CHAPTER ONE

The sun began to set over the Old Centre of town.  Ferries, narrowboats, and barges leisurely glided through the canals that circled the city. It was the Kristiansens’ first time in Amsterdam, and they sat, picking at their bag of poffertjes.  The couple had been in town for a few days now; however, today was the first time they had found the courage to venture this far deep into the city center.  

Oskar Kristiansen insisted on wearing his khaki shorts despite the brisk autumn weather, and his wife, Olivia’s insistence otherwise.  Wrapped around his rotund stomach was a neon orange bum bag, that again, was insisted against by his wife Olivia.  It’s been nearly twenty years since their last vacation, though, so Olivia let Oskar dress as he wanted.  

The Kristiansens hail from Hammerfest,the self-proclaimed northernmost town in the world with more than 10,000 inhabitants, although with the Kristiansens out of town, their population is exactly 8,209…go figure.  

The couple’s last vacation consisted of a twenty-three-hour drive down to Oslo to file their marriage certificate, only to find out that they had to file the paperwork with their county representative in Vadsø.  When the couple were asked why they drove down to Oslo for this, they replied with a simple, “We didn’t think of it.”  And so began a life of bad luck for the Kristiansens.  

It was a fairly short time into their marriage that Oskar and Olivia found momentary bliss.  Olivia was running a bakery on the main road of Hammerfest.  It was considered the main road because it was the only road that ran through the town, connecting it to the outside world.  Her bakery, All You Knead Is Love, was as successful as you could get in town.  While her fresh baked loaves of bread were what kept a constant flow of customers coming, it was Olivia’s foray into the art of pastries that expanded her brand beyond Hammerfest.  

Most Norwegians wouldn’t consider its northern coast the most sought after vacation destination, yet four years into the Kristiansen’s wedlock an unnamed CEO of the world’s top selling coffee shop found himself in Hammerfest and coincidentally eating a creme puff that his wife, Delores, picked up at All You Knead Is Love.  The taste blew the aforementioned CEO away.  The crunch of the crust, the light-as-air cream, he had to meet the creator of the dish.  And so, he did.  

Delores brought her husband down to meet Olivia the next day where her rich and powerful husband praised Olivia for “the most delicious pastry I’ve ever had.”  

As he continually congratulated Olivia, he inquired, “Do you have a name for this lovely dessert?”

Olivia, who was always self-conscious about her teeth put her hand up to her mouth and giggled like a school girl.  “My husband Oskar calls them dream puffs.”

“Brilliant!” the business man exclaimed. Within the next hour, he had purchased Olivia’s recipe, leaving the Kristiansens with enough money to comfortably support the next four generations of their family.  

Unknown to the happy couple, Olivia’s creme puffs went on to make triple what the now retired CEO paid for and it wasn’t until three days ago at the airport that Oskar realized that they even used his intellectual property by naming the delicious treats ‘dream puffs’.  

Years came and went, and Oskar and Olivia settled into their cottage on the western edge of town, both indulging themselves Olivia’s pastry pay day.  One of these indulgences included Oskar participating in a communal challenge that was making the rounds throughout the Scandinavian countries.  The challenge was ‘how much butter can you eat within the span of two minutes’, obviously without, well, let’s just say releasing the butter back out of your body.  

Being that Hammerfest had numerous dairy farms nearby, there was no shortage of butter, and the challenge didn’t disappoint. Five of the town’s most willing men, including Oskar, ended up eating a total of thirty-one pounds of butter, eleven of which was done by Oskar himself.  The event culminated with Oskar letting out a deep moan, grabbing his left side, and collapsing to the floor.  

He was rushed to the hospital to treat his butter-induced cardiac arrest.  At this point, Olivia was just finding out that she, in fact, wasn’t Oskar’s wife…at least not legally.  

It took multiple times of Oskar’s life insurance agent asking why they never filed their marriage certificate before Olivia remembered that after the couple left Oslo that one faithful day, years ago, the couple had completely forgotten to formally file their paperwork in Vadsø.  

Because of this mishap, Olivia sat waiting to hear about Oskar since she could not prove that they indeed had been “married” for the past sixteen years.

Needless to say, once Oskar was released from the hospital Olivia marched them both straight to the courthouse and Oskar never ate pure butter again.

Throughout their marriage, both before the legal filing and after, the Kristiansens struggled with their own true goal: starting a family.  Despite being told there was nothing wrong with either of their internal plumbing, the couple failed to have a child of their own.  They did at least have Ottis, their chocolate-colored newfoundland pup, and of course, their tiny princess, Eleanor, a King Charles spaniel that was on the small side. 

