Conclusion

by Peter Robertson

  “It’s a wonderful game.”

  There was a pause. It was apparently Colin’s turn to speak.

  “I’m older than you.”

  She nodded. “Twenty years.”

  “You could date someone younger.”

  “I have,” she giggled more than she laughed. “I’m unattached right now. This is your big chance. You should take it. You don’t have long.”

  He snorted out a response. “Thank you so much for reminding me.”

  She smiled encouragingly. “I didn’t mean it that way. It’s just that I don’t like to stay unattached for long.”

  The clock was running. “I see,” he said at last.

  Angie continued, “When I was in your class, I promised myself that I would come for you. When you were free. If I was free at the same time. And here I am. We’re both free. I knew that your wife was a little older, so I knew she would conclude before you. I don’t have anyone now. Do I sound a little creepy?”

  The answer was more than a little, but he chose not to admit it. Instead he said, “I might not want to date. I mean I might not want to date anyone.”

  “I know,” she said. “You might not. In fact, you probably don’t. You probably want to grieve. I understand. But you can grieve and date at the same time. That would be fine with me. Anyway, I wanted to ask, Was your wife nice? You don’t need to answer. I imagine she was.”

  “How did you know my wife was dead? And how did you know she was older?”

  She waited a long time before she answered. “I could lie to you.”

  “How could you lie?”

  “I could say I read her obituary in the paper.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No, I didn’t, she said. “I accessed your records. Both of your records. After I had been in your class I made a note to myself. When you would be free. When she would …” Angie didn’t finish the sentence.

  Colin was incredulous. “So, you waited for her to die?”

  “Not exactly. I didn’t wait. I just made a note to myself. I really do sound creepy, don’t I?”

  When he spoke again his voice was softer. “I always thought so.”

  She looked confused. “What did you think?”

  “You asked me about my wife,” he was almost whispering. “I did think she was nice.”

  There was a long silence after that, which she eventually broke. “I should tell you that I don’t need much.”

  He must have looked confused. “Much what?”

  “Much money. Fancy things. Stuff. I have more than enough.”

  “What do you do Angie? How do you live?”

  “I mostly steal.”

  “You look very healthy,” he observed. “I remember you weren’t always.”

  “You really do remember me. I wasn’t sure if you would. I’m flattered. But you’re right. I was getting sick then. Now I’m much better.”

  “How did you get better?”

  “I told you,” she said. “I steal.”

  He considered this for a moment, then he spoke. “I could make some coffee.”

  It was her turn to do some considering. “Do you like to drink coffee?”

  “I do. Although I don’t usually drink more than one cup in the morning.”

  “Have you had one cup this morning?”

  “I have.”

  “It’s no longer morning. Do you drink coffee in the afternoon?”

  He spoke guardedly. “Sometimes.”

  “Then we could have afternoon coffee,” she reasoned.

  He stood up decisively. “I’ll make more.”

  “I’d like that,” she said. “It’s going to be nice that we both like to drink coffee.”

  “It may not be enough to sustain a relationship,” he observed, before changing the subject. “I need to know something about you.”

  She was grinning. “Of course,” she said.” What do you want to know?”

  “There are two things.”

  She pretended to sigh. “What two things?”

  “You’re not sick anymore.”

  She nodded. “What else?”

  “And you steal.”

  She was still nodding. “What would you like to know about me first?”

  After Colin made the afternoon coffee, he learned more than two things about Angie.

  The first thing he learned was her last name.

  Angie Rennie could track her family back through four generations, to a plantation in South Carolina. She could also trace her Parkinson’s disease for the same time span. In the years after she attended Colin’s class, the disease worsened: her hands shook and her balance faltered, it was harder for her to talk and to be understood when she did, her muscles tightened, and her back began to curve. She took medications, she exercised daily in water, and when she concentrated, she was able to subvert some of the symptoms for a while, but the effort was exhausting.

  She had been thirty-eight when she attended Colin’s computer class. In seventeen years, she would be officially scanned, and she would fail. Her next years would come with increasing pain and accelerating decay. There was a very good chance she would die young. There was a lesser chance she wouldn’t, but neither prospect was especially attractive.

  Angie sipped her coffee.

  “I paid close attention to everything you told us in that class.”

  “I remember that you stared at me a lot.”

  “That was only because you were cute.”

  “That would certainly explain it.”

  Over the next four years, Angie Rennie hacked her way into all kinds of computer systems: the military, big banks, hospitals, government agencies.

  Colin wondered, “Was it difficult?”

  “Hardly. Hacking in is easy. Not leaving a trail is the hard part. I accessed offshore banks and transferred small amounts from certain accounts. I picked my victims carefully. Mostly white-collar types. People who were not very interested in having their tax shelters and insider-traded profits made public. So, they were willing to take the small losses. I always made sure to leave them with plenty.”

  Angie Rennie stopped talking. Colin watched her. He said nothing. He waited.

  Finally, she spoke quietly. “But my health began to get worse.”

  Colin interrupted her. “You look fine now.”

