Olivetti: Illumination

by Tamilore Odimayo

  “Thank you Detective! We will definitely meet again,” Frederick replied bluntly then walked out of the room.

  “It’s an honor to meet you,” the chief of Police said. Frederick wasn’t surprised. He returned a prideful look to the chief of Police who was practically drooling in awe at the sight of Frederick.

  “My name is Peter Bailey. Call me Peter. Whenever you need anything, let me know,” Chief Bailey said. Frederick smiled back. Chief Bailey’s positive enthusiasm brightened his day.

  They walked into the receiving area where tons of people were filing police reports. Right in front was Francois Gustave, his mystery helper.

  “Freddy,” Francois said, gesturing to Frederick to step outside.

  “Francois,” Frederick said, silently moving towards the door.

  “Mister Olivetti,” Chief Bailey called out. Frederick turned back towards Chief Bailey.

  “I’m sorry for the trouble,” Chief Bailey said. Frederick nodded. He turned back towards the door and walked out towards the desperate mob of news press who had coined him the name ‘mob vigilante’.

  6

  Present day

  Tom was escorted by three men into a large hall. He was dressed in brown khaki trousers and a simple green Henley tee shirt that exaggerated his muscle tone. His jet black hair rested on his back and shoulders. It had grown ridiculously long from his months in coma. The men behind him wore matching black suits with a black tie. They walked like robots with simultaneous and precise movements.

  The hall had four pillars in the middle and was covered with black diamonds and gold tiles. The walls were dark grey and had antique paintings hung on them. He had never seen them before, but knew what they were and what each painting represented. Most importantly, he recognized the Celtic symbol of strength engraved on each major corner of the walls. The ceilings were twice as high as all the rooms he had been and had magnificent lights that made the room look majestic.

  At one end of the hall, there was an elevated pavement with two lion statues beside it. At the other end of the hall, there was a gathering of people who looked like they were having a conversation without moving their lips.

  They stopped as soon as they spotted Tom. They all gazed at him in reverence and respect as Frederick stood up to welcome Tom. The three men walked out of the hall as Tom walked up to the elevated pavement where the huge conference table was. On the table were eleven different men and women. They looked like they were in their thirties, but Tom could tell they were much older than they looked. Doctor Patel was one of the people on the table. His eyes never shifted from Tom’s gaze. They stood up as Tom approached the table. Tom was surprised and uncomfortable by their reaction. There was one empty chair at the head of the table. Frederick nodded. Tom walked to the chair. He glanced at each face, carefully analyzing their response to his presence.

  “Hi everyone,” Tom said half timid and half bold, to the strangers staring at him in awe. They smiled back in response. Tom was in an awkward position. He didn’t know whether to sit or to stand. Frederick nodded at him to sit. Tom sat down and everyone did likewise.

  “Tom Olivetti,” a man at the other end of the table said in a husky voice. There were twelve people, in total, including Tom. Two men sat at the end of the table – Tom and the man with the husky voice. There were six men and four women. They all looked like people from different countries and continents. There were two Indian or Arabian looking people; one woman and the other was Doctor Sahid Patel, the man he met earlier. There were also two Asian looking people of both sexes. There were two Africans; one man and one woman. There were three Caucasian looking people; Yuri, Frederick, and the man at the end of the table. The last person, a woman, looked biracial or multiracial.

  “Feel free to look into our minds,” The man at the other end of the table said abruptly. Tom didn’t know if the man meant that he was allowed to intrude in their thoughts or whether the man was testing him. Tom calmly concentrated and soon he could hear all their thoughts.

  “Is he the one?”

  “He looks too young to be the one,”

  “He has an amazing energy and demeanor,”

  “He has to be the one. His molecular structure looks stronger than anything I have ever seen,”

  “Be calm Tom. They are just testing you,”

  “He has amazing self-control,”

  “Just like his grandfather,”

  “I can’t wait to see the length of his powers,”

  “I have waited centuries for this,”

  “Gosh who would have known Frederick Olivetti would be the one with the most special bloodline,”

  “I really hope he is worth the travel,”

  All their thoughts overlapped each other, but somehow Tom could tell who was saying what. Tom stopped. One of their thoughts caught his attention.

