Preston Child - The Fountain of Youth

When he opened the bedroom door, he was confronted with a long, darkened corridor that ran past the open bedroom of the Dean and his wife. Barefoot, Purdue stalked past where he heard the soft snoring of his hosts, wondering if Clara was occupying one of the other rooms tonight. Carefully he peered around the doorway into the Dean’s room and found that two bodies occupied the double bed. Quickly he passed, thankful for the ongoing rainstorm that masked the sounds of his movement.

Barely had he reached the front door when Christa sat up in her bed. Wary of waking her husband, she picked up the phone and called the main building of the academy. Three rings later the phone was answered. Christa’s brow darkened as she heard the front door click shut. “They’re coming. Get ready.”

Nina fell into darkness more than wakefulness as her body donated her life force to the evil society she was at perpetual war with. The chair was sticky under her buttocks from the involuntary urination that had happened while she’d been unconscious during the first few hours she was held. As her blood became less, her blood pressure dipped dangerously. Hypoxia had already been prevalent before having her blood drawn out of her and Nina’s chest was aching far more than the lung cancer could ever batter her with. The lack of oxygen in her system, along with the gradual exsanguination, was draining her of every ounce of energy and rendering her mentally unstable.

During the times she was barely conscious, Nina would talk to herself, but she had no recollection of what she was talking about. Finally, she laughed a lot between petit mal seizures and the awful constriction of her clammy skin, the result of her neurological torment. Her senses were going haywire, sending her already frail body into tremors and chills. Nina stared into the darkness where the blurry, flickering lights of the pump were the only sign that she could still see through her failing eyes.

So many regrets filled her as she tried to remember who she was. Nina felt her memories wane as her life slipped away — her name, her origins, her family. Somewhere in between the fleeting images and sour contrition, Nina thought of a man; no, two men.

“Who are you?” she mumbled behind her gag, relieved that she could hear her voice articulating words. It was her way of maintaining her sanity while her body grew heavier and her heart grew tired of trying. “Hey!” she shouted to the two men who kept her company. “I know you, right?” Then she would laugh to convince herself she was happy, only to feel the nausea pressure her. Headaches had become as common as breathing, and Nina’s well-groomed nails had broken off in the upholstery of the chair from the spasms of agony that blazed through her veins.

There was a dark-haired man with big dark eyes, wearing a scarf. His hair was wild and sexy, and his voice was clear, but she had no idea what he was saying. Next to him stood a taller man, the antithesis of the other. His hair was white, and behind his glasses his eyes were a piercing blue-green. Nina giggled. “I love you. All of you, I mean, all…both of you…you both…”

She frowned, trying to figure out where she was and why she could see these unknown men while there was no light source around her. Her thigh muscles burned like liquid fire as the male figures looked on. Then they’d be gone, and she would weep tears she did not possess. She was alone, except for the chit-chat of pain.

Purdue and Mrs. Patterson rushed through the rain to get to the main building of the fortress of St. Vincent’s Academy. “Mrs. Patterson, wait!” Purdue called softly. “Great Scot, I can’t keep up with you. I think your juice is still strong.”

Mrs. Patterson had to chuckle at the inferior fitness of the young Scottish man. “Maybe so, deary. I won’t be old until they close the lid. Now hurry and keep that crow bar handy. Limber as I might be, I don’t have the strength to deliver a good pummeling.”

“Right,” Purdue replied through wet lips. He tightened his grip on the crow bar the old lady had brought him. “I thought you stayed in the Dean’s house, by the way.”

She looked horrified. “Och, no! You think I could tolerate that harpy for one single day under the same roof? Hell’s bells, no! I live in the aptly named ‘granny flat’ in their yard.”

“And Clara?” he asked. She was his biggest cause for concern; a wildcard that could be anywhere at any time.

“Like Nina she, stays in a cottage on campus grounds. I’m so glad the students have left for the long weekend. My God, she was draining them without keeping track on the amount of energy she took from them,” Mrs. Patterson chattered almost non-stop now that she could tell someone outright.

“The students?” Purdue gasped in horror. “Didn’t she consider the amount of legal repercussions she could subject the college to?”

“My dear, she is not here for the love of teaching,” she said, cocking her head in sarcasm as they made it through an auxiliary entrance to the ground floor interior.

“How does she drain them?” he pressed for information to establish how strong an opponent she would be.

Mrs. Patterson looked up and pointed to the ceiling. “The air-conditioning system, Mr. Purdue.” He was astonished at the amount of trouble Dr. Smith had gone to just to stay young and perpetuate her nefarious vampirism. She was way past any affiliation with the Black Sun. In fact, he suspected that Smith had broken away from her duties in the organization when she married into Ebner’s family.

“How do you know where Nina is, Mrs. Patterson? It’s rather suspect, you understand,” he told the elderly lady, who nodded in agreement.

“I heard an ungodly explosion down in the archive room, even above the clapping thunder and the din of the downpour yesterday,” she reported as they neared the stairway to the basement floor. “So I came to investigate.”

“An explosion?” he asked.

“It sounded like an earthquake, but it was, in fact, one of the walls in the archive room that collapsed when Dr. Gould accidentally toppled a heavy file cabinet. The impact made the wall give way, so that made a ghastly noise. But when I came to check if Nina was alright, I found Christa and Clara circling the poor girl, toting a bloody Beretta at her!” she said as quietly as she could.

“Good God! Did they shoot her?” Purdue asked with an ashen face.

“No, but I know where they took her,” she said seriously.

“Why didn’t you interfere then?” he inquired angrily. “Why did you allow them to draw us away earlier when we were right there?”

“David, such a confrontation would have jeopardized the safety of Mrs. Cotswald and yourself, not to mention the fact that she’d kill my son the moment I was out of the way. She wants St. Vincent’s, don’t you see?” she retorted. “There!” she pointed to the vanishing stairwell.

Reaching the trapdoor, Mrs. Patterson kept watch as Purdue strained to break the lock. It was a hardy, iron contraption that lived up to its name. Purdue took to the hinges instead.

“Clever,” Mrs. Patterson remarked.

“Ta,” Purdue groaned as he busted the second hinge.

With the thunder roaring every few minutes the two of them descended the stairs into the archive room where Nina had made her office. Purdue used his tablet for light, the strong beam illuminating the dusty tomb of papers and records.

“Oh Jesus!” Purdue exclaimed inadvertently as his light fell on the broken wall and the leering skeleton within. The new air that had been let into the chasm had worked at deteriorating the fine bones and clothing, but Mrs. Patterson recognized the style of clothing as belonging to the historian who attended during the early nineties.