Chapter 41: The Thing That Survive the Cold (part 1)
There were many things Dr. Elias Wakati had expected to find himself doing at nearly four in the morning on a Sunday.
Well, actually, that was a lie.
He had expected to be sleeping.
That was the entire list, and he felt it was a perfectly reasonable one for a man his age. Unfortunately, Gotham City, and apparently the surrounding wealthy communities that liked pretending they were separate from Gotham, had a habit of making reasonable expectations look rather foolish. So, instead of sleeping peacefully in his own bed, Elias found himself sitting inside a heavily secured room at the Cranston Estates inner guard house, holding a letter from a man he had not properly spoken to in almost forty-five years.
And that man was Victor Fries.
Victor.
Elias had spent years hearing that name spoken by police officers, television reporters, scientists, and the occasional member of the Justice League. Sometimes it came with warnings about stolen technology, sometimes with discussions about cryogenic weapons, and occasionally with news of another confrontation between Batman and the man Gotham had come to know as Mr. Freeze. Yet Elias had never particularly liked that name, even if he understood why the city used it.
To him, Victor Fries had once been the young man who spent three days arguing with Abraham Langstrom about whether a certain species of Antarctic fish could survive a particular cryogenic process, only to discover that they had been arguing about two entirely different experiments.
He had also been the man who married Nora.
And, perhaps more importantly, the man who had once been happy.
Elias looked down at the envelope resting between his fingers. The paper remained strangely cold, although Harley had assured them several times that the letters had been thoroughly inspected and posed absolutely no danger. He believed her, mostly, but there was something about holding a piece of paper that seemed to carry the temperature of its sender that made him hesitate.
Across the table, Abraham Langstrom was having a similar problem.
His old friend sat with his own envelope open, one hand resting against the edge of the table while the other held the folded pages. He had been staring at the handwriting for a little too long, his glasses resting low on his nose. Abraham had always been a rather expressive man, especially when compared to Elias, but right now his face was difficult to read.
Beryl Hutchinson stood nearby, watching both of them with an expression that had gradually lost most of its earlier amusement.
Ace remained beside her grandfather.
Carl, the rather large Arkham patient helping with the delivery program, stood quietly near the reinforced package box. He had been remarkably polite throughout the entire ordeal, and Elias was beginning to suspect the poor man had been given the job of keeping Dr. Harleen Quinzel from turning every delivery into a small public celebration.
Speaking of Harley...She was practically vibrating in her chair.
Elias looked up. "Dr. Quinzel."
She practically jumped out of her chair as she answered him,"Yes?"
"Would you please stop staring at me?"
Harley blinked innocently. "I'm not staring."
Elias gave her a look, one telling her he didn't believe that even for a second. "Please, Dr. Quinzel. You have been looking directly at me for the past two minutes." She shook her head as to answer to him, "I'm observing."
The Good Doctor just shook his head. "Dr. Quinzel. That is staring with professional qualifications and whatever the case, please stop or at least start blinking."
Abraham gave a quiet chuckle, although his eyes remained on the letter in his hands.
Harley pointed at Elias. "See, that's actually a pretty good joke. You should tell more of those. Might help with the whole mysterious old scientist thing you've got going on."
Beryl smiled. "I've been telling him that for years."
"And I have been ignoring you for years," Elias replied, adjusting his glasses. "A remarkably successful arrangement, I might add."
Beryl shrugged as Ace covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Harley leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she adjusted her glasses with one hand. "Look, I know this is weird. Believe me, I know. But Victor worked really hard on these letters, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious about what he wrote. He's not exactly the easiest patient to get talking about his feelings."
Abraham finally looked up. "Victor was never particularly good at that, even when we were young."
"Really?" Harley asked, not too surprised by that answer.
"Oh, certainly. Nora usually handled that part for him."
Elias smiled faintly, agreeing with Abraham. "She handled a great many things for him."
Harley looked between the two men, her expression becoming more interested. "Well, now I definitely wanna hear these letters."
Elias sighed. He looked down at the pages. The handwriting was unmistakable. Having Victor's own careful and precise writing style all over it, even after this long stretch of time, Elias could recognize it.
Every letter formed with the sort of attention Victor had once given to his laboratory notes. Even after everything that had happened, after the years underground, the accident, the criminal career, and the long periods of isolation, some things apparently remained unchanged.
