The Immortal Gene Page 13

  Megan Radcliffe would be his sixth wife.

  To his right, the two seniors still discussing Trudeau had devolved to name calling. The young prime minister was now a cow-sucking, mule-fucking, cesspool of goat shit. Oh, and an ass-wipe. That almost made Jeffrey laugh, but he held it in. Wouldn’t be prudent to get noticed by strangers too often, to stand out.

  Movement in the parking lot caught his eye. He drank his coffee, the donuts not settling well in his stomach, then set the cup down slowly. With measured ease, as natural as possible, he looked out at the parking lot. With his index fingers, he pushed his glasses up his nose.

  Megan Radcliffe was getting out of her car. She slammed her door and started for the entrance to the donut shop. The sunshine enhanced her lovely features. Her long, auburn hair, pretty smile, and lush lips were easy to see from his seat. With each step, her hips swayed to an inner soundtrack that displayed the toned legs of a mother who worked out. A disciplined mother who worked hard to take care of her family and herself.

  Megan Radcliffe would make a fine wife. Too fine. For a moment, Jeffrey allowed himself to get excited and even considered taking his new family earlier than July. As fast as the idea hit him, he nixed it, knowing he had to wait for Terry Radcliffe to come back before any Gathering could take place. They could never be Jeffrey’s family without the Blood Eagle, without the father’s submission of power to be the head of the family.

  He watched her a moment longer, then averted his eyes. After she entered the Timmy’s, he waited until she was in line, then rose from his chair, the garbage from his donuts in his one hand, coffee in the other.

  At the counter, he tossed the garbage away, turned and almost bumped into her.

  “Oh, sorry—” he stopped. “Wait, Megan?” He pushed up his glasses.

  She drew her head back, a hand flying to her chest, mouth open. “Jeffrey? Jeffrey Harris? Oh my goodness. How have you been?”

  “Megan. Wow, long time. It’s been a couple of months. How are you feeling now?”

  “Ma’am?” one of the female clerks beckoned to them. “This till is open.”

  “One sec, Jeff. Let me order.”

  He nodded. “Of course,” he said, then he backed off and headed to his table. A quick swipe of his hand through his short hair kept it off his face. When he sat, he fixed his glasses and waited for his bride to come to him.

  Megan ordered a large tea, bag in, paid and joined him.

  Not the usual coffee and muffin?

  “What brings you up here?” she asked.

  “Looking for a cottage. Thought I’d come up and see what Huntsville was all about.” He gestured at the empty seat. “Please, have a seat. Join me for a quick minute, unless you’re in a hurry.”

  “Well.” She checked her watch. “I guess I have a minute.”

  Megan set her tea down and eased in across from him, her lithe body slipping into the chair with a liquidity only afforded to tight, fitness-bound bodies. Her breasts offered a subtle jiggle, pulling on his eyes to lower, but he refused the temptation.

  No woman has power over me.

  “What’s it like living up here?” Jeffrey asked, reaching habitually for his glasses to ease them higher on the bridge of his nose.

  She leaned forward and rested on her forearms. “Quiet, slow, calm. Think retired life. Lots of trees, wildlife. Beautiful really. Deerhurst Resort is close by. You’ve heard of it?”

  “It’s one of the reasons I’m here.” This conversation couldn’t last too long. Being seen in public too often by too many people increased risk later on. Although, this visit, six weeks before the Gathering, shouldn’t register on anyone’s internal radar. He checked his watch. “I was just heading out when we bumped into each other,” he said. “Appointment with a realtor.”

  “Well, don’t let me keep you.” She started out of her chair.

  “It’s nice to talk to someone local, though. I wanted to get a feel for what cottaging up here would be like and eventually, I was thinking of retiring up here.”

  In an exaggerated fashion, she swung her arm in an arc and said, “Oh, this is the best place to retire. Living in nature with good people. You’ll love it.”

  They started for the door together. “How are the winters this far north of Toronto?”

