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

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The Giants of the Nazi World
"A Rocketman Story"
By John Pirillo

"The cardinal sin of any good soldier is to put all his trust in his weaponry. Any weapon can fail, but he can't." -- Words of General Wishtower

"Men, what you see before you is a representation of the Nazi super cooling tower being built in San Francisco." Colonel Brighton told the troops assembled.

Harry and Jet stood behind them, watching as well. They were the team that would be responsible for making the advance as safe as possible, knocking out any power lines, or other obstacles. Most of the time obstacles were as simple as a few lead lined super lasers with automatic targeting cannons that could wipe out a platoon with one swipe. Sometimes more difficult. Ten foot Nazi Sturm Giganten, built like tanks. Living breathing nightmares of Third World War technology pioneered by Hitler's best scientists.

Oh yeah. And in case you were wondering this isn't the world where the Allies won World War Two, but where they lost it.

My name is Harry. In my world I was a Captain, here I am known as Rocketman and sometimes Captain Harry, which I prefer. I don't always remember my last name or much else, when I'm crossing over between the two alternate realities. Sometimes I don't even remember there is an alternate reality. Only that I have a mission to accomplish. As Rocketman.

I fly this rocket suit. On my real earth it's a huge tank of a thing, well, maybe not that huge, but it weights a lot and is tall and cumbersome, and I ride in it. In this world I have a lighter suit that I can strap on like the old movie serials. And it's hellishly fast. Like Superman fast. But without his strength or protection. I can still die, get shot down and generally hurt a lot.

"Captain!" He gestured to me.

I went forward and stood next to him, then used the pointer he handed over to indicate three roads that curved into the cooling tower, all bordered by warehouses and bunkers. "These." I indicated the roads. "These are the way the main carriers and transports enter the cooling tower base structure."

Jet played the devil's advocate. "So how likely am I to just waltz in there and get what I want, say a nice hotdog or a glass of fresh lemonade?"

Everyone broke into laughter. General Wishtower scowled at Jet, who hurriedly began counting fingers, which made the men laugh even more. I quickly went on. "Not likely. The road is hotwired."

The soldiers stopped laughing.

Hotwired meant it was genetically marked and all the Nazis were genetically marked. We were not. We'd get fried hotter than a buttered piece of toast in an oven left on too long if we touched those roads.

Jet slowly put a hand up. "Uh."

"Yes, Jet?"

"Can I bring marshmallows?"

General Wishtower burst into laughter before he could catch himself, then looked to me, trying to hide his face.

"Jet, you can, but they'll do you no good. We're flying in."

"Do I have to?"

Everyone broke into laughter again.

I shook my head, smiling, and then turned to indicate the warehouses. "Interconnected. Each door is hard wired and without the right code will send an electric shock instantly frying anyone who touches it."

"Barbies anyone? Jet asked.

After the laughter died down, I went on. "Al." I indicated a grey haired man standing to the right of us. "Al and Edison have cooked up...pardon the pun...a device that when you wear it, will automatically trigger the codes. Only one small problem."

Jet raised his hand. Everyone tensed for laughter.

"If you don't get past the Zombies it won't make much difference."

Jet squealed. "I hate them things!"

With that the platoon was dismissed and headed off to barracks to prepare for the coming assault.

General Wishtower took me and Jet side to meet with Einstein.

Our combat headquarters was deep in the heart of a Swiss Mountain, only visible if you knew where to look. And no one did, because it was carefully cloaked by electronic devices and other modern war gear. Einstein and Tesla had rigged a kind of stealth cloaking device that kept our entrance and exit well hidden. Even if a Nazi Soldier stumbled upon the entrance he'd only think it was a simple slope with rock and snow. No more.

And if he got too close. Well, there were considerations for that as well. None of them good for the luckless soldier who had made the wrong turn.

"Everything's hanging on you two getting into that tower and jamming up its power."

Jet looked at me. "Long as I don't have to ride the buggy wagon beneath this guy."

I laughed. "Jet, you know you love it."

"Hell no. Last time you dumped me in Lake Lucerne. I almost became a popsicle."

The General looked at Jet.

"It's a stick with frozen juice or water on it."

General Wishtower shook his head. "Your world is so strange."

"Hey, General!" Jet told him quite frankly. "This one sure ain't no bell ranger, that's for sure."

"What's a..." The General started to ask, then shook his head and headed off to join the team in Control. He was overseeing the mission.

Einstein smiled at us. "You two boys sure know how to get his panties in a wad."

We both laughed. I put a hand on Al's right shoulder. "Al, its underwear, not panties. Panties are what women wear."

"Oh." Al said with a blank face.

