Thomas Higgs's old friend died, but then who is this young man with the strange offer to make Tommy young again?

Part 1 of 3
by
Bill Hart

Author's Notes:

This is a story that decided it had to be written while I was writing something else. It was so insistent, I had to stop the story I was writing and write this one.

Don't you just hate it when that happens?

This story is also an attempt to address something that several people refer to as a fault in my writing. Contrary to what a lot of people might think, I do take constructive criticism of my work quite seriously and in the vein it's given.

Bill

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Thomas Higgs hobbled slowly up the walk of the imposing mansion. His knees ached. He'd slowed down considerably in the last several years as advancing age took its toll. He was going to turn eighty-four next week. He wasn't as young or as spry as he'd once been, but then who was after making it into their ninth decade.

Of late, there had been several times he wished he could be young and full of vigor again. If only he could be young again, there were many things - weren't there always - he would do quite differently in his life. However, he knew regaining his spent youth was simply an impossible dream. He'd already lived his life - in all likelihood nearly to its undeniable and inescapable end. A life once lived was lived just once and for all time. There could be no rewinding of a lifetime.

And yet, even if he somehow could begin his life anew, he wasn't sure he would.
Thomas sighed. It was a longer walk than he'd expected. And the walk only served as a reminder of his advancing age. But there were things even worse than getting older as each day passed day. And the worst of those was continually losing those good friends he'd known his entire life.

There weren't too many of his friends left anymore. Some of their passings had been particularly hard on Thomas. But none of them had been as difficult as the one he'd endured last week. Arnold Wheeler had been his best friend in the whole world ever since they were kids, way back in grade school. He'd passed away so suddenly - old age can sneak up on a body sometimes - that Thomas hadn't even had the time to say goodbye. Even at his funeral, he hadn't been able to say goodbye. The casket had already been sealed. Arnie had never been comfortable with the idea of people staring at his dead body.

But all this thinking only made Thomas wonder again what he was doing here. He didn't know anyone in this posh and expensive neighborhood; nobody he knew even had enough money to rent the gardeners' shacks in these places.

But that name - Alan Wheeler - on the letter he'd received had intrigued him. Thomas wondered if this Alan were related to Arnie somehow. He couldn't be his son. Thomas knew that Arnie, just as he himself was, had been a bachelor his whole life. That didn't preclude his having kids, of course, but Arnie had never mentioned having any. And Thomas was certain he would have known if there had been any. He and Arnie had few secrets between them.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Thomas reached the front door. On the front step, Thomas took a couple of long deep breaths, exhaling each of them in similar manner. He slowly reached for the large brass knocker - oddly he could find no bell - in order to rap on the heavy front door.

It wasn't long before a man - somewhat overdressed to Thomas' mind - answered the door. "Might I be of assistance, suh?" asked the man in a resonant, but still somewhat reserved, monotone voice.

"I'm here to see Alan Wheeler."

The overdressed man looked Thomas over carefully for several seconds. "Have you an appointment with the mastah, suh?"

"Was I supposed to make an appointment?" Thomas was certain this man was getting annoyed with him, but he had been asked to come here at this time. "The letter from Mr. Wheeler said nothing about making an appointment. It just said to come over today." Thomas handed the man the letter - he was glad he'd brought it along.

The man at the door read the letter, before handing it back again. "Why didn't you just say you were Mistah Higgs, suh?" He backed away from the door slowly, allowing Thomas to enter. "Please follow me, suh. The mastah is expecting you."

"Pompous windbag," muttered Thomas under his breath. But if the man leading him toward his meeting with Alan Wheeler had heard him, he showed no discernable reaction.

Thomas was led down a long hall to the only closed door along its length. The peculiar butler opened the door. "Please wait inside the library, Mistah Higgs. You may look around at your leisure, if you so wish. But please, touch nothing. I shall inform the mastah that you have finally arrived."

"Thank you," replied Thomas, as he entered the room.

And once again the odd butler said nothing as he turned and headed away. Thomas wondered where someone would have to go to find anyone so peculiar.