Now, as Olivia approaches menopause and Oskar was fully consumed by his mid-life crisis, the Kristensians come to Amsterdam to fulfill their dream of becoming a family.  

The Kristiansens slowly snaked through the alleys of the Old Centre.  They would say to each other, “We’re just like the locals taking the back roads.” But in reality, they had lost their way and were hoping that if they walked far enough they’d find their way again.  Luckily, what used to be a seedier part of town, was now home to big corporations and the area was mostly gentrified.  Instead of strolling past topless women, the Kristiansens walked by five – yes five, Oskar kept count – of the same name brand coffee shop. 

Although big businesses found refuge here now, the city wasn’t as overwhelming as say, New York or London, with their long running avenues and sky-piercing buildings.  Instead there was still a comfort to the narrow streets that circled around the town.  As one friend told Olivia before the couple left for their vacation, “It’s much like Venice but without the massive amounts of sweaty tourists.”  When Olivia stood and starred at her friend, never having left her country, her friend just muttered, “Oh, well you get it one day.”  

On their first day in Amsterdam, after having to snake their way through what the couple considered a large crowd of tourists, Olivia whispered to her overwhelmed husband, “Let’s never go to Venice.”

Sweat stained Oskar, taken off guard, turned to his beloved wife, hot and confused, and muttered back, “Right, Venice, no…” And continued to drag their baggage to their hotel.  

Today, however, was a grand day compared to that first day in town.  Both Oskar and Olivia were nervous, but neither would dare to say it out load, they just happily held each other’s hand as they got closer and closer to their destination.  

A few buildings down from them, bent around a corner, waited an old brownstone.  The building was sandwiched in between two similar looking brownstones of equal height and width.  The entirety of the store front was all glass, a nod to the building’s historical past the company claimed.  The glass itself was covered from the inside with deep blue velvet curtains lined with golden trim.  At the center of the building was beautifully carved wooden door, lacquered in black stain and adorned with an imposing ‘C.S.’.  Beneath the two imprinted letters sat a bronze lion’s head holding a door knocker in its mouth.

Above the store front rested a simple clothe awning. It was quite plain with no lettering or address numbers, just a weather warn black coverall for the shop’s clientele.  This was something that made the shop difficult to find many customers would complain, but they certainly appreciated the clandestine appearance for privacy sake.

After rounding the final corner, and accidentally passing the shop once…and twice, Oskar finally pronounced.  “Well, here it is.”

Olivia couldn’t help but let go of Oskar’s hand and take a step back.  After all, she never thought this day would actually come.  

“Come on, dear.”  Oskar reached out to his wife.  He couldn’t help but think how lovely she looked as the setting sun radiated around her golden blond hair, but Oskar was too nervous to say much of that out loud so he just blabbered out.  “We didn’t come all this way not to go in.”

“I know…” Olivia let her voice trail off into the depths of the city.  “I…just…”  Her eyes began to swell up with tears.  

Oskar was now thoroughly confused and didn’t know what to do.  He’d never been one to share his emotions, let alone help someone explore their own emotions – his father would say it was the Scandinavian winters that froze their ancestors’ emotions, something that conveniently only affected the men of Oskar’s family.  Thankfully, a sudden urge overcame Oskar at this particular moment, something that simultaneously made him warm inside and greatly uncomfortable, but it pushed him towards his dejected wife.  

Pulling his wife into arms, Oskar couldn’t think of anything else except reassuring his wife that they were doing the right thing.  “We’ve gone through all the proper channels…filled out all the forms…. we did this the right way.”

Olivia nestled her head into Oskar’s chest.  “It’s not that…well, it’s partly that, but we’re getting older now, Oskar, are you sure we’re up for this?  I’m exhausted just walking through town.”

Locals seemed to walk around the embracing couple like this was a usual occurrence.  Oskar on the other hand felt stripped naked shows this much affection in public.  Oskar shook his head, “That’s what’s bothering you?”  He slid one arm around Olivia’s side, feeling more comfortable that no one cared about him and his wife hugging in public.  He wrapped his hand around his wife’s waist.  “No point in worrying about that now.  One step at a time, dear, one step at a time.”  With his other arm Oskar checked the time.  “Oh, we better get moving, we’re nearly late for our appointment.”

Olivia smiled as Oskar dropped his hand down to her butt and gave it a little spank to get her moving before claiming it’s spot back up on her hip.  

“You’re right,” she now echoed Oskar’s confidence.  “Besides, all I’ve read is that they’ll work with you all the way through the process to meet your satisfaction.”

