The Unusual Mind of Vincent Shadow (5 page)

Vincent had packed up his room. His books. His posters. Even Nikola’s bird toys were carefully packed in a box. But he couldn’t
pack his lab. Pop Tunz had been his biggest disappointment. He had always planned to work on it again. He thought he had time.
But now he was out of time. This was it. His last night in the lab. He needed to focus. He also needed a lot of luck.

Vincent pulled the old sheet off his bubble still, and dust filled the air. He went straight to work. He took a handful of
the rubber worms he had borrowed from his dad’s tackle box and began melting them in a pot. Then he mixed in a half cup of
detergent and a dab of toothpaste. Next he cut open Anna’s Mega Doodlez and dumped the metal shavings into an old coffee can.
He poured in two bottles of contact lens solution. Vincent knew from experience that the salt in the contact lens solution
would speed the rusting process. He placed the coffee can under the blender and turned it on.

Vincent let the blender run and started to work on the Pop Tunz bubble-blowing device. He grabbed one of the large bubble-blower
prototypes off the top shelf and removed the battery panel. He took out the six D batteries. He needed more voltage than Gwen’s
portable stereo batteries could provide. So he decided to test the bubble blower using 110 Tesla-invented volts right out
of the wall.

He pulled out the electrical cord he had borrowed from the Shadow family DVD player and wired it into the bubble blower. Then
he cut open his father’s golf putt return and removed the powerful electromagnet. He duct-taped the electromagnet to the bottom
of Vibs’s large metal mixing bowl.

Vincent turned off the blender and poured the rust-colored liquid into the mixing bowl. He plugged in the electromagnet, and
the rusty liquid clung to the sides of the bowl. He unplugged the electromagnet, and the metallic liquid let go of the side
of the bowl and ran to the bottom. He poured the liquid from the bowl into a tall glass bottle, boiled the solution until
it turned black, and then poured it into a clean glass jar.

He looked at the clock on the wall: 6:30
AM
. He would have to move quicker. The movers would arrive soon.

Vincent reached into a drawer and pulled out a large metal loop he had fashioned out of a kitchen utensil. He rubbed the metal
loop with sandpaper to remove the rust buildup and then placed it in the bubble-blowing device. He screwed the glass jar with
the black liquid onto the bottom of the device.

Vincent pushed down on the red button and said “testing, testing” into the microphone mounted near the back of the bubble
blower.

He switched on the device and it made a dull hum. He smiled. That was the sound he had hoped for. He pulled the trigger on
the blower and the liquid started to twist and turn inside the glass jar. Vincent clenched his teeth, hoped for the best,
and released the trigger.

The liquid leaped from the jar and disappeared up inside the bubble blower. He held the blower high into the air. Dozens of
two-inch solid black bubbles started to fill the room. They floated silently through the air. The first bubble to hit the
floor was a perfect two-inch bubble. By Vincent’s calculations, that should have been large enough to replay his message,
but all he heard was the crackle of electricity. Although it was louder than any bubble he had made previously, Vincent was
disappointed. He had hoped the increased voltage would amplify the sound waves enough to deliver an audible message. He would
need even more volts.

The bubble blower began to glow blue as more than a dozen bubbles hit the floor in what sounded like a nest of angry rattlesnakes.
The side of the blower sparked, exploded, and sprayed electrified bubble solution in every direction. Vincent dropped the
blower and tucked himself into the fetal position.

Liquid lightning shot up and created a blast that left a large burn mark on the ceiling. A stream of electric bubble solution
hit one of the sketches taped to the wall. The sketch burst into flames. Vincent stood up to grab the fire extinguisher as
another row of sketches quickly went up in flames. He managed to avoid the electrified bubbles as he pointed the extinguisher
toward the fire and pulled the trigger.

“One hundred, one hundred, do I hear one
hundred? One, one, one, great. One hundred thousand dollars to the man in back of the room. Two hundred, two, two, two, do
I hear two? Two, two, two hundred thousand to the tall man in the white suit. Three, three, can we get three hundred? Three,
three, three hundred thousand once again to the man in the back. Five, five, five, five—come on—five hundred thousand. Five,
five, five, five hundred thousand to own a piece of history. Five hundred. Five hundred. Come on, people, Tesla is one of
the greatest inventors of all time. Let’s go. Five, five, five hundred thousand to the man in white. Six, six, now do I hear
six hundred…”

Howard G. Whiz had worn a white suit every day for the last sixty-one years. He had an entire closet full of white shirts,
white jackets, white pants, white belts, white socks, white shoes, and white ties. But his ties didn’t stay white. Every morning
at precisely 5:30
AM
, he put on a pot of coffee and painted a white tie to wear that day. He painted the tie to match his mood. He painted a new
tie every day and never wore the same tie twice. Each night he would nail that day’s tie to the wall in his mansion. This
was Howard G. Whiz’s diary, and he had done this every day for the last 22,297 days. Today, Howard G. Whiz’s tie had a single
gold lightning bolt painted on it.