=====================================================

As agreed I scouted the cooling tower one more time while Jet and the platoon got into position for the attack. Jet was along because he was handy in figuring out the various death traps the Nazis inevitably laid out for unexpected guests.

And yes, we were a major pain in their black hearted bottoms.

These Nazis were not the ones of your earth, but of another earth. This earth had been won by them when the Allies failed to stop their launching of a deadly barrage of nuclear weapons, which had wiped out very major Western city around the planet. The Nazis, prepared for the strike, had swept into the countries with advanced weaponry that they had kept off the radar in secret bases and moped up most of the resistance.

Some of our military survived. Some in other countries. They got together and created a base in the Alps, and used it to make life miserable for the Nazis.

When I first got here, I was in total shock. The Nazis used civilians like robots, prepping them in some kind of genetic formula that converted them into mindless zombies that would do anything. Some of the Nazis were physically enhanced...the Sturm Giganten, and others...well, I shudder to think of the others.

When the coast seemed clear. No new Nazi movement, only the steady flow of fuel trucks into the basement, I felt we were ready to go. Our goal was to detonate the fuel. It was highly charged radioactive materials that only needed a little tampering and would go boom, taking out the entire facility and probably a few square miles around it as well.

Our scouts had already warned the locals of what might happen. Most of the locals preferred to stay, not believing they were safe anywhere, but the smarter ones beat it. The Nazis had brainwashed the masses so thoroughly, that most had few thoughts of their own anymore.

And we kept an eye on who went in and out of the cooling tower, in case some of the natives thought of giving us up. Not that it didn't happen sometimes. The natives usually were more than happy to take out a few Nazis, but sometimes they were too far gone and like the zombies many became, were better off dead anyway.

"Jet." I spoke into my helmet mike.

"Yeah!" His voice came into my helmet.

I adjusted my flight attitude and saw him and the platoon moving into position.

"Good to go!"

"On it!"

In a matter of moments he and the platoon swept through one warehouse after another, leaving a trail of destruction behind them. We had twenty minutes to mop the place up, because a base was twenty one minutes away. And we didn't want to have to mess with the Sturm Giganten. They were tough cookies to kill. Usually, nothing short of a nuclear blast could stop them...or the direct hit of tank cannon.

I shot ahead, landing on the cooling tower roof. The tower was shaped like a pyramid. Why, I didn't' know, but all the important electronics were stashed up there. I took out my laser pistol and began melting a few circuits.

Then I felt a huge vibration. I turned around and looked up, then up again. A Nazi Sturm Giganten.

"Vas tun sie?" It demanded, knowing already what I had done, since the smoke and flames behind me were pretty obvious.

"Getting out of here." I answered, and then turned to leap from the roof.

Before I got five feet in the air, a hand smashed me down to the roof.

I landed on my stomach. Hard. Knocked the air out of me. I rolled over and gasping for breath saw a second Sturm Giganten. The first joined him. Their faces were thick like a Rhino's, and their lips like huge crevices with jagged teeth. Their nostrils flared like tunnels of doom. Their foreheads were high, sloping to a narrow, almost cone shape. Genetics gone wild. They were incredibly smart, but locked in when it came to thinking out of the box.

Me box. Them locked in.

The second Sturm Giganten grunted when something knocked into his right foot. He looked down at the strange object and grunted again. He reached for it. Bad move. Boom! He and his companion were blasted off the roof. The fall might not kill them, but it got them out of my hair. I pushed to my feet, still weak from the blow and leaped from the roof, firing up the rocket suit. I felt it drag a moment, and then push me forward.

I angled downwards; saw Jet and what was left of his platoon winging it swiftly back the way they had come, firing ahead of them to break the electrified road ahead of them.

The two Sturm Giganten who had fallen came around the side of the tower and rushed them. My cue.

Neither one was aware of me until I swept towards them at eye level. Their eyes narrowed in anger and hatred. "Bye bye." I said, and then let them have it with both barrels of my arm rockets. The two giants hurtled backwards, slammed from their feet.

It gave me and Jet and the men enough time to reach shelter, when the cooling tower went big-time.

We peeked out to look as a mushroom cloud hurtled into the sky, spreading wings of destruction, doom and gloom. We were ten miles away. Even from there the heat was tremendous.

"Damn!" Jet said angrily.

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot to bring the marshmallows."

The soldiers about us broke into laughter and I did too.

War is hell, but a little laughter goes a long way to making it less so. Even if it was at the expense of those monsters who thought they were better than everyone else.

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

 

Interview with an Invisible Man
Part One
By John Pirillo

"In the unlikeliest of places one finds peace, one finds calm, one finds release." Professor Langdon, the Invisible Man.

