Beckon (13 page)

But he seemed to have them over a barrel. George had no idea what this perilium was or where to get more. And now Vale expected him to move here? To sell all of his other properties and move to this isolated town in the Wyoming mountains? George turned to the windows and stared out at the countryside. Would he be willing to do that, even for Miriam?

He couldn't help feeling like he'd been lured to this town for some ulterior reason. He felt trapped, and now each turn he took was only getting him further entangled in their web.

Chapter 24

Shortly after noon, George returned to the suite to see how Miriam was progressing. His mind was still buzzing with the events of the last few days but more specifically with the news he'd just been given by Thomas Vale.

In less than forty-eight hours, his wife's health seemed to have been completely restored, but just when he thought their lives would return to normal, Vale's additional news had turned everything upside down again. Now George and Miriam would need to make plans to move to Wyoming for good. That meant selling their homes along with most of their possessions to prepare for an entirely new life here in the mountains. Vale's home was magnificent to be sure, but it was still hard for George to get his head wrapped around the idea. More than that, he wondered, how would Miriam respond?

He opened the door to find her in the bathroom, dressed and running a brush through her hair while singing softly to herself. It had been years since he'd heard her sing. She saw him in the bedroom and came out, smiling.

“Hi, sweetheart.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and gave him a long, passionate kiss.

At first, George tensed. It had been so long since she had kissed him at all, let alone kissed him like
that
. But then he relaxed and pulled her tight to himself, savoring the soft, moist touch of her lips, the scent of her hair, and the gentle press of her slender body against his. It cast his mind back to their honeymoon in Bermuda, standing on a moonlit beach with the waves sweeping up the sand to their bare feet. And he suddenly lost himself in her kiss, forgetting everything else.

Miriam finished the kiss with a soft nibble at his lower lip and pulled her head back, grinning. “Don't ever leave me again.”

George cleared his throat, regaining his composure and running a hand through his thinning gray hair. “No worries there, my dear.”

Miriam giggled and turned back to the mirror to finish brushing her hair. She looked positively radiant to George, more alive and effervescent than she had in years. And there was something else about her that looked different as well, something he couldn't quite place.

She made eye contact with him in the mirror. “Dr. Henderson said I should get some exercise. He said there are trails around the estate. Let's go for a nice long walk.”

“That sounds like fun,” George said. “Actually, it'll give us a chance to talk. We need to disc—”

Miriam turned and held a finger to his lips. “But first, I'm starving. Do they have room service here? Or do I need to fix something myself? Where do we go for something to eat?”

“The kitchen's downstairs.”

Miriam grabbed his hand and tugged him out into the hallway. “Lead the way.”

They made their way downstairs, past the main dining hall, and through the swinging double doors into the kitchen. The room was enormous, clearly built to accommodate numerous guests back when the place was a hotel. Miriam quickly set about foraging through the cupboards while George pulled open a metal door to what appeared to be a walk-in cooler. Three of the walls were stocked with shelving units containing stacks of meat. The shelves themselves were labeled:
Fillets
,
Ground Chuck
,
Tenderloins
,
Pork
,
Veal
,
Chicken
,
Fish
.

George stepped into the kitchen. “It looks like they've got a whole butcher shop in there. How many people are
in
this town?”

But Miriam had found bread and cold cuts in the refrigerator and had already set out making a sizable sandwich, slapping layers of beef, turkey, and ham onto a slice of bread.

George laughed. “Whoa, sweetheart. You know I'm supposed to be watching my cholesterol. Just a little turkey is fine.”

Miriam looked up with a bit of embarrassment in her expression. “Oh . . . I'm sorry, dear. I was actually . . . making this for me.”

George stared at her as she licked her fingers and pressed a second slice of bread onto the top. “You really
are
hungry,” he said.

Miriam's eyes gleamed, and she curled up a corner of her mouth in a sensual grin.
“Famished.”

She bit into the mammoth sandwich with great relish. No formalities, no condiments, and no plate. Not even a napkin. She closed her eyes and chewed luxuriously.