  “Frederick Olivetti?” Tom asked.

  Frederick Olivetti smiled back without a hint of surprise like he knew what Tom was about to say or do.

  “We are related,” Tom added.

  “Yes we are,” Frederick Olivetti confirmed.

  “How?”

  “I am your grandfather,” Tom glanced at every other person in the room who seemed to be interested in what was about to happen.

  “How’s that possible? You don’t look that much older,” Tom replied, shifting his attention completely to Frederick.

  “That’s right! Perks of being us,”

  “We’re immortal?”

  “No! No one is immortal. We can die – we can be killed, but we are not like humans. It’s a lot more difficult to kill us. One year to humans is like an hour to us, biologically. We can’t be sick; we don’t have to age and…”

  “What do you mean we don’t have to age?” Tom asked, curiously cutting Frederick off. Frederick gazed at Doctor Patel.

  “I’ll take it from here,” Doctor Patel said to Frederick. Tom shifted his attention to Doctor Patel.

  “Human beings use three to ten percent of their brain. We use fifty percent of our brain. Not enough, but still high enough to control anything our body does,” Doctor Patel said rapidly then paused for a second to wait for Tom to get it all in.

  “Good! There are parts of the brain that controls the aging process; the dissolution and sagging of the skin, the weakening of the bones, the reduced eye sight and motor function – all of which we can control. We can stop it all from happening. Think of animals – they age more quickly and that’s because they use a lesser portion of their brain. Some dogs have only a twelve year life limit. Humans have an average of seventy years. We, advanced humans, have more than that. To explain why you can hear thoughts loudly, there’s something called pheromones – everyone secrets pheromone signals. Animals use it to communicate through secretion of hormones from brain to brain. Homo sapiens are however too distracted by their environment to use their pheromones correctly – they depend too much on language and technology to express themselves. Homo Supremes or Homo Superiors – a term we have used to describe ourselves, use pheromones to read thoughts and predict human behavior. Homo Supremes have the full function of their five senses. We can hear, see, smell, feel and taste better than any human alive. The universe is composed of energy. If you remember clearly, energy is never created nor destroyed, but rather converted to other sources. Well, we have an enormous amount of energy surrounding us. You can see it right?”

  Tom nodded in response. Doctor Patel continued, “Good! You are seeing the molecular structures and the energy surrounding each person on the table. This energy can be used for unimaginable things. The loud noise disruption you experienced was due to these senses. With time, you would learn to control it.” Doctor Patel said rapidly again then paused for a second once again.

  “Some of us have extraordinary gifts. For instance, your grandfather, Frederick can see certain glimpse of the future. We assume you possess these gifts as well. Our explanation is that nature has encoded every detail of every experience we wou
ld have in our brain. Hence, Frederick and some of us can tell the future. Some of us can control the minds of people using pheromones.” Doctor Patel said then paused. This time, Tom interrupted.

  “Why am I ‘the one’?” Tom said, referring to the thoughts he had heard earlier.

  Doctor Patel sighed then looked at everyone else on the table who seemed to be cautious.

  “After running some tests, we discovered that you use more than fifty percent of your brain – sixty five percent to be exact!” Doctor Patel replied.

  “As you can see, we are cautious,” The man at the end of the table said.

  “Last time we had a situation like this, things went bad for the world,” Frederick said. Tom couldn’t hide his state of confusion.

  “Adolf Hitler!” a woman said bluntly. Tom was alert. Despite his selective amnesia, he knew exactly who Adolf Hitler was.

  “What!? You thought a mere human could brainwash an entire population to commit the biggest genocide in history?” The African man said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

  “Hitler had gifts like us?” Tom asked.

  “No, but he got help from someone who did,” Doctor Patel replied.

