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what happened. Louis Le Prince, the scoundrel who claimed to have invented the movie camera before him, had been in France, taking the train from Dijon to Paris, when Edison’s three men had caught up with him. Le Prince had caught on to their plans and put up a fight but was tossed from the train to his death.
    Thirteen years ago. But Edison would still feel occasional twinges at the base of his neck as if the job really
wasn’t
finished, as if there was some lingering issue, something left undone. Yes, Louis Le Prince was most certainly dead. So, too, was Le Prince’s son, Adolphe, who’d been shot to death two years later on Fire Island. The Le Princes were gone and most likely forgotten.
    “Good,” he whispered, his breath stirring the tiny hairs on the back of his hand. “Good, good. All is well. All will be well.”
    He put the telegram away and left the parlor, quietly taking the stairs up to the large bedroom he shared with Mina. She was curled up on her side in her white gown, her dark hair in stark contrast against the white pillow. Her mouth was curved in a gentle, natural smile. She was a dear, a sweet wife, smart and energetic, a full seventeen years his junior. Glenmont, their home, was in her name, not his, an uncommon situation for husband and wife. Edison had insisted on this, as he feared someday those who plotted against him might bring him down to financial ruin and he would have to declare bankruptcy. This way, Glenmont could not be lost to the family.
    Slipping out of his daywear and into his nightshirt, he crawled into bed beside Mina, propped himself up against the headboard and closed his eyes. With luck, he’d be able to grab four hours of sleep before the need to work took over and drove him back out of the bed again. He thought about the letters of congratulations, the articles announcing his successes. He thought about his famous friends—Henry Ford, Harvey Firestone, John Burroughs—and how much they enjoyed his company on trips and vacations.
    At least, he hoped they enjoyed the trips together. At least, he hoped they really were his friends.
    Sleep pulled the corners of his eyes, and reluctantly he gave in. The sound of the blood pulsing at his temples became the sound of waves against a beach. Peaceful. Serene.
    Herring gulls floated across an ice blue sky. Terns tiptoed up and down the sand, seeking tiny creatures as food. A lone white dog sniffed the waves that rolled up and back on the shore.
    Then the dog turned and laughed at him. He tried to ask the dog why it was laughing but found himself unable to speak.
    Suddenly, the dog turned from white to charred, smoking black. Other animals joined it on the beach—cats, dogs, geese, ducks—all smoldering, twisted, their animal faces burned off and leaving hideous, vacant death-head grins.
    And they were all laughing and cheering.
    It was then that Edison looked down to see he was chained to the ground. Two lengths of steel links coiled around his chest and down the length of his body, the ends of both disappearing into the sand. On his feet were wooden sandals lined with copper. From each sandal protruded a copper electrode.
    Let me go! Free me now!
He tried to scream but nothing came out except a desperate hissing of air. His heart started to pound. Tears sprang to his eyes.
    The charred animals continued to cheer and laugh. One dog, standing cleverly on two feet, set up a movie camera on a tripod and checked the legs to make sure they were steady. He fumbled with the spool of film, snapping it into place. Then he closed the camera and turned the crank to start filming.
    Don’t do this! Stop!
    An elephant was beside Edison now, a huge and towering beast, sniffing him with a burned and flaking trunk. It reached down to draw wires from a nearby generator and attach them to the electrodes on the wooden sandals. Edison struggled to free himself from the chains but the elephant only shook its scorched head.
    Don’t! I don’t want to