Aeterna

Candlelight danced in flickering leaps across burgundy walls, wax bleeding with each passing minute. Gaze fixated at the head of the table, she took a lengthy sip of wine, not breaking eye contact. Despite the heat of her glare, the recipient continued unaware.

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight,” the head of the table boomed. The charcoal suit he sported was expertly tailored, hanging from his frame–a frame that was looking increasingly toned as of late. His beard, once peppered, was now a perfectly manicured onyx. As he proceeded with his speech, his eyes gleamed with excitement.

The woman clenched the stem of her glass until her fingers blanched. She felt her body growing restless, cells thrown into overdrive, and a familiar ache returning to her bones. It was like coming down off of a high. She craved a fix but knew that was impossible after what she’d seen. Images of hollowed eyes and gaunt skeletons haunted her dreams.

“So, ladies and gentlemen, I have a special treat for you tonight. Boris?” The table head flagged down a bald man suited in black. Boris, without so much as a twitch of emotion, stoically brought a metal box and placed it before the man. Latches were unhinged, and a hiss escaped the container. Tendrils of liquid nitrogen curled from within, and the audience gasped in wonder.

“Is that what I think it is?” a woman robed in fur asked, awestruck. She fiddled with a silver lock of hair at her shoulder.

“By God, he’s done it,” a pot-bellied man commented.

With a feather-like touch, the table head unearthed a glass bottle from the box, touting it to the dinner guests like show-and-tell. The liquid within swirled, tinged blue. “This is what you’ve all been waiting for with bated breath and graying hair–Aeterna.” Another bout of excited chatter swept through the room, but the woman remained silent, fixated on the bottle.

Was she really about to do this? Could she upend the entirety of her life and career?

Like a reminder, the phantom grasp of a bony hand encircled her own. A flash of hollow, blue eyes overtook her vision momentarily. Nausea churned in her gut.

She had to do it.

Before the table could further descend into a frenzy, she stood, the wooden chair screeching across the floor and capturing the room’s attention. Beneath her long gown, her knees cracked as she got to her feet.

“Cassandra?” the table head queried. “Would you like to add something?”

“Walter,” she acknowledged, steadying her tone. There was no use in resorting to hysterics; what she was about to reveal was shocking enough on its own. “Everyone, I would like to echo the thanks Walter has given to you all. It truly is a wondrous thing that we have accomplished.”

The woman wrapped in fur nodded eagerly. Dumbly. Obliviously.

She continued. “Or perhaps wondrous isn’t the right word.” She snatched her wine, hoisting it high. “I have an even better term for this creation. Join me in a toast.”

The guests followed suit, dazzling smiles beaming as they raised their glasses. A smug and self-satisfied look glazed Walter’s expression.

“To Aeterna: the most miraculous, corrupt, and selfish creation I’ve ever had the displeasure of watching come to fruition.”

The crowd gawked like fish out of water, bewilderment blanching their faces when they realized there was no punchline coming. Cassandra swirled her wine, watching maroon streaks paint the glass.

“You know, they call these the legs,” she started, referencing the drips in her glass. The warmth of alcohol buzzed in her system like a boost of courage. “That was one of the first things I learned when finding my way in high society–a society very different from the one in which I was raised. The more legs, the higher the alcohol content and the fuller the body of the wine…the richer the texture.” She scoffed, chugging the rest of the wine.

“Cassandra, I’m not sure what this has to do with Aeterna, I–” Walter started.

“Let me finish, Walter,” she snapped. Taken aback, the man looked as if he’d been slapped. “Wine is wine, to me. I’m not a sommelier. Growing up, my family’s idea of a nice dinner out was going to the local diner and splurging for a soda, or–” Cassandra paused. She could feel the skin crinkle around her eyes as she grinned. “A Bud Light, if they were feeling adventurous. Because, you see, I was poor. I grew up in a double-wide trailer.”

Half of the table seemed uncomfortable with the revelation. The silver-haired woman’s lip curled up in disgust. Cassandra momentarily fantasized about ramming one of the silver spoons lying on the table straight down the woman’s throat.

“Now most of you could never dream of a life like that, right?” Cassandra asked. There were a few sheepish nods. “But that’s the reality for so many people around the world, and in this short life, some of them don’t have the opportunity to make it out–to make a name for themselves.”

A spectacled man spoke up. “But that’s the beauty of Aeterna,” he piped. “Those people could get a longer window–another chance–at a beautiful life.” Murmurs of agreement hummed around the table.