  “Don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to worry about Tom doing such,” Frederick replied in a tone of assurance, trying to avoid going deeper into the discussion. Tom remained quiet as he processed everything being said.

  “So why am I seated at the head of the table?” Tom finally asked.

  “You’re the new head dragon,” The man at the other end of the table said. Tom was confused.

  “In lay terms, you’re in charge,” one of the women said with a wide smile on her face. She was clearly attracted to Tom.

  “But not yet! You have an illuminati initiation process you have to go through!” the man at the other end of the table said firmly. Tom could instantly tell the man wasn’t happy about it, through the shift in his energy. Everyone on the table became instantly uncomfortable.

  “I shall begin introductions. My name is Richard Bradford, great grandson and descendant of the British royal dynasty – bloodline of King Henry. Adam Weishaupt, the founding father of the Bavarian illuminati was my best friend. If you are wondering why I am still alive and he is not, it is because I chose to remain out of the public eye,” Richard Bradford, the man at the other end of the table said sternly and looked to the others to introduce themselves. He was wearing a beige colored shirt from the fifties. He had a silver wrist watch with an old black string attached to it. His beard was semi grown and neatly trimmed to perfection. He looked like a character from an exotic painting.

  “My name is Nimbau George Alsa – you can call me whichever one you want. I was an orphan born in the late 1800s. I don’t know exactly when I was born because I never knew my parents. I was walking by Lake Victoria one day when I fell. In my opinion, I died, but a witch doctor found me the next day ashore and I woke up with my gifts. Shortly after, the witch doctor died and I found my way to the order of the dragon base site in South Africa,” Nimbau, the African man sitting next to Richard Bradford said briefly, in a mixed accent. He had a heavy muscular build and could barely fit into his blue blazer. His white Henley tee shirt blossomed under his blazer. He seemed bald or rather full shaven and had one of the friendliest faces in the room.

  Before Tom could let it sink in, the Indian woman spoke. “My name is Krishna Patel. Yes I am married to Doctor Patel here,” Krishna said, smiling at her husband Doctor Patel.

  “We have known each other for a very long time. I was born and raised in India,” Krishna said abruptly without giving too much information about how she discovered she was gifted. She was a uniquely beautiful woman with long dark hair. Her eyes seemed like it changed colors and her body was beyond perfect. Her outfit was flamboyantly bright and colorful with an array of bracelets on her arm.

  “My name is Ying Ho,” the Asian lady said after snooping through Tom’s thoughts. The whole room laughed at Tom’s attraction to Krishna Patel, including Doctor Patel.

  “Control your thoughts, Tom,” Frederick Olivetti said, laughing hysterically. Tom was speechless and embarrassed and it only made them laugh more. Immediately, they stopped. They couldn’t see or hear his thoughts anymore. Tom blocked them from getting in. They were shocked, but said nothing due to their conflicting egos. No one wanted to act like they weren’t strong enough to hack into Tom’s thoughts.

  “I grew up as a monk in east China. I never knew what I was till I met Adam Weishaupt in the early 1800s,” Ying Ho said briefly. Doctor Patel nodded, waiving his right to speak since he had already met Tom. Frederick did likewise.

  “My name is Mary Konye. I was born in North West Africa. I assisted Lord Frederick Lugard, governor general colonial master, in the amalgamation of Nigeria. Like George, I don’t know where, when or how I was born, but I heard stories about how I was burned alive because the villagers believed I was a witch. My parents were killed. Unfortunately, I didn’t die. I was saved by someone special. I discovered my gifts and taught myself to use them to my advantage,” Mary Konye said with a lot of visible self-pride.

  “I assisted in the formation of a third of the African countries – Including South Africa,” Mary Konye, a dark skinned woman who looked like she was in her late twenties, said. She wore a yellow blouse and a black waistcoat. On her neck, were a couple of African ornaments. She was also incredibly beautiful. She had no visible scar or wrinkle on her face due to the fact that she discovered how to use her gifts at an earlier age.