  “I am fine now. I was welded nine years ago.”

  He took a deep breath. “How the hell is that possible? And even if it was possible, what difference would it make?”

  As best she could, she told him.

  Angie had broken into government records, altered her age, and taken the scan when she was forty-four, although she had been advised against the last part. Visibly sick people were discouraged from wasting time on a test that would only confirm what everybody already knew. If they were seriously, irrevocably ill, they would fail the scan, and the weld, even if they could somehow have it, would be worthless. Angie had anticipated a scene, an argument, but she also knew that the hospital authorities would ultimately acquiesce. The scan was an inalienable right that everyone possessed, no matter what condition he or she was in. The authorities also knew that there was no way to cheat the scan; you would either pass or you would fail.

  And Angie Rennie would fail. She would not be welded.

  “So, how were you able to pass the scan?”

  Angie shook her head, then she shrugged. “I didn’t. I failed miserably.”

  “So how—?

  She cut him off. “All I had to do was hack into the government records and change my scan result from a fail to a pass.”

  He had to laugh. “So, you cheated on the final.”

  “Yup,” she agreed cheerfully. “Twice, in fact. I cheated once to take the final, and, after I took it, I changed that nasty F to an A.”

  “And then, they welded you?”

  She nodded slowly and smiled mysteriously. “I worried about the scan itself. I was really ill. I looked really ill. I shook. I thought they
’d find a way to not scan me. So, I had a few drinks and poured a few more all over myself. I told them I was a drunk and I had the shakes and I felt terrible. I’m not sure if I was believable. But they scanned me. When I went for the weld, they checked my scan report more than once. But I had already changed the result. According to the records, I passed the scan. So, they welded me.”

  “They welded you?”

  She nodded slowly. “Once again, I must have looked terrible. I told them I was still drinking. I smelled terrible, and I shook. At least I was consistent. And I had passed the scan.”

  “What was the point? You were really sick. The weld only works on healthy people.”

  “What did I have to lose?”

  The weld and the scan were often referred to as miracles. But they were rigidly controlled and narrowly defined miracles. The scan would only pass those on whom the weld could work. The weld would sustain health. It would prolong health. But it was not able to heal.

  But there were sick people with desperate hopes and there were fears and there were rumors. And there were freakish occurrences. The weld would very occasionally fail. A clean scan would still precede a premature death from what should have been a red flag, a genetically observable warning sign.

  And sometimes a sick body would inexplicably rally. A scan would fail and, years or months later, an inherited illness would recess. An equilibrium of health would be restored, without the benefit of government-sanctioned genetic tampering.

  There were other rumors, too, of clandestine black-market welds performed on the sick. Mostly these measures failed. But there were claims of mysterious cures, of lives transformed, made both longer and better.

  “What happened to your Parkinson’s?”

  Angie offered a smirk of mocking innocence. “Do I look like I have Parkinson’s now?”

  “And there are no symptoms left?”

  “None.” She was still smirking.

  “How long will you live?”

  Angie Rennie pretended to look befuddled. “Now, how would I know that?” she said. “I’m assuming I’ll get the All Clear Twenty. Just like you. Just like the regular weldees. But I really don’t know for sure. How could I? Maybe I’ll live another ten years. Maybe I’ll live to seventy-five. Maybe I’ll live forever.”

  “How did you get into the government computer system?”

  “It wasn’t hard to get in. It was very hard to get out. It was almost impossible to get out and leave no trace.” She looked at him craftily. “But you did teach me well.”

  “You’re quite obviously kidding. Because that’s a whole lot more than I could ever do. Have you been back inside the government system since then?” he asked her.

  Angie looked serious. “Never. I’d be too scared. It was difficult. I got lucky. If I try to go in again it might trigger something and then they’ll notice me.” She shook her head firmly. “I don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to get noticed. I want to go on living. And I want to go on living well.”

  They drank their coffees in a companionable silence.

  After a while she spoke. “I like your garden.”

  He was going to tell her that Ruby was the gardener, but he stopped. Instead he asked an unrelated question. “Where do you live?”

  She looked coy. “Very close.”

  “Do you like to walk?” he asked.

  “I prefer to run.”

  “We could go for a walk. Or I could go for a walk. You could run.”

  She seemed pleased at his proposal. “We could. It could be like a date.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “When do you want to go?”

  He surprised himself with his answer: “We could go now.”

  “Now?” she said smiling. He had surprised her too.

  “Now,” he said more firmly. “As you said, I don’t have much time.”

  The forest preserve was north and west of where Colin lived. He would take her there, where she would doubtless run fast and lap him.

  A city bus route ran near the preserve, but Colin decided that he would drive Angie there. Ruby always thought that Colin drove too fast. His car had a six-cylinder 3.6 liter engine, with all-wheel drive and 280 horsepower that could get to sixty without too much fuss in well under six seconds.

  There were newer and faster machines. But he was happy with his.

  Colin watched Angie as she got in and adjusted her seat-belt. He was certain she would not complain if he drove fast.

  So, he did.

