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

by A. H. Rousseau

  The supervisor sighed in frustration. “Savvy means do you understand?”

  “Oh, yes. Yes.”

  “Good. We've got a few hours ahead of us to teach you basics. Tie down any loose clothing. We've already had one moron lose a finger in this machine and cleaning it out ate up an entire day. If you get injured, it's on you. Now,” the supervisor said, pointing to a toolbox on the floor near an open locker room area. “Grab those tools and keep up. You're learning as you go.”

  ---

  Even Jebediah's eyes were beginning to droop as the night wore on. They slowly rounded the bend of an island when his eyes widened. Ahead, visible in the fog hanging low over the water, was a small island with flows of glowing water converging on it from all directions. The shorelines glowed intensely as the energy seemed to flow directly in the dirt. In the middle of the small, dome-shaped island, was a small hut, surrounded by a few trees, with a dim, orange light emanating from a single window. Wisps of fog floated around the hut. Jebediah reached behind and patted Cassidy on the head. “Cassidy,” he said quietly. “Cassidy, wake up.” Cassidy's head slowly lifted, her eyes still tired. She lifted her body up to see past Jebediah and her face awoken.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I don't know,” replied Jebediah. Cassidy reached over and slapped Gideon on the shoulder.

  “Gideon, get up,” she said.

  Gideon stiffly lurched up, pushing his body up with his hands and cracking his back into place. “Ugh. Jesus, it feels like I've been—” he stopped, looking ahead at the same thing as Cassidy and Jebediah. “Oh,” he said.

  “As if this couldn't get any scarier,” said Cassidy. “May as well be the beginning of some cheap, horror dime novel.”

  “This seems more promising than our last stop, though,” said Gideon.

  “No,” replied Cassidy, frustrated. “George and Anna still aren't here. It's just another step in this freakish, neverending adventure.”

  “So what do we do?” Gideon asked.

  “We go in,” replied Cassidy. “Jebediah, that lever there activates the tracks. When you hit land, push it.” The amphibious vehicle rumbled up out of the water, and with a thunk started to drive forward on the ground. They drove a short distance from the water and stepped down onto the ground. Veins of coruscating energy, flickering blues and purples, flowed from the water up through the ground toward the hut. Wisps of fog rolled lazily over the island as the sound of slow, trembling notes from a violin carried out through the still air. The trio walked toward the house. As they got within twenty feet, the music suddenly stopped, as did they. They paused, waiting, listening. Apprehensive, they slowly recommenced walking. As they approached the simple, wooden door, light beaming out through cracks in the planks, a gravelly, aged voice came out.

  “Come in,” the voice said. “I've been waiting for you.”

  The three all looked at each other with obvious terror in their eyes before slowly opening the door. Inside the simple hut was a large pot and fire, with some stew bubbling away, surrounded by five crates. Along the walls were battered, wooden shelves and cabinets. The far area of the hut was shrouded entirely in darkness, the light from the fire blocked by a low counter with the remnants of cut vegetables and meat on it. Sitting on a table near the door was a large lantern. Standing by the fire, hunched over, holding his violin was a man so ancient that the dirt beneath him looked young. The light from the fire exaggerated the wrinkles on his face into absolute chasms between bodies of flesh. He stood there, smiling with brown, crooked teeth, his eyes completely hidden in darkness.

  “Welcome,” he said.

  The trio nodded. “Thank you,” Cassidy said.

  “I was expecting you much sooner than this. What took you?”

  Cassidy stared at him, unsure of what to say. “We, uhh... we went the wrong way,” she finally said.

  “I should say so,” the man replied. “Better late than never, though, I suppose. Please,” he said with his hand extended to some crates on the floor. “Have a seat.”

  Hesitant, the three sat down on the crates around the fire. Gideon yawned. “Tired, eh?” asked the man. “I'm not surprised. It's less than two hours before sunrise. Here,” he said, reaching down and pulling up a ladle from his bubbling pot. “Eat some of this. It'll help wake you up.”

  “Magical food, I assume?” asked Cassidy.