“Oh, but you see, it’s not. There’s an ugly truth to Aeterna.” Walter looked ready to jump across the table, right over the skeletal remains of a carved turkey, but he stayed put. Cassandra continued. “What you lovely folks don’t know is that the pool of donors for Aeterna is not always–shall we say–ready and willing.”

“What do you mean?” The pot-bellied man narrowed his eyes.

“Aeterna may have started with obliging donors–people who needed a little extra cash. It was like donating plasma, at first. Then we discovered that it just wasn’t enough. The supply didn’t match the demand.” She held her hands up like an imbalanced scale. “So, what do you do when that happens?” She faced Walter. “Well, some would consider that a failed investment, but not our dear Walter.”

“Boris,” Walter threatened. Boris stood at attention, a guard dog ready to attack at his master’s command.

She had to get to the point. Fast.

“Human trafficking!” she exclaimed. The guests gasped, some in shock and some in horror. Boris practically salivated on his way to apprehend her, but Cassandra dodged, leaping onto the table. Her joints crackled in reply. “They took the poor–the proclaimed dregs of society, the people they thought no one would miss–and they drained them for the development of the elixir. Walter wanted not only to satisfy his investors but himself. After all, would you be able to return to your frail shell after making such a transformation?” Cassandra gestured to Walter’s youthful physique.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize. I think the wine may have gone to my partner’s head,” Walter chuckled. Nervous laughter echoed his own. “I assure you we are employing no such practices in developing Aeterna. I suppose I should say developed, as it is complete. In fact–” he said, opening the bottle with a satisfying pop—champagne for the rich. “I have brought enough for everyone’s initial dose. And, as you can see, it does work wonders.” Walter ran a hand along his physique for proof.

Cassandra stood, heels digging into the tablecloth, and watched Walter fill a glass. Her tongue tingled with a reminder of the bitter substance. Day after day, she’d knocked it back like a shot, been overjoyed when the hairs sprouting from her head were no longer gray, her skin slightly less crepey with each passing month.

“Oh, and Cassandra,” Walter added. “Let’s not forget that you, too, have partaken in consuming Aeterna. And didn’t you just feel wonderful?” Walter’s past tense told Cassandra he knew she’d stopped taking the elixir. Perhaps he could see it in the way she tired easily, the way she struggled when doing basic tasks, the pearlescent strands peeking through her dark tresses.

The crowd glanced up at Cassandra, a live rendition of Liberty Leading the People, albeit a rather apprehensive people. But she had to win them over. 

“Yes, that is true,” she admitted. Whispers slithered around her. “But that was before I knew the truth of the harvesting. I saw it with my own eyes–people wasting away in experimental chambers as their life was stolen from them. And for what? Because someone deemed them not important enough for society?”

A meek woman dripping in jewels stood up. “That’s a scathing accusation to make, but where is your proof?” She wagged a gnarled finger at Cassandra, anger flushing her rouged cheeks.

Cassandra flipped through her phone, showcasing picture after picture of emaciated patients. “Here's your proof.” 

While many of the guests recoiled, some were apathetic. 

“Let me ask you this: where does it end? When the supply of elixir is running low, how do they plan to replenish it? When the supply of patients is exhausted, how will they acquire more? Breeding,” Cassandra hissed. “Like livestock, the poor would suffer and be made to live a life of involuntary servitude–their life for the enhancement of the rich.”

“I think I’m going to be sick,” the spectacled man announced, covering his mouth with his napkin.

“You should be,” Cassandra deadpanned. “The plans I’ve found in Walter’s study could cause a worldwide upheaval. And where there’s upheaval, there’s usually rebellion.”

The woman in fur took a sip of her wine and matter-of-factly stated, “Artificial selection.”

Everyone grew silent, pondering the term.

“There’s already natural selection; this is just helping the process along. We’re going to be weeding out the undesirables–beneficial to society in the long run, wouldn’t you all agree? I mean, really, how many times will we have to hear about a robbery gone wrong or drive by parts of our very own city littered with needles from junkies before we say enough is enough?”

“Okay, let’s say we went through with this, hypothetically. Let’s say you weed out all of the population’s current undesirables–who’s left? Are you going to take a family trying to survive on food stamps for your gain? Are you going to go after the elderly woman on disability to squeeze the last drops of life from her just to get your fix? And, yes, I said fix.” The woman looked momentarily poignant. Cassandra rolled her shoulders, muscles rippling beneath as if she’d been hunched over her entire life. “Aeterna is like–no, it is–a drug. You take it to feel good, better than you’ve ever felt. You feel beyond what reality could offer a normal human. But then you have to keep dosing, because if you don’t–” Cassandra lifted the weighted hem of her gown, revealing legs spidery with veins, and rolled up the sleeves of her gown to display dark spots and crinkled flesh. “–this is the side effect: withdrawal. Years added in a matter of days.”

