by Anne Harris

Antonin’s warm, quirky, criminal family are a revelation to Harry, who grew up on an isolated island with his abusive, wealthy father. Harry’s unquestioning acceptance of Antonin and his loved ones is a refreshing change from the disbelief and scorn Antonin is accustomed to from classmates. The two teenagers become friends and soon fall in love, but Harry’s father has plans to manipulate their relationship for his own gain, and Antonin’s aunt harbors a secret that may destroy them all.

This is a preview of the first seven chapters of a young adult science fiction novel I am currently marketing.

All the Colors of Love

by Anne Harris 

Prologue — Ygrasil’s Disease

Richard sat in Dr. Jonah’s examination room, dressed in a flimsy paper gown that gaped open in the back. The tissue paper covering the examination table crinkled against his ass as he shifted his weight. For what this Dr. Jonah was getting paid, you’d think there’d be some amenities. Soft cotton gowns and table covers, maybe freshly squeezed juices and computer games to while away the time while you waited.

And that was another thing. Why did he, Richard Ygrasil, one of the wealthiest and most powerful men on earth, have to wait for this Dr. Jonah? Well, he knew why. It was a power play. So was the gown and the Spartan surroundings and the faint reek of antiseptic. It was all calculated to put the patient in a position of supplication and dependence upon the all-powerful doctor.

What a crock of shit. If this guy was so all-powerful, why wasn’t Richard cured yet? Why was he in here, yet again, for more tests, more cryptic procedures, more non-answers? He fought down the frustrated rage welling inside him. It would never do to lose his temper, to become emotional. And the truth was, there was very little that he could do. He really was at the mercy of Dr. Jonah, the sixteenth doctor he’d seen in the last six months. Jonah was at the pinnacle of a rising hierarchy of specialists Richard had been climbing since the seizures began. If this guy couldn’t help him, there was nothing to do but fall. And it was a long way down...

The Old Man hunched over the table in their one-room cabin, eating the last slice of Wonder Bread. Richard, a scrawny seventeen-year-old, watched it disappear into that quivering, fleshy maw. He swallowed against the hunger that stirred inside him.

The Old Man lifted the empty bag to his stubbled face, his tongue rolling out to catch the last crumbs. He wadded up the bag and threw it on the floor, grunted and fixed Richard with his rheumy blue eyes. “We need more ore,” he said.

Richard’s hands curled into fists at his sides. “There isn’t any more.”

The Old Man scowled, his brow beetling. “Get off your lazy ass and go dig more ore!”

Richard, who’d been on his feet all morning, shifted restlessly and said, “I told you there isn’t any more copper. Last time there was just the dust on the walls from the last deposit, and I pulled it off the rock with a wet rag, and it was barely enough to buy that loaf of bread.” He pointed at the crumpled bag on the unswept floor. “Heikki says he can’t buy such small amounts from us any more, but it doesn’t matter, because there’s nothing left.”

“Lying fuck!” growled the Old Man, his voice rising to a defiant shout. “There’s plenty of copper left! You’re just too lazy to go out there and get it!” He got up, and came around the table at Richard, his pale eyes glowing with rage, his hands unfastening his belt.

Richard watched those hands carefully. Was he taking the belt off to hit him with it, or was he unfastening his pants for service? The Old Man took the belt off and doubled it in his hand. The first one, then.

“I’ve had enough of your lip,” he said as he swung the belt.

The buckle caught Richard across the mouth and he tasted blood, but he’d be damned if he was going to cringe for the Old Man now. Desperation made him courageous. Richard looked him in the eyes and said, “There’s no more copper.”

The Old Man didn’t hear Richard now any better than he’d heard his neighbors ten years ago when the mines of the Keweenaw had started to dry up. He just grimaced and spat in Richard’s face. “This is just a taste of what you’ll get if you don’t come back with some ore tonight,” he said, and turned away.

Richard wiped the blood and spittle off his chin with the sleeve of his dirty flannel shirt, picked up his bag of tools from beside the door and went out into the perversely sunny northern Michigan spring morning. The rain-scrubbed air was such a sharp contrast to the fetid claustrophobia of the cabin that it made him reel. No, wait, that was the hunger.