  “They’re okay. A bit of a problem, but they’re doable. Hire some local kid to do the driveway and stay indoors on those real cold days. Otherwise, they’re not bad and worth it to get to experience the summer around here.”

  He opened the door for her and followed her out of the Timmy’s and across the parking lot to her car.

  “Wow, it’s been nice talking to you,” he said. “Thanks again.”

  “No problem, Jeff. Anytime.” She opened her car door. “See ya.” She dropped into her seat.

  He started away, then pivoted back around and raised a hand.

  “Wait. Megan.”

  Before the car was in gear, she lowered her window.

  “Megan, I almost forgot. Aren’t you guys having your annual Canada Day party this year?”

  “Of course,” she said, smiling wide at the thought. “I invited you the last time I saw you. Bring your wife. What a great way to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  With the invite now official, something stirred in his loins as he stared at Megan’s gorgeous countenance. He imagined all the things he was going to do to her during the night of the party and how she would make a fabulous wife.

  “Oh, you’re too kind.” He waved at her. “Let’s stay in touch and that way I can get directions.”

  They exchanged cell numbers and email addresses, and Jeffrey Harris was set. He watched his future wife drive out of the Tim Horton’s parking lot, a smile playing across his lips. He hadn’t had such a fit wife before. Maybe things needed to be different this time. He had over a month until the party to create a new plan.

  By the time he got behind the wheel of his car, he had decided. Why treat women like his stepfather had? Why use them once and discard their physical body? The memory only lasted so long.

  Megan Radcliffe would be the first wife that he would keep. Alive. In his home. With him. There would be no picture of her. No pencil drawing. No framed facsimile placed on the wall. Always a willing partner in their bedroom. Always ready. As a wife should be.

  If there was ever a price to pay, it was Megan who would pay it. As his mother had. Rightly so. And all the women Wally had dealt with before Jeffrey had killed him.

  The father would lose his soul and the three daughters would be dispatched, their locks of hair secured for the scrapbooks. But he would keep Megan as his souvenir this time.

  The only thing he needed to do in the meantime was figure out how he could keep Megan drugged until he got her to Toronto and into the basement. He would drive her down right after the party, arriving at his home before six in the morning. He would wake her just enough so she could walk under her own steam. Once inside, the basement would be prepared with enough restraints to keep her there as long as he wanted. And with access to several debilitating drugs, Jeffrey would have his new wife live with him until he bored with her.

  The modus operandi was about to change and Jeffrey Harris was ready for it. It was time for a change. What he’d done before was child’s play. It was time to raise his game. Elevate the stakes. He wasn’t getting any younger. Women wouldn’t find him as attractive in a few years. It was definitely time to take on a new wife and keep her where he would always have her available.

  And when he was bored with her, Megan Radcliffe would be disposed of in the way only Jeffrey knew how.

  Acid.

  No physical traces.

  Nothing to lead back to him.

  Wash cycle. Rinse. Repeat.

  He grinned to himself in the rearview mirror as he rubbed his beard. Life had been good to him. And now it was time to be good for someone else, to do good for someone else. Taking Megan and offering her this chance of a lifetime was a blessing
in disguise. She could shirk her mundane existence and be his wife.

  If this was a lottery, Megan had just hit the jackpot.

  If only she knew how good things would be in her near future, she would turn her car around and pull back into the donut shop’s parking lot to beg him to take her now.

  With his erection at full mast, he left the parking lot, his mind full of the possibilities, dreaming of each and every one of Megan’s orifices and all the best and worst of what he was going to do to her.

  “Oh, such joy,” he whispered to himself as he entered Highway 11 heading south. “What bliss.”

  He pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger and drove south to Toronto, his previous wife far from his thoughts.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Kirk didn’t show up the next day. Or the day after. Dr. Sutton brought in a scribbled message from Kirk on a small yellow piece of paper explaining that he was sending Cindy home and would return in a couple of days to take Jake back to Ontario.

