The Crimson Milk Ch. 11

No one had died. Dr. Angela Torrey stared at the reports on her desk. The hospital was at its lowest capacity in thirty years. Not only was no one dying, but no one was getting sick. No flu, no strep throat, no allergies. The whole city seemed to be in perfect health. She thought she should call someone, but what could she tell them. Dear WHO, "Everyone seems to be perfectly fine and not dead. I'm worried."

She shuffled through her papers and pulled out Mr. Tomlinson, a seventy four year old man with stage four pancreatic cancer. Complete remission. He should be bedridden, knocking on death's door, but she had seen him walking around the hospital laughing and sharing his war stories. They had only discharged the ones that were easily explained, but it was getting harder to keep healthy people in sickbed. Blood work on all the healthy individuals was normal. The only thing remarkable was how normal it was. She was angry at herself for wanting people to be sick, but it just wasn't natural.

Cloverdale had become a strange place. Everyone had noticed, but no one had said anything. Some people just seemed happy to smile and ignore whatever was going on. Others, if they were worried or outraged, kept quiet out of fear or wonderment or the simple inability to explain what was going on. No one had died. Not in months. No one had been born either, but that was less noticeable. In fact, Angela hadn't seen anyone under the age of 18 since it all started. If she put all her mind to it, she could accept that somewhere in the city, someone had to have children. But she never saw them. Playgrounds were bizarre relics from a past age. Most people just looked right through them. Angela had briefly considered the idea of mass hysteria or mass denial. She checked records for any large scale tragedy. Maybe a school burned or a virus wiped out a generation and rather than accept the facts, a whole town had chosen to believe it never happened. She found nothing. She found nothing three times, actually, because she kept losing track of her research.

If the lack of death and lack of children worried her, the sudden increase in beautiful people absolutely terrified her. She had been married for forty years before losing her husband at 64 to a heart attack. Even before then, she had lost interest in the other sex and decades before that she had lost interest in her own sex as well. But now, she couldn't walk to her car without a gruff chiseled jaw catching her attention. It was ridiculous for a woman her age to even think about it. She should be shocked and appalled at this generation of - there wasn't really any other word - sluts. These girls paraded around in barely any clothes, with bright cocksucker lipstick on and their ass cheeks hanging out. It was becoming common to see them grinding against each other in the darker street corners, young men with their hands groping up skirts of girls wearing no underwear. Angela thought that such lurid displays should disgust her or make her angry at the lack of morality, but it stirred feelings in her she thought she was no longer physically capable of experiencing.

She stacked her reports neatly on a corner of her desk. Her joints popped as she stood up and hobbled over to the door of her office. She picked up her coat and bag and flicked off the light, trying to put the inexplicable out of her mind. Instead, she focused on going home to her cats and a hot cup of tea. In the hallway, she passed one of the nurses. The young Hispanic lady wasn't wearing her normal scrubs, but instead a tight top which allowed full view of her cleavage.

"Young lady, why are you not in standard scrubs?" she asked.

The nurse batted her long eyelashes, "These are the new ones Mrs. Triplett picked out."

"Mrs. Triplett, huh? Well, I'll have a word with her about professional attire. In the meantime, get a sweater and put those things away. I know your patients probably appreciate having jugs in their face while you sponge them off, but we're running a hospital not a cat house." She waved her hand, and the nurse darted away. She shifted her bag on her arm and headed toward the head nurse's station to see what had gotten into Triplett's head.

Miranda Triplett had been at the hospital almost as long as Angela. The old nurse came from a different era. Back then, nursing was more about bullying patients than taking care of them. Miranda had distributed her philosophy to every other young nurse that came through her department. Angela had been friends with her for years. The woman was reliable and steadfast, and she'd lined up right behind Angela when the boy's club profession went after her. Maybe the old girl had finally given up the fight. Angela knocked and the familiar gruff voice beckoned her inside.

"Oh, Dr. Torrey, I wasn't expecting you. You're working late?" the lady said. The room was dim, lit only by a small desk lamp. Angela flicked on the fluorescent as she closed the door behind her.