It had been at least a week since he’d had anything more than dandelion greens picked on the way to and from the mine. He should have eaten the Wonder Bread on the way back from town and taken the beating it would’ve gotten him, but he’d honestly thought the Old Man would share it with him. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

The opening to the mine was a black mouth that swallowed him whole. Wearily, Richard switched on the lantern and trudged down the tunnel, following the last vein to where it ended. He closed his eyes, leaning on his pick, and the rock pressed in around him, implacable. The copper was all gone. Any fool could see that. But still the Old Man wouldn’t give up. They’d sent all their miners packing years ago. They’d been working it themselves ever since, barely eking out enough to survive, and now, not even that.

Richard hoisted his pick and swung it into the rock, but after a few swings he was exhausted. The Old Man ate all the fucking bread. All of it. And there’d be a beating when he got back. And here he was, pounding this fucking rock for absolutely no reason at all, because there was no more copper here.

He leaned against the wall, shaking, his breath shallow. He was going to die. He was going to starve to death in this god forsaken hole if he didn’t get something to eat soon, or he’d lose his balance and fall down a shaft, or the Old Man would finally kill him. Anger made him shake all the harder. Goddammit. No. No way was he giving them the satisfaction. Not his old man and not this barren, indifferent rock. The whole world wanted him dead maybe. Then fuck the world. He was going to live anyway. Fueled by sheer rage, he swung his pick into the hard flesh of this bitch mother earth, again, and again, and again.

He wasn’t sure how long it was before he realized the rock had changed color. Richard dropped the pick, staring at it; faint streaks of bluish silver against the slick blackness. It wasn’t copper, that was for sure.

The town of Hammer was a tiny shadow of its once glorious self. On Main Street, the Great Lakes Copper Co., once the heart of a thriving industry, had been converted into a museum servicing a small but steady trickle of tourists and history buffs. It was managed by Nils Heikki, who still ran a tiny mineral brokerage from the back of the souvenir shop. Mostly he bought crystals and Petoskey stones these days, but he still took the smattering of copper Richard brought him.

Heikki was a middle-aged man with stooped shoulders, a potbelly and a drooping, salt-and-pepper moustache. He looked up from the counter in the souvenir shop, saw Richard standing in the doorway, and sighed. “I’m sorry kid, I told you already, unless you have something bigger than an ant’s behind, I can’t help you.”

Richard always got the impression that Heikki was sorry. Sorry for him, but not enough to actually do anything about it. He hated Heikki. Now he just nodded and walked up to the counter, put a fist-sized chunk of the new mineral on the counter and said, “Can you tell me what this is?”

Heikki’s lank hair fell over his forehead as he studied the sample. He made intrigued muttering noises under his breath and glanced up speculatively at Richard. “You find this in your old man’s mine?”

Richard nodded. His heart beat very fast, high up in his chest, and his head felt like it was floating about a foot above the rest of his body. He was afraid Heikki was going to cheat him, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength or the wit to stop him.

Heikki picked up the sample again, peered at it, humphed to himself and then turned toward the door to the back room, where he kept his mineralogy equipment. Richard tried going around the counter to follow him, but Heikki saw this and shook his head. “You know the rules, kid. Have a seat. This won’t take long.”

“I’m not leaving again without that.” Richard pointed at the sample, all but vanished in Heikki’s hand. His voice was thick. He suddenly realized he was on the verge of tears. Oh for fuck’s sake.

Heikki gave him a sympathetic smile, the bastard, and said, “I’m not going to cheat you. You should know that by now.”

Not terribly reassured, Richard sat down and tried to quell the shaking in his limbs. He watched the hands on the Yes! Michigan Tourism Board clock above the door to the back room. In fifteen minutes Heikki was back, with the sample, which he dutifully handed back to Richard. “Is there much more where you found that?”

Richard took a deep breath and steeled himself to remain expressionless. “What is it?”

Heikki leaned an elbow on the counter. “It’s Bauxite. They use it as a refractive. You know what a refractive is?”

Richard shook his head.

“Means it doesn’t melt even under really high temperatures. They use it to line furnaces. Doesn’t sound like much, but let me tell you, a good source of domestic bauxite is in very high demand. Right now it all has to be imported.” Heikki licked his lips. “You got much of it up there?”

Richard stared at him. He needed Heikki, but maybe not for long. He tightened his grip on the Bauxite and stood straighter. “You want to work for me?”

Heikki blinked. “Well, I mean, your old man — we go back a long way, him and me. All I mean is if you need any help up there...”

Oh, so now you want to help. “What will you give me for this piece, right now?”

