The Theory of Insanity

by Rick Newberry

  “It makes sense, but there’s something more to it than that.”

  I lifted my glass. “Go on, then, Miss Greene, read my mind.”

  She pursed her lips and let out a breath. “You think Sebastian spied on us today.”

  “Well,” I said placing my drink back down on the bar, “in all fairness, I’m not sure it was him.”

  “But you think it was. And you saw someone else, too, a woman. Why would he, or they, want our mission to fail?”

  “That, my dear, is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”

  She finished off her beer in two quick swallows, set the glass down on the bar, and burped. A quick, amusing sound. “Sorry.”

  “Nice one. Okay look, I’m not sure of his motives. Maybe he’s got our best interests at heart, maybe not. But since this is our last try, it’s up to you and me to get the job done. So, what do you say you tell me about the last eight attempts, and we keep it from Sebastian—agreed?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “He told me his team is working to fix the communications problem. He also says they’re working on some kind of a secret weapon that might help us out.”

  “Yeah, he told me the same thing. But, we can’t depend on something that might help us out. When we get back to earth, it’ll really only be just you and me. Trust me. Let’s keep this conversation between us, yeah?”

  “You know, he can wander through my thoughts just as easily as I can yours.”

  “Are you sure about that? It’s getting easier for me to keep you out. Let me ask you something, how good are your math skills?”

  She ordered another stout and took a pull. Wiping off the foamy mustache, she smiled. “Nine divided by nine equals one. Eighteen divided by nine equals two. Twenty-seven divided by nine—”

  “Division tables…impressive. All right, show-off, that’s enough.”

  She laughed. “I’ll practice that as I tell you everything about the last eight times we traveled back to save the world.”

  “That-a girl. Don’t leave anything out.” I ordered another bourbon.

  The noise of the café covered our whispered conversation. Samantha did an excellent job of briefing me on each of our failed attempts at changing history. Sebastian said someone in Dr. Knight’s inner circle had planted the bomb, yet he didn’t offer up the guilty party’s name, so it must be speculation. Still, Samantha and I discussed a list of possible suspects.

  I asked the bartender for a napkin and pen—and another round.

  “I never trusted Morton Sully,” I said. “He’s always rubbed me the wrong way.”

  “But, the man’s got a family, six children, and a loving wife. Besides, what’s his motive? Why would he blow up his meal ticket? Sully may be arrogant and self-important—”

  “You’re being kind.”

  She snickered. “I just can’t see him doing in Knight, but for sake of argument, we’ll keep his name on the list.”

  “Good. How about you? Who made your top ten?”

  “You’ll think I’m crazy,” Samantha said. “Maybe I am, but I’ve always wondered about Mrs. Knight.”

  “Tilly? You’re kidding, right? Trouble in paradise?”

  “You have heard how the good doctor can sometimes be…well, bad, yes?”

  “Because he’s bisexual? He came out years ago. The man’s just practicing what he preaches, that’s all.”

  “Yes, he and Tilly have an open marriage, it’s true, but it wasn’t always that way. And now that Jeremy Cranston has come along—”

  “C’mon, Sam, the media plays up all of the doctor’s trysts, you know that.”

  She cocked her head. “This one’s different, certainly you’ve noticed—Tilly has.”

  “I’ll admit I haven’t been in the inner circle very long, but I really don’t see her as the jealous type. Besides, what about her tête-à-têtes with Julie? No, I don’t see Tilly as a murderer, especially over something like this.”

  “Till death do us part…” She let the words hang, waiting for a response.

  My turn to frown. “So, you think she’d bomb the Las Vegas Arena because of Jeremy Cranston? I’d sooner put his name on our list. After all, what do we really know about him?”

  “Agreed, his name goes on the list, but let’s not drop hers just the same.”

  “Okay, but I think it’s a dead end.”

  Samantha giggled. “This is fun, isn’t it?”

  “Yup, it’s all fun and games till the world blows up.”

  “What a downer.” She finished her beer. A fresh one took its place.

