Dead and Gone

by Tina Glasneck

  I searched his father’s name and scrolled down several pages of sites until I came across one that mentioned his wife and clicked on it. It was an article from a North Dakota newspaper. The headline read: The Passing of Jennifer Alston is Mourned by All. Next to it was a photo of Lawrence standing by a grave. The caption below it read: Dr. Lawrence Alston says goodbye to his beloved Jennifer. In that picture, he looked just like Lance. He must have been around Lance’s age when his wife died.

  Reading the article, I discovered they had been married for eighteen years. Jennifer was a registered nurse and worked side-by-side with her husband. The cause of her death was stated as complications resulting from childbirth. I thought how awful that must be for Lance, knowing his mother died giving him life. She died the day after my birthday, so Lance and I were exactly the same age. Given his education and experience, I had assumed he was older than that. I looked for a picture of Lance’s mother and found one. It only showed her profile. Something about her seemed unsettlingly familiar.

  Wanting to find a connection between Lance’s research and the cult, I looked for articles about poisonous spider bites. Dr. Alston was listed on numerous site summaries. I went to the most recent one. As I started reading, the door swung open.

  “Hi,” Lindsey said, cheerfully, closing the door behind her. “Are you finding everything you wanted to know?”

  “Almost.”

  “Any surprises?”

  “No. However, I was wondering why Lance’s father had become a recluse over the past twenty plus years. Is he ill or is it because he’s still mourning his wife?”

  “He isn’t ill. He still mourns his wife, but that isn’t why he doesn’t make public appearances.” She moved a chair closer to the bed and sat down. “Explaining everything was Brett’s job until he got himself shot.” She sounded annoyed about it.

  “Lance … Lance said that he was okay.” Water welled in my eyes. I’d been lied to again.

  She patted my arm. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Brett will be okay. He just needs to rest for a few days. That’s all. He’ll see you tomorrow. Lance thought you couldn’t wait that long. He’s concerned you might try and leave the hospital without knowing.”

  “How do I know Brett’s okay?”

  “Call him,” she said without hesitation. “Even if he can’t come here, he can still talk on the phone.”

  “Okay.” I reached for the phone. “Does his cell phone number work?”

  “Yes.”

  I punched his number. The phone rang. I waited patiently for him to answer. It got harder after each ring. Finally, after six rings, he answered.

  “Hello, Sara.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “The hospital showed up on my caller ID, so it had to be you since Lindsey and Lance would’ve used their cell phones. I planned on calling you this evening after Lindsey left.”

  “I’ve been worried about you. You should’ve called.”

  “I did. Incoming phone calls to your room are blocked. Lance is going to get it lifted this evening.”

  “How are you?”

  “A little sore. I’ll be one-hundred percent by tomorrow.”

  “How? You were shot.”

  “Has Lindsey explained anything?”

  “No. She just got here.”

  “You’ll understand when she’s through. After that, if you have any questions just give me a call or wait until I call you.”

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” I said, feeling relieved.

  “We’ll talk later.”

  “Bye.” I hung up, and then looked at Lindsey. “Okay, start explaining.”

  She pulled a notepad out of her purse and looked at the top page. “I’m sure Brett could do a better job. Here goes. You’ve...” She stopped abruptly when the door opened.

  19

  Tegens

  A nurse came in carrying a food tray. “You slept through dinner,” she said. “Dr. Alston wants you on a special diet.” She set the tray down on the counter, moved the computer, and then she placed the food on the table in front of me.

  Looking at it, I saw he had ordered me a steak along with chocolate cake for dessert. “Thank you,” I said, watching her step out of the room.

  “That looks good,” Lindsey said. “Go ahead, I’ll explain while you’re eating.”

  I cut into the meat.

  “You’ve successfully completed all the phases of becoming a Tegen,” she began, sounding pleased. “I’m a Tegen. All that’s left is your transformation.”

  “Is that what you call a cult member—a Tegen?”

  “We’re not a cult,” she said. “We’re a species.”

  “You’re a what?” I asked with my mouth full.

  “Let me start from the beginning. Over a century ago, we don’t know exactly when because all the documents were burned in the Chicago fire of 1871, Sir Randolph Heinrich worked on a solution to maintain the human body without aging.”

  “Like the fountain of youth?”

  “Sort of. When he extracted a gene sequence from Hobo spiders and injected them into mouse egg cells, it yielded mice that didn’t age past adulthood. Then he inserted the gene sequence into a mutagen for humans and used it on himself. It had no immediate effect, but permanently altered his DNA, allowing it to infinitely replicate. We don’t know Sir Randolph’s formula. We do know he stopped his own aging process.”

  “How old was he when he died?”

  “We don’t know. You see, once you’re transformed into a Tegen, you never die.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re telling me Tegens live forever?”

  “Yes. And we never age.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s true.”

  I chewed the food in my mouth and swallowed. “If that’s the case, then Sir Randolph can recreate his formula, showing and explaining how he did it.”

  “Only fire can destroy a Tegen. That Chicago fire wiped out almost all of them, including Sir Randolph. A small group escaped with a single box of spiders.”

