by Alma Katsu
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Jude said to Adair, gesturing toward a man collapsed behind a huge desk at the far end of the room. Adair realized right away that Jude hadn’t exaggerated: the man looked as though his end could come at any moment. He was little more than a skeleton wearing his jaundiced skin like a suit of clothes. His hair was nearly gone, and what was left of it was graying, revealing an eggshell-thin skull. The only part of him that seemed alive was his eyes, and they followed Adair with savage intensity. He was sizing Adair up, to be sure; he seemed the calculating type—one who always wanted the odds to be in his favor—and much too arrogant for a man about to die. If you must die, face death with humility; there is no other way to go through that door, Adair wanted to advise him, but there were some people who would not be advised, no matter the circumstances.
“Adair, this is Pendleton Kingsley,” Jude said.
Pendleton didn’t even extend his hand, instead holding the mask of a respirator to his face while staring them down. In the background, Adair heard air escaping faintly from an oxygen tank like the hiss of a snake. The sick man took a deep breath before speaking. “‘Adair’—that’s an unusual name.”
“So is ‘Pendleton.’”
“Isn’t it, though? It’s actually my middle name. My parents named me Jack—nice and folksy—but I never cared for it. Don’t like people to be too familiar, if you know what I mean. ‘Pendleton’ is better for business.” He set the mask on the desk in front of him and turned to Jude. “So, Judah, what’s so important you need to see me at a time like this? It better be good.”
For a man in such fragile condition, Pendleton was as vitriolic as a scorpion, but strangely, Adair found his repugnancy impossible to ignore. There was something poisonous about him that made him almost alluring, as though he exuded a pheromone to which Adair was programmed to respond. Pendleton’s natural aggression, even his simmering anger at dying, was blood in the water to Adair. This feeling came over him whenever he met someone he was meant to bind to him, and it was the sign Adair had been hoping for.
Over the course of an hour, Adair probed Pendleton for weaknesses. It turned out there was little to admire about the man: he’d gotten rid of two wives through vicious divorces that forced them to walk away with no compensation for their loyalty or love. His one child, a daughter, no longer spoke to him. He’d acquired companies and pushed out the men who’d built them from nothing, bought intellectual property from desperate inventors for pennies on the dollar. He made his employees work slaves’ hours with the promise of recompense that never came through. Meanwhile, he’d amassed a fortune that dwarfed the treasuries of small nations. And he sneered at everyone he’d left ruined in his wake, confident that they’d gotten only what they deserved.
When Pendleton had tired of talking about himself, he looked at Adair disapprovingly. “So, what is this about? Did you come over to waste a dying man’s time, or are you going to tell me why you wanted to see me?”
Adair rolled alcohol—an inferior whiskey served to guests; Pendleton himself had none—around in his glass. “First, you must tell me how much you are worth.”
The man guffawed to cover his surprise. “It always comes down to money, doesn’t it? Well, you get right to the point, Adair, I’ll give you that. Not much for manners, but you are direct.”
Adair fixed him with a stare. “Naturally I’m interested in your money. Apart from your business acumen, you have little to recommend you, and I certainly didn’t come here for your company. But in exchange for your fortune, I have something to offer you—something I know you want with all your heart. You’re clearly a man of means, but what I’ve come to sell is very expensive indeed. So I need to know that you have the funds to pay for this—your dying wish.”
“So, you want to know if I’m rich enough for whatever scheme you’re peddling? Am I rich enough?” Pendleton’s small, bright eyes shifted from Adair to Jude. “Is this a joke? You know I’ve got means, Jude. I’ve got the means to buy and sell you both.”
Jude shook his head, meaning to defuse the dying man’s anger, and looked down at the floor. “Take it easy. I think you’ll be interested in what my friend has to say, or I wouldn’t have asked for your time. But I advise you to listen to him closely. Closely. The devil is always in the details.”
Adair snapped his fingers to draw Pendleton’s attention back to him. “You are not a well man, Pendleton.”