  “Okay, so let’s see who we’ve got so far.” I glanced at the napkin and read off the names we’d added, “Jeremy Cranston, Knight’s latest fling. My guy JoJo Jackson. Morton Sully, the little prick. And finally, Tilly Knight.”

  “Why would you suspect JoJo? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  I hesitated, searching for the words. “I hired him last minute, just because of this job. I didn’t really have time to fully vet him, and even though he came highly recommended…” I shouldn’t suspect JoJo, but for some reason, his name kept popping up in the back of my mind. “I don’t know, I really can’t come up with a good reason to suspect him, then again…”

  Samantha cleared her throat, pulling me out of my aimless thoughts. “Seems like a short list, doesn’t it?”

  “Yup, it is a short list. But remember, Knight also has a boatload of outside enemies—too many for us to ever track down. Too many homophobes, too many evangelicals—too many anti-globalists. The only thing my team could do to protect him against that list was to screen all incoming attendees as best we could. Shit.”

  “What is it?”

  “When I think back on it, the Knight job was huge—bigger than anything my company was ready to handle. What was I thinking?” I counted off on my fingers. “First, my staff was way too small, which is why I had to hire JoJo last minute. Second, we didn’t have the proper gear, the stuff we should have had—facial recognition equipment, bomb sniffing dogs, those sorts of things. I don’t know how we ever won the bid to begin with.”

  “Burns.” Samantha and I both said the same name at the same time. Gunther Burns, the man in charge of awarding contracts.

  At the time, I considered myself a genius, underbidding all the other top protection firms to land the Knight’s job. I finished off the swill in the bottom of my glass. “Do you think Burns wanted my understaffed, underequipped team on the job? Fuck me.” I drank.

  “Mr. Davis, it’s not like you to use the “f” bomb. She polished off her beer and let out a massive belch. “Shit, that hurt.” We both doubled over with laughter. She struggled to speak. “I have…I have never said” —another burp, another chortle— “I’ve never said that word…in my life.”

  My eyes teared up at the beer trickling from her nose. I hadn’t had this much fun since before the war. My head swam as I remembered to count. “Two times…two…no, too much beer. Whoops, I mean…what?”

  Samantha snickered. “Maybe we should knock off the drinks…or have another round.”

  I rubbed at my eyes and took a breath. We’d be leaving for earth in about two hours. This kind of fun had to stop. I raised my hand to the bartender. “Two coffees, please.”

  “Enjoy,” he said. Steam from two piping hot cups of black coffee wafted into the air.

  “Here, Sam.” I nudged the coffee cup in front of her, sliding her beer glass away. “I may have said the “f” bomb, but I don’t suppose getting bombed is your thing either.”

  A wry smile crept across her lips. “It isn’t yours either. Ka-boom.” Another round of laughter overtook her. “You see what I did there?”

  “Yes, I did. Now drink your coffee.”

  “Bombed as in drunk,” she said, “and bombed as in…well…you know.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I hit the bottle pretty hard after the war, but never considered myself an alcoholic. I truly could stop drinking whenever I want
ed. Being here, at the bar, with Sam was fun, but a goal came with the guzzling. Sam and I were heading into battle as a team. I needed to know how she thought, what made her tick, and I didn’t have much time.

  “Thank you, Sam.”

  “For what?”

  “Can’t you read my mind? I’ve stopped multiplying.” I took a deep breath. “I’m not very good at this sort of thing—haven’t had much practice, I guess. This is our last chance to try and change history, to try and save a few billion souls. What I’m trying to say—”

  “You’re welcome.” She gave me a sweet smile and placed her hand on my forearm. “I’m sorry you didn’t get a chance to see your parents.”

  “Yeah, well, rules are rules.” I swallowed the last of my coffee. “I guess they can’t just let the common people wander around Heaven, now can they? At least I know they’re okay, and that makes me feel good.”

  Her smile never wavered as her eyes narrowed. “Would you like to see Heaven?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I want to take you to a place where you can literally look down into Heaven.”

