Immortally Yours

by Ashlyn Chase

She laughed. “No. I’m not sure what to do. I can’t even rely on becoming a mistress anymore. My last lover died years ago and, thanks to AIDS, finding someone who believes in free love isn’t as easy as it used to be. Besides, I want to be a modern woman. I’ve heard about using the internet to make money without anyone knowing who you are but this eighteenth-century girl just can’t catch up.” Taking a deep breath, she asked what she had been wondering for the last fifteen minutes. “You seem like you believe my story. Do you?”

  “I have no reason to doubt your sincerity.”

  “Why?”

  She wasn’t challenging him. He could see she was genuinely puzzled. “Lizette, I’m more open-minded than some health professionals. Perhaps you’ve met them already. Don’t judge me by them and I won’t judge you by my other patients. It’s just you and me here. Now, you were talking about the internet?”

  She nodded. “Things like technology have progressed so fast in the last thirty or forty years, they’ve left my head spinning.”

  “I imagine the twenty-first century must be daunting.”

  “It’s unbelievable. I thought the changes during the Industrial Revolution were overwhelming but this…this is just madness! I hesitate to buy a music system, a cell phone or a computer—even my camera is out of date and it’s hard to find film at my convenience store. That’s not very convenient, is it? Whatever is in vogue one day will be improved upon the next.”

  Colin thought about how helpless his elderly mother was with technology. He coughed to cover his smile.

  “Don’t you know anyone who could help you? Young men and women who look your age grew up learning the basics of computer technology in grade school. Even I learned the basics in middle school and I’m thirty.”

  She smirked. “Practically an infant.”

  He’d let that go. “Do you live with a roommate or have any close friends?”

  “No. That’s also part of my problem. I have to cut myself off from anyone I’ve known for more than a few years but I’m sick and tired of being alone in a new city over and over again.” In a small voice, she said, “You’re the first person I’ve ever told my secret to.”

  Her lip quivered and she looked like she was about to break down, crying. Colin’s heart went out to her but he had to maintain his professional distance, no matter how much he wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her… Don’t go there, Colin, or you might not be Dr. Brayer much longer.

  He handed her a tissue. “Really?”

  She nodded, sniffed and dabbed at her tears. “Oh, there were times when I laughed off people’s comments on my eternal youth that were veiled as compliments. I made up things like having found the greatest face cream. Then people wanted to know the specific brand name. I wish I could have invented a face cream! I’d have made a mint just from being my own advertisement. I finally just shrugged and said that women were taking care of themselves and looking better as they aged these days. The thirties are the new twenties.”

  “I’ve heard that about each decade and it seems to hold true.”

  “Yeah. They got it from me. The truth is, I drink, I used to smoke and I don’t use sunscreen.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of getting skin cancer?”

  She snorted. “I wish.”

  Confused by her quip, he asked, “So, if you’ve never told anyone up to now, what made you tell me?”

  “I know the world has changed and I’m not going to be burned at the stake for being different. But even though people are more open-minded, how do I explain this to a long-term landlady or a friend I’d like to keep? Some women look damn good at fifty but pretty soon people will ask me where I go for my kick-ass plastic surgery.”

  He waited for her to continue but she said nothing. Pretty soon the quiet became uncomfortable.

  She bent over to bury her face in her hands and her shoulder-length blonde hair fell forward. A few sniffles followed. Damn, he wanted to reach out and touch her hair, maybe smooth it out of her face, but no. What could he do to comfort her without losing his license?

  Listen. Sympathize. Then, as with any other patient, arm her with knowledge and give her hope. But that might require divulging more than he wanted to. He walked a fine line, since his other patients deserved their confidences kept too. She wasn’t his only immortal patient. If only he could tell her that.

  “Lizette, do you know of anyone else with this condition?”

  “No, none. In fact, I don’t even know why I have it. I don’t sprout fangs. I don’t get all furry during the full moon. And I don’t have lucky charms that are magically delicious.”

  Colin laughed. He couldn’t help it. Her sense of humor was charming and charm might be what had saved her up until now. “How about your business partners? Do you ever get questions from them?”

  “No. I only see my colleagues on rare occasions and have impersonated my own daughter successfully. I have an absentee landlady and as long as she receives my checks on time, she shouldn’t have to show up. There’s a maintenance man in the building but I’m not crazy about the smell of cigars and he always has one hanging out of his mouth. Yuck. The only upside is I can smell him coming and avoid him.”

  “I imagine with your background in fragrance, you’ve taught your nose to appreciate the finer scents.”

  “Exactly. I like the fact that people wash more frequently now than in days gone by and clean their homes, but many scents have obliterated the desirable, natural ones and it’s a shame.”

  Colin’s mind immediately jumped to the scent of musk on an aroused woman or the heavy scent of sex on well-used sheets. He almost lost his concentration but her sweet voice dragged him back to the moment.

  “And air pollution. Have you ever been walking by a diesel truck or a bus idling in traffic? It’s disgusting. Now, evergreen forests are about the only places you can find fresh air.”

  “Yes. I know what you mean.”

  “So how about it, doctor? Can you help me?”