  “Spiders … why do you need spiders?” I asked in a tone of disbelief as I continued eating.

  “Spiders are our life blood. We need their venom to survive.”

  “You just said that only fire can destroy a Tegen.”

  “That’s true. However, without the venom, a Tegen’s strength deteriorates and bodily functions can’t be controlled.”

  “Bodily functions?” My mind raced. “Overwhelming sex drive. Is that what you mean?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “Have you seen sharp little spikes appear out of the bumps on your hands or feet when you get upset?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s what happens. They’ll cover your whole body. We refer to those spikes as needles, since they’re sharp. The spider venom is secreted by our sweat glands; the needles are just regular hairs engorged with venom.”

  I put down my fork and raised my glove-covered hands. Bumps all over my body with spikes sticking out? No way. I returned to my food.

  She continued, “We’ve never been without the spiders. That’s why we have them thriving in various locations. There are some with us all the time. We’d rather burn ourselves than exist without the spiders.”

  “Are you carrying some now?”

  She bobbed her head. “Yes.”

  “Where?”

  Opening her purse, she pulled out a small, black, ovoid container covered with pin-like holes. “Do you want to see them?”

  I stared at her, wondering why she would expose everyone in the hospital to those lethal spiders. “No. I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

  “They’ll stay in their container.”

  “Just leave them there.” I watched her put it away. “Hobo spiders, or should I say tegenaria agrestis, are poisonous. People bitten by them don’t react the way I’ve seen people react to your spiders.”

  “Sir Randolph changed the DNA
of the Hobo spider. Our spiders are no longer Hobo spiders just as we are no longer humans.”

  “How do you get out the venom?” I asked suspiciously. “Do you eat them?”

  “No, we don’t eat our spiders. We…we.” She hesitated. “The spiders paralyze a person and their venom runs through the blood and organs. We consume the venom by drinking the tainted blood and eating the body. Regular blood just doesn’t work,” she said, matter-of-factly.

  My lips quivered. I briefly closed my eyes, realizing they drugged me and made me participate. “You use the spiders for your rituals?”

  “We don’t have rituals, we have gatherings.”

  Taking a deep breath, I said, “Okay, gatherings. Go on.”

  She lifted an impatient brow. “The Hobo spider DNA sequence Sir Randolph inserted into the mutagen makes us biologically dependent on the venom,” she said, sounding frustrated. “It’s an integral component of the gene replication process that allows us to live like humans forever. Without the venom our cells deteriorate and that’s the only way we can get it.

  I felt a clutching, sinking sensation in my chest as I wondered how they could have such low regard for human life. “Do you think it’s okay to kill people?”

  “You’ll feel differently after you’ve been transformed.”

  “If I have to kill people to survive as a Tegen,” I said, doubting their existence, “then I don’t want to be one. Why don’t you find someone else who might be interested in joining your—species.” Gazing at the food on the tray, my appetite was gone. I laid the napkin on top of it.

  “It’s not that easy. Not everyone can be a Tegen. You see, the mutagen changed Sir Randolph’s DNA along with his family and his co-workers who wanted it. Since the formula was destroyed, now you have to be born with the right DNA to be a Tegen. One of your parents has to be a Tegen.”

  “If one of my parents was a Tegen, why did they both die in a car crash? Or are you telling me that one of them is still alive?”

  “I can tell you don’t believe anything I’m saying, but it’s all true.” She frowned and pressed her lips together. “The Joneses were not your biological parents.”

  “Yeah, right. They would’ve told me if I was adopted, and I’ve seen pictures of me when I was an infant minutes after I was born.”

  “That’s only because your father gave them those pictures.” She waited for me to absorb that bit of information. “Your father knew your adoptive parents. They hadn’t planned on adopting a kid. He persuaded them. It turned out to be good for you and for them. They loved you.”

  My eyes became moist just thinking about them. “Why are you saying this about my parents? You didn’t even know them.”

  She held my arm. “As hard as it is for you to believe this, it’s all true. Your biological father wanted to help you by placing you in a home where spiders were respected.” She smiled. “He loved it when he heard how much you enjoyed watching and playing with them. You had a spider colony in your bedroom. When you were in the first grade, you took a few with you to school in your little pink purse. We laughed about that and thought you were already getting used to taking spiders with you. Your teacher didn’t think it was funny and you got in trouble.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Your father told me. The arrangement he made with the Joneses was that they could raise you without interference. They were to send him a picture of you every year along with a brief summary of what you had done. The Joneses fell in love with you the first time they saw you. They agreed to his request and formally adopted you. It was recorded. You can check it out.”

  “I will. If that’s true, who’s my biological father?”

  “Lance.”

  “Oh, come on. I read Lawrence Alston’s biography and a newspaper article about when Lance’s mother died. He’s the same age I am. He came to my parents’ funeral, probably because they were in the same organizations since he deals with spider bites, and my parents were arachnologists. He didn’t even talk to me. Every time he looked at me, he had a stern expression on his face. Then when I saw him at the hotel, he acted almost hostile toward me. That isn’t how a father would behave toward his child.”