  “Look down into heaven?”

  Samantha gave me a wink and hopped off her bar stool. “Whoa.” She held on to my arm and steadied herself. “Watch that first step. C’mon, follow me.”

  I reached for my wallet. I smiled at the force of habit, then shrugged and trailed after her.

  VIII

  We slipped back onto the avenue, merging in with the millions of souls marching by. I held on to Sam’s hand, letting her direct me toward two enormous skyscrapers a few hundred feet ahead. Their walls were brilliant in a dazzling outline of turquoise neon. The sun warmed my face and I took in a deep lungful of sweet, fragrant air. What a perfect day to be dead. The thought brought a smile to my face—a perfect day for my situation. I squeezed Samantha’s hand. “I wouldn’t want to lose you.”

  “No, that would be a terrible thing.”

  “We’re going to need enough time to get back to the House of Questions before noon. How far is heaven?”

  “Just ahead and to the left.”

  During our time in the café, the number of souls on the avenue had increased. Now, every step forward was a challenge. The colorful shops on either side of the street filled with patrons—how could they not?

  “C’mon, Brooks, help me,” Samantha said tightening her grip on my hand. “We’ve got to move over to the left, towards the turquoise neon.” She did her best to shove me over. We inched to the left, two small fish fighting a turbulent ocean of people.

  We finally managed to drift across to the sidewalk on the left side of the avenue and stood under an arch connecting the two neon skyscrapers. Glancing back at the clear influx of souls arriving, I shuddered. At this rate, in just a few hours, all movement would cease.

  Samantha smiled up at me. “Relax. Take a deep breath.”

  I followed orders, filling my lungs with fragrant air, and did my best to do nothing at all.

  “I’ve always enjoyed your meditation sessions,” Samantha said, “it’s like a contact high for me.”

  “Glad it helps.” With a final cleansing breath, my inner self rejuvenated. “Lead the way.”

  I glanced at the individuals shuffling by, the ones not involved in shopping, and took note of their facial expressions. Serene—quiet and content, they posed no apparent threat to us and seemed resigned to their present state of moving along with the flow. I smiled at them as they passed. I even waved to one or two of them. My greetings were returned in kind. Even though they herded along like so many compliant sheep, the cynic in me sensed the mood of the crowd could change at any moment.

  We trudged along in slow motion, like leaving a baseball game at the end of extra innings, but still hoping to beat the crowd to the parking lot. For whatever reason, a soothing sensation of calm trickled down my spine.

  “Mob mentality,” Samantha said.

  Her words brought me out of my dream-like trance. “What?”

  “The crowd is calm, so you’re calm. Millions of emotions blending together, mixing a tonic that’s hard to resist.”

  “A good thing, right?”

  “Not always. You’ve heard of The Lucifer Effect?”

  I shook my head.

  “Sometimes, especially in a crowd this big, people may act out in evil or aggressive ways—a result of collective identity. You’ve seen it happen during peaceful protests that turn violent, or at soccer matches.”

  “Hooligans?”

  “Exactly. In other words, you can hope for the best, but it’s best to keep alert.”

  Shuffling along, I contemplated my new reality. Those thoughts soon manifested into questions. Sebastian spoke of a technology so advanced he could reanimate the dead, guide their soul to earth, and send them back in time. If he could do all that, why were simple communications impossible? How did Sebastian expect to change history if he couldn’t transmit a single word to me? Who exactly was Sebastian Thorogood? More importantly, who were The Nefarists?

  “You mustn’t think of those things,” Samantha said. “Those questions will eventually drive you mad.”

  I glanced down at her. “Gee, that’s a cheery thought.”

  “I’m sorry. Okay, no more negative thoughts. You and I are going back to earth, and we’re going to fix all this. End of story.” She wriggled her hand free and looped her arm through my elbow. “Stay with me, we need to get to that staircase.”