“One, one, one, do I hear one million. One million, one million, one, one, one,” the auctioneer said. “Come on, people. Look
at the condition of these artifacts. Untouched by human eyes until just last month. One, one, one, can I get one, one, one…”

A rather large man in the front row raised his hand and was immediately jabbed in the ribs by his wife’s elbow.

“Well, honey, they have been untouched by human eyes for centuries,” he explained.

“Great, one million from the fat man in the front row. Do I hear two, two, two million. Looking for two, two, two, two, who
will go two, all right. Two million from the man with the giant scar in the second row. Three, three, three, who’s gonna give
me three? Three, three. People, we are looking for three, and three million dollars from the man in back. Four, four, four,
do I hear four million? Who wants to own a slice of history? Four, four, four, four, where are the Tesla lovers? We need four,
four, four, for all these wonderful inventions. Terrific, Colonel Sanders is willing to pay four million dollars. Now who
will give me five, five, five…”

Much to his father’s regret, Howard G. Whiz’s parents knew that Howard was unusual almost at birth. At the tender age of three,
Howard weaned himself off his pacifier by biting an eighth of an inch off the tip of the pacifier each morning for two weeks.
By the end of the second week, his pacifier was gone and so was his desire for one.

“Five million, five million, do I hear five million? Five million to the man with the scar. Six, six, will anyone go six?”
the auctioneer asked.

“Say here.” Howard stood up. “Ten million, good boy. I will give you ten million dollars for Mr. Tesla’s fine inventions.”

Howard G. Whiz could bid ten times that amount if he wanted to, and everyone in the room knew it. Howard had been famous his
entire life, thanks mostly to an invention he created when he was just seven years old.

In 1922, Thomas Fairbairn invented an artificial grass from a concoction of cottonseed hulls, sand, oil, and dye. This invention
fueled the development of a new game called miniature golf. By 1935, America had become obsessed with miniature golf. And
so had Howard G. Whiz’s father, Gordon Whiz. Gordon spent hours practicing miniature golf in his living room by putting a
golf ball into a coffee can. Gordon made his son Howard sit next to the can, rolling the balls back to him all day.

Obsessed with the new science of electricity and tired of rolling the balls back to his father, Howard decided to invent a
device that would automatically return the golf balls. He decided to turn the coffee can into an electromagnet.

When the golf ball entered the coffee can, it would trigger a switch that would run electricity through the wires Howard had
wrapped around the outside of the can. The entire coffee can would become an electromagnet, attracting the hammer Howard had
mounted to the back of the can. The hammer would swing forward, knocking the ball out of the can and back to his father. It
was Howard’s first invention and he thought his father would love it. But Gordon was irritated at his son’s elaborate attempt
to get out of work.

Gordon’s irritation quickly turned to glee when visitors started inquiring about buying a coffee can putt return for themselves.
Gordon seized the opportunity to make money and forced Howard to spend his days in the cellar building coffee can putt returns.
Soon, young Howard was spending fourteen hours a day building the putting devices. He now hated his invention and hated his
father for making him build it.

In an effort to have a little fun, Howard nailed several of the electromagnetic coffee cans to a large board. He tilted the
board and would roll a golf ball up the board and watch it bounce and shoot from one can to the next as it rolled down. He
did this for hours at a time until his father took the board away and told him to focus on his work.

Soon however, Howard’s father became fascinated with the board too. Howard’s father was sure others would also find the board
fascinating, and he sold it to the Bally Manufacturing Corporation a month later. Bally built tens of thousands of the boards
over the next fifty years. They called it pinball.

On his eighteenth birthday Howard G. Whiz moved out of his parents’ house and never spoke to his father again. Robbed of his
youth and weary of the greed that had surrounded him, Howard started the Whizzer Toy Company and vowed never to invent an
adult product again. And he never did.

Howard was famous for giving young inventors the support he never received. He held an annual toy contest and always encouraged
young inventors to follow their dreams and invent their futures.

“Going once, going twice—sold to the lightning bolt gentleman for a cool ten million dollars. Enjoy your new inventions, sir,”
the auctioneer said.

“I shall,” Howard G. Whiz replied.

Maybe it was because Vincent was the
only boy. Or maybe it was because his bird, Nikola, made too much noise. Or maybe it was simply because Vibs was evil. Whatever
the reason, when the Shadow family moved into their new house in Minnesota, Vibs decided Vincent should sleep in the basement
“bedroom,” which actually wasn’t a bedroom at all. It was more of a closet. A small closet with no door. A small closet with
no door, a concrete floor, and the world’s oldest and loudest washer and dryer located just a few feet away.

And maybe it was the cold Midwestern climate or perhaps the noise from the washer and dryer, or just the simple fact that
Vibs was evil, but whatever the reason, Vincent hadn’t had a single toy idea since they arrived in Minnesota four months earlier.
No flashes of light. No blindness. Not a single idea. And that was okay with Vincent.