Warnings: Please check my profile for a list of warnings if you need them.
His name was Arthur F. Kirkland. The F, apparently, stood for fucking filthy rich.
Francis didn't know what else Matthew had been expecting. After all, Sigmund Corp. had a reputation in this country as the only proprietor with the real legal means to inject another human being's head with false memories; it was only to be expected that all their clients would have enough money to throw around for six seconds (or so) of false happiness before kicking the bucket. He told him so.
"B-but," Matthew stammered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose anxiously, "I hadn't expected this kind of wealth from our patients. I was thinking more along the lines of Don Draper's affluence; less corporate-lawyer-at-top-law-firm, less I just discovered the cure to the common cold."
"Don't be absurd," Francis snorted, tucking Mr. Kirkland's files inside his suit jacket and pulling out a cigarette. "Don Draper is actually ridiculously well-off." He thought he would regret having their youngest employee tag along with him on this mission, but nah. The look on Matthew William's face when they pulled up in front of the private estate was irreplaceable.
It turned out that the only living resident in the mansion besides the owner was a German chauffeur named Ludwig Beilschmidt and a male housekeeper named Feliciano Vargas. Their front gate wasn't even locked, and nobody had escorted them to the entrance. Which basically meant that Matthew had to drag the heavy equipment the whole way there.
Their patient was apparently not as well-off as he seemed.
"Mr. Kirkland would like to welcome you to his home," Ludwig said after introducing himself and the housekeeper. "Unfortunately, as he is confined to his bed at the moment, he cannot greet you personally. I will be speaking on his behalf. Please do not smoke in here."
Matthew shot Francis a dirty look, and Francis sullenly put his cigarette out. It was just a minor habit he'd picked up during his travels…twelve or so years ago. A twelve-year-old habit that he couldn't get rid of fast enough, obviously.
"It's a pleasure, Mr. Beilschmidt, Mr. Vargas, " Francis said, shaking the other two people's hands. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy, and this is my junior associate, Matthew Williams.
"I presume you know why we're here," Matthew said politely.
Ludwig gave what could only be the gross approximation of a tight-lipped smile. The man's bone structure looked as though it had never been built to smile. Francis thought that Matthew probably felt a little sorry for him.
"Of course we do. Mr. Kirkland signed a contract with Sigmund Corp. almost thirty years ago. He left the exact specifications of his final wish in our contract should he become incapacitated or lose his ability to communicate in any way. We know exactly why you're here."
"We've only worked for Mr. Kirkland for two years now, but we've become very fond of him," Feliciano piped up. "Please take good care of him, and do your best to fulfill his dream!"
"We're trained professionals," Matthew said comfortingly. "Don't worry; it's our job."
With the formalities out of the way, and all the paperwork signed and agreed upon, Ludwig finally handed Francis and Matthew the necessary documents they'd need in order to see what exactly they'd be doing for Arthur Kirkland. Ludwig explained that Arthur was 83 and had been beaten into unconsciousness a day ago by some self-loathing thugs who were now sitting in a jail cell. He was on life support; they had about three days before he'd be taken off it (as stated in their agreement). Ludwig helped them carry their machinery up the stairs, and left it in front of Mr. Kirkland's shut door before respectfully bowing out of the way and leaving.
Then it was just Francis and Matthew and a wrinkled envelope between them that was rippling at the seams with old hope.
"This anticipation is killing me," Matthew said accidentally before paling when he realized the inappropriateness of his words. "Oops —"
"Don't beat yourself up too much over it," Francis responded.
The two shared a really, now? glance, but Francis suspected that Matthew was genuinely too nervous to find anything funny at the moment. After all, this was the boy's first official mission. Matthew was only twenty-one; he was a local prodigy who'd earned his undergraduate degree at the University of Chicago when he was eighteen and joined Sigmund Corp. a year and a half after that. Francis hadn't been half the material Matthew was when he was that age.
So he wordlessly put his hand on Matthew's shoulder and smiled a smile that was hopefully encouraging.
They wiggled the door handles together and pushed the doors open. Francis entered first; Matthew struggled with the equipment.
The first thing he noticed was the emptiness of the room as a whole. Despite the grandness of the house, despite the wooden carvings and marble sculptures and larger-than-life portraits that hung on the walls, this room felt bare and hollow. There was no furniture in it besides the king-sized bed in its center, and even then the bed seemed unremarkable and plain.
