Rows and rows of black-eyed Beanie Babies stared down from wooden shelves, covering every flat surface, from dresser to nightstand. A hospital bed commanded center stage. Cradling a half dozen Beanies, its lone human occupant stared glassy-eyed at the ceiling. Whether Delia Druthers found these eerie soulless companions comforting was unimportant to her caregiver. Neelam needed the money badly, and Delia was a pleasant old woman, even with her crazy obsession with her stuffed "babies".
"Mail, Mrs. D! Your favorite, the Bean-Zine!" she announced brightly to help balance the solemnity of her creepy cabinets of collectibles.
Delia turned slightly towards Neelam's voice, a smile cracking through a stoic veneer. "Give it here," her arms reached out like she was about to take a child into her arms. The Beanies she held dropped into her thick blankets.
Neelam had been working for Delia for the past month only, newly arrived from India, and this was her first job. While Delia leafed through her Zine, Neelam got to work with the morning ablutions, carefully sponge-bathing her before helping clean her teeth and hair. Once dressed and coiffed, Delia was transferred to her lounger, facing her treasures as if lecturing before a rapt audience.
"So, Neelam," said Delia turning to face her, her eyes focused and sharp, "tell me again where your family is?" Neelam watched how her wrinkles furrowed between her silver eyebrows and gathered like pursestrings around her lips as she spoke.
"They live in a small village in India, outside Jaipur," answered Neelam, head bowed. She thought about her family, waiting for her to establish herself and sponsor their immigration when possible. The task felt monumental and weighed on her chest, forcing her to take a large breath to steady herself.
"You live alone?" asked Delia. Her beady eyes barely blinked as the old lady moistened her dry, cracked lips. She appeared to be breathing more labored, and Neelam had to recall whether Delia had taken her morning medications yet.
"Yes," said Neelam with a sigh, remembering to be patient. Repetitive questions were part of working with patients with dementia, and Delia's probing of her personal life felt a little more intimate than Neelam's reserved nature felt comfortable handling. At times she questioned whether Delia was indeed mentally incapacitated, catching her intelligent gaze now and again before it lapsed back to vacant stares. "Mrs. D, tell me about your family?"
"God rest their souls, my husband…my son's…son," said Delia tearfully and clung to her Beanies for support. Neelam decided not to pry. This is as far as the topic ever got, but she always felt that there was more behind it.
"So, tell me about your favorite Beanie," Neelam asked, changing the subject, which resulted in boring Beanie Baby stories until Delia's mid-morning nap.
Neelam picked up the Bean-Zine that had fallen to the floor. It boasted images of the newest Beanies sold, ones no longer produced and the most coveted. The notion that these tiny stuffed toys were worth something was unbelievable. Only in America.
According to the prior nurse's aide, Delia was a card-carrying Beanie fanatic. She had been on eBay daily, buying her favorites and spending most of her pension until her last stroke. It was a shocking sign of excess no fur coat or Rolex could ever conjure. While Delia was sleeping, Neelam picked through the plush animals, reading tags, feeling their heft. She approached one Beanie that was sitting askew. Could something so tiny be worth so much? The little monkey nodded in agreement as Neelam lifted it in her hands. Nana, the tag read. Startled, she returned to the Zine where she had just seen Nana's picture with the price of $4,000 next to it. A small ad below referenced a number to call for any interested seller. Sensing Delia stirring, Neelam hid Nana behind a camel and Christmas penguin and began her afternoon meal prep.
***
At home, Neelam had time to ruminate on her own growing obsession. She had bought her own Bean-Zine and was looking through it intently. Partially trained in medicine but unable to complete the schooling needed to obtain a degree, Neelam worked as Delia's aide by day and medical assistant most evenings at urgent care. Just one Beanie like Nana would bring her closer to her dream of becoming a nurse. It would also bring her closer to getting her family to America. The sudden grip of loneliness sealed her resolve. Neelam called the buyer's number and left her information on an answering machine.
***
Neelam greeted Delia with her usual sunny enthusiasm the following day, looking over to see if Nana the monkey was still hidden. The night nurse reported Delia's sleep had been erratic and that she could be more tired today. Indeed, Delia was more subdued and less talkative than before. Neelam doled out her pills with that morning's breakfast. While she took her nap, Neelam priced out some of the other toys, adding names, dates, and information into a little notebook she brought. Perhaps this old lady wasn't crazy after all. Her eBay acquisitions over the years had amassed a few rare gold mines and, given they were not encased in plastic or put on display, gave her hope that Delia may not be fully aware of their worth. The slight queasy feeling and churning in her gut did not stop her from taking Nana with her as she left. If she notices it, I will return it and tell her it fell behind the shelf.
***
When Neelam got home, the phone rang; she picked it up before the answering machine.
"Hello?" asked Neelam. Very few people knew her number or even called.
"Neelam?" asked the man.
"Yes," said Neelam.
"Neelam! So happy you called. I'm Dr. Kurt Marcus, and I'm very interested in purchasing your Nana Beanie if it is indeed in the condition you say it is."