“Five out of five stars, that seems to be what most of the internet has to say about Charleston Smith’s and that’s good enough for me.”

Olivia wriggled her arm around the back of Oskar, interconnecting the two of them.  “Five out of five, is that the Kristiansen standard?”

Oskar nodded his head proudly.  “It’s a tough scale to climb only two things in my life have reached the lauded accomplishment so far.”  The bronze headed lion now stared Oskar in the eyes.  

“And am I one of the two things?” Olivia inquired.

Without missing a beat Oskar confirmed.  “Yes.”  And went to grab hold of the large circular knocker hanging out of the lion’s mouth, but Olivia’s hand caught his.

“And what else could have achieved the lofty standard that you consider and equal to me?” Olivia held Oskar’s arm tight waiting for a response.  

Again, without missing a beat once more, Oskar spit out, “Thom’s fried fish.”  Before he wrenched his arm free and knocked on the door.  

“Thom from back home’s fried fish?!” Olivia exasperated.  “Well, I certainly hope Thom knows you put his fried fish and I on the same pedestal.”  

With a glint in her eye and her hand as fast as lightning Olivia playfully murmured, “I’ll show you fried fish,” just as her hand firmly slapped his bottom.  

The couple wrapped their arms back around each other, laughing at one another when the black knotted door finally opened up to them.  

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CHAPTER TWO

At just about the same time the Kristiansens found themselves embracing each other in the alleys of Amsterdam, a young woman mounted her lemon burnished bicycle – an Omafriet to be exact.   This young woman’s name was Eeke, Eeke Abschrift.  And Eeke, much like most of the greater Amsterdam population, was on her way back home after a long day of work. 

A large poof of a turquoise, floral dress popped up from between her sun deprived legs as she mounted the bicycle.  She balanced herself on the two-wheeler as she attempted to pull back her auburn hair back and over her shoulder.  Like a seasoned pilot taking off over the runway, Eeke swiftly guided her bicycle to a start with a light touch from her flats.

Eeke peddled away from the Oud West market, toward the sun-burnt sky ahead of her.  This far on out of town, cyclists were few and far to come across, but Eeke still enjoyed the extended ride out of the Centrum.  Beyond the canal rings, the noise pollution slowly decrescendos into a pleasant hum and the indistinguishable, awestruck looks of tourists turn into the mundane visage of a local’s day-to-day life.  

The fringe atop Eeke’s head flapped open like a theater’s curtain as she picked up some speed.  Although it has been nearly half an hour since she had gotten off of work, she still had a good ten minutes until she reached her destination.  A look of disgust crept it’s way onto Eeke’s face and her nostrils flared beneath her plump nose.  A pungent smell whafted in the air.  Ten more minutes and the fish she grabbed at the market could turn her bag into a wharf for good.  

You may be asking yourself, why go through all of this trouble?  The long ride, the lingering stench of fish, and most of all, the fringe in her eyes.  None of this really mattered to Eeke, because today is the one day of week that she takes the time to go and have dinner with her grandfather, and in fact, she frankly liked the way she looks with her current hair-do, despite what her contemporaries may say about her.  So to her, it is all worth it.

As the wheels of Eeke’s Omafriet splashed through the puddles of an underpass, something abnormal called out to her, something she most definitely had not heard before, at least in person.  It was a cry for help.  

The bicycle’s back wheel peeled out as Eeke squeezed the hand-brake tight.  Balancing on the tips of her toes, Eeke surveyed the underpass.  It was certainly not like the rest of her grandfather’s neighborhood.  A thin stream of water cut through the center the shady – both literally and figuratively – area.  On the far side of what was either fresh water from the canals or the town’s sewage water, a patchwork of graffiti colored the cement barrier leading back up to the highway above. Cigarette butts, or perhaps they were tossed aside roaches, speckled the ground as if it were a hotel lobby’s Terrazzo floor.

Squinting, Eeke cautiously looked around her surroundings once more.  Nothing.  Not another sound or movement that she could see.  Eeke’s grandfather always said she had an overactive imagination, maybe it was just in her head.  But then again, the thought of voices in her head did not sit well with her either.  

An emphatic thud echoed through the underpass, bringing Eeke to attention.  This sound was foreign to Eeke.  It wasn’t the metallic crack of a car crash above nor was it similar to the sound of football being knocked into the net at the near by pitch.  The more the sound resonated in Eeke’s mind, the more she thought about the oh-to-awkward noise of accidentally walking into a door or wall.  You know, that ditsy phase of your life – walking into doors, dropping your papers everywhere, losing your keys – the one that everyone tells you is just you the growing pains of life – Eeke was now twenty-eight years into that phase of life.  