Old man Arthur Kirkland was sleeping soundly in it with the sheets pulled up around his ears. He was hooked up to a small machine that monitored his heart activity; it gave eerie beeps periodically to let the two agents know that yes, that statue-calm figure still had life in him. The old man's wounds had been addressed meticulously, but even so his face looked completely beat up and disproportioned. Some blood leaked out of the stitches on his forehead and Matthew wiped it away with his sleeve as Francis sniffed and looked on in disdain.
"All alone in such a giant mansion with nobody else really around," Matthew said softly. "That's got to be the saddest thing I've ever heard. What kind of sickos do you think would jump a helpless old man for his wallet? They must have been desperate."
"What I want to know is what he could possibly want, with all the money he has," Francis said before tearing open the envelope. Two loose pieces of paper fell to the ground; Matthew bent to pick them up while Francis read the one in his hand.
"To whom it may concern in Sigmund Corp.,
"I am, as you may already know, on my last leg of life. From the moment I signed up for a memory alteration, I've ached, waiting for this to finally happen to me. The permanent distortion of one's memory is too damaging an ordeal to attempt on a young, healthy person with several more years ahead of him, so you say; you will only ever recreate the memories of those who are close to death. So I have been wishing my near-death for a very long time now.
"It is with great optimism and trepidation that I hand my life over to you. Please serve it well; it is a life long-lived, with many regrets and precious few moments of true happiness. It also means nothing to me. I do not want it.
"I want a life where I'm married. There was a man in my life whom I can still firmly say I love. He died the week before I contacted you, three decades ago, and we never sealed any sort of official deal. I think I would only be able to rest in peace if I'm under the pretense that we got married the year after he proposed and we proceeded to spend the rest of our lives together in quiet domesticity. That's all, really. His name is Alfred F. Jones.
"Thank you so much — and I wish you the best of luck.
"Kindest regards,
"Arthur Kirkland."
"My mum always told me you can't buy love with money," Matthew said, before passing the two pieces of paper he'd picked up over to Francis. Francis gave him the letter in return.
"They were already in love; they'd just never officially tied the ribbon."
"It's just an expression," Matthew said, ears reddening, and Francis cast him a fond look.
The first paper he was holding was a few particulars on what Arthur could remember from the engagement — the point at which he wanted his memory to start being altered. We went to the Met. He knew how much I loved Byzantine art. It was useless to Francis — they could work without this information — but he appreciated the extra effort regardless.
The second paper was an old black-and-white printed photograph of a young adult in a bomber jacket. He had permanent laugh lines and a boyish grin that lit up the entire picture and glittering bright eyes that promised a lifetime of what-have-yous. There was nothing about the picture that didn't scream hot mess, from his mussed hair to his crooked frameless glasses to his lopsided salute. Alfred F. Jones had an inherent childish charm to him that Francis was sure anyone could come to love if given the chance.
Matthew was already finished hooking the machines to the outlets by the time Francis pulled his eyes away from the photograph. He offered Francis one of the two headsets, and both of them sat on the edge of the bed (being careful not to touch the dozing old man). Matthew made a gesture that seemed like he was grabbing for Francis' arm, but thought better of it at the last second and pulled away.
Francis took Matthew's hand anyway. They squeezed; Matthew's hand was hot and sweaty.
"Are you ready?" he whispered to his associate. Matthew only gave him the slightest of nods, his eyes tightly shut.
Francis fired up the machine and felt the familiar hum of static flow not unpleasantly into his ears. He gave Arthur Kirkland's heart monitor one last glance; it went beep…beep…beep in response. He also gave Arthur Kirkland himself one last glance, perhaps as a raised glass to reality. Francis had never been the kind of man who approved of the alteration of memories to create an entirely new, false persona for oneself when the real world had so much more going for it.
Arthur Kirkland soundly slept on. From this close proximity, Francis could count his freckles. But otherwise, the old man looked nothing short of ordinary.
"Don't worry; there's actually not that much to it," Francis promised Matthew. "It's all a lot easier than you think it is."
Those last words would be words he'd come to regret for a long time.
In case you haven't already figured it out, the premise of this story is based on Kan Gao's To The Moon game. It's an incredibly heartbreaking game that's definitely worth the few hours it takes to complete. I highly, highly recommend it to anyone with some spare time.
That said, I will try my best not to spoil anything for To The Moon in here for those who have not yet played it.
Thanks for reading!