First let me say that this interview was totally unplanned, as well as unexpected. But being a writer first, and a very curious one at that, I managed to pull back on my emotions and my expectations and get the interview which you are about to read. Herewith let it follow and be said that the man I interviewed is still alive, visits our world frequently on missions for his best friend and has a nasty habit of popping up in the least likely of places when you least expect him to.

As you can imagine this interview came about in the most unlikely of manners. I was seeking a cherry phosphate soda in my hometown of Avella, Pennsylvania. The town had changed much since my child hood. It's funny how the years paint the past in such glowing colors. For when the reality reassumes itself once more, the gold around the edges fades into something more comfortable and livable...reality.

My favorite spot for comic books and phosphates was gone, but there remained a small store on the edge of town that sold comic books and had a soda machine. I dropped in there on my way back from the graveyard of my father, whom had passed away about a decade ago. He wasn't a very happy man. Deeply troubled by his life and his choices, he passed away mostly unforgotten by those he had been close to.

I don't know why, but when I sat down to read the latest Thor, I felt this kind of presence behind me, which was impossible, because a mirror on the wall in front of me showed nothing in the rear of me except racks of comic books, paper backs and grocery items.

I shrugged inwardly, and kept reading, but finally the feeling I was being watched grew so strong I had to get out of there. I bought the comic, pocketed a coke in my right trouser pocket, and shrugged my overcoat on tighter. It was winter and it was freezing and made my way up the street to the hotel I was staying at. I could have stayed at my relatives, but I wanted to be able to come back to peace and quiet. My Italian relatives would go on all night if I stayed with them. It's what they had done when I was young with them.

I made it to my hotel without any more weird feelings, but the moment I got back into my room and locked the door, I got that feeling again. I turned on the lights and no one was there.

"Must be some kind of fatigue. Jet lag." I said to myself.

"Highly unlikely."

I turned around and standing in front of my door was a very conservative looking man with a shock of thick hair graying at the temples, eyes that had seen too many books up close, and a strong nose and jaw that showed great strength of character. He was wearing a Victorian jacket, trousers and top hat. He held a cane up in the air and nodded. "Professor Langdon at your disposal."

Since he blocked the way out, I played it cautious. How had this stranger gotten into my room without me knowing it?

"Invisible." He said, as if answering my thoughts.

"Who are you and what do you want from me?" I demanded, looking for some way I might escape this mysterious intruder if I had to, which at that moment seemed unlikely I would be able to, but I had to at least think I had a chance.

"I am Professor Langdon, and I am the man you have been writing about for quite some time now."

My knees began to quiver and shake. "Him?"

"Yes."

He moved past me, I turning as he did so to keep my eyes on him, and then sat down at the only table in the room. "Do you have maid service? I could use a spot of tea."

The ridiculousness of his statement took all the fear out of me and maybe because of the stress of the moment I burst into a long and loud laughter, that made must have made me appear a kind of crazy man at that moment. He watched me as I dispelled my fear, and then motioned to a chair on the opposite side of the table with his cane. "Please sit down."

I sat down and eyed him closely.

He appeared taller in person than I had imagined in my writing, and also more ruggedly handsome. I had felt Professor Langdon to be youthful and good looking, but not in such an athletic way.

"I work out a lot." He said, again reading my mind.

"Do all you people read our minds?" I asked.

"No. Only yours, because you created us. Well, sort of anyway."

"I'd like you to interview me." He continued, absent-mindedly picking at lint on his overcoat, which now that I think about it in retrospect, was out of season, because it was not nearly thick enough to keep one warm in our environment.

I settled a bit, then nodded. "I could do that."

I hopped up, scrambled to my nightstand where my cell phone was recharging, glanced at its level. Enough to start, then unplugged it and came to the table.

"I don't have fresh tea, but there are some bags in the kitchenette." I pointed out.

I laid down my cell phone and rushed into the kitchenette and hurriedly heated some water in the microwave, then poured it into a Styrofoam cup and dumped several tea slips into it and a bit of honey I had bought earlier in the day. I started towards him with the cup, and then remembering my manners, grabbed a spoon and napkin. I set them before him.

He eyed the concoction, sniffing at it as if it might attack him, and then sipped. His eyes widened. "This is excellent."

"I can get you more if you like?"

He shook his head. "Let's start the interview."

He touched my cell phone, and accidentally activated the alarm on it. He jumped back from the table, cane at the ready as if he were going into battle. I laughed. "It's just a warning."

He gave me a wary look. "Does it bite?"

"Only if you stick it in your mouth." I jested.