  While he walked and she ran and they had their first date, he would consider three conundrums: the significance of the number two-three-eight-one; the mystery of Angie Rennie’s disappearing disease; and Elliot Devine and his remarkable resurrection.

  At the forest preserve, Angie Rennie walked beside Colin. Or at least she tried to walk beside Colin.

  “Do you always walk this fast?” She was breathless.

  He laughed sheepishly. “I was trying to walk slower for you.”

  “I don’t even run this fast.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” She began to mumble to herself, “I’ll just have to go faster. This isn’t right. You’re supposed to be the old guy here. This is just wrong.”

  They were on the preserve path. Angie pointed to his side.

  “What have you got in the bag?”

  He pretended to be defensive. “Stuff.”

  She pushed harder. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Bottles of water. Granola bars. Apples. That kind of stuff.”

  “For yourself?”

  “Of course not. For both of us.”

  She looked both delighted and incredulous. “You packed these before we left?”

  He suddenly felt foolish. “You used the bathroom,” he said. “And what if I did?”

  She marveled, “Without me even asking. Did your wife know she was spoiled?”

  “I don’t think she saw it that way.”

  Later they stopped at a picnic area. He had also packed four paper towels that he had folded neatly and diagonally. She wiped stray pieces of apple from her mouth with the one he handed her. She looked as if she wanted to say something.

  But she didn’t. And then she did.

  “So, there’s no trace of your Mr. Devine?”

  Colin shook his head as he finished his water and threw the empty bottle into the recycling bin inside the corrugated metal enclosure. They sat together on benches at a large wooden table.

  He had told her about the brief obituary and the much more lavish financial postscripts he had also found online.

  Elliot Devine had been wealthy when he concluded, and the planned disposition of his considerable estate had initially been a simple affair. All funds were to be bequeathed to the Natural Boundary Foundation, an organization with a post office box in Duluth, Minnesota, and a website filled with impressive pictures of forests and lakes.

  But how often noble intentions can go astray.

  In one of the tabloid publications, they were referred to gleefully as the divine Devine women. Neither of his ex-wives had anything nice to say about him in print. Each had borne him two daughters, and all four teenage girls, like their two mothers, were sharply etched blondes with laser-like blue eyes fixed firmly on the prize. All six had lawyered up even before Devine’s conclusion. All six were reported to be much happier sans his physical presence in their lives, but all six were more than willing to countenance his monetary presence, in the form of financial settlements.

  The tree huggers in Duluth would surely have to wait.

  “And you’re sure it was him you saw at the airport?”

  “I’m sure,” he said.

  Angie had her phone in her hands. As she typed furiously, she asked, “When did he die?”

  Colin told her.

  Then she asked. “When did he try to buy your son’s company?”

  He told her that, too.

  “Don’t you think that’s odd?”

&nbs
p; He had had the same thought.

  She put it into words. “Why would you want to spend your money if you were going to die so soon? Didn’t he want the foundation in Duluth to have it all?”

  “He did. But maybe he thought a long-term portfolio item was a good thing for the nature folks in Minnesota to have.”

  Angie was talking to herself. “So, he was trying to invest. A leveraged hostile buy. In Trench Warfare. Maybe.” She still didn’t sound convinced. “But I think a nonprofit would probably be happier with a cash gift.”

  “Maybe he wanted to keep some of it away from the Devine women.”

  “Perhaps.” She continued, “Were they after his stuff even before he died?”

  “Apparently.”

  “How has that battle ended?”

  “It isn’t close to ending. They’re all fighting it out in court.”

  “Not quite all. Elliot Devine isn’t,” Angie observed. Then she looked thoughtful. “There’s another reason Devine might have been trying to keep investing right before he died.”

  Colin smiled at her. “I think I know where you’re heading.”

  She continued anyway. “Because he wasn’t planning on actually dying.”

  “But if he’s going to live, he’s got no money. The Natural Boundary Foundation was supposed to receive his whole estate.”

  Angie laughed. “You mean the whole Elliot Devine estate. If he’s alive, he’s no longer going around using the same name. You said his appearance was changed.”

  “Some,” Colin said. “But not enough. Maybe he didn’t die. Maybe he didn’t conclude.”

  Angie stopped typing. “I’ve just checked the same government records you did. He clearly did.”

  Moments later Angie showed her phone screen to Colin. It showed a man emerging from the snugness of a small tent. He was unkempt, and he was smiling. A cluster of evergreen trees surrounded the tent, the charred remains of a campfire nearby.

  Colin slowly nodded. He was looking at Elliot Devine in his natural habitat.

  Angie continued to scroll rapidly through a collection of tiny images.

  “He certainly did like the great outdoors,” she remarked.

  “I’m sure he still does. What are you finding?”

  Angie shook her head sadly. “The recent stuff about him is all legal stuff. The fight in court over his estate. Before that, there were obituaries, and before that, lots of technology buyouts and hostile takeovers; all the business he was involved in before his conclusion. As I said, there are lots of photos of him either getting into or out of a canoe or in and out of a tent.”