Waking Anastasia

by Timothy Reynolds

  Ana was never coming back but he didn’t need to argue with Isis over it. “Yes. Clear as glass, Miss Bossypants.”

  “You can call me all the names you want, Jerry, but at the end of the day I will still kick your ass. Now, tell me about your cancer. Brain cancer?”

  “Brain cancer. Glioblastoma multiforme.” He spelled it out for her because he didn’t know the signs for the proper medical name, if there even were any.

  “It’s growing in your head?”

  “Yes. It’s the cause of my headaches and lately it’s making me want to throw up, my eyesight sucks, I’ve started having seizures, my memory is like Swiss cheese, and my moods are swinging like crazy.”

  “Can they operate on it? Chemo? Radiation?”

  “They haven’t decided, yet. I just told them to cut my head off because I don’t use it that often anyway.”

  She smiled for the first time since they’d started chatting, but it didn’t last long. “Is there anything else you can do? Acupuncture, psychic surgery, leeches?”

  “Leeches? You’ve been watching too much History Channel. I do have a Hindu swami who has aligned my chakras and is going to do more energy work to make me more at peace, but even he reluctantly agrees that I need a real miracle to get through this alive.”

  “Even more reason to find Ana and make up. If you have to die, at least don’t be a lonely idiot when you do.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Good. Mom and Dad are out at a Lincs game, but I’ll tell them that we talked and everything is cool. I mean, except for you dying soon. That’s not cool.” She wiped away sudden tears with the sleeve of her sweater.

  “I know what you mean, Kiddo. I’ll call next week after my family has left, but in the meantime, tell your folks I love them, and tell your dad to be safe.”

  “Always. You, too. I love you.”

  “Right back at you.”

  “Now go find Ana.”

  “Yes, boss.”

  “Later, ’gator.”

  “On the flipside.”

  “Isis out.”

  “Jerry . . . out.” They disconnected simultaneously. He sat, staring at the screen, but was interrupted from forming any great, world-changing thoughts when his stomach rumbled. He squinted at his watch. “Six o’clock? I’m sleeping what life I have left away.” Getting up, he whipped up a simple microwave omelette, made toast, and chased it all down with a couple of painkillers and a glass of thick-pulp orange juice, before returning to the desk. He stared at Sushi, who probably wondered where the strange floating lady who fed him had gone.

  “I’m sorry, buddy. She completed her mission and moved on. We’re back to just you and me.”

  JERRY WAS HALFWAY through his second attempt to watch the fake Anastasia deal with the doubters of high society when his phone buzzed with an incoming message. It was from Mika, wondering how he was doing.

  Not sure he wanted to talk to her, he replied with a text. “Not at all good. Ana is gone, forever, this tumour is kicking my ass, and I’m losing. Good news is my mom and sister are arriving Friday.” Once the text was sent, he turned on the laptop, started the music, then shuffled into the kitchen and started cleaning up the mess, careful not to cut himself on the shards of the plate and mug. She’d only been in his life for two weeks, but he kept expecting Ana to pop up and do something silly, to make him laugh and distract him from, well, from dying.

  The sixties playlist he’d selected buoyed his mood, brushed off some of his funk, and gave him a little more energy. When the kitchen was relatively clean, he moved on to the bathroom, where he wrung the rain-soaked pyjamas out over the tub, then hung them up to dry. A passing glance in the mirror startled him and he realized that he hadn’t shaved in a day or so, his hair was sticking up at odd angles, the bandage over his stitches needed changing, and he had dark bags under his eyes. “I can’t do much about the baggy eyes, but I can manage an electric razor and a comb without hurting myself. The bandage may be a bit tricky.”

  He managed to shave, comb, and awkwardly re-bandage, then made his way out to the couch when he was done. On his way past the computer he shut off the music. By the time he was settled into the couch, he was ready to stay there for the evening. He called up Netflix on the big screens again and scrolled through until he found BBCTV’s Sherlock. “Not too dark, not too cheesy, just what Doctor Watson ordered.” The intercom buzzed, indicating that someone was down at the street door. “Ana?” He rushed to the speaker mounted on the wall and pressed the “Talk” button.

  “Hello! Ana!”

  “No, Jerry, it’s me, Mika.”

  That’s when it truly hit Jerry. No matter how many times he answered the door or picked up the phone or opened a book, it would never be Ana. He buzzed Mika in and slid to the floor, so great was the weight on his soul. Even if he weren’t dying, he would have wanted to after losing Ana.

  MIKA FOUND HIM sobbing, just inside the door, and helped him up and onto the couch. She tried to get him to talk, but he just couldn’t get the words out past the sobs, so she held him close. She hoped that when his tears ended she’d be able to get him to explain what had happened, but instead he fell asleep. She shifted their positions on the couch a bit, lay Jerry down, nestled in behind him, and pulled the afghan off the back of the couch and over them both. She didn’t know what else to do.

  “SHE FORGAVE HIM and then faded away? There’s no sign of her anywhere?” Mika handed Jerry a cup of tea and sat down beside him with her own cup. The afghan wrapped Jerry like a cocoon with two pale hands poking out to hold the cup and saucer.