  “No,” replied the old man. “Gumbo. But it has one hell of a kick to it.” Everyone nodded in appreciate and started eating their gumbo with each making their own, unique facial expression.

  “Uhh, yeah,” said Cassidy. “Kick.”

  “Damn right. There are few things in this world at which I am good, but gumbo is one of them. Now, down to business. So you want to find the fountain?”

  “No,” replied Cassidy, shaking her head.

  “No?” asked the man, puzzled.

  “I didn't even know the fountain existed until yesterday. I came here searching for my friends who were taken from me in California.”

  “Ahhh,” said the old man, nodding in the fiery shadows, stirring his gumbo. “And you were told that if you find the fountain, you will find them?” Cassidy nodded. “That is true. But they are not here.” Cassidy snorted in frustration and rolled her eyes. “But then again, neither is the fountain.”

  “I didn't come here to play games with creepy old men,” said Cassidy. “Your friend back in New Orleans sent me out with poor instructions, I wander into a camp of people looking for the fountain and nearly get killed by another group of people trying to find the fountain. And all you can do is smile your creepy smile and talk cryptically. Fuck you.”

  “Cassidy,” Jebediah said under his breath, disapprovingly.

  “No, do not worry. I can appreciate her frustration,” said the old man. “I truly wish I had more to tell you, but even if I did, I wouldn't have the time.”

  “What's your angle in all of this, anyhow?” asked Cassidy. “The old bastard back in New Orleans talked apocalyptically and never articulated what he was worried about. And now I have you, gearing up to do the same thing.”

  The old man stared back at Cassidy, burrowing into her eyes as he massaged his chin. “You're not the slightest bit curious?”

  “About what?” asked Cassidy.

  “The fountain. You're not taken aback, even slightly, by the fact that the fountain of youth actually exists? Freedom from the one thing that haunts us all from the moment we enter the world: this does not interest any of you? You may not have known about the fountain when you came here, but now you do. That has to have changed your plans.” the old man asked.

  “I don't have time for this,” said Cassidy.

  “We have little time, but we have a little,” replied the old man. “Please. Humor me.” Cassidy didn't respond, she just stared back suspiciously, so the man turned to Jebediah. “How about you?”

  Jebediah shook his head. “No.”

  “No?” asked the old man.

  “No,” answered Jebediah again. “The prospect of limitless life seems more a curse than a blessing to me. I wish to play my part in this story and then take my well-deserved rest.”

  “But you are a man of vision. A man of character. I can see it in you. What great things you could achieve if you lived forever.”

  Jebediah looked back, his face painted with stark, orange firelight. “Whatever I could do, whatever I should do, will be done by those with more character and vision than I could hope to have. My mere persistence would damage hopes of seeing my desires done.”

  The old man turned to Gideon. “And how about you, young man?”

  Gideon looked back, wide-eyed and nervous. “No,” he said tersely.

  “Why not?” asked the old man.

  “Because it's scary. I... just going on, and on, and on? I feel... I feel as though life needs to have an end to have meaning. If we all lived forever, it's as though that would eliminate any reason to live.”

  “Are you nihil
istic?” asked the old man.

  “No,” replied Gideon. “Of course not. But I just... I don't... There seems to me to be a risk of everything being meaningless without a beginning and an end. Every story needs a beginning and an end, and I want to live in a story. I don't want to just... be.”

  “And don't you think that there are things you could do if just given enough time?”

  Gideon thought for a moment. “No. I don't think so. I think that assuming I could do anything of importance at all is arrogant. I'm just... I'm just trying. I want to be good.”

  The old man then turned slowly to Cassidy, who was gazing at him. The two stared for a moment, each trying to discern the other. “I just want to find my friends,” she finally said.

  “Youth. Strength. Beauty. You must want these things.”

  “Old man, I couldn't care less about youth and beauty.”

  “You're wearing makeup.”

  “What?”

  “You're wearing makeup.” Cassidy didn't respond. “So, you must obviously care about beauty.”

  “When did you put on make up?” Gideon whispered.

