Cassidy St. Claire and The Fountain of Youth Parts I, II, & III

by A. H. Rousseau

  Anna became visibly uncomfortable. “Yeah... I have... wanted to. I met a man at the market once. He was impressed that I was wearing pants. He said it it was forward-thinking, and that all women would wear pants in the future. He seemed nice. But men pretend to be that way.”

  “Yes,” replied Claudette hesitantly. “They do... But that is certainly not true of all of them. I'm cynical, and even I don't think that. Especially if you're a woman doing something as out of the ordinary as wearing pants, bad men have a tendency to not hide it. If a guy reacts positively to that, he's probably not lying.”

  Anna blinked rapidly and shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she thought.

  “Of course, I may be wrong. He may have been a complete bastard. Hell, he probably was. It all depends on the feeling you get when talking with the guy.” Anna didn't respond. “Well forget about all that. Have they done anything with you yet? This tinkering is I'm sure fun, but it's not your specialty.”

  Anna looked off to some managers in the middle of the room, directing the large bipedal walker. They started yelling and screaming after a large burst of steam and hot water burst from one of the knees. “No. They won't give me details. They keep telling me that I will be given things to do, but all they show me are these little projects. George is already getting big things. He seems to be enjoying it.”

  “I'm glad. This place may seem happy, but there are a few who have not exactly taken to the captivity. No one has seen them again. Finding happiness here is good for your health.”

  “Do you think they're being freed?”

  “I thought about that. I doubt it. If they were, that news might come out and others may simply stop working. They don't seem like the murdering types — too much highfalutin' language — so I figure that they're locking the people up.”

  “Yeah. I have been wondering about that. For kidnappers, they seem quite... strange,” said Anna, looking out over the crowd of people.

  “They really are,” replied Claudette. “I've heard at least a dozen speeches from these guys, all talking about making the world a better place, fighting the evils of governments, and on and on. There is... an almost religious zeal to these guys at times.”

  “They make me very uncomfortable.”

  Claudette nodded, looking out over the crowd. “They make me uncomfortable sometimes, too.”

  ---

  Jebediah, asleep, rocked back and forth slightly on the couch with the movement of the car. The muffled sounds of tracks raced underneath. Soft shadows rushed over Jebediah's face as his eyes opened slightly. He yawned and breathed in an invigorating breath. He turned over to see Cassidy sitting on the chair nearest the couch, reading a book under the dim, golden light of a table lamp. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, the placed the boom on the table next to her.

  “I'm glad to see that you're awake,” she said.

  “Yes. I'm still sleeping an abnormal amount. It's a good thing, I've been told,” he said, finishing his sentence with another yawn. “How long have we been moving?”

  “About three hours,” Cassidy replied.

  Jebediah nodded as he looked about. “Where's Atwater?

  “He's in the dining car. We actually ate very little after the bombing.”

  “That's understandable.”

  “How are you feeling?” asked Cassidy.

  “I'm glad to see that you are again worried about my well-being.”

  “I never stopped worrying,” Cassidy replied flatly.

  Jebediah nodded. “I hurt. I have been given medicine to manage the pain, but it is only partially effective.”

  “How many people died? We were told twenty-five, but considering you and your special club kept much of the information secret, I'd like to know.”

  Jebediah looked down to the floor and sighed. “Yes.... Yes. Thirty-four.”

  Cassidy nodded and also looked to the floor. “I'm sorry. Did you know any of them well?”

  “The man with whom I dined. He was... a good friend. That's not to say that the others were not good people as well. They were. They were all good people. Families, futures... Good people.”

  Cassidy nodded. “It couldn't have been a coincidence. The bombing happens just as you arrive?”

  “That has certainly crossed my mind. I don't think that I was the only target. If they wanted to do that, they could have just shot me in the street.” Jebediah became uncomfortable and looked around. “Do you have any water? I need to take some medicine. I am starting to hurt rather badly.”

  “Yeah,” Cassidy said, getting up and walking over to the wall abutting the washroom. She picked up a pitcher from a small indentation in the platform and poured some water into a glass that sat next to the pitcher. She walked it over and handed it to Jebediah who took it with his good arm.