The sick man looked as though he’d spit at him. “You think that’s funny?”
“Your doctor may have told you that you could count on four more months, maybe six at the outside, but I am here to tell you that you have only three weeks left to live. No more.”
The big man went white, but he managed to curl his lips. “How dare you say that to me? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? What makes you think you know more than my doctor—”
Adair pressed on. “The men in your family have never been long-lived. Men in your family seem to be born under a curse. Your father was in high school when your grandfather died. And you were only five when your father was taken from you.”
Pendleton snorted. “You could’ve read that in Newsweek.”
“You think I know this because I’ve studied up on you? I know what is wrong with you by looking at you. I can see where the disease eats away at you, and what’s more, I can see the fears you tell no one,” Adair said. “Every man in your father’s line has died young from a heart attack. What’s killing you, ironically, is not your heart. You had several heart surgeries by the time you were thirty-five, and just when they got your heart back to sixty, seventy percent capacity, your doctors found tumors. The cancer’s spread to nearly every organ in your body, your brain, even into your bones.”
Pendleton said nothing, but his hand scrabbled for his oxygen mask. He had a look of defeat in his eyes as Adair delivered the news he knew to be true, despite his well-paid physician’s slightly more optimistic prognosis.
Adair leaned toward Pendleton, who breathed hotly into his mask. “You’ve looked in a mirror. You know that Death is readying you for his arrival. You know his handiwork, the pain that can hardly be controlled by medication. You’ve felt Death coming, and you gnash your teeth at the unfairness of your situation. Why should you have to die, you think? Why doesn’t Death take some lesser person with fewer achievements? Death should spare you, a captain of industry and a philanthropist, someone who has done so much to benefit his fellow man. It’s not fair. But life is not fair. You know that, too.”
Pendleton was contemplative, as though he’d had these same thoughts, but he was too self-possessed to acknowledge them out loud. The moment passed, and he swung his fragile head in Adair’s direction. “Life is unfair; yes, I’ve known that for a long time,” he sneered impatiently. “Let’s get down to business, shall we? As you so graciously reminded me, I don’t have a lot of time.”
Adair smirked at the dying man. “Fear not, for time is exactly what I have come to offer you. What if I told you that I could rid your body of pain? That I have the ability to eradicate the nausea and headaches, the chills and sweats you suffer from sunrise to sunset? What would you give to be well again, Pendleton?” He stood with arms folded across his chest, looking down on the shriveled man, who seemed to shrink even farther into his seat. “What would you say if I could give you the ability to live forever?”
Pendleton hesitated a second before letting out a humorless laugh. “I’d say you’re out of your fucking mind. What are you, some kind of quack Jude found on Craigslist? You want me to throw my fortune away on some miracle cure when I know it’s hopeless? Do I look that gullible? I already have the best doctors in the world.” His voice receded at those words—“best doctors in the world”—knowing the little good they did him now.
“Don’t pretend you’re not interested. You say you know your situation is hopeless, and yet, there is hope in your voice, hope shining in your eyes. Of course you want to know more; I can ke
ep you alive, and what’s more, you will live forever. Imagine how it will feel not to fear the tumors inside you, your failing heart. You’ve been sickly and cautious your entire life: imagine what it would be like to have no concern about what the future holds. It’s complete freedom, that’s what it is. Your life will never be the same.”
Perspiration broke out on Pendleton’s upper lip and he wiped at it nervously. He whirled on Jude as though he might strike him. “What the hell is this, Judah, some kind of tasteless practical joke?”
“He’s not joking. It’s the truth.”
“Are you intrigued?” Adair interrupted. “There’s no reason to take me merely at my word. I can prove it to you.” Blood thrummed in Adair’s ears, as he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a snub-nosed .22 pistol.
Pendleton sucked in a breath at the sight of it. “Now wait a minute. There’s no need for that. Let’s not get carried away—”
Adair interrupted, “Write your worth on that piece of paper.”