He caught my look and gave me a considering look, then nodded and sat down again. He mopped up some of the spilled tea he had created when he knocked into the table, and I hurriedly got up and grabbed some more napkins for him. He finished cleaning, wiped his lips, and then sighed with relief.

"It's hard getting used to your world. It's so....well..."

"Different?"

"No. Antiquated."

I laughed then.

His eyebrows rose in puzzlement. "You find that funny?"

"Actually, I do, because the world I have written about with you in it is Victorian England, but with some twists, but basically about a hundred years behind our times."

"Well, be that as it may, there's much about our world you have not imagined. Perhaps in time and with further interviews you'll remedy those misconceptions."

"Perhaps." I agreed somewhat reluctantly, not sure whether to believe him or not. I may have written the character, but this man seated before me was much different in subtle ways than I had imagined. My character tended to be more flighty, like a bird watching for traffic lest it get run over, but this one seemed more self assured.

"I touched the voice recorder."It's now recording."

"Really, I must have one of those before I return to my world."

"How do you intend to do that?" I asked.

He snorted. "The same way I came here, how else?" He answered as if that settled everything.

I smiled. Definitely different than the man I had written about.

"No, I meant how you intend to purchase one of these." I tapped my phone. "They cost hundreds of dollars. This one's an Apple. Cost me seven hundred."

"Pounds?"

"No American dollars."

"I say, that's rather improper to ask for so much money for such a simple thing."

"You don't know the half of it." I replied.

He observed me quietly a moment, then continued. "Please, ask me anything. I'm yours for the next half hour."

I grew nervous. I hadn't anticipated such an interview, so I was also totally unprepared for what to ask next. So I shot in the dark.

"What drove you to become the Invisible Man?"

"Science. Plain, pure and simple. Without science man might as well be a naked ape, for he would know nothing, do nothing and have nothing."

"So you believe that science is the driving force behind humanity?"

"Yes. I do. You should see all the contraptions my good friends Jules and Wells constantly come up with. Tesla and Edison are much the same, and Einstein...the man's a genius!"

"He was here too."

"Here too? You mean he has also lived on your world?"

"Actually, yes. But much different from the one you know. He was a refugee from the Nazis."

"What are Nazis?"

"Pray you never find out." I warned him.

He nodded, but I could see he didn't understand.

"If we meet again, I'll explain."

"I understand. Now that we've started this...uh, interview...you must make the most of it."

"Yes. And by the way, what made you come to me of all people?" I asked.

"Why Professor Challenger of course. He met you at a comic book convention. You know that funny place where everyone dresses up like monsters and ghosts and pretend to be famous comic book characters."

"You have comic books in the Baker Street Universe?"

"Since you began writing them into existence. Yes. By the way, I'd like to thank you for doing so, reading a comic book is much more comfortable when going to the men's room, than holding a six hundred page book written by Mark Twain."

I smiled, and then frowned. "Six hundred pages?"

"Yes. You know, 'The Art of Loving.'" He answered.

"Never heard of it."

He shrugged. "Our worlds do differ as I have said.

I nodded, glanced at my cell. It was nearly at zero already.

"What was your first thought when you realized you were invisible?"

"To scream like a girl."

I burst into laughter.

He indulged me, and then touched my arm with his cane. "It is very unmanly to laugh at another man's weakness."

"I'm sorry." I apologized. "It's just hard for me to imagine you doing that when most of us Americans are more used to our version of the Invisible Man going berserk and destroying everything he can."

"Oh, I was mad all right. Have you ever tried shaving your face with a razor, when you can't tell where your nose and lips are? Hurts like the dickens when you miss, I'll tell you."

My cell phone blinked.

"One last question and then I'll have to recharge my phone."

"May I watch?"

"I think it'll take lot longer than the thirty minutes you've given me."

"In that case." He spoke as he stood. "I shall return tomorrow at the same time and we'll continue this...uh...interview."

I stood as well and took his hand in mine. "It would be a pleasure. And I'd like to thank you for thinking of me like this."

He went to the door, opened it and turned back. "And I'd like to thank you for creating me." He winked. "Especially creating me like I am, and not that other horrid fellow you described." And with those last words, he departed my hotel. I watched him descend to the ground floor, and then as he walked, he seemed to fade into the evening light, like a ghost dematerializing.

I went back to my phone, plugged it into its recharger, and then mulled over our few words. Next interview, I intended to be better prepared than this time.

I'll publish the second part of our interview once it is done. He promised tomorrow, but one never knows with one's creations what they will actually do until they accomplish it.
Your friend and author.