She polished off the sandwich in minutes, chasing it with a tall glass of milk. Then she began looking around the kitchen again. George was watching her with alternating fascination and concern when he heard a voice behind him.

“Oh, good, I see you found something to eat.” Dr. Henderson stood in the doorway.

“Sorry,” George said. “They told us to help ourselves to food. And, well . . . Miriam said she was hungry.”

“No worries,” Henderson said. “I was going to suggest it to you anyway. She hasn't eaten anything substantial for nearly two days.”

Miriam opened the refrigerator again. “Yeah, and I'm still hungry.”

George frowned at her. “You wolfed that sandwich down in two minutes; give it a few seconds to reach your stomach.”

Henderson chuckled. “Actually, that's a normal response to the perilium.”

“What, increased appetite?”

“It's a good sign. One of the things perilium does is increase the body's metabolic rate to aid in healing. So as the body repairs itself, it's going to naturally require a higher level of nourishment. Mostly protein.”

George scratched his head. “That explains the Dagwood sandwich.”

Henderson laughed again. “Yeah, you'll notice an increased craving for meat especially. That's very normal.”

Miriam wasn't paying much attention to their conversation and had set about making a second sandwich, nearly as big as the first.

George stared as she sank her teeth into the beef-laden sandwich. “You know, she used to hate red meat.”

Miriam paused midchew and looked up. “What's that?”

“Nothing.”

Henderson smiled and turned to leave. “I'll leave you two alone. Bon appétit.”

He slipped out of the kitchen as George watched Miriam devour the rest of her second sandwich. Afterward she leaned back, belched politely, and dabbed her lips with a napkin.

“Whew, that hit the spot.”

George could hardly believe this was the same woman he had married. He wondered if the perilium was having some mood-altering effects as well.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I'm guessing you could use a walk right about now.”

Miriam grinned. “Let's go.”

A set of glass doors off the main dining hall opened onto a wide cobblestone patio that looked out over the cliff and the town below. A narrow walkway led around to the back of the mansion and skirted a sharp ridge before coming to a set of stone stairs leading up into the woods.

George tried to keep up but found that the altitude was forcing him to pause every hundred yards or so to catch his breath. Meanwhile Miriam seemed completely unaffected by the thinner mountain air and walked as casually as if she were strolling along a beach at sea level.

At length the path emerged from the woods and came to a low, circular parapet built along the ledge of a cliff overlooking the Vale mansion and the narrow gravel drive that led to the town. Moreover, they could view the hills across the highway that stretched far off into the distance. A wooden bench had been set up on the ledge for hikers to stop and enjoy the view. George gratefully collapsed onto it.

Miriam stood, leaning out on the wide brick parapet. Her shoulders lifted as she sucked in a lungful of air and let the breeze tug at her hair. Then she turned and looked at George, who was wheezing on the bench.

“You know, I really feel wonderful.”

“Good . . . that makes . . . one of us.”

“I mean, I feel like God's given us another chance to be together. This medicine is a miracle. It's incredible.” Then her expression clouded slightly. “Before, when I was sick, I felt like I was locked up somewhere. In some kind of prison or . . . dungeon. And I couldn't get out. I couldn't even see how awful it was. It was like having a horrible dream that I couldn't wake up from. But then it felt as if somebody just came along and opened the cell door.” She closed her eyes again and let the wind flow around her.

George rose and folded her in his arms. She leaned into him, and they stood in the warm breeze for an endless minute.

“It's good to have you back again,” he whispered.

Miriam kissed him. “Don't let me go back there. Please . . . just tell me I can stay here with you.”

George stroked her hair and looked into her eyes. “I'm not letting you go, ever again.”

She smiled. “Make love to me, George.”

George blinked. “Wh—uh . . .
here
?”

Miriam pulled away and took his hands in hers. “Yeah, right out here under the sun and the sky.”

George felt himself flush, and he laughed nervously. “You mean . . . right here on the gravel?”