  “There's a jar of sickly-looking oil in the cabinet behind me. Could you get it for me?”

  Cassidy walked past Jebediah and leaned down, opening the floor-level cabinet, finding three large bottles filled with a yellowish oil. “Ewwww,” Cassidy said, picking up a bottle and looking at it. “It's rather... sebaceous, isn't it.”

  “That's a good word to describe it,” Jebediah said. Cassidy smiled. “And yes. It tastes awful in ways I have a difficult time putting to words. Hence, the water. And I will undoubtedly need more of it.”

  “Uhhh, how do I serve this to you?”

  “No need. I simply take a quaff from the bottle. Could you remove the cork, though.” Cassidy obliged and pulled out the cork. She handed the bottle to Jebediah who took a swig. He held the bottle away as his face contorted into every conceivably visual representation of disgust possible of the human musculature. He made a series of quiet, urp sounds as he came close to vomiting. Cassidy took the bottle and he motioned quickly for the water. As he drank, Cassidy took a sip of the oil. Her face and upper body promptly twisted into a grotesque display of disgust.

  “Oh my god!!!” yelled Cassidy, her tongue out. “What the hell were they thinking with this?!” Cassidy motioned her hands in a panic for the water. Jebediah gave it to her and she drank it all.

  “Don't drink it all!” Jebediah yelled. Cassidy ran over to the water and poured another glass. She then drank half of it and started swishing it around in her mouth. She gave the glass to Jebediah.

  Cassidy walked over and lifted a window up, spitting the water out. “Oh Jesus! It doesn't go away!” she yelled as she scraped her tongue over her top teeth and leaned on the chair, trying to keep her bile down. “I think I'm going to vomit!”

  At this moment, Gideon walked in to the sight of Jebediah and Cassidy in a face-making competition.

  “Oh god, it hurts,” said Cassidy, holding her stomach.

  “What the hell is wrong with you two?” asked Gideon.

  “This tastes horrible!” Cassidy said, holding up the bottle. “Try it.”

  “No!” Gideon said.

  “I tried it. You have to as well,” Cassidy contested.

  “No! Just because you're an idiot doesn't mean I have to be one, too.”

  “Water, water!” Jebediah choked out.

  Cassidy poured him another glass. “Shit! That's all of it!” She handed Jebediah the glass and he started to guzzle it. “It coats your mouth!” Cassidy yelled.

  “What is this?” asked Gideon, holding the bottle up.

  Cassidy pointed her thumb at Jebediah but failed to make words. “My medicine,” said Jebediah.

  Gideon removed the cork and sniffed it. “Ugh. It smells like death.”

  “It tastes worse,” said Cassidy.

  Gideon's slightly furrowed brow indicated intense curiosity. He took a small sip and started rapidly flapping his lips and tongue up and down in some cow-like attempt to reject the fluid. “Holy shit! They expect you to drink this?!” Gideon's face went from disgust to serious concern and he stopped moving. His head lurched forward ever-so-slightly. He put the cork back in the bottle and handed it to Cassidy before, in a hurried m
otion, stepping over to the open window and sticking his head out and vomiting up the contents of his stomach.

  “Ha!” Cassidy yelled, still leaning on the chair. “We didn't puke!” She then immediately moaned and returned to her hunched position.

  The three of them stayed in their positions, moaning and groaning. “Well, I feel better,” said Cassidy. “Modern medicine. What a wonder.”

  ---

  The waxing moon hung brightly in the night sky, illuminating the sparse landscape as it trundled by. Gideon stood on the open-air walkway that ran the side of the observation car just ahead of Cassidy's private car. He was leaning on the handrail, looking wistfully into the distance, the warm glow of the gas lamps from inside the car casting a delicate light on his back. He turned as the sound of the door quietly sliding open and closed broke the quiet.

  “Hi,” he said, as Cassidy walked up next to him, leaning on the rail herself.

  “Howdy,” she said.

  “It's very beautiful out here,” he said.

  “Yes. It is,” Cassidy replied.