  She lowered her head as if she was thinking how to respond and nervously drummed her fingers on the armrest. Then she sat up straight and her eyes met mine. “Lawrence and Lance Alston are the same person.”

  “Your story gets more bizarre by the minute,” I gasped for fresh air. Although, inside my mind something was clicking.

  “This may sound bizarre, but it is resounding fact, and we can substantiate it. Lance is a Tegen. Since he’s an expert in his field, he can’t lecture or do anything under the guise of Lawrence because he looks too young. He’s actually over a hundred years old. We constantly have to pretend we’re other people since we don’t age.”

  “If you’re forced to pretend you’re other people, then why don’t you come forward and admit you’re a Tegen? You could make billions.”

  “We don’t have the formula for the mutagen.” She shifted in her chair and clasped her hands together.

  The door squeaked open, and we turned as a nurse entered. “It’s time for your medication,” she said, putting down a tray.

  “What medication?” I asked.

  “Your doctor wants you to have a shot to help relieve your pain,” she replied.

  Lindsey stood up. “Miss Jones’ doctor has already given her medication to control the pain. Can I see the doctor’s prescription?”

  “Who are you?” the nurse asked, sounding annoyed.

  Lindsey pulled a badge from her purse. “I’m a registered nurse and Dr. Alston’s assistant,” she said, showing it to the nurse.

  The nurse thumbed through documents on her clipboard. “There’s nothing hear about an assistant.”

  “Can I see the prescription?” I asked.

  The nurse’s eyes narrowed as she unclipped a yellow form. “Certainly,” she said, handing it to me. Then she looked at Lindsey. “You’ll have to leave after I give Miss Jones this shot. She needs to sleep.”

  “Lindsey, do you want to see it?” I asked, holding up the prescription.

  “Yes.” She checked the form. “This isn’t Dr. Alston’s signature.”

  The nurse took the prescription and hooked it to her board. “Of course it isn’t. Dr. Frandsen signed it,” she said, filling the syringe.

  “My doctor is Dr. Alston,” I said. “I want to talk to him before I have a shot.”

  “Dr. Alston isn’t in the hospital. Dr. Frandsen is in charge of his patients when he isn’t here.”

  “I have Dr. Alston’s cell phone number,” Lindsey said. “Let me give him a call.”

  The nurse put down the syringe. “Since you’re his assistant, I’ll finish distributing medications while you contact Dr. Alston.”

  Lindsey moved closer to her. “No, you’ll stay right here while I call Dr. Alston.”

  “Miss Jones isn’t the only patient that needs medication,” the nurse replied, irritated.

  “This will just take a minute.” Lindsey stood between the nurse and the door.

  The nurse clenched her teeth, but didn’t attempt to leave as Lindsey placed the call, presumably to Lance, and told him the situation. After a brief pause, “Okay, that’s what I’ll do.” Lindsey disconnected and looked at the nurse. “Dr. Alston’s in the hospital. He thinks there must be some confusion regarding Miss Jones’ medication. He’s coming to talk to you about it.”

  Lindsey remained fixed by the door, blocking the nurse from leaving without a physical confrontation. Without saying a word, the nurse remained still as she glared at Lindsey.

  To defuse the tension, I said, “Nurse, my call button cord keeps getting tangled in the bed railing, is there anything you can do about it?”

  The nurse turned and walked to the bed. “Yes. I’ll secure it in a few places.” She pulled a roll of white tape out of her pocket and proceeded to attach the cord at various lo
cations along the railing.

  “Thanks,” I said, giving her a smile.

  Lance came into the room. “I’ve already given Miss Jones her evening medication,” he said politely to the nurse. “Let me see what Dr. Frandsen prescribed.”

  The nurse handed him the clipboard. He looked at it and his mouth eased into a smile. “Dr. Frandsen has prescribed medication for a Miss Jones. It’s for Sharon Jones, not Sara.”

  Reading the form, the nurse’s eyebrows rose. “I’m so sorry, Doctor.” She turned toward Lindsey. “I’m glad you checked with Dr. Alston.” She walked around Lindsey. “I need to give Sharon Jones her medication.”

  Lance closed the door behind her. “I think she made an honest mistake. I’ve seen her before in the hospital. She isn’t anyone we need to be concerned about.”

  My eyes popped wide open. “But she was going to give me a shot.”

  “It’s good that Lindsey stopped her. However, had you received that medication, it wouldn’t have hurt you. It would have put you to sleep. No lasting effect. It’s unfortunate, but errors like that are made often.” He looked at Lindsey. “Are you through?”

  “No.”

  I wanted to talk to him about it; even though, I suspected Lance was in cahoots with Lindsey. He would just confirm everything she had said.

  He opened the door. “I’ll be in my office if you need me.”

  When he was gone, Lindsey asked, “Where did I leave off?”

  “You had just told me that Lance was my father, and he was a Tegen.”

  “And you didn’t believe me.” She flipped through her notepad. “Let me get through this and then you can ask Lance and Brett questions.”

  “Okay, finish your bizarre story.”

  She squinted and tapped her finger tips together. “Just wait and see. You’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

  “Go on.” What an elaborate tale to explain why they mutilate people. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t all lies.