Preston Child - The Fountain of Youth

“I wish he wasn’t having so much trouble all the time,” Lily told Charles. “He’s such a nice bloke and all this bad crap is throwing out his well-being, you know?”

“The best thing is to mind our own business, Lillian,” Charles reprimanded her in his stable firmness. “I’ve been here for years and Mr. Purdue has dealt with some really hair-raising situations and come out of it with tremendous resilience. I suggest you keep to yourself and let the man assert his dominance where need be until he is his old self again.”

“Do you have any idea what it could be about?” she persisted.

Charles turned his thin, middle-aged face down to her and said only, “No.”

Lily had to abandon her prying at that stage and concentrate on preparing her employer’s luggage. For the rest of the afternoon she’d encounter Purdue passing by or see him coming out of the bathroom, but she wisely did not engage him in conversation. Apart from bathroom breaks, he stayed in his study, signing papers and arranging Didi’s files for her collection the following day.

When Purdue was done with his administrative duties, he descended the winding stairs to the basement level laboratory, vanishing rapidly under the ground floor concrete and laid stone. He’d made it clear that he wanted to be alone.

Locking the door behind him, Purdue sat down in front of his lab computer. The machine was wired to a network of worldwide scientists, physicians, and medical specialists through a special server that linked up a kind of underground system for professionals, inventors, and researchers of a more clandestine nature.

He did not want the bright white light of the laboratory to give him a hospital vibe, so he kept the emergency lights only. In his smaller, personal laboratory he would make contact with the men and women worldwide who knew all the things his own genius did not have knowledge of. Above him the flickering green eyes of the tall machine blinked zealously to accommodate his curiosity, his need for knowledge about lung cancer.

When he logged into the secure, hacker-protected network he stated what specific information he needed.

I do not have a lot of time. This is not a college assignment, ladies and gentlemen. I do not care about the treatments available for lung cancer, only the cellular workings of the illness and how to, hypothetically, reverse them. It matters not how far-fetched or ludicrous. Based on everything you all know about lung cancer, deliver for me a science-fiction method if you have to. Just tell me how cancer works in terms of compounds and chemistry. Speak my language.

Nina was watching the secret language of intimidation between Christa’s minion and Mrs. Patterson, using the show to keep Clara distracted from how fast she could suck on the fag the Dean’s mother had gifted her.

So your hair falls out and you keep aggravating the condition? God, you must be burning brain cells by the second, Nina thought as she watched the two women fight as politely as they could to pull the wool over the visiting historian’s eyes. They had no idea that they were failing dreadfully, that her deduction was as sharp as ever. The only thing she couldn’t figure out about their match was why she was being fought over. Christa and Clara were hardly acquaintances, let alone friends, so why the hell would they care how much she smoked in the first place?

“It’s becoming late, ladies,” she finally spoke up, rising from the bench and extinguishing her cigarette. “Time to check on my class.”

“But Dr. Smith is with them,” Clara said, gawking at her.

“Precisely, sweetheart,” Nina replied and blessed Clara’s face with the last of her smoke, sending her retreating out of the way where she was trying to block Nina off. The petite brunette gave the old lady a nod and a smile.

“Goodbye, Nina,” Mrs. Patterson smiled and waved. “See you later, dear.”

What they did not notice was that Nina had no intention of going back to the examination hall. Instead, she wanted to find out what all of the peculiar behavior was about. She reckoned that her distrust of the faculty came from her frail disposition and her own insecurities, but she had to admit that the treatment of her students and the unusual hostility between the women was a point of concern. Something was afoot here at St. Vincent’s, and for some reason she was in the middle of it.

“How dare you deliberately hinder the process, Mrs. Patterson?” Clara spewed, almost sounding like her superior witch queen friend in control of Nina’s class. “We need Dr. Gould to be here for some time still. Her contract has already been paid six months ahead and she is expected to serve her purpose here for at least this stretch of time. You are impeding her progress as if you have authority here!”

Keeping her voice low profited the failed academic nothing. Since the radiation sickness had almost blinded Nina, it had enhanced her hearing by great measures and she could discern every single word spoken in the hoarse whisper Clara used.

“Now you listen to me, girly,” Mrs. Patterson announced as she stood up to reiterate her rank in age above the petty little teacher she had no respect for. “I don’t care what you think you’re going to get from Dr. Gould. What you’re doing to her, and to these students, is unethical and downright illegal. I’m only keeping your hideous practices secret because my son asked me to. Do not provoke my anger, because I know all your bloody little secrets, Clara. Yours and theirs.”

Nina’s heart was racing at the words of the elderly woman and the way her sweetness turned gravely into power. A deep frown formed on the historian’s forehead as she tried to decipher what they were talking about.

“The only reason your presence here is tolerated, Mrs. Patterson, is because Christa respects her husband,” Clara threatened. “You know that she’d send you away to a rest home, where you belong, in a blink if it weren’t for her love for Daniel. If I were you, I’d refrain from stepping into things you have no business with. Why don’t you go stay with another family?”

Mrs. Patterson’s blue eyes flashed as she stepped up to the bitchy subordinate of a daughter-in-law. “Now you listen. I have no family. I was a war orphan, growing up in a far more horrible situation than you can ever imagine! Do not think for a minute that your juvenile attacks faze me in the least. And neither do those of that harpy whose teat you’re dangling from!”

Mrs. Patterson was so infuriated that her voice quivered and Nina felt the same kind of rage welling towards the gossiping waifs of the institution.

What did she mean by what they are doing to my students? Nina wondered from her hiding place behind the corner. Mrs. Patterson rushed away in the opposite direction, leaving Clara pallid and relieved that, for now, the fight was over. She retreated into the office of the Department Head, across from Nina’s little corner.

“Dr. Gould?” the Dean’s voice shredded Nina’s thoughts.

“Oh, hello Dean Patterson,” Nina smiled sheepishly.

“What are you doing?” he asked mildly.

“H-hi-ding?” Nina replied.

“From what?” he asked, starting to smile at her hilarious honesty.

“Dean, why did you choose me for this semester at your college? How did you find me and why did you invite me to teach here?”

“You have a very good reputation, as you know. In fact,” he boasted, “you’re a bit of a celebrity in the academic world. We thought you would be an invaluable tool for us.”

“Oh,” Nina shrugged, a bit disappointed with his obvious answer. But then the Dean revealed an interesting tidbit that intrigued her somewhat.