John Pirillo

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	The OceanMaker (2014) 11 min  |  Animation, Short, Action  |  9 October 2014 (USA) 8.4 Your rating:     -/10   Ratings: 8.4/10 from 34 users   Reviews: 2 user After the seas have disappeared, a courageous young female pilot fights against vicious sky pirates for control of the last remaining source of water: the clouds. Director: Lucas Martell Writer: Lucas Martell
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(New) Interview with the Devil: Professor Moriarity Part Five By John Pirillo, artwork, stories, videos at ImagineNation

Interview with the Devil: Professor Moriarity

Part Five
By John Pirillo

"Men strive against men, until they realize that all men are one and the same, just images of their own self, good or bad, but all on the same path of knowledge that eventually leads to personal liberation." Professor Moriarity

I had to wonder. If this Moriarity had a brother named Sherlock, and then did all the others as well? Perhaps this explained the inexplicable rivalry and darkness between the two men. Two souls intimately bound, but on such different roads in life that they were bound to clash sooner or later, as all family members do.

But in the case of Holmes and Moriarity, their clashes took on proportions of gods, seizing all about them in a frenzy of destruction and madness.

Before you go ranting about how Holmes would never do that, you must remember that one has already done so. In the Baker Street Universe one Holmes was not only bad, but evil as well. Can you imagine that brilliant intellect turned astray...how much different than Moriarity than could he have become?

The interview continues now:

Finally, able to breathe once more, if a bit tightly after the revelation, I managed to relax my tensed body enough to go to the next question. Please bear in mind that in between these sessions are sometimes hours of time for the necessary recharging, or perhaps for some moments of meditation and thought as to what to pursue next.

If I say nothing else about Professor Moriarity as he calls himself, or the Black Hand, he is a gentleman and a man of honor...to me.

"Okay. Now I'm really in uncharted waters." I replied to him, his eyes looking like dancing pools of light at that moment, as he gave me a look of amusement that only one such as he could achieve.

Morina shifted uncomfortably on her own chair, and whether from concern for our comfort, or discomfort with the direction of our interview, got up and headed out of the room. We could hear her preparing something, though what we didn't know at that time.

"It's okay, lad. Swimming is sometimes best done, when you fear sinking into the depths instead."

I nodded. One thing was for sure. This Moriarity was not like my James, nor like the terror of the Conan Doyle stories. At least the stories I had read. Perhaps he was an extension of yet another Conan Doyle, who turned another path with his writing. At that thought I hurriedly scribbled some notes to myself to look into that possibility and its ramifications.

"Please, Professor Moriarity."

"Morey. Please use my name Morey."

"Professor Morey."

"No, just Morey."

"Morey."

He nodded.

"Did you always know that Sherlock Holmes was your brother?"

He considered that question a long time and I'm sure his answer, which comes next, will tell you why he so carefully considered his response. "Yes and no."

He leaned forward in that same conspiratorial manner he used when becoming intimate with me with the facts. "You see, I was separated from my true parents at birth. I never knew my real father or mother."

"That must have been traumatic."

"Oh, it was, but only once I'd found out I had a brother and knew of all the years of his companionship I had missed. And..." (Here he sighs deeply and his eyes moisten.)..."And to find him only once he's become my worst adversary.

He shook his head, mopped his eyes clear with his sleeve, and then paused to reflect further. "And to know that there could only be one of you alive in your world. That drains a man of heart and spirit."

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir."

He nodded, and then dismissed my words with his next. "Do not be. He was a rogue, a scoundrel, a thief and a murderer of the worst proportions. He alone was responsible for the death of thousands of innocent children and women."

I almost cried out at the horror of those words. He examined my face, and then went on. "A grave is a grave, whether for young or old, male or female. The loss is the humanity. All those souls who might have accomplished..."

He shrugged. Not able to say more.

Suddenly he relaxed when Morina came back in and wrapped her arms about his shoulders and hugged him from behind. "Oh Daddy, if I had only known!"

"I had to protect you." He pleaded, his eyes wetting yet again. "You are all I have of worth in this world and the next, and I would not have you become tainted like my brother had become."

She sat down next to him and too his hands. "I could never be like anyone else but you. You are the flag I follow, the ship I sail upon."

At that moment he broke down and I turned off my cell phone.

Okay, I'm back. I won't tell you what happened during the break. This is something he made me promise not to tell. I will only say that yet again it reminded me of how different this man was from the villainous ones I have written about. This gives me hope that in all of God's vast universe there is hope for good to sprout and take root even in the hardest of soils.

"Are you okay with continuing now?" I asked, my hand poised over my voice recorder app activation button.

