TFRoot - The Elixer

by The Elixir (v1. 0) [lit]

  "'God's plan!'” Lucinda snorted contemptuously. “A sadistic child could have done better! He's either an idiot, or just plain evil. He gives us this wonderful gift, only to take it away, often at that time when we are just becoming able to fully appreciate it. Everything must be corrupted, all beauty must turn ugly. Don't you see the futility?” She paused, inviting some reaction from Tom, but there was none. “I daresay thatI have been a party to the greatest irony of them all. The very essence of life is self-preservation; living creatures spend their entire lives struggling to forestall the inevitable. Then one of us uncovers the means of preserving this life indefinitely, at practically the precise moment whenher life ceases to be worth living.” She shook her head bitterly. “And it seems that I, her only daughter, am indeed her true heir, to the elixir, and to her experience. For I, too, have possessed the means to live forever, but am forever without the only thing worth living for."

  As she said this Sammy suddenly sat up and turned his head upward to look at her, letting out a shrill mew in protest. “Oh,” Lucinda exclaimed, “you know what I mean, Sammy! She gazed into his eyes, the expression on her face one of pure maternal affection. “You're all that has made these last few hundred years even remotely bearable.” She patted his head with an urgent tenderness, while Sammy restlessly kneaded her lap with all four paws. “We've already been through this, many times. You've made your decision, and I've made mine,” she whispered hoarsely into his ear. “Now Tom, that's another very important point. I know that the law regards Sammy as personal property, not as a real person, regardless of the truth of the matter. Accordingly, I have provided that Sammy is to be placed in the care of whoever is occupying my house, and will be permitted to remain there for the rest of his life. Can I count on you to take care of my Sammy, after Ed and his daughter are gone? I don't think that's asking too much of you, is it?"

  "No, of course not,” said Tom, shaking his head, “not at all."

  "Now, you will always make sure that Sammy has access to whatever he needs of the elixir in the years to come. As small as he is, he should never require very much. Just partaking of a few cups when the new crop comes in has usually kept him hale and hearty until the next crop. He has very seldom needed any boosters, as it were. Just remember to examine his aura in my mirror, just as you will your own, to make certain."

  "I'll take care of your cat,” Tom said evenly.

  "Good. Incidentally, I have instructed Ed that my remaining supply of the elixir is to be delivered to you upon my death. Keep in mind it will be at the very height of its potency for the next few years, while gradually becoming less so as time goes on. Use it accordingly as needed to maintain yourselves. By the way, you have been examining your auras regularly, haven't you?"

  Tom nodded. “Oh, yes,” he lied. He and Carole had observed themselves in Lucinda's mirror once or twice out of curiosity, but had not done so now in weeks.

  "Now,” Lucinda continued, “I understand that you and Carole are planning to start a family, aren't you?"

  "We hope to, yes."

  Lucinda nodded gravely. “Yes, that is only natural, isn't it? I would only remind you to bear in mind that while the supply of the elixir may seem plentiful now, it is in fact limited. What's there now is all that will be there, for the next hundred years. I certainly realize that you would never dream of withholding the elixir from a child of yours, but I wouldn't advise you to have too large a family. Surely, my experiences should serve as some warning."

  "Carole and I will keep that in mind."

  "Good.” Lucinda paused, closing her eyes and taking a deep, audible breath. “Well,” she said finally, “I suppose that there's really nothing more for me to say.” She sighed. “I can't believe it, actually. After all this time ... this is all going to be over soon."

  "How long do you think..."

  "I don't know. I have been feeling so strange, feeling so strong one day, so weak the next, but that has been going on for years. My aura has been weakening steadily, though, as the days pass, and so much more dramatically for several weeks now.” She shook her head. “Strange, isn't it? Ihave been using all of the many herbs at my disposal to make myself feel better, to keep myself looking young, delaying my defeat, as it were, yet all the while forswearing the one most perfect panacea that's right here in my grasp."

  Tom said nothing.Is there any truth to any of this? He was still unsure. From the first moment he'd met her, Lucinda had been a complete enigma, and tonight had done absolutely nothing to clarify the mystery. He had come to only one definite realization: this woman had been deeply troubled for some time, and now had become totally overwhelmed. Clearly she had once suffered a tremendous loss, one that had now left her utterly without hope. Hers was the very face of despair. Almost instinctively, he reached out to her and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

  Lucinda looked directly at him, the piercing gaze from her blue eyes softened by the tears that were now welling in them. She put her hand over his. “I think that of all of the many joys of this world, I will most miss the touch of another human being,” she said with a sad, weak smile. “That's something I haven't enjoyed for several lifetimes, now, not since Richard died.” She paused, measuring her words carefully. “I never was promiscuous, you know; not out of any rigid morality, but because I so valued intimacy, and understood its consequences. At this point, however...” She looked at him imploringly. “Would it be asking too much, Tom?"

  Tom was now more bewildered than ever. Once again, Lucinda's entire demeanor had changed dramatically, and seemingly in the blink of an eye, her imperious hauteur now replaced by the guileless vulnerability of a naïve young girl, made even more incongruous by its source, a distinctly middle-aged woman who he would have sworn was aging visibly before him. All he could do was shake his head in astonishment.

