You Pretty Thing
It took three minutes for the elevator to rise from the highest publicly accessible floor to the penthouse. I occupied myself with thoughts of what was to come, and tried not to think about what might fill the spaces between floors. Jonathon Rhodes was not the richest man in the world, but once you had his sort of money, the point was moot. How much is enough? If what I was here to confirm was correct, then quantities I couldn’t even begin to imagine had already been spent. My retainer no longer seemed quite so large as it had when I signed my contract.
The tiniest of bumps announced the journey’s end. I stepped through the doors before they had finished opening, and pulled up short at sight of my surroundings. Whatever I had expected, this wasn’t it. A man as rich as I knew Rhodes to be… there were no signs of opulence, no hints of excess. I had thought to find wall hangings; statues; deep pile carpets; leather furniture bearing teams of supermodels. I had not anticipated emptiness. Bare concrete stretched away from the door in all directions. Brickwork lay exposed on walls, pipes and wires hung in careless profusion. The absolute minimum of furniture had been arranged in a circle several feet away: a simple desk, two folding chairs, and a portable television on a metal table. Even the view across the city was hidden behind vertical blinds that looked as if they had come straight from the discount rack. A lone figure sat in one of the chairs. He stood at my entrance.
“No, Doctor Dunstan, you are in the right place. Please, come in.”
He gestured towards the empty seat. I took a couple of fumbling steps forward, before my resolve deserted me again, and I simply stared at him. He was beautiful. Breathtakingly so: slim, willowy, a face so unlined and beatific it might have belonged to a plaster saint. His hair hung to just above the shoulder, thick and black, and the lips that smiled at my confusion were the right side of full. I shook my head to ward off the beginnings of entrancement, and he laughed.
“It’ll pass, I’m sure,” he said, as if he were already used to the reaction, and once more indicated the seat. “Come.”
I sat, and placed my briefcase on the floor beside me.
“Not what you were expecting, was it?”
I shook my head. “No, not quite.”
He smiled. “I’m re-furnishing. I found my previous taste somewhat… gauche, perhaps. Over the top. I have a different outlook now.”
“I see.”
“Perhaps.”
“You… you’re…”
He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Thank you. Drink?”
He pointed to a small side table, upon which rested a jug of water and two glasses.
“Please.”
He reached for the pitcher and a glass. As he raised them, the glass shattered. Shards tinkled on the concrete floor. He hissed, and drew his hand up to his mouth.
“Are you okay?”
“It’s nothing,” he said, waving away my attempt to lean over and help. “My fine motor movements still need some getting used to, that’s all.” He pulled a piece of glass from his palm and flicked it away. I proffered a handkerchief. He accepted it with a nod, and balled his fist around it. “This body is much lighter than my old one. I have to remind myself not to be so heavy with everything.”
“Then you’re—“
“I’m fine, just fine.” He flexed his injured hand. “Perhaps we should begin.”
“Yes, of course.” I opened my briefcase and removed a tape recorder. “I trust this will be sufficient?”
“Fine, fine,” he nodded. “As per the terms of the agreement.”
I placed the recorder on the floor and pressed the start button.
“Can you tell me your name, please?”
“Jonathon Edmond Wilhelm Rhodes.”
“And do you know why you are here?”
“Yes,” he settled back in his chair, dropped his chin to his chest. “I am answering a series of questions in order to prove that I am, indeed, the late Jonathon Rhodes, and not some well-trained imposter or robot.” He smiled. “How am I doing so far?”
I shrugged. “Explain to me why this is necessary.”
His expression darkened. “I had cancer. The whole world knew that. In my lungs, my colon, every part of my damn body.”
“And?”
“And I died, all right? Sixty eight years old, at the height of my power.”
“Can you describe what happened?”
