by David Welch
How they planned to do this, they weren’t sure. Testing the samples could reveal the secret, but it could also reveal them. Perhaps something in his house would shed light on the mystery.
Zeus sat beside Hera, and looked into the distance.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re feeling, or just hope staring into space makes it go away?” she asked.
“No point in telling,” he said. “It doesn’t change what happened.”
“No,” she replied. “But it could help you.”
“What should I say, Hera?” he asked. “My wife is dead, my kids are traumatized. Hermes, now Dio . . . my sons are dead, I don’t even get to mourn Dionysus, and I discover he’s somehow mortal. And Lenka is still out there, biding his damn time.”
“Well, say something, anything,” she said. “Whatever you need to. None of us can afford you withdrawing into your shell right now. So whatever helps you deal with this . . .”
He turned back to the window. Hera shook her head and drove on. For long moments, there was only the sound of the tires on the road.
“When he was young, he wanted to be a hero,” Zeus suddenly said.
Hera glanced over at him for a moment, giving him an invitation to continue, then turned back to the road.
“When he was born, Semele and I . . . we broke my rules. We didn’t send him to be raised by mortals. I knew he’d most likely die of the Rot, and I’d feel miserable . . . but she was happy when she was holding him, so we raised him ourselves. And somehow he defied the odds and survived.”
Hera knew all this, but said nothing to the effect.
“Before he came of age, we didn’t tell him he was immortal. Makes no sense telling a boy he’ll live forever when there’s a ninety percent chance he’ll die before he reaches seventeen. Heck, we didn’t tell him we were immortal. Maybe we did too good a job since the whole word thinks Semele was just some mortal princess.”
Hera smiled, remembering her. At the time, Hera had recently made her peace with their ‘breaks,’ and the fact that Zeus loved other women and had families by them. But that didn’t mean she’d been crazy about the woman. Time had softened her somewhat in that regard. She couldn’t look back on Semele and feel hatred or distaste anymore, not when she remembered how truly kind she had been, how much she had loved her rambunctious little son. The only distaste Hera felt now was for how she used to sneer at the woman behind her back.
“When Dio was little, he always loved stories of heroes, fighting off beasts and saving beautiful maidens. He used to run around with sticks, pretending they were swords and battling any monster his mind could come up with,” Zeus said, laughing softly. “And he came up with a lot of them.”
“He died a hero,” Hera said. “He bought us time. He killed the man chasing us and diverted the others.”
“I know. I’m glad of that. After he survived the Rot and we told him the truth . . . he changed. We all do. You can’t live like you have sixty years left when you have six thousand ahead of you. And that urge of his, to be brave and save the day, it faded. Then when he was only sixty and Semele died in that fire, I think that finished off whatever had been left of the boy he’d been. And as the decades rolled on and the sameness of life set in . . . he didn’t deal with it well. Like nothing mattered because whether he did or didn’t do something, he would still be there the next day. For years, he complained that it all ‘lacked consequence.’”
“I remember,” Hera said.
“So he started with the drinking and he didn’t stop,” Zeus sighed. “Except for yesterday. When he finally got to be the person he wanted to be.”
She frowned, not liking to think that her stepson’s entire life had been one giant attempt to escape reality. Surely there must have been a period when he’d been something other than a bipolar drunk. She couldn’t count the number of “phases” she’d gone through. How many professions she’d had, how many families, how many husbands and lovers and friends . . . they all had lived such infinitely varied lives.
“Well,” she said, “if he truly found the key to mortality, then his actions did have consequence. He only had a limited time left, six or seven decades maybe. And he gave it up so that your children could have their shot at life.”
“He did,” Zeus said, looking back at the sleeping kids. He stared lovingly at them for a long minute.
“If he found mortality, perhaps we could as well,” Zeus said.
The gravity of his words hung in the air.
“We don’t know what happened,” Hera said. “We shouldn’t get our hopes up. It could’ve been some fluke, some quirk of his physiology that turned the aging back on.”
“It could,” Zeus said. “But I doubt it. If forty-seven hundred years of drugs and partying and alcohol didn’t ‘flip the switch,’ then I don’t think it’s some natural occurrence. If he found a way—”
“If,” Hera said.
“Wouldn’t you rather have your children standing beside your deathbed for once?” Zeus asked.
“Of course I would,” Hera grumbled. “But we’ve been burned by false hopes before. You just lost two people you love, and we’re being hunted by an insane psychopath. If this doesn’t work, that’s just one more crushing load thrown on your shoulders.”
Zeus’ brow furrowed, and he watched her. His stare was probing. Despite millennia of familiarity with it, she still shrank inside, as she had the first day they had met, the day he’d told her she wasn’t the only person who didn’t age.
“I’m not Hephaestus,” he said solemnly. “I’m not going to kill myself.”
She swallowed back a wall of emotion, those words hitting hard. He’d never had any trouble reading her.