Thomas was surprised to see so many books in the room. He generally never saw this many books in one place unless he was in the public library. But then, the strange man had called this room a library. And it certainly lived up to that name.

As he wandered among the numerous shelves of books, Thomas was surprised to find some very familiar books. They were books he had neither seen nor even thought about in several years. On the shelf sat four old leather bound volumes, as well as four additional albums of a decidedly more recent origin, of 'El Oroso' - the Golden Bear - his old High School yearbook. Even more strangely, the four older volumes were for those same four years he and his best friend Arnie had been in attendance there. What were the odds that someone he didn't know and had never heard of before had those four particular albums in his library?

Who the hell could this Alan Wheeler possibly be?

He couldn't be Arnie's son. Arnie had had no children, at least none that Thomas knew about. He'd never even married. And now that Thomas had had a little more time to think a few other things through, he remembered that Arnie had also been an only child.

Feeling increasingly confused by everything he'd seen and no longer knowing what he might expect in this strange unknown place, Thomas slid down into the plush chair that faced the large mahogany desk, where he expected Alan Wheeler would sit when he finally arrived. Thomas had scores of questions he wanted to ask; he only hoped this Alan Wheeler had all the answers to his questions.

When the door finally opened again, a young man, clearly of college age and not that long out of high school entered the room. Thomas' mouth dropped open, as he stared at the youngster who might have easily been mistaken for a ghost from his past.

"Barton!" exclaimed the young man in an imperious tone. "Get my good friend Tommy here a drink." He looked over at Thomas. "You were always a Scotch man as I remember, Tommy," he said with an oddly familiar smile. He turned back to his strange manservant whose name was Barton. "Chivas Regal for my friend, Barton. Three fingers, neat." With a swagger as imperious as the tone of his voice, the young man entered the room and, just as Thomas had expected, sat down in the chair behind the mahogany desk.

"How did you know that?" Thomas asked nervously.

"I know a great many things about you, Tommy Higgs."

"Do I know you?" Thomas suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable in this young man's presence.

Alan smiled at Thomas. "Of course you do. We've known each other a very long time. It's just been quite a long while since you've seen me this way."

"I don't understand."

"That's to be expected, Tommy. I didn't really understand at first."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Just look at me Tommy," smiled Alan. "Look real close. Once you do I'm convinced you'll be able to tell exactly who I am."

Thomas continued staring at the young man's familiar face. "I know who you appear to be," he replied with nervous caution. "But I know that's impossible. You can't possibly be who you appear to be."

At this point, Barton entered the room. "Here is your drink, suh. Chivas Regal, three fingers, neat, as the Mastah Alan has requested."

Thomas took the glass. "Thank you, Mr. Barton." But the manservant said nothing, even as Thomas emptied the glass in one swift gulp.

"I haven't seen you do that in quite a while, Tommy. At your age, I'm certain the tummy tends to do flip-flops after the chugging of a glass of scotch." Alan turned to his butler. "Fetch another Chivas for my good friend, Barton."

"At once, suh."

"Oh and Barton."

"Yes, Mastah."

"Why don't you just bring the bottle back with you?"

Barton raised an eyebrow in apparent surprise, but, as it wasn't his place to contradict Alan, he replied simply, "As you wish, Mastah."

Alan then turned his full attention back to Thomas. "Have you finally decided who I am, Tommy?"

"I've already told you it’s not possible for you to be who you appear to be," snapped Thomas. "Arnie's dead and buried. You can't possibly be Arnie."

"Tommy, Tommy, Tommy," sighed Alan. "You were always a remarkably stubborn cuss, even when we were little kids."

Thomas stared at the young man. How had Alan known something about him that he thought only Arnie had known?

"You're wondering how I know what I know," replied Alan. "Maybe you'll believe what is obvious if we talk about Mary Ellen."

"Mary Ellen?" replied Thomas. "What the hell could you possibly know about Mary Ellen?"

"I know everything there is to know about Mary Ellen, Tommy," replied Alan. "You should have asked her to marry you all those years ago. We both know you wanted to ask her. How many times have I told you she would have said yes?"

