to get away. Unfortunately, hunger and other needs dictated she make a stop first.

  She found a fast food joint in Flagstaff and pulled up. When she stepped outside the car, she immediately felt the difference in temperatures between Flagstaff and Phoenix. Shivering and self-conscious in her flannel shirt, baggy pants, punk cut and black-framed glasses, she made her way to the front door.

  First things first. She made a beeline for the ladies room to relieve her bladder, and barely glanced at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands. She then lumbered to the counter and leaned on it for support as she placed her order for a breakfast platter and milk.

  After she’d retreated to a booth, she stared at the nearby television screen, and half listened to the sports highlights. The weather came next, reporting temperatures for the state and country. It may be a cool forty-five degrees in Flagstaff, but the national weather showed zero and snow in Wisconsin. Be that as it may, she’d still rather be there than here.

  An urgent voice interrupted the broadcast, awakening Dorrie from her wistful state. Ladies and gentlemen, this just in. Dorrie Donato, spokeswoman for the Life is for Living Institute, is wanted by the police for shooting a maintenance man and throwing acid onto the face of her employer, Roman Remington.

  This woman is armed and dangerous, so don’t be fooled by her pregnant condition. She was last seen in the Scottsdale area wearing an emerald green dress, and driving a powder blue Hyundai, with the Arizona license plate now flashing on the screen. If you spot this woman, call the authorities immediately. Do not attempt to apprehend her. Remember, she is armed and dangerous.

  Dorrie stifled a gasp, and watched mesmerized as the report was followed by one of her infomercials. She felt exposed, as if everyone in the room knew who she was.

  Stay calm. They can’t tell it’s me. I look totally different.

  In horrid fascination, she stared at the continued coverage. And now, for a live interview from our reporter, Don Whiddom. “Folks, I’m here in the hospital room of the famous Angel Man, Roman Remington, founder of the Life is for Living Institute. Mr. Remington, I must say this event is a terrible tragedy for you and the viewing audience. If what you state is true, and I have no reason to doubt you, Ms. Donato is unbalanced and a danger to the public. Reliving the experience must be excruciating for you, in light of your personal cost. Are you up to describing what happened?”

  Dorrie stifled a groan. The announcer had it all wrong. She hadn’t done any of that.

  The camera switched to the hospital bed, where Roman, right side of his face swathed in bandages, lay. Holding her breath, she waited for Roman to vindicate her.

  After a pause, he began. “This situation is distressing to the extreme, not only because of the damage to my personal being, but also for my loss of faith in someone I’d held in high regard. Not everyone knows this, but Ms. Donato is the widow of one of our Institute’s employees who’d been killed in a tragic hit-and-run accident on our grounds. I felt sorry for her, and offered her a job as spokesperson for my product, the Forever Young pill. Since everyone is already familiar with it, I won’t bore you with the pill’s details. Suffice it to say, she jumped at the opportunity. She fell in love with her reverted looks and wasn’t bashful about showing them off. Everything went fine until one day I noticed she’d put on weight. I warned her to lay off the sweets.

  “Well, she must have starved herself, because her figure improved dramatically. I was unaware of Mrs. Donato’s true condition until she was well into her pregnancy and it couldn’t be disguised. At that point, I reminded her of danger to the child and ordered her to stop taking the young pill since it was not designed for pregnant women. I offered her a supervisory position instead, which she appeared to accept.


  “Three months went by, the usual time for the pill’s effects to wear off, yet Ms. Donato still looked young. It was obvious she had not done as I’d suggested. She was that anxious to stay young.”

  “But how did she get the pills? Aren’t you the one who doles them out?” the reporter asked.

  “Unfortunately, before I knew of her condition, I’d already given her a six months’ supply. I should have demanded the pills back immediately when I learned of her pregnancy, but I had no reason to doubt her assurances she’d discontinue their use.”

  “What happened when you learned she hadn’t stopped?”

  “My blood boiled. Not only had she disobeyed my instructions, but also placed her child at risk. I demanded she return the pills in her possession, but she refused. I told her she’d get no more from me, and I fired her then and there.”

  “May I interject, if I were in your shoes, I’d have done the same.”

  Roman nodded, then grimaced. “Obviously, she didn’t see it that way. The next day she followed me into the men’s room, clutching a gun in one hand and an acid vial in the other. She spotted my congenitively deformed maintenance man exiting a stall, then spouted something about growing old and ugly, and plugged him in the shoulder. As soon as she shot him, before I knew it, she’d turned and flung the vial’s contents at me, then fled, leaving me with a burnt and pealing face. By the time the paramedics arrived and I’d gotten to the hospital, the damage was done. According to the plastic surgeon, I’ll never be the same.”

  “What about your young pill? Can’t you take it and revert back to when your looks weren’t destroyed?”

  “If only it were that simple. Maybe later it might be possible, but right now a conflict exists between my present drugs and the young pill.”