The Immortalists Read online

  “Dr. Draman, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

  Richard spun and found himself faced with yet another surprise. Mason was no longer the puffy, bespectacled man he’d been when he was working, nor was he the wild-eyed recluse so many had hypothesized.

  For certain, he looked every one of his sixty-five years, but those years had settled in kindly. He’d lost at least forty pounds from when he’d disappeared, leaving a solid physique and shoulders that would be considered broad in the less-than-athletic world of academia. His skin was deeply lined around the mouth and eyes, but tan and healthy beneath a head of longish gray hair.

  “Dr. Mason?”

  His acknowledgment was limited to a polite smile.

  “It’s incredible to meet you, sir,” Richard said, pumping the man’s hand with embarrassing energy. He’d actually had a picture of Mason on the wall of his dorm room at school. As he recalled, it had held a place of honor just to the right of his highly collectible poster of Raquel Welch in a fur bikini and just above his seldom-used beer bong.

  “I really appreciate you agreeing to see me, sir. I know you don’t make it a habit. I’m truly honored to be here.”

  Mason seemed vaguely amused by his guest’s breathless delivery.

  “I’m sorry,” Richard continued. “I’m babbling. I suppose you get that a lot.”

  “Not so much anymore.” Mason pointed to a pair of chairs, and they sat.

  “Last I heard, you were working in cancer, Richard. I seem to remember that there were a lot of people talking about you. The wonder boy from…Oklahoma, was it?”

  “I’m from a little town you never heard of in Kansas, actually.”

  “And how does someone from a little town I’ve never heard of rise to such eminence in as complicated a field as biology, Richard?”

  Richard was embarrassed to feel a little surge of adrenaline at the compliment and the fact that August Mason would show any interest in him at all.

  “Well, my high school didn’t really have classes that challenged me, and I was lucky enough to get an opportunity to study at an out-of-state private school.”

  Technically correct but hardly the full story. In truth, he’d felt completely isolated as a child, disconnected from his family, his school, his town. And that had led him to use the intellectual gifts he hadn’t yet come to terms with for less than productive activities. It had started with him creating a concoction that, when added to livestock feed, turned cows blue—a vast improvement over the normal Kansas monotony in his mind, but an artistic statement lost on the community at large. What had started as a harmless cat-and-mouse game culminated in an unfortunate incident involving a water tower, his guidance counselor’s new car, and the better part of the local fire department.

  “So it was at this school you found inspiration?”

  Richard shifted awkwardly in his chair, uncomfortable talking about himself in the presence of someone as great as August Mason and finding it hard to continue to lie under his intense stare.

  “To be honest, Dr. Mason, it was a military school. When I got there, I was so terrified that I actually made an effort on the placement exam they made me take. At first, they thought I cheated, but when they figured out I didn’t, one of the science teachers took me under his wing. I pretty much owe everything to him.”

  “It’s interesting how a random event can change our lives in ways that would be impossible to imagine, isn’t it?” He had a way of speaking that made it seem as though he knew more than he possibly could—as if he was talking specifically about that damn water tower. “But I seem to remember hearing that you didn’t continue in cancer research. Is that right?”

  Richard nodded. “Progeria. My daughter has it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Then you’re familiar with the disease?”

  “Oh, in a very superficial way.”

  It would be an understatement to say that Mason had been as disliked as he was revered during his career. He had the reputation of being a cold-hearted bastard with a tendency to completely dismiss his intellectual inferiors, which, unfortunately, was just about everyone.

  Perhaps worse, he’d also been a strong proponent of eugenics. His ideas on developing a program of abortions based on increasingly sophisticated amniocentesis had lost him the few defenders he had in the liberal academic community—Richard included. If it had been up to Mason, Susie would have never been born.

  But it was hard now to see any of that in the man. Certainly, he wasn’t effusive and he had a disconcerting way of looking right through you, but he didn’t come off as one of Hitler’s tennis partners either.

  “Now, I have to ask, Richard. What is it that I can do for you?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about your research.”

  “What aspect?”

  “The fundamental structures of life.”

  “Ah, the Great Truths. Not one of my favorite subjects.”

  “But that was the real focus of your career, wasn’t it? Some people might even say your obsession.”

  “Delusion might be a better word.”

  Richard opened his mouth to protest, but Mason held up a hand, silencing him.

  “I spent years believing that I was on the path to a breakthrough that would transform the way we understand life. That I would be the first person to stare directly into the mind of God. And instead, it turned out to be nothing.”

  “And so you just went up in smoke,” Richard said, not bothering to hide his curiosity.

  Mason smiled. “So what’s the popular theory these days? That I was living in the subway tunnels of New York? Or is the Syrian monastery hypothesis making a resurgence?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just such a mystery to all of us. You wouldn’t believe how many times the subject still comes up when biologists get together and have a few too many drinks.”

