Elixir of Life, Page 2

concerned.

  ‘I’d prefer some money. Some of the money I lent you and you promised to pay me back, with interest, of course.’ He sneers.

  I rack my brains trying to think of something to say. The other man is at least six and a half feet tall and as wide as a barn. Even in my physical prime I could never force my way past him.

  ‘Sorry Doctor, I am forgetting my manners. This is my associate, Gripper.’ Spike motions to the man sitting next to me, ‘They call him Gripper, because if he ever gets hold of you, you’ll never escape his clutches.’ Spike smirks menacingly.

  Gripper puts his arm around me and hugs me. I can feel the breath being forced out of my body.

  ‘Spike. There’s no need to worry. I can go to the bank and get you some money.’ I lie as convincingly as I can.

  Spike looks at me for a few moments, ‘But Doctor, how can you do that? I have a friend at the bank who says you are out of money. Another friend told me you’ve been borrowing money from people all over town.’

  My heart sinks. I look around for an escape route. ‘I just need to pop to outside and get some fresh air.’ Gripper’s hold on me tightens. I can feel his fingers digging into my flesh.

  Spike pours himself a drink. ‘Now Doctor, there are three choices. One you can pay me my money. But you can’t do this, as you don’t have any money. Two, Gripper can have a talk with you.’ Gripper moves his face closer to mine and grins inanely.

  ‘What’s the third choice?’

  Spike turns to me. ‘You’re a medical man.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good at patching people up? Fixing wounds? Dealing with unwanted accidents?’

  I think for a few moments. Gripper moves closer and I feel as though my bones may break.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. There is a certain section of society that needs medical treatment and don’t like going to regular hospitals, just in case too many questions get asked. If you understand my meaning?’

  In the few weeks I’ve been in the working class area I’ve heard of the no questions asked Doctors that work here. They sound more like butchers than Doctors.

  ‘What would I get in return?’

  ‘You debts would be written off and you would get a fee per operation.’

  ‘When would I begin?’

  ‘Well, it just so happens a good friend of mine received a small wound this very morning. He was cleaning a gun and it went off!’

  I think for a few moments. I need money and Gripper would love to crush every bone in my body. I ask, ‘Shall we go?’

  I follow Spike down a series of back alleys and we end up in a make-shift treatment room. On the table is a middle age man, with a wound in his back. I think to ask how he managed to shoot himself in the back, but decide to simply press on with my work.

  ‘I’ll need some hot water, a scalpel, some disinfectant and clean dressings.’

  Spike nods to Gripper who obediently moves around the room picking up the requested items. My new life has begun.

  I think back over the last few weeks. I have treated every form of wound, here in this fully equipped treatment centre that Spike and associates have set-up for me. I’m a good Doctor and my years of research and dissection mean that my patients usually survive. My reputation has spread throughout the criminal fraternity and now I am the Doctor of choice for any villain who needs treatment. My debts are written off and Gripper has become more of a protector than a threat.

  But I still need fresh samples for my potion. The aches and pains of aging are beginning to creep through my body. As I look in the mirror I can see my youthful looks begin to fade.

  I need fresh organs.

  I’ve treated the young man that Spike brought in. Apparently he had fallen and impaled his leg on a bottle. I approach Spike with a certain amount of trepidation. Before I can speak Spike begins to talk.

  ‘Doc. You’re doing a fine job. Every time I bring you a patient, you patch them up and send them on their way, almost as good as new. My friends are incredibly grateful to you. We provide you with the wine, drugs and company you crave, but some of my associates are concerned you may want to leave. They’ve heard you’ve been asking around for a medical place of your own. They want to know if there is anything else we can do to make you,’ he pauses as though searching for a word, ‘content?’

  ‘I want to carry on my research. That is why I’ve been asking about medical facilities I could use.’

  Spike raises an eyebrow. ‘What would you need to do that?’

  ‘I’ll need a supply of tissue, human organs.’

  Spike shrugs slightly, ‘That won’t be a problem.’

  ‘The organs have to be fresh, from young girls that have been dead for only a few hours.’

