Finding Forever (49 page)

“Very fresh.” Taylor stabbed another cube with her fork. “This honeydew is
so
addictive.”

“Actually, it's called Mito-Melon. We grow them right here, in that field on the south side of the compound. It's a melon, but it has been bio-engineered with an enzyme that prevents the mitochondria in a human cell from breaking down.”

“Mito
what
. . . ?” Taylor asked.

“Mitochondria,” he repeated slowly. “It's the part of the human cell that generates energy for all of cellular life. The problem is that over time, mitochondria break down and get damaged. This leads to the development of various diseases: diabetes, cancer, heart disease, Alzheimer's. Technically speaking, this Mito-Melon protects against what we biologists call mitochondrial deterioration and, therefore, can extend a person's life span.”

He picked up a slice of the melon and held it aloft like a rare gem. “Green. There's no more beautiful color than green. It symbolizes life, fertility, freshness. A prodigious crop is a lush green. A rich forest teems with the green of biodiversity. A freshly ripened fruit or vegetable turns green before losing its youthfulness and desiccating into brown. Obviously, you've seen
Peter Pan
. What color are Peter's clothes?”

“Green.”

“Indeed! The boy who doesn't want to grow old, who seeks to live in a state of perpetual youth. The boy who teaches Wendy and the Darling children how to fly. That boy from Neverland wears green because he is forever full of life. The Mito-Melon is the
green
fruit that preserves life.”

The pair sat in the kitchen of Casa Bell, side by side on wooden stools at the granite counter lit by candles.

“When you complete the Program, it's like you've reached a Forever Land, a state of ageless perfection. Then you will get to choose your Forever Land name,” Peter said with a glint in his eyes. “We all do it here.”

“You want me to legally change my name to a
Peter Pan
name?”

“No, no, no. It's just the name fellow members call each other. It's part of the fraternity. As long as it's not already taken, you can pick anything. The only rule is that it has to come from the universe of
Peter Pan
.”

Peter Pan may have been trapped in a state of endless youth, but Taylor feared she could be trapped in a state of endless hell.

Smile and nod.

“The Fruit of Youth is real.” Peter pulled a thick knife from a drawer and sliced a whole melon in two. He held up each half above his head with a victor's pride. “This is the food that will fuel the next stage in the evolution of humanity. And you, my child, will be the face of it.”

Taylor pretended not to notice his eyes sweeping up and down her body.

“Just look at you,” he observed. “You've transformed in just a matter of days. My gosh! Already you're bio-charting closer to fifteen than your chronological sixteen. We haven't yet conducted your fitness testing or run your full blood work, but I can see your progress just by sight. You are stunning.”

Taylor grew even more uncomfortable. When the back of his hand began to lightly stroke her forearm, her entire body tensed. She cleared her throat and wiggled away.

He pulled his hand off her. “Don't you find me interesting, Taylor?”

She swallowed another cube of fruit. “Of course, I do.” She gulped. “You're a very,
very
brilliant man. I'm very grateful to have you as a mentor.”

“That's very sweet of you.” Peter looked away. “I doubt you would have felt that way when I was your age. Later stages of puberty were not very kind to me.”

“It's like that for most kids.” Taylor feared the dip in his emotional roller coaster would shoot back up to rage.

“My experience was far from typical. They called me a freak.”

“Who did?”

“The producers, the network, the public. My parents. Everyone.” He propped his elbows on the countertop and pressed his face into his hands. He rubbed his eyes. “Washed up. My acting career was over. Between fifteen and sixteen, my body just . . . well, it betrayed me, Taylor. Putrid acne dotted every inch of my face. I gained twenty-five pounds, mostly of fat. They said they didn't recognize me anymore. My mother would say, ‘Oh, don't worry. God has a plan for you.' How naive, how arcane!” He machine-gun belted a series of ha-ha-ha-has. “Some God. A righteous God doesn't torture a child with changes that taint a perfect specimen. Faith is for the fools, but science is for the astute, the intelligent.”

Taylor didn't dare interrupt, though she didn't quite agree with, nor entirely understand, the logic behind his bitter rant.

“But then I went to college. Got my doctorate in human biology. And now look who's getting the last laugh.”

Once his lecture ended, a security guard entered and escorted Taylor, clutching a stack of study materials, across
the lawn to the clinic. Two steps into her room, she stopped and propped open the door with her elbow.

“Oh no! Could you do me a favor?” she asked the guard. “I think I dropped my highlighter by the desk over there.”

“Where?” the guard asked, looking down the hallway.

“It might have rolled . . .”

As he strained his eyes in the distance, Taylor spat her gum into her hand and stuck the thick pink bubble gum on the door lock. She pressed it hard.

“Don't you see it?” she added, shielding the gum-jammed door lock.

The guard took a few steps into the hallway and craned his neck. He kept walking until he got to the guard desk by the front door, some ten yards away.

“Oh, duh,” she said. “It was in my pocket the whole time. Thanks for looking. Good night.”

She gently shut the door. She pressed her ear against the metal and she waited. For ten minutes she listened for footsteps. He never came back. And the door never zapped into the locked position.