RESURGENCE

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Phoenix’s Life Center near Hamilton was one of its three-thousand centers across the globe, which gave a second lease of life to thousands every year. Hamilton, located at about an hour’s drive south of San Francisco, was a small town that had its share of expensive ocean-front mansions on the Californian coastline. A decade and a half ago, its population was about nine hundred—that was before Phoenix opened up a Life Center five miles to the south. Now, around thirty-thousand people visit the center each year to ‘go young,’ and it has led to the rise of Hamilton’s medical tourism industry. 

Stuart and Michelle owned a luxurious house on the outskirts of Hamilton, and they tried to spend at least half the year in that house, away from their life in Franklin. Stuart had set up a research facility next to the Life Center and worked on the elusive Gene project. Michelle worked whenever she felt like it—as a guest doctor at the Life Center.

John Underwood slowly walked into the building while he pushed the wheelchair with Paula’s dead body in it. He had put a head band and sunglasses on Paula and used dental floss to tie the headband to the wheelchair’s back so that her head didn’t move like a lifeless ball every time he hit a bump. He was wearing his police officer's uniform, and it was doing the trick. People looked at him, smiled, and thought of a friendly officer helping someone out. Four feet from the reception desk, he stopped and quickly stepped in front of the wheelchair so that the receptionist didn’t have a clear view of Paula. 

“Good evening officer,” she said. “How may I help you?”

“Hey,” he said, “I don’t have an appointment but I am a friend of Doctor Patrick.”

“Doctor Patrick is on leave today” she said.

“I know,” said John. “This woman is Doctor Patrick’s sister. He should be here as soon as he can get out of the city. He told me to get any doctor on duty to attend to her.”

John looked into the receptionist’s eyes with authority as he said that.

“The only doctor in the building right now is Michelle Anderson,” she said. “Let me call and see if she’s available.”

He looked over at the entrance as the receptionist made the call. It was quarter past eight. Beside the receptionist and security guard at the door, about five other people waited in the hall.

“Officer,” she said, “Doctor Michelle was never informed by Doctor Patrick, but she’ll see you anyways.”

“Where can I find her?” asked John.

“Her office is down the hall, third room on the left.”

“Thank you,” said John as he touched his police hat and was on his way in a flash.

He moved the wheelchair across the hall slowly and turned left. On reaching the third room on the left, he read the door plate:

MICHELLE ANDERSON

He knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he heard a woman's voice.

He opened the door and pushed the wheelchair through it. Upon entering the room, he made sure that he stood close to the door—the only entrance to the room. He noticed Michelle sitting behind her desk and looking at him with enquiring eyes.

“Hello, I’m Michelle. Please have a seat,” she said motioning to the chairs in front of him.

He made no move to sit.