"More times than I can possibly count, I'd imagine," replied Thomas absently. Once he realized what he'd said, Thomas stared at Alan. "How can you know something like that?" he finally asked. "I never discussed Mary Ellen with anyone except..."

"... Your best friend Arnie Wheeler," finished Alan with a widening grin. "Yes, I know everything," he added, eerily anticipating Thomas' next question. "I know what I know because I was there with you. I listened to every word you had to say to her and watched nearly everything the two of you did when you were together."

Thomas, finding the young man's story disturbing, continued staring at Alan. "How can you possibly claim to be Arnie Wheeler? He was three months older than me and I'm going to turn eighty-four next week. You are nowhere near Arnie's age. Hell, I doubt you're any older than twenty-five, if even that."

"You really think I look that old?" replied Alan with that odd smile that made Thomas distrust him. "Actually I'm only twenty-three - at least, that's the age that appears on my drivers' license - and just recently out of the State University."

"You haven't answered my question." Thomas' growing impatience with the young man's evasions was beginning to show. "How can you possibly claim to be Arnie Wheeler? Arnie's dead; I went to his funeral."

"It's not a claim, Tommy. It’s the full and absolute truth. Why do you think the casket was sealed? It was so people wouldn't start asking questions when I wasn't in it, of course."

"But how is this possible?" asked Thomas. Even though he wanted to believe his best friend was still alive, the idea that he could have somehow found a way to lose better than sixty years just seemed too ludicrous.

"It was magic," replied Alan. "Just plain and simple magic."

"Magic?" Thomas wasn't sure he believed that story.

"I was dying, Tommy. Slowly to be sure, but I was dying all the same. I made a wish to be young again and a demon overheard me and appeared in my room. After a little negotiation, I cut myself a deal with the demon - or perhaps it was Old Scratch himself who'd come calling - to restore my youth and make me a young man again."

"But why would you do that?"

"Why wouldn't I do that?" replied Alan. "It makes perfect sense. Wouldn't you agree that being young again is better than being dead?"

Before Thomas could think of an answer, Barton re-entered the room. Without saying one word, he handed Thomas another three fingers of Scotch, neat, and left the bottle on the desk, just as Alan had asked, and left again.

Flustered and confused, Thomas chugged this drink just as he had the first one. And then, with little effort, he leaned towards the desk, picked up the bottle of Scotch, and poured himself another round. Only this time, the Scotch rose nearly to the rim of the glass instead of merely three fingers.

"That's irrelevant," replied Thomas. "Regaining your youth is neither right nor natural. That's why you wouldn't do that."

"You always were somewhat of a prude, Tommy." Alan began grinning. "Should I assume from what you've just said that you're not in the least bit interested in regaining your own long lost youth?"

"What are you talking about, Alan?" Thomas still couldn't bring himself to call this youngster Arnie.

"Why do you think I asked you here, Tommy? Even with my regained youth I'm still lonely. And I really miss having my best friend around to share in my good fortune." Alan's sorrowful face suddenly seemed far older than it actually was. "Just think about this for a few seconds, Tommy. It would be the two of us young and together again. Can't you just imagine us doing all those things we only dreamed of doing when we were young the first time?"

“An interesting notion.” thought Thomas, if true. He took a long sip of the Scotch then began thinking he'd had too much to drink. More often than not strange things started happening whenever he mixed too much alcohol with his medications. He was no longer the young and daring man he'd once been, a thought he suddenly found repugnant and more distressing than ever before.

"What would I have to do?" Thomas asked calmly. Despite knowing deep down it was all wrong, Thomas also knew he was still facing that upcoming eighty-fourth birthday. And this chance of becoming young again - if it were as true as Alan claimed - was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

"I was certain you'd be interested, Tommy. You're a stubborn old cuss, but practical when push comes to shove." As soon as saw Barton reenter the room, Alan beamed, "He's agreed to the deal, Barton."

Barton looked Thomas over carefully. "I can't really say that I'm surprised by his acceptance, Mastah Alan." Casually, the butler reached inside his coat and pulled out a pen and a sheaf of papers. "If you will sign these few papers, suh, then we shall be able to continue."

