The Immortal Gene Read online

  Jake saw the changes in Cindy immediately. The eighteen months had been good to her. She was thirty-one years old now, vibrant, and alive. Her hair had been recently done, and her curves were all still in the right places.

  When Cindy grabbed several Kleenexes and stepped closer to the window, more truths about her hit him.

  He smelled the truth on her and took it all in.

  Kirk dropped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey bro. We thought you were dead. When we got the call ...” He stopped, emotion choking off the words. “Blew us away.”

  Jake nodded. “Dr. Sutton told me. I was a John Doe for eighteen months.” He chanced a quick look at Cindy, his stomach knotting further, then shifted his gaze back to Kirk. “No hotel in Manaus had me registered, which makes sense. It was in Luke’s name. The robbery in the hotel cleaned out all my ID. The hospital in Manaus found me on their sidewalk, near death, or so I’m told.”

  He glanced at the doctor, who nodded. “It took us days to discover the venom in his blood and that antivenin had already been administered. But with no ID, we couldn’t learn his name until he woke up.”

  Cindy stayed by the window, wiping at her face.

  “We’re just so glad you’re alive. How’re you feeling?”

  “Like heading to Boston,” Jake said, trying to look around Kirk to see Cindy. “Maybe running the marathon.”

  “Thought so.”

  Sutton moved to stand by the bed. “Jake, there are a few things we need to discuss. Are you feeling up to it?”

  Kirk moved aside. Jake kept his eyes on Cindy, who hadn’t turned back to face him yet.

  “Sure Doc, let’s get this over with. How long before I can leave this place?”

  “As soon as you’re strong enough. That’ll be up to you.”

  “Then I want to leave this week. While Kirk and Cindy are here. I want to fly home with them.”

  “Let’s talk first.” His tone grew firm along with his posture. Jake smelled it more than heard it. The doctor put out nervous vibes.

  Something about Cindy’s situation bothered him. He breathed in deeply, taking in more scents. His mouth dropped open, hair rising on his neck.

  Another man had been with Cindy.

  Cindy was pregnant.

  In that one breath he understood everything and nothing. Tears leapt to his eyes and he raised a hand to wipe at them. Cindy finally turned toward him, but he swung the wheelchair in an arc to face the door and rolled into the sunlight, its warmth caressing his flesh.

  “Jake ...” Cindy managed to get out. “I’m so sorry.”

  She moved behind him. The taste in the air, the sense of movement, Kirk touching her arm, cautioning her to tread lightly in whispered tones, all came to Jake in a myriad of heightened senses. His vision had improved drastically in the coma, but it wasn’t just his eyes that could see clearer now.

  There would be another time, another day to deal with what was happening to him. Today he wanted to deal with what had happened to him.

  “We didn’t know you were alive,” Cindy attempted to explain herself. “I didn’t know.” Her voice cracked. “Oh Jake, I thought you were dead.”

  Allowing her to wallow in her explanation of a newfound love wasn’t being fair. But it was only a few days ago—at least to Jake—that they had made love and he’d agonized over the second mortgage loan in order to give her the honeymoon of her dreams. Waking to learn she was no longer his woman shattered his heart like broken glass being rubbed into his stomach lining.

  What else had changed? What other revelations were about to come?

  “Jake,” Cindy pleaded. “I need you to look at me.”

  He stared at the clinic door, the sun calming his limbs.

  “Jake,” Kirk said. “Hey man. It’s not her fault. Dude, turn around.”

  Jake waited a few more breaths, then eased the chair back, and spun it around. He met Cindy’s eyes.

  “We were together a few days ago,” Jake said, “as far as I’m concerned.”

  She nodded.

  “Understand something for me. This feels like a betrayal.”

  She went to speak, but he shot up a hand for her to stop.

  “For you, I was dead. I get it. But ...”

  She looked at the floor.

  “You were my woman. We were going to get married.” He couldn’t avoid the tears. “And now I have nothing.” His voice broke. “No life, no Cindy, no job, no career, and probably no place to live when I leave here.”