"Miranda?" she exclaimed when the light hit her. The woman looked twenty years younger. Her hair was a deep brown, and her skin had smoothed. She still dressed as the frumpy old nurse, but she wore little ruby earrings. Her fingernails bore the same color. "You... uh... dyed your hair."

Miranda looked around not nervous, but uncomfortable, "Oh, yes, do you like it? I thought, why not? Those old grey hairs could use a little life in them. Now, uh, was there something I could help you with doctor? I have a nurse coming in for her evaluation in a little bit, but I'll be glad to help out with anything I can."

The older woman's appearance had startled her, but Angela regained her composure. "It's actually the nurses that I wanted to talk to you about, Miranda. I've been told that you're allowing a new variation of the scrubs, is that right?"

"Oh, yes. I thought it was high time we modernized a bit. I've been reading that bright colors help with the psychology of the patients."

"The color isn't what has me concerned. Some of the uniforms are very revealing. We have enough grabby patients as it is. The last thing we need is a harassment problem because our staff is wearing low cut, skin tight scrubs."

Miranda glanced at her clock. "I completely agree. And I'll tell you what happened. The sales rep kept going on and on about how loose clothing can get caught on things and cause so and so many accidents in hospitals a year. And I let him talk me into buying the standard smaller sizes, but then we get these skin tight numbers. Honestly makes me think that these young folk might be getting the better of me. I'm no happier about it than you, doctor, but until the next order comes in and we can rotate properly fitted ones in, there may be a few ill fitted nurses walking around."

"Yes, I passed on in the hall outside my office. I told her to get a sweater."

Miranda stood up. She had lost weight. "That's an excellent solution. I'll bring it up with the nurses tomorrow morning. That should solve the issue for the meantime. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to prepare for this meeting."

"Oh, alright then. I'll see oh - excuse me." Angela had backed into a young man on her way out of the office. He was tall and very handsome. His eyes glittered at her, and he flashed a beautiful smile.

"That's quite alright," he crooned. "Miranda, I have your order." He held up a small silver case.

"Oh, thank you, Kevin. Just put it there on the desk. Good to see you, sorry, I'm in the middle of something, you know."

"Same time Thursday?" he asked in his silky voice. "We'd like to increase your order, actually. We can talk more about it then, of course. So sorry to interrupt." He swept in and out of the room, brushing past Angela, he paused for a moment, "Free sample?" He held up a vial of bright red liquid. He pushed it into Angela's hand and curled her fingers around it. "Give it a try before you judge it. Just look what it's done for your friend here." He continued out of the room. "See you wonderful ladies later."

Angela looked at the vial in her hands, dumbfounded. "DeepRED Miracle Anti-Aging Creme," she read aloud. Her eyes went to the case on Miranda's desk. "What on earth is this about?"

Miranda looked anguished and collapsed in her chair. "Oh, Angela! I don't know. What's an old fud like me doing wrapped up in a cosmetics pyramid. I didn't want you to find out because it's just absolutely ridiculous."

Angela took a seat across the desk from her. "What's going on, Miranda?"

The older woman opened the silver case. It was a display box filled with dozens of the little red vials. "I've been selling them out of the office. I knew you and the other doctors wouldn't like it, so I kept it secret. These things are so successful though, the girls can't get them fast enough. I have to limit them to one at a time otherwise there isn't enough to go around. And, it works!"

"Now, don't be silly," Angela replied. She was furious. This was exactly the type of behavior she didn't want seeping into the hospital environment. It took years of lobbying and appearing downright evil to get charity sales banned. "It's just another snake oil potion."

"Look at me!" Miranda yelped. She clearly wanted her friend to understand. "This is the cream! I haven't dyed my hair at all. I woke up a few days ago and couldn't a grey hair on my head. Look at my skin. The wrinkles are almost gone and all the spots too. I look forty again!"

"That's enough nonsense," Angela snapped. She stood up and planted her hands on Miranda's desk. "You will put a stop to this. What you said earlier is right. You've clearly gotten wrapped up in this because some pretty young man flattered you. How much do you owe him for this order?"

She was crestfallen, "Nothing. He doesn't charge me anything at all. Says he's just doing brand recognition. It was my idea to sell it."

