THE FINAL GUEST

Harold ‘Harry’ Gierson steered his electric wheelchair up to the glass wall of the guest room and gazed out to the vista beyond. It was a view of virgin forest and snowy peaks, 50 miles from the nearest human settlement and untouched by the hand of man. In that view, he was reminded of the age of the Earth, where nature had ruled supreme for eons and would return to rule after mankind had served its term and disappeared into a vacuous history that would never be told or known until another ‘self-conscious’ species arose to discover it. He was sure of one thing – mankind would come to an end at some time. God knows, he’d sought its limits and found them – man was not immortal, and never would be.

His own time was already nearing the end – he wouldn’t even see out the day, he’d made sure of that. Ever since the onset of his illness, an incurable condition that had racked his body with pain and confined him to this wheelchair, he’d orchestrated the final scene of his life. But there was a twist – Harry Gierson would continue and no one but a handful of his most trusted ‘friends’ would be any the wiser.

It was the best he could do and he’d learned to be content with it. The important thing now was to be there for his wife in a way that he’d never been before – to give Gemma the life she deserved and the child she longed for that he’d never been able to provide. Nothing else mattered. And if life could not go on forever, he could arrange it that love did.

The door opened behind him and his heart skipped with joy. He spun the wheelchair around and stared in wonder at the man who’d entered. Harry Gierson had met many of the world’s most prominent figures over the course of his exceptional life but the man before him was more important than any of them. He’d anticipated and planned this meeting for three years but delayed it until this day – this day, his final day on Earth, and this man, his final guest.

“Eric,” he called out as greeting, straining to elevate his weak voice with observable enthusiasm, “so good to finally meet you. Please take a seat.”

He nodded towards a single wicker armchair situated in the centre of the room and watched the man settle nervously into it before joining him, parking his wheelchair so close that their knees almost touched. He stared for a while into the man’s eyes then scanned him from head to toe and back again, smiling and shaking his head lightly as he did so. Finally, he reached out his frail arm and offered a trembling hand for the man to shake. He breathed a deep sigh of satisfaction as he felt the power within the man’s grip. A short croak escaped his lips and moisture built up in his eyes.

The man withdrew his hand quickly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Gierson,” he said. “I hurt you”.

“No, it isn’t that. And if it was, I would gladly endure it. It isn’t pain but awe that moves me. You are a miracle, Eric, and it’s not often a man gets to meet a miracle.”

“No, sir.”

“Oh, please – let’s have none of that ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Gierson’, call me Harry. It’s still my name for the moment.”

“Yes sir… Harry.”

“So, Eric… how are you feeling?”

“A little nervous.”

“Of course, so am I. This is a most unusual situation. Unusual and remarkable. I’d offer you a drink but I know you don’t take alcohol, which is good, I always drank too much anyway. But nervousness apart, how are you feeling in general?”

“Good. I guess.”

“Just good? Humour me, Eric. This isn’t a test, it’s the first day of the rest of your life – the rest of my life. So how are you really feeling?”

“Well, curious mostly, and excited… confident but apprehensive…”

The man shifted in his seat and raised a hand to stroke his ear as he said this, which caused Harry to grin in recognition of a familiar gesture. He mirrored the gesture and the man grinned back.

“It’s the little things that matter,” Harry said. “The details. And I must say, you’ve got them down pat.”

“I’ve studied and practised hard. And I’ve had excellent teachers.”

“The best. And I want you to know how deeply grateful I am for all your hard work. I’ve been observing your progress closely every step of the way – it’s been an absolute pleasure and relief to see what you’ve become and, as I said, to meet you finally in the flesh.”

“It’s been an honour… Harry.”

Harry smiled and patted the man’s knee like a father may pat a child’s head – filled with appreciation and pride. He gave another deep sigh and continued.

“The honour is as much mine as yours, Eric, believe me, but it puts my mind and heart at rest to hear you say it. I’ve had my doubts, I have to tell you – not about your ability or commitment, that was never in question – but I’ve struggled often with my own moral judgement as to whether I had the right to put you through all this. Of course, I couldn’t have turned it around once I’d started – that was my dilemma – but you convinced me time and time again that I did the right thing. Your psychology-assessment sessions were a joy to watch – you have an incredibly strong spirit, stronger than I would have imagined. The calm manner in which you embraced the truth is beyond impressive. And your commitment to the task at hand is more than worthy of my highest respect. You deserve everything that is coming to you.”

The man smiled and nodded. It was a slight gesture but to Harry it spoke volumes, and the gleam in the man’s eyes reminded him of that of a child humbled by his father’s acceptance and unconditional love. And in that moment he understood, more than ever, his wife’s longing for a child of their own. Well, she would be getting her wish before long.

“Did you ever wonder,” Harry asked, “why I kept my distance… why we didn’t meet before?”