  “Now, Jake.” Dr. Sutton stepped closer. “Take things one step at a time. You’re awake. You’re alive. Rebuild as time goes on. Your life isn’t over.”

  He glared at Sutton. “Who pays for this clinic?”

  A quick glance at Cindy, then back to Jake. “An anonymous donor,” the doctor said.

  “Anonymous donor? Really?”

  The doctor set his coffee down and faced Jake, his hands clasped.

  “After you slipped into a coma,” he started, “the hospital in Manaus transferred you to us for care. Within days of you arriving, an anonymous donor set up a bank account for us to draw the money needed for your care. It never dried up.”

  “And no one investigated who this anonymous person was?”

  “No one knew who you were.” The doctor glanced at Kirk. “We sent Jake’s picture to every major police force in the United States, but all correspondence came back as a dead end.” He turned his attention back to Jake. “We had no idea you were from Canada. It just didn’t come up.”

  Listening to the explanations, learning of Cindy’s pregnancy, Jake’s mood turned saturnine. A gloomy temperament overcame him as he thought about his future, alone. In his soul, he knew Detective Jake Wood would carry on in this world alone, not just because he’d lost Cindy to another man, but because the accident had changed him. He would spend the rest of his life like an ogre in the woods—one without his Fiona.

  He turned to Cindy, looking daggers into her with the knowledge she wasn’t his and would never be his again.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said. “You’re married. You’re in love with another man. Why did you come to Brazil? Why not send Kirk with the news?”

  She physically stooped lower, her posture crumbling. A wince crossed her face with each word. Her eyes puffy, she stared down at her hands, fumbling her fingers like an OCD patient examining them for dirt. Cindy sniffled, then wiped at her nose as the tension in the room thickened.

  In a flat, monotone voice, that only broke once, Cindy said, “I will sign the necessary papers to release me from being your power of attorney.” She met his gaze, her face flushed, her eyes the same ones that once stared into his with love and respect. “I love you, Jake Wood. I will always love you.” She moved toward the door. “Maybe one day you’ll want to be in my life. Until then ...” She paused at the door. “I’ll understand if you don’t.” She moved into the corridor and strode away.

  Jake turned back toward the window and felt the vibration of her footsteps until they dimmed in the distance.

  “That was harsh, man,” Kirk said. He came to stand beside the wheelchair. “She fought for you for eighteen months, Jake. She set up a trust fund and flew to Manaus four times looking for you.”

  “That’s enough for now,” Dr. Sutton said, his tone firm again, authoritative.

  “Think about what you just did, bro. I’ll come back tomorrow. Maybe we’ll talk shop for a while. I’ve got a few cases to tell you about. Shit like that.”

  Jake nodded and stared out the window.

  Kirk patted Jake’s shoulder then exited, leaving Dr. Sutton and Jake alone.

  When Kirk was out of earshot, Jake asked, “What changed in me while I was in the coma, Sutton?”

  “Now Jake, haven’t we been through enough today?”

  He spun the wheelchair around so fast, it tilted sideways and almost spilled him onto the clinic floor.

  “No,” he shouted. “What has happened to me?”

  The do
ctor stepped back at the outburst. “Jake, take it easy. Small changes, things we haven’t seen before.”

  “We?”

  “The medical profession. But you’re safe here. We’ve made sure of that.”

  “Safe?” he asked, using a calmer tone. “Safe from what?”

  “Any sort of intrusion.”

  A thought occurred to him. “Who knows I’m here?”

  The doctor hesitated, then crossed his arms. “No one other than Kirk and Cindy and that anonymous donor, plus my staff.”

  “Just as I figured.” Fatigue swept over him. The sun’s rays moved across the room. Soon he would need to sleep. “Is there something unique about my physical changes? Am I in some sort of hiding?”

  The doctor shook his head. “It’s not like that. You make it sound like a conspiracy.”

  “Then tell me, Sutton. What is this?”

  The doctor fidgeted, uncrossed his arms, then opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. He blinked, tried again.