Thomas looked surprised. He'd though the man strange, but his being a demon was nothing he'd ever considered. Are you trying to tell me that you're the Devil, Mr. Barton?"

"Certainly not, suh. I am merely Barton. There is no mister honorific prefacing my name. I am just Barton - the humble servant of Mastah Alan. There is nothing more, nothing less."

"Then why should I sign these papers?"

"It's a simple formality, suh. The protocols demand it," replied Barton. "You are simply being made a party to the deal that Mastah Alan previously struck with me. The papers are merely the codicil to his contract."

"Are you saying I don't have to forfeit my soul to become young again?"

"Forfeit your soul, suh?" queried Barton. "I'm not aware of any such forfeiture of assets on your part being involved. I'd certainly know If Mastah Alan here had surrendered his soul for the return of his youth; I would have never allowed that to happen."

"In that case, give me those papers." Thomas hurriedly signed and initialed the papers in every indicated place before returning the papers to Barton.

"I'll file these papers with yours, Mastah Alan." With a sly grin that neither Alan nor Thomas saw, Barton turned papers in hand, and hurriedly headed for whatever place Alan's contract was stored.

"What do we first, Arnie?" asked Thomas, after he took another long swig of his Scotch.

"You must remember to call me Alan. You'll also have to get used to answering to a new name once your rejuvenation is complete." Alan paused for several seconds, not knowing how his friend would respond to what he was about to tell him. "The initial phase has already been completed. You've already partaken sufficiently of the requisite youth restoring potion."

"What?" questioned Thomas. As he shook his head, it dawned on him what must have happened. "It was in the Scotch," snarled Thomas. "You weren't really going to give me any choice. Were you, Alan?"

"But you have already chosen, just as I knew you would, old friend," replied Alan. "Where is the harm in simply speeding things along their destined track, Tommy?"

"You might be right about that," agreed Thomas. "And yet, what would you have done if I'd refused your offer."

Alan smiled. "That my old friend is a moot point. It's certainly not worth wasting any time over."

"I suppose you're probably right." replied Thomas. "So what do we do next?"

"Go over and get one of our old 'El Oroso' annuals from the bookshelf. Any of the four will work, but the one from our senior year has the largest picture, as I'm sure you remember," replied Alan. "And while you're over there, grab the newer one sitting near it that corresponds to the same school year."

"Okay." Thomas went over to shelf and picked up the two yearbooks - the one from his and Arnie's senior year and the fourth book of the later series. "It all sounds so simple, but I don't understand what any of this means."
Alan simply continued with his instructions. "In our annual find the page where my picture should be."

Thomas flipped through the pages of the old 'El Oroso' until he finally found the page he'd been seeking. But for several seconds, he could little more than stare at the page in disbelief. "What happened to your picture, Arnie? It should be right here between Mary Wheldon and Cynthia Wells; that's where I remember it always being. But it's not here now. Where did it go? And why are Mary and Cynthia's senior pictures now right next to each other? It's almost as if your picture had never been there in the first place."

"Very good, Tommy." Alan smiled. "Now check for the same thing in the newer 'El Oroso'."
Thomas set the older book down on the desk. And once again, Thomas found himself rapidly flipping through its pages until he found the exact page for which he was looking. There on that page was the senior picture of Alan Wheeler - only slightly different than the one of Arnie he remembered - sandwiched between Marli Webber and Jeannie Whipple.

"I don't believe this."

"Belief isn't a necessity, Tommy. Now open our book again and find your picture, Tommy."

Once again, Thomas did what he'd been told. He found his senior picture between Jeffery Hibble and Martha Hill right where it had always been. "Okay, my picture's here right where it ought to be. What comes next?"

"Set the book down on the desk, leaving it open to the page with your picture," replied Alan. "Once that's done, open the newer yearbook and find the page where your picture would be if you were a member of the class."

Thomas opened the newer 'El Oroso' and readily flipped through its pages. He stopped and looked over a page, before finally turning to the next one. "I suppose if I were in this book, I'd be right about here." He pointed at the small white space between Julie Hendricks and Marlena Hinton and smiled. "I certainly wouldn't mind getting to know either of these girls better once I've become their age again and am no longer older than their great-grandfathers."