“What if it doesn’t work?” she said. “We’re following this lead because we hope it’ll give us the chance for a natural death. If it fails, and the only choices are unnatural death or more of the same—”
“There’s nothing ‘same’ about it,” he said. “I’ve never raised these two children before. I’ve never had the chance to live life alongside them. Neither have you. If it doesn’t work, we’ll be the same people we were yesterday, before we learned about any of this.”
“Will we?” she asked. “Now we know it’s possible. At least it was for one of us. What if it isn’t possible for all of us, and we’re cheated out of it?”
“Then we go on until the law of averages catches up to us,” Zeus said. “Eventually a stray bullet will wing me or some earthquake will catch you. Something. We act like we’re going to live forever, but that’s not going to happen. Eventually, either in sixty years or six thousand, this is going to end.”
“Well, maybe not all of us have the strength for another six thousand,” Hera replied.
“Are you sure it’s me who should worry about getting my hopes up?” Zeus asked.
She ignored his glare as best she could, focusing on the road.
“I don’t feel like talking anymore,” she mumbled, and drove on south.
Santa Monica, California
Any other time Desmond would be thinking about how great it must be to live in a beachfront house in Santa Monica. But instead, he was thinking of what would happen if the cops came by and saw them searching the house. All it would take was one busybody neighbor to spot them . . . much less if they came in and discovered their captive bound, gagged, and stashed in a closet. Wouldn’t that be fun to explain.
What they were searching the house for, he didn’t know. None of them did. They were trying to find something that had to do with Dionysus’ mortality. Some record or note or name, something.
Desmond sifted through a box from the back of Dionysus’ closet. He didn’t find anything related to mortality. He did find banana-flavored condoms and a dog-eared copy of Jane Eyre. Why the “God of Wine” was reading stilted prefeminist English prose was beyond him, but he figu
red to each their own.
“Nothing,” he said, putting the box back into place. At the other end of the closet, Artemis was checking the pockets of collared shirts and tailored jackets. Dionysus had lived the California lifestyle. Half the fashions of the past year were crammed into the closet, most of them looking like they’d never been worn. But she checked them all the same, hoping to get lucky.
“There’s nothing here,” Artemis said. “Come on, let’s go downstairs and see if they need any help.”
They made their way down to the ground floor. At the bottom of the stairs Artemis stopped dead, Desmond skidding into her. He looked up, seeing the reason for her sudden halt. There stood a wiry-haired man with pale skin and a confused expression. He held a key in his hand, having just opened the door.
“Uh,” he said, more confused than frightened. “Who are you?”
He spoke in a thick Eastern European accent.
“Friends of Ted,” Artemis said, remembering Dionysus’ alias when he’d been living here.
“Ted?” the man said. “Is he back? He’s been gone for weeks.”
Artemis moved to speak, but was unable to. She bit backs her words and fought to compose herself.
“What? Is something the matt—”
At that moment Ares and Zeus emerged from the basement, having heard muffled voices. The man’s head swiveled to look at them
“You . . . ,” he said, staring at Zeus. “I know you!”
“I don’t think we’ve met,” Zeus replied.
“No, no. But you look just like Dionysus. You’re his father, yes?”
“How do you know that name?” Artemis said, finally stepping off the stairs.
“Because he told me!” the man replied, enthusiasm replacing confusion. “You are Zeus. And the rest of you are other Olympians, yes?”
By this time, Hera had emerged, the kids crowding up behind her. Aphrodite appeared at the top of the stairs. All looked down on the man. He beamed, staring at the people around him as if they were childhood idols.
“Yes!” he cried. “This is wonderful! I did not believe I’d ever meet you. He says you were all scattered across the world, but here you are!”
“Who are you?” Ares said, suspicion thick in his voice. “And how do you know Dionysus?”
“I am Jedrick Sobczak,” he declared. No recognition came to the eyes of the immortals, or Desmond for that matter.
“He did not tell you of me?” Jedrick asked.
“No,” Artemis said. “Why do you have a key to his house?”
“I live here! He said he needed a roommate, doesn’t like to be alone,” Jedrick explained.
“You two weren’t . . . uh, involved?” Desmond asked.
Jedrick shook his head fervently.
“No, no, no! No, I was his doctor, and friend. He said living here would make it easier to monitor his procedure—”
“Procedure?” Zeus asked. “What do you mean?”
“He did not say?” Jedrick asked. “By God, I had no idea. I thought he would’ve told you all! He was so excited when the results came in.”
“Results?” said Aphrodite. “So it was an experiment, that’s what made him mortal?”
“Yes,” Jedrick said. “Please . . . I’m sorry this is unexpected, yes? Come sit, make some coffee. I have much to tell you . . .”
Fifteen minutes later they were all in the living room of the house, looking out a wide sliding glass door toward the ocean. They’d gathered around Jedrick, who sat in a recliner.
“All ready?” Jedrick asked. He sipped coffee, his feet tapping away. He hummed with a nervous excitement, as if he’d been waiting years for this moment.
“All set,” Zeus replied.
“Great. I always imagined Dionysus would be here when I told you all the news, he was so happy when we figured it out. But you know him. Always zipping about looking for good time,” Jedrick said with a chuckle. “It’s okay, though. He will understand.”
