***
Phil
Those were the house calls I hated the most, families that did not see eye-to-eye. I did understand that making such a life-changing decision must be hard for them, but normally once the shock wore off, the majority of people jumped at the chance of becoming immortal.
Who could resist the gift of living forever, without aging or getting sick?
Of course, they did not realize that living like that had its drawbacks. Nor did they realize how long ‘forever’ really was.
I, unfortunately, was never given a choice.
I am the son of one the most powerful and well respected pure Eternals in the world, a pure Eternal is one whose bloodline has not been tainted with human blood. My mother was born a human and my father, one-hundred percent Eternal. It was actually my DNA that was used to create the serum DD8. I cringe when I think about the trials that failed before they finally got the serum right. Even now I shudder when I think back to the poor homeless man who had been the first human guinea pig for DD1. We had picked him up from an alley behind a biker bar in Minneapolis. We’d promised him one hundred dollars for just taking a ride with us.
The man hopped into the van without hesitation, his eyes full of desperation.
“So whatcha guys need me to do?” he asked in a low, gravelly voice. “I ain't no queer, so don't you be getting any funny ideas.”
“Relax” I told him. “We just need to test out a new flu shot.”
“Flu?” he replied, looking at us with uncertainty. “You don't look like no doctors to me.”
I laughed, because he was right; we did not look like doctors. We looked more like a rock band. Big John was the driver and Steve Marder, my right-hand man. Big John was just shy of five feet and couldn't have weighed more than a hundred pounds. He had long, stringy black hair and tattoos that covered almost every inch of his pale body. He definitely looked like a bad-ass when he was sitting down, but unintimidating as all hell when he stood up. Actually, I always thought he looked like a fifth grader gone bad. Steve, on the other hand, had been the exact opposite. Six-foot-five, Native American who weighed in at three-hundred pounds and looked like he could squash you like a bug if you looked at him wrong. I’d been his best friend for years, and was still slightly intimidated by the son-of-a-bitch.
“Nah,” I replied. "We aren't doctors, we just work for them”
“How long this gonna take?” the homeless man asked. “I got me a hot date later.”
“You do, huh?” I answered with a laugh.
“Shit yeah, I do,” the homeless man replied seriously. “Do you know how much ass a hundred bucks can buy me?”
I shuddered to myself thinking about the “ass” the man would be getting later.
We drove the rest of the day in silence until we reached my father’s research facility.
The Knightingdale.
Knightindale during the day was a hustling and bustling legitimate research company whose primary objective was food safety. They were responsible for making sure that all foods being served to large institutions, such as hospitals, schools, and prison were being handled properly and contained the correct amount of nutritional value as outlined by the government. I worked there a few summers back as an intern, and I was shocked at the amount of rodent hair and feces which was legally allowed.
We drove to the back of the facility. Then after we all piled out, we walked up to the huge iron door at the back entrance. I pushed the buzzer and we waited. Finally, my father opened the door.
“Follow me” he said shortly, “we don't have much time.”
My father was a very intimidating-looking man. He was an inch or two taller than me, had the same crew cut for years, and his eyes were darkest brown I have ever seen. Sometimes they even looked black.
We followed my father down the hall, and the homeless man had to do a slight jog just to keep up with us. We stopped just outside of one of the smaller research labs.
“Get undressed,” my father barked at the homeless man.
“Hey, Doc, I already told your cronies here that I aint into the gay stuff,” the homeless man said, sounding a bit nervous.
“Strip down to your boxers,” my father said, ignoring the homeless man’s previous comments. “And follow me.”
“It's ok,” I reassured him. “We just need you to get undressed so he can monitor your vitals.”
“Well, he shoulda just said that, for Christ sakes,” the homeless man said as he removed his shirt. “He don't need to be such a dick about it.”
If you had any idea about what a dick he really is, my friend, you would be running out of here right now, I thought.
The room had been transformed and really did look like a legitimate hospital room. In the middle of the room was a hospital bed, and on either side was a heart monitor and what looked like a ventilator.
