~*~
“Tea?” he offered once inside his office, as I took a seat at the desk.
“Coffee, please.” He glowered at me like I was committing a war crime. I had discovered his flaw: he drank tea in the morning. Who the hell does that? Tea? Really?
He brought the beverages to the desk.
“Shall we?” he politely asked for the box. But I had some questions first.
“Actually, I’d like to know first when did you start to take care of Lord Hurlingthon’s...health?” Yes, health was an awkward word to describe the state that man was in, but nonetheless, he was two hundred and thirteen years old.
“Five years ago. His former doctor unexpectedly died of a heart attack, so he came to me. He barely needs me, as you know. But sometimes his body hurts, or he has a cold. Nothing too serious.”
“Wouldn’t it be more logical if he didn’t seek help for a cold and let it take its course, until it turns into something more...fatal?”
“When he came to see me the first time, he had pneumonia. It had started eleven months before. He won’t die, regardless of how much he tries.”
His coldness was appalling.
“Doesn’t this strike you as irregular, to say the least? I mean, in all honesty, I was hoping you could put my mind at ease by assuring me he is mentally ill.”
“Lord Hurlingthon is not insane.”
“The man claims he’s over two hundred years old. How do you explain that?”
“I don’t. I can’t. And as a man of science it bothers me profoundly. But as a man of faith, I believe he’s God’s finest work of art.”
“The man can’t die! It sounds more like a work of the Devil to me.”
“Be that as it may,” Dr. Pierce took a sip of his smelly tea. “But to be able to sleep, years ago, I decided the man of science would subdue himself to the man of faith. And in the case of Lord Hurlingthon, all I can do is treat him like any other patient and help him. I can’t kill him. I’ve tried and failed. I’ve tried, even at the risk of my license being taken away, because I saw the pain in his eyes. He was given a gift he can’t carry anymore, Mr. Saussure. It’s time to give it back, but I can’t help him with that. I can only make the burden a bit lighter. For the rest, I’m afraid that’s why you’re being hired.”
Those people never ceased to amaze me. Not in a good way.
“I am not a hitman,” I responded forcefully. “Have you tested him? Have you recommended a shrink or a psychologist?”
“Of course I have and he took all the tests. Once we get to the box, you’ll see all the procedures he has endured over his life, including the ones implemented by myself or under my recommendation. Don’t think for a moment that I take this case lightly.”
“You don’t seem very upset to me, Dr. Pierce.”
“Mr. Saussure, I have been living with the knowledge of his existence for the past five years. This state of anger and skepticism you’re experiencing right now…it wears itself out, trust me. After meeting him, I tried for a year and a half to prove him wrong, to find a mistake. A flaw in the records that might show they were wrong. But it didn’t work. I wasted time and money because I didn’t believe him. That is the best advice and the finest piece of information I can give you: believe him.”
“I’m sorry, Dr. Pierce, but your word alone won’t simply convince me. I don’t think...I don’t know what to think anymore.”
It was true. I couldn’t understand how a reputable professional like Dr. Pierce would allow himself to be seduced by such sham. Something like that could ruin someone’s career. Mine. His.
“Think about it this way: if you don’t believe him, you won’t be able to do your work. What is it that concerns you? That you won’t get paid?” No, that wasn’t it. I already knew Lord Hurlingthon was more than capable of handing me a grateful check for a job well done. “Or is it that you are scared of failing?”
I stared at what was left of my coffee, already cold by the prolonged conversation, and even colder by the dreadful question still reverberating in the silent room. Dr. Pierce noticed he had hit a nerve, a very sensitive one. I don’t back down. I do what needs to be done and I don’t walk out in the middle of it. I see it through. That obsession makes me careful, but here I was blindsided. I had walked into a trap, imprisoned by my own stubbornness. Sometimes my pride can be an oppressive chain.
“I think is best if we stick to the box from now on.” Dr. Pierce broke the muted quarrel I was having with myself. “You know how I feel. I’ll explain everything to you. I’ll answer your questions. And after that, you can draw your own conclusions.”
