by Ray Deeg
But emerging truths threatened those beliefs. He could hear Mildred’s words and suddenly imagined a young boy’s face, the skin and flesh erased. He heard the boy’s cries of pain and felt his horror. Suddenly that high ground began to tremble. Tom clutched Gwen’s hand and imagined Phillip’s cries, growing louder in his mind. Phillip’s shrieks echoed in Tom’s ears, and he could imagine intelligent men cruelly standing by, indifferently recording the results from some unholy experiment and pretending not to hear.
And now these impeccably timed envelopes, Phillip’s patent, a time loop in the novel of a madman—but a madman who understood something. And these feelings of déjà vu—he felt time running out. It was a cycle he knew well from his dreams. He could sense it approaching in the smell of the air and the temperature on his skin. He could feel inevitability surround him, and he felt powerless. “The Large Hadron Collider is scheduled to fire in two hours and fifty-two minutes,” Tom said.
Gwen eyed Tom. “I see you suffering in there,” she said softly. “I’m as confused as you, but the suffering is unnecessary. It never helps, and it always hurts.”
Tom knew she was right; there was nothing to feel guilty about. He was trying to do right, trying to figure out this mess, just as any reasonable person would. “Tell me about not suffering,” Tom answered.
“Well, do you want the soft and sweet, everything’s-gonna-be-all-right version, or the truth about what’s happening up there?”
“I’ll take the truth.”
“Now I’m going to start billing you,” Gwen replied.
Tom finally grinned. “I knew this was a setup.”
“I used to allow fear, guilt, and doom to permeate my life,” Gwen said, turning toward him. “It’s natural. As the fear and anger play over and again in our minds, we allow them to become part of our story, to become woven into the narrative of our lives. We start thinking that the negative thoughts in our imaginations are part of the real-time information coming in from our five senses. And it’s tough for anyone to unweave the memories from the fears we conjure. It’s easy to react to the people around us based on fear. Even today, I allow the fear playing up here to become the narrative instead of paying attention to what I actually see and hear. It’s so easy to add more meaning than is really there. It’s so easy to stop listening to the things out here. The squatter is always pulling our wires and strings, so the interactions we have with so many people are doomed because they never got to speak with us. And, Tom, we never got to speak with them.”
“It’s so obvious,” Tom said. “Yet I need a reminder so I don’t slip back into the same routine.”
“We all do. The first step is to give yourself some time each day when it’s quiet out here and up there. Some people call it meditation, but I don’t use that word because of the hokey images it conjures. During your quiet time, simply observe fear and how it arises. Watch it as if from a distance. Just watch these thoughts as they creep into your consciousness, nothing more. Notice how the squatter lets the fear loose to run amok in your head like a bull in a china shop when there’s nothing actually happening out here. You’re terrified, but nothing is happening—isn’t that funny? The sky might be blue, the sun might be shining, but your squatter has a horror reel rolling with the volume full blast. Feel how your body reacts to those fears, locking you in an endless cycle of feeling defensive and guilty, of trying to reason with the squatter—as if you’d ever win. The natural reaction is to treat those negative feelings like giant rocks you’re required to carry around. Picture a man dragging a bag of boulders through the desert. It’s his duty to carry them, and they’re so heavy that he’s sweating, but he keeps dragging them, and it’s using all his energy. That’s what we do. But your thoughts are just thoughts, nothing more. There are no rocks. Thoughts have no weight or mass; they’re like the wind. But rather than open the window and let in a fresh breeze, we keep it closed so we can examine them. Notice how it keeps you distracted, takes you away from what’s really happening in your life.
“I did it too. Still do. But the more I paid attention and began to see the stories emerge from a distance, the more I realized that I was reacting unconsciously. I was letting myself become involved with those narratives as if that noise were real. Remember that the real you is one that sees and listens. You are the one observing. And it’s easy to weave the negative feelings of the squatter into your own story and think it’s actually happening.
“Another racket is something you’ve told me about yourself: feeling like a hamster on the wheel. It’s the idea that we have to be at a certain level to be happy, accepted. That we have to kill ourselves to stay at our rung on the ladder. It’s the false notion that we need to have X amount of dollars in the bank. And all these stories make you pity yourself or feel guilty or hate the world—all while distracting you from seeing what’s actually happening right in front of you. You wallow endlessly in your own suffering, dragging your bag of rocks through life.” Gwen tapped Tom’s arm. “And that’s why so many people can’t function. They’re too busy suffering in silence, too tired to look away from their rocks. Do you see how silly it is debating with the squatter? Doing so precludes the possibility that you’d react properly to what’s actually happening out here. And, of course, when you aren’t fully engaged out here, you miss opportunities. Life becomes far tougher than it needs to be.”
“I’m starting to understand living in real time,” Tom said. He noticed their driver listening intently, but watching and listening to Gwen was easy.
“I’ve found that the secret to releasing fear and emotion is to allow yourself to feel the fear. Feel it because you choose to and because it’s a natural first reaction. Own it, realize it’s real, and admit it. Then take hold of it, realize what it is from a distance, and breathe it out. Let it go.” There were far too few Gwens in the universe, Tom thought, empathetic and curious, endlessly seeking the true shape of the world and lifting heavy hearts from the shadows, teaching them how to leave all their darkness behind. She was endowed with an incredible mind, with outer beauty as well as a remarkable inner strength. Tom remembered kissing her those many years ago and found himself staring again.
