I was feeling despondent, as if I may finally fail in my chosen profession. Arguably my actual profession is temporal eliminations, rather than sort of time-travelling psychiatrist, but often my contracts require unusual mental shifts to be made in someone. I have had clients who wished for the object of their ire not to be removed, but for them to be crippled, or to fail in their chosen field and to come crawling to the client looking for employment.
In many ways this was not so different.
The key was chosen profession. Everything I had done was aimed, as it usually is with my clients, at keeping them living the life that they currently live, with some sort of refinement. The problem was that the client had an wonderful life which failed to please him. I thought perhaps that experiencing some tragedy in his existence would furnish him with a fresh appreciation of the positive aspects of that life, but it did not.
Mrs. Doran's post theorising on alternative employment opportunities was the key - what would happen were the client in a completely different line of work? Was there an alternate career path that would give him a greater sense of delectation?
Investigating his passions through the ages, I noted his love of woodwork in high school, spent a couple of years training in the art, and then arranged to replace his woodwork teacher for a year. Naturally it has required a huge amount causal reknitting, but that's often the case with jobs that require more than a simple dispatching.
Through careful and constant nurturing of the teenage client's ability, as well as regular praise for his work - which to be honest, was exceptionally good - I managed to set him on a fresh career path.
He still married his sweetheart, still became father to the same offspring at the same times they were originally born, thanks to careful use of nano-technology and another couple of chrono-grabs, and is now in partnership with another gentleman, hand-making fine wooden furniture.
I paid a visit, still in character as his old woodworking teacher, with a little make-up to add a few years, and he's happy. Blissfully happy. Even with a mortgage, overdraft, and less than idyllic home life. It seems that, as good as he was in the corporate world, in his heart he was never really a businessman at all, that was merely where he ended up.
Inside, he was always a carpenter.
I even bought one of his tables, which he gave me at cost price, as a thank you for my encouragement all those years before. It really is an exquisite piece of work, and I am proud to give it a place in my domicile.
I've shown nano-recorded footage to the abstracted client who, while rather surprised, is satisfied that a version of him is living the life it should be. Now I can release the splinter, and his payment to me, from the TB and safely close down the chimerical pocket universe he inhabited.
All's well, and I even have a gift for my beloved.
© Danny Oz