Gary Braver - Elixir

SCIENTIST MURDER SUSPECT KILLED IN PLANE CRASH

EASTERN FLIGHT 219 CLAIMS DARBY

MURDER SUSPECT

Four days later a Boston Globe headline read:

"FBI: BIOLOGIST BACON NOT ON PLANE"

Then the next day from papers around the nation:

MAN CHARGED IN MURDER MAY BE AIRLINE BOMBER

SCIENTIST TURNS MASS MURDERER

ALL-OUT HUNT FOR SABOTEUR BACON

POLICE AND FBI INTENSIFY SEARCH FOR BACON & WIFE

BOMB SUSPECT, WIFE, INFANT DISAPPEAR

Wally was trembling with disbelief as he clicked on one of the articles. Christopher Bacon had been accused of killing a coworker in his lab, then planting explosives aboard a commercial airliner heading for Puerto Rico. He didn't remember the incident because he and his family had been living in Japan at the time.

Wally scrolled down the articles. Following the sabotage, Chris had dropped off the face of the earth with his wife and infant son. As the years went on, the articles thinned out, occasionally producing pieces such as "Is Mass Murder Suspect Among Us?" and theories that Bacon and family had moved to Mexico or Canada. By 1991, the articles had stopped coming, the latest listing Christopher Bacon as the FBI's Number One most wanted fugitive.

Whatever the claims, these were crimes Wally could never imagine his old pal committing. Accompanying the articles was a color photograph of Chris and Wendy. It was grainy and had lost something in transcription, but recognition passed through Wally like a brick. Take away the black beard and it was the same man.

But it didn't make sense, since the Chris Bacon in the 1988 Internet photos looked older than he did in person. Older by a decade or more!

Wally didn't get it. He didn't get any of it.

Either Roger Glover was some astounding lookalike, or Roger Glover was Chris Bacon who had undergone a stunning makeover.

Confused and baffled, Wally downed the rest of his wine. Then he went back upstairs and went to bed, wondering what the statute of limitation was on the million-dollar reward.

"He's so big for his age," Jenny said.

"He's only a year younger than Abigail," Laura said.

In the photo, Brett was in his wrestling outfit, standing tall and straight, square-shouldered, his young body firm and rippled with muscles. The image filled Laura with love.

"He looks like Roger, except for the eyes." Brett had Laura's brown eyes. Both of them.

It was at these secret hotel trysts where she and Jenny shared family news. Today it was the Milwaukee Marriott just up the street from the annual flower show-Laura's cover for the rendezvous. Although Jenny was no longer under FBI surveillance, Laura still insisted on meeting surreptitiously-never in public, and never at each other's homes. This was their first meeting in four years.

Laura wished the rooms came with VCRs so she could show Jenny the tape of Brett's winning match from yesterday. Ironically, he had wanted to go out for basketball, but felt he was too short and signed up for wrestling reluctantly.

"How they change. I would never have recognized him."

Jenny had not seen Brett since he was baby Adam. Sadder still, Brett knew nothing of Jenny. Laura had told him that she was an only child of two parents who themselves were only children-like Roger. That he had no other family. Laura hated deceiving him, but if they announced he had other relatives, he'd want to visit them, and that could put the authorities on their trail. Plus it would open that awful can of worms. Not until he was older. Not until he could handle the entire, lunatic truth.

"I wish you'd brought pictures of Abigail," Laura said.

"Oh, you know these teenagers. She's camera-shy." Jenny hadn't brought photos of her for years. "She's something else, though, smart as a whip. We're studying French together." Jenny prided herself in being cultured, of rising above crass TV values.

"What a nice thing to share. Maybe you could take her to France someday."

Jenny smiled noncommittally. "That's another thing: She doesn't like to travel."

Laura saw Jenny infrequently, but she knew how devoted a mother she was, funneling all her energy into raising Abigail and schooling her at home. It was her way of making up for Kelly. Laura swore that without Abigail, Jenny would have lost her mind given the turmoil in her life. Nine years ago, she and Ted got divorced. It was a stormy breakup but she won custody of Abigail and a large settlement. Two years later, Ted was sent to prison for eight years for operating a car-theft ring. Then in 1993 real horror struck. Kelly, age twenty-nine, committed suicide.

It was impossible to gauge the effects by phone or a meeting every few years. But some weird denial had set in, because Jenny never mentioned Kelly's name again. She had moved to a suburb of Indianapolis with Abigail where she started life all over as a first-time mother.

Jenny flipped through photos nervously, distracted. Something was up. Laura had sensed the tension the moment Jenny walked into the room. Even in her voice when she called to schedule this rendezvous. Finally, Laura asked her point-blank what was wrong.

For a moment Jenny tried to dissemble. Then she blurted out, "I need help."

"What kind of help?"

"Elixir. I want some Elixir. Simple as that. I need some, and you can't say no."

The intensity of her expression startled Laura. "Jennifer, I can't do that and you know it."

"Laura, I'm fifty years old, and aging fast. Look at me, I'm putting on weight and fleshing out. I'm feeling older and I hate it."

"So am I. That's life."

"But Mamma was my mother, too. I carry the same family thing for cancer, and you said that stuff prevents cancer cells-"

Laura cut her off. "You don't know anything about the stuff. It's forbidden. Everything about it is forbidden."

"But Roger-"

"But Roger nothing! Yeah, he doesn't age, but do you want to end up like him-cut off from your kid? From your friends? Living in a state of biological schizophrenia-graying your hair and not knowing who the hell you really are or what generation you're from? That's what it's like for him. That's what it's like for us, and I'll be damned if I'll let you do that to yourself."

What she didn't mention was what had happened to them as a couple. She still loved Roger, but their widening biological gap had set off a flurry of confused emotions-from sheer envy to anger to something akin to repugnance at the unnaturalness of his condition. Even sex was a perverse throwback experience-as if she were making love to Chris Bacon, the horny ever-ready grad student. Except she was a post-menopausal fifty-five and feeling like a cradle-robber. Elixir had thrown time and love out of joint.

"I can live with that," Jenny pleaded. "I'm willing to take the risk. Please. I'm begging you." She began to cry.

Seeing her weaken touched Laura, but she could not let the crocodile tears sway her. "You're not a hermit living in the woods, for god's sake. You've got a daughter to think of."

"That's who I'm thinking of," Jenny shot back.

"Then ask yourself what you'll tell her in ten years?"

"What about Brett? What are you going to tell him?"

Laura didn't answer.

Jenny made no effort to stop her tears. She was bordering on hysteria. "You have to help me. You have to let me have some. I'm not asking for much. Just a few ampules. You can't let this happen, after all I did for you-protected you, lied for you, got you passports and IDs. If it weren't for me you'd be in prison for the rest of your lives."

"And I'm very grateful. But Elixir is lousy with horrors."

"You don't understand," Jenny said.

"What don't I understand?" Laura shouted. "I've lived with it for fifteen years."

"But Roger's managed. He's fine. You've got the power to prolong life, and you won't give me a drop. Your own flesh and blood."