Eeke leaned her bicycle up the closest stone pillar that had ‘Sorry About the Graffiti’ spray painted on it.  The shadows that surrounded her waxed and waned as Eeke carefully walked towards the ruckus.  Eeke tried to shuffled across the abandoned cement jungle, keeping her noise to a minimum.  The soft pitter-patter of her flats seemed to go unnoticed until Eeke’s shuffling foot sent a mound of pebbles into a series of unfortunate events.  

First, the gasp.  Eeke let out an unwanted gulp for air before clasping her mouth shut with her hands.  As Eeke looked around to see if she drew any attention to herself, the loose stones, with unexpected strength, cracked into the side of a discarded energy drink can.  And like an unwanted Rube Goldberg machine, the can began to bounce down the slope, scaring the ever living hell out of some poor duck, who in hand, quacked like it’s life depended on it, until finally splashing into the thin stream to safety.  

Now Eeke, hands still over her mouth, could clearly hear the whacks and thumps stopping, followed by hushed whispers.  Freaking out, Eeke scrambled behind another stone pillar.  Coincidentally this monolith had ‘Nothing to See Here’ spray painted on it and a stenciled version of the three wise monkeys below it.  

“I don’t…I don’t see…anything.”  A voice panted, sucking in deep breaths.  Another, deeper voice stammered a few words out from a few feet away from the first voice.  Eeke could hear the footsteps walking away from her, towards the running water.  Finding the courage, Eeke took the opportunity to pop her head out from behind her coverage.  A short man waddled over to the bird who still quizzically sat in the water.  Eeke could hear the man mutter, “damn bird.”

From behind Eeke couldn’t help but think stout man resembled more of a cow in an overcoat than an actual man.  The man kicked the energy drink can into the water and spat to the side.  Clearing his throat, he rasped, “All clear, Lyle.”

The second voice, the much more aloof of the two called out.  “Let’s get going then, this one’s had enough.”

The stout man still had his back to Eeke, when Eeke heard an unzip and a steady sprinkle hitting the concrete.  “Ah, com’ on there, I didn’t even get a good shot on ‘im yet.”

“I think he’s had enough.”  The lanky man seemed hesitant.  “Besides, we should get going, The Countess isn’t going to be happy if we’re late again.”

The stout man now shook up and down as he mumbled something about the damned Countess and being on damned time.  

Eeke, astutely putting two and two together, wanted to catch these two with their pants down…or at least one.  In her most proper and authoritarian tone she muster up, she called out.  “What in the bloody hell is going on here!” And she began to stomp out from behind the pillar of darkness.  

The stout man quite literally nearly jumped out of his shoes and with just a quick glance back, began to run towards his mate.  Eeke thinking about all of the survival shows she would watch with her grandfather, made herself look as large as she possibly could and barked out again.  “Better get going, I can hear the sirens from here.”  This put a pep in the cow man’s step.

From out of a worn down stairwell stooped a man who could have been the exact opposite of the cow in the overcoat.  With long thick hair covering his lanky neck, Eeke decided to dub this man ‘llama in an overcoat.’

The lanky man glared at Eeke probably thinking ‘who the hell is this?’ but to Eeke’s delight he joined the stout man who was already half way down the underpass.  The stout man was a little more braggadocios, shouting back “And thou shall be cleansed once more!” before the llama in an overcoat tugged him along with him.

When the coast was clear, Eeke ran as fast as she could to the stairwell.  A gated fence was forced open and behind it laid a man, probably around the same age as Eeke, laying motionless with white fluid oozing out of his beaten skull.

The man sprawled out along the gravel, one arm tucked in underneath his head and the other arm stretch up over, resting on a step.  His legs were placed ever so carefully as if he was a ballet dancer in the middle of a jeté. In a grim-type of sense, Eeke thought it was quite a lovely scene, pulled straight out of a renaissance oil painting.  

The brutal beating that the man must have taken at the hands of thing one and thing two was most evident on his face.  His eyes were beaten shut, blood splattered bruised already dropping his eyes into a bruised valley.  A more efficient word to use would perhaps be bludgeoned.  His mouth hung open as if his jaw had just given up and a thick scrape streaked across his face, from temple down to his chin.  A matching flash of dead skin along the third step up seemed to be the other end of the scar on the man’s face.  But Eeke’s eyes kept going back to the white liquid that oozed out of the top of his head.