  The doctor had supplied him with a laptop and a briefcase of papers to sign. Once the formalities were done, a tidy sum in the hundreds of thousands in a trust fund was transferred to Jake. Some of the money came from the sale of his house and his personal belongings, the rest from the anonymous donor.

  Jake got on the Internet and began looking for a new home. He wanted something farther north, away from Cindy and Kirk, away from his old life. Something secluded, remote. If, according to the doctor, he really was going to die sooner than later, he wanted peace and quiet in his final months.

  At noon, the nurse brought his lunch and disappeared quickly without a word.

  Jake had sent one email to inquire about a quiet-looking home on Boundary Road in Novar, Ontario, and two homes near Emsdale and Burk’s Falls. Once he was back in Ontario, he would rent a car and drive up to tour the houses.

  Dr. Sutton knocked on his door mid-afternoon and said he was there to take Jake’s empty lunch dishes.

  “The plates are over there.” Jake pointed at the side table by the window.

  The doctor hesitated by the window a moment. “Jake, I was wondering if we could have a final chat.”

  Jake looked up from the screen. “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, his tone more sarcastic than he intended. He closed the laptop.

  Dr. Sutton pulled up a chair and sat a few feet from Jake.

  “What happened to Milton and Eduardo, my guides?” Jake asked. He reached for his cup of water, trying to appear nonchalant, but knowing hard truths were coming. “Now that everyone knows who I am and how I came to be in Manaus, have they been located?”

  “They were never found. Both men are still listed as missing persons, presumed dead.” Sutton arched one eyebrow as he studied Jake’s face. “When I first saw your test results, I knew something was wrong.”

  “Wrong? How?”

  “Things had changed.” Sutton fidgeted with something under the nail of his ring finger. “With your heart.”

  Jake raised his water glass, but stopped. “What? My heart?” He set the glass down. “How does someone’s heart change?”

  “It has become encased in a sac—”

  “A what?” Jake snapped, not sure he heard Sutton correctly.

  Sutton nodded. “A sac. When you first got here, things were fine with it. But then your body began to change.” Sutton stared out the window now, lost in his thoughts.

  Jake lowered his voice. “Change, as in plural? Like multiple changes?”

  Sutton turned back to him, then after a few seconds, rose from his chair and walked to the window.

  “You lost the use of your left lung. After a while, the left lung deflated and began to wilt. Through x-rays, we’ve found it had edged in and around the right lung. Your kidneys have changed, too. Eyesight has become acute, almost binocular-like, and, over time, you might experience trouble closing your eyes.”

  “What does all that mean?” Jake asked. “What the hell could’ve happened to me?”

  Sutton faced Jake, his arms crossed. “Your teeth got stronger, similar to a snake’s teeth. Snakes are polyphyodont, which means they continuously replace their teeth, unlike us. We are born with two sets. Lose them and it’s false teeth until the end. Not so with snakes.”

  Jake blinked several times, trying to grasp where the doctor was going with this. The teeth in the back of his mouth had been replaced. Also, there was a texture change to his skin he’d been meaning to ask the doctor about.

  What could it all mean? Could he be turning into a snake because of the venom? But that was impossible. Utterly and virtually impossible.

  “Is there more?” Jake asked, worried there was.

  Sutton plopped down in the chair in the corner, looking physically spent.

  “There’s more.” Sutton coughed into his hand.

  Jake waited, taking the break to drink from his water glass again, suddenly parched.

  “You can smell better, can’t you?” He met Jake’s gaze. “You can detect people approaching. The curtains”—he gestured behind him— “you need the sun’s rays, its warmth, or you tire easily.”

  As Sutton talked, Jake sensed a feeling akin to violation.

  “How do you know all this?” Jake asked.

  “When the nurse closed the curtains in those weeks you were slowly coming out of your coma, you’d sleep. When she opened them, you’d stir awake. When we learned this, we raised the temperature in the room to get it to thirty degrees Celsius, which is the temperature that an ectothermic needs to digest their food while dormant. Haven’t you noticed everyone sweating in here when they come to visit you?”