  Spike strokes his chin. He looks as though he’s going to ask a question, but seems to think better of it. ‘Give me a list of what you want and we’ll get some of our friends to get it for you?’

  ‘How will they get the organs?’

  ‘We have friends that work in the morgues and unfortunate accidents happen all the time, especially to the young and reckless.’

  I think about asking what Spike means, but a little voice in my head tells me to hold my tongue. ‘I’ll make a list of the things I need.’

  ‘No problem Doc. Just say what you want and we’ll get it for you.’

  I write out a list, hand it to Spike and watch him leave. My heart tells me I have crossed another line, but the little voice in the back of my mind simply tells me youth and gratification is all that matters. Who am I to argue?

  I’ve settled into a regular pattern as the months and years have passed. Every eight to nine weeks my body begins to feel the pain of aging. I contact Spike and within a few hours Gripper arrives carrying a container. The organs are always warm. A few days later there is always the funeral of some unfortunate who has suffered a mishap, but such is life. Occasionally thoughts come to me of my previous life and research, but I’m simply enjoying life too much to think of the past.

  I leave the home of a lady friend, fully satisfied. Spike definitely knows the most exquisite young ladies, who, for a small consideration, will provide hours of sensual satisfaction. She did tell me her name, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. A quick stroll along the river bank and I’ll be home. The darkly putrid water is fast flowing. A group of children are playing with a small dog. They are happily running around. One of the children fascinates me. She has an angelic look about her. She is at most eight or nine years old. It is obvious the dog is hers. The dog looks over the edge of the river bank and down at the water.

  The girl shouts out, ‘Come away Ollie. The water is horrible.’

  The dog doesn’t pay any attention, it leans over further and further until it loses its footing and tumbles down the river bank. The child is distraught and runs along the bank after the dog as it struggles in the fast flowing water.

  ‘Ollie! Ollie!’ The child is in tears.

  The dog becomes trapped on a collection of debris and fights to get out of the water. The child grabs hold of a branch that stretches out over the river and leans over to try and grab the dog. I watch, fascinated. Why does this child interest me? Is it her look of purity? She leans out as far as she can, then she loses her grip and plunges into the water. They both float down the river, surely they are doomed.

  I hesitate. Then the desire to do the right thing fills me, I take off my jacket and boots. As I hit the hard cold dark water and start swimming towards the child, she disappears into the murky black water. I dive down deep. I see the white of the child’s dress and grab it with all my strength. I swim up to the surface, with one hand clamped onto the child’s dress.

  We break the surface and I fight for air. I struggle to the bank. A group of men have arrived and throw a rope to me. I grab hold of it and they drag us to safety. The child lies motionless on the bank. I clear her airways and perform the kiss of life. I struggle in vain to revive her then sudd
enly she coughs and splutters.

  She coughs out the words, ‘Ollie.’

  I have forgotten her damn dog. I rush to the riverbank. The dog is caught against a floating tree trunk. I jump in, fight through the water and manage to grab hold of it by the scruff of the neck. We struggle back to the river bank. The men help me out of the river for a second time.

  Everyone has crowded around me, slapping me on the back. I hear one say, ‘You’re a hero.’

  Quickly the child, dog and I are transported to the child’s home. We are filled with hot drinks and rubbed down with towels.

  The child’s mother bursts into the room. Her worn clothes and haggard expression tell of a life time of hard graft to provide for her baby; only a hint of her youthful good looks remain. She pushes her way through the crowd. ‘My angel! My angel!’

  She grabs the child and hugs her.

  One of the men says, ‘She fell in the river trying to save Ollie. This man saved her.’ He points at me.

  The crowd looks suspicious.

  The mother looks at me. ‘Did you really save my child?’

  ‘Yes.’ I mumble.

  ‘I know who you are and the people you work for. I’ve heard what people say about you. If the things people say about you are true then you are a wicked heathen. But for saving my child I bless you and ask God to look favourably on you.’

  The child begins to cough and splutter. I move forward and the crowd parts. I touch the child’s forehead, it is burning up. I must be a proper Doctor again.

  ‘This child is ill. Everyone needs to