Elias adjusted his glasses once more.
Then he began reading.
My dear Elias,
I hope this letter finds you in good health.
I considered beginning with something more elaborate, perhaps a clever observation about the passage of time, but I suspect you have heard enough jokes about clocks to last several lifetimes. Considering your profession, your family, and the rather unusual reputation your grandson has apparently begun developing, I imagine you have become quite tired of them.
Still, I cannot resist making one observation.
Forty-five years is a rather long time to leave a conversation unfinished.
Elias stopped.
Abraham looked toward him. Harley leaned forward another inch.
Elias continued.
I have spent considerable time attempting to decide what I should say to you. An apology seems appropriate, although I fear that a single apology, or even several hundred, would do very little to account for the things I said before our friendship ended.
I remember our final conversation more clearly than I would like.
You were attempting to convince me to rest. Abraham had been doing much the same for several weeks, although his preferred method involved arriving at my laboratory with food and refusing to leave until I ate something. You, meanwhile, insisted that I could not solve a medical problem if I collapsed from exhaustion before completing my research.
You were both correct.
I hated you for it.
Elias's mouth tightened. For several seconds, he said nothing. Abraham looked down at his own letter, then back toward Elias. "He remembers that?"
"Apparently," Elias answered before the two older men were thrown into a thoughtful silence. Abraham finally spoke after that stretch of time. "I remember it too."
"So do I."
Harley looked between them, the smile on her face full of pure joy and honest curiosity. "What happened?"
Elias slowly lowered the letter.
He had not expected that question to be particularly difficult to answer, but the moment he tried to organize the memory into words, he found himself remembering far more than the argument itself.
He remembered a cramped laboratory. The smell of chemicals, thick and dangerous in the air. Stacks of medical reports. Victor's hands shaking from too much coffee and far too little sleep.
And Nora Fries sitting in a chair near the window, smiling at them despite looking far too thin and pale.
"Victor's wife was ill," Elias explained. "Very ill. We had known for some time that something was wrong, but the doctors had initially believed there were treatments available. Nora herself was rather optimistic about the whole thing."
Abraham smiled sadly.
"Optimistic is putting it mildly. That woman could have been told the world was ending tomorrow, and she would have asked whether everyone wanted to come over for dinner tonight."
"She was rather like that," Elias agreed.
Beryl looked toward them.
She knew the general history, of course. Anyone who had spent enough time around Gotham's scientific community eventually learned about Victor Fries and his wife. But hearing the story from two men who had actually known the couple before everything fell apart was something different.
Elias looked back toward the letter.
"At first, it was manageable. Or we believed it was. Nora continued working when she could, Victor continued his research, and we helped whenever possible. Abraham was already deeply involved in genetics, although his work at the time focused primarily on animals and several rather demanding contracts."
Abraham nodded. "And Elias was far too busy trying to understand the nature of time itself to remember ordinary things like eating lunch."
The good Doctor rolled his eyes at his old friend,"I ate lunch."
Abraham returned the eye roll, "Coffee is not lunch."
"It can be." He argued, Beryl immediately shook her head, placing a hand on his shoulder. "No, it cannot."
Abraham pointed toward her. "Thank you."
Elias gave them both a look before continuing.
"My research was not particularly useful for treating Nora's condition. I understood temporal mechanics considerably better than human medicine, and Abraham's work was still developing. We were young scientists with rather impressive ambitions and very little money to support them."
Abraham leaned back, a smile on his face as he remembered the days when he was both very broke and young. "That is an understatement. I remember spending an entire month deciding whether I could afford a replacement centrifuge or if I wanted to fix the holes in my roof."
"You purchased the replacement centrifuge and ignored the holes until your roof caved in during a heavy rainstorm," Elias said, knowing where this story was going.
"I did." The other old man answered, his smile only growing.
"You ate canned soup for the next six weeks."
Abraham smiled. "Excellent soup."
"No, no It was terrible soup."
"True, but it was affordable soup."
Ace looked at her grandfather with growing amusement. It was strange hearing him talk about a time when money had been a serious concern. She knew he had not always been wealthy, but the Langstrom home, its private laboratories, and the considerable resources available to him made it easy to forget that there had once been a young Abraham Langstrom struggling to pay for equipment.
Harley, meanwhile, seemed fascinated. "So you were all broke college nerds?"