  “Shut up,” replied Cassidy. Gideon held his hand up a bit and retreated. “No. Others care about beauty. I care about it insofar as it is a tool. I need to be attractive to get some things done.”

  “That's certainly true. Our society very much values the beauty of the feminine form. But I know you. You revel in going against the current of society's river, standing strong against its fearsome flow, as it tries so hard to rip you apart... and yet, here you are, with paint upon your face.”

  “I don't need to defend myself here. It's normal to wear make-up. Everyone does it.”

  “You're right. But everyone doesn't lie about it. You did. Meaning you had a reason for lying. That is what I find interesting. Why would you not want people to know that you cared about your beauty. You are a beautiful woman. It makes sense to reveal that.”

  “Look, I don't want to get into my reasons for wearing makeup or anything. I want my friends. The fountain of youth could be dry as a bone. I don't care. I want my friends.”

  “And maybe bring the fountain to them?” asked the old man.

  Cassidy stopped, her face betraying her contemplation. “Like I said, I just want to find them and bring them home.”

  The old man looked at Cassidy, nodding ever so slightly, his lips pursed. “Curious.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing. I just find it curious. So many people have sought the fountain, not for themselves, but for someone else. A bit selfish, I think.”

  “How is wanting to help other people selfish?”

  “You're not helping them. You're helping yourself. Giving someone else eternal life, so you can die happy, knowing that the world will remain consistent. Taking away someone's pain? That would be helping. But simply preventing their non-existence does nothing for them, because after they cease to exist, there is no them. To give someone eternal life is a gift to yourself.”

  “So the fountain is an awful, horrible thing that must never be used. Got it. Good to know.”

  “No. The fountain simply is what it is. The mystery is the person who walks up to it. And what simple mysteries most of us are.”

  “So why talk to us as though it were insidious?” asked Gideon.

  “To try to give you the wisdom of a lifetime over a single bowl of gumbo.” The old man sighed sadly. “I wish there were more time. So much time, and I have none.” The trio looked at the old man curiously. “For decades, I knew this time would come.”

  “What are you talking about?” demanded Cassidy.

  “You are not the only ones to come looking for the fountain as you have already experienced. The others in the Bayou are two of many groups. Some of them have found me, somehow managing to find their way here, to the site of the original fountain.”

  “So... multiple fountains?” asked Gideon.

  “Yes,” replied the old man, getting up. “I have sat here for centuries as the guardian of this fountain, the last of dozens that dotted the ancient bayou.” The old man pushed aside the table that had obscured the rear of the hut, allowing the lamp and fire light to fall upon a small mound of dirt, intertwined with a small, twisting, dead tree at the top. “It ran dry many, many years ago, and thank God it did so before so many came for it. The first was during the revolution. A small battle, secret and forgotten, took place out there in the water and trees. British and colonialists, both led by their respective teams of Indians, clashed in their quest for the ultimate weapon: an immortal army. None of them were equipped for the fight and most of them died in the fighting. I made sure that the Bayou took the rest.”

  “Why are you telling us this?”

  “Because the story needs to be known. My time in this world grows short and there is much to do. You must do it. It is one of life's true cruelties that strength and wisdom are such star-crossed virtues. I came to this place strong and foolhardy. Arrogant and selfish. Only after being brought low, did I realize... Among the others to come here was a man, twenty-five years ago. He had, like you, touched the waters of the fountain. He was linked to it in a way that I had never felt. But he lacked any ability to see. He was blind to all that matters. I could see, though. I saw a man of terrible vision, who will use the fountain as it was never meant to be used. And now the fountain calls to me. It calls for a champion. And I call for someone to wash away my sin.”

  “Your sin?” asked Gideon.

  The old man's eyes fell to the ground as he again sat on a crate. “About thirty years ago, I helped a man in his quest — a man whose writings you currently have your bag.” The trio all looked at one another before looking back to the old man, who sat, slumped in sorrow. “Your friend who made that journal came to me many years ago. I saw into him. He was a good man. A man who wanted nothing more than knowledge. I helped him because... he sought answers, answers to questions that I also had. And like Adam and Eve, I made a terrible mistake for the sake of knowledge. It was not long after that that I heard the fountain first cry out.”