Miriam's smile broadened. “Who knows how long this will last. Let's make the most of every second.”

“Okay.” George grinned back at her. “But . . . how about we make the most of it back in our room?”

Chapter 25

George awoke to see the afternoon sunlight peeking in through closed drapes. For a moment he forgot where he was; then he felt Miriam curled against his bare chest, snoring softly, and it all came back to him.

She had made love to him with a passion and vigor that George had never experienced before. Perhaps yet another benefit of the perilium. And afterward they had both fallen asleep. George hadn't realized just how tired he'd been. Now he looked at the clock. It was just after three; they'd been napping for two hours.

George eased out of bed, taking care not to wake Miriam. He slipped on his shirt and trousers. He needed to get out and take a walk, clear his head. He would have to think about telling Miriam that they would be moving here. Perhaps for good.

He left the room and walked down the hall to the balcony overlooking the great room. No one was in sight. George crossed the balcony to the other wing. He'd never been on that side before and guessed this was where Vale had his own room. He needed to find out more about this man and this place.

The idea that Vale would want George to come work for him at seventy-three was bizarre enough, though George had to admit he'd made plenty of connections with congressmen and senators. He'd even had his picture taken with a president or two. He'd become an excellent negotiator in his day, making countless deals over eighteen holes and drinks, but he failed to see how his talents would be of much use to Vale—or why he would even have need of them. Besides, all that effort took a lot of time and energy, and really . . . how many good years did George even have left in him?

He came to a window at the end of the hall and saw a flash of light outside, like sunlight reflecting off something metallic. The window overlooked the main garage entrance, and George looked down to see a white passenger van backing up to one of the four bays. The windows were tinted, but George could see two men up front. The man on the passenger side got out. He was dressed in a green jacket and blue jeans with a black cap pulled low over his eyes. The driver got out as well—a giant of a man, closing in on seven feet, barrel-chested and thick-limbed. He was bald with a thick black goatee on his chin. The guy reminded George of one of those professional wrestlers.

George watched as the bay door opened and Henderson appeared. He spoke with the two men briefly and then opened the side door. From his vantage point, George could tell someone was sitting in the backseat. He only saw a glimpse of a leg, but he could swear there was more than one passenger. He just couldn't tell how many.

Henderson closed the side door quickly and motioned for the big man to back the van into the bay.

The man in the black cap followed the van inside, and then the bay door closed.

George bit the inside of his cheek. Other than Vale himself, the only people George had seen here over the last couple days were Amanda, Henderson, and Browne. And now a whole vanload of people showed up. He wondered who the two new guys were and who the passengers in the van might be. People from town? Or visitors perhaps?

He decided to head downstairs, hoping that while everyone else was occupied with the newcomers, he could get a look in Vale's office. Maybe he could learn more about the perilium.

The whole place was eerily quiet. Not a soul in sight. George continued through the lobby and down the corridor toward Vale's office.

Suddenly Vale emerged from the door at the end of the hall. George guessed it led to the garages.

George stopped in his tracks, unsure how to react. He'd been given some liberty to move about the lodge during their stay, but he hoped now that he hadn't raised any suspicions. The last thing he needed was for Vale to think he'd been snooping around.

Even though he had.

But Vale just smiled. “I hope you don't mind, but I'm planning to have the others up for dinner tonight. A little celebration in honor of Miriam's recovery. And it'll give you a chance to get to know everyone better.”

George put on his best look of pleasant surprise. “Well . . . that sounds wonderful. I think Miriam will enjoy that.”

“Excellent. We'll meet in the dining hall around six o'clock.”

“Six o'clock. I'm looking forward to it.” George beat a hasty retreat to his room, where he found Miriam up and apparently enjoying the view out the windows. She looked radiant, George thought. Better even than she had that morning.

“So Vale's throwing a party tonight,” he said. “Apparently it's a celebration in honor of your recovery.”

“Lovely,” Miriam said. “Will there be any food? I'm starving.”