  “Well, that depends on why you came to me? What do you want help with?”

  She took a deep, audible breath and folded her hands in her lap. “Killing myself. I want to commit suicide and don’t dare muck it up or I could be brain dead, incontinent and drooling until the end of time. I figured a psychiatrist might know the best way.”

  Chapter Two

  To desire immortality is to desire the eternal perpetuation of a great mistake.

  Arthur Schopenhauer

  The admission slammed into Colin like a high-speed impact. Shock waves reverberated through his body and prickles traveled up his spine. “I—I can’t do that. I took the Hippocratic Oath and I’d violate my own principles by trying to assist you in suicide. And in your case, you’re right, it could be a disaster. Why would you want to do that?” How can I stop her from trying? My God. What a crime that would be!

  She shrugged. “What’s to live for? I’ve already told you how lonely I am. How isolated my life has become. What I haven’t told you is how many nights I lie awake, crying my eyes out. And nowadays, I can’t even seek solace in a bit of casual, uncommitted sex.”

  Damn. How he’d love to help her out with that. Watch it, Brayer. She could be trying to manipulate you. But for some reason, he didn’t think so. Her face said she was deadly serious. A face so beautiful he could barely take his eyes off her.

  There were times Colin wished he weren’t a doctor and this was one of them. He wanted to shake her, or cuddle her, but neither would be very professional. He leaned forward, hands clasped together, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Listen, Lizette, the reason I don’t believe in suicide is because the very nature of life is change. And as such, feelings change…circumstances change. And with change comes hope. Nothing is inescapable forever.

  “I sympathize with people’s emotional suffering—that’s why I became a doctor in the first place. I’m here to help. If the problem is depression, it can result in a chemical imbalance. Then the chemical imbalance feeds
the depression. It becomes a vicious cycle. The good news is that we have chemicals to restore the balance. I know you don’t like the idea of nature being aided by chemicals but you have no idea how many peoples’ lives have been improved by psychopharmacology.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The science of medication to restore mental health or alleviate emotional suffering. Are you allergic to any drugs?”

  She held up her hand. “No, but stop right there. I don’t want to take drugs.”

  Colin sighed. How many times had he heard that? “They’re not all bad.”

  “But I don’t need drugs.”

  “You said you cry frequently and want to commit suicide. That sounds to me like symptoms of depression—symptoms that could prove to be dangerous. Sometimes, a short trial on antidepressant medication helps make the final diagnosis when it works. And the diagnostic tool becomes the cure at the same time.” I desperately hope she understands. I can’t lose her. Colin questioned his own thought. Why couldn’t he lose her? She was already more than just another patient. He couldn’t deny it. Well, he could but it would probably come back to bite him in the ass. He was hopelessly attracted to her. And not just that. He sympathized with her plight and admired her pluck. Dammit, he cared about her in a deeply personal way.

  After a long hesitation, she threw her hands in the air. “If it might help, I guess I can try it. After all, I don’t need to worry about them killing me, do I?”

  Thank God. He couldn’t stop a smile. “No, you don’t. Neither do most people if they take them as prescribed. You may have some side effects—read the enclosures the pharmacy gives you. Report any of those symptoms to me right away.” He whipped out his prescription pad and scribbled her name at the top. His pen hovered over it. “What do you use as your date of birth?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t have one. Care to make one up for me?”

  He looked at her closely. “I’d say you could have been born in the late Eighties.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Make it today’s date, nineteen-eighty-seven. It’s only two-hundred and seventy-five years off, give or take.”

  He paused, then jotted down the date and wrote the instructions. Then he rose and handed the prescription to her. “Take this to a pharmacy on your way home and follow the instructions to the letter. Then come back in a week. Okay?”

  “I might not be able to afford too many more visits. Is it okay if I just call and check in once in a while?” She took the slip of paper and tucked the prescription into her handbag.

  “No. I’ll need to see you in a week.” Need to or want to? Both, if he was honest with himself.

  She sighed.

  He had to do something to ensure she’d come back. Perhaps he could tell her something that would make her feel less alone, without giving confidential details. She had to have felt like a freak for a couple centuries.

  He took a deep breath. “You’re not the only one, you know.”

  She bolted upright. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re not the only immortal roaming the earth. You’re not even the only immortal in Seattle.”

  She focused on him intently, her eyes narrowed. “Are you saying you’ve known people like me—and that you truly believe my story?”

  “I’m not committing to that yet. As I said, I’m reserving judgment until I get to know you better, but yes…I’ve had a couple patients with immortality-related issues. That’s why I advertise the way I do.”

  “Evening hours? Comfortable with unique cases?”

  “Exactly.”

  She locked eyes with him and breathed a quiet “Oh.” Her perfect, delicate, pink lips formed a circle he imagined tightly wrapped around his cock and he almost groaned out loud. Stop it, Colin. For God’s sake!

  “What if I need to talk to you earlier?”

  “I have an answering service that can get in touch with me in an emergency.”

  She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Good to know. Thanks, doctor. I feel almost human again.”

  “You’ll probably feel even better next week.”

  “I guess you’ve tested this stuff on immortals before?”

  He smiled. “You’d be surprised.”