  “Where is the fountain?” asked Cassidy.

  “I don't know,” replied the old man. “But you do.”

  “What?” asked Cassidy.

  “You have the map. All you needed, was the key.” The old man held his hand out. The three looked puzzled before Cassidy reached into her bag and pulled out Professor Capshaw's journal, handing it to the old man.

  “It's just gibberish,” said Cassidy.

  “That is because that is not what you were meant to read,” replied the old man, opening the journal and wiping his hand over a page. Behind the nonsensical scribbles emerged glowing text and images, all in plain English. The eyes of the three widened as the faint blue glow washed across their faces. The old man handed the book back to them. Cassidy took it delicately and began to turn the pages. After a few minutes of inspection, she looked up at Jebediah and Gideon.

  “You aren't going to believe where we are going,” she said. “We're going back to Houston.”

  “If you know where to go, then you should go now,” said the old man. “Time is short and it grows shorter.”

  “We can't go back to New Orleans,” said Gideon. “We have to assume that they have eyes out for us by this point.” Cassidy and Jebediah nodded.

  “Here,” said the old man, opening a cabinet and removing a large, folded piece of paper. “Take this. It's a map of the area. Head northwest. There are fishing villages that should be able to take you to Houma. There is a train station there. If you hurry, you should be able to make it by midday.”

  “You still haven't really explained anything to us,” Cassidy said.

  “I haven't, because I either do not have an explanation, or the explanation would make no sense. Now, please, I beg of you, go.”

  The three hesitated for a moment before getting up to leave. “And if you should meet a tan-skinned man of grave and imposing countenance, do not unde
restimate him. He is not evil, but he is more dangerous than every tyrant who has ever scorched the Earth. He is to be feared.”

  Cassidy stared back with a flat expression, paused in thought, then nodded and walked back out through the rickety door.

  ---

  Anna walked over to the work station, glowing and bubbling, with a single man working. “Hi,” Anna said. The man looked up, lifting his goggles from his eyes revealing kind, youthful eyes. “I, uh... I saw you by the station when the man was shot.” Anna paused, nervous and uncomfortable. “Did you know him?”

  The man breathed deeply as he leaned on the table. “Yes. We came here together,” the man said in a melancholy tone.

  “What was his name?” asked Anna.

  “Hiram,” replied the man. “His name was Hiram.”

  Anna stood there silently. She nodded as she stared at the floor.

  “It's not your fault,” said the man.

  “Yes it is,” replied Anna. “I'm the one who saw the discrepancies. I'm the one who told Hoffman. I'm the one...”

  “No. I knew what he had been doing. A couple of us did. He was pushing his luck. It was... it was his fault. Progress was being made independent of him. His meddling did little but put himself in danger.”

  Anna's guilt was not assuaged. She stood there silently, a look of powerful sadness on her face. “What's your name?” she asked.

  “Silas,” the man replied. “Silas Hudson, at your service, Miss Brown.” Anna smiled. “We mostly knew what we were getting ourselves into, coming here. A few of us lost our faith as the developments came fast and furious. They had the good sense to take their money and leave... or just shut up. Hiram was a man of principles,” Silas said, chuckling. “Principles... He clashed with Hoffman on a number of occasions. That's why he knew to come straight to Hiram when things didn't add up.”

  The two were silent for a time as they stood in somber contemplation. “How many others?” asked Anna.

  Silas rubbed his hand on the table slowly, his eyes following the motion of his hand. “Two,” he finally said. “The first one was years ago. It was right after our first volunteer had died a rather horrible death. Gregory insisted that we stop. He said that we couldn't continue after this. They got heated and Hoffman just shot him... right in the chest. Gregory didn't fall immediately. Instead, the two just stared at each. They both seemed shocked by what had happened.” Silas took a sip of water from a metal canteen. “The second one was only a couple of years ago. Hoffman was much colder with that. His... cruelty... yes, I think cruelty is a good way of describing it... his cruelty was what sent Hiram on his path. I suspect that he knew it would come to this at some point.”