  "Would it be asking too much?” Lucinda repeated. “One last bit of sensual pleasure for an old woman? Do you find me that physically repulsive now?"

  "Of course not,” Tom answered, solicitously. He shook his head. “But my answer must be no, Lucy. Surely you can understand."

  "To you it would be meaningless, but to me..."

  "It's never meaningless to me."

  "No, I suppose that's the whole point, isn't it?” Lucinda said with a disappointed resignation. “I'm sorry,” she added quickly.

  "It's all right,” Tom said gently.

  A few awkward moments passed. Finally, Lucinda leaned over and began to collect the documents that she had laid out on the coffee table. “Well, Tom, thank you once again for looking these over. I trust that you found everything in order?"

  "Everything seemed to be, yes. As I've said before, I'm..."

  "...Not a Massachusetts lawyer, yes, I understand. But you are agreeable to what I have proposed?"

  "Yes."

  "Good. I will be in touch with you then, or rather someone will, when the time comes. Do you have your new address?"

  Tom reached into his pants pocket for a business card and a pen, and wrote his and Carole's new address and phone number on the back of it. “You can reach me here, or on my cell phone, which you already have,” he said, handing her the card.

  "Well, I suppose I'll be leaving now,” she said, standing up. “I enjoyed the dinner very much."

  "It was my pleasure.” He stood up. “Let me help you.” Tom walked over to the hall closet and took out Lucinda's cape.

  "Thanks again,” said Lucinda as Tom helped her put it on. “Come on, Sammy!” She bent down as the black cat nonchalantly sauntered over in her direction. He mewed softly as she picked him up and he ensconced himself snugly between her arm and her breast. “Good night, Tom.” Lucinda turned and exited.

  Tom spent the better part of the next day packing up what he and Carole had brought with them to Cape Cod. The day after that was Saturday, and he got up around 7:00 a.m. to try to get an early start on the drive back down to New York, which would take about four hours. He took a light breakfast, d
ressed and showered, and left the house around 8:30 a.m. His last errand was to drop off the keys to the house at Alison Kaplan's realty office. Alison herself was not in this early on Saturday morning, so he left the keys with her associate. Tom had mixed feelings about not being able to see her today. On the one hand, he was a little relieved; the thought of being around someone who had secretly been prying into his personal life left him a bit uncomfortable. Not that he had anything in particular to hide; he just felt awkward thinking that maybe she knew things about him that he didn't know she knew. On the other hand, he would have welcomed the opportunity to learn more about Lucinda. What does she know about the elixir? Her father had seemed skeptical about Lucinda's herbs. What exactly had Lucinda said to him, or to his daughter?Oh well, he had finally concluded,if something doeshappen to Lucinda, I'll have to deal with them both soon enough. I'll do whatever I have to when I have to, not before.

  Tom had decided to take a last drive through town before finally leaving. He drove past M.D. Armstrong's, and remembered the first night that he and Carole had spent here, the night when she had first met Lucinda Hobson.Only about four months ago, but itmight as well have been a lifetime, for all that's happened since then , he thought in amazement. He drove past “Hobson's Choice,” and noticed that it was not yet open.I wonder why ? Then he remembered that this was Saturday, and that Lucinda usually opened late and closed early this day. He drove past St. Alban's, the local Catholic Church he and Carole had attended during their stay here.Maybe I ought to go in and say a little prayer , he thought. He glanced at the dashboard chronometer.It's still early enough . He turned his Cadillac into the empty black-topped parking lot that was adjacent to the modest little church.

  St. Alban's was located directly across the street from another church, St. George's. St. George's denomination was Episcopal, the American counterpart of the Church of England. Tom had been struck by the irony when he had first noticed this. Given his interest in history, he of course was cognizant of the traditional antagonism between the adherents of these two religions back in England, and of the Catholic/Protestant conflict in general that had once existed throughout the whole of Europe, such awful and sometimes bloody strife which had formed much of the backdrop for the settling of this country. Amazing how here and now these two buildings could stand only the narrow width of a small town street apart, their weekly habitués rather unremarkably and peacefully coexisting. On another level, he had mused whimsically that the situation was akin to two commercial competitors selling the same item and setting up shop across the street from one another, like Macy's and Gimbel's, as the old saw had it.

  Tom knew from his history that his area had been first settled by the Puritans, who took their name from their desire to purify the Anglican Church of its Roman Catholic elements. The Anglicans had begun arriving shortly thereafter, well before many Catholics had ventured here, so St. George's was the much older church, dating to the seventeenth century. In the fashion of the day, there was a cemetery right next to it, the churchyard, as it was called. Of course, no one had actually been buried there for centuries. Now, it was more of a curiosity, a tourist attraction for some. Tom himself had once gone over to take a look at the old headstones, containing those quaint, out-of-style English names and seventeenth-century dates and sayings. Someone was over there now, a tall figure wearing a hooded black cape slowly making their way to the back of the lot.That's odd , thought Tom, as the black-clad figure stopped and stood in front of the headstones, then knelt down and placed a small bouquet of flowers on the grave, in the manner of someone visiting the resting place of a loved one.How could that be? Everyone buried here has been dead for centuries ... It came to him.Oh my G..."

