WESTCHESTER COUNTY, NY
Patrick's breath steamed in the night air as he strolled across the rear lawn of Beacon Ridge toward the sim barrack. He'd been back only once since the night of the poisoning. He wasn't sure exactly why he'd come tonight. Talking about sims with Romy and Zero this afternoon had made him think of Tome. He'd returned to Katonah to sign some papers dealing with his property - someone had made an offer on what was left of his home and he'd accepted - and gave in to an urge to see how the old sim was doing.
As he reached for the knob on the barrack door it opened and out stepped Holmes Carter. He jerked his portly frame to a halt, obviously startled.
"Sullivan?"
"Carter. Fancy meeting you here."
Carter didn't offer to shake hands, neither did Patrick. They'd reached a detente but that didn't make them friends.
"I was just about to say that myself," Carter replied. "You're trespassing, you know."
"Yeah, I know. But ease up. I'm not looking for new clients. Just visiting an old one. Promise."
"Tome?"
"Yeah." Patrick noticed Carter staring at him from under his protruding forehead, saying nothing. "Something wrong?"
"I guess you could say I'm amazed. I figured since the sims dropped the union idea and were no further use to you, we'd never see you again."
"That's usually the way it goes with client-attorney relationships, but these were special clients."
Another long stare from Carter. He was making Patrick uncomfortable.
"You're full of surprises, aren't you, Sullivan." Then he sighed. "Maybe it's a good thing you're here. Tome isn't doing too well."
Aw, no. "Is he sick?"
"I had a vet check him and she says no. He does his washroom duties, but just barely. He's listless, eating just enough to stay alive, and spending all of his free time in his bunk."
It occurred to Patrick that Holmes Carter seemed to know an awful lot about this aging sim.
"What brings you down to the barracks? Never knew you to be one to mix with the help."
He looked away. "Just checking up on him. So sue me, I'm worried."
Now it was Patrick's turn to stare. He remembered how Carter had pitched in to help the poisoned sims, and now this.
"You're no slouch in the surprise department yourself, Holmes." This had to be one of a handful of times he'd addressed the man by his first name.
"The board wants him declared D and replaced. I was giving him a pep talk but I'm not getting through. Want to take a crack at him?"
Patrick knew that if Tome were human he'd have been offered grief counseling after the killings. The poor old guy must be really hurting.
He stepped past Carter into the barrack.
"I'll give it a shot."
With Carter following, Patrick wandered through the familiar front room, past the long dining tables and battered old easy chairs clustered around the TVs in two of the corners. The gathered sims glanced at him, then returned to what they were doing. He thought of the joyous welcomes that used to greet him, but most of those sims were dead or still at work, finishing up in the club kitchen. These replacement sims didn't know him.
But wait...he remembered one sim, a caddie...
"Where's Deek?" he said.
Carter glanced around. "I don't see him. Might be sitting outside. The other survivors seemed to have bounced back, but not Tome."
That's because he was the patriarch, Patrick thought.
He proceeded into the rear area and looked around. The dorm area was dimly lit; his gaze wandered up and down the rows of bunk beds, searching for one that was occupied.
"Left rear corner," Carter said. "Lower bunk."
Patrick started forward, puzzled. He'd already looked at that bunk and had thought it was empty. But now he could see a shape under the covers, barely raising them, curled and facing the wall.
"Tome?" he said.
The shape turned and Patrick recognized Tome's face as it broke into a wide smile.
"Mist Sulliman?" The old sim slipped from under the covers and rose to his feet beside his bed. "So good to see."
Patrick's throat constricted at the sight of Tome's stooped, emaciated form. Wasn't he eating at all?
"Good to see you too, Tome."
He held out his hand and, after a second's hesitation, Tome reached his own forward.
"You come see Mist Carter?" Tome said as they shook hands.
"No, Tome. I came by to see you." Patrick saw something in Tome's eyes when he said that, something beyond gratitude. "But Mister Carter tells me you're not doing well. He says you spend all your free time in bed. Are you sick, Tome? Is there anything I can do?"
"Not sick, no," he said, shaking his head. "Tome sad. See dead sim ever time walk through eat room. Can't stay. Tired all time."
Patrick nodded, understanding. Tome had to go on living in the building where the sims he'd considered his family were murdered, had to eat in the room where they died. No wonder he was wasting away.
Then Patrick had an idea, one he knew would cause complications in his life. But the sense of having failed Tome and his makeshift family had been dogging Patrick since that terrible and ugly night, and helping him now wasn't something he merely wanted to do, it was something he needed to do.
"You know what you need?" Patrick said. "You need a change of scenery. Wait here."
He went back to Carter, pulled him into a corner and, after a ten-minute negotiation, the deal was set.
"All right, Tome," he said, returning to the bunk. "Pack up your stuff. You're going on a vacation."
Tome's brow furrowed. "Vay-kaysh..."
Poor old guy didn't even know what the word meant. Patrick decided not to try to explain because this wasn't going to be a real vacation anyway. Simply removing Tome from the barracks might be enough, but Patrick thought the old sim would want to feel useful.
"You're going to stay with me for a while. I've got a brand new office and I need a helper."
Tome straightened, his eyes brighter already. "Tome work for Mist Sulliman? But club own - "
"That's all taken care of."
Patrick had convinced Carter to allow him to take over Tome's lease payments for a month or so. As club president, Carter had the authority, and the board couldn't squawk too much because it wasn't costing the club a penny. The lease payments wouldn't be cheap but Patrick had all that money left in the Sim Defense Fund and figured it wouldn't be a misappropriation to use some of it to help a sim.
As for keeping Tome busy, the old sim had taught himself to read so it shouldn't be a big stretch for him to learn to file.
"Unless of course," Patrick said, "you'd rather stay here."
"No, no," Tome said, waddling over to a locker. "Tome come."
As Patrick watched him stuff his worldly belongings into a black plastic trash bag, he wondered at his own impulsiveness. He'd been planning to convert the second of the two bedrooms in his newfound apartment into a study, but he guessed that could wait. Let Tome have it for a month or so. Who knew how much of his abbreviated lifespan the old sim had left?
Not as if it's going to interfere with my love life, Patrick thought, thinking of the persistently elusive Romy.
"Tome ready, Mist Sulliman," the sim said, standing before him with straightened spine and thin shoulders thrown back.
"Let's go then," Patrick said, smiling at himself as much as at Tome. He felt like Cary Grant teaching Gunga Din to drill. Not a bad feeling; not bad at all. "Time to see the world, Mr. Tome."