The words hung in the air, each person looking at the next. Jedrick picked up on the vibe.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
“Dionysus . . . something happened,” Hera said gravely.
Jedrick cocked his head in confusion.
“Is he all right?” the man asked, trepidation in his voice.
“He’s dead,” Zeus said quickly, emotionlessly.
Jedrick inhaled sharply, visibly shocked. He turned away from the immortals, fighting to control his breathing.
“W-what? How?” he managed.
“A man named Lenka Sidorov,” Ares said. “He has a thing for killing immortals.”
“I—I—he told me there was somebody out to get him. He never told me the name . . .” Jedrick said. “I thought he meant some angry husband or boyfriend. He brought home so many women!”
“I’m sure there were plenty of those,” Zeus said. “But the man responsible has it in for all immortals. Dionysus died saving Hera and my two children.”
Jedrick nodded, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He took a few deep breaths to center himself.
“He—he was my friend,” the man said. “Maybe the only true friend I’ve had since I was a boy.”
“I’m sorry,” Aphrodite said. “We didn’t know. He never told us about you or what he was doing.”
Jedrick continued nodding, as if afraid to stop. Desmond again felt a weight of sadness as he imagined what the man must be feeling. It didn’t seem like anybody around them could catch a break.
“Okay,” Jedrick said, his voice still heavy. “I will tell you what we were doing. He would want it. Just give me a second, please.”
He got up and returned with a glass of water. He seemed to fight with his facial muscles for a few minutes, struggling to keep himself from breaking down. Desmond wouldn’t blame him if he had.
“Okay. I must start at the beginning; forgive me if I’m long-winded. My name is Jedrick Sobczak. I was born in Warsaw thirty-nine years ago. When I grew up I went to England for medical school, where I became a geneticist. Afterward I returned to Poland.”
He paused, shaking his head as if struggling with a memory.
“I—I was impatient then. I am so today. It is a weakness. Even in Poland there are so many rules regarding testing and what sorts of experiments you can do. I did not always ‘get along’ well with such rules.
“One day, when I was young and stupid, several people came to me. They were family, a mother, son, and a cousin. They suffered from the same rare genetic disease, a fatal one. They were desperate, and had read some papers of mine about a possible gene therapy that could alleviate their condition. The rules said no, but I did it anyway. I figured it would advance our knowledge, and possibly save the lives of three people. Though the odds of saving their lives were long, I tried anyway.”
“It didn’t work?” Artemis asked.
He shook his head sadly. “No. They died. I lost my license and could no longer practice. I was desperate. I went to China, where the military hired me to do research. But it turns out they just wanted some sort of genetic screening protocol so they could determine who would make good soldiers. I escaped and came to Los Angeles.”
He paused and sipped his water.
“I could get no work here except as a mob doctor. Until one day I met Dionysus. I do not know how he knew who I was, but he did. And he had a proposition for me. ‘Make me mortal,’ he said. I did not believe this at first, until he gave me some of his blood to look at, and I saw things that shouldn’t be there. Strange blood cells, blue ones. I look at his tissues and I see so many stem cells, just sitting there, waiting. Allowing his body to regenerate limbs and wipe out scars and do amazing things. I see picture of him from the eighteen seventies, the resemblance too close to be a relative. Then he offers me ten million dollars up front and three hund
red thousand a year to be his personal doctor. That is enough money for a lifetime, and this may be my only chance to work as a geneticist again, so I say yes.”
Another pause, another sip.
“I can see why he was such a good ‘friend,’” Ares said.
“No, no!” Jedrick said adamantly. “At first, yes, the money was what made me help him. But it changed! He was a kind man, Dionysus. He was a good friend, a real friend. He treated me with respect. He helped me with the women, taught me what to look out for. Helped me get a real girlfriend. We’re together six months now! He and I go deep sea fishing, and surfing, and to the best restaurants. He liked to live hard, but he was always there when I couldn’t keep up, didn’t abandon me. He was a good man. I will miss him, terribly.”
Ares frowned, but said nothing further.
“Well, before I could figure out how to ‘cure’ him of his immortality, I first had to figure out why he didn’t age in the first place,” Jedrick said.
“We know that. The blue cells,” said Zeus.
“Ah, yes, but no. Well, not entirely. I thought myself that must be the answer at first, but I looked closer and things became much more complicated. I saw that the blue cells do not repair as Dionysus thought; they only destroy. Beneficial bacteria and microorganisms, things we evolved with, they ignore. But mutated cells, cancers, they rip them open and destroy their DNA. Or RNA, in the case of viruses. Vicious things, these blue cells. Wish I had some on my side . . .”
“Okay, stay with me, because this may seem off topic at first. I took many samples from Dionysus over the years we worked together. Skin, blood, sperm, all sorts of cells. And when I looked at them, I looked at the telomeres.”
“The caps on the end of the chromosomes, right?” Des said. “They shorten as you age.”
“Uh, yes,” Jedrick said, impressed.
“You know about this stuff?” asked Artemis.