The table was silent. Cassandra remained planted in her position, and she observed the diamond on her left hand glinting beneath the chandelier. She glanced down at her husband at the head of the table, barely recognizing him, their vows to grow old together shattered by greed and secrecy.

When Walter first revealed Aeterna to his beloved wife, he was already knee-deep in the development, assuring Cassandra that protocol was followed. And, when Cassandra witnessed Walter’s transformation with her own eyes–the way his crow’s feet grew taut and firm seemingly overnight, the way his fatigue was replaced with youthful stamina she hadn’t seen in years–she wanted in. She longed for another shot at embodying her prime.

But now their fountain of youth ran murky, poisoned.

At times, Cassandra wished the truth had never come to light. Ignorance is bliss, they say. Ignorance had also claimed more souls than she could stomach counting. And it was all thanks to one whistleblowing associate: Miles Henderson.

Walter and Miles had known one another since college, both starry-eyed scientists eager to change the world. Creating Aeterna was life’s ambition actualized. But somewhere along the way, two roads diverged in a wood–a very dark wood. Realizing the bittersweet price of their creation, Mile attempted to halt production, but Walter was hooked. He’d be damned if someone was going to confiscate his one shot at making a name for himself in this usually brief life.

Failing to reason with his long-time partner and friend, Miles threatened to blow the roof off the experimental elixir. But, before he did, he gave Walter one last chance by telling Cassandra. Perhaps the apple of his eye could talk some sense into him.

At a dinner one sticky, summer night, Miles watched plaintively as Cassandra took the elixir with her guests like a party trick. After a few Old Fashioneds, he planted the seed in Cassandra’s mind beneath the cover of night and whiskey-tainted whispers.

Cassandra was skeptical, initially, until Miles took her to the lab–a forbidden zone for her up until that point.

The unveiled horror struck her. It was akin to animal testing, the shriveled subjects clinging to life with no way out. The blank gaze of a skeletal man would be forever ingrained in her mind. Suddenly, she felt foreign in her own body as if the newly supple flesh was stolen.

Not long after the revelation, Cassandra confronted Walter.

Not long after the confrontation, Miles disappeared.

Cassandra lay stiff in bed at night feeling as if she shared the sheets with a monster. Most nights she barely slept. If Walter was capable of getting rid of his closest friend, would he bat an eye at removing her from the equation?

Perhaps he considered her too weak and vain to do anything about it. Or maybe he was planning something for her demise. 

When he’d offered to fasten her necklace before dinner, she was certain he would yank it taut, squeeze until life drained from her body. Instead, he’d kissed her cheek, raked his fingers through her hair, and whispered in her ear, “You are my life, my everything.” The ice encapsulating her heart thawed momentarily, and she blushed despite herself.

Now, she loomed over a room divided. Would their investors turn away in disgust, or would they be too selfishly blinded to care?

The faces surrounding her seemed to grow closer, then retreat. Ebb and flow.

Her own voice sounded distant and hazy as she delivered her call to action. “You all…know what…the bright–right–thing to do is,” she slurred, tottering on her heels.

The guests looked concerned, amused, and then–

Cassandra collapsed across the table, barely missing a carving knife resting near the turkey. Her wine-stained lips pursed and parted as she struggled to speak.

Just before her world plunged into darkness, she thought of her husband, and realization coiled around her throat.

***

Walter stretched, the morning sun glistening against his tanned skin through the kitchen window. He retrieved a bottle from the fridge, the liquid within churning like a cerulean sea. What a development he’d made in configuring the elixir to be stable in an ordinary refrigerator. Now it was like pouring your morning glass of OJ. 

Just then, the puff of slippered feet trudged into the kitchen in a black nightie, blonde hair streaming down her back.

“Good morning,” he purred, pulling her to his chest and planting a kiss on her cheek. She reciprocated, and when he lifted her onto the counter and handed her a glass, she smiled–not a wrinkle in sight, just the way he liked them.

They clinked glasses and gulped in unison. She wiped her pert lips, and he wanted nothing more than to take her back to bed. As if reading his mind, she wrapped her legs around his waist.

He started to hoist her up but paused. “One second,” he told her. 

She watched as he carefully resealed the glass bottle. Walter took care in placing it gently back in the fridge, aligning it with the others behind it. As he closed the door, the etched letter in the nearly empty bottle nagged at him, but only momentarily.

C.