For Immortality

It's the middle of the afternoon when your car breaks down, you don't know what's wrong and when you pop the hood all you see is smoke. You curse under your breath and kick the left front tire, then you curse aloud as you hop on one foot, cradling the other throbbing foot in your hands. You scan your surroundings, a line of neat little houses stretches on for what seems to be forever. You try turning on your cellphone, it's dead. You internally groan, today the fates seem to be against you. The blue house you've broken down in front of looks invitingly cool as the sun blazes on. You sigh a long breath, take one last look at the hunk of junk you called your car, and tentatively walk up to the door. You knock once. You hear the shuffle of slippered feet, a short old man opens the door. He stares at you, not unkindly, as you explain your predicament. He smiles sweetly, teeth slightly yellowed with age, and opens his door to you even wider. "Of course you can use the phone. Come in, come in. Would you like some lemonade? It looks like a hot one today. The kitchen is this way." His voice is soft and gentle, as wispy as his fine, white hair. He rambles on as you both make your through his home. He seems pleased to have a visitor, and his friendliness eased some of your earlier frustration. You see multiple diplomas in the medical sciences and he notices you admiring them. "Ah yes, you've found my humble collection. I used to be a doctor, you know." He glances at you through his glasses, you make a hum of interest. Satisfied, he continues. "The human body is as incredible as the human spirit, they both fascinate me so. I was reaching a breakthrough of finding the pinnacle of human endurance and keeping it when, well, I had to stop." He looks down at his shaking hands, you feel sorry for the poor man hindered by the inevitability of time. He shakes his head regretfully and leads you to his kitchen. It's snug, but cozy. It's light yellow walls relaxing and serene. He keeps talking to you as he rummages around his fridge, mostly about the weather, and smiles victoriously when he finds his prize. Your practically salivating as he pours the ice cold lemonade into a glass. He calls a tow truck as you drink the best glass of lemonade you've ever had. It's crisp, sweet, with just the perfect amount of tartness, and you feel happily content.

It's been a couple minutes of small talk and you desperately need to use the restroom. He points you down a hall, and you try not to run. Once you've relieved yourself, you wander back at a much slower pace. All the doors in the hallway are closed, and though your curiosity nearly wins, you manage to resist opening even one. When you reach the kitchen, the man isn't there. You sit down at the table, the smooth white top of it cool to the touch, and you wait. And wait. And then when you tire of waiting, you go back to the hallway. The doors practically beg to be opened, and you comply. Towels are behind one door, a small and tidy room behind another, boxes and knick knacks behind the third, and the very last door opens to stairs. A draft comes upwards, you wonder if there's a door open down there. You take a step, and then another, curiosity flooding your veins, drowning out the pounding of nervous blood. You reach the last step, your hand fumbles against the wall for a light switch. Light's on. You let go of the breath you hadn't known you were holding. It's just a basement. A plain, ordinary basement, with a brown leather couch in one corner, a TV in front of it. There is indeed a door open, you go over to close it, expecting a garage. Except it's not. It's a freezer, filled with people. Five of them, and what you see of them fills you with horror. Many of them with fingernails missing, one of them has an eye dangling from its socket, still attached. A dead man's mouth is open, and where there should be teeth, there's only crusted blood. You clap a hand to your mouth and nose, there's no stench, but you might puke anyway. A woman's arm is bent in no natural angle you've ever seen, bone peaking through pale skin. You pale too, barely breathing, though you're sucking on air like it's going out. Burnt flesh mars the face of another, no body is unscathed. You close your eyes and will the horrors away. You open them again, the dead stare back at you, eyes open, never seeing. You think somewhere in the back of your head that a scream would be appropriate. "Oh dear, you've found my other collection." You whirl around, and there he is, such disappointment in his gaze, a gray handkerchief clutched tightly in his fist. "And I was just beginning to like you." He steps forward. You scream.

You're strapped to a metal chair when you come to, a cushion underneath you, silver handcuffs around your wrist. The man is close to you, muttering to himself. You jerk away from him but hiss in pain, he's got a needle in you. A blue liquid is being injected to your veins, it's cold and a stiffness starts to spread. "This is a serum I made myself." He tells you proudly, completely ignoring your shocked and disgusted glare. "It keeps you still and silent, but your brain will remain so beautifully active." Every cell in your body screams in protest as you try to move, you don't succeed. "It's quick-acting," he says, "so I can move on to the good stuff right away. It also enhances your endurance for pain, fear, and stress. Aren't you lucky?" He looks at you this time, you try to convey the look of the utmost contempt, he merely shakes his head patiently. "I need you, the world needs you. I'm so close to my breakthrough, soon I'll discover the perfect serum for endurance." His eyes grow more and more shiny behind his glasses as he gets excited, manic. "For immortality. I'm so close." He whispers, hands lightly touching your face. You want to pull away, but you can't. "You can help save mankind forever, and I will make sure your sacrifice is well worth it." The softness of his voice is no longer comforting, but threatening, though he hasn't changed his tone a bit. He scowls slightly at the disbelief in your eyes. "It's almost there, I know it is! You'll see, well, maybe you won't." He giggles, a high pitched, squeaky sound, and it sets your nerves on edge. "Your car was towed, I said you were picked up by a friend." He hums a bit as he turns around to a metal table, you don't want to know what the things he's caressing can do. "You shouldn't have been so curious." He scolds, like a father to his child. "I was always going to let you go. But I suppose this is even better, you get to help further the cause." He sees your fear, and walks to your side. His slow shuffle reminds you of when you were young, and your grandpa would dance with your sister, her laughter joining with the sound of slippered feet against the tiles. Something slips down your face, irritating your oh so sensitive skin. He thumbs it off, it's water. "I'm not going to tell you it won't hurt, because it will, but it will be so worth it." His unsettlingly soft voice so entirely self-righteous and so entirely insane. He giggles again, you want to shudder at the grating sound. He picks up a scalpel, so small and sharp and dangerous, and holds it like some ancient relic, precious and rare. You pray to whatever god is out there and hope you've got the right one. You pray to live, to not be at the non-existent mercy of this mad man. He turns around, someone completely different from the kindly old man you met just today. You realize you never asked his name, nor bothered to notice it on his various diplomas. You wonder what it is. "Just keep breathing." He says, with a voice as sweet as death. And with the bloodlust of a wolf in his eyes, and the innocence of a babe in his smile, he lunges.