Pendleton looked from the pistol, to Adair, to Jude’s pinched face for reassurance—there was none—then reluctantly scribbled something down. Jude craned over the desk to read it. “That sounds about right,” he said to Adair.
“Good. So, what would it be worth to you to live forever? We are talking more than just cheating death, cheating your destiny. You will be a god among men, impervious to any harm. Money is nothing in comparison. Would you give up 70 percent of that?” He tapped the paper. “Eighty?”
Pendleton had softened, wanting to believe what he was being told, but at the mention of money he stiffened, resisting. “Are you out of your mind? That’s a lot of cash, and for what? What are we talking about?”
“You will live to see the end of time. The end of time! Can you imagine it? Of course you cannot. You can barely remember things that happened to you a decade ago, isn’t that true? Think of your fragile body—and then think of what I am offering. . . . You want to know exactly what you will be buying? That seems a fair request. Let me demonstrate.” To Pendleton’s surprise, Adair walked around the desk and pressed the gun in his hand, wrapping his fingers around the grip and holding them fast.
“What—what are you doing?” the sick man asked in alarm.
“I require your assistance. Only for a moment.” He stretched Pendleton’s arm to its full length, the nose of the gun inches from Jude’s chest, and squeezed the finger over the trigger. The noise ricocheted around the hard white box of a room, and Pendleton leapt from his chair as though he’d just been struck with a cattle prod. There was smoke, choking and acrid, and in the middle of all this, Jude fell to the floor. Pendleton dropped the gun and bolted to his feet, but Adair pressed a hand to his chest to freeze him where he stood. “Stay where you are. Wait. Watch, and you will see.”
They leaned over the desk, staring down at Jude and the crimson circle on his chest with a neat bullet hole at its center, the circle spreading across his shirtfront.
Running was heard outside the door, then a knock.
“Tell your man that you’re okay,” Adair ordered.
Pendleton obeyed, wide-eyed. “Go away, Carlos. It’s nothing,” he called out.
Both men held their breath, Adair in amusement and Pendleton in dumbstruck horror until, after a moment of absolute stillness, Jude shuddered back to life. Moaning, he pressed a hand to his wound. “A little warning first, next time?” he said weakly to Adair as he staggered to his feet.
“What the hell—” Pendleton started backing away.
“It’s a miracle, isn’t that what you would call it? A dead man brought back to life like Lazarus? This is what you are buying—a new destiny,” Adair said, picking up the gun. “You pride yourself on being a shrewd man; you are probably thinking it is a trick of some kind. Let us not have any lingering doubts. Go on, check the wound. Prove it to yourself.”
But Pendleton stood frozen on his side of the desk. “I don’t need to see anything more. It’s got to be a trick, like what those magicians do on television. . . . And it’s a pretty good one, I’ll give you that. But there’s no way he was really shot, not if he can get up like that. . . .”
“It’s no trick.” Adair grabbed Pendleton’s hand, crushing it as he led him over to Jude and pressed his hand into the wound. “Touch it. Go on, don’t be a coward. What do you feel? It’s healing already, isn’t it? Can you explain what is happening? Of course you can’t; it’s like nothing you’ve ever heard of.” Adair released his hand and pushed it aside. “Listen to me, and pay attention. I don’t make my secret known to everyone, Pendleton. I’m only giving you this opportunity because I am experiencing pecuniary difficulties. Because of my unfortunate situation, I am making you the offer of a lifetime. In all the world there are only a handful of people like me and Jude. I’m offering you the chance to join us.”
Pale and shaken, Pendleton staggered to the side table and poured himself a drink. “Is this true, Judah? Are you immortal, too?”
“Obviously,” Jude replied.
Pendleton pointed a trembling finger at Adair. “Who—what are you? The devil?”
