Rise of the Miser: Claus, #5

by Tony Bertauski

  Dr. Jennifer Medlin is with a student.

  I rap on the metal door frame and she looks over her glasses. That’s her look of intense impatience—the thin line between her lips, the wrinkles at the corners. I have plenty of later memories to confirm this.

  “Can I help you, Mr. Anthony?” she finally calls.

  I step into her office. Christmas music is playing on the computer.

  “This.” I flip to the last page. “What does this mean?”

  She takes a moment to read her comment. She knows exactly what it says. “What do you think it means?”

  “My research means successful skin grafts, Dr. Medlin. It means instant healing, painless procedures the end of needless suffering. Synskin will revolutionize the way burn victims are treated and require very little expertise to use. You’re a doctor. How can you be opposed to this?”

  “I’m not opposed to it, Mr. Anthony. These are wonderful discoveries.”

  A pleasant shiver runs through me. I love it when she calls me that. It’s so formal.

  “Then what?” I say.

  She takes off her glasses, clears her throat, and asks me to close the door. The door to her office is rarely closed. When it is, someone is in trouble. She’s only a few years older than me, a medical researcher just beginning her professorship. I imagine she’s trying to make a name for herself, challenging the most promising graduate student at the university.

  Which is Naren, not me.

  I’m immersed in his memory, so it feels like me. I feel the pride and anxiety, the tension and drive to succeed, to help people around me. The frustration of someone trying to stop me. It’s tense and hot, agitating.

  And I totally feel it.

  “It’s too good, Mr. Anthony. Do you know what I mean by that? Your research promises to be too good. Synthetic flesh that aims to be indestructible, what could go wrong with that? I ask this question because you haven’t asked yourself, what would someone do with such a development?”

  She waits for an answer, but I’m not going to give her what she wants. I’ve asked this question, I know the consequences of inventing indestructible organs and flawless flesh. What can be used for good can be used for bad. Super-soldiers and invincible criminals could walk through fire, take bullets to the chest or fall from the sky. This is possible, but so is healing the world.

  One does not come without the other.

  “I’m taking your job, is that it?” I say. “My work will render the medical industry useless.”

  “Don’t be childish. People will always need healing, even with your ‘synskin.’ Our nature is problems, we’re human. What you’ve done here is amazing, Mr. Anthony.” She takes the manuscript with a smile. “I’m not trying to stop you, I just want you to think about what it will accomplish before you publish it.”

  I want to be angry, to assert my will. But she melts me with that smile. It’s her best weapon, kindness. She’s a ninja warrior of compassion. I go from agitated tension to melting knees within seconds. I was prepared to do battle.

  Instead, I fall in love.

  She walks around the desk and opens the door. There’s nothing she can do to stop what I’m proposing. There will be too many people that want exactly what I’m offering. She’s just trying to change the way I think.

  I’m the only one who can change.

  “We’re not meant to live forever,” she says. “There’s a reason.”

  And then she did it. Not right that second, but she did it. I walk out of her office set on changing the world. There are investors counting on me to do it. I can’t let them down. I can’t let the world down.

  But she changed me.

  Three years later, she would become Dr. Jennifer Anthony. Ten years after that, she would take maternity leave after giving birth to our one and only daughter. In that time, the development of synskin proceeded but not as I’d imagined. It was a medical marvel, that much is true. There were instant skin grafts performed by ordinary people, but the indestructibility never came to fruition.

  We’re not meant to live forever.

  I would never forget her saying that. Much later, it would haunt me for the rest of my life.

  I emerge from the memory with heaviness. There is a lag in my processing and the lights temporarily dim inside the power station. Naren looks up from the laptop. His eyes are weighty and dark. He’s not the man in the memory. That was a long time ago.

  Before he takes the thought headset off, I whisper to his subconscious. He will know, soon enough, why he’s here. There’s still so much story to tell. Without him, it would have a very unhappy ending. Because sometimes tragedy brings about compassion that another person needs. The miser’s memory eggs are all very dark and heavy.

  He’s here to lift them up.

  KANDI

  13

  Kandi swiveled the telescope toward the tower. The windows were curved mirrors and reflective. Maybe it was to camouflage the building or repel the heat. The architecture didn’t blend with the island—it stuck out like an accident.

  There were three floors. The air around the top floor was bending like heat from a desert dune. A pair of exhaust vents emitted streams of smoke. There were six fireplaces in the master suite. A few in the tower wouldn’t be shocking.

  “Why are there fireplaces?” she said.

  “Who doesn’t like a good fire?” Sandy said, gritty and easy. “It’s cozy and warm. Am I right?”

  “It’s a hundred and ten degrees outside.”

  “Some like it hot.”

  It was Christmas. Nowhere on earth was it this warm unless they were near the equator. Geography wasn’t her best subject, but it was a good guess. She slid her phone out and pulled up the GPS. There was Wi-Fi on the island but no network to connect to—no social media, no Google or internet.

  No maps.

  They’d arrived on a windowless airplane. Even if she had a map, searching the oceans for a tropical island with weird buildings would be like searching for a diamond in a hailstorm.