“All-you-can-eat Dagwood sandwiches.” George tried to sound jovial.

“In that case, I better take a shower.”

They both showered and dressed and two hours later went downstairs, where they found the dining hall decked out with cocktails and appetizers while several people milled about the room. Classical music was playing in the background, and Amanda was bustling in and out of the kitchen.

Dwight Henderson was there along with Malcolm Browne and a tall brunette whom Malcolm introduced as his wife, Loraine. Loraine immediately engaged Miriam in small talk and pulled her toward the food table.

Vale waved George over and introduced him to another couple. The man was even shorter than Henderson but with a thick mop of black hair slicked back across his head. He was with a tall, dreary-looking redhead who seemed to look past George instead of at him.

“This is Sam Huxley,” Vale said. “And his wife, Eleanor. Sam's the lawyer here in Beckon. In fact, we were just discussing the terms of our agreement, and he's getting all the paperwork together. I trust we can find a time in the next day or so to finalize the arrangement?”

“Yes . . . of course.” George shook hands with Huxley as the enormity of this decision struck him. The
arrangement
. The multimillion-dollar arrangement that would alter the rest of his life. Not to mention Miriam's.

“Good.” Vale slapped George's shoulder. “I'd also like to discuss your role in our community in more detail at some point.”

George pressed a smile onto his face. “Yes . . . yes, of course.”

With that, Vale steered him toward the others in the room. The first man was medium height but with a solid, muscular build, a square jaw, and a tight crew cut. George recognized him as one of the men from the van. To George he looked like a military man. Or ex-military.

“Frank Carson,” Vale said. “Our local law enforcement.”

George nodded.

Carson shook his hand with a tight grip and a terse “Goodameetcha.”

Beside Carson stood the hulking driver with the shaved head and black goatee.

“Henry Mulch.” Vale gestured to him. “He's sort of our all-around handyman.”

Mulch didn't even bother with a handshake but seemed content with a nod and a grunt. And with a name like Mulch, George hadn't really expected much more.

There was another couple hovering over the appetizer table. Vale introduced them as Max and Fiona Dunham. They gave George weak, European handshakes, and from their lofty British accents he wasn't surprised.

“Delighted to meet you,” they both said in highbrow, nasal tones.

“Max manages our finances,” Vale explained. “He and Fiona came over from England a while back and just fell in love with Wyoming. So they decided to stay.”

George noticed how Vale seemed occupied with the careers of each of his guests, as if to point out how each member fit into the community, perhaps indicating how he hoped George and Miriam would fit in someday as well.

George, however, felt increasingly uncomfortable. At first he wasn't sure why, but now it dawned on him. There was no one else his age here. Apparently no other seniors from town had been invited to Vale's little party. Not that George minded the company of younger people; he just found that age and experience often produced a certain level of camaraderie with others who'd been through the same struggles in life.

And he suddenly felt alone and out of place.

As if sensing George's discomfort, Vale gestured across the room. “Everyone here has been in the same situation you are in now, George. Each one has faced some incurable disease and found a miracle cure in perilium.”

“So they all had to move here too?”

“None of them were
forced
to move here against their will,” Vale said. “They were prematurely facing death and recognized this as a reasonable cost for what they were being offered.”

“Better to live in Beckon than die in Texas, eh?” George grunted.

Vale spread his hands. “Is our little community such a dreary place? Is it such an unacceptable trade?”

George glanced around the room. Everyone seemed pleasant enough—perhaps with the exception of Carson and Mulch. “And everyone here seems to have their own special job to do—their own role to fill?”

“As in any community.”

“I assume they were all considered suitable
candidates
, just like us? Meaning they were wealthy enough to afford your treatment.”

Vale shrugged. “Unfortunately at present there's just not enough perilium for everyone in the world. So the resulting cost makes access prohibitive for some—as is the case with any scarce resource. But you must understand: the financial resources that each one here has brought into our community have allowed our research to continue.”

“Research?”