“Only in the beginning. It was explained then to me that you were too ill to be disturbed. I accepted that but I suspected there was another reason, and once I’d learned the truth of who I was, I was able to understand that it might complicate matters.”

“You are absolutely right. I’ve wanted to meet you for so long but I knew I had to be patient, as you had to be. You see, Eric, as much and as well as we know each other – and we know each other through and through – it was imperative that we remain strangers. I couldn’t risk any chance of an emotional bond forming between us because, after today, as you know, I will cease to exist, and you will continue in my place, a free man, a unique individual with your own mind but with my name, my history, my reputation, my wealth, and my wife… and our secret, that you will carry with you to the grave.”

“But I won’t have your scientific knowledge.”

“And you won’t need it. You’ll be wealthy enough to develop your own interests, follow your own path, discover the world – and yourself – further, as you see fit. And if you encounter any problems, Anthony will be there to help you – my most trusted friend and one of the best lawyers in the country. My only demand is that you care for Gemma.”

“I understand, Harry. I will not let you down.”

“I know you won’t. It’s the one thing that makes any of this bearable. Anyway, talking of Gemma… the video calls between you have been a delight to follow. She seems to have accepted the story that I’ve been recuperating after intense experimental therapy and that it’s been a miraculous success. The way she talks with you convinces me she doesn’t suspect a thing. I’m sure you’re going to learn to love her the way I do.”

“It’s not going to be difficult. She is quite wonderful.”

“Yes she is, just don’t forget her birthday or our anniversary.”

“I’m not likely to. But if I do, I can always blame it on the therapy – that it’s affected my memory.”

“Exactly – the perfect excuse should you forget any other details.”

“Like her favourite music…”

“Or her favourite season…”

“That she likes her tea sweet…”

“And her coffee creamy…”

“Her neck massaged…”

“Her hand held…”

“Fiery discussions…”

“And gentle sex…”

“I wouldn’t know any other way – she’ll have to teach me.”

“Oh, she’ll teach you,” Harry said laughing. “That’s one thing we haven’t prepared you for, but you’ll pick it up just fine, I promise.”

The man began to laugh too but stopped abruptly with the sound of an approaching helicopter. He gazed solemnly at Harry.

Harry patted the man’s knee again. “Well,” he said, “sounds like your ride has arrived. Our time here has come to an end – just one more thing to do.”

“There’s no hurry.”

“No, you’re right. But I see no point in delaying this. Parting so soon after such a brief meeting is difficult enough – I’m afraid I might not want you to leave. I’m not as stable as I’m pretending to be and I’m relying on you now to be strong for both of us. I want you to be free, Eric, free of any lingering memories of me as someone other than you. Until now I have been an abstraction – a series of videotapes, an identity for you to emulate, a blueprint for you to adopt, a role for you to play. But you cannot fully become me if you remember me too well as an actual person, separate from you. That’s why it’s so important that we remain strangers. After today, you must forget me. Do you understand?”

The man nodded but his gaze remained solemn, conveying to Harry that they shared a mutual pain.

With quivering fingers, Harry removed his wedding ring and held it out for the man to take. “Put it on,” he said.

The man took the ring and slid it onto his finger. The fit was perfect.

“So…” Harry said, slumping back in his wheelchair, “you are now Harold Gierson, as far as the rest of the world is concerned, and my legacy is now in your hands. Make me proud.”

The man leaned forward and took Harry’s hand, gently this time, like he was handling an injured bird. “Thank you,” he said, “for everything… for life.”

Harry’s eyes filled with water. He pulled his hand free and turned his head away to hide his vulnerability. “Go, now. Please. Gemma is waiting.” he said, turning his wheelchair around and steering it back toward the window. He waited for the man to leave, afraid to look back and watch his future walk out the door. He heard the man walk across the floor and the door open, but there was a pause before the man left, and a soft voice that whispered… “Goodbye… father.” Then he was gone.

Harold “Harry” Gierson gazed out of the window long enough to see the helicopter rise into the sky and fly off towards the snowy peaks. With tears still streaming down his cheeks, he turned away finally and steered the wheelchair to the drinks cabinet. With a long glass of brandy in his shaky hands, he contemplated what was to happen now. His small team of specialists had already been sent home – their contracts terminated and their entrusted silence ensured with a formidable payoff and a non-disclosure agreement. He and Anthony would terminate the program for good, destroying all records and scientific information – there would be no more ‘Erics’… no more ‘Experimental Replacement Identity Clones’. Man should not play at being God – the risk was too high.

And then would come the moment of his own termination, with Anthony’s help. A drug. Quick, painless, and definitive. Harry Gierson is dead – long live Harry Gierson!

He pressed a button on a telephone device attached to the arm of his wheelchair and called through to his most trusted friend.

“Anthony,” he said, “it’s Harry… Yes, the original. I’m ready. Let’s do this before I change my mind.” He pressed another button to close the call then downed his drink in one go.