Auld Lang Syne

I was walking in velvety darkness. If there was a path at my feet, I could not see it. Does a blind man know if he is floating?
I could see a pinprick of light in the distance and I moved toward it. It increased in size and my eyes dilated.
I stepped through a doorway and saw a man dressed all in formal black attire. He was standing in front of a fire in the comfortable study. He smirked at me and raised his wine glass in a mock salute. He was extremely ugly in a completely unconventional way.
“I have been waiting for you,” he said. I noticed that his eyes glittered but his mouth betrayed no emotion. I said nothing. I looked for Hector but he was not there. Where was he?
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I woke up then. I looked at my clock, took a drink of water and rang for Percy. He helped me into my chair and went downstairs to prepare my breakfast. It was a Thursday, so I had office hours after ten. No time in the lab until noon. I looked in the mirror and frowned. My skin was too yellow, my forehead too lined, my eyes too bloodshot. I wheeled back to bed and picked up the book I had been reading. The author was some sort of Jewish mystic and I quickly lost patience with his Kabbalistic babble. If he knew something new, it was hidden under odd revelations of wrestling angels, number systems and God. None of these made sense to me and I threw the book into the fireplace with an oath.
I ate breakfast and Percy wheeled me to my waiting car. I was driven to Caius and entered my office to listen to the mewling and puking of those callow fools that I was given to tutor. I hated this part of the work and the students knew it. Without fail, every fresh new face went pale witnessing my decrepitude and the slow working of my disease. I hated their healthy young faces and longed to smash every pitying look they gave me.
I am obsessed with life, now that mine is concluding with a whimper. I long for health but no doctor can give it to me. I have become a connoisseur of treatments: chemic, holistic, naturopathic, clinic and placebic. I have undergone radiation, massage, vile herbs, colonic irrigation, stretching, crystals, and surgery. Nothing is effective. So now I am going to take matters into my own hands.
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I instructed my driver to take me to visit Greenfields. The grounds were well manicured and the buildings stood proudly in the light of a soft April sun. Appearances can be so deceiving.
I spoke to the nurse at the front counter and she wheeled me into Hector’s receiving room. He seemed little changed in the months that I have visited him. His eyes were the usual dull brown, and his face sagged like a balloon with a slow leak. Drool collected in the corners of his mouth. I took out my kerchief and dabbed at it like a solicitous nanny.
“How are you faring today, Hector?”
He never responded to my questions nor even gave a sign that he had heard anything.
“Do you know why I visit you, my boy?” I asked. “I am building a track record as your kindly uncle. One day soon, I will remove you from this place and take you home with me. And then, everything will change. Oh yes, your body will have a captain once more and this captain will have his ship. So be well, Hector!”
I bowed to him and prepared to wheel away. I stopped because I saw something wholly different appear in his eyes.
“I am not yours,” said Hector. And then he went blank again.
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My doctor was the best that money could buy. And what did my money buy? A death sentence.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Goode. Your disease has reached a terminal phase,” he said, looking down at his papers.
“How long, Doctor?”
“Perhaps as much as six months, more probably less.”
“There is no hope of remission?” What a fool I was, grasping at straws. He could barely look up at me. He shook his head.
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The lecture was advertised as being “A Scientific Examination of Astral Travel and Soul Migration.” My heart sank as I wheeled to the first row; the hall was full of old women and mad-looking foreign types. I was surrounded by true believers. I feared I would be the only scientist there.
A man wearing dark robes advanced to the lectern and the lights dimmed. He spoke as though telling a story rather than propounding axioms. In spite of my misgiving, I leaned forward and listened. Desperation will do that.
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I wheeled myself back to my car. My mind was racing. It was probably madness, but what did I have to lose? I would arrange for my man Henderson to draw up the necessary papers tomorrow and Hector would be my ward before the week was out.
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“What you are proposing is madness, Uncle Hugo!” said my nephew, his face a battlefield between amazement and dismay.
“It may be, Clive...but what other choice is there? I die anyway. What if it is a possibility? What if I can leap from one body to another at the moment of death?”