"They're real babes, Tommy," replied Alan. "Maybe I can introduce you to them."

"That would be most kind of you."

"Now set the yearbook down on the desk next to the other one. Touch your left index finger to your picture in the old book and your right index finger to the space where your picture would be in the new one."

Thomas looked puzzled, but he did what he'd been told. Who was he to question how magic worked. Once he'd completed the connection between himself and the two books, an unexpected jolt of electricity threw him to the floor. "What the hell was that?" he exclaimed. "I'm still an old man; I can't take much of that shit."

"Don't worry about it, Tommy. The process has already begun."

"What's begun?" He didn't feel any different, but his nerves had been frayed by the apparent shock. His fingers still tingled. But even as Thomas asked the question, he could see his picture in the older 'El Oroso' begin fading. At the same time, in the more recent edition, the pictures of Julie Hendricks and Marlena Hinton were beginning to separate. They appeared to be making room for another picture to be inserted between them.

As the last of his old picture faded away, the pictures of Jeffery Hibble and Martha Hill slowly began moving towards each other. They were clearly filling in the gap caused by the removal of Thomas' picture.

Once sufficient space was available, another picture began appearing in the newly opened gap between Julie and Marlena. At that moment, Thomas began feeling peculiar. If asked, he doubted he could adequately describe the strange feelings. But he was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that his body was becoming younger. He could sense the vigor of youth flowing back into his body. He hadn't felt this great in several years.

Thomas realized that after his new picture fully materialized within the newer yearbook, he'd be about the same age, give or take a few months, as Alan. He was suddenly looking forward to being young again. He also began hoping he could find someone in this new life like Mary Ellen again. He wouldn't make the mistake of letting her get away from him this time.

And yet something - he didn't know what exactly - didn't seem quite right.

Suddenly, Thomas began wondering why he was still shorter than Alan. Of course, the young Alan had been the taller of the two when he'd entered the library, but that was easily explained. Thomas had once read people the age he'd been often shrank somewhat as they grew older. It was something about the compaction of bones or something like that. However, from the time they'd been boys, Thomas had always been taller. There was no reason he could think of to explain why that shouldn't continue being true. But it definitely was no longer the truth it once was. In fact, Thomas thought he was getting still shorter.

"What the hell's going on, Alan?" Thomas' voice cracked with every syllable he spoke.

"It's nothing to worry about, Tommy," smiled Alan. "You're simply changing to fit into our world. Just as we agreed on, you'll soon be young like me again. You'll be a child born of the generation of this new 'El Oroso'." Alan began smiling, even as Thomas frowned. "Why don't you take a look at your new senior picture?"

Without thinking about what he was doing, Thomas casually brushed his dark hair away from in front of his face. He didn't know exactly when his hair had grown so long - he'd never allowed his hair to grow so long - or regained the dark color of his youth.

In the old yearbook, there was now no more space between the pictures of Jeffery Hibble and Martha Hill than there were any other pair on the same page. Thomas swallowed nervously as he realized that who he had once been was now no more.

As he turned his attention to the newer 'El Oroso', Thomas wondered what he looked like now. He was also a little worried he might not like his new appearance. But even if he hated what he'd now become, Thomas was uncertain what, if anything, he'd be able to do about it.

When his eyes finally focused on that picture between those of Julie Hendricks and Marlena Hinton, Thomas was dumbfounded. He couldn't believe his eyes. This was nothing like he'd been expecting.

"What the hell have you done to me, Alan?" he asked in a steady light soprano totally unlike his former voice. "According to the caption that identifies this picture, my name is now Theresa Higgs." Thomas felt at his chest, quickly finding the two small breasts now pushing his shirt away from his chest. One of his hands shot down to his crotch, where he just as quickly discovered another part of his anatomy could now be considered AWOL. "I'm a girl!" he exclaimed in stunned amazement.

"You certainly are." grinned Alan.
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TO BE CONTINUED