Interview with an Invisible Man Part Two By John Pirillo as well as short stories, animations and movies at ImagineNation

Interview with an Invisible Man
Part Two
By John Pirillo

"There is no such thing as a beginning or an end, there is only Now!" --- Jules Verne

In the days that followed the first part of this interview I spent a lot of time on my balcony, tasting snowflakes on my tongue, enjoying the tart crispness of them. In small town I was born in there is no pollution, smog, or toxins in the water. It's all still pure. For now. The people there hate big business, especially after the coal mine industry abandoned them, when the mines ran dry, leaving dozens there with Black Lung and dying a suffocating death.

The Interview begins after this:

I twisted my fingers over the balcony railing and watched the railroad where a train came roaring by, its wheels sending up a thunderous roar through the small valley of the town. It sped through as if the town were an annoyance on its route to Pittsburgh, its nearest stop. I then looked at the thick snow bordering the tall trees that gathered in thick hurdles all about the town, sheltering it during the summer from heat, and gathering mounds of snow during the winter for runoff in the spring.

On the fourth day I stood there, getting antsy and running low on funds. I did have to work, after all, and knew the kids at my school must be wondering why I was taking so long to come back from my vacation. College is rough, but it has its perks. You can take sabbaticals, especially if you're a writer in need of inspiration. You have to turn in something tangible frequently if you want to stay employed. I usually did.

Then the air shivered in the parking lot below as our local Sheriff's car pulled in and continued to shimmer, leaving a path of footprints as it moved towards my hotel. The Sheriff slammed to a stop as the footprints crossed his path. He got out and pondered the footprints, rubbing the top of his balding head as if not wanting to believe his eyes, but having to.

The footprints vanished at the hotel's front door, and it opened.

He looked ready to run to the door, then changed his mind, shaking his head, got back into his car, ran up the rpm of the engine and skidded out of there, probably wanting to hear something familiar he could reckon with, rather than think further about something invisible that leaves foot prints.

A light knock on my door.

I went to it and Professor Langdon stood there, his top hat in his hands, smiling. "I see your local Constable was quite perturbed by my foot prints."

"He would have been even more so, had you materialized in front of him."

He laughed lightly, and then entered as I stepped aside.

I got him seated comfortably at the table again, set out two cups, then hurriedly warmed up some water and made tea.

He took a cup, sniffed it and smiled at me. "You remembered."

"I try." I said happily.

We both sipped our tea a long time, neither saying a thing, basking in the camaraderie we both felt at that moment. I didn't know him that well, except as I wrote him, but he had turned out to be a very wholesome, strong man I could like as a friend. I had left the balcony window open and a small bird alighted on the balcony railing and then flit its tail back and forth, peering into my room. I smiled. I love birds.

I plucked my cell phone and set it on the table.

"I'd like to start now, if that's okay with you?"

"Please do."

I activated the recorder and began. "We all know that Wells version of the Invisible Man doesn't end well, or even start well. His protagonist is a man torn by his greed for science and for glory at the same time."

"Needs for negative attention is a pattern of wounded souls, dear Mister Pirillo." He commented.

I nodded. "I agree. Needs for negative attention. I deal with that a lot in my classroom. The kids have wounded personalities that demand attention to fill in the holes made in their heart."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"As I."

I looked at my notes. "What drove you to seek the formula for making oneself invisible?"

"Science. The desire to broaden it. My brothers in science were too narrow. As I'm sure you've experienced in this world, it's too easy to settle into a comfortable niche in life, rather than challenge its comfort and expand one's knowledge."

"I see. And did you get any help?"

He looked uncomfortable for a moment, and then spoke. "Several, but they soon sought shelter in more comfortable research."

"Why?"

"My first experiments didn't turn out so well."

"How is that?"

He looked off into the distance, his eyes lost in memories. "I started with mice. I love the little things, and thought my chemicals would be safe if use don them."

He looked me in the eyes. "They self immolated."

"Burst into flames?"

"Yes." He said unhappily.

I felt a sweat gathering on my brow. "Had you used that on a human...?"

"They would have died horribly."

"And that is why the others left you?"

"No. They left when I decided to no longer risk any life to secure success."

My eyes narrowed in thought. "Yourself."

"Yes."

"So they were afraid of having to account for your death?"

"Yes. And rightly so. I had no idea if no next formulation would kill me, wound me, and immobilize me or what?"

"I'm a little unclear as to how you made clear markers of progress then."

He leaned forward, cupping his hands together. "I tested just small portions after that. Not on my entire body, but on my own hand."

He held out his right hand and turned it over. I gasped. There were deep burn marks there. "It didn't work at first."

"No, but it didn't kill me either." He grimaced, though I was in great pain for months after the first experiments.

He turned over the other hand and I saw more burn marks.

"You poor man." I gasped in sympathy.

He shrugged. "Better me than some wretched creature with no sense of what is going to happen to it. I value life. All life. And I have sworn to protect it. However I am able to."

"Thus your reluctance to harm another mouse."

"Yes."

"Okay. So obviously you didn't burn your body up. Somewhere along the line of testing, it must have worked?"

"Years later."

"But..."

"My body is a landscape of pain and experimentation."

I paled at the thought of the pain this man had sent himself through and what his body must look like without clothing on it. He smiled weakly, rose and went to my balcony. The bird there didn't fly away. He slowly reached out a finger and it hopped onto it. I couldn't believe my eyes as he gently stroked its back and neck. It actually shivered with delight from his touch. Finally, he gently raised it to his lips, kissed it, and then waved his hand, sending it lightly into the air. It buzzed his head a few times, then bursting into song, it shot off to the woods.

I joined him.

"Amazing."

"Not really. I truly love them."

"I do as well. But I've never had that happen."

He turned to me. "It is an offshoot of the chemicals that run through my body now." He smiled. "One might say it's a perk."

I angled the cell phone a bit more that I held in my hand. "So when did everything open up for you?"

His eyes drifted off into the past for a moment, and then he looked at me again. "It was near midnight, a very hot and stuffy summer night. As you know my laboratory is near the Thames and it gets quite muggy that time of year."

"I've experienced it."

"I was on perhaps my thousandth batch."

"Maybe more. I didn't jot every experiment down. Sometimes I did one or more in a row."

"Any after effects?"

"Not at first."

Then he held up his right hand. It was beginning to fade. I looked at his face. It was sad.

"You see, I can't absolutely control the process. During moments of great stress or fatigue this happens."

"But..."

He looked me in the eyes. "Telling you this is very distressing to me."

"Why?"

"Because I killed a man."

I must tell you right now that his final words at that moment were a heart stopper. I don't remember writing that about him and I was afraid to say more at that time. So instead, I motioned to go back inside and we did. I turned off my voice recorder and began warming up more tea.

I must leave you at this point to consider how I shall edit, or not, the third portion of this interview, which has unfortunately affected me in a very profound manner.

Sincerely and with love

The Author and Interviewer

John Pirillo