  “Nothing. There’s the bullet hole, the bloodstains, and the inscription from her mother . . . but no Ana.” He sipped the brew slowly, careful of the heat.

  “She didn’t go into something else? Another book, a photograph? Your fish?” She nodded her head toward Sushi’s tank.

  He almost smiled. “No. She just faded away. I can feel her absence. I can’t explain it, but it feels like there’s something missing, like I’m standing in front of a crowd of people and my zipper is undone. There’s something wrong, but I just can’t pinpoint it until someone glances down at my crotch and then I can feel the breeze. Except that there’s no breeze here. She’s gone.” He stared at the floor.

  “Like Uncle said, she shouldn’t have been here in the first place. That book wasn’t a place of safety for her; it was chains and a prison. She’s free now. She should have moved on a long time ago. Maybe your last words to her were brief, but you gave her the greatest gift you ever could—your heart. She’s gone where she’s supposed to be, and you helped with that. You can spend the rest of your life—”

  “My short life.”

  She slapped his leg reproachfully, but left her hand there. “The rest of your life beating yourself up, but in the end you woke her up and loved her. You gave her the chance to have happy memories close off her existence here before moving on. You gave her a chance to fulfil her destiny and put old sins to rest.”

  Jerry put the cup on the saucer and placed his free hand on top of Mika’s. “Thank you.” He squeezed her hand gently and smiled at her. For the first time, he noticed bright green flecks in the light brown of her eyes. Then she leaned in and kissed him on the forehead, before standing up and letting him have his hand back. “You’re leaving?”

  “Are you going to be okay?”

  “Yeah. I hurt, but she did what she needed to do and has moved on.”

  “If you’re sure you’ll be okay, I’d better go.”

  “Really?”

  “Jerry, you’re hurting from your loss of Ana, and I’m a little sad from my breakup with Danveer so—”

  Jerry levered himself up off the couch and dropped the afghan. “Danveer dumped you?”

  “No, I broke up with him. When we were here with Uncle Palak on Monday, I finally saw how dissimilar we are. I think I was more attracted to the idea of having Uncle Palak as a mentor than I was of having Danveer as a husband. He really doe
sn’t have a spiritual bone in his body. I spoke with Uncle Palak about it and he agreed completely. Actually, he wondered why it took me so long to figure it out.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Or I’m not, I guess. If you’re not rushing home to him, stay awhile and watch a movie, chat, help me with my chakras.” He just wasn’t ready to be completely alone in the loft.

  Mika shook her head and moved toward the door, where her coat hung. “I’ll be honest, Jerry. From the few days we’ve spent working together at the station, I’m more attracted to you than I ever was to Danveer. You and I are on the same wavelength on so many things. You may not think you’re a spiritual person, but the way you talk about music and life and how you find a way to tickle the laughter out of every situation, is straight from the spirit, the soul. And it’s damned sexy . . . If I don’t leave now, I’m going to take advantage of your heartbreak and mourning for Ana, and take you to bed. Or at least try to.”

  “Um . . .” He didn’t know what to say, but mostly because he knew that under different circumstances she would have been his dream woman—if his dream woman weren’t already a dead Russian Grand Duchess.

  “Jerry, I’m going. The roads are a little slippery, so I’ll text you when I get home safely. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. If you feel up to coming into the office, I’ll gladly come by and pick you up.” She shrugged into her coat, not giving him a chance to help her, and perhaps get too close to her.

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. You probably think I’m no better than Lee-Anne, flirting with the new boss like he’s fresh meat and I’m starved for attention.” Her smile faltered.

  “Not at all.” He put the cup and saucer on the kitchen counter and closed the distance to Mika, where he took her hands. “You’re not like that and really, neither is Lee-Anne. You’re an amazing woman, and I can feel some kind of energy between us, but my heart really and truly belongs to a silly little Russian ghost. You’re right that Danveer is wrong for you. Even this thick-as-brick man could see that. He’s a nice enough guy, but you walk different paths. You have to promise me, though, that you’ll keep walking your own path, confident that the right someone will someday step right up beside you and let their path overlap with yours.”

  Mika laughed between tears. “Now you sound like Uncle Palak! That’s practically what he said to me.”

  “He’s a wise man. In my case, though, my wisdom comes from listening to too many deep, soulful lyrics, and from a Deepak Chopra book I read last year.”

  She moved a half-step closer and her voice softened. “Jerry, I . . .”

  It was Jerry’s turn to kiss Mika gently on the forehead. “I know. Go. I’ll be fine.” He turned her gently around, opened the door for her, and patted her on the butt to scoot her out. “Text me when you get home, and I promise to let you know if I need a ride in tomorrow. Good night, Mika.”

  “G’night, Jerry. Namaste.”

  “Namaste right back atcha.”

  Mika snickered and made her way down the stairs. Jerry closed the door gently behind her and clicked the deadbolt over as quietly as he could.