“For a man who prides himself on his reason and intellect, you revert to superstition rather quickly,” Adair chided him. “If I were the devil, would I need your money? I am, however, a very powerful man, in ways that you are not ready to understand. Transfer 80 percent of your worth to me—Jude will handle the transaction—and you will not die in three weeks’ time. The cancer that has spread throughout your body will disappear and you will live forever. But if you wish to accept this offer, you must prepare a document for your attorney in advance, naming Jude as the executor of your affairs, authorizing cremation of your body, asking that no funeral service be held.”
At the latter, Pendleton darted a suspicious look at him but held his tongue.
“It’s a lie, a diversion. To keep people from looking too closely at the miracle that will be your recovery,” Adair explained. “You will be alive, trust me, and we will make sure you are fully prepared for your new life.”
“My new life?”
“Your new, healthy life,” Jude interjected, gesturing to the spot where the wound had been.
“What do you say?” asked Adair.
Pendleton’s eyes were blank and unseeing but started to fill with a mixture of hope and growing certainty. “I—I can’t make a decision this big so quickly. I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Don’t wait too long,” Adair warned as he put the gun back in his pocket. “Remember what I said: you have three weeks. If you find you are on the verge of dying and want to accept my offer, don’t send for an ambulance. Call us instead. There’s not much I can do for you once you’re in a hospital, surrounded by people. And, needless to say, you are not to share what we’ve told you with anyone. If I hear you’ve told anyone about me, I disappear and your only chance to live disappears with me.”
The call came exactly twenty-one days later, early in the morning. Jude drove in Boston’s infernal morning traffic, zigzagging through cars like a reckless skier down an icy slalom run to get to Pendleton’s estate. They found him pale and sweating in his bed, his face a mask of terror as he gulped for every breath. His attendant stood by, looking sideways at the telephone on the nightstand, anxious to call for an ambulance. Also on the nightstand was a document, folded in thirds. “You asked for this,” Pendleton rasped as he pointed to it.
Adair looked deeply into Pendleton’s face for the telltale signs of death. “We cannot perform the service here. We must move you. We are going to carry you down to the car.” At those words, the servant started toward them in protest, but the dying man raised a hand weakly to wave him off. Adair lifted him, and he felt as light as a scarecrow made of straw.
“Don’t let me die,” Pendleton whispered as he held Adair’s hand, the arrogance squeezed out of him now like toothpaste from a tube. “I’m not ready to be judged.”
Neither am I, Adair thought, with a rare flas
h of compassion.
Once they’d arrived at Jude’s town house, Adair carried Pendleton’s nearly inert body up two flights of stairs to a guest room. After he had deposited Pendleton on the bed, Adair’s hand settled on the flask in his pocket holding the elixir of life. “Just relax. The process is not painless, but nothing worthwhile comes without a price. Do not fight it.” He tipped the flask toward Pendleton’s mouth, though he felt that it was almost unnecessary. It was as though this man’s soul, gray and threadbare as an old handkerchief, was already in his hands. Still, he placed a few drops on the man’s tongue, said a few words over him, and waited.
It had been so long since he’d done this that he almost forgot what to do. He felt a force bear down with amazing speed, and prepared for this energy to funnel through him into the other man. The feeling swept through Adair like a thunderstorm, as if all the power of the wind were captured and twisted tightly together until it could pass through him, as though he was a portal. All this energy did not go to Pendleton. This feeling fed Adair, too, renewing him in a way that nothing else did. Right now, he was alive in a way he hadn’t been since the last transformation. Since Lanore. That was why he did it, Adair realized. Plucking up these rotted souls was something he was meant to do.
If only he knew why.
At the last moment, he remembered to say the words that would bind Pendleton to him. “Your life and your health will be restored to you, but all that you have now belongs to me. Your soul is mine, to do with as I please. This shall be done by my hand and intent.”
Once Pendleton’s exhausted body had given in to sleep, Adair and Jude stood at the door.
“You don’t have his money yet,” Jude reminded Adair. “It’ll take time to shake it loose from all its hiding places. I’m sure Pendleton uses offshore banks and brokerages, shell accounts, to evade tax collectors. It’ll be very complicated, getting it out.”