Good plan. I placed the cardboard box next to him and he started from the very beginning: Hugh Hurlingthon’s birth. Everything seemed normal. Mother dies after a complicated delivery; her death certificate was there. She was twenty-five years old and had narrow hips. It happens, especially two hundred years ago. Hugh had a wet nurse and for the rest of his youth he was perfectly healthy, remaining in that condition for many, many years to come. His father died when Hugh was forty-two years old. Nothing weird about that, just old age.
The notches on his record were regarding the suicide attempts. We went over every single one of them. Of course, the ones with the pistols that had failed were not there. But the brutal attack inflicted upon him by a very diligent hitman with a hammer took us some time. He suffered severe head trauma (the doctor noticed seven skull fractures) and several broken bones all over the body. The bruises and concussions doubled in number to the fractures. Basically, he was a human version of a mashed potato. That’s what you get for paying an over-achieving Thor to get you killed.
His head had swollen up three times its normal size. But eventually, every broken bone healed. Every single bruise and every bloody spot on his body disappeared. He regained his usual self. After a month, he was discharged by the doctor and resumed his normal life. Normal my ass.
Next, it was Emily. I wanted to pay special attention to the daughter because Lord Hurlingthon said the child hadn’t been able to fight back the disease. Maybe, after all, this was a medical oddity and all there was left to do was wait and see how it played out. Wait? But he had waited long enough, and that didn’t explain why he wasn’t able to commit suicide.
Dr. Pierce explained Emily’s case to me, as he had done some research himself. Because it had happened so long ago, he investigated the ways the virus was treated back in the eighteenth century. Apparently, patients would be in bed rest for months. As the illness began as a mild case of fever, it was commonly believed to be a cold or some sort of flu. Later on, when the patient presented the usual reddish skin rash associated with scarlet fever, the treatment was started. Many times it was too late.
But Emily came down with a high fever and the rash all in one day. Ten days later, she was dead. It didn’t make sense. Yes, she was a child, but a healthy one with access to the best doctors in the country. She was well-fed and well-loved, but it hadn’t been enough. Sometimes loving your child is not enough to save him.
“Dr. Pierce, Lord Hurlingthon said the doctors told him that Emily couldn’t fight back. That she was letting the illness inside. Is it possible that...? I don’t know, in some way...the father was born with too many antibodies and somehow the opposite was translated to his daughter? Not enough antibodies?”
“Well, at the time of Emily’s death there were no tests for antibodies. Doctors had no knowledge of them, so that is impossible to find out now. However, I have tested Lord Hurlingthon’s blood many times, even at different moments during the same day. It’s normal.”
“I see. What about Greta?”
There was nothing on her. A perfect medical file. She should get an A on health. Greta died at sixty-two years of age, useless to me.
“You tried to kill Lord Hurlingthon with an overdose, right? What was it? Morphine?”
“Among other things, yes. But it never got past an intoxication case, not even a severe one.”
“H
ave you tried electrocuting him?”
Dr. Pierce gave me a grave look and then released a long, deep breath. I think he was enraged by my careless suggestion, but at that point, who could seriously care about good manners? As far as I knew, we were dealing with a spawn of the Devil.
“Being fried to death does not seem like a good way to go, Mr. Saussure.” Apparently Dr. Pierce remembered we were gentlemen. My bad. “And I have seen his reactions to other procedures, it won’t work. It will only distress him. It’s just not worth it. The fire incident proves it.”
One time, Hugh Hurlingthon had turned himself into a human torch. He had third-degree burns over 70% of his body. But the fire never got to the internal organs or burned the airways, as so often happens with burn victims. After a week, all the burnt skin peeled off and fell away, and the muscles regenerated themselves. Seven days. Ludicrous.
“How high is his pain tolerance?”
“Average. If it is too great, he passes out. Everything is normal about him, regardless of how much you ask.”
“How do you explain why he can’t walk? Or, lift his arms? Or, see?”
“He is aging, no doubt about that. But at the pace the normal decrepitude of his body is taking place, it could easily take another hundred years for him to die. If it happens. Don’t forget he came to me already as an invalid and still, he hasn’t responded to any of the methods to end his life.”