  The words hit him like knives, each one stabbing his consciousness, his reality. Was the doctor telling him that the change in him was happening or had happened? Was he part snake now? Was that why he only had months to live?

  Sutton continued, “Several doctors came calling. I’ve seen things change with you over the past year, but even I kept it confidential.”

  Jake looked away, the doctor’s words weighing on him. His strength had returned double what it was. His eyesight was incredible. To never lose a tooth again was good news. It didn’t matter that he needed it warmer wherever he was. It just meant winters would be a bitch. What he needed to know now was the downside.

  Oh right, I’m terminal.

  “What happens when the changes go wrong for me?”

  “Your heart will give out. Massive coronary.”

  Another thought occurred to Jake. “You said you knew my sense of smell got better. How?”

  “The nurse. You knew about her mother coming over. You knew her daughter was ill. The fact that you even knew about the daughter was because you smelled her on the nurse.” Sutton leaned back. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Jake rolled his hand. “Anything else? Tell me everything. Full disclosure, Doc.”

  Sutton got up and moved to the window again. “We have yet to learn why you were in a coma.”

  “Doesn’t a snake’s venom contain a neurotoxin?” Jake asked.

  “Yes. It causes paralysis. Certain snakes carry a mix of neurotoxins, pro-coagulates and myotoxins that paralyze muscles, inhibit breathing and can cause hemorrhaging in blood vessels and tissues, ultimately damaging muscles.” Sutton glanced at Jake over his shoulder. “In some cases, death comes within hours without treatment, but you were successfully given the exact antivenin needed within minutes, so it’s utterly confusing in medical terms.”

  “I was in the hospital a day or so before the incident. Could they have given me an anti-histamine that fucked me up somehow?”

  The doctor slowly spun to face him. “An anti-histamine? What did they claim you were allergic to?”

  “Horses. I had some kind of reaction to horses at a crime scene ...” Jake stopped when he saw the color leave the doctor’s face.

  “Oh my.” Sutton clutched the window sill, then dropped into the chair.

  “What is it, Doctor? How’s that re
levant?”

  Sutton’s eyes were wide, staring at nothing. “It’s the antivenin,” the doctor said, his voice soft now, subdued. “I should’ve seen that. I should’ve known.”

  “What about the antivenin?”

  “Horse blood.”

  Now it was Jake’s turn to be surprised. “Horse blood? What about horse blood?”

  Sutton placed a hand on his forehead, dabbing gently. He eased back in the chair. “Antivenin is made using horse blood. I’ve researched antivenin. I know.”

  “What? How?” Jake tightened his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

  “Snake venom is injected into a horse until the horse is immunized. Blood is then extracted from the immunized horse and the serum is separated and further purified. Because of this, people allergic to horses are likely to suffer an allergic reaction to antivenin, which is what must have happened to you. Were you unconscious at any point during your allergic reaction at that crime scene you mentioned?”

  Stunned, he wondered how he was still alive. “Yes. Unconscious. Yes.”

  “Understand something, Jake. The venom from a bothrops asper would’ve killed you. The antivenin was necessary. Without it, you would’ve died for sure. But then you were faced with an extreme allergic reaction to the antivenin that knocked you into a comatose state, or as it’s called in the ophidian world, dormancy or brumation. It’s a miracle you’re alive at all.”

  “Yeah, great. Alive long enough to learn my life back home is over and I’m about to die soon, anyway.” Jake inhaled deeply. “Wait a second, brumation?”

  “To brumate is to hibernate. Happens in late fall, as it did with you. A brumation period can last up to eight months, but it’s triggered by lack of heat and daylight, like wintertime. As a human being, you needed more heat than a snake would. That’s why your coma lasted more than double the norm. And that coincides with you waking as soon as we raised the room’s temperature.” Sutton clapped his hands. “It’s all making sense, now.”

  Jake stifled a laugh but couldn’t restrain the grin. “Are you suggesting I’m no longer a man? That I’m part snake now? Or am I all snake? Tell me, Doc, how is it? What’s your official diagnosis?”