He nodded, blew his nose in a pink hanky, and then shoved it into his pocket. He noted my glance and smiled. "Never let anyone think they've got you pegged son, or else they will be using that assumption to nail you to the wall of ignorance for the rest of your life."

"Spoken from experience?"

"Not mine." He laughed, his deep eyes turning crinkly with laughter.

Morina giggled her eyes not on him, but on me. I blushed and activated my cell phone again. It only had about ten minutes more of charge left. So I decided to take a big plunge. Time was nearing for me to catch the bus to the airport and return to America. I think as I thought those words Morina was catching them in her own mind, for she gave me a look of the utmost disappointment, which I couldn't figure out at that time, but later on...after further correspondence did.

"Very well." I looked at Morina. "How old is your daughter?"

"You can't tell?" He asked, a bit surprised. "Knowing my age, what do you think she should be?"

"You look to be in her early twenties."

Morina laughed a deep rich laugh that warmed my soul and shook her head.

Moriarity didn't laugh. "You see, Mister Pirillo, both the blessing and curse of such a long life as I've had is that you can have many daughters. I've had to bury many." He paused, his eyes beginning to water again, and then caught himself. "But no, she is not that young."

She leaned across the table and took my hand which was near the cell phone. I felt this electric shock go up and down my spine.  Her eyes widened at the same time. Moriarity caught the exchange and gave us both a look of surprise and confusion.

"I'm one hundred and twenty three in July." She told me in the sweetest voice I have ever heard or probably ever will.

I glanced at my watch, not wanting to show my surprise and...I feel like a scoundrel now for writing this...and my disappointment. How could I ever fall for a woman who was so much older than me?

Yet again, her eyes widened. Her breath caught in her throat and she let out a light moan, as if struck. I felt like a cad, though at that moment I couldn't pinpoint why.

She got up suddenly and left the room.

Moriarity got up. He put his hand out. I took it.

"I think it best I see to my daughter's needs." He spoke. "See yourself out."

He turned to leave, and then looked back. "We'll meet again." He told me with certainty. Then he left the room, leaving me to my own contrivances. I gathered up my cell phone, took a last hit of the excellent tea that Morina had made for us, and headed for the front door. As I closed it I looked back and I'd swear that I saw her inside watching me, a look of intense longing in her face, but when I went to wave at her, she vanished from my view. A most peculiar and disturbing thing.

You'd think that with all my writing and fantastic stories, such an event wouldn't have such an impact on me, but my heart, let alone my soul had been more deeply affected by her presence than I had realized at the time.

And so ends my first interview with Professor Moriarity.

I'd like to say that my flight back to America was a happy one, but it was not. Our flight was diverted to an alternate landing port because of a bomb threat. To top it off, we couldn't leave the plane for hours and the bathrooms were locked to us because of the threat.

Who would put bombs in toilets? What madness has our world descended into when a man or woman can't relieve themselves in peace?

I leave you with these thoughts. That the Black Hand truly did  have a basis in fact, though not the facts I had assumed, but rather a more lofty history and one I am grateful to write about.

Before I left on my plane a courier found me and put in my hands a large manila envelope. I opened it and found a diary. It was titled, "Diary of the Black Hand."

"Dear Mister Pirillo." The note with it said.

"I assume you still have many questions about the Black Hand and I have no further need of this, so am supplying you this with the hopes you will think kindly of me after doing so, as much of what I reveal was not so bright at the time.

"Morina gives her regards.

"Your friend. I hope.

"Professor Morey Moriarity"

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(New) Stringers "A Jules and Wells Story." By John Pirillo, artwork, stories, videos at ImagineNation

 

Stringers
"A Jules and Wells Story."
By John Pirillo

"Their destiny is so entwined with that of the threads of time, that were you to unravel one thread, all threads would come undone." A Quote from Einstein.

When he awoke that morning, he neither recognized the bed he lay upon, nor the ornate wooden walls that enclosed the bedroom he slept in. He was stunned. But when he heard a noise beside him, a kind of soft nickering, he turned his head and found himself laying next to another man, whose face had a gentle composure to it. He almost screamed, but then held it back, muffling it as certainly as if his fingers could physically clutch its throat and cut off its air.

Where am I? Was his next thought. He gently untangled himself from the bedcovers and slipped to the floor, his feet touching a rich, plush carpet with thick piles of what felt like silk. He looked down and saw a pair of slippers, but they were ornate like the room and overly bright and gaudy. That alone was enough to send the alarm bells ringing, as if the sleeping man on the bed were not enough. He surveyed the room more closely and saw a tall coat rack like device that held clothes of gold and gold on two hooks. Clothing. But whose? Then he realized his arms were softly draped with a similar color as the cloth on the right of the hanging one.