  “My name is Julianna. I’m from South America. My father was Australian and my mother was from modern day Spain. I was born in Australia and raised in South America. Besides you, I am the youngest in the Order. I was born during the Second World War,” Juliana said with great enthusiasm as her cheeks flushed bright red. Her skin tone wasn’t from any one continent. She looked like she had more than one race in her blood. Her thin eyes showed Asian traits. Her lips were soft and robust, showing African traits. Her hair was thicker than an average Caucasian person and was a mixture of brunette and black. She was incredibly beautiful and had a positive energy. Tom could also tell she was highly sexual by her energy and demeanor.

  Tom paused then looked at everyone to make sure no one was reading his thoughts. They all seemed to be struggling to get into his head. They tried, but all was to no avail. They seemed frustrated, upset and uncomfortable. He could read most of their thoughts easily.

  “My name is Keiko Fujimori. I was born in the late 1700s. Raised in Japan.” Keiko, the only Asian male present said. He was frail but had an enormous amount of energy radiating around him. Tom had been following some of Keiko’s thoughts since he walked into the room. He wasn’t like the others. Keiko’s thoughts were more abstract, condense and analytical. Keiko had his native Japanese clothes on and had a long thin white beard and short white hair.

  “My name is Yuri Bergman,” Yuri, a tall blonde male said blankly. He had little to no emotional affect, but his thoughts were overwhelmingly positive. He was more excited about Tom than most of the others. Tom was accessing everyone’s thoughts. It was amazing what each of them had been through in the past two centuries.

  The introductions were over and the room was silent.

  “So you know who we are. Meeting adjourned!” Richard Bradford said in a hostile tone, adjourning the meeting before Tom could invade all their thoughts.

  7

  August 25, 1963

  Clara grabbed the sharpest knife on her knife-stand, grabbed a cucumber then chopped it furiously into small bits. She tossed it into a bowl then grabbed a handful of carrots to do likewise. She was afraid and the knife seemed to comfort her –an optional defensive tool in case anyone stormed into her apartment, unannounced. The recent death of Don Patricelli, his brother and his top crew members, left her life in jeopardy. It had been years, but she was still paranoid.

  From the stories she had been hearing, it seemed Frederick was all out to kill anyone who wa
s remotely involved in his cousin’s death. He had gone on a killing spree—killing corrupt police officers, local politicians, businessmen and members of the mafia. His reputation as the mob vigilante had shifted from positive to negative. The media no longer praised his actions due to his involvement with the death of two cops, the humiliation of a state senator and the death of a judge. Everyone wanted him dead, but he was a ghost beyond reach.

  Clara had relocated three times in the past years. She was current living in a remote apartment in Chicago. She wasn’t willing to take any risk. She had dyed her hair red. The name on her apartment lease was a decoy—all to evade the existential outcome of her death. Frederick Olivetti was miraculously healed only a few days after he was beaten to a pulse. Freddy’s near death condition at the motel stayed in her memory like a stench of garlic.

  Her oven suddenly beeped. The apple pie she was baking was ready. She pulled the apple pie out of the oven then placed it on the kitchen table to cool. She continued to chop more vegetables. She heard a small creek sound on the floor. The air seemed thinner. Her heart pounded. She held her knife tightly as she made her way through the corridor to her dark living room. Her muscles were tense. She gazed at the front door – it was closed. She sighed, shook her head, and then walked back towards the kitchen.

  “Hello Clara,” a voice with a deep European accent said. She froze. She slowly turned towards the direction of the voice. Her hands suddenly became weak. So weak, she could barely hold her knife properly. An image was seated on the couch. She flipped the light switch. The image became clearer. It was Freddy – Frederick Olivetti. He was wearing a dark gray suit, black shoes and black gloves. Frederick observed as she continued to shake in fear. Her legs wobbled. Her heartbeat was louder than the sound of drums.

  “All the way in Chicago?” Frederick asked.