Disclaimer: Totally Spies belongs to Marathon Media Inc.
No one knew where the old man had come from. In all truthfulness, neither did he. He had only showed up at Sunnyvale Senior Living due to a doctor's recommendation, but even the doctor himself had been unable to obtain any personal information about the man. He was merely known as Patient No. 7226 and addressed simply as "Sir."
He had a moderate case of Alzheimer's. Though he was still able to perform most basic functions on his own, he could not remember a single thing about himself or his personal life. The caregivers at Sunnyvale had great difficulty in getting him to engage with others: he frequently appeared aloof and apathetic, and walked back and forth around the building for most of the day without saying a word to anyone. One night, a nurse awoke to hear him weeping from his room, but when she tried to get him to calm down and explain why he was sad, he threw a violent fit and nearly injured her.
Though no one at Sunnyvale knew anything about him, several things could be inferred about his past life. The first was that he had been strikingly handsome in his youth: even now, as he appeared to be in his mid-sixties, he was still very pleasant to look at. His eyes were his most distinctive features – their dark, mysterious sea-foam depths literally caused heads to turn. His graying locks of hair had initially sported a rich, chestnut-brown hue, and his frame remained somewhat muscular. At the very least, he had retained enough strength to hurt a person in spite of his advanced age.
The other thing about him was that he had once been dazzlingly brilliant. Soon after he moved in, he noticed that they were unsuccessfully attempting to set up a computerized visitor sign-in system. He sat down and reprogrammed the system by himself, nearly doubling its efficiency in the process. The medical specialists at the home were awed by his sudden display of mental acuity, but when they tested him again, they were saddened to find that it had merely been a flash of the extraordinary abilities that he had formerly possessed. After the incident, many of the residents speculated about his former profession. Most of them suggested that he had been a scientist or engineer of some sort. Their speculation was confirmed further when he beat every other Sunnyvale resident at chess during one of their monthly tournaments. Even if he was unable to recall anything, he still had a highly analytical mind.
The caregivers at Sunnyvale felt sorry for him, knowing that he had been immensely talented at one point and currently had to resort to wasting away the remainder of his life due to his disease. Yet there was one curious thing: his condition did not appear to be deteriorating any further. From their past experiences with Alzheimer's patients, subjects at this stage would often swiftly move into the advanced stages of the illness before passing away pitifully. But this man was different. It appeared that he was resisting the onset of his impending death, as though he were challenging it. The only reasonable explanation for this was that he had something to motivate him, to get him safely through each day without losing his sanity. None of them could say anything for certain because the man himself rarely talked, but his daily routine of pacing about almost seemed methodical, like he was plotting something in his silence. This was a stark contrast to other sufferers of Alzheimer's, who tended to wander aimlessly instead.
Then something extraordinary happened.
One Saturday morning, Sunnyvale received a call from the police that the man they knew as "Sir" had been spotted at a cemetery downtown. Those who heard the news reacted in a mixture of shock and fear. Obviously he had found a way to leave the residence without anyone's knowledge. The mere fact that he had left for a cemetery was also highly disturbing. Could he possibly have been suicidal? Not wanting to think about the gruesome possibilities, a team of caregivers got into a van and hurried downtown, secretly thankful that the police had caught up to him before he tried to do anything harmful.
As the van approached the cemetery's iron gates, its occupants could make out the faint outline of a crowd of policemen surrounding a certain marble tombstone far off in the distance. They exited the vehicle and came closer, seeing that the old man was kneeling in the middle of the crowd. After identifying themselves to a policeman, they were led past the others until they were standing next to the man himself. "Sir," a nurse whispered, gently placing her hand on his broad shoulders, "we're here. Let us know if there's anything you need."
There was no response. Wondering if something was wrong, the nurse looked up at the old man's face and was alarmed to see that it displayed a blend of emotions which she had previously never seen. The wrinkles on his forehead had grown deeper, and his sea-foam eyes flickered with both sorrow and tenderness as they gazed upon the tombstone in front of him.
Here lies
SAMANTHA MARIE SCAM,
formerly SIMPSON,
beloved wife of Timothy.
Known for her lifelong efforts in preserving
global peace and security,
she bravely battled cancer toward the very end.
(11.4.1990-12.18.2042)
Gasps were heard all around as the old man's identity was revealed. Patient No. 7226, or "Sir", was actually Tim Scam, one of the world's most wanted criminals during his time, until one day when he suddenly disappeared from the news headlines, presumably having given up his life of crime. "He got married to this woman," one of the police officers solemnly explained, echoing everyone's thoughts. "Considering his condition, it's a miracle that he still remembers how to get to her grave. He even got those flowers for her." The officer pointed at a bouquet of fresh roses that had been set at the base of the tombstone.
Those around him could barely believe their eyes. Love, especially deep, genuine love such as that which they were witnessing, truly had a transformative power. It was then that the caregivers realized: Tim's love for this woman was the only thing that was holding him back from spiraling into oblivion. It was clear that he would do anything to hang on to the few remaining memories of the only person he ever cared for – even if it meant taking a trip across the city to visit her grave.
But in the next moment, something else occurred that thoroughly erased any lingering doubts the crowd had about the existence of miracles. For the very first time since he'd set foot in Sunnyvale Senior Living, the sixty-something-year-old Tim Scam uttered a complete sentence. He looked up at the people around him staring in wonder, gave them a sad smile, and spoke in a clear, firm tone.
"I still love her."