Indefinite Renewal Page 5

  “Yes.” The word forced its way from weary lips, escaping between slow, even breaths.

  “Good. Now, Nick, we’re going to go back to that day last Thursday, when you first met Daniel. Are you ready?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. You will see and hear everything clearly, but there will be no emotional impact—you will be distant, as if you were viewing the events through a window. Any time you want to you can wake up—you will feel refreshed, as if you had a full night’s sleep, and you will remember everything you have seen and heard. Now, can you see Daniel?”

  The image floated into his mind, then solidified, and once again Nick was back in that room, sitting on that fancy couch as Daniel’s features hovered in the dark before him. He saw again the sharp cheekbones, the silvery hair and neat black beard, the hawk-like features and glittering eyes, only now it was without the fear and confusion that had gripped him so thoroughly that night.

  “Yes, I see him,” he admitted to Barb. “He’s sitting across from me, in the dark. He’s speaking to me. Now he’s getting up, going to the window . . .”

  Once again he saw Daniel pull back the heavy curtains and reveal the view beyond the window. And there it was, the lake, the high-rise apartment buildings glittering in the morning light—glittering because they directly faced the window. There were no other buildings between those spires, out on a spur that projected into the lake itself, and the window, and he could just make out a lamppost in the windowpane’s bottom right corner. That was all there was to see, but Nick thought it might be just enough.

  A part of him didn’t want to wake up yet—he wanted to lie there on the comfortable couch and relax and talk to Barb and answer her questions—but another part of him was eager to test his newly recovered knowledge and it was that part that won out, forcing his eyes open. Immediately all traces of the hypnotic trance vanished, and as he swung his legs over the edge of the couch he yawned, feeling refreshed and energized and eager.

  “What . . . what are you doing, Nick?” Barb sounded concerned, and he flashed her a smile to reassure her.

  “Sorry, Barb, but I have to go.” He couldn’t resist needling her just a little as he rose to his feet. “You’ve done a great job—in fact, I think I’m cured. I really appreciate it,” he headed for the door, “and I’ll recommend you to all my friends. Promise.” And he was gone again, racing down the stairs and toward the L, the image from that window still fresh and clear in his mind.

  Chapter Nine

  There were several blocks that directly faced the high-rises, of course, and all three of them had lampposts stationed regularly along their edges, but that was fine. Nick bought a paper and picked a lamppost near the corner of the first block, then leaned against the sun-warmed metal as he leafed through the sports section and occasionally glanced up at the crowd. After an hour or so he had finished the paper, so he tossed it away and headed home again. He went back the next day after his classes, bought another paper, and moved down to the second lamppost.

  It took five days before he caught sight of Daniel.

  He almost missed the man, having become interested despite himself in an article about the new space shuttle, but then silvery hair flickered at the corner of his eye. As soon as he turned and saw the other man Nick wadded up the paper, tossed it in the nearby trash basket, and headed after him. He kept a reasonable distance between them, letting several people filter in and out of that gap but always keeping Daniel in sight as the older man walked calmly down the block to a grand old brownstone wedged in by elegant restaurants and small businesses, exclusive doctor’s offices and tasteful hotels.

  Daniel headed up the steps and through the heavy wooden doors, which were held by a doorman wearing a full red-and-gold uniform despite the mid-day heat. Nick slowed to a stop as he approached the front. A polished brass plaque off to the left caught his eye, and he stepped close enough to read the letters engraved there.

  The Renewal Society.

  What was a Renewal Society, Nick wondered, nodding politely at the doorman studying him and then walking casually back toward the L stop—but not before he had fixed the location of the place in his head. It looked like a club of some sort, which would fit with the room he remembered, but what did it do and why had Daniel brought him here that night?

  Old horror stories of depraved, wealthy men who took their pleasures from younger men drifted across his head but he pushed them aside—other than being a bit theatrical, Daniel had not made any threatening moves, and if that was the sort of thing he was after . . . well, he had apparently been unconscious for some time.

  No, there was something else going on, and the answers lay behind that door. Unfortunately, the doorman was not some little old wizened figure but a large, capable-looking man who was clearly there to make sure that only members and their guests entered. Nick didn’t think he was on the guest list.

  He spent the next two days trying to come up with some sort of plan that would get him past the gorilla in red-and-gold and through those doors. Force certainly wouldn’t work, and bribery was out as well—even if the doorman’s pay was low enough to make him consider that option, Nick lived on a teaching assistant’s salary, and he doubted twenty dollars would do much to the doorman’s attitude. That left trickery, and he had never been a terribly devious individual. But he was learning. He spent part of that night at his computer, and then at an all-night copy place, making sure everything looked the way he wanted.

  The following Monday, Nick shaved, put on his best tweed jacket and tie, scooped a handful of genetics texts into a battered briefcase he borrowed from Gordo, and headed back to the club. The same doorman was there, and Nick strode directly toward him, glancing occasionally at his watch and mumbling to himself.

  “Can I help you, sir?” The doorman stepped forward, placing himself between Nick and the door, arms folded across an impressive chest.