  “Jake, your body changed because of what happened.”

  “What happened?” Even though fatigue was setting in, his anger rose. The doctor seemed to enjoy being evasive.

  “A snake’s venom was ingested with some sort of substance that we have not been able to identify as of yet.”

  “What substance?”

  “I’m sorry, Jake, but we may never know. The changes your body went through during the coma were quite taxing.” The doctor stood straighter, asserting a confident posture—back in doctor mode. “I’m sorry, Jake, but there’s nothing we can do.”

  It dawned on him what the doctor was avoiding. Jake was dying.

  “How long, Doc? How long have I got to live?”

  “You won’t live past the summer. Not with what’s going on inside you. I’m sorry, Jake, but no human body could withstand what’s happening to you and live through it. In fact, I’m amazed you’re still alive.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jeffrey Harris opened the door to the Tim Horton’s donut shop and entered the line heading to the counter. The smell of donuts and muffins filled the cavernous store, making him yearn for something sweet. This particular Huntsville Timmy’s was popular with the tourists as it had easy access off Highway 11 heading north to North Bay or south to Orillia, and Toronto beyond that. It was quiet on this particular Tuesday. A few seniors were having a discussion about the first year the young Justin Trudeau just had in office and all the Syrian refugees he brought over on the taxpayer’s dime.

  In another corner, two young men whispered in hushed tones, as if they were plotting some intense crime.

  Two overweight men stood in line in front of Jeffrey, both looking as though they had spent the greater part of their day behind the wheel of a rather large vehicle.

  When it was Jeffrey’s turn at the counter, he ordered a large coffee and two toasted coconut donuts, which he took to a table where he could face the front of the store, but still be far enough away from the people discussing politics.

  To his right, he had a full view of the parking lot. He didn’t want to miss his future wife when she showed up. It had been almost two years since he’d taken Melissa Marcello and her son Jason to be his family.

  It was time for another Gathering. Although the method of the Gathering was about to change.

  He started in on one of the donuts, letting his coffee cool while he considered his surveillance methods. He had been stalking his new wife for two weeks now. He had learned her routines watching from afar, completely undetected.

  In six weeks, on the first day of July, Canada Day would be celebrated with drinks, parties, and fireworks. It was also the day he would take on his new family.

  Canada Day. A lovely day for a Gathering.

  His new wife had three daughters. They would make a warm, welcoming family atmosphere in his Toronto home. Jeffrey just knew they would love their time with him in Toronto, and in July, they would all move in with him. As before, his scrapbook was ready to receive their locks of hair and he was prepared to sketch their likenesses in a vivid display of his love for them.

  He had met Megan Radcliffe months before at his job in Toronto. She had recently lost her mother and was in Toronto for the funeral. On the day of the funeral, Megan had brought her daughters, Lindsay, Erica, and Tracy with her. Terry Radcliffe, her husband, was out of the country on business, she’d explained. Terry would be back late June, just in time for their annual Canada Day party, and Jeffrey was invited if he could make it up to Huntsville.

  How nice of them. To invite the future man of the house to his own party.

  He wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  The timing couldn’t have been better. His son, Jason Marcello, had moved out and his wife, Melissa Marcello, had recently left him because of it. Jeffrey had removed the wedding ring and left it in Toronto. He’d collected the family pictures and placed them in storage. It was time to remarry. Time to take on a new family. July would mark over twenty months since his last family Gathering and he was ready for another one. This one would be easier. There would be revelers, partiers, drinking, and noise. After the commotion of the party wound down, he would deal with the youngest of the daughters first.

  Eight-year-old Tracy would be asleep earliest that night. Then twelve-year-old Erica and finally, fourteen-year-old Lindsay. Once their parents were too drunk to know what was happening, he would restrain Terry and deal with Megan, gather the rings, the locks of hair, and the family pictures. He would then take his family to Toronto to be happy once again as a married man.

  Textbook. Routine. Nothing to it.

  He would leave no trace for the bumbling amateur local cops to trip over.

