Chapter Seven
Phil
I returned to the Jacobsons’ home and could just sense the wave of doom in the air. Somehow, I knew this wasn’t going to go the way I‘d wanted, and it made me sick. The knots in my stomach began to tighten as I thought about what the outcome would be if their son continued to refuse the injection.
Just, get ahold of yourself, man.
Frustrated, I pulled the visor mirror down and looked at my reflection. What I saw was normal for me but very unsettling at the same time. As usual, I looked… perfect. Every hair was in place, my blue eyes were vibrant and bright, and hell, even my teeth looked like they could be in one of those toothpaste commercials.
Clenching my jaw, I slammed the visor shut. How could I look that good on the outside, when deep down, I felt like such a monster?
I remembered asking him, when I was a young child, if we were monsters, since we drank blood to survive. His stock answer was always, “No, Phil, we are not monsters, we are blessed.”
Our lineage went to the beginning of time and he’d often tell me of the mortals who’d been the true monsters. Attila the Hun, Maximilien Robespierre, Idi Amin Dada, Vlad the Impaler, Ivan the Terrible, Caligula and Adolf Hitler.
I remember cringing on his lap as he would tell the stories.
“There was once a Countess named Elizabeth Bathory,” he’d once said. “Now, she had been a true monster. This woman believed that the blood of young girls would make her youthful. She’d killed over six-hundred-and fifty young girls, using their blood for her baths, smearing their blood on her face. But, alas, she was wrong. Once the people found out what she had done, they locked her alone a room, and she died four years later. Son, now that is a monster.”
Unfortunately, I still felt like a monster at times.
Sighing, I got out of the car and strode to the front door. I rang the doorbell and only waited a moment before Mrs. Jacobson opened the door.
She quickly pulled me inside. “He's gone.”
“Who’s gone?”
She smiled grimly. “Tyler.”
My stomach dropped. “Shit.”
Just then, Mr. Henderson walked down the stairs, looking uneasy. “He took off last night.”
I rubbed my forehead in frustration as he continued.
“I… I… went up to his room, you know, to do what I had to do. But when I reached Tyler's door, it was locked.” He cleared his throat and continued. “He wouldn’t open the door, and I was so angry that I just broke it down. When I stepped inside, I noticed his window was opened. He must have climbed down the trellis and took off.”
“What do we do now?” Mrs. Henderson asked while nervously rubbing her hands together. “His car was also gone; we spent the entire night searching for him.”
I looked at both Mr. and Mrs. Jacobson and had a gut feeling that they were telling the truth.
“What kind of car does Tyler have?” I asked, pulling out a small notepad.
“It's a gray 2006 Nissan Altima,” Mr. Jacobson answered. “License plate number is MNF384.”
I wrote down the information and thanked them.
“Unfortunately,” I said quietly, “we have unfinished business here.”
They both looked at me in confusion.
I reached into my back pocket and produced a syringe, one that contained a serum that would destroy an Eternal. The one my father had created. I quickly grabbed Mrs. Jacobson by the back of her blouse.
“No! No!” shouted her husband as he rushed toward us. “My wife! My beautiful wife! Please, please… don’t hurt her!”
I raised the syringe and plunged it into his chest.
Horrified, he looked at me, his wife, and then finally to the needle that was protruding from his chest. Then tears streamed down his cheeks as he fell to his knees.
“Nooooooo!” wailed Mrs. Jacobson. “Please don't die, baby, I love you so much!”
Mr. Jacobson fell to his knees, and within seconds, his body erupted in flames. Then, as quickly as the fire started, it was gone, leaving only a pile of ashes.
Mrs. Jacobson, trembling in terror, turned to me. “Please, Phil,” she begged. “You don't have to do this. I promise, I will find Tyler, and we’ll make sure your secret is safe... I promise!”
I did not want to prolong the agony of this any longer, nor did I want to give her any hope that there could be any other outcome. I had orders, and if I was caught disobeying them, I’d be dead.
Straightening up, I took a deep breath and pulled her toward me. “I truly am sorry,” I whispered, plunging another syringe into her chest.
She fell to the floor, and within seconds, there were two piles of ashes at my feet.
Sighing, I quickly made an exit. I then drove away from the Jacobsons’ home clasping the steering wheel with shaky hands. I knew that killing them was the only answer, but it still made me sick to my stomach. I just hoped as time went on this would become easier.
Why is this choice so difficult for some of them? I wondered. Who wouldn’t want to stay young and healthy for the rest of their lives?
I thought back to the day when my father had explained to me and the other recruiters of how we were actually doing these people a favor. We were giving them to chance to live the life most people dreamed of.
“Sit down,” said my father, Dane Slatter, through tight lips. He was one of only a handful of full-blooded Eternals left in the world. “I don't have all day, and we have a lot of material to cover.”
We quickly grabbed our seats around the conference table.
I looked around - Big John, Steve, and Gina Montgomery. The four of us had been hand-chosen by my father for this special assignment. We were the ones he trusted the most, and knew how important this assignment actually was.
“I know you are all aware that we have finally found success in creating DD8. Now, after several trials, we are finally ready to set the plan into motion.”
We all sat up straighter.
“I have already done the market research in our first test market,” he continued. “Unfortunately, not many people will have the honor of becoming an Eternal.”
“Why not?” Gina interrupted. “Wasn't that the point of DD8? To make as many Eternals as possible to ensure that we would become the majority?”
“NO!” my father barked. “We are not just going to make anyone an Eternal! The Eternals we want to bring into our fold have to fit a certain criteria.” “Here,” he said, giving us each a piece of paper. “These are the pre-qualifying factors that each person must meet:
1.Individuals must be between fifteen and fifty-five years of age.
2.Individuals must be financially stable (i.e. two-income homes and must make the minimum of one hundred grand a year.)
3.Individuals must have a current health form stating that they are in good health
I was well aware of my father's criteria. He told me once that he refused to have any poor, losers or vagrants as Eternals. His belief was that if someone could prove that they were hard-working and ambitious, they would be the most deserving, and typically the type of individual who would jump at the opportunity to become immortal. He’d already worked with many CEOs and leaders of various organizations, and had noticed that they’d all shared similar qualities - the need to succeed, regardless of whom they harmed on the rise to the top and greed, even though many had more money than they could spend in a lifetime, they still always wanted more.
“Okay,” my father continued, as he handed each of us a large stack of papers. “What you have there, are the list of the families that you will be visiting. We’re going to start with Hugo, because they are a much newer community. The neighbors will be less likely to get into other people’s business, and we want to be able to visit their homes, without prying eyes watching our every move.”
I stared at the information on my stack of papers. I’d heard of Hugo. It was a small growing community in Minnesota and home to a lot of young
er families who tended to earn decent salaries. At least that’s what my father had explained to me.
“Do you really think these people are going to let us into their homes?” Gina asked.
It was a great question, one that I had asked him in the beginning stages of DD8.
“Yes, they will,” he answered, glancing at each one of us. “Once you tell people that by accepting this gift their children will never get sick, old, or feel any pain, ever, their emotions will get the best of them,” he continued, “then their egos will kick in. Just the thought of being immortal, like a god, and,” he snapped his fingers, “bang, we got 'em hooked.”