He stood up and went to it, took it off and examined it. It had a hole in the middle and two arm slits. It was obviously meant to be worn like a dress of sorts. He slipped it on, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping man. He didn't want to make the situation direr than it already felt. He held no malice towards the sleeping one. He didn't know who they were, why they were there, or what they expected of him, though examining the bed sheets in the barely lit room, he could tell what might have been expected from him the night before. Except, that it couldn't have been him. He had no aversion to the male species, he just wasn't...well, male. Or female.

He looked around and saw a door of the most unusual sort. It was almost round with a well padded doorknob. He went to it and turned it quietly. He let himself out into a long corridor, where he could see endless doors stretching off into what appeared to be infinity.

Where in the hell am I? He thought.

Then a strange feeling welled within his body, as if every cell were waking up and about to explode. Ahead of him in the corridor something came. Something large. Something dark. He couldn't tell what it was. He only knew he couldn't stay there another second or he might never leave. He turned to run and as he ran, he felt the breath of something enormous blowing on the back of his body, and a heavy sound like labored breathing, then his feet vanished from beneath him and he seemed to stretch into a band of twisting ribbons of light. Before he knew what had happened, or why he did what happened next, he reached out and grabbed a string and was flung from that corridor of menace into a twisting, weaving inferno of dancing lights.

===================================================

 Stringers are neither devils or angels, but souls whose very essence is made up of the threads of time, such that they can easily dispose themselves from one timeline to another, with but a whisper of a trace of their existence or movement. Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he and Wells worked on their latest invention. A kind of radar for detecting movement through time, as well as space. True, they had one before, but it was too general. If they were to protect the fabric of time and space, they must be able to respond within nanoseconds of any disruption.

So the device that he and Wells constructed was enabled such as to pull either or both of them into a Stringer's current, so that they could mark the direction of the traveler, yet be unknown, unseen by them.

"Drats!" Cursed Wells when he accidentally burned his right thumb with the small welding unit he had built the day before. It was a micro welder, and capable of welding particles, even atoms together if necessary, but it also hurt like hell when it went off its course and touched a piece of human anatomy.

Wells could testify to that at this moment and Jules yesterday, when he made a neat little lancet of his own flesh by accidentally getting the beam off-center and drilling into his own palm. It still stuck the dickens every time he had to wash his hands, which was frequently, as he was a very neat and clean man, and the missus expected no less.

He smiled at the thought of his young bride. Even though they had grown children now, their travels through time had hardened their flesh to aging and none of them looked older than their original twenties when they began their time traveling campaigns to save the earth, and alternate earths their work had affected.

"See here, Jules."

Jules turned to look at the spike of golden energies that were spotting the screen that he had constructed for their monitor. "It looks human shaped."

"It works!"

Wells jumped up, grabbed Jules and the two of them danced about their warehouse, causing their wives, who had come over to bring lunches for them to think both had suddenly gone mad.

They stopped, grinned at their loved ones, and then settled back to their work.

"I think we need to test it further." Jules suggested.

The wives both exchanged knowing looks, and began to repack the lunches they had made.

Jules ran over to his loved one, took her close to him and whispered in her ear. "Tonight I shall propose a toast to your fine flesh that will tempt the gods."

She giggled, and allowed him to dimple her cheek with a wet kiss, then she and her friend, Well's wife, took exit from the warehouse, shutting the huge door that locked off their ventures from the outside world, then locking it, knowing full well that both men were likely not to be in the warehouse for long.

And they weren't.

They rushed to the Master of the World, whose boarding ramp was already down, raced into its passenger compartment, after in drawing the ramp, and then settled into the cockpit of the massive vessel. Powered by String Energy, the Master of the World, traveled not only through time, but space as well. It resembled a great golden, ornate jewel, so brightly polished and golden was its shape.

"Powering up."

"Strings interacting." Wells announced, pleased at the swift response of the ship's engines. They had just serviced them. The battle against the Mummy things had caused a great strain on the engines, which were not supposed to be so close to the earth all the time. They had been fine tuned for space.

"Merci." Jules said. "Weapons?"

Wells checked their power ranges. "Fully charged and ready."

He quickly looked at Jules. "You don't think we're going into battle, do you?"

"Of course not. Do we ever think such, mon ami?"

Wells shrugged, knowing full well, there were few times they hadn't been in a battle when they flew the Master of the World. It seemed to be their fate to always be in the midst of a worldwide calamity, or battle.

"Launch!" Wells told his friend.

"Launching!" Jules said, the tension of doing so knotting the muscles in his neck and back.

