Gary Braver - Elixir

As they faced each other, it struck Roger how much Wally had aged. Most of his hair was gone except for an apron around the back of his head and a few strands plastered across his scalp. His gut bulged over his belt like a sack of flour. His shoulders were broad but thin like his arms from lack of exercise. His face was gray and fleshy and the skin was pocked on the nose and cheeks-looking like old melanoma scars. His eyes still held the reef-water blue Roger remembered, but they looked tired and unhappy. It was sad to see what the years had done to his old friend-a guy who had been lean and handsome like a young Alan Ladd.

"Wally, I have just one question, then I'll explain things."

"Okay."

"What did you tell the FBI?"

Wally flinched. "The FBI? What FBI? What are you talking about?" His sincere bug-eyes weren't convincing.

"Wally, I'm here to be straight with you. And for old time's sake I want you to be straight back. You visited the Madison office two days ago at ten-thirty and spoke for an hour and forty minutes with agent Eric Brown."

Wally looked nonplussed. More mock-shock. "He's an old friend."

"No, he's not."

"What the hell do you mean, 'No, he's not…'?" Now he was playing the indignation card.

"Because when I called your office later and told your secretary I was Eric Brown, she asked from what company. Any executive secretary worth her salt knows the names of the boss's old friends."

Wally tried to hold the indignation in his face, but it slipped.

"Furthermore, you photocopied some microfilm articles from The Boston Globe the other day. February 1988. And don't tell me you were checking old Beanpot scores."

After a long silence Wally said, "You seem to have all the answers."

"I want to hear it from you."

He looked scared. "What are you going to do?"

"Talk."

"And if I don't?"

"I think you should."

Wally wiped his mouth and stared at the floor for a moment. "The papers said you murdered a colleague and blew up a jetliner with a hundred and thirty-seven people."

"Thank you," he said. "Now let's get those beers, then I'm going to explain how I was framed for those crimes."

As they walked into the kitchen, Wally looked at Roger. "By the way, you look damn good for fifty-six."

"Because I'm not, and I'll explain that too."

They got the beers and returned. Then over the next two hours Roger told his story, leaving out very little. Without getting too technical, he explained how the tabulone molecule worked on the DNA sequence to prolong cell life. As documentation he showed Wally the old Elixir brochures from Darby and the videos of Methuselah and Jimbo.

Wally was astounded, of course, and asked lots of questions. Every so often he'd examine Roger's face and hands, amazed at their condition. At one point he even tugged at Roger's hair to see that it wasn't a wig.

"You've discovered the mother of all miracle drugs," he said. "But, man, I'm looking at you and seeing something that shouldn't be. It's goddamn creepy. If I were religious, I'd say you'd been touched by Jesus."

A long silence passed as Wally nursed his drink and let it all sink in. Finally, he said, "What's it like not to age?"

Roger smiled. "Mirrors no longer depress me."

"I've conquered that myself. I avoid them."

They both laughed. It was the same old Wally, the same self-deprecating wit. And it came back to Chris why he had been so fond of him. Yet, despite the renewed warmth, Roger reminded himself that Wally could still think him a killer.

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I was framed. It's the truth, and I want you to believe it. I did not kill anybody."

"There's got to be another reason you're here."

Chris nodded. "I want you to go to back to the FBI and tell them that you were wrong. That you checked old photographs and it wasn't Christopher Bacon you had spotted, just a guy who resembles him. He's too young to be Bacon."

Wally listened without response. "I want them off my tail, Wally. I've got a kid and a wife, and they don't deserve to be put on the run again. We have new lives and we want to continue living them out."

"Well, I guess my head is still spinning."

"I understand, but a lot of people have already died."

Wally's face hardened. "What does that mean?"

"It means that if I were a guy who blew up a hundred and thirty-seven family people heading for vacation, I would have little compunction eliminating anybody else."

"You mean me."

"And your son. Instead I'm drinking beers with you in your living room."

"Aren't I grateful!"

"Of course, if you do it you'll be out the million-dollar reward."

"Well, there's that."

"A lot of money. Could make for a nice early retirement."

Wally's face darkened. Roger picked up his jacket, feeling the comforting weight of the pistol. He reached his hand into the right inner pocket, firmly gripping its contents. "I hate to spoil things, but so will this."

Wally made an involuntary gasp as Roger whipped out his hand and aimed it straight at him: A long glass ampule. "Elixir."

"What?"

"Elixir," Roger repeated. "Earlier you asked did it work for anybody. To my knowledge, two people in the world today. You could be the third. Compensation for forfeiting the million dollars: perpetual life."

Wally stared blankly. It was too much to absorb all at once.

"You don't have to make a decision now, but it has to be soon. They're watching us. I'm offering you an unlimited supply of Elixir to keep you alive indefinitely. In return, I ask that you retract your claim."

Wally contemplated the offer. They both knew he was the perfect candidate-divorced, lonely, overweight, aging all too fast, and looking at maybe ten years at best before he died.

"You don't have to take it, of course."

Wally rolled the ampule of tabulone in his fingers, studying the promise locked in glass. Outside the night wind had picked up, and someplace in the dining room a banjo clock chimed midnight.

"Run by me the side effects again."

"There are no side effects in the ordinary sense-just a rejuvenation surge that sets you back about ten years. It's hard to measure. But it takes place over six weeks to three months. Once stabilized, you would need injections infrequently-once every two weeks. Eventually, once a month. But once you start you can't stop or you'll die. That goes for me too."

"What about cancer cells? What if I've got a spot on my lungs or something in my liver?"

"The stuff holds them in diapause. They don't replicate but sit there, while normal cells continue to divide."

"So, it's like a kind of chemotherapy-the good cells grow while the bad ones are held in check."

"Something like that, except the good cells go on indefinitely."

"What happens when the Elixir stops coming?"

Roger could still see Jimbo dying, his body exploding in carcinoma gone wild. "You die."

"What about your organs-heart, kidney and liver? Don't they eventually wear out?"

"Theoretically, they shouldn't as long as you take care of yourself. And if they do, there are always transplants-every ten thousand miles or fifty years, which ever comes first."

Wally laughed. "As we kids say, 'Holy shit.'"

He got up for another beer. Roger escorted him, though he no longer expected Wally to go for the phone.

When they returned, Wally said: "You've lived unchanged for nearly fifteen years. Are you happy?"

Are you happy?

While Chris hadn't expected it, it was a legitimate question. But the answer was far from simple.

His impulse was to declare, Of course I'm happy. Never aging. Never growing weary, depressed, infirm. Not watching your body fall apart. Never having to die. Being around to see all the great changes - manned rockets to Mars, nano-engineering, controlled fusion, a cure for AIDS. To go on indefinitely learning and doing the things you enjoy. To prolong your time with those you love. Hell! Who wouldn't be happy?