"Very well, I'm confiscating it." She grabbed the box and pulled it.

"NOOOOOO!" Miranda bellowed, vainly diving for the box.

Angela staggered back, astonished. "Get a hold of yourself. You and I have a long history, but there are limits. The other doctors would love nothing more than to see the back of you. Get yourself together by tomorrow and we'll forget this whole thing." She paused to observe the woman she'd known for twenty years. The gleam in Miranda's eyes frightened her. Angela clutched the box to her chest and backed to the door. "Good night, Miranda."

As the door closed, she heard Miranda begin to sob.

-

Angela arrived home a while later. The worries of the days lessened if only slightly as she took the first sip of warm tea. The altercation with Mrs. Triplett had flustered her, but it had put the odd reports out of her mind. The silver case sat on her kitchen table. Glancing at it made her chuckle. Silly old women and their youth cremes.

She went about her evening, trying to put it out of her mind. First, she read until her eyes became too tired. Then she fed her cats and took a bath. Her house was always in a state of disarray, so she dedicated a few minutes each night trying to clean it, which generally meant throwing out old medical journals. All the while, thoughts of the case infringed upon her attempts at relaxation. She tried to focus on Miranda's desperate lunge as something amusing, but that look in her friends eye kept the memory unsettling.

During her cleaning, she decided to empty out her purse. Things had a way of finding a place inside the old bag. She always meant to clean it out, but never had the time. She dumped the contents on the living room coffee table and jumped as the red vial clattered against the wooden table. Had she forgotten it? Or had she been searching for a reason to confront it and wound up on an often delayed task? The vial didn't break, but rolled back and forth in a slow arc, demanding her attention. She held it in her hand, watching the liquid slowly roll back and forth. It was thicker than water, but not syrupy. The glass was cool, but she could feel a slight warmth from the liquid itself. Some sort of chemical trick to make it seem authentic. How could Miranda have become so consumed by this concoction?

She uncorked the bottle and gave it a small sniff. Raspberries and Vanilla Cream. It smelled like an old soda fountain ice cream shake. What could it hurt? She dabbed out a bit of the cream, surprised at its thickness on her hand. She went to a mirror and smeared the cream underneath her tired and baggy eyes. It vanished almost immediately, absorbed into her skin. Angela giggled at herself, acting like a school girl on a sleepover. She corked the bottle again and continued about her evening, falling into a fitful slumber a while later.

-

Despite herself, Angela's first thought was to look at the bags underneath her eyes the next morning, hoping for a noticeable change. On a whim, she applied another dollop of the cream. May as well finish this sample, she thought. She applied a healthy dose to the entirety of her face. It vanished into her skin again, but nothing changed. She did feel refreshed, despite nightmares keeping her tossing and turning all night. She dreamed of a giant red serpent, coiling around her hospital. She ran from window to window throughout the building, but the more of the serpent she saw, the larger it seemed to become, until she was certain it enveloped the entire town. But she hadn't gone to medical school to believe in the nonsense of dreams, and so she ignored it.

She expected Miranda to be waiting in her office when she arrived, but the old nurse had called in sick. Angela shrugged it off. Perhaps Miranda was too embarrassed to come to work. The hospital would be thrilled to hear that she was taking her new found youth crisis and retiring. Nevertheless, Miranda had left instructions. The nurses had all donned sweaters which, while tighter than necessary, served the purpose of hiding their breasts from the more lecherous patients.

As Angela went through her rounds, discharging several of the patients she no longer had pretense to hold, she noticed that her joints didn't ache. Normally, she was exhausted by noon, but felt chipper as lunch rolled by. By two thirty, she had finished her day's work and decided she would take the rest of the day off.

She couldn't remember the last time she came home early. Not knowing what else to do, she started to clean again. Her hands were anxious for work. She sorted some finances, drank a cup of tea, and emptied out a drawer which had filled with strange odds and ends over the last decade. Hours ticked by at a pace slower than she had experienced in years, but finally it was late enough to go to bed. S he brushed her teeth, took off her make up, and put her hair up. Then she thought of the case.