Abraham considered that. "Essentially."
"With degrees," Elias added.
"Very important distinction," Harley replied.
Elias returned his attention to the letter.
I remember how hard both of you tried.
That is something I wish I had acknowledged while I still possessed the good sense to appreciate it.
You offered your time, your laboratories, your contacts, and money neither of you could truly afford to spare. I remember Abraham arriving with groceries and pretending he had purchased too much for himself. I remember you quietly paying an outstanding medical bill and becoming deeply offended when I discovered what you had done.
I remember Nora laughing about it.
She said you were both terrible liars.
Abraham laughed quietly. "Oh, she certainly did." Elias smiled despite himself.
Unfortunately, the illness continued progressing.
As if the world knew that we were already so close to the edge of the cliff of life. Another examination confirmed what we had all feared. Nora's condition was terminal, and none of the specialists we consulted could offer a meaningful treatment. Some were honest enough to admit that they did not understand what was happening to her. Others offered theories that sounded impressive until one examined the actual evidence. This was simply a problem that none of them should solve, something that I would only truly understand at a later date, far down into the path that is my life.
I grew angry.
At first, I was angry with the doctors.
Then the hospitals.
Then the companies that employed us.
Eventually, I became angry with nearly everyone.
Elias continued reading, his voice growing quieter.
My employers had tolerated my research while it remained profitable. Once it became clear that my priorities had shifted toward Nora, their patience disappeared. I was dismissed, and the projects I had spent years developing were taken from me.
Nora's employers were considerably more polite.
They granted her medical leave. They continued paying her for a time. They sent flowers and sympathetic letters, and several of her coworkers visited when she was still strong enough to receive them.
Then the visits became less frequent. The letters stopped. The payments became smaller.
Eventually, it became clear that they had already moved on.
I do not know whether Nora understood what was happening. I suspect she did. She was always better at understanding people than I was.
Harley's expression changed.
She had read Victor's medical records. She knew the broad outline of his history.
But the details of his life before becoming Mr. Freeze had always been difficult to obtain. Victor rarely spoke about his marriage beyond the medical circumstances surrounding Nora's condition, and when he did, his descriptions were usually clinical enough to make even Harley feel as though she were reading a research report.
This letter was different. It sounded like a man trying his best to remember his wife and the life they once had.
Abraham rubbed his chin. "I remember when she stopped working."
Elias nodded. "She was devastated."
"She tried not to show it."
"Of course she did. Nora was and most likely still is the strongest among us."
Abraham nodded at that before he looked toward Ace. "Nora was a very independent woman. She liked her work, liked having her own money, and liked reminding Victor that being married did not mean she intended to spend her entire life sitting around waiting for him to finish experiments."
Ace smiled softly. "She sounds nice."
"She was," Abraham answered.
Elias looked down again.
I spent money we did not have.
I borrowed against everything I owned. I sold equipment, furniture, and eventually possessions that had belonged to my family for generations. I convinced myself that every sacrifice brought me closer to a cure.
Some sacrifices were necessary.
Others were simply the actions of a frightened man who could no longer distinguish progress from desperation.
The medical bills continued growing. The experimental treatments failed. Nora became weaker, and the periods when she could leave her bed became shorter.
Eventually, she slept more often than she remained awake.
I began resenting every interruption.
Every visitor.
Every telephone call.
Every person who suggested that I should spend time with my wife rather than remain in the laboratory.
You told me that Nora needed her husband.
I accused you of wanting her to die.
Elias stopped reading. The room became quiet. Even Harley remained still. Elias stared at the words for a good long moment. He remembered that argument.
He remembered Victor standing across from him, face pale from exhaustion, his voice growing louder with every sentence. Elias had tried explaining that Nora was lonely, that she was frightened, and that Victor's determination to save her had begun consuming the very time they still possessed together.
Victor had reacted terribly. He had accused Elias of giving up. Of abandoning Nora.
Of caring more about his own research than the life of someone he claimed to love.
And then he had said something Elias had never quite forgotten.
Perhaps you would understand if you had someone worth saving.
At the time, Elias had not yet become the grandfather Kairo knew. His family life had been complicated. His work had consumed much of his attention. And Victor had known exactly where to strike.
Abraham watched his old friend carefully. "Elias?"
"I'm fine."