  “What staircase?” I glanced about, noticing a slow but steady movement of the crowd funneling toward the center of the archway. We followed in their wake. A staircase appeared, filled with people marching both up and down. The stairway, covered in what appeared to be gold paint, spanned thirty yards at the base, but a fog three stories from the ground obscured it.

  “Real gold,” Samantha whispered. “The staircase is carved in gold.”

  The crush of bodies at the foot of the staircase bothered me. Sam and I were sandwiched together like ham and cheese. We were shoved forward toward the archway, like a huge and hungry mouth preparing to gobble us up.

  “Relax, Brooks. Breathe.”

  Samantha kept us on course, making tiny corrections, and steering us toward the golden staircase. Her body leaned against mine, then she eased away, then pulled me close. Her maneuvering held us on a path toward the center of the archway. After several minutes, we succeeded in reaching the first golden step.

  Because of my height, I tend to attack stairs two at a time. The multitude surrounding us made this impossible. I began my climb at a tedious pace. Sam and I soon settled into a steady rhythm, parading up the stairs in lockstep to the swarm of those around us.

  “It may sound corny,” I said, “but how did a girl like you wind up in a place like this?” She didn’t answer, so I raised my voice and tried again, “I said, how did—”

  “I heard you the first time,” she whisper-shouted. “For your information, it’s considered impolite to ask someone how they died.” She drew in a long breath and blew it out, her cheeks puffing. “However, since you’re new here, I’ll forgive you. I’ve been here for quite some time before being assigned to you. Let’s just leave it at that, shall we?”

  “Sorry, I was just curious about—”

  “Once again, asking someone when they passed, or even worse, how they passed is simply not done.”

  I bit my tongue. “Got it.”

  We ascended the stairway, climbing through the fog at a robotic pace. Not nearly as many people crowded me as back on the avenue. The additional breathing room was a fantastic plus to the climb. The people around us were an interesting mix. Those descending the stairs appeared serene and at peace, while those climbing the stairs with us wore expressions of anxious curiosity.

  With more space around us, we quick marched up the remaining stairs until we reached a vast landing, so massive in its scale, it stopped me in my tracks. Thousands of people leaned against golden railings. They gazed down in
silence—soft whispers the order of the day. The quiet reminded me of being in a church, quite spiritual in nature. Samantha spotted an opening at the rail up ahead and tugged me along. I peered down to the view below.

  Rolling hillsides, flowering fields, and a carpet of green lifted my spirits. Everything was bathed in a warm, sunny glow. Enormous trees towered above us, colored in hues I had never seen before, their branches fluttering in a light breeze. The sight took my breath away. I drew closer to Sam and whispered, “Is this…is this really …”

  She turned to me, her eyes misting over. “Welcome to Heaven.”

  The word echoed through my mind. I’m no art expert, but I knew enough to recall the liquid lines of Van Gogh, the vibrant colors of Matisse, and the serene landscapes of Georges Seurat. Nothing prepared me for this. Words such as extraordinary, amazing, or astonishing seemed inadequate, like describing the above artists as “pretty good.”

  I stood at the railing for at least an hour, spellbound by the view. The sight of cats and dogs playing together in the tall grass made me smile. Whenever I spotted the movement of two people strolling below, hand in hand, I wanted to imagine they were my parents. I knew the odds of seeing them were close to zero, but the thought still comforted me.

  I glanced at Sam for a minute or so then backed away from the rail, crossing over to the opposite side of the landing without her noticing. This side was far less crowded. Gazing down over the barrier, I recognized the neon city, its swarm of roaming souls snaking through the avenues, and spilling over into busy shops and crowded parks. The Pearly Gate dividing the neon metropolis from heaven ran directly beneath the landing—one side paradise, the other…what? A metropolitan repository for lost souls?

  I hurried back to heaven’s side and stood next to Sam. I leaned against the railing in silence, shoulder to shoulder with her for another few minutes. Then, as I have a tendency to do, I spoiled the moment. To my credit, however, I did it with my trademarked stupid grin. “So, you do realize, we literally just climbed the Stairway to Heaven.”