ELIXIR OF LIFE by Wilde Blue Sky SMASHWORDS EDITION * * * * * PUBLISHED BY: Wilde Blue Sky on Smashwords Elixir of Life Copyright © 2011 by Wilde Blue Sky Smashwords Edition License Notes This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please obtain an additional copy for each person you share it with from Smashwords.com. If you're reading this book and did not obtain it from Smashwords.com then you should return to Smashwords.com and obtain your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work. The author would like to thank Louise for her support. Note to reader - if you appreciated this short story please, if you are able, make a small donation to a charity of your choice. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Elixir of Life I’m a forty-one year old man who has achieved nothing of note. Brunel’s only thirty-two and his Great Western has just completed the first transatlantic crossing, while I sit in a dark dingy laboratory surrounded by useless piles of research notes. Even my research funding is at risk. I sit back in my chair. What have I got to show for fifteen years work? I’m a world expert at analysing blood and tissue samples, isolating enzymes, hormones and other organic materials from blood and human organs. But my research simply proves certain elements within the body decrease with age. I’ve developed no method, not even a plausible idea, of how to stop the aging process. My backers have given me a month to show a cure for the curse of aging; otherwise my funding will stop. What can I do? Disheartened I head to the research library. As I cross the courtyard I hear a newspaper seller shouting about the war in Spain, will man ever learn to live in peace? I enter the stuffy old library and begin to browse through ancient journals. Despondently I admit there is nothing new to guide my research. As I return the scientific journals to the shelves I notice a small green book with ‘Elixir of Life’, written in gold leaf lettering on its spine. Strange, I’ve never noticed it before. Out of desperation I take the book and blow dust off the cover. It looks at least a hundred years old. I flick through the pages. It’s full of delusional ideas of extending life and rejuvenating the body through the use of strange herbs and chemicals. I read the details of the potions. I smile to myself. At least I am not the only one who searched in vain for the elixir of life. Then I read a few lines that lodge themselves in my mind, the potion cannot be drunk directly, it must be mixed with the user's blood and a bonding agent, then it can be injected back into the patient. If the potion is drunk or administered directly into the blood stream of the patient, then nothing but harm will come to the subject. I replace the book on the shelf and return to my apartment. That night the words keep swirling around in my mind. My dreams are filled with images of death and aging. An old man sits in my laboratory mixing extracts of enzymes, hormones and other organic materials with a sample of his own blood in a small dish. Then he takes hold of a small bottle of cloudy liquid and carefully adds a few drops to the dish. He injects the mixture into his vein and is magically transformed into a young man. He mouths the words, ‘Bonding agent.’ I wake, heart thumping. I dress quickly and return to the library, I snatch the book off the shelf and flick through the pages. I must find the details of the bonding agent. Finally I read the words; the bonding agent is the magical oxidized water. A scientific elixir of life – could it be real? Could this chance reading be my saviour? A quick discussion with some chemistry research fellows and I have secured a sample of the magical oxidized water, they’ve known and used it for many years. Back in my laboratory I draw a quarter of a pint of my own blood and mix it with a combination of the extracted elements and a single drop of the bonding agent. I carefully inject the mixture into my vein. I wait with heart thumping. The minutes pass and nothing happens. Sixty minutes later I am kicking myself for being so foolish. How could I base my work on the words in some ancient text? As I recline in my chair the words bonding agent keep swirling through my mind. Maybe I have used the wrong one? The mixture had no adverse effects on me. I could keep trying different ones. But which and how much should I use? I will have to conduct extensive systematic experiments. Three weeks have passed since reading the Elixir of Life. I am convinced the secret of eternal youth is to replenish the enzymes, hormones and other organic materials of my body. I simply need to find the magical bonding agent that will allow the life giving extracts to mix with my own blood and be accepted by my body. I’ve tried every mixture of known bonding agent and have worked through my supply of cadavers and extracts. I return to the medical dissection rooms to see if any more specimens have become available. A fresh corpse lies on the dissection table. I pull back the sheet. It’s a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen at most. Her skin is still warm to the touch. The notes states she has been