Beryl looked at him. She knew that tone.
It was the tone Elias used when he had absolutely no intention of discussing something until he had personally decided the conversation was permitted.
Harley, surprisingly, did not push.
Elias took a slow breath.
Then continued.
There are words a man cannot take back.
I know that now.
I knew it then, if I am being truthful.
I simply lacked the courage to admit it.
You left my laboratory that evening, and I told myself I was relieved. I told myself that I could finally work without someone questioning my decisions.
I said similar things to Abraham.
He was considerably less polite about it.
Abraham gave a small snort. "That sounds right."
Elias looked toward him. "What did you say?"
Abraham thought for a moment. "I believe I told him that being a brilliant scientist did not excuse behaving like an enormous ass."
Harley laughed. Beryl nodded approvingly. "Good advice."
"Unfortunately," Abraham continued, "he informed me that my own research was a collection of expensive animal tricks and that I should return to playing with bats."
Ace's expression tightened slightly. Abraham noticed. He smiled gently. "Long before your time, sweetheart."
"I know." He patted her hand. "Victor was angry. He knew exactly which words would hurt."
Elias looked back toward the pages.
You both stopped visiting after that.
I told myself it was proof that you had never truly cared.
The truth was considerably less flattering.
I had spent months making it impossible for anyone to remain near me.
And when you finally respected the distance I demanded, I blamed you for leaving.
I was a fool.
An exhausted, frightened, deeply unpleasant fool.
I am sorry.
Elias lowered the letter.
For a long moment, he simply looked at the table.
Forty-five years.
He had spent nearly forty-five years remembering Victor Fries as the man who had thrown their friendship away. Now he was holding a letter from that same man, admitting that he had known exactly what he was doing.
It did not erase the past. Elias did not particularly want it erased. But it changed the shape of the memory.
Abraham slowly unfolded his own letter. "Mine says something similar."
Harley looked toward him. "Would you mind?"
Abraham glanced at Elias. Elias gave a small nod.
So Abraham began reading.
My dear Abraham,
I suspect you will be surprised to receive this letter.
You may also be tempted to check it for hidden chemicals, mechanical devices, or some elaborate attempt to freeze your laboratory. Given my history, I cannot entirely blame you.
For what it is worth, I assure you that the paper is harmless.
The cold is intentional.
I thought you might appreciate knowing that I remain capable of producing something without turning it into a weapon.
Abraham laughed. "Oh, that is very much Victor."
Harley grinned. "See? He's funny when he wants to be."
Beryl raised an eyebrow. "Most people are. But I have a feeling he wasn't trying to be funny, just more honest."
"Sure, Not everyone, But . . ." Harley replied. "Trust me. I've met some very boring criminals."
Abraham continued.
I have thought about our friendship frequently during the past several years.
You were among the first people I met who could discuss an experiment for six hours without becoming bored, although I still maintain that your early fascination with chiropteran genetics bordered on the unreasonable.
I remember telling you that one day you would turn yourself into a bat.
I would like to formally apologize for making that prediction.
Abraham stopped.
Ace covered her mouth. Beryl looked away. Harley made a noise that sounded dangerously close to a laugh.
Abraham slowly lowered the paper. "Oh, that bastard."
Elias started laughing. Not loudly. At first. Then he leaned back in his chair and laughed harder than anyone in the room had heard him laugh that morning.
Abraham pointed at him. "Don't."
Elias attempted to regain his composure.
Failed. "I am sorry."
"No, you are not."
"No," Elias admitted. "I am not."
Ace finally laughed too. Harley slapped one hand against her knee. "Oh, that's terrible. That's actually terrible."
Abraham shook his head, although he was smiling. "Forty-five years, and the man still remembers that argument."
Elias wiped beneath one eye. "Apparently he was correct."
"Unfortunately." Abraham returned to the letter.
I also remember your kindness.
You were never particularly subtle about it.
When Nora became too weak to prepare meals, you arrived with enough food to feed a small research institute. You claimed your refrigerator had malfunctioned and that the food would spoil if we did not take it.
I later discovered that you had purchased everything that morning.
You were an awful liar.
But you were a good friend.
Abraham's smile softened.
I remember you sitting beside Nora while I worked.
You would read to her from whatever scientific journal happened to be nearby, and she would pretend to understand the more complicated sections simply because she enjoyed hearing you become excited about your work.