“Soul migration is neither sound science nor good theology,” he said firmly.
“I need your help,” I said holding up my empty hands in supplication. “If I can make the leap, I will need your help with the legalities as executor of my estate.”
“It is appointed to men once to die,” he said.
“Don’t quote Scripture at me,” I said. “Do what I tell you to!”
“Very well,” he said grimly, his lips tight with displeasure.
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I smiled at the inert form of Hector as my chauffeur belted him in beside me. I looked at him critically: broad shoulders, well formed legs, perhaps a bit adipose around the trunk. What joy I would get from transforming him into a physical specimen. What pleasure to feel the slight burning of exertion and a racing heart. I would make this lump of flesh into an athlete, a demi-god, a colossus! I pictured myself walking, running, bending and hurling the javelin like an unclothed Spartan at the earliest Olympics. Oh, to be free of this hideous body and its umbilical cord to my wheelchair! I shivered with anticipation.
I had Hector fed and then wheeled into my laboratory. I gave him a powerful sedative so that my migration would not be resisted and then I had my chef make me a last meal.
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Hector was fast asleep; his face almost human now that his ravaged psyche was not tearing it into all directions. I held up the draft of poison and drank deeply. At once, the child’s prayer flashed into my hazy thoughts. Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep.
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I was back in my dream again, walking in the bright darkness toward a distant light. I stepped into the room of light and at once I felt Hector’s somnolence. But where was Hector? I had to cast him out of his room and take his throne.
A door opened and the man in black entered.
“Where is Hector?” I asked.
“That is not your concern; you can’t get to him except through me.”
“Who are you?”
“Apparently I am a stranger to you, Doctor Goode.”
“How do you know my name?”
“There are no secrets in this plane.”
“What is your name?”
“I have many, but you may call me Judge, for that is assuredly what I am.”
“I have no argument with you. I merely want to take over this useless body.”
“Useless, is it? Tell me what you know of usefulness, Doctor.”
“Obviously, an insane mind is not worthy of a healthy body.”
“Really? Present your case and I will judge it.”
“You can’t tell me that Hector is worthy of his healthy body. He is not even present in the truest sense. He drools, grunts and gapes. We slaughter livestock with more self-awareness than Hector possesses.”
“Very well. Now present your argument for taking over his body.”
“If you know my name, you know that I am well regarded in my field for the brilliance of my insight and experimentation. I could go on living for many more decades with a healthy body. Think of the good that I could do! I simply need more time.”
“Your words are persuasive. Now I will weigh your heart...” He reached out to my chest and flicked the pale skin with a long fingernail. I gasped as a line of blood appeared. He reached in and pulled out my beating organ. He pulled out a brass scale and laid it carefully on it. He stooped down and a most disconcerting grin appeared on his ugly face.
“My dear Doctor, my scale tells me that your heart is almost completely self-centered. All your work is done to amplify your reputation in the scientific community. You never married because it did not suit your nature to share anything with a woman. Your profession relationships are marked with competitiveness rather than collegiality.” He took my heart and smelled it closely. “It is weak from lack of use, Doctor Goode.” He shrugged and put my heart back inside my chest. I gasped as I felt it beating within me.
“So that’s it?” I said, trying not to shake.
“I will give you a choice,” he said. “I will permit you to take this body but with one stipulation.”
“Tell me,” I said; my voice a squeal of desperation.
“You can have a healthy body but you must give up something.”
“Anything!”
“I want your mind.”
“But, but, without my mind, I am nothing. You can’t ask me to submit to the broken mind of an insane man!”
“That is your choice. What will you do?”
“It is no choice!”
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I woke up then, lying in a sour pool. I felt strong hands pushing on my heart and I gasped for air.
“Easy Doc... We almost lost you there.” The voice was Percy’s but I was still blind. “Not sure what happened there?” His voice held an interrogative but I was hardly in the mood to discuss poison with my underling.
“Can you talk Doc?” I found that I could not. To my shock I could feel drool collecting at the corners of my mouth. I gurgled like a newborn.