“So… are you saying you’re being held here against your will too?”
Henderson bit the inside of his cheek. “I suppose I could leave if I really wanted to.”
Jack wrinkled his forehead. “I don’t get it. Don’t you want to leave?”
“More than anything.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Henderson’s gaze fell and he shook his head. “The problem is, I’ll die if I leave. And I’d die a pretty painful death.”
Chapter 32
George peered out his window yet again. It had been hours since Vale brought them back to their suite and posted Henry Mulch outside their door. George paced through the suite, checking every window numerous times for an avenue of escape. But none of them were very promising. All the windows, George had discovered, were of an odd configuration that opened enough to let in a breeze but not enough to let someone escape. Not without breaking the glass and bringing Mulch in to investigate.
And more than that, it was at least a fifteen-foot drop to the ground from any of their windows or balconies, and there was no way to sneak from one balcony to another. It was as if Vale had designed his guest quarters with an eye for security as well.
This prison cell was a bit more comfortable than the ones George and Miriam had seen in the dungeons far below the lodge. But it was a prison nonetheless.
George checked in on Miriam again. She had complained of a headache and gone to the bedroom to lie down a couple hours ago. She’d been somewhat sullen since their trip into the tunnels beneath the lodge, which surprised George. He had expected her to respond with more emotion to the situation she had witnessed in Vale’s dungeon. More indignation, more anger. Something. But she looked like she was preoccupied. Or perhaps slightly disoriented.
Vale had essentially sent them to their room without any supper. He’d had a small tray of food brought up for lunch, but it’d hardly been filling. It was well past the dinner hour and George was starving. He could only imagine how Miriam must have been feeling.
At length George grew tired of pacing and sat, brooding, in one of the chairs out in the sitting room of the suite. He had given up hope of escaping. Or leaving. Vale had muttered something about instilling a sense of priority in them—whatever that meant.
After seeing the prisons down in the tunnels, George knew Vale would be capable of anything. Neither he nor Miriam was safe at this point.
It was getting dark by the time Mulch came in. “Mr. Vale would like to see you now. Just you.”
George made his way down to the great room, where Thomas Vale, Malcolm Browne, and Sam Huxley were already waiting. A fire was blazing in the fireplace. And Huxley was holding a folder with a sheaf of papers inside.
Vale still wore his pained expression as if George had deeply offended him. George stood in front of him like an errant son waiting for punishment to be handed down by his father. Not so far off, George thought, as Vale was more than twice his age.
“I want you to know that I’m willing to overlook your indiscretion earlier today and am still prepared to move forward with our arrangement.” He gestured to the folder in Huxley’s hand. “I have the papers here ready for your signature, George.”
George blinked. “Signature? You really expect me to go through with this deal after seeing your dungeon down there?”
Vale shrugged and went to pour himself a drink. “Yes, I expect that once you understand what’s at stake, you’ll sign this contract. Gladly.”
“Well, you can toss that contract in the fire, because after what I’ve seen, I don’t want anything to do with you or your little community.”
“You know, I don’t make these types of decisions lightly. So when I offer someone such an opportunity, I don’t expect him to start nosing around my home. It’s an odd display of gratitude.”
“When we’re dealing with the kind of money you’re asking for,” George said, “you can’t expect me to make that decision without trying to find out what kind of man you are.”
“Such relationships must be based on trust, George. You trusted me to help your wife, and I trusted you to respect my property and privacy.”
“Privacy? You kidnap people and lock them up in your own personal dungeon. That’s not a matter of privacy. It’s criminal!”
Vale sipped his drink and paced the room as if contemplating his next words. “I don’t think you fully grasp the scope of the gift I’m offering you. Perilium is not just some remedy for cancer or senility. It brings the human body back to its original design. Immortality, the way God intended it. Just as it was in the Garden.”
George shook his head. “We won’t be a part of what you’re doing here.”
“Oh, but I’m afraid refusal is no longer an option,” Vale said. “You see, perilium is an exacting master, not something to be taken casually. She requires your full commitment. And once you’ve tasted the elixir of life, you become one with it. There’s no turning back.”
George felt his neck bristle with a chill. “What do you mean?”
Vale drew another sip from his glass and looked at his watch. “It would actually be more dramatic for me to show you.”
He motioned to Browne, who left immediately.
Vale went on. “The survival of our community depends on two basic elements. One is a fair amount of seclusion from the rest of society. As you can imagine, we don’t wish to attract too much scrutiny here.
“And the other is balance. Every member of our little family has a specific function. We’re all dependent on one another to ensure the continuation of our way of life. So when one of us is no longer willing or able to function, they must be… reevaluated.”
Browne returned, leading Amanda into the room, her hands cuffed in front of her. She was sobbing. And George could tell immediately that something was wrong with her. Her complexion was pallid and her hair and clothes were nearly drenched in sweat.
Vale gestured toward her. “You see, Amanda here requires a daily measure of perilium just like the rest of us. Typically right after breakfast. But today I had to withhold her allotment as there were certain issues I felt we needed to discuss.”
Amanda sank to her knees, sobbing. “P-please… why are you… doing this?”
George frowned. “What’s wrong with her?”
Vale tapped his watch. “She’s nearly twelve hours overdue.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and held up a glass vial of the yellow liquid.
Amanda saw it and struggled to her feet. “Please…” She tried to reach for it, but Vale held it just out of her grasp and she collapsed again to the floor.
George looked on in horror. “What’s happening to her?”
“As I said, perilium is an exacting master.” Vale stared at the vial in the firelight. “And she demands a heavy price for disobedience. The body goes into a sort of toxic shock if not supplied with a regular dose. It’s a rather unpleasant sight to witness.”
“What did she do? Why are you doing this to her?”
“To make an example,” Vale said. “See, I’ve been observing her over the last few days, and lately I’m just not so certain of her commitment to our community. She seems to have developed something that could be an impediment to our existence.”
George couldn’t bear to look at her any longer. “What is it?”
“A conscience.” Vale knelt beside Amanda’s quivering form, dangling the vial over her head. “Apparently she’s been having doubts about our way of life. And I’m afraid we can’t tolerate such a lack of moral clarity. We have far too much to lose—all of us. We all depend on maintaining that precious balance, and she has become the weak link. A dry branch that needs to be pruned.”