  A text arrived. What’s taking so long?

  Bathroom break, she typed.

  “You’re in trouble,” Sandy said.

  “Be quiet.”

  She swept the telescope across the island. The tower was completely visible, but the other buildings were buried in the trees. The top of the warehouse was visible. Besides that, there was a corner of a building here and there, but the jungle was too dense to see anything else.

  Sonny.

  She had only caught a glimpse, but whoever had been at the power station had blond hair. So what was he doing outside?

  And how did he disappear?

  He’d gone over the cliff. Sure, there was another level below but nowhere to go from there. He didn’t leap into the ocean from there, not without eating a stack of boulders.

  Another text arrived.

  She’d pushed her absence too far, bathroom emergency or not. She left the telescope room and grabbed her dad’s satellite laptop from the nightstand then hopped on the glider. The waterball fight was still on and the illusion of reindeer was still leaping across the hall. The excitement had grown stale. Occasionally she caught something new, like Santa on the beach in nothing but red swim trunks.

  Her dad was waiting outside the computer room.

  He was mopping his brow with a towel around his neck. He took the sat laptop and thanked her. “I need to run this for an hour.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’ll eat, rest.” He wiped his forehead. “I’ll have to run back out to the power plant.”

  “When?”

  “Why don’t you let me have a look first? You can spend some time at the pool. You’re working too much.”

  “You’re the one working too much, Dad.”

  He smiled gently. He’d grown a bit more relaxed with her being on her own in the past couple of days. He hugged her and kissed the top of her head.

  “Go, relax. I’ll call if I need you. Make sure you have you
r phone.”

  Her phone hadn’t left her sight since it had magically landed in the tool bag. She slept with it in her back pocket. There was no explanation for its disappearance. Ordinarily, she wouldn’t let him go to the power station without her. It was boring.

  This time, she didn’t argue.

  She climbed onto her glider and started for the master suite. He watched until she was almost to the foyer then went back into the computer room and closed the door. She waited a minute before turning around, silently speeding past the computer room.

  To the end of B wing.

  “WHERE YOU GOING?” SANDY was suddenly by her side.

  “To play checkers.”

  There were new decorations on the door—pinecones with glitter, red bows and crisply cut gingerbread people. She climbed off the glider and rapped on the door. The pinecones vibrated in time with holiday music. She knocked again, this time a little harder. The third time she used her fist.

  “Maybe if you kick it,” Sandy said. She did that and still nothing. “Do it harder.”

  “You do it.”

  He didn’t have feet. Stick hands on his middle section, he thrust out his bottom half. It looked like he was biting his lower lip, but he didn’t have lips. Just a moving hole.

  “Stop messing around,” she said. “Open the doors.”

  “So you can interrogate him, pry out his deepest secrets? Does he pick his nose? Has he ever kissed a girl?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Oh, you know.”

  “I just want to play checkers.”

  Sandy held his middle section with both twiggy hands and made a muted gasping sound that resembled laughter. Kandi searched the greenery for doorknobs.

  “It doesn’t work that way.”

  “How do you open it?”

  “You don’t.” Sandy weaved his stick fingers together. The knobby bark locked tight.

  “He took my phone.”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “No. He didn’t.”

  Kandi began hammering the door again. This time she hollered his name. Maybe Sonny was in the shower or sleeping with the music turned up. He’d come out if she knocked long enough.

  “Maybe he’s dropping a few ornaments.” The sand dollars widened.

  “Stop being gross.”

  “Stop knocking.”

  “Look, I won’t interrogate him.” She held up her hand. “I swear. What else is there to do on the island? I’m bored of the beach. At least Sonny’s got games.”

  Kandi crossed her heart and turned an invisible key between her lips and threw it over her shoulder.

  Sandy frowned. She made puppy-dog faces and put her hands together, singing long pleas. Finally, he turned to the door and took his time before knocking. He wanted her to talk to him, just not ask personal questions. Which was weird, if you asked her.

  The knocking was the same pattern as the first time. It was very long but distinct and difficult to separate from the music coming through the door.

  Bum-bum-bum. Bum-bum-bum. Bum-BUM-buuuh—bubuh.

  “Jingle Bells.” He’s tapping out the rhythm of “Jingle Bells.”

  Silently, she sang along to the beat. On a one-horse open sleigh, hey—

  The doors opened.

  Kandi stepped back. The pane of glass was invisible. The smudge from her last collision was gone. There were new presents under the tree. Sonny was holding a silver tray. A swipe of white powder was on his dimpled cheek. Santa was stitched on his apron.

  “Kandi Sweets! You came back.” He displayed a tray of cookies. Each dollop was perfectly rounded and dusted with fiery red sugar. “I’m baking cookies. Let me clean up.”

  He returned with a checkered shirt tucked into white Bermuda shorts and a braided belt. He wore loafers as shiny as the presents. Hands pressed against his thighs, he smiled wide enough to count every pearly tooth, with dimples deep enough to hide a chocolate drop.

  “Oh,” he suddenly belted, “I have something for you.”

  He went to the mountain of gifts and returned with a small box, this one wrapped with a red bow.