Just as Eeke thought she had seen enough, she noticed right above his hair line, as if it was tucked, hidden away, a flap of his skin drooped down.  This was the source of the white blood…or ooze that covered the man’s face.  And just behind the liquid rested, not a skull, but some type of metal within the man’s head.  

The fading sunlight flickered on the battered man’s face every time a car overhead passed by.  The melodic hum of the tires put Eeke at ease as she knelt down next to  him.  Having lost some semblance of sensibility, Eeke reached out and rested a hand on the gentleman’s stomach to check for breathes, rather than the pulse check of the neck or his inner-wrist.  Nevertheless, the man’s stomach sluggishly rose and fell.

This was a great relief for Eeke, as psychologically she much rather be dealing with a person who was alive at the moment than dead.  Plus all of the paperwork and talking that goes with finding a dead person can give you a headache.  All the interviews and conversations.  It was an all around better situation in Eeke’s mind that this man was not dead.  

She began to wonder what the cow in an overcoat meant by “And thou shall be cleansed once more!”  Eeke had taken many societal and theological based courses at the university but that quote in particular did not ring a bell in her head.  While religion was certainly fascinating, Eeke always got a good case of the willies when dealing with scripture spouting purists.  Not that Eeke was an atheist or anything like that, in fact, right now she couldn’t say what exactly she believed in, but at university she preferred to study the impact of art or literature on society, rather than something so fanatical.  

A wheezing cacophony of noise brought Eeke’s attention back to the man’s now open set of eyes.  At this point Eeke realized that her hand was indeed still resting on this stranger’s stomach and without saying a word, carefully removed her hand.  

Another painful wheeze before the man coughed up some more of the white liquid.  

“Are you alright?”  Eeke reflexively asked.  And then, gathering her thoughts, elaborated a little further on her question.  “Sorry, I know you’re in pain.  Do you need me to call an ambulance?”

The man slouched up, holding the edge of the step beside him tightly.  “No, no.”  He even struggled to say that one thing as fluid continued to fill his mouth and choke him.  

Pulling a cardigan out of her bag, Eeke slid next to the man, letting him rest his free arm on her shoulder.  Wiping the milky secretion off his swollen face, Eeke became particularly gentle when passing over the loose skin that hung at his hair line.

“Does that hurt?”  Eeke cringed as the flap closed back up and then fell back down as she wiped the wound clean.  Now that the fluid had stopped leaking and his wounds were somewhat clean Eeke could clearly see the mechanical alloy underneath his skin.  

The man sat thoughtfully, soaking in Eeke’s welcome gesture as if he was unsure how to respond to this unexpected kindness.  Eeke held out a dry side of the now crusty cardigan and said.  “Here, spit out any extra gunk you have in there.” 

And so, the man did as Eeke requested and he smiled.  “I do feel.”  He paused.  “But it does not…hurt.”

Eeke ringed the cardigan dry and carefully put it back up against his forehead.  “We need to get you help.”

The man’s eyes thoughtfully jumped from one point to another, analyzing his surroundings.  “Thank you, but no.  I have repaired myself before.”  A wry smile uncharacteristically crept onto his face.  “Besides…’tis but a flesh wound.”

Nothing like a quote from an armless man to put things into perspective.  

“This…this is not the first time I’ve been physically assaulted.” The man didn’t seem upset about that, it just seemed like it was a way of life for him.  “Unfortunately, our kind haven’t been fully embraced by society yet.”

“I’m so sorry.”  The concept of artificial intelligence is synonymous with all of the Dutch, especially those who live near the epicenter of A.I, Amsterdam.  So the fact that there were people out there who truly didn’t ‘like’ A.I. befuddled Eeke.  

Most of the working class in the city in fact worked for the large tech industry, including Eeke herself.  She didn’t recognize this young man from work, but then again, she did only work the front desk.  

Then, like a flash of lightning, an idea struck her.  “Do you have a name?” All purchases required a name from customers before they left.  Maybe she’d recognize his name from paperwork.

The man shook his head.  “No, but you can call me 4d61676e75730a.”  He then bent his head forward as if Eeke was about to grant him a knighthood of the Netherlands.  Right about the nape of his neck was some type of mechanical text with the last line identical to what the man read off as his name.  Perhaps a serial or model number. 

“Well, I’ll call you Four-Dee for now if that’s okay?”

Four-Dee sat up, proud to be a knight of her lady, Eeke.  “That is perfectly acceptable…miss.”

And then Eeke realized the social blunder she had just committed not providing her name to Four-Dee.  “I’m sorry, you can call me Eeke.”