  Mason shifted in his seat, obviously contemplating how much he wanted to say. “Let’s just say that God turned out to be more elusive than I thought, so I went to look elsewhere.”

  “And did you find Him?”

  “I’m afraid not. It’s up to the next generation. People like you.”

  “And Annette Chevalier.”

  Mason frowned. “I heard what happened. Horrible.”

  “Were you aware she was doing research along a similar line as you were?”

  “Yes. She called me a few times. I told her she was heading down a blind alley. But she wouldn’t listen. Did you know her?”

  Richard nodded.

  “Then you understand why I wanted to dissuade her. I knew about her depression problems and the fact that she’d tried to kill herself a few years ago. When I discovered my research was going nowhere, it was devastating enough to walk away from everything I’d ever known. I was concerned that she would…” he paused for a moment, “take it harder.”

  “Where is all the research you did?”

  “I threw it away.”

  “I’m sorry? What did you say?”

  “I was upset. I threw it in the garbage.”

  “You don’t have copies?” Richard said, horrified.

  “It’s not as cathartic if you keep copies. So, I have to ask again. What is it I can do for you?”

  Richard hesitated, knowing that he was on thin legal ice.

  “Annette’s husband brought me a thumb drive with some of her theories and data on it. I looked it over, and it’s incomplete and speculative. But it’s also pretty exciting. I know you say it’s headed nowhere, but I just can’t see the dead end you found.”

  Mason’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Trust me. It’s there.”

  Richard reached into his jacket and retrieved a copy of Annette’s data. “As unlikely as it seems, maybe she found an angle you didn’t consider. I know I’m asking a lot, but could you just take a quick look at this and tell me what you think? For reasons I’m sure you understand, I don’t have time to run down blind alleys.”


  He accepted the drive and gazed down at it for a moment. “I’m not going to promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”

  6

  Outside Baltimore, Maryland

  April 12

  Susie placed a puzzle piece that clearly didn’t fit into Big Bird’s midsection and poked at it with a bony finger.

  “Can I get you a hammer?” Richard said, eliciting a noisy snicker from his daughter that made him smile. Despite her illness, she’d always been an unusually cheerful kid, willing to do whatever it took to find the silver lining in every cloud. A hell of a talent, as far as he was concerned.

  “You know what Amy did today at school?”

  “What?”

  “A flip. All the way. She landed on her feet and everything.”

  “Front or back?”

  Her expression suggested his question was painfully stupid. “Front! Don’t be crazy. Nobody can do one backward and not fall. I’d like to do one someday. I’d like to do a front one.”

  It was hard not feel his heart stutter in his chest when she said things like that, but today he wasn’t going to give in.

  “Someday you’ll be able to do anything you want.”

  She picked up another puzzle piece and tested it with similar results.

  He was so grateful to her friend Amy and all the other children at the school. Kids could be cruel to people different than them, but none of that cruelty had ever targeted Susie. Partly it might have been her personality, but her young classmates also seemed to be able to understand what she was going through. And they wanted to help.

  He glanced up and saw his wife watching them from the doorway. “We could use some help, Carly. The Cookie Monster is proving to be a bit of a challenge.”

  “Yeah, Mom. Dad said he was too tired from driving all the way to Pennsylvania to play with the Kinect. Come and help us.”

  She pondered the invitation for a moment and then settled down onto the floor. Richard lay back in the carpet and propped his head against her thigh, stretching his sore spine. The warmth of her spread throughout his body, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the sensation while Susie pawed through the puzzle pieces and pontificated on why sane people shouldn’t have to take math.

  She’d barely warmed up to the subject when a knock at the door threw off her train of thought. Richard rose on stiff knees and strode across the room, stopping in front of the door and glancing at his watch. Almost nine o’ clock.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Detective Timothy Sands with the police. Open up, please.”

  He frowned as he pulled the door open. This happened from time to time, generally when the couple two doors down had too much gin and started chasing each other around with golf clubs. It really pissed him off that he was forced to raise his daughter in this kind of environment, but Carly pointed out that it was unhealthy to give in to the tendency to surround yourself with people just like you. Seemed like a stretch.

  “Are you Richard Draman?”

  This cop seemed a little graver than the ones who had come before. The man flanking him was in uniform, but Sands wore a gray suit that looked a size too small for his considerable bulk. Combined with the tightly clamped lips and vaguely military haircut, he gave the impression of a man not to be screwed with.

  “Yeah, that’s me. But look, we haven’t heard anything. We’ve been in the house all—”

  “Could you turn around, please?”

  “Excuse me?”

  He didn’t bother repeating himself, instead nodding toward the uniformed cop, who grabbed Richard by the shoulder.

  “What the hell are you doing? Get off—”

  His protest was silenced when he was slammed into the wall and his arm was twisted up behind him. He heard his wife and daughter shouting, but for some reason couldn’t make out the words over the depressingly familiar sound of handcuffs ratcheting over his wrists.