  “I hope so,” Nick replied, adjusting his glasses and letting his voice convey the same tone of disinterest and superiority he had heard from Carmichael so many times. “Where exactly is the Pine Room?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “The Pine Room, man—I’m late as it is!” Nick pulled a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and thrust it in the other man’s face. The copy center had done an excellent job, and the muted parchment paper with its gold embossing at top looked exactly like the stationary an expensive club might use—the words Renewal Club matched well with the plaque nearby, and Nick had deliberately left the address off.

  “Right here,” he added, pointing down to where the letter invited Professor Nicholas Gordon to speak to various club members about genetics at 10am in the Pine Room. The last line added that “punctuality would be greatly appreciated.”

  “I wasn’t informed of anything . . .” the doorman began, but Nick interrupted by snatching back the paper and raising his watch instead.

  “Well, perhaps they forgot to mention it, I don’t know. What I do know is that it is already two minutes past ten,”—he had timed his arrival very carefully indeed!—“and therefore I am already late, despite specific warnings to be punctual!” Adjusting his glasses, Nick thrust the paper back into his pocket and stepped toward the doors.

  “Never mind—I’ll find the Pine Room myself!”

  For an instant Nick thought the other man might stop him after all, but he pulled the door open and stepped quickly through it, striding purposefully across the entranceway and down the main hall that opened before him. After a moment he realized that there weren’t any sounds of pursuit, and slowed accordingly.

  The inside of the building was as grand as the outside, from the marble floor to the high ceiling with its ponderous chandeliers to the tasteful vases and bowls that decorated low tables along the walls. A wide marble staircase swept up before him, circling around and up to the second floor, and paintings hung all about, dark oils that matched the rich wood of the walls. The whole place cast a heavy sense
of calm and peace, as if a blanket covered the place and stifled violence and haste. Doors along the way opened onto other rooms, rooms with chairs and sofas and fireplaces and walls of books, and in some of those places people glanced up at him, but Nick kept moving toward the stairs, certain that the room he remembered had been on the second floor.

  He had almost reached the stairs when Daniel stepped out of a nearby doorway and walked calmly toward him.

  “Nick, what a pleasant surprise!” He didn’t sound or look surprised, only calm and in control, as he had before. “I’m so glad you’ve come to visit us!”

  “All right, I’m here,” Nick replied, refusing to be disarmed by the other man’s casual attitude. “Now I want some answers.”

  “Very well, ask away.”

  This seemed too easy, but Nick was too caught up to let that stop him. “Fine. First of all, what is this place?”

  “This?” Daniel swept his arms wide to indicate the hall in which they stood. “This is the Renewal Society—a gentlemen’s club, although we do have some women members. We have been here since 1801, and are one of the last—most gentlemen’s clubs have long since closed down but we continue to flourish, and occasionally to admit new members.” Daniel leaned forward. “You, Nick, are one of them.”

  “Me?” This was too much, especially after he’d had so much difficulty trying to find this place again and then trying to get in. “That’s bullshit! If I was, why didn’t you just invite me over or something?”

  “We did.” Daniel’s lips curled upward in an evil little smile. “Don’t you remember? Only, halfway through the orientation process you attacked me, and I had to knock you out.” The scene came back to Nick with disturbing clarity, and he scowled at the suave man before him.

  “So why not try again later?”

  “Because we had to be sure you were good enough,” came the ready reply. “After that first . . . incident, we thought it best to simply leave you alone and watch, to find out whether you were interested enough to pursue us and talented enough to find us.” The smile was less mocking now. “You were and are, and now you’re here.” He gestured toward the wide staircase. “Shall we?”

  Still confused, Nick let himself be led up the stairs and down a long hall, past several closed doors to one at the end of the hall. Daniel opened the door and ushered him inside, into the same sumptuous room Nick remembered from that nightmarish night when his life had shattered into a thousand pieces.

  “My quarters,” Daniel explained. “I thought we might speak more privately here.” He seated himself in the same armchair Nick had first seen him in, and motioned Nick to the couch. “Now then, shall we introduce ourselves? Or, rather, shall I introduce myself, since I already know a great deal about you?”

  “What do you mean?” Nick refused to let himself sink back against the soft cushions, instead holding himself erect to echo the stiffness and caution that were churning his mind. Daniel hadn’t made any threatening moves, and there was something oddly familiar about him, but Nick still didn’t trust the man, especially with so many odd thoughts flickering across his consciousness.

  “Nicholas Anthony Gordon, age twenty-five,” Daniel recited, dark eyes locked on Nick, “eyes blue, hair black, height six foot one, weight two hundred and ten pounds.” He chuckled at Nick’s surprise. “I have a very good memory, Nick. May I call you Nick? And you must call me Daniel, of course.” He leaned back in his chair. “You are a graduate student in Biology, correct?”

  “Yeah—genetics. Ph.D. track.”

  “Of course. But the thing I find most interesting is the picture you have in there.” A hand indicated the pocket holding Nick’s worn leather wallet. “You and an older woman with light brown hair—your mother?”