They both silently prayed, for their new engines were supposed to be able to tell the difference between a roof and time space, and had been attuned to cross through solid objects by sliding slightly out of normal time and space.

The Master of the World rose like a mighty dragon into battle.

======================================================

He erupted. More probably exploded through the maze of bursts of light and spectacular colors and found himself standing on a lonely landscape. Everywhere he looked in that cold domain there were collapsed structures, what must have been fallen buildings of some long lost civilization. He then realized his feet were naked, as was he. The clothing he had worn, the slippers, all gone. How? Why?

He shuddered. As much from fear as the cold that was seeping through his extremities into his limbs from the frosted ground beneath his feet. He looked down and saw something bright. He stooped to a knee and felt for it like a blind man might, not wanting to believe what he had found. He lifted it gently, as if it were the most precious thing in the universe, then a tear began to form. He had begun to recognize where he was. His heart pounded with the pain of it, flitting images of women and men whom he had loved, trusted and shared smashed through his mind, shattering on the reefs of cold, unyielding certainty. They were all gone. Forever.

Why?

"You know why." Jules voice spoke from behind him.

He turned around.

Jules and Wells stood there, a look of compassion written on their faces. They could feel his despair, for they had known it as well, but perhaps not as frequently as this man or being that stood before them.

"Who are you?"

"Friends."

"Where am I?"

"You already know that answer." Wells told him, feeling a kind of reluctance to speak, but knowing he must to help the man retain his sanity.

"How?"

"You know that as well." Jules reminded him.

The man looked down at his feet, as if the solution to his questions lay there, then up again. "Can you help me?"

"No." Jules answered sadly.

"Then why are you here?"

"To point you in the right direction."

"Are you angels?"

Wells and Jules gave each other solemn looks bordering on mirth, and then looked back at the man. "If that will help you to understand. Yes."

"Then I will go with you."

"No. You won't." Jules told the man, who was looking more and more distressed as they spoke.

"You have nowhere to go." Wells told him.

The man sat down hard on a broken slab with an attached piece of metal to it. He glanced at the metal. It had San Francisco written on it. What did that mean?

"Do you know why I am here?"

"To escape the past and preserve the future." Wells told him.

"But there is no future here." The man said.

Jules and Wells sat down next to him.

Jules brought out some bread and offered it. The man took it and ate hungrily.

"No. There is no future here, nor anywhere for what you were. But there is a future for what you've become."

The man stopped eating and looked at them long and hard. "What have I become?"

"A Stringer."

"It sounds strange."

"It is. To us. But not to you."

The man suddenly nodded. He knew what they talked about. "I reached out and pulled myself from where I was with twists of color that stretched into infinity." He looked at Jules. "That is what a Stringer is then?"

"Yes. You can manipulate time and space."

"But why would I want to do that?"

"To save your sanity."

The man rose. "I am not hungry anymore."

Jules and Wells rose as well.

"You two don't belong here either, do you?"

"No. This world can no longer be helped. Its people made bad choices, and now they are gone." Jules responded.

Wells nodded. "It is one of many such chances for worlds."

"Chances?" The man asked, a bit amused at the way Wells said it.

"Yes. In the infinite tapestry of what the Creator has made, he has created many chances for us to learn what we must."

"You could say that our lives are our lessons and the world we live upon, the stage for those lessons to play out."

"You sound like gods."

"We do not feel like one." Jules said with the hint of a smile.

The man reached a hand out. "I think I understand now."

Jules took it and shook. "We thought you might."

"I'm not the first?"

"No."

"Then there are others?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

Wells smiled brightly for the first time. "Everywhere."

"How will I find them?"

"Just reach out." Jules said. "Just reach out."

Then he and Wells turned around and headed for what appeared to be a road of destruction, but as they continued a gigantic golden vessel began to become visible, emerging from the shadows like an invisible being thrusting into the light.

The man pondered the mystery of the two men a moment, then he felt something stir in the air near him. He felt a kind of radiance. He turned towards it and reached out. Something reached back towards him and he took hold of it and allowed himself to be thrust once more into bursts of twisting light that strung through infinity like endless coils of dancing laughter.

======================================================

Wells closed the ramp door, and then he and Jules slid into their pilot and co-pilot positions in the cockpit. "You think we'll meet him again?"

Jules shrugged. "We did what we came to do. What will be, will be."

Wells sighed. "It must be lonely for them."

"I think not." Jules said with a smile. "For they have infinity to roam and forever to live and one can do so much with all of that."

"Yes." Wells said brightly. "That does sound nice."

Then Jules sent the Master of the World stringing back towards their home time and world.

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