Heikki sniffed and cleared his throat. “Well, you’re going to need quantity if you want to interest the big money, but I’ll tell you what. I’ll give you twenty-five bucks for this piece here, and if you bring in more, I’ll add it on to that. Sort of an advance against future profits, if you get me.”

Richard kept from smiling. “I’ve got you.”

He took Heikki’s twenty-five bucks and went across the street to the Coppertown Saloon, where he ordered a hamburger. Just the smell of it when the barmaid set it down in front of him was enough to make him reel. Juices oozed from the meat and soaked into the bun. He wanted to gobble it all down at once, but he disciplined himself to take a measured bite, and chew it slowly. It was glorious and he gave himself over to it entirely, lost himself in the luscious glory of the fat trickling over his tongue and down his throat, the sheer joy of chewing on something more substantial than Wonder Bread. He gave himself to all of it. And then he stopped.

He took a sip of water and another and another. Six sips. And another bite of burger. Another wild pornographic ride through the gastronomic system. And six sips of water. And then he wrapped the hamburger up in a paper napkin, tucked it inside his shirt, paid up and left.

God how he loved food, Richard thought, ignoring the painful squeeze to his bicep as a nurse took his blood pressure. It would have been so easy for him to become fat. But he didn’t, just like he didn’t get sick on that burger. Because no matter how extreme his pleasures, he always exercised control.

And it had worked, both in recovering from starvation and in becoming one of the richest men in the world. Christ, he could market the thing if he ever got desperate enough. Richard Ygrasil’s Miracle Weight Loss Program: Be dirt-eating poor for seventeen years and then discover a rich vein of bauxite. You’ll look great and have your energy back in no time. He giggled, and that startled the nurse, who was just removing the blood-pressure sleeve. She gave him a funny look, and he said, “Tickles.”

This nurse — Tanda — was beautiful, as those in the employ of these big-shot doctors so often were. He dropped his eyes, quite obviously, to her generous bosom, and then looked up again into her cornflower blue eyes. He tilted his head and gave her his best winsome smile. “You ever make house calls?”

How prettily she blushed for him. Truly, she was a radiant example of feminine nurture. “Not ordinarily,” she said, in a way that made it clear she understood just how extraordinary he was. Richard smiled. He could have said anything. It was true what people said about power being an aphrodisiac. He never had any trouble getting anyone he wanted in bed. He could have a different lover every night if he wanted, but he didn’t. Pleasures waned with overuse. Before Tanda even left the examination room, he had decided against taking her. Too, too easy.

Because it wasn’t — had never been — about greed with him. All that he did, he did for the savor of the thing. Power was to him what a bar burger is to a starving man. He relished it, and he knew how to pace himself.

It wasn’t long before the door to the examination room opened again and Dr. Jonah came in at last. Richard just prevented himself from leaning forward in eager supplication. Dr. Jonah was a tall man with a long, angular nose and a high forehead. He gave Richard a smile that achieved both friendliness and detachment. He was good.

He pulled a chair out from the little counter where the cotton swabs and antiseptic pads were stored and sat down facing Richard. “Good afternoon, Mr. Ygrasil. I have the results of the latest tests and I can now say with all confidence that we have isolated your problem. It’s a mutation we’ve never seen before, in your paternal mitochondria.”

“The little organisms that swim around in our cells.”

Dr. Jonah nodded. “The same.”

“I though those were inherited from the mother.”

“In most cases yes, but not all. A few people wind up with their father’s, and some — like you — are a mosaic. Some of both. There’s no inherent problem with that, except that in your case, the mitochondria you got from your father are damaged, and that’s what’s causing the seizures and pain crises you’re experiencing.”

Richard felt like he was staring down a very deep, very dark hole. He swallowed. “How do you fix it?”

Dr. Jonah looked down. “I’m afraid your condition is refractive.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, that means it’s unresponsive to treatment. There is no cure. I’m very sorry.”

And now he was falling. He felt his heart beat; once, twice, three times. Dr. Jonah was leaning toward him, one hand reaching toward his arm, to comfort him. Oh fuck no. Richard breathed deep and sat back, forcing himself to focus on Jonah’s face. “So, what’s the good news?” he asked, curving one side of his mouth up slightly.

Dr. Jonah was relieved to join him in grim, brave humor. He smiled with the perfect mix of gravity and cheer, and spread his hands in reassurance. “The good news is that there’s no indication of mental impairment and your overall physical condition is remarkably good, probably due to your healthy living habits. You don’t smoke, you’re not overweight, and you’re physically active. Keeping up with those things is going to be a big determining factor in slowing the progression of the disease.”