Four-Dee grabbed hold of Eeke’s hand.  She would later describe it as one of the most heart felt touches she had ever felt.  “It is a pleasure, Eeke.”

A quote now crept into Eeke’s mind that her grandfather always recited when he caught her day-dreaming. ‘Follow the wandering, the distraction, find out why the mind has wandered; pursue it, go into it fully.  When the distraction is completely understood, then that particular distraction is gone.  When another comes, pursue it also.’ 

“Four-Dee, how did those two even know you were what you are?”  Much like most of the A.I. being created these days, Four-Dee would have looked and acted as human as Eeke herself if he didn’t have the skin literally scraped off his face.  

“They’re organized, Eeke,” Four-Dee began to explain, “It’s as simple as that.  Much like any successful organization they have a mission statement, amassed enough people who feel the same way, and organize to achieve that goal.  Those two were just two of many.”

This did not sit well with Eeke. “And you didn’t want to call an ambulance because you don’t trust them?”

“It’s not them.  It’s the authorities who come with them…” Four-Dee trailed off.  

It seems as though Jacob Bronowski was right when he said “No science is immune to the infection of politics and the corruption of power.”  And this thought sent a shiver down Eeke’s spine.  

Eeke checked the time.  “I’ve got to get to my grandfather’s house soon, Four-Dee,” she tapped the top of her backpack.  “We’ve got a dinner date.  You’re welcome to come if you want, my grandfather would be happy to have another guest.”

Four-Dee sat and contemplated Eeke’s proposal before thoughtfully refusing her invite.  

“Well, I’ll walk you home then.  Just to be safe…for both of us.”

This time Four-Dee was more receptive or by the looks of Eeke’s face, he knew no matter what he said that she would follow him.  “That is acceptable.  My home is nearby.”

Before they set off, Eeke tore a part of the sleeve off of her cardigan and wrapped it around Four-Dee’s head like a bandanna.  

“There you go, now it just looks like you’re making a poor fashion choice.”  Eeke couldn’t help but chortle at her own joke as Four-Dee stood in confusion.

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CHAPTER THREE

As far as waiting rooms go, the one at Charleston Smith’s truly ranked up there as a top-five, maybe even top-three waiting room of all-time.  Lavish suede duchess sofas.  Hand-crafted, genuine leather armchairs.  Art lined along the walls that would rival the likes of the Louvre.  Personal viewing devices provided upon request.  Private massage parlors, and two, yes two, top of the line espresso machines.

The Kristiansens sat nervously waiting, as one does in a waiting room.  Olivia sat, one leg crossed over the other, bopping it up and down in anticipation.  She carefully examined an oil painting in the far corner of the room.  She didn’t think it was done by any of those famous Renaissance artists, nor was it particularly impressive in size or shape to have called out to her.  But it did.  It depicted a beautiful woman whose head nestled down into her own hands.  Her hair was astray and tears where pouring down her milky white cheeks.  She was clearly in distress and Olivia felt that distress, that feeling of agony.  Above the woman’s head, deep within the shadows and out of sight of her flown a cherub, keeping a watchful eye over the woman.  The small round face of the cherub was washed over in remorse, knowing he could do nothing to help this poor woman except look over her until her time has come.  

Olivia decided to title the piece ‘A Mother’s Anguish’ and knew that no matter what this painting would stick with her forever.  Olivia looked over to grab hold of her husband’s hand when she was reminded that he had immediately grabbed one of the personal viewing suites offered upon arrival.  Oskar sat there with a contraption on that covered nearly his entire face except for his mouth and chin.  He sat there calmly, feet crossed on the floor, hands held together on his lap, and a modest smile on his face.  Olivia knew he had to be watching that baking show, he’s only that peaceful when seeing who makes the most extravagant bread sculpture or the most mouthwatering meat pie. 

It was the simple things in life, like a baking show that made Oskar happy, and that in turn put Olivia at ease.  At least for a moment or two.  A stack of loose papers and two manila folders rested on Olivia’s leg, jittering every time her foot shook in anticipation.   The folders were bursting at the seems with all of Oskar and Olivia’s important paperwork: birth certificates, social security cards, the past ten years of financial records, the last five years of filed taxes, proof of insurance, any and all titles, liens, and or holds on personal properties, and of course their marriage license that they specifically made sure was filed properly and certified before leaving for Amsterdam.  All of this held tightly together by one thick rubber-band.  