  He tried to conceive of an alternate explanation—a local citizen, particularly history or civic-minded, marking the anniversary of a town father? Of course, there was only one thing he could do; he simply had to know. Tom raced across the narrow street to the Anglican cemetery and quickly made his way toward the figure. It appeared to be an old woman, who was now gently weeping, her head bobbing up and down softly as she knelt over the grave. Tom was now close though to make out the name and dates on the marker: The Reverend Richard Henry Hobson, 1657-1693. He stopped abruptly.No, it just can't be! He was standing directly behind the woman, who was still oblivious to his presence. “Lucy?” he asked quietly. There was no response. “Lucy?” he repeated, a bit louder. Again, nothing was forthcoming from the kneeling old woman. With great trepidation he reached over and lightly tapped her shoulder. “Lucy? Is that you?"

  Without getting up, the woman twisted her body and slowly turned her head to face him. Tom gasped audibly as he gazed upon the hideous countenance, a skull draped by little more than a thin layer of sagging, mottled skin that seemed to bear thousands of deep, dark creases, with a few sparse strands of dull, gray hair sprouting from the top of it. There was no mistaking the eyes, however, the two clear cobalt irises of the large, luminous orbs, red-rimmed and brimming with tears but still glowing somehow, incongruously, from their sunken, discolored sockets; the eyes of a beautiful young woman grafted onto the head of an ancient, animated corpse.

  "Now do you believe me, Tom?” The distinctive timbre of the English-accented voice removed all doubt—it was Lucinda. “Now that you have seen me, do you believe?"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "I don't know what it is, Tom, I only know that something is wrong."

  "Oh, you're probably just tired. After all, moving into a new place is never easy."

  Tom and Carole had been in their new home for about six weeks now, and had spent almost every waking hour of every day consumed with one domestic or decorating task or another. That either of them might be a bit slow to get out of bed in the morning was not particularly unusual.

  "Why don't you rest for another few minutes, and I'll go downstairs and make us a nice breakfast.” Tom pulled himself out of bed. “How do you want your eggs?” he asked, smiling pleasantly. He walked over to his clotheshorse and pulled on a polo shirt and a pair of Dockers.

  "If you want eggs, I'll make them for you,” Carole sighed wearily, slowly rising from her side of the bed, “but I'll just have some cereal."

  "You don't feel like eggs?"

  "I told you, I don't feel right,” she snapped, impatiently. “I haven't felt right for about three or four days."

  "What's wrong, Hon? You haven't had any pain, have you?"

  "No,” she muttered, as she sat on the edge of the bed, gathering her strength. Finally she pulled herself to her feet and slowly made her way into the bathroom. She put on the robe that was hanging from a hook on the back of the door.

  "Then what is it?"

  "1 told you, I don't know!” She called back to him, irritated, in a nasal whine. “I'm sorry,” she added quickly. “I don't mean to take it out on you,” she said evenly, “but I just haven't felt right, not since I saw Dr. Roberts.” She added apologetically: “I guess I'm just a little concerned about that. I haven't heard back from her."

  "Oh, Hon, there's nothing to be worried about,” said Tom soothingly. “It will happen when it happens. You and I are meant to have a family; I'm sure of it."

  "That's not what I mean, Tom.” She paused. “You know, Ihave had some trouble before ... down there."

  "Sure, I know that. But now, well...” He shrugged unconcernedly. Did he have to belabor the obvious? He had told Carole all about the last time he had seen Lucinda. Now it should have been clearer than ever to them both that any health concerns were a thing of the past; in fact, Tom has not even bothered to accompany Carole to this latest appointment.

  "I told you, she took an awful lot of tests..."

  "...Which of course we both know were completely unnecessary,” said Tom sharply. “Oh well,” he added gently, “I guess it will take a while for all that to sink in."

  Carole gazed into the bathroom mirror. “I look awful,” she murmured, barely audibly.

  Tom walked over and stood beh
ind her. “You look great, Natasha,” he said, leaning in over her shoulder to observe her reflection. “You always look great."

  Carole ignored him and picked up a hairbrush. “So many split ends,” she remarked with distaste as she ran the brush though her long dark-blonde hair. “I have to get a trim. I think I'll go today."

  "Whatever you say, Natasha,” said Tom, wrapping his arms around her and turning his head to kiss her on the neck.

  "Don't call me that!” she snapped, annoyed, wriggling out of his grasp. “I'm in no mood for that now.” She put down the brush. “This hair is just so ratty.” She turned her head one way then the other, eyeing herself critically. “Maybe I ought to cut it.” She gathered up the length of her hair, pulled it back off of her face and neck, and pinned it messily on top of her head. “Yeah,” she sighed resignedly, “I'll just go ahead and get it all chopped off today, just get myself a real short haircut.” She fingered her longish bangs, brushing them off to one side, and tucked a few stray hairs from the side of her head behind her ears. “Yeah, I'll let them cut it all off, just a short little boy's haircut."