The Theory of Insanity

by Rick Newberry

  I cleared my throat. “Go on.”

  He turned and faced me, his eyes widening. “Another story involving a carpenter. History records a fellow named Johann Georg Elser. I spent many an hour with him in this very room discussing a plan to assassinate—what did you call him—a pizza delivery boy?”

  “Adolf Hitler?”

  “None other.”

  I held my breath. “What happened?”

  “November 8th, 1939, Hitler gave a speech at a Munich beer hall. God, that bastard loved to talk—blah, blah, blah. Anyway, what nobody in the hall realized, just a few feet away from der Fuehrer was a time bomb. Our hero, Elser, a 36-year-old carpenter, secretly placed the explosive in hopes of stopping a world war he believed Hitler would soon start.”

  “But Hitler didn’t die in an explosion.”

  “No. Hitler finished his speech and exited the beer hall…thirteen minutes before the explosion. Elser was arrested, executed for his crime and arrived here. I convinced him to return to earth, to try again. After all, millions of innocent lives hung in the balance. He agreed at once. Fine man, brave man.”

  I sat on the edge of my seat. “But the war still happened, the holocaust, everything. What about Elser?”

  Sebastian stroked his chin and returned to his chair. The ticking of the enormous grandfather clock measured his hesitation. “A mishap in the Portal,” he said with a sigh. “He never made it back to his time.”

  “What happened to him?”

  More silence. Sebastian turned to me and shook his head. “We don’t know exactly—we may never know.”

  “But you said there’s no danger. Those were your exact words—no danger.”

  “My boy.” He grinned. “I said there’s no danger to you. We’ve worked out all the bugs. Returning to earth via the Portal is perfectly safe now.”

  I took a sip of chilly tea, washing out my dry mouth. “Tell me about number three.”

  “Ah yes, number three. In 1963 we sent back a young man named Lee Harvey Oswald.”

  I would need more than tea for this. “You sent back the man who killed Kennedy?”

  “Don’t be preposterous. We sent Oswald back to stop the assassination. Let me explain… Oswald was employed in the Texas School Book Depository, the perfect vantagepoint. He died of sudden cardiac arrest after witnessing the president’s death. We deemed him the perfect choice to send back and change history. After all, since he knew about the event, it would no longer be a shock to his poor heart.”

  I stood up and strolled to the fireplace, trying to put the pieces of that puzzle together. “At the risk of sounding callous, why John Kennedy?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Why not Martin Luther King, or Robert Kennedy, or a thousand others? Why save John Kennedy’s life?”

  “Surely you know, had he lived, the Vietnam War would have been prevented. We were determined to save three million souls from a senseless and meaningless demise. Besides, the disaster that took Elser’s life in the Portal had been fixed, and we were good to go.”

  “That’s just speculation—the part about Vietnam.”

  “True, we don’t have a crystal ball. We can’t peer into the future and hope for a “happily ever after.” But, we’re not idiots. We knew millions were at risk. That wasn’t a good thing. So, off he went,” Sebastian continued, “returning to earth as planned. He reported to the book depository, as planned, even confronted the assassins, as planned.”

  “So, what happened? I assume something did not go as planned.”

  “Unfortunately, the real assassins got the better of him, framing him for the crime. The history you now accept as the truth, records Oswald declaring himself as a ‘patsy.’ And now you know, truer words were never spoken. After his murder, I convinced him to go back again—three times, in fact, but those missions each ended in failure. As it turns out, history is a formidable opponent—more so than we’d originally assumed.”

  I shook my head and raised my voice, “Why not just send Kennedy back and tell him to duck? Did you think of that?”

  “Ah, traveler number four. That’s just what we did—twice. But, it seems no matter his movement, position in the vehicle, or speed of the motorcade, the result was always the same.”

  “Well then, why not have Oswald try again,” I said, my voice growing louder, “and again, over and over if need be. In fact, why not revisit that Hitler thing, too?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “For each moment in time, there’s a brief Window of Opportunity that allows for change. As time goes by, the less chance we have of being able to intervene, and when the window closes, history is, as they say, cast in stone.” He slapped his hands together, warming them by the fire. “And there you have it, Brooks, the story of our four intrepid travelers. We’re all caught up, and that brings us to you.”

