The Immortalists

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

Text copyright ©2011 Kyle Mills
All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Published by Thomas & Mercer
P.O. Box 400818
Las Vegas, NV 89140

ISBN: 978-1-61218-150-9

Annette Chevalier slammed on her brakes and winced as the car lurched forward, nearly hitting the rising garage door. Her husband had threatened to duct tape a mattress to her front bumper if she ever did it again, and there was no reason to believe he was bluffing.

She drummed the steering wheel impatiently, glancing at the broken clock in the dashboard and then at her wrist, which hadn’t held a watch in years. They were such insidious little machines— always there to pressure you, to make you fixate on what was next instead of taking pleasure in what was now. To remind you that your time was slowly, inevitably running out.

She gunned the car inside and jumped out, rushing for the door. Her son’s recital was tonight, and not only had she promised to be there, she’d gotten testy when he’d given her the skeptical eye roll he’d learned from his father.

The light from the exterior floods bled through the windows in the living room, providing just enough illumination to keep her from bouncing off the furniture as she dashed toward the stairs. When she passed the kitchen, though, the digital numbers glowing from the oven caused her to falter and finally stop.

It was almost over. By the time she changed out of her lab clothes and drove to the school, they would be on their way home.

She stood there in the semidarkness, trying to recall how many times she’d allowed this to happen. Jonny’s disappointment was turning to cynicism as he reached the age for such attitudes to take hold.

But this would be the last time. She was going to buy a watch tomorrow. One with an alarm. A loud, obnoxious one. Maybe even flashing lights.

She padded quietly to the refrigerator, scowling at the plastic-covered plate of leftovers that her husband had arranged for her. His not-so-subtle way of reminding her that he’d always known she’d miss the recital.

Tomorrow wasn’t soon enough, she decided, snatching a chicken wing from the plate and making her way toward the office she kept at the back of the house. She’d order a watch from Amazon tonight and have it FedExed directly to the lab.

The darkness deepened the farther she got from the living room, and she navigated hesitantly, reluctant to use her greasy fingers to flip a switch. Pausing in the doorway, she squinted up at something she couldn’t quite make out hanging from the rafters. A moment later, the desk lamp snapped on, causing her to drop the chicken and raise a hand reflexively to protect her eyes.

“I want you to be very quiet, Annette.”

The unfamiliar voice was completely calm but carried a weight that choked off the startled scream building in her throat. Her eyes began to adjust to the glare, slowly adding detail to the outline of the man sitting in her chair.

“Who…who are you?”

He didn’t react, remaining motionless enough that the ceiling and the thing dangling from it again attracted her eye.

A noose.

“Take what you want,” she heard herself say.

“I’m afraid that’s you, Annette.”

She’d been labeled a genius since the first day of grade school, but her mind still couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Based on his accent, dark skin, and European features, the man in front of her was most likely Indian. His suit was impeccably tailored, and his tie looked like it cost more than her entire wardrobe. Not a thief. A rapist?

The thought almost made her laugh. A man obsessed with overweight, middle-aged women who hadn’t attracted many glances even in their twenties?

“I don’t understand.”

He pointed to the noose.

“Are you some kind of psychopath?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing here? You have the wrong person. I’m a biologist. A medical researcher—”

“You have a PhD from Harvard,” he said, continuing for her. “You’ve been married for nineteen years. You have a fourteen-year-old son named Jonathan whose piano recital you’re missing as we speak.”

Her initial shock faded into nausea-induced terror. The room began to lose focus, and she put a still-greasy hand on the doorjamb to steady herself. “Why would you want to hurt me? I don’t
do
anything. I work during the week. On weekends, I stay around the house.”

“Everyone has enemies, Annette. And, unfortunately, yours are wealthy and powerful enough to afford me.”

He stood, and her body tensed. Moving only her eyes, she followed him as he dragged her chair around the desk and placed it beneath the rope.

“If you would be so kind?” he said, motioning for her to climb up onto the chair.

“No.”

He nodded, unsurprised by her reluctance. “I’m going to explain something to you, and I need you to listen very carefully. I’m being paid extremely well to make your death look like a suicide—”

“This is insane!” she blurted. “
You’re
insane. No one—”

He put his finger to his lips, and her voice faded back into the silence.

“If I’m not mistaken, your son’s performance has already ended. If I’m still here when he and your husband come home, my plan changes.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that instead of just committing suicide, you’ll have a complete mental breakdown. You’ll kill them both before turning the gun on yourself.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he ignored her and continued.

“Based on your background, no one will be particularly surprised, will they, Annette? No one will ask questions.”

She thought about running but knew she wouldn’t make it ten feet before he chased her down. And screaming wouldn’t help either. The house was well insulated and separated from their nearest neighbor by more than a hundred yards of hedge-bordered grass that she’d insisted on for Jonny. He’d inherited her sedentary ways, and she’d hoped a yard would encourage him to go outside.

The man pulled a gun from his waistband that she recognized as the one her husband had bought years ago against her wishes. For protection, he’d said.

Still, she didn’t move. This couldn’t be happening. “Tell me why.”

“I wouldn’t know. I’m just a man who does unpleasant work for people too cowardly to do it themselves. What I can tell you is this: The people I visit always protest, but deep down they know. They know why I’m here.”

“I develop medicines that help people,” she protested. “I’m in the PTA, but I miss most of the meetings. I…” She fell silent. There was nothing more to say. That was her whole life.

He pointed to the noose with her husband’s gun. “Time’s running out.”

His eyes were dark, almost black, but not angry or even particularly menacing. All she saw there was certainty. He would do what he said he would. He’d make her watch while he murdered the son she’d spent nowhere near enough time with and the husband who had stood by her even when he shouldn’t have. And the world would think she did it.

Annette took a shaky step forward, and the man held out a hand, helping to steady her as she climbed up onto the chair.

The noose was now directly in front of her face, and she found herself paralyzed. “I’m afraid.”

“It’ll be over soon,” he said serenely.

“How do I know you won’t hurt them?”

“Why would I? It would be noisy and messy. It would attract the press. My only concerns are that I am paid and that no one knows I was ever here. But the longer we wait…” He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

She put the noose around her neck, and he reached up, tightening it until the sensation of the rope against her skin overpowered the warm trickle of tears running down her cheeks.

She stared straight forward as he took hold of the chair beneath her feet. It was suddenly all so clear—the unheeded coincidences, the odd questions thoughtlessly answered, the inexplicably emphatic demands of her superiors.

He was right. She knew exactly why he was here.