  “Richard Draman, you’re under arrest—”

  “What are you talking about?” he said as more uniformed cops brushed by. One of them handed Carly a piece of paper as she tried to calm their panicked daughter.

  “Search warrant,” he said before making a beeline for the small office at the back of the house.

  “It’s OK,” Richard said as Susie started to cry. “This is just a mistake. Everybody makes mistakes. They have me confused with one of the neighbors.”

  The terror on her face subsided a bit, but her eyes remained fixed on him, ignoring the police passing by.

  “What’s this about?” Carly demanded, stepping in front of Sands, who ignored her and pointed to a man carrying Richard’s laptop.

  “Is that the only computer?”

  “Yes, sir. At least it’s the only one we’ve found so far.”

  “Search the entire house. I want every computer, every disk, and every piece of paper right down to the goddamn napkins. That means music CDs and players too.”

  “Hey!” Carly said, louder this time. “I’m talking to you. What are you doing here? Why have you handcuffed my husband?”

  “I think I already established that, didn’t I?” he said, giving Carly what was undoubtedly his most intimidating stare. She didn’t seem to notice.

  “If you had, I wouldn’t be asking, would I? Why are you arresting my husband?”

  Richard had a queasy feeling he already knew the answer to that question.

  “And you are?” Sands said.

  “Now I’m pretty sure that has been established. You know, the thing where I keep calling him my husband?”

  Sands seemed to realize that she wasn’t going to back down and flipped a hand toward the door. A moment later, Richard found himself being dragged through it and into his front yard where a few of his neighbors had congregated for the show.

  He ignored them, craning his neck so that he could see Sands and Carly facing off in the entryway. He was still within earshot when the detective finally answered.

  “Industrial espionage.”

  7

  Baltimore, Maryland

  April 12

  “I have to say, you’re not exactly what I expected,” Sands said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and tapping out a rhythm on his shoulder holster.

  The room was a little more elaborate, but pretty much what Richard remembered from his youth—a claustrophobic box furnished with a wooden table, uncomfortable chairs, and an enormous mirror that reflected the image of him sitting with his hands secured behind his back.

  “I didn’t expect to find anything on you in the computer, so imagine my surprise when it turns out that you have one of the most interesting rap sheets I’ve ever had the misfortune to read. What kind of sick little bastard kills his neighbor’s livestock?”

  “Now just wait a minute,” Richard said. “What I gave those cows was completely harmless. It was some idiot vet that said they had to be dest—”

  “And then you tried to kill a cop.”

  “That’s bullshit! When we reassembled that car on top of the tower, we screwed up reattaching the emergency brake. It was just bad luck that the police cruiser pulled up right when it rolled off. He didn’t have a scratch on him when the fire department finally got him out.”

  “And then the judge goes soft and lets your parents ship you off to military school. Then, a few months later, they die in a fire. Makes me wonder if you weren’t pissed off at being sent away. If you—”

  Richard jumped from the chair and lunged toward the cop, but his hands were restrained behind him. A moment later he found himself face down on the floor with the detective’s foot on his neck.

  “Careful, Doc. I’m not some redneck sheriff with a soft spot for sob stories.”

  He gave one last painful shove with his wing tip and then walked from the room, locking the door and leaving Richard alone. He just lay there, cursing his stupidity and remembering the look on Susie’s face when the police dragged him away. What was she going through now? What was the stress doing
to her weakened heart?

  He wanted to call her, tell her it was OK, but no one had offered to let him use the phone. He suspected he was being watched through the mirror and wanted to demand his rights from it, but he couldn’t find the strength. Instead, he struggled to his feet and fell back into the chair, leaning forward until his forehead rested on the table. He’d really done it this time. Of all his many screwups over the years, this was going to be the one that destroyed him. Him and everyone around him.

  The door opened again, and he jerked upright. “Look, I didn’t mean to—”

  “You didn’t mean to what?” Chris Graden said, slamming the door behind him hard enough to vibrate the walls. “You didn’t mean to steal a drive full of research performed by a former PharmaTan employee in PharmaTan’s labs? Or you didn’t mean to take it to August Mason—let me just repeat that: August fucking Mason—and make him an accessory?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Trying to save what’s left of your ass.”

  He flipped an empty chair around backward and sat, staring angrily at Richard but saying nothing further.

  “I didn’t steal the research,” Richard said emphatically. “Troy Chevalier brought it to me. He thought it might have something to do with Annette’s death, and he wanted me to look at it and see if I could figure anything out. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

  Graden’s expression softened. “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Troy was killed in a car accident yesterday. Word is he’d been drinking. A lot, apparently.” Graden shook his head miserably. “He missed a curve, went down an embankment, and bled to death before anyone could get to him.”