Richard nodded. “So what is the prognosis, anyway?”

Dr. Jonah inclined his head to one side. “No one can read the future, Mr. Ygrasil, but my guess is that over the next six to eight years you will experience a gradual increase in the frequency and severity of the absence seizures and pain crises. Within that same time frame you will begin to experience complications due to metabolic deterioration. You’re strong now, and that’s good, but over time your body simply won’t be able to replenish the energy it’s losing from the malfunctioning mitochondria. Sooner or later, your organs will begin to fail. We can replace them, up to a point, but once brain function is compromised, there’s no going back.” He hesitated, then went on. “The end stage will progress very rapidly, if that’s any comfort to you.”

No, Richard assured himself, his hands flexing as if to wield a pick against the implacable dark that would consume him. No. He’d beaten death before. He’d tricked the Old Man. He’d do it again. He focused on Dr. Jonah. “That’s not acceptable.”

Dr. Jonah gave him that compassionate-detached smile again. “I understand, Mr. Ygrasil.”

“No you don’t.”

He sat back and regarded Richard a moment. “Maybe I don’t.  But I do understand mitochondrial diseases. Probably better than anyone else alive today. Even with the most common forms — Alpers’ and the Complex deficiencies — the most we can do is treat the symptoms.”

Richard snorted. “You’re a researcher, Jonah. Come on, you guys live on unsolvable problems. You can’t sit here and tell me that you have no angle on this whatsoever. It’s insulting.”

Jonah took a deep breath and looked at the jar of cotton swabs on the counter. Richard continued to stare at him in silence, watching his inner struggle play itself out on his face. There was a slight blush on his cheeks, and a hungry look flickered briefly in his eyes. He breathed deeply again and appeared to be about to master himself.

“Or maybe you like giving people bad news, and you’re not really trying to find a cure,” said Richard.

Jonah’s nostrils flared and he unleashed a glare at Richard. Atta boy. “I don’t care who you are,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t ever suggest such a thing again, not if you want to continue as my patient. I’ve been working for a cure for mitochondrial disorders my whole adult life, and time and again I’ve been thwarted, sometimes by the diseases themselves, and at others by regulations that have prevented my most promising theories from ever reaching clinical trial. No, Mr. Ygrasil, I don’t like giving people bad news, but I’m afraid bad news is all I have to give.”

Richard smiled sympathetically. “Regulations. Rules. Shackles on the talents and aspirations of great men, Doctor. It would seem you and I are chained together. But I can remove those bonds, for both of us, if you have the courage and the dedication to embrace the unorthodox.”

Dr. Jonah gazed at him a long moment. At last he said, “I’m willing to hear you out, but not here.”

Richard stood, and began dressing. “Of course not. Come to my hotel tonight, Jonah. We’ll have a drink — mineral water for me, yes, I know,” he added with a small smile, “and we’ll talk about the future of mitochondrial medicine.” He finished buttoning his shirt, and shook Dr. Jonah’s hand.

With a fog Richard hadn’t even realized was there lifting from his mind, he made his way home through the woods. On the way he hid the rest of the burger and the money under a rock, then doubled back toward the mine, in case the Old Man saw him coming. He ran up to the door of their cabin and threw it open. “Dad! Dad! You’ll never guess what I found!”

His father sat at the table, muttering over a stack of bills they couldn’t pay. He looked up, his eyes bright with hope. “You found a new vein?”

Richard grinned for him. “Yeah, and it’s huge! We’re gonna be rich! Come on, you’ve gotta see!”

It wasn’t hard to lead the Old Man into the mine and down the tunnels, to the edge of a shaft from the old days that dropped one-hundred and seventy-five feet down into a cavern long since denuded of copper. And then there was a still moment, with only the sound of their breath in the darkness, and his father looking around anxiously for the copper that wasn’t there. With one solid shove, Richard ended that moment, ended his life as it had been, and started his new one, his real life.

It had been a lifetime since Richard stood at the edge of that mine shaft. He wasn’t a starved boy anymore. He was a rich and powerful man. And still the Old Man could touch him. He could reach right up through the darkness and the years and wrap his bony, trembling fingers around Richard’s very cells. Richard had killed the Old Man, and now the Old Man wanted his revenge.

But it wasn’t going to happen.