“Gimme my hundred bucks,” the homeless guy said to me. “Don't wanna do this until I see the dough.”
I pulled a hundred out of my wallet. “Here,” I said, handing it over. “This will be the quickest hundred bucks you will ever make.”
“Better be,” he said. “Standing around in a room full of dudes in my skivvies is not how I pictured my day going.”
“Quit with the chatter,” my Father demanded. “You,” he said, pointing at the homeless man. “Get on the bed.”
The man quietly walked to the bed and lay down. He looked like he was beginning to get a little nervous.
“Dude,” I said, “I promise you, one quick shot and we are outta here, then you can go get that ass.” I smiled and gave him a high five.
The man seemed to relax a bit, that is, until my father started to strap his arms down.
“What the hell is this?” he asked as my father tightened the first strap.
“It is for your protection,” he answered flatly.
“What the hell kind of flu shot requires straps?” the homeless man asked.
My father quickly looked at me inquisitively.
I just shrugged my shoulders.
“In case you have an allergic reaction,” I answered the man quickly. That seemed to settle the man down enough for my father to attach the remaining three straps.
The man was swiftly connected to all the tubing and wiring necessary to monitor his vitals. He was calm as my father attached the last piece of wire to the metal disc.
“Yo,” the man said, looking over at it. “This ain’t gonna hurt, is it? I may look like tough dude, but man, I hate pain.”
“No,” I replied, not really sure how to answer him. We’d never done this before. I hoped for his sake that this really would be painless and quick. That he could walk out of here and go get laid.
“Enough!” my father snapped. “We have to do this now, time is running out.”
I looked at the clock. It was already three a.m. The facility opened at six a.m., but sometimes the scientists arrived earlier.
My father pulled the syringe out of his pocket and looked over at me. “You forgetting something, Phil?” he asked.
Oh shit, I’d almost forgotten.
I grabbed the camcorder out of the bag and hastily began recording.
“I am ready,” I said to my father.
He shook his head and pushed the needle into the man’s vein. The man held his breath as the serum was then pushed through.
“Aw... geez,” the man complained. “It hurts.”
I held the camcorder as still as I could, making sure the man and the machines were all in the shot. After a few minutes, the man’s blood pressure and heart rate started to drop. The man seemed to be gasping for air. My gut reaction was to throw the camera down and try to help him, but I knew I couldn't. I agreed to do this and I had to keep filming.
The heart rate monitor was now a flat line. He was dead.
My father quickly checked the man’s vitals and was taking notes as he checked all the machines.
Then I heard it. Beep… Beep.
..
It worked!! My father had done it!
Then it sped up. Beep. Beep. Beep.Beep.Beep The machine started to go haywire.
My father ran to the man and took his pulse. “NO! NO! NO!” he shouted. “This is not supposed to happen.”
“What can I do?” I yelled to him.
“Nothing!” he yelled back. “Just keep recording, dammit!”
I watched in horror as the scene unfolded before me. The homeless man was now convulsing fiercely. His mouth began to foam and his eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head. He then opened his lips and it looked as if he was trying to scream, but nothing came out.
I looked over at my father, who was still racing around the bed, trying to keep track of the changes in his vitals. Then, as quickly as it began… it stopped.
The man now lay motionless on the bed. He had blood pouring out of all of his orifices.
I swallowed the saliva that had quickly formed at the sight of his blood.
“SON OF A BITCH!” my father yelled, throwing the clipboard he was holding against the wall. He turned to me. “Clean this up and get him out of here,” he ordered, and then stormed out the door.
I turned the camcorder off and looked toward Big John and Steve. They looked just as shocked as I was after witnessing such a spectacle.
“Come on,” I said. “Let's get this cleaned up.”
“Hey, boss, can we get some of that?” Steve asked, looking at the homeless man.
“No” I replied softly. “His blood is tainted, too dangerous.”
I wrapped the homeless man in the sheet that was on the bed, feeling guilty.
I was nothing like my father. I may be an Eternal, like him, but I respected life, even if it was a human life.