"I will not take anything less than four thousand dollars since it has never been played with," said Neelam.
"Mint condition, I see. But I would still need to approve the merchandise before I agree to the terms. Would you be willing to come to my home with Nana so we can…"
"Cash," said Neelam.
"Excuse me?" asked Dr. Marcus.
"It needs to be in cash," said Neelam.
"Well, Neelam, you drive a hard bargain. But it's for a good cause. My son, you see, really only ever wanted Nana," said Dr. Marcus wistfully.
He gave her his address. After work tomorrow, she would make the trade, which could help fund nursing school and bring her a step closer to her dream. She felt a twinge of guilt, considering what she was doing. Perhaps, one day, I'll pay Delia back.
***
In her excitement, Neelam was a little more absent-minded at work the next day. Delia cried out when her hair was snagged in the brush, hissed that the soup was too hot, and complained that she had been sitting in one position for too long. Neelam apologized while mentally harvesting more of Delia's treasured companions. She counted at least fifty adorning the bedroom and one hundred more throughout her small home. Neelam took it as a good sign that there was no mention of Nana that day as, after tonight, she would no longer be able to say why it was missing, and she could feign ignorance.
***
That evening, a taxi dropped her in front of an ornate metal gate. She pressed the intercom, which slowly creaked open; its iron maw was both regal and foreboding. A sliver of moon hung over the immense Tudor estate before her. The wooded property was set back at least half a mile with a winding gravel drive dimly lit on either side and surrounded by overgrown rhododendrons that cast long-limbed shadows that reached toward her in the dark. The unease she felt at Delia's came back, and she thought about leaving, returning the monkey. But the gate had creaked closed behind her, locking her within the property's brick walls. She made her way up the drive. Her steps crunching echoed in the still night. The crinkling plastic bag slapped against her thigh. Neelam gingerly approached the front door.
It opened before she got there.
"Welcome to Marcus Estates, Neelam. The finest home teeth can buy. I am Dr. Marcus, and please call me Kurt."
Kurt was an imposing man, gaunt and narrow, like iron bars rather than reeds. He smelled vaguely medicinal, but given his profession as a dentist, she took no heed. He walked her through the dark mahogany foyer into the sunken living room. Fire lapping the cold from the room flickered from the fireplace. Above the mantel, a portrait of a boy with bright green eyes smiled down.
"Your son?" asked Neelam, shedding her coat in the over-warm room. She clutched the bag still, unable to relieve herself of that treasure.
"Derek, yes, my…son." He choked a little as he spoke.
"I look forward to meeting him," said Neelam.
"In due time. Ahh, perfect timing, my dear," Kurt said to a woman entering. “Neelam, my wife, Jeanie.”
Jeanie's blue eyes were wary, not daring to meet the eyes of either her son's portrait or her husband's gray ones. Yet, they searched out Neelam's and latched on with a ferocity that scared her.
"Welcome," she said quietly. "Can I offer you some tea?"
"Yes, please," Neelam answered. Feeling she had responded incorrectly, she wrestled the urge to call Jeanie back as she left the room.
"Perfect. With this pleasantry aside, let's get down to brass tacks." Kurt sat down suddenly, staring at her intently. "Let's have a look at our Nana, shall we?"
The Shoprite bag seemed out of place in the grandeur of their living room. She sat down in front of Kurt, the leather couch cold despite being in the heated space. Neelam placed it gingerly on the table and lifted out the monkey with the amount of importance she felt, given the price she was about to extract. It lay on the glass-topped coffee table, beady-eyed and lifeless, scrutinized by Kurt as if it were in its postmortem.
"Excellent!" said Kurt, color coming to his pale features, his breath quickening in his excitement. He looked at Neelam with renewed vigor and, with an intimidating forcefulness, swept Nana into his arms.
Neelam felt as if something had been stolen from her for a moment. Bereft of the toy and with no money in sight, she realized nothing would keep them from kicking her out, and with no proof of purchase, there was nothing to say it wasn't theirs in the first place. Feeling a fool, she breathed relief when he placed bundles of cash into the plastic bag and moved it aside for the tea things.
Jeanie had entered quietly and stood solemnly waiting for Kurt to motion her over. Her hands shaking slightly, Jeanie filled each delicate china cup. She held up a small glass container holding white powder towards Neelam. When Neelaum nodded, Jeanie added it to Neelam's cup. The couple watched her intently as she took long draws of the warm, rich brew.
Kurt stood once Neelam had downed her cup. "Let's go meet Derek, shall we?"
"I must go. I have taken too much of your time," said Neelaum, reaching for her coat.
"No, we insist. Jeanie will call a taxi while you meet our son," said Kurt, rising.
As she stood, Neelam swayed, cursing herself for not having eaten dinner. She followed Kurt up the stairs. The carpeting was a dark bruise of blacks and purples, and the crimson and gold wallpaper was textured with flowers. She put her hand out to touch it, soothed by its pattern despite the garish display of colors surrounding her. At the top of the stairs, she was led into a bright white room converted into a medical facility. A boy, aged about twelve in her estimation, was lying in bed breathing with the help of a ventilator. The nurse attendant stood at attention when they both walked in.