  “It never rains but when it pours.” He looked over at Sushi. “If I’d known this whole I’m-dying-soon shtick worked so well on women, I’d have tried it years ago.” The fish looked at him and tilted his head as if he understood him. Jerry shook his own head. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s unfair. Mika’s better than that, and so was Ana.” He sighed and dropped back onto the couch. “Ana . . . where the hell did she go? Did that darkness she was so worried about suck up her soul?” The idea made him shiver, and he grabbed the afghan off the floor, wrapped it around himself, brought the television out of nap mode, and let the modern-day Holmes and Watson distract him. Fifteen minutes later Mika’s text came in saying that she was home safe and sound and thinking about him. She also urged him to call any time if he needed to talk. He texted back a quick note that he was glad she was safely home and he would call if he needed anything. He’d have written more, but he could barely read what he typed and the strain on his eyes threatened to bring on another headache. He did close off with a colon-bracket smiley-face, just so she didn’t misinterpret his brusqueness. Holmes himself was sending a text on the screen so Jerry put his phone and dark thoughts aside, and got lost again in the twisting, turning plot.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  @TheTaoOfJerr: “Jazz isn’t dead. It just smells funny.”

  ~Frank Zappa

  AT EIGHT O’CLOCK, his small travel alarm beeped only twice before Jerry silenced it. He’d been up for ten minutes already, staring fuzzily at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of the street outside. There was a single honk and a short-lived distant siren, but generally speaking Victoria just didn’t seem to have the traffic and energy of even the suburbs of Toronto where he grew up. Only St. Marys was quieter than Victoria, though not after a hockey game, when the car and truck horns of either celebration or frustration punctured the night.

  Last night had been a quick one. He’d fallen asleep immediately, had no dreams that he could remember, and woke up before the alarm sounded. He felt emotionally pummelled, but surprisingly well-rested. He was also fed up with what he’d called the “pity party” yesterday and was determined to get stuff done today. He still had the most recent quarterly reports to review for Manny, and his overly cautious nature told him he’d better call and confirm his family’s flight and hotel reservations. Online booking from the comfort of his pyjamas allowed him to bypass a travel agent and maybe save a few bucks, but it also meant that he had to do all the calling around himself, to confirm that the ducks were in a row for his mother’s visit.

  There was something else he was supposed to do, but that part of his to-do list had fallen through his Swiss-cheese memory and might never reappear. He remembered that he planned to drop by the station later on, but since Mika would already be at work, he would cab it or walk, depending on what shape he was in when the time came. He nuked a couple of eggs, tossed them on toast, and washed them down with black coffee while scrolling through the reports he’d emailed himself. He had to enlarge the spreadsheet immensely so that his failing eyes could make out the numbers, but he quickly saw a couple areas of possible overspending he’d bring to Manny’s attention and highlighted them, just to jog his memory later on. He thought about it for a moment and decided that the highlighting wouldn’t be enough. A few taps of the laptop’s touchpad opened a blank document and he typed a quick note to himself with the dates and entries in question. His new motto was “Leave nothing to chance.” What he remembered today could be gone tomorrow, or even by lunchtime. He squinted at his note, rereading it to make sure he’d got everything down he wanted to remember. He did this with five more points before he finished going through the report. “It’s really not too bad at all. There’s nothing here Manny can’t fix quickly and almost painlessly.

  “Speaking of painless, I suppose I should post a few tweets just to say I’m still alive . . . while I am.” He pulled up his list of quotable music quotes, logged on to his @TheTaoOfJerr Twitter account, and posted a couple quips he hadn’t used before, including his favourite one from Frank Zappa. He considered working on his blog, but it could wait until he dropped by the station. With Ana gone, he really needed to see some friendly faces, especially Mika’s. “You know, Sushi, it’s probably time I do that Last Will & Testament thing. If I leave everything to you, will you just blow it all on one of those bubbling scuba divers for your tank?” He really did need to do a will, though there was something troubling him about the idea. Something needed doing or . . . had already been done! He opened up the desk drawer and there was the will kit, all filled out and ready to be notarized or whatever the lawyer had to do. “Shit. Two wills would have been as bad as none. Easily fixed.” With a quick phone call he set up a five-minute appointment with Manny’s lawyer, and with a second call, ordered a cab to pick him up in an hour. “T
ime to shit, shower, and shave.”

  MANNY FRESHENED JERRY’S decaf and leaned back in his chair. “I hate the idea of a young feller like yourself even having to fill out a will, but I’ll honour whatever requests you’ve made, provided you do your best to hang around as long as possible and make it all unnecessary.”

  “Deal. I’m not really asking you to do much, really. Just take a little of my ashes and sprinkle them in the Pacific and send the rest to my mother. There’s a list of my possessions that my sister and mother get first dibs on and then the rest goes to Mika.”

  “Mika? Not Ana?” Manny raised his considerable eyebrows.

  “Ana’s gone. She never really expected to be here that long anyway.”

  “Why Mika?”

  “She’s been great to me. She’s probably the smartest one you’ve got on staff, and that’s saying something with this staff. I want her to have a copy of my digital music collection and anything else she wants after my family has picked over it. If there’s any meat left on the bones after that, maybe open it up to the staff or donate it to a women’s shelter.”

  “I like how you think, mate. Since that’s not going to happen for some time, what have you got on that cost analysis you were so keen to talk to me about?”