left to medical science, some poor unfortunate wretch whose body can be used for medical research in return for a free burial of the remains. I hesitate for a moment and then proceed. Within thirty minutes I have removed the organs and carried them back to my laboratory. Sixty minutes later the mixture has been made and injected. I sit at my desk ready to record any results. A spasm runs through my body, every muscle tightens and twists. Images of childhood pump through my mind. When I awake, I am lying prostrate on the laboratory floor in pitch darkness. My body feels strong and rejuvenated. I jump to my feet. There’s a light in the corridor. I head towards it and the hallway mirror. I can’t believe what I see. I touch the glass to make sure I’m seeing a reflection and not someone else. I am at least twenty years younger. I feel young and free. I move swiftly back to my desk and prepare to write, but animal desires course through my veins. I can’t control my urges. I look at my research notes. I should complete them, but my sense of duty is dwarfed by the desires that well up within me. I bound for the door to take my fill of the world’s pleasures. I wake in a strange room. My mind is full of weird and wonderful memories of physical desires and pleasurable satisfaction, of spending everything on all the physical gratifications money can buy. My body is stiff and aching. I fall out of bed and crawl to the mirror on the dressing table. The reflection is of a middle-aged man, in fact my face looks worse than I recall. I see a newspaper on the floor. It is over ten weeks since my experiment. I dress and hurry out into the street. I am in the working class section of the city, the stench and filth revolts me. I rush back to my apartment. I quickly discover my bank account is empty; my apartment has been the site of riotous parties and is full of expensive new clothes. But worst of all my research funding has been stopped; my failure to report at the allocated time made the backers withdraw their support. As I wash I survey my ravaged body, it has aged at least ten years in the last ten weeks. I look more like a man of fifty than forty. I lay down to rest and a young version of myself comes to me in my dreams. ‘Do you want to be an old failure or to be young? You can enjoy every pleasure imaginable; don’t let your old body stop you. Simply make another potion.’ I want to be young! I sit despondent in a hospital mortuary. Months have passed since I reverted to my middle-aged form. My work as a hospital attendant has allowed me access to basic medical supplies and use of laboratory equipment after hours. But no matter how many times I make up the potion nothing works in the same way. My heart grows dark. I need to be young again. The bell rings; a body to be removed. I trudge to the ward. Distraught parents cry over the body of a young girl. She reminds me of the first child. The parents are ushered away and I remove her. As I wheel the corpse to the mortuary my mind is clear. The body is still warm. I hesitate for a moment, thinking of the grieving parents, then a little voice whispers to me, ‘Get on with it.’ Three hour later I am young man of twenty with a firm strong body and a wicked smile on my lips. It’s my time again. I sit in the Port Call pub, downing a bottle of the best port available. The past few weeks have been a haze of physical pleasure. But what am I to do for money? My credit is all used up. A man sits down heavily next to me, forcing me along the bench. Then another man sits on the other side of me, I feel crushed between them. There is no chance for me to protest. ‘Well. Well. If it isn’t the young Doctor?’ The voice is familiar; Spike, the money lender. His weasel eyes stare out from his gaunt face. He has a certain charm about him, with his mop of blond hair, but his demeanour leaves no doubt that he is a charming psychopath. ‘Have a drink Spike?’ I offer trying hard not to sound 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 suddenly 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 leave the room now.’ I turn to her mother. ‘You must get her out of her wet clothes and then get all the warm blankets you can find and wrap her up tightly. I’ll go and get my medical supplies and be back within an hour.’ I run to my treatment centre. My young firm body carries me with great speed. I bless the strength of my youthful legs. Within an hour I am back at the child’s house administering the drugs she needs. The hours race past and soon it is night. I and Ollie mount a night time vigil, watching over the sickly child. Ollie looks at me with mournful eyes. ‘Don’t worry boy. I have lived a long time and have learnt many things in my life. She will survive. At least I can do one decent thing.’ The dog looks at me as though he understands me perfectly. For the next weeks I nurse the child day and night. Initially the mother watches me like a hawk, as do her neighbours, my reputation as a debauched rogue is known throughout the neighbourhood. But as the days turned to weeks they learn to trust me. In all this time I don’t once think of my own lusts, I only care for the child. Rose’s mother is constantly visited by friends asking after the child and offering help. Some of them take turns to work her shift at the wash house, so she can remain with the Rose. Would anyone help me in such a way? Rose’s mother feeds me bread and cheese. I accept even though it is poor working class fodder and I have to force it down. Rose’s mother always says she’ll eat in the kitchen. One evening I peek in on her and see she isn’t eating. She’s given me the few scraps of food in the house, so that I have the strength to look after her child. I feel numb. The next day I slip out and buy enough bread and cheese for both of us. I think of buying the best, but don’t want to give any cause for gossip. We enjoy a simple meal together and talk. ‘How old is Rose?’ ‘She’ll be ten in the autumn.’ ‘What happened to her father?’ ‘He went to Wales to work in a mine and was killed in an accident.' ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ ‘It is just the way of the world. He was a good man, but when he died we were left with nothing. It is only me and Rose.’ I look around the small two room dwelling they call home. She obviously tries to keep it as clean as possible, but it is a slum dwelling. ‘Was there no compensation?’ Rose’s mother laughs, ’You have the funniest ideas!’ ‘How do you manage for money?’ ‘I have my wash house work. It pays five shillings a day, so if I work six and a half days I can pay the rent and have a little left over for food.’ I am puzzled. ‘How much is the rent?’ ‘It’s twenty-five shillings a week.’ ‘That’s criminal!’ ‘Your friends Spike and Gripper are the landlord’s rent collectors.’ I feel ashamed. Rose’s mother is heroic, while I’m just a selfish good-for-nothing. I help her clear away the plates and return to my vigil. Later, as I sit with Ollie on my lap, I hear a soft voice. ‘Ollie.’ The dog jumps off my lap, shoots across to the bed and is soon wrapped in the arms of the child, his tail frantically wagging. The child’s mother rushes in and I am confronted with a scene of total happiness. Something twinges in my heart. I suddenly understand that I can be good. Should I have settled down and lived an ordinary life? Could this have been my family? My eyes feel damp. I leave the happy scene and walk out into the street. There, waiting across the road, is the hulking figure of the Gripper. He lumbers towards me. ‘Doc. I’ve been waiting for you. Spike has work for you.’ I think of protesting, but know Gripper, even though he has aged, is still too much of a match for me. ‘Lead the way and I’ll follow you.’ Gripper leads the way. The crowds part in front of him, some people dart across the road as he comes into view. Gripper turns to me and looks me up and down. Then for the first time in all the years I’ve known him, he actually asks a question. ‘How come you still look exactly the same as the first day I saw you? It must be at least twenty years, if not thirty years and you haven’t changed a bit.’ As I look at Gripper I can see he is still a formidable brute of a man, but the years have taken their toll on him. I think for a moment, then lie, ‘It is all the alcohol. It has preserved my body.’ Gripper smiles slightly and continues to lead the way. Before I know it I’m back to my old ways. Fixing up any criminal that wants my services and getting my fix of organs whenever I need another sample of the potion. But I have changed slightly, I ask Spike to find a better home for Rose and her mother, for the same rent, which he reluctantly does. Occasionally, I look in on Rose as she grows into a beautiful young woman. I am always careful not to be seen. Every time I watch her strange paternal feelings stir in my heart. One day as I look in on her, I see her and her mother with the limp lifeless body of Ollie. They are both crying. I need to comfort them. I can’t stop myself. I walk up to them. The mother recognises me. ‘Rose. This is the man that saved you and Ollie all those years ago.’ The mother looks me up and down and adds, ‘You’ve kept well sir; you don’t seem to have aged a day!’ ‘It’s just healthy living.’ I turn to Rose. ‘Do you want some help to bury Ollie?’ ‘Yes please,’ implores a tearful Rose. We walk to the common land. I take the shovel and dig a small grave, place Ollie in it and then gently fill the hole. Rose clings to her mother and cries. Her mother asks, ‘Sir. Will you say a few words?’ ‘Ollie was a fine dog and a true companion. I am sure Ollie has gone to a better place and God will look after him.’ Rose says, ‘Thank you, Sir.’ After the small ceremony I make my excuses and return to the treatment centre. The signs I know so well are creeping over me, the potions desired effects are wearing off. A message is sent to Spike and I wait for the fresh organs to be supplied. For some reason Ollie comes into my thoughts. I remember saving him and seeing him play with Rose then I see the ceremony we have just completed, where the circle of his life was completed. Am I destroying the natural order of life? Am I cheating death through my potion and at what cost? I try hard not to think of where the organs come from, but in my heart I know there are no convenient accidents. A loud banging at the door interrupts my thoughts. My heart races. Is it the police? ‘Doctor, Doctor.’ There is more thumping at the door. ‘Doctor, Doctor, help me!’ The voice is familiar. It’s Rose’s mother. As I open the door, she forces her way in. ‘What is the matter?’ ‘It’s Rose they’ve taken her!’ ‘Who has taken her? What do you mean? Explain yourself?’ ‘She was upset about Ollie. She went to a bar for a drink. She left to come home and they went out of the pub moments after her. Then people heard shouting and screaming. When they went out to investigate she was gone. I went to the police, but they don’t want to know about poor people.’ ‘Who are they?’ ‘Spike and Gripper.’ I feel my body convulse and my mouth is filled with the taste of bile. Rose is to be my next set of organs. ‘Don’t worry I will save her.’ I dash back to my treatment room. I fling open the trunk where I keep a trio of pistols and ammunition. I’ve only practiced with them once, now I will see how good I am at dealing with living targets. I load the pistols, grab a jacket, hide the pistols in the pockets and set out on my mission. I run as though chased by the devil to Spike’s and Gripper’s hide-out. I pray it is where they have taken Rose. My heart is thumping. I reach the door and begin to pound on it. There is no reply. I draw a pistol, fire at the lock and it explodes. I throw my body against the door. It’s rotten, and gives way under my weight. I see Spike running down the stairs. I raise a pistol and fire. He throws himself at me and I collapse under his weight. I push him away and see his dead eyes. His lifeless face looks at me as though he has a question on his mind. The only question in my mind is am I too late to save Rose? I look around, the corridor is dark. I try to find my pistols, but they are lost. How can I fight Gripper without weapons? A woman is screaming, ‘Help me!’ It’s Rose! I scramble up the stairs and burst into a room. There, tied to a table is Rose, she is clearly terrified. I rush forward to untie her, but am instantly caught in a vice like grip. I struggle with every ounce of strength in my body, but it is pointless, I cannot break the hold. ‘Gripper. Let go of me!’ ‘Doc? What are you doing here? We are just getting you some more organs. What was the noise downstairs?’ Quickly I think of a lie, ‘The noise was Spike. He has had some sort of fit. I need some medical equipment to look after him.’ ‘We thought we heard a gunshot and someone smashing in the door?’ ‘Gripper let go of me. Spike needs help.’ I feel Gripper relax his iron like grip. I fall to the ground. I know that I must act quickly to save Rose. I look around and see a set of blood stained knifes on the table. ‘Gripper, go and help Spike!’ Gripper hesitates. ‘Go and help Spike. I‘ll get some medicine.’ Gripper lumbers out of the room. I rush over to Rose, grab a carving knife and begin to cut her bonds. As I free her, she looks at me as though I am the devil and then turns away, ‘They told me they were going to kill me and take my organs for your medical experiments. You’re a monster!’ Before I can protest Gripper has crashed back into the room. He looks at Rose and then at me, not sure of who to grab first. As he dithers I look down at the knife in my hand. ‘Doc. What is happening? Spike is dead, he’s been shot!’ As Gripper says the words he takes in the scene. ‘Why is she free? Don’t you want the organs?’ Rose runs for the door, but Gripper swipes at her with back of his shovel like hand and knocks her down. She lies motionless on the ground. I stand my ground. Gripper advances towards me. I know I’m doomed. I dart around the table. Gripper leans across and tries to grab me, but I duck out of the way. I wave the knife at him, but he appears oblivious to it. ‘Why have you turned against us Doc?’ ‘I needed to save Rose. I need to do the right thing!’ ‘Then you will die together.’ As I lash out at Gripper he catches hold of my arm and drags me across the table. As he squeezes my arm the knife falls out of my hand. ‘Now Doc, is there anything that you want to say before the end.’ ‘What I did was wrong! God forgive me!’ I feel Gripper’s hand around my neck, choking off my air supply. I struggle, but it is pointless. Then a look of agonised surprised appears on Gripper’s face. He mumbles, ‘What?’ A small amount of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth. He releases his grip on me, staggers backwards and then slowly turns. In his back is a carving knife. Rose stands looking at him, blood on her hands. I grab another knife off the floor, rush forward and plunge the knife into Gripper’s neck. Blood spurts from the wound. ‘Quick Rose, we have to run.’ We run through the door and stumble down the stairs. The heavy footsteps of Gripper follow us. At the bottom of the stairs I see Spike’s body, as I step over it I see the last of my pistols. I grab it, turn and fire at Gripper. He halts for a few moments and then continues to lumber after us. Rose has rushed through the door. I see her run off in the direction of her home. I pause for a few moments and wait for Gripper. His wounds are slowing him down, but he still comes after us. He sees me. I run in the opposite direction to Rose. Gripper follows me and soon we are on the riverbank. I wait for him to catch up and then he lunges at me. We fall into the river in a tangled mass. Gripper and I struggle as we sink down into the darkness of the water. I can feel Gripper trying to grab my neck. As we sink deeper I see an anchor embedded in the bottom of the river, attached to the anchor is a chain. I grab the chain and swim around Gripper and then loop the end of the chain around the anchor. Gripper struggles against the chain, but he is shackled to the bottom of the river. I swim up towards the surface, followed by great rushes of bubbles from Gripper. I turn and see Gripper motionless. For a moment I think about simply letting the water take me, but suddenly my need for life overcomes me and forces me to struggle to the surface. Moments later I break the surface and with the last of my strength make it to the river bank and drag myself onto land. I lie on the bank, looking at the water. There is no sign of Gripper. I have destroyed the source of the organs I need, condemning myself to old age and death. I drag myself to Rose’s lodgings and peer through the window. The place is full of armed men. I hear one man shouting. ‘Spike and Gripper have been killing young woman and mutilating them. They have been doing it for their friend the Doctor!’ The crowd gasps in disbelief. ‘Spike is dead, but we will hunt Gripper and the Doctor down and rip them to pieces!’ A loud cheer goes up and the men begin to swarm in the streets. I know I am evil, a destroyer of life, I should stay and take my punishment but my desire for life still rules me. I slip quickly into the foggy night and return to my apartment. It has been empty for decades. I lie on the mouldy old bed and fall into a sleep. A soldier coughs, waking me from my fitful sleep. I look, bleary eyed, at the train carriage full of young men, aged and withered by years of fighting. The young soldier looks at me, eyes tarnished by the horrors of war, ‘I can’t believe we’re going home.’ ‘That’s right, Hitler’s dead and we survived. Get some rest.’ As he lays his head down, I try to think of a home. But there is no home for me, just a strange limbo state that has lasted decades as I wait for my body to age. In the last sixty years I have never taken the potion again, but I am still physically young. My soul, on the other hand, has been tortured by the crimes I committed and the hellish sights I have seen. I’ve spent nearly six decades moving from war to war trying to atone for my sins by tending the sick and the dying. Sixty years of seeing the brutality of war, men ordered to forget all moral decency and commit terrible acts in the name of some great cause, which most of them never understood or much less cared about. An image of Rose comes into my mind, how I long for her and a normal life. I am sick of the endless repetition of life, war after war, financial folly after folly, the endless crowds of people that clutter the world all trying to solve the same problems as their forefathers; repeating the same mistakes. Am I cursed with eternal life? Has man advanced in my hundred and fifty years of life? For ever technical advancement in medicine of science, there has always been an equally bad use of the new technology. Better planes have just meant better bombers, as we found to our cost. As we shuffle off the train at the station I begin to wander the streets. What should I do? Out of the corner of my eye I see a young girl walking along the pavement. I can’t believe it. It is Rose! How can this be? I am only ten yards behind her as she crosses a bridge. An old woman comes up to her. The girl and old woman stop close to each other. I hear her words. ‘Hello Granny.’ ‘Hello Rosemary.’ I walk past. The old woman stares at me in disbelief. It is Rose, but she must be at least eighty years old. She calls out to me. ‘I know you. You are the killer Doctor.’ The girl asks, ‘What do you mean Granny?’ Rose starts to shout, ‘Murderer! Murderer!’ Out of instinct I start to run. Rose starts to cross the road after me, with her granddaughter just behind her. I can hear the sounds of feet thudding on the ground behind me. I hear police sirens. I run towards the bridge across the river. A police car is coming across it. I stop. I see an open warehouse door and dart in. I peer out of the warehouse door and see Rose and her granddaughter just by the edge of the river. I look at Rose and know I have cheated aging and death. Rose starts to talk, ‘That man was responsible for the deaths of many young people. He worked with two people Spike and Gripper. I thought he was dead.’ ‘Granny don’t worry the police will catch him.’ Rose is out of breath and looks tired. Rosemary helps Rose sit on the edge of the road, without thinking Rosemary steps back into the road. I can see a car hurtling along the road. I dart across the road and push Rosemary out of the way. The car hits me full on and flings me across the road. A spasm runs through my body, every muscle tightens and twists. Images of the past pump through my mind. My body feels old and withered. I hear a distance voice, 'Granny. He's crumbling.’