"My son," said Kurt, his voice tightening. "Derek was a fan of these blasted creatures." He placed Nana tenderly next to his son's face, taking a moment to kiss his son's cheek. Neelam could imagine the piercing green eyes behind the closed lids, and she could hear his laughter. She felt unsteady, perhaps from the shock of seeing his son like this.
"He saw an ad in the Bean-Zine offering Nana the monkey for one hundred dollars. Instead of coming to me, he called the number and went to them alone. They robbed him of his money and his future. He's been like this for two years."
Tears ran down his cheeks, and he looked accusingly at Neelam.
"You thieves, thinking you can take with impunity. That you can abuse these poor collectors and get away with it," he said, stepping closer to Neelam. "You killed my boy. You took his money, his Nana, and his dreams. You took EVERYTHING!" Kurt's eyes were wild and unfocused.
"You got the wrong person. I did nothing to your son, I swear," said Neelam, breathing hard and sweating. She backed away from him towards the door. The dizziness she had felt earlier spread throughout her body, and she fell back into the arms of the nurse, who had positioned herself behind her.
"Well, Neelam, you will do your part to help keep my son alive," said Kurt right before Neelam passed out.
***
Neelam awoke in a dark room, the cold from the metal table below her seeping through the thin cotton of her robe. She struggled to get up, but her arms were strapped to the table, and her legs were shackled. She screamed, but the gag she wore muted her. Only her tears could escape.
A light turned on overhead; its bright surgical ring blinded her momentarily. The nurse and Dr. Marcus came toward her. Neelam craned her head upward, her body straining against the straps. The nurse put a mask over her face while she struggled to shake it off but was sedated again.
***
She awoke to someone whispering in her ear. Her body felt numb and tingly, and her eyes were bandaged shut.
"Neelam, don't scream or try to run." She recognized Jeanie's voice. "I've drugged their tea, and I'm going to get you out of here."
Freed from the straps and the gag, Neelam vomited. The warm fluid seeped onto her feet, making her retch again. Weak from sedation, barefoot, and blind, she allowed Jeanie's hand to hold hers and followed her down the cool, tiled hallway.
Neelam reached for her bandaged eyes.
"Don't. It won't help you. He removed your corneas," said Jeanie calmly.
"My family's going to come looking for me, and they know where I went tonight," said Neelam sobbing as she fought back another urge to vomit.
"You have no family here. Kurt's mother confirmed that for us," said Jeanie.
"His Mother?" asked Neelam, head swimming with sedatives.
"Delia Druthers," she said in hushed tones, revealing all as they walked. "Delia finds worthy donors. Immigrants who wouldn't be missed. Those who steal get what they deserve." Neelam vomited again, in deep dry heaves, expunging the guilt that had followed her from when she first picked up Nana, that damn stupid monkey.
"I love my son, and the money keeps him alive, but I can't…." Jeanie stopped abruptly, causing Neelam to stumble into her. She could hear footsteps rushing towards them and a loud slap as Jeanie gasped, her hand leaving hers. She felt Kurt's presence before her heavier than the darkness pushing against her.
"Money these noxious, bean-filled, idiotic toys cannot provide," said Kurt. "Toys that robbed me of our son so thieves like you could profit! Stealing from an old woman. You'll do more good here than you ever did with my mother!"
Neelam could feel his hot breath on her face. Her legs buckled, the residual effect of anesthesia leaving her utterly numb and defeated. She surrendered to her guilt and despair and collapsed against the wall.
"I'll deal with you later, Jeanie," he said hoarsely as he grabbed both of Neelam's wrists in one hand and pulled her back down the hallway. He pushed her into a room and closed the door with a bolt and a click. The sound of his footsteps faded away. Neelam dropped to the floor, clutching her knees, rocking, tears streaming as she gulped for air.
She heard breathing behind her in the silent pauses between her breathy gasps. Smelled dry blood and urine. A hand touched her shoulder, and Neelam screamed.
"I won't hurt you," a female voice said. Neelam reached out, felt the same cotton robe she wore, and touched the same bandaged eyes. "Our eyes were collected so that others may see. Next, they'll take a kidney and then part of the liver. If we survive…."
"Our eyes? We?" asked Neelam. Her stomach roiled as if in free fall, her heart thudded, and she found it hard to breathe.
"If we survive, then they harvest our heart and remaining kidney," said another woman's voice, echoing about the cavernous room.
Neelam reached out to each woman's voice. Desperation rose like bile in her throat as she clung to the nearest one. Felt her bandaged body through the soft fabric. Sensed their unwilling acceptance of their plight. A scream tore through her in impotent rage. She sensed other bodies shifting from creaking bed frames and approaching her. Their warm bodies tried to comfort her as they enveloped her into their fold, helping her to a bed.
And in the darkness, Neelam imagined rows of beds filled with blank-eyed women awaiting their dark purpose, the ultimate collector's dream.