  “This is my first time along this route. I don't know if I mentioned that before. Every other time has been via the northern lines. I always love those trips. The expansive forests, the logging camps with all the men, the distant mountains. It's never, at least for me, it's never something that gets old. Still, already, I prefer this. There is something impressive... powerful... something almost primal about the stark, unadorned landscape down here. I don't know what. It almost seems... more... human.”

  Cassidy nodded and looked out over the landscape. “I'm curious,” she began. “Do you... like red ties?”

  Gideon turned to her with no real expression on his face. He paused in thought. “How do you mean?” he asked.

  “I mean, do you like red ties? Or do you just like Paris fashions? Because red ties are a rather special thing to like.”

  Gideon maintained his look at Cassidy who returned a look of equal flatness. “Why do you want to know about my tastes in ties?”

  “No reason, really. Well, alright, there is a reason. Because I prefer... blue... ties, and if you also preferred blue ties, then...”

  “Ahhhh,” Gideon responded, relaxed a bit. “You don't have a red tie that you're trying to pawn off on me, do you?”

  “No! Oh, no. No.” Cassidy chuckled. “I don't own any red ties. Well, I do own a red tie, but it's, it's... it's a complicated tie.”

  Gideon nodded. “Yes. They frequently are.” He looked into the sky for a moment before turning back to Cassidy. “So, even though you like blue ties, you have no problems with red ties?”

  “Oh lord, of course not. All types of ties are very nice. It takes all types of ties to... to make a wardrobe... or something.”

  They looked out into the night together. “I'm surprised that you know about red ties. I thought it was a New York peculiarity,” Gideon said.

  “Well, I do a fair amount of business with New York, so I learn of these things.”

  Gideon turned to Cassidy but didn't make eye contact. “I am... very happy that you don't have a problem with me.” He looked into her eyes.

  “With you? Why would I have a problem with you? I'm talking about ties. I don't know what you're talking about.” Gideon looked at Cassidy and smiled. She smiled back and patted him on the shoulder. “I'm going to go get some sleep.”

  Gideon nodded as Cassidy walked away, the door sliding open and then closed behind her. Gideon returned his gaze to the starry night.

  ---

  Cassidy walked into the darkened car. Jebediah continued to lay on the couch, now with a blanket over him. She looked at him briefly, his face dimly illuminated by the gas lamp near the washroom, before walking over to the table to pick up her book. As she stood there, she heard him mumbling in his sleep. She leaned in to listen better.

  “Maggie... Maggie...” he said quietly but clearly. “Ple... Please don't go. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Please don't.” He sighed and rolled over onto his back. Cassidy waited for a moment to see if he would say anything else. After a moment, she turned and climbed into her sleeping cabin.

  ---

  George and Anna walked back to their room followed by a single guard. The guard unlocked their door and let them into their room. George dropped a work bag on the floor, the sound of metal clanking inside. Anna walked over to the table to grab an apple as the guard closed the door behind him. No more than ten seconds later, the locks clicked again and Mr. Martin walked in, followed by two guards.

  “Good evening,” he said.

  “Well, this is a surprise. You said we wouldn't be meeting again.,” said George snidely.

  “Yes. Plans change, as they must.” Mr. Martin turned to face Anna. “Pack up whatever you would like to keep. You're being relocated.”

  Anna and George stared at Mr. Martin.

  “Hurry please, there is much to do.” This prompt caused both George and Anna to begin to move.

  “No. Only Anna. You two will henceforth be working separately.”

  George glanced between Mr. Martin and Anna. “Like hell we will. We stay together.”

  “I'm sorry. That's not how things need to be done.”

  “Well that's how they're going to be done.”

  “Please. Do not make this an issue.”

  “It is an issue. I didn't make it one.”

  Mr. Martin looked to the two guards. “Take her,” he said.

  George lunged at the guards who shoved him back. George produced a large wrench from his pocket and swung at the guards, connecting with one of their hands, causing the guard to recoil. After this, Anna hit the other guard with a chair, causing him to fall forward. Then, quickly, Roger Harker walked in brandishing what appeared to be some form of gun, pointed at George. George, Roger, Mr. Martin, and Anna all exchanged glances. Roger smiled then pulled the trigger, sending a probe with two wires attached to it firing out into George's abdomen. He dropped the wrench and buckled over, shaking violently.