The car exited the freeway, and Tom broke his stare to see familiar neighborhoods and streets lined with autumn leaves. The car pulled into the driveway of a rather plain-looking two-story house set toward the back of the property. Tom tapped his phone to pay the driver, and they began walking up the driveway.
“My mother had a chair sitting right over there, and I remember her always reading right there, waiting for me to come home from school.” He pushed over a large rock and retrieved a key hidden underneath.
Inside, a pile of mail sat on the coffee table. “Does anyone come in here?” she asked.
“A handyman visits twice a month to landscape, bring in the mail, tidy up,” Tom replied. “I wasn’t ready to let it go, but after seeing that woman’s apartment…”
The two walked through the kitchen and then down a hallway.
“OK, let’s look at this model train,” Tom said. He opened a door toward the end of the hall and flipped up a switch on the inside wall. Small cobwebs had begun to accumulate on the stairwell ceiling. “And now, Gwen Pierce, you are exactly where I want you—alone with me.”
“Help,” she said softly, descending the first step. A small strand of cobweb attached itself to her hair as she stepped down.
Tom noticed. “May I?” he asked, holding his hand out.
“You may.”
He reached for the strand and removed it from her hair. Their eyes locked. It was a tender moment, but he hesitated. There was something missing—he felt it.
As they descended each step, Tom remembered being carried by his grandfather. The basement floor came into view, and he saw it sitting exactly where he expected it to be. A tan sheet covered the model, but there it was, as it had been each time he’d descended the steps for the last thirty-four years. When they reached the basement, Tom
quickly moved to the far end of the model. Everett Lemily, the machine, the particle collider, a time loop…He lifted the end of the sheet, revealing the miniature world. They took in the buildings, the landscaping, and the people who lived in that tiny place. They saw the bridge Tom had mentioned, and it was indeed identical to the one they had seen near Tuxedo Park. And there were letters on the little water tower. Gwen walked around the model to get a better view. As she did, the words came into view. “New Hope,” he read aloud. “It can’t be,” Tom said as they stared. “Yet I remember it.”
Tom flashed to the countless hours he’d spent playing with the model at an age when the letters on the blue tower were just meaningless symbols. But there it was, as plain as day. New Hope. They were more than words that spelled the name of the town; they were a directive to break free from the ways of the past, to move forward to a positive, transformative place. New Hope!
“Everett Lemily built this model,” Gwen said. “It’s not magic; we know he lived in New Hope. He would have seen the water tower there. He was only reproducing the things he saw around him.”
Tom moved to a shelf on the far wall. It was filled with various tools. He took a hammer, a screwdriver, a flashlight, and a vice grip. “And the bridge near Tuxedo Park—he would have seen that too, I guess,” Tom replied as he worked it out in his mind. “Yes, that makes sense. This has to be a Lemily model, no doubt about it.” He knelt at the base of the model and studied the bolts that held it together. He jammed the screwdriver in between the wood and wedged it in with several blows from the hammer.
“What are you doing?” Gwen asked.
“It’s too heavy,” Tom said, prying the wood up. “Even as a kid, I wondered why the base was so big and heavy.” He created a nice wedge and used the vice grips to pull back the edge of the wood panel. With a guttural heave, the wood tore, splintering off the end. Tom shone the flashlight inside the hole he’d made. He gazed in, and his face turned white and his jaw dropped.
“What?” Gwen asked. She knelt down next to him.
Tom held the flashlight and moved aside so she could see. The base of the model train was not square and made of plywood; it was circular and made of a strange copper-and-black metal. There was a large wheel hidden inside the model’s base, an intricate web of latticework connecting the outer wheel to a center hub. The craftsmanship was unmistakable, the design undeniable. It matched the drawing they’d seen in Tesla’s notebook precisely. Tom’s model train set was clearly built to conceal the main wheel of Tesla’s machine. The realization was overwhelming, but in that very moment, it all clicked. Everett Lemily, Phillip Hartger, Tuxedo Park, Empyrean Ventures. He wanted so desperately to get at the wheel, to touch it and feel the metal on his skin. He unfastened the hinges on top of the model’s base and began sliding off the top.
CHAPTER 49
AS TOM BEGAN sliding the model off the base, Gwen looking on, a voice at the foot of the steps rang out. “He stole it, you know,” Esha Durga said calmly.
Tom and Gwen looked up in horror to see the tall man’s piercing brown eyes burning into theirs. He was holding a black Beretta. Ashok and Chandran finished their descent into the basement, and all three men stood watching. Tom studied the three for a moment, accepting, yet again, that his position had been compromised. “That’s what we were told,” Tom replied in an equally calm voice. “And I turned off my phone’s GPS. How did you find us this time?”
“Look with an open heart and mind, with single eye and purpose, Mr. Hartger, and anything can be found,” Esha replied. “And by the looks of it, we have arrived just in time.”
