Age of Reason
The waiting room was cool, muted with dark colors and soft couches, and original paintings hanging upon fine wood-grained walls. Douglas B. Douglas sat in the corner like a puppet, wrinkled arms and wood-stick legs more child's than an old man's, shivering slightly despite the expensive wool suit designed to keep him warm.
"Is he going to keep me here all day?" he snarled, as the white clad nurse peeped out the waiting room window. She shivered, shook her head and closed it quickly.
The doctor appeared an instant later, a white-haired figure in a lab coat, removing his spectacles. "You really must learn some patience, Mr. Douglas."
"Patience is for those who can afford the time, Doctor. I'm dying. That doesn't allow me that luxury."
The doctor chuckled unconvincingly. "So you have said. But you are not in poor health, despite your age."
"If I stay much longer in this waiting room, I'll die of pneumonia. Why is so cold in here?"
"Cold? It isn't cold," The doctor said, frowning. "Perhaps you'll be warmer in my office.
"I don't want to be warmer, I want to be done with all this foolishness. I have other things that need to be done."
"I'm sure. But this will take time, Mr. Douglas," The doctor said, holding the door open for the older man. The smell of medicine poured out of the other rooms like incense from a chamber of magic. "And these sessions will be more frequent as time goes on."
"Then you have the formula?" Douglas asked as their journey down a narrow hall ended with an examination room.
"Yes," The doctor said, fumbling with the handle as he locked the door behind them. "It was not difficult to obtain. I have good connections at the university. But this is dangerous business and I could lose my license if word got out."
Douglas nodded and settled himself on the table, his legs dangling. "I'm not anxious for news of it leaking out to my relations either," he said. "I heard my nephew had come snooping around this afternoon."
"He wanted to know why you insisted upon coming here rather than me sending someone up to the mansion. He asked if something was wrong. I warned you this might happen. You're coming here was bound to raise suspicions."
"I won't have this done at the house," Douglas said. "Too many nosy servants. All this must be done in absolute secrecy if it's to have the desired effect. If word of it got to my family, they would have me committed."
"Because you wish to remain young?"
"Because I'm interfering with their plans," Douglas said. "The damned vultures are waiting for me to die so they can divide my fortune. They check on me weekly to see if I'm fading. If this works, Doctor, I will have the extreme pleasure of seeing them frustrated."
"There are no guarantees," The doctor said. "Remove your clothing, please."
The old man complied. His thin arms were sticks with grey web-like flesh clinging to them.
The doctor sighed and prepared the series of shots.
"You've warned me before," Douglas said, sighing as he stretched out on the leather topped table, his wrinkled fingers gripping the sides. The knuckles were already white, but tightened as the doctor leaned near, pushing the needle into one arm then the other. "And you also said, you would take it very slowly, which is fine with me. Save your fountain of youth for the little ladies with purple hair, I want time, Doctor. That is much more valuable to me."
Beads of sweat showed on the doctor's brow. "What excuse did you give your family then?" he asked.
"That I wanted to see you personally," Douglas said. "That I was sick of dealing with your underlings? He sees you more than I do half the time."
"It is because he is more often ill," the doctor said, fumbling with the syringe, catching it before it fell out of his hands.
"Which means he may die young," Douglas said with a cackle.
"Perhaps," the doctor said.
"That would be glorious," Douglas said. "He's the worst of the lot. The others would take a bone or two, but he wants it all. He's been questioning my insurance agent, did I tell you that? And my lawyers as to the value of my estate. He wants to know everything and does already. Everything but this."
"Yes, yes, I was quite careful to keep this out of the files," The doctor said, taking a deep breath, turning around to face the man. "Turn over. I have to get this into all the major muscles or it will not work."
The old man complied, chuckling. "And to think, that son of a bitch was the one who gave me the idea."
"He did?"
"Oh, inadvertently, I assure you. He ponders over science journals and law books and comes up with odd scenarios."
"Then he would know the side effects?"
"Oh yes! He was most astute about that, telling me exactly how an overdose would damage the brain, make me a human vegetable. I asked if it wouldn't be easier to kill me outright. He laughed. He said the others would only contest the will and his share would be so small as to be insignificant. No, he said, he had a better idea. Why not keep me alive-- as a vegetable. He could much more easily wrangle himself into position as my executor and rule all my wealth."
"It sounds rather sinister to me."
"It is!" the old man said with a coughing laugh. "If only he had the nerve to go through with it. But he'll wait till I'm dead and collect his paltry share with the others. Say! I thought you said this would be a small dose?"
"It is," the doctor assured him. "They'll be much more later on."
"Not too much more," Douglas chuckled. "I wouldn't want to live forever."
"No," the doctor shaking his head as he jabbed the needle in again. "That wouldn't do at all."