The loose papers that were wrangled on top of the Kristiansen’s two folders were the two applications that Charleston Smith’s required to be completed before your scheduled appointment.  The first was just a photocopy of their initial application that had to be submitted and approved six months in advanced.  It covered all the basics: date of birth for the two, current home address, occupations, et cetera, et cetera.  The second application was a surprise for Oskar and Olivia and was meant to be.  This one was more of a mental wellness exam to gauge their customer’s emotions at the time of their arrival, asking them to answer questions ranging from ‘never’ to ‘sometimes’ to ‘constantly’.

This made Olivia even more anxious than she was entering the building.  She was in no type of mindset to judge how often she lost her temper or if the rain made her sad or how often she ate fast food.  But like any well-to-do woman, she did as she had to do and got it done in a timely manner.  

On the far side of the room a handful of exotic fish swam through an in-wall tank.  While Hammerfest was indeed a fishing town, they mainly dealt with cod, haddock, and whitings, these fish were nothing like anything Olivia had ever seen.  Yellow and black striped, bright orange, and neon blue.  These were finger risky nail colors Olivia would try out on the weekends, not something found in the sea.  

And then an odd thought came to her.  Turned around on her chair, staring at the aquarium embedded within the wall, Olivia couldn’t help but wonder how someone got into the tank to feed the fish.  Before she could get any further in thought, the knob on the door next to the tank turned and the door began to open.  

Olivia, twisted back around, sharply elbowing Oskar in passing.  Letting out a yelp, Oskar peaked out from underneath his headset just in time to see a well-dressed man in beige chinos, a welcoming tweed jacket, and a cobalt blue satin tie done in what seems to be the risky balthus knot.  The man’s hair wasn’t thin, nor was it too thick, it was the perfect length to slick back and not look like a helmet, and it had the exact amount of gray hairs above his ears to make him appear handsome but not old.  His chin looked like a Greek god took a chisel and hammered out the cleft.  He was near perfection, and then he spoke.

“Mr.and Mrs. Kristiansen, my name is Liam and I’ll be working hand-in-hand with you to ensure we meet all your needs.” And there it was…perfection…a deep swelling voice full of vibrancy.  And like a cherry on top, an Irish brogue lined his dulcet tones.  His eyes glanced from Olivia to Oskar and back to Olivia and then smiled.  “If you’re both set, please follow me in so we can get started.”

Liam walked back in through the weathered oak stained door.  Papers in hand, Olivia followed in tow.  Realizing he still had the viewing suite headset in his hands, Oskar fumbled around, trying to figure out where to put it.  He decided that the chair directly across from the doorway fit the bill as anyone coming out of the door would surely see the lonely headset.  So he placed the mechanism down on the padded chair and scampered back through to catch up to his wife and Liam.  

The traditional bohemian feel of the Old Centre that enveloped you from the moment you entered it, quickly transitioned into the minimal, industrial feel of a company that cared more about the product they were designing rather than the aesthetics of where they worked.  Or at least that’s what Liam told the Kristiansens when he caught their wide-eyed looks as they walked back to his consultation room.  

The long marble hallway that he lead the couple down was lined with metal doorways every six feet on either side.  Men and women in long white coats or full on body coveralls would step up to a doorway, enter a mysterious combination on a panel that seemed to only appear when someone stepped up to the pad, and within the blink of an eye they were on the other side of the door before Oskar or Olivia could catch a glimpse of what was going on behind these doors.  

Liam meticulously walked down the hall, calculating every step he took until he reached his office at the end of the corridor.  As if sensing his approach, the door to his office slid open.  

He stopped at the entrance, gesturing inside.  “Please, make yourself at home.”

Two simple ladder-back chairs waited for the Kristiansens inside the room.  Liam slid into his sleek leather-back chair behind a wide slate of a desk.  A large single monitor with a keyboard and mouse patiently waited to be used.  Moonlight seeped through an arched window to the right of Liam, casting a theatrical shadow onto his face.  

“What a beautiful night.” Liam gazed out of the window.  “Really puts things into perspective…”  His voice trailed off as he stared off into the night time sky.  

Oskar cleared his throat.  “Er, umm, yes, truly a beautiful night to be inside.”

Liam let out a generous belly laugh.  “Alright, alright, enough poetic pining.” He looked back over to the couple.  “Do you have the paperwork?”

Olivia eagerly handed over the thick stack of papers.  Liam smiled, checked the top form to make sure it was filled out, and then as politely as possible shoved the papers into his desk drawer.  

“Enough paperwork, right? Let’s just talk.” Liam turned to his computer monitor and began clicking and clacking on the keyboard.  At this very moment, Oskar wished he was able to know whether or not Liam felt Olivia’s eyes burning through him without facing the scorn of his wife.  