  “Yeah.” Nick felt his face flush, and wondered what gave this guy the right to look through his things like that, and to ask such personal questions. And why was he answering them, instead of just walking out and heading home to figure out what had happened on his own? But this man knew what was going on, who he was and what had happened to him, and the scientist in Nick insisted that he learn as much as he could so he could put the pieces together later. So he forced himself to overcome his distaste for Daniel’s breezy arrogance and stayed where he was, waiting for the older man to continue.

  “And what of your father? Where is he in the picture?”

  “I never knew my dad,” Nick replied, a little calmer now—this was a story he had repeated many times, and it no longer bothered him much. “He was some guy my mom met on the town one night. He disappeared right after she told him she was pregnant, and we never heard from him again—she later found out that he’d given her a false name.”

  “Yes.” Daniel stroked his beard softly, eyes focused elsewhere, then returned to the present. “That explains a great deal, you see. You are obviously one of us.”

  “One of who?”

  “One of the Renewed, of course, by right of blood—your father must have been one of us as well, and passed on the genes.”

  “What are you talking about—is this some sort of family club, like the House of Lords or something?”

  “Yes, in a way it is, but that is not important.” Daniel leaned forward again, and his eyes lit up like small coals. “What is important, Nick, is what happened to you in that stairwell, and what it means.”

  “The stairwell?” Nick was on his feet in an instant. “What do you know about that? How do you know about it? What the hell is going on here?”

  Chapter Ten

  “Sit down, Nick.” Daniel rose from his chair with the grace of a panther, incredibly lithe for such a big man, and placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder but didn’t push or squeeze. Just rested it there. “Please. I’ll try to explain.”

  Nick hesitated for a second, torn between the need for answers and the fear of what he might find. Finally he sank back onto the couch and waited for Daniel to resettle in his chair.

  “All right, so talk.”

  The older man leaned back. “First of all, Nick, let me ask you a question: how old do you think I am?”

  Nick frowned. “What? What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Trust me for a moment. Just answer the question, please. How old?”

  Nick shrugged, then sighed and studied his host. Daniel’s hair was silvery but full, his face weathered but still robust and healthy, his hands large and capable-looking. The eyes were bright, cheeks unlined, and his teeth gleamed behind his dark beard.

  “I don’t know—probably late thirties, early forties. You’d look younger without the beard, more like early thirties.”

  That elicited a laugh, deep and throaty. “Yes, I suppose I would, but I’ve had this beard for a long time.” Daniel stroked his chin thoughtfully, brows narrowing, smile fading slowly. “Longer than you’ve been alive, in fact.”

  “What?” Nick stared again, then shook his head. “You’ve had the beard since you were in college?”

  “Oh, I was well past college age when I grew it.” Daniel leaned forward again and placed both of his hands palm-down on the table. “I am over a thousand years old, Nick—I was born in 823 A. D. in the south of Gaul, near what is now known as the French Riviera.” His gaze followed the younger man upward as Nick leaped angrily to his feet.

  “This is nuts! You’re nuts! I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing here, but I don’t want any part of it!” Nick turned toward the door but halted as Daniel’s voice drifted after him, as languid as a soft breeze.

  “Nick, please sit back down. I know this seems strange, but it is true, and it is important.”

  Nick actually hesitated for a second, swayed by that voice, its sense of calm authority, of underlying power. Then he shook his head.

  “No way. You can sit here and dream about being older than God if you like, but you’re crazy and I’m out of here.” He turned away again, and actually moved one foot forward before the voice froze him in his tracks.

  “Sit
down!” The power coiled in it was now unveiled, sharp and almost painful to the ears; the air all but sizzled as the words cut through it, and they hit Nick like sharp barbs, sinking painfully into his head. The pressure continued for another minute, then lessened, and Nick bolted for the door. He had covered half the distance when a gray-and-black blur slid in front of him, limbs moving in windmill fashion, and he found himself lying on the floor, the air knocked out of him. Nick lay still for a heartbeat, sucking in air, then twisted his back and flipped back to his feet, cartwheeling out of the way of a second attack. Then he froze again, feet locked in place, like a deer in the headlights—not because of Daniel’s voice this time but his own, and the things it was saying to him.

  “How the hell did I just do that?” He stared at Daniel, standing causally a few paces away, and the fear in his voice scared him even more. “I just did a cartwheel!”

  “Yes, you did—and very well, too.”

  “I don’t know how to do a cartwheel!” Nick paused as one part of his head relayed information to another. “Wait a second, yes I do. I know exactly how to do a cartwheel, and a whole bunch of other acrobatics. But how? I’ve never taken gymnastics, and I’m terrible at sports—I’ve got no coordination!”

  “You do now,” Daniel informed him quietly, placing a hand on Nick’s shoulder again and leading him back to the sofa. “It’s the girl, you see.”

  “The girl?” Nick’s mind flashed back to the previous night, and his eyes bulged as he made the connection. “Oh my God—Amy!”

  “Yes, Amy,” Daniel sat down next to him, hand still resting on his shoulder, a gentle restraint. “Was she by any chance a cheerleader?”

  Nick buried his face in his hands, but managed to nod. “Varsity squad for the high school basketball team two years in a row.”