  “George!” Anna screamed, she moved to hit Roger with the chair but was grabbed and bear-hugged by the first guard. She lifted her legs up and kicked Roger in the face, bloodying his nose. Roger dropped his electric gun, turned, and punched Anna in the face. She went momentarily limp before turning back to shake off the impact as best she could. Mr. Falkenrath grabbed Roger's arm and squeezed it. Roger's face twisted in extreme pain as the grip audibly cracked his bones. Mr. Falkenrath then pulled Roger out of the confrontation and practically tossed him out the door.

  Anna, still dazed, was carried out of the room by the guard. George lay on the ground, holding his stomach. He ripped the probes from his clothing and tossed them on the ground. He looked up at Mr. Martin.

  “Any work you were hoping that I would do, you can fucking forget about it. Fuck you.”

  Mr. Martin paused, looking at George. He then sighed and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I wish you would understand.”

  “I understand fine! You give us that speech about your ideals, but you're just thugs! Thugs out to do what thugs do best, hurt people! Fuck your mission!”

  Mr. Martin nodded. “I'm sorry. Your sister's well being is predicated on your work. As long as you work, she will be fine. If you do not work, she will be harmed. I recommend that you do your work.”

  George stared back at Mr. Martin who did not make eye contact. He nodded slightly again before turning and walking out of the room.

  George lay on the ground for a moment before uneasily getting to his feet. He tried to open the door but found it locked. He then picked up one of the dining chairs and smashed it against the door, screaming! One of the legs on the chair broke and it flew across the room. George, dropped the chair, stepped back, and collapsed to the floor. There he sat, and sat, and sat.

  5

  Cassidy stood in the washroom, her wet hair behind her head and down her back. Her breasts and abdomen were covered in small scratches and scabs. She brushed her teeth in an animated fashion,
practically jackhammering the plaque out of her mouth. After finishing, she swished the slurry of saliva, water, and tooth powder in her mouth then spit it out. She rose, giving a gigantic, toothy smile into the mirror to judge her state. She leaned both hands on the sink as she stared at herself in the mirror. She let out a quiet, sad sigh, and began putting her shirt on.

  Outside, Gideon and Jebediah sat by a rolling breakfast cart. Jebediah was on the couch and Gideon was on a wooden, folding chair.

  “Wash room's all yours,” said Cassidy, still drying her hair with a towel.

  “Thank you,” said Jebediah.

  “Will you need any help?” asked Gideon.

  “No, no,” said Jebediah, sipping some water. “I was taught how to correctly wash myself, and as long as I keep that sick syrup coursing through my body, the aches and pains are kept at bay. I should be fine.” Jebediah took a bite of toast and made to stand up. A grimace indicated significant pain and he sat back down. “Actually, Atwater, you can feel free to bathe next. My medicine has not yet had a chance to achieve its full effect.”

  “Are you sure?” asked Gideon.

  “Oh yes. This couch is where I want to be for the time being.”

  Gideon finished chewing and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Alright. I will be quick,” he said, rising.

  “Please. No hurry. It is quite unnecessary,” replied Jebediah as Gideon got up and walked past Cassidy who stood aside while using the towel to organize her hair behind her.

  “More towels are in the cupboard!” she yelled in after he closed the sliding door.

  “Thanks!” he yelled from inside.

  Cassidy sat down where Gideon had been sitting, the towel over her shoulders and around the back of her head. “Anything good left?”

  “Plenty. The porter came in with a refresher,” said Jebediah. Cassidy lifted up a metal tray, revealing sausages.

  “Oooh!” she said happily, grabbing a sausage with her fork and dipping it maple syrup. “I'm curious,” she began. “I meant to ask this some time ago, and I've safely made some assumptions, but here I go now regardless. Why is the State Department involved with this? Shouldn't it be the Marshals or some such other department?”