  “I wish you could tell me who they are and exactly where I could find them but I suppose you can’t.”

  “That’s right. Their confidentiality is important too.”

  She smiled coquettishly and said, “Maybe just a hint? Please?”

  He gave her a sideways look that he hoped broached no argument.

  “I know, I know. It’s against the rules. See you next week.” She waved and left.

  Holy Moses! He needed to have a serious talk with his hormones.

  * * * * *

  As Lizette stood in front of the pharmacist, she thought about how her original goal had been a bust. She couldn’t finagle the noble doctor into helping her check out—permanently. Oh well. She had the next best thing. A sexy-as-sin therapist she could talk to…and maybe she could talk him into slipping her some details of where Seattle’s hip immortals hung out. She might prefer to survive if she had someone to do it with.

  She’d been told her prescription would be ready in about fifteen minutes so she decided to browse the magazine rack. She could look through some of the local ads and see if there might be a clue as to any immortal haunts.

  Now, which periodical looked promising? Ah-ha! Seattle After Dark. She grabbed the paper and thumbed through it until she landed on the section called Clubs.

  Dance clubs, an Elks club, gay bars, goth bars, Irish bars, Knights of Columbus…wait a minute. Back up. A goth bar? That sounded promising. Of course, she had no intention of offering up an O-positive snack to anyone—she had enough problems. Oh well.

  At that moment, a rather goth-looking guy sidled up to her. Where had he come from?

  “I notice you’re looking at the entertainment section. Would you—uh—like to go out sometime?”

  She gave him a swift once-over. Stringy black hair. Nice eyes, although black eyeliner was probably making them appear more prominent than they were. A few too many piercings for her taste and, speaking of taste, his clothes weren’t from the Gap, that was for damn sure.

  “Listen, I’m not into your thing. I’m more the opera and expensive restaurant type,” she said, hoping to discourage him.

  “No problem. I’ll take you to the opera. Besides, how can you tell what my ‘thing’ is? I’m into all kinds of music. I haven’t listened to much opera but maybe it would be a nice change of pace.”

  Great. That’s just great. “Well, I have stuff to do tonight.”

  “So do I. How about some other night this week? When are you free?”

  “Um…let’s see. Tomorrow I’m meeting my lover for dinner, Wednesday I’m taking care of his kids who are completely in love with me, and Thursday I’m washing my hair. Don’t ask. It’s a big production.”

  “What are you doing Friday?”

  “Killing myself. Well, that is, if the medication I’m getting doesn’t work. Wanna watch?”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Uh, well. Good luck with that. I have to, um…”

  She placed a fist on her hip. “Wash your hair?”

  “Uh, yeah.”

  He backed away and left the store. She mentally shrugged. He had probably followed her in there just to ask her out. It had happened before. Ah, the price of eternal youth and beauty.

  She returned to her mission of finding others like herself. “Now if I were an immortal, where would I go? Oh, yeah. I am. But that vampire wannabe sure wasn’t,” she mumbled.

  The pharmacist looked over his high shelf, gave her a puzzled glance and quickly ducked his head.

  “Don’t worry,” she called. “I’m just talking to myself, not to little green aliens.”

  The pharmacist chuckled. “That’s good,” he said. “I thought he prescribed you the wrong stuff.”

  “Nope. I’m just plain depressed. Not plain crazy.�
�

  * * * * *

  Lizette had spent the loneliest weekend of her life indoors because of the constant rain. If only she could call the good doctor and talk to him on the phone. Of course, seeing his handsome self in person would be better, but he was so damned expensive and she really had to budget like crazy right now.

  On Monday morning, she called Dr. Brayer’s office. When the secretary answered, Lizette asked for an emergency appointment.

  “May I ask who this is and the nature of your emergency?” the secretary asked nasally. Her tone was so unimpressed and bored, Lizette pictured her filing her nails.

  “I’m Lizette LaBelle. The shit—I mean, medication he gave me isn’t working. I’m more depressed than ever.”

  “What are you taking and how do you know it’s not working? How long have you been taking it?”

  “None of your fucking business,” Lizette snapped.

  “Yeah, I guess you’re right. It isn’t working. When can you come in?”

  “How’s now for you?”

  “I’ll have to page him at the hospital. Can you meet him there?”

  Lizette gasped. “You want me to go to a hospital?”

  “Well, you did say it was an emergency. Can you wait until this afternoon?”

  She sighed. “If I lasted until now, I guess I’ll live until this afternoon. Damn it.”

  There was a hesitation. Finally, the secretary said, “Okay, he can work you in at four. Is that okay?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine,” the secretary answered.

  “Fine!” she huffed.

  That afternoon, Lizette had walked all over Seattle in the rain, including down First Avenue, where the sex shops and hookers stood. Rain made her hair frizz and for once she didn’t get propositioned but she hardly noticed. She was ready to rip her doctor’s secretary a new one. And by the time she was through with her the woman wouldn’t have an asshole at all—just a shoe where it used to be. Okay, so that was a little too harsh, but she felt like lashing out at someone.

  Her confrontation was thwarted, because by four the secretary had left and the doc’s door was ajar.