Tom squinted his eyes and shook his head. “From where I stand, it’s obvious that we’re doing all the looking—and the finding, too,” he replied. “And there’s nothing too mysterious about what you’re doing—strong-arming and stealing. Look, it’s obvious you’re going to take this, too. But in the name of all that’s good, if you know what this is all about, could you just tell us?”
Chandran and Ashok nodded in agreement. Esha bobbed his head for a moment and then spoke. “Did you know that Phillip Hartger’s father, your great grandfather, was a machinist at the Tower House Laboratory?”
“No.”
“Phillip grew up in Tuxedo Park, and from 1928 to 1932, when he and Everett Lemily were young boys, they were part of the cleaning crew at the Tower House lab. They swept floors, ran errands, fetched coffee. And the two boys watched the greatest minds in science create devices and technology of all kinds. But of all the things going on at the lab, project Skyring was the most fascinating.”
Tom could sense what was coming. He thought about picking up the hammer, but there were three of them. And he had Gwen to consider. He’d listen, let it play out.
“At first, the machine’s corona wasn’t stable,” Esha continued. “The interference pattern created flares, and they didn’t just burn—the corona’s edge erased matter. So the scientists tested the machine using animal subjects, mostly stray dogs and rabbits. Dozens were erased or cut in half by the unstable nature of the interference pattern. But once they learned to synchronize the harmonic coils, the corona was stabilized.”
Tom’s imagination was taking hold, his gag reflex kicking in. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to know. Just take the wheel and leave us in peace,” he said sternly.
Esha ignored him and continued. “Test after test, and the corona did not burn a single hair on a single animal. Months passed. One of the scientists even placed his hand inside the corona in an effort to convince Loomis and Tesla that they were ready for testing on human subjects. But when it came time to volunteer, no one had the grit—even though anyone nearby could feel the power of the collective resonating within themselves. But after seeing animals cut in half, you can imagine that no one wanted to be first.
“One morning, a very young and curious Everett Lemily was sweeping the floor in the Skyring laboratory. He sat down and strapped himself into the machine, imagining all the incredible places he might go. One of Loomis’s scientists, a man who would later take his own life, noticed Everett and asked him if he’d like to take a ride.”
Tom couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but what other explanation could there be?
Esha moved closer. “Everett Lemily was the first person to see behind the curtain. That was in July of 1929. He’d just turned nine years old. They did many experiments and quickly realized that Everett’s thoughts could be broadcast through the field into the collective. While he was in the corona, his thoughts were amplified and discharged through the Gulf to everyone on this side of the field. And his thoughts had a profound impact.
“In August, they began an experiment so they could gauge to what degree they might affect people’s sentiments, sway their opinions. What things in this world are affected by sentiment and by opinion, do you think? What would a Wall Street tycoon try to affect? But first, Loomis and his colleagues sold off their equity positions, divested themselves. Then, while Everett was in the machine’s corona, they had him read a series of ideas. They told Everett the stock market was overvalued, a Ponzi scheme. They told him that the whole mess was worthless, that it would crash. They made three broadcasts, and you already know the rest.”
Tom knew Esha was telling the truth; he could see it in the man’s eyes. And even so, it all made sense.
“Everett told his best friend, Phillip, about the machine and its power. Phillip was the second person to see behind the curtain. Those boys were ideal subjects because they had no preconceived notions and didn’t understand the danger they were in. Both boys were used in live experiments over the course of several years. But in January of 1932, the machine’s corona was destabilized by a secondary force crossing through the corona, a ripple of sorts.”
“A collision from the particle collider,” Tom said.
Esha nodded. “When you recreate conditions that occurred at the moment of the Big Bang, you’re going to break bread.”
“Eggs,” Asho
k said, “When you make an omelet, you’re going to break eggs.”
Esha looked annoyed. “There was an explosion,” he continued. “Phillip’s arm, shoulder, and one side of his face were erased. Are the pieces coming together?”
Gwen moved closer to Tom.
“And those boys got a taste of something so profound that it changed their lives. You must understand how it works. You can feel people’s thoughts, touch the magnetic chain of humanity, see the future and the past, and even broadcast your thoughts into the collective. But you cannot travel unless you are completely rejoined. You see, the quantum vibrations that occur inside the microtubules of the human brain keep your consciousness anchored here. Being alive prevents the soul from being pulled back into the Gulf and rejoined with the infinite. By becoming rejoined, one can make anything happen. So far, no one has. But positive and negative always attract, and ripples from the Hadron Collider traveled within the Gulf, across space and time, and fused with those of the machine. That was on January 13, 1932.”
Tom listened, and the pieces fell into place. His dreams, the déjà vu. He saw the newscasters reporting live from Geneva and heard Heckie’s words about humanity repeating its mistakes forever. He thought about the J. P. Morgan Trust and the letters, with their impeccable sense of orchestration and timing. Someone knows the future.
“And this record-breaking test being performed at the particle collider in two hours—this is when they become fused?” Tom asked.
Esha nodded.
“And if someone doesn’t travel into the collective, and correct the tear that’s been made, time will begin again on January 13, 1932, like a needle skipping on a record?”