Beckon

She had been the brightest ray of sunlight in his life for nearly fifty years. But now he hardly knew her. And all he had left of their life together were a few old pictures and videos.

Ahead, the road opened to reveal a better view of the log home. Pea gravel crunched under the tires as they rolled onto the wide, circular driveway. George whistled inwardly as he got out of the car. The place was palatial— at least fifty thousand square feet, he guessed. It looked too big to be a house, more like a small inn or lodge. Thick log beams and tons of smooth river rock provided a rustic yet majestic exterior, and George found himself eager to see the inside.

“Nice place.”

“It used to be a rather exclusive little hotel,” Browne said, now sounding more like a tour guide. “It was originally built by the Vale family in the early 1900s. They catered mostly to wealthy city folk who wanted to get out into the country and try their hand at hunting elk and such. Mr. Vale has gone to great lengths to restore and upgrade the facilities. I think you’ll find them quite comfortable.”

Browne led them through the thick, wooden front doors and into an expansive flagstone foyer.

The woman who greeted them there was slender and attractive, with thick locks of burgundy hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“Welcome, Mr. Wilcox,” she said. “I’m Amanda McWhorter, Mr. Vale’s personal assistant. He’s very eager to meet with you.” She gestured to the hallway beyond the foyer. “If you’ll just have a seat in the great room, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived.”

The spacious, vaulted room beyond the staircase contained a set of leather couches facing each other. Behind them, an old barrel with rusted iron bands stood off to one side of the massive stone fireplace, and an antique wagon wheel garnished the other. And above the hearth hung an impressive rack of elk antlers.

Browne motioned to the couches. “Make yourself at home. I’ll have your luggage brought up to your suite.”

George helped Miriam settle into one of the couches, and Dwight Henderson sat across from her. George walked over to take in the view from the wall of windows. The bank of glass overlooked a steep cliff with a dense forest of pines far below. Amid the trees, he saw sections of the gravel road that ran from the house through the wooded hillside to the town below. Beyond it lay a vast stretch of rolling bluffs that seemed to spread for miles to a row of mountains off in the distance. George breathed a sigh and shook his head. It was quite the vista.

“No matter how many times I look out there,” a voice said, “I never get tired of that view.”

George turned to see the man he assumed to be Thomas Vale. He looked to be perhaps in his early thirties, with an angular face and long black hair. His body appeared lean and trim beneath his black silk shirt and gray trousers.

“Welcome to Beckon, Mr. Wilcox.” Vale shook George’s hand. “It’s good to finally meet you in person. Can I offer you a drink?”

“No, thank you,” George said. He could see Vale’s green eyes seemed to hold bright flecks of yellow pigment in the irises. The effect was slightly disconcerting.

Vale glanced at Henderson, who also declined the offer of a drink.

“Well, I guess I’ll be drinking alone,” Vale said as he poured himself some brandy from the liquor cabinet across the room. “I imagine it must have been hard to believe when Dr. Henderson first contacted you. After all, how does one begin a conversation of this nature? I’m guessing you were pretty skeptical.”

“Still am.”

Vale sat down with his drink. “No doubt. But hopefully we can assuage those concerns.”

“I certainly hope so.” George nodded toward Henderson. “Dr. Henderson was pretty cryptic about the nature of this… treatment. Which, frankly, didn’t help to inspire much confidence.”

“And yet here you are,” Vale said, spreading his hands. “I’m guessing you’ve gotten beyond a certain level of desperation. Perhaps to the point where you wondered what you had to lose.”

George sat down beside Miriam and ran his fingers across her shoulders. She’d been ignoring their conversation. Lately it seemed like she’d been ignoring him more and more, slowly drifting like a boat that had lost its moorings, floating away from the dock down a dark river.

“But you said this treatment has never been tried on someone with Alzheimer’s before. How do you know it’ll actually help her?”

“The human body is its own best medicine,” Henderson interjected. “Essentially all this treatment does is help the body heal itself.”

“I’m afraid the nature of it forces us to maintain a certain level of secrecy.” Vale let his gaze drift up to the ceiling and offered an odd sort of half smile. “You see, it’s not exactly a conventional medical treatment.”

“What do you mean?”

Henderson leaned forward. “It’s a remedy that a local Indian tribe has been practicing for… well, probably for hundreds of years.”

George stared at him, his mouth hanging open. “You’re joking, right?”

“Now, Mr. Wilcox, we’ve actually—”

“You dragged me all the way up from Texas for some crazy Indian remedy? Are you kidding me?”

Henderson looked flustered. “As—as you recall, I explained that you would need to keep an open mind. I told you—”

“You didn’t say anything about this being some hokey, superstitious nonsense. I never would have come.”

“Which is precisely why we didn’t tell you,” Vale said in a calm tone.

“Mr. Wilcox,” Henderson said, “I’ve personally witnessed this treatment’s effectiveness. Look, I don’t believe in the supernatural either, but this is an organic compound that produces a real physiological effect. Now… of course the local… medicine woman insists on a certain ceremonial procedure, but the cure itself—I assure you—is an actual, physical compound.”

“What kind of compound?”

“It’s called perilium,” Vale said.

“Yes, but what is it?” George said again. “You say it’s some kind of organic compound, but that doesn’t really tell me much.”

“For the moment all we can tell you is what I explained over the phone,” Henderson said. “Perilium enhances the body’s natural immune system. And the body, in turn, responds to whatever disease state happens to be present. The end result is the same regardless of whether the patient suffers from cancer, MS, or indigestion. Or Alzheimer’s. Perilium simply helps the body heal itself.”

George glanced at Miriam, wondering what he’d gotten her into. Though it wasn’t as if they had many other options. If this perilium didn’t work, she would spend the next three or four years suffering with her Alzheimer’s and would eventually die. Or perhaps she’d have some sort of allergic reaction to the drug and die right away. Either way, she was no better off if he refused.

He took a breath and leaned back. “You’re asking for a pretty big leap of faith. And a lot of money.”

“And in exchange, you get your wife back.” Vale’s pleasant demeanor had evaporated a bit. “Exactly how much is that worth to you, Mr. Wilcox? How much would you pay to cure your wife’s Alzheimer’s? To not spend the next years watching her die a protracted and unpleasant death?”

George fell silent, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. “And if it doesn’t work?”

Vale shrugged. “Then you’re under no other obligation. The only condition is that you abide by the nondisclosure agreement you signed. But you and your wife will be none the worse for wear.”

George shook his head. “So why do I feel like I’m being hustled?”

“Not at all,” Vale said. “Say the word and I’ll call the whole thing off. You can keep your money and go home.” He downed the last of his drink. “The only thing you’d lose would be your wife.”

George stared at the man. Vale sat on the leather couch entirely nonchalant.

Miriam seemed equally placid and leaned into George. “I like this house,” she whispered.

George looked into her eyes and could see a vague sense of recognition there, that he was still familiar enough for her to feel comfortable being with him. But he wondered how long that would last. He wondered what it would be worth for the chance to have her back. He was ready to retire and enjoy his golden years. He pictured