Feeling purely ashamed, she went to the case and withdrew another vial. Psychosomatic, she thought. But why question a good thing. She applied it to her face and hands, and a dab or two on her neck. It sucked into her skin and vanished. Feeling relaxed and satisfied for the first time that day, she went to sleep. She dreamed.

-

The next morning, Angela felt peculiar when she woke up. As her mind chased away sleep, she tried to place her finger on just how she felt. Loose. Like her bones weren't as tight as they should be. Walking through her house in a stagger, she managed to put on a pot of coffee and climb into the shower. The water scalded her skin. She let it pour over her face, enjoying the warmth. She rubbed her arms under the water and something came away in her hand. Holding it to the lights, she saw a thick layer of something like dirt. She moved her hand to the water and it sloughed off. Somewhat alarmed, she scrubbed furiously at her hands, but as the water rinsed off the material, she saw smooth, unblemished skin.

Her hair dripped a dark grey color down her body. Her iron colored hair rinsed out, as if it had been a poor dye job. She pulled the longer strands to the front of her face saw a rich blonde color. In a scramble, she tore back the shower curtain and hopped over to the mirror. Her heart thudded in her chest as she saw a stranger in the mirror.

The woman looking back at her was twenty years younger. Beads of water rolled down smooth skin and over supple breasts. Nothing was sagged or stretched, but drawn up and full. She could see without glasses. Her body was free of fatigue or pain. She twiddled her fingers quickly in the air, amazed at the dexterity. "It works..." she muttered.

Still naked, she ran into the living room. She ran! She hadn't run anywhere in a decade. The case was still on her table, unassuming and mundane. The latch popped open and she stared at the rows of vials. What was it worth? This small case that could turn back age by 10 years in two days, what wouldn't a person give for that? Miranda had been a fool, selling to those little tarts at the hospital.

She held a vial in her hands. What was it? What possible chemical could have this affect? Was it dangerous, had it been tested? Her medical mind wanted answers, but a new voice in her head assured her that it was best not to worry. She did feel fine after all. Miranda had used it for long enough, surely, and she was healthy the last time Angela had seen her. As her mind raced with possibilities, she noticed very small writing on the back of the bottle. "For best results, use orally."

Without hesitation, she opened the bottle and poured it down her throat. A warmth spread through her body. Smiling, she closed the case and hid it underneath the sink.

Getting dressed was a challenge. None of her clothes fit. She hated the sight of the dull colors and drab designs. Her underwear was a grandmother's array of baggy and unsightly white bloomers and khaki colored bras. She managed to find a very old pantsuit that fit her and decided she needed to go shopping immediately. The hospital didn't mind at all that she wasn't coming in, since the number of sick people had diminished to two or three. She put her new hair in a sporty pony tail and set out, looking very much like she had stepped out of a previous decade in both dress and body.

She made her way downtown to some of the pricier clothing stores and spent the morning shopping. By mid morning, she had a trunk full of brand new clothes. Sun dresses and bright blouses and tight jeans and anything else that caught her eye. She even changed outfits at the second store, wearing a thin, hugging dress that flared out at the bottom. It fit her perfectly. Her back was straight and her gut had become a firm tummy. Most impressively, her breasts were almost their old size. She stepped into a lingerie store and looked around at all the lacy undies and matching bras with satisfaction. How had she forgotten the joy of luxurious clothing? How had she become so old and so tired, whiling away her youth in that dim hospital fending off sickness and death?

She started to browse, finding herself drawn more to the red items than anything else. A young man caught her eye. He was sitting in a chair, looking rather nervous and uncomfortable. Periodically, a rather sour looking young woman would pop out of the dressing room and hand him something which he would embarrassingly put on a nearby rack. Angela picked up a skimpy red teddy and carried it over to him.

"Excuse me," she said. "What do you think of this top?"

The young man turned blood red. "Uh, it looks nice, ma'am."

"Do you think so? Not too many frills? What about the length?" She held it up to her chest and turned sideways. "I think I'd like it to fall just on the top of my ass. Would that make me look fuckable?"

He shifted uncomfortably in the over sized chair, "I... I don't know ma'am. It looks nice."

Angela took a few steps toward him. "Would you be able to judge it better if I had it on? I'm Angela. What's your name?"