“Yes, for some time now Dr. Henderson has been working to find a way to synthesize perilium,” Vale said. “Our goal is that someday we'll be able to manufacture enough for anyone who needs it.”

“Very noble. I'd be curious to see his research.”

“That could be arranged,” Vale said.

“And what about you?” George said. “What's your role in the ‘community'?”

“Balance,” Vale said with a half smile. “I maintain the balance between secrecy and progress. If word of perilium got out prematurely, we would be overrun by hordes of scientists and businessmen. Well-meaning though they may be, they would ruin the delicate balance I maintain with the N'watu. I'm trying to respect their culture while attempting to—”

“Exploit their knowledge?” George raised an eyebrow.

Vale's expression darkened momentarily, but then a thin smile curled on his lips. “Think about it, George. A day is coming when we can potentially wipe out all disease. When cancer and diabetes and even Alzheimer's become things of the past.” He leaned close, and his tone grew serious. “Imagine what kind of world that would be.”

George looked across the room, his thoughts coiling around Vale's words. What kind of world indeed. Free from sickness and disease and the stigma that accompanied them. He'd always thought such dreams were the realm of wishful thinkers or religious hopefuls.

He felt Vale's hand on his shoulder. “I'm offering you the chance to be a part of it, George.”

George watched Miriam laughing as she chatted with Loraine and Malcolm Browne and the Huxleys. Just a few days earlier she'd been all but a stranger to him. But now it was as if he'd gotten her back from the dead. This perilium was perhaps the most significant discovery in the history of the world. Its impact would be enormous. How could he not be involved?

Amanda came up to Vale and said softly, “We're ready to eat.”

Vale called for attention. The lights dimmed, and everyone took their places around the main candlelit table with Vale at the head and George and Miriam sitting to his right. Numerous covered platters had been set out along with several bottles of wine. But before anyone began eating, Vale stood and raised his glass.

“My friends, it gives me great pleasure to welcome George and Miriam Wilcox into our circle of fellowship. As most of you know, Miriam was suffering from advanced Alzheimer's when she arrived the day before yesterday. Just two short days ago she could barely recognize her husband of fifty years, and yet now she sits among us completely restored. Their marriage has been made whole again, and she becomes a privileged recipient of nature's greatest miracle.” He turned to George and Miriam. “May you be blessed to enjoy a long and healthy life together.”

“Hear, hear,” Max Dunham said to a chorus of clinking glass.

Amanda circled the table, lifting the covers off the platters to reveal steaming vegetables, fresh-baked dinner rolls, and a large salver of meat. Fillets and tenderloins were stacked high on the plate.

All of them quite raw.

George suppressed a gasp. Was something wrong? Was this some kind of sick joke? Miriam seemed repulsed as well and clutched his arm. George looked around the table, but no one else appeared to be disturbed by the sight. Everyone was serving themselves and shoving forkfuls of the red, bloody meat into their mouths. Vale was enjoying a particularly thick fillet, mopping the blood up with a dinner roll. He seemed to notice George's look of disgust and smiled. “I see our custom doesn't sit well with you.”

George grabbed a roll. “I guess I just prefer my steak grilled.”

Vale clucked his tongue and slipped another forkful of meat into his mouth. “Did you know that the Inuit in the Far North eat raw meat almost exclusively? So do the Masai of Africa. Both of these cultures are known for their extraordinary health and freedom from disease.”

“Still . . . if it's all the same to you, I'll stick with cooked meat.”

“Suit yourself. I can have Amanda put something on the grill.”

“Actually,” George said, “it's all right. I'll be content with vegetables and some rolls.”

Malcolm Browne was seated across from George. He wiped a few drops of blood from his chin. “You know, I was the same way when I first arrived. But I discovered it's an acquired taste.”

“So I've heard.”

George was no longer hungry. The Inuit notwithstanding, this was one custom he was definitely not going to adopt. Miriam, however, was staring at the platter. George watched her expression slowly turn from horror to curiosity as she studied the others dining on the raw flesh.