Sometimes she fell asleep.
You continued reading anyway.
Abraham stopped. Ace looked at him. "Grandpa?"
He smiled faintly. "She liked hearing people talk."
"Even about science?"
"Especially about science. Although I suspect she mostly liked seeing us happy."
Ace leaned against his shoulder. Abraham rested one hand over hers.
Then continued.
I was cruel to you during our final argument.
I accused you of caring more about animals than people.
I said your research would never amount to anything meaningful.
I told you that your obsession with bats was ridiculous.
Considering what I later became, I suspect the universe has a rather unpleasant sense of humor.
Abraham sighed. "He's enjoying this."
Elias smiled. "Immensely."
Harley leaned forward. "Honestly, I'm starting to think he wrote these just to roast both of you."
"That would also be Victor," Abraham admitted.
But the humor faded as he reached the next section.
I know that my words hurt you.
I intended them to.
That is perhaps the most shameful part.
I was losing Nora, and rather than accept that I was frightened, I tried to make everyone around me suffer as well.
You offered help when you had very little to give.
I repaid you with contempt.
I am sorry, Abraham.
I have wanted to say that for a very long time.
Abraham stopped reading. He removed his glasses. Then rubbed his eyes.
Ace remained close. For several seconds, nobody spoke. Eventually, Abraham looked toward Elias. "Well."
Elias nodded. "Indeed."
Abraham looked down at the letter again. "Forty-five years."
"A long time."
"We were idiots."
"Some of us more than others." Abraham gave him a look. Elias smiled. Harley watched the exchange quietly. She had expected the letters to be emotional.
She had not expected to see two elderly scientists who had spent decades building careers, raising families, and surviving Gotham's particular brand of insanity suddenly look so much like young men remembering an old friend.
It was rather sweet.
And, from a professional perspective, extremely encouraging.
Elias returned to his letter. The next section was longer. Victor had apparently decided that if he was going to explain himself, he might as well explain everything.
After our friendship ended, I became increasingly isolated.
I convinced myself that every person who had ever offered help was secretly waiting for me to fail. I interpreted concern as criticism, kindness as pity, and disagreement as betrayal.
Eventually, I stopped answering letters.
I stopped accepting visitors.
I disconnected the telephone.
When I finally left our home, I burned much of what remained of my earlier work.
I regret that now.
There were photographs among those papers.
Letters from Nora.
Notes from our younger days.
Things I can never replace.
Elias frowned. He remembered hearing that Victor had disappeared. At first, he had assumed the man had moved to another city. Then another country.
There had been rumors about private research facilities, wealthy investors, and experimental medical projects operating outside normal oversight.
But nothing concrete.
Victor had simply vanished.
I found a place beneath Lake Gotham.
Old caves.
Forgotten tunnels.
Places that had existed beneath the city long before most of its current buildings were constructed.
The location was isolated enough for my work and cold enough that, with sufficient modification, I could create the environment I required.
I installed machinery.
Refrigeration systems.
Power supplies.
Laboratory equipment.
I built a place where I believed I could work without interruption.
I told myself that everyone else had become a distraction.
Even then, I knew that was unfair.
But admitting it would have required acknowledging that I had driven away the very people who wanted to help us.
Elias continued reading.
Eventually, Nora became too weak to remain conscious for meaningful periods.
The treatments had failed.
Her body was deteriorating.
I could no longer pretend that I had unlimited time.
So I did the only thing I believed remained possible.
I placed her in cryogenic suspension.
Abraham closed his eyes. He knew that part of the story. Everyone did. But hearing Victor describe it in his own words was different.
The process was imperfect.
Dangerous.
Experimental.
I understood the risks.
I proceeded anyway.
The accident that followed changed my body permanently.
Exposure to the chemicals involved in the cryogenic process left me unable to survive under ordinary environmental conditions. My body required temperatures far below what most humans could tolerate.
I became dependent upon the cold.
I had preserved Nora's life, at least temporarily, but I had also made myself a prisoner of the very environment I created.
For more than thirty years, I remained beneath Lake Gotham.
I continued researching.
I continued failing.
I watched the world change through stolen signals, old television broadcasts, and whatever information I could obtain without leaving the laboratory.
Sometimes I wondered whether anyone remembered me.
Sometimes I hoped they did not.