  Jeffrey wiped his mouth and opened the lid to his coffee. The first sip washed down pieces of toasted coconut. He took another and enjoyed the taste known only from a Timmy’s cup.

  It was after lunch. Megan was due any time. As a full-time mother of three in her forties, she drove into Huntsville in the early afternoons on Tuesdays to do her grocery shopping. In the two weeks he’d been observing her, this was routinely her first stop. A coffee and a muffin for the road. His surveillance had revealed a lot about Megan. Most of it he liked, even the yoga classes she attended four times a week.

  He checked his watch.

  1:12 p.m.

  He looked out into the parking lot. No movement.

  The interior of the coffee shop reminded him of the one where his stepfather had given him his first lesson in the Gathering when he was ten years old. Wally—Jeffrey never called him Dad—had taken Jeffrey’s homework away that night. Wally had explained that he needed his new son to be taught what it was to be a man. He’d driven him out to an all-night coffee shop and lectured him on women and what kind of breed of animal they were. Talked about the Taming and the Gathering of the species.

  At first, Jeffrey had been lost. It hadn’t made any sense to him. The feelings he had for several girls at school were childish and unnecessary, according to Wally.

  Jeffrey could see that now. Wally had been right. But what Wally didn’t understand was once he taught Jeffrey everything, the next natural step in the process was to take Wally and Cynthia—Jeffrey’s mother—out of the equation.

  A secret that three people knew was only a secret if two of them were dead.

  He scanned the counter, the chairs, reminiscing on that night. Jeffrey saw the chair he’d sat in as he listened to his stepfather talk about taking a woman, owning her, and the pleasure exacted from it. No nagging, no whining, no reasoning, and no cost. Wally’s father had told him when he was young that every woman came with a price. The woman you stayed with only meant that she was the price you were willing to live with. In other words, you had to settle for the low-cost vehicle.

  “Well, fuck that,” Wally had exclaimed that night as the clock passed one in the morning. “I ain’t never pay for no damn woman. They’re here for us, man. They need to pay us. Don’t you get it?”


  Jeffrey had nodded enthusiastically, hoping to please his stepfather. He remembered being in awe of Wally’s presence. He had been a captivating man, energetic. No wonder Jeffrey’s mother had fallen for Wally.

  Later that night, with Jeffrey scrunched down in the backseat of Wally’s car, Wally had driven through downtown Toronto, cruising the hookers until he saw one he wanted. He had picked her up and driven to a quiet parking lot near one of the beaches on Lake Ontario.

  Wally had ordered Jeffrey out of the car while he and the hooker did their thing, whatever that was. The back window fogged up while Jeffrey waited on a patch of sand in front of the car. When his father was done, he’d called Jeffrey back to the car.

  The hooker had appeared to be sleeping. Wally later said she was unconscious. She couldn’t handle a real man. She’d wake up in the morning, he’d said. Maybe later.

  It was the blood that Jeffrey remembered the most at that tender age. And not the blood seeping from her mouth, ears and right eye socket. He’d never forget that and how the open eye bulged in a grotesque manner. It was the blood from under her skirt that shocked him. Wally had hauled the hooker’s body from the back of the car and dragged her onto the sand of the dark empty beach. With a small flashlight, he’d lifted her skirt, proud of his work, and showed his ten-year-old stepson Jeffrey both female openings and how much blood had oozed from them. Jeffrey remembered thinking about her bathroom visits and how awful that would be tomorrow.

  That was his stepfather’s first lesson in relationships and Jeffrey never forgot it.

  Two days later, Jeffrey had seen that girl again. She was on the front page of the newspaper with a caption about a dead woman found on Cherry Beach.

  Jeffrey had beamed all day, knowing that was Wally’s handiwork. The female species was one less. They had to pay a price, according to Wally.

  Jeffrey endeavored to learn everything he could from Wally to make sure he never paid a single piece of currency for a woman, ever. So far, he never had and with due diligence, he never would. Yet he’d had more sex and intimacy times with women than anyone he knew. He had even been married five times now.