  “Would you like to open it?” he asked.

  “Out here?”

  “Like Mother does.” He brought the gift to the clear divider.

  Sandy mimed what she was supposed to do. He pinched his fingers and pretended to peel something. He threw his stick hands on his face, his mouth wide in surprise before fanning away fake tears.

  Kandi turned to Sonny.

  His cheeks were still gouged with joy. She pretended to pull at the bow and he followed her actions, tugging on the loose ends. The red ribbon fell to the floor. Next, he pried open the ends of the wrapping paper and carefully pulled it without tearing it. Folding the paper neatly, he set it aside.

  It was a carving.

  Kandi leaned closer. Her breath fogged the glass. It looked like driftwood. The intricate details of eyes and a pixie nose above thin lips were unmistakable.

  It’s me.

  “Do you like it?” he asked.

  “Sonny, it’s... it’s amazing. You did this?”

  “I worked on it most of the night.”

  “Isn’t a knife... dangerous?”

  “Depends on how you use it.” He set the carving next to a vase. Even the way the hair was cut looked exactly like her. He was a savant. The accuracy was machinelike.

  They admired it without speaking.

  “What did you do yesterday?” She flicked a glance at Sandy. “Besides carve.”

  The sandman crossed his arms. The stick fingers danced beneath scowling sand dollars.

  “Baked and decorated.”

  “Did you go outside?”

  “You’re funny.”

  “You never go outside? Not even once?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Why?” His forehead crumpled. “Because I don’t.”

  Flies buzzed around Sandy’s corpse. Kandi decided to back off. Not because Sandy was playing dead.

  Sonny looked pained.

  But he was at the power station. I saw him.

  “Do you want to play a game?” she asked.

  The smile returned and Sonny was off to find a box. He crossed his legs and set the checkerboard on the floor. It wasn’t long before Kandi was calling out moves. He settled into calm concentration. He gave her good advice on her moves and didn’t appear to be baiting her into a trap. As far as she could tell.

  “Did your mom build the island?”

  “It was already here,” he mumbled.

  “The buildings?”

  Sonny pushed a black checker and held his finger on it for a minute. He rested his chin on both hands and gave her some options for her next move. Kandi thought he’d forgotten the question. She let the game go a little longer before asking again.

  “It was wild,” he said.

  “What?”

  “The island was overgrown when she got here. Once she had helpers, she built the buildings.”

  “Helpers?”

  He nodded but didn’t elaborate. She hadn’t seen anyone else on the island besides Sonny and the miser. As far as she knew, they were the only ones there. Helpers?

  Kandi slid a checker. Sonny approved.

  “How does she afford all of this?”

  “Investments.” He shrugged. “She’s pretty smart.”

  She would have to be very smart to afford such a place. Investments could pay for it, in theory. The island was self-sustaining. Still, it would require a sizeable investment to get started. And what was the purpose? Just to be alone?

  “I saw her,” Kandi said. “Your mom.”

  He didn’t react. It was as if she told him she saw her shadow this morning. She described what she saw as he studied the board—a very elegant-looking woman in a thick cloak. All of these things she had seen through the eye of a telescope. What she didn’t exaggerate was the sunburn. She didn’t
have to. Even from a distance, her skin was like the red of Santa’s coat.

  “It’s not her,” Sonny said.

  “That wasn’t your mom?”

  “That was Mother, but it’s not her.”

  “I don’t... what do you mean?”

  Sandy was roadkill. The flies had multiplied.

  Sonny executed a double jump and sat back with a satisfied grin. She had lost interest in the game but pretended to consider her next move. Sweat tracked her cheeks. He had to remind her that it was her move, twice.

  It’s not her?

  “Are you all right?” Sonny was staring.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “Are you bored?”

  “No, I’m just...”

  Sandy was giving himself CPR. Buzzards were hovering.

  “I was thinking of home,” she said.

  “Do you miss it?”

  She laughed. There weren’t many days when she hadn’t pretended to live somewhere else in the world besides Alaska. Anywhere it wasn’t cold. Now she was sweating through her shirts daily. She didn’t exactly miss the cold, but Christmas was only a few weeks away.

  It didn’t feel like it.

  “The snow,” she said. “I miss the snow.”

  “Snow?” He tipped his head, curious.

  Something seemed familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it. It didn’t seem possible he didn’t know about snow, but he did live inside a room on a remote island where checkers was the hot game of the day.

  “You know when it rains here?” she said. “It snows where I live, where it’s cold. It’s water but crystalized into fluffy flakes. They’re light, so they drift to the ground instead of splash. And they pile up instead of streaming down the gutters.”

  He was staring now. She could feel him drawn through the glass as she told him how it sometimes snowed at night, when the flakes were as thick as cotton balls. In the morning, the world would be covered in a white blanket. Not a single footprint disturbed the world. It was fresh and new.

  And if she was lucky, it would still be snowing when she woke up.

  The world was pleasantly muffled when it did. The air was thick; sound was dampened. Sunlight was soft. Peace descended in a million tiny pieces and Mr. Karnovsky would stand on his front porch with his arms up and shout, “Isn’t it wonderful?”