It would appear that the answer was no, at least without reading Liam’s mind, for he just continued to click away.  “So…” he paused and turned over to the Kristiansens.  “Do you have a name picked out?”

Oskar and Olivia stumbled and stammered over each other as if they did not expect the question so quickly.

Liam put a calming hand up in the air.  “It’s alright if you haven’t, you have time to decide.  It’s just like the maternity ward here, you have until you leave to decide on a name.”

“Ole.” Olivia spat out, as she tried to compose herself.  “We’ve had the name picked out for some time now…Ole.”  Oskar slid his hand on to Olivia’s, entwining his fingers with hers.  

Tilting his head, Liam smiled a toothless grin.  “What a beautiful choice.  Truly, a perfect choice.”  He began to type away once more.  “Now is the time that we just like to confirm some preferred characteristics with our customers.”

The Kristiansens nodded along as Liam continued. “As you know, we break down each one of our builds into six general fields.  From there you were able to work out strengths, weakness, and even more so branch off of the generalities into specific personality traits.”  Liam’s perfectly manicured pointer finger traced down the screen.  “And may I say, one of the best builds I’ve seen to date.”

Olivia could hear Oskar grumbling something along the lines of “He probably says that to everyone,” under his breath.

“There’s no better base to build off of than a high constitution seeped in love and adoration for family.  That coupled with the genuine charm will really make for a lovely young man.”  Liam’s eyes continued down, scrolling from left to right.  “And it seems like physicality wasn’t something you two wanted to focus on.”  Olivia was going to respond but Liam kept going as he read on.  “Which is fine.  Not everyone grows up to be a professional footballer or an Olympic weight lifter.  And no offense, but I don’t think that type of life style would fit in with the two of you, so I believe you made the right choice.”

Oskar’s cheeks reddened but Olivia squeezed his hand tight surely stopping Oskar from telling the story of how he once scored the game winning goal of the Troms og Finnmark championship.  What Oskar almost always leave out are two vital facts.  The first one being that it happened in Barneskole.  The second and more importantly being that the football team’s rosters were based off of school and grade level, not age, so when Oskar didn’t pass his final year of Barneskole, he was left behind to repeat the year.  This meant that fourteen year-old Oskar, who had just hit puberty was playing against eleven, twelve, and thirteen year olds who he towered over.  All-in-all it was quite a year for Oskar.  He even had scouts from Norway’s top football league, Eliteserien come to watch one of his games.  Sadly, once Oskar graduated and moved on to Ungdomsskole, he once again became a small fish in a big pond and his football career was over.

Continuing down his checklist, Liam added, “Now it looks like you would like Ole programmed to hit puberty in two years.  So two years after his birth date he will begin to process body hair, his vocal module slowly deepening, but no height growth, he will be at his maximum height from the beginning.”

Liam turned towards the couple and folded his hands as if he were a principal scolding two of his students.  “Now, I will warn the two of you, yes it is a wonderful idea to have that wanting and love of family be so important to a child, but…that can quickly turn bad if you’re not reciprocating these feelings.  Feelings of not being wanted, loneliness, depression, no purpose to life, you catch my drift.  Do I make myself clear?”

Oskar and Olivia furiously nodded in agreement.  

“Terrific.  Great to hear.  Some customers don’t seem to understand the implications until I spell it out for them.”  Liam quickly clicked twice and typed something so fast that Oskar thought he was just faking it.  “Well, I think that completes our survey.  We have all of your paperwork.” He tapped on the side of his drawer.  

Oskar could feel Olivia anger once again.  He knew how much work she put into those forms and applications.  He tried to think of something that would brighten her mood.  “Will we get to see him…Ole, before we leave?”

Liam vigorously shook his head no.  Oskar was actually quite impressed how stable Liam’s hair stayed, like he used cement glue to keep the hair in one place.  “No, no.  Here at Charleston Smith’s we insist that customers only see a final product.  Now that we have finalized your information it shouldn’t be more than two days.”  He checked his watch.  “You know what? I think I can rush this over to my team and ensure that you can come get Ole in precisely two days.”

Olivia’s eyes widened.  “Yes, if you can do that, please.”

The well-dressed man stood up, straightening out his jacket.  “Well, then if you may excuse me I’ll run everything over to them.  Can you two find yourself out?”

Oskar stood up, trying to remember which one of the door down that long corridor was the one out.  “Yes, yes, of course.”

“Wonderful.”  Liam pulled open his desk drawer, pulled out Olivia’s paperwork, and briskly walked through the door.

Olivia still sat contemptibly thinking about Ole.

Copyright William Meier Jr. 2022 ©