  I shook my head. “Hold on, I find it hard to believe, with all the tragedies in the world, those are the only times you tried to change history. What about the Oklahoma City bombing, what about 911, what about—”

  “Our hands are tied. We’ve been under a time travel ban since 1963.” He grinned. “Until now, that is. It seems The Nefarists have broken the non-intervention pact and—”

  “Whoa, whoa…wait a minute. Nefarists? What the hell are you talking about?”

  Sebastian sighed, like a teacher disappointed in his class. “Nefarists are…how shall I put it?” Another sigh. “Nefarists live in the shadows—no—more than that. Nefarists are the shadows, obstructing the light, destroying the plan.”

  “What plan?”

  “Why, the original plan, of course.” He lifted his arms and gazed at the ceiling. “All this, After World, Earth, and beyond—Nefarists crush all hope. Nefarists live for evil.”

  “Ne-far-ist,” I said articulating each syllable, “from the Latin, nefas, as in nefarious?”

  “Well done, Brooks.” The teacher sounded impressed. “They dwell in The Abyss, experts at hiding. Some say they use witchcraft—others insist they are the witch. Regardless, their Portal program is nearly as sophisticated as ours—or so I’m told. And,” he said, his voice rising, “they’re developing something called a Portable—a device requiring far less energy than normal travel, simply because resurrection and time reversal are not part of the equation. The device does, however, include sophisticated regenerative powers. At this very moment, my engineers are studying the viability of our own Portable device, but—”

  “Stop, please,” I said, waving a hand once over my head, showing him where his explanations landed.

  “Yes, well, I like to think our technology is a bit more advanced than theirs, but who’s to say? In any case, because of the current crisis, the time travel ban has been lifted, and off we go. The Portal is ready for use and—”

  “Who lifted this so-called time travel ban?”

  Another dodge—he would make a good politician. “All that’s important is this—the fate of seven billion souls rest with you. We must succeed—you must succeed, or all bets are off.”

  I kept my voice in check, separate from my growing frustration. “Why can’t you just change things without all this Portal mumbo-jumbo? God can do anything, right?”

  “My dear sir,” Sebastian said, his voice calm, “we are subject to certain limitations here—universal law is in effect at all times. Our capabilities are based on sound celestial science. Nobody can wiggle their nose and make everything better. You must remember, years of research and dedication have allowed us the ability to access the Portal, but it’s still a very delicate ballet, with a million moving parts. Remember, not only must time be manipulated, a relevant life must be resurrected in order to change history.”

  “Something you’ve never successfully done before.” I gave up on a straight answer. “Why don’t you just send an angel back to—”

  “To what, sir?” His tone became brash. “To find and execute guilty parties? That may make for excellent television, but the reality is, angels ar
e forbidden from killing human beings—everybody knows this.”

  I didn’t know that. “Why don’t you send back hundreds of people then, maybe thousands, a well-equipped army to change history?”

  Sebastian scoffed. “Typically, only one person may travel back through The Portal at a time. This too is based on sound technology. Tsk.”

  Did he just scold me for not knowing the laws of a secret celestial science?

  “I suppose I did,” he answered, clearly reading my thoughts, “sorry. Our technology is constantly advancing. Soon, the single rider limitations may be a thing of the past. Can you imagine?”

  I waved him off. “Once again—over my head.”

  The new kid on the block syndrome struck again, making me blush. Who was I to suggest ways to solve a problem Sebastian had been working on for thousands of years? In a quiet voice I said, “Why me?”

  “What’s that? Speak up, lad.”

  “Why send me back? What’s so special about me?”

  “Several things. First, you’re a man of action. You’re a skilled warrior. You’ve been battle tested under the worst of conditions and survived. Second, your relationship with Dr. Knight puts you in a unique position. Your job on earth was to protect him, we simply want you to continue in that role. Finally, your spirit has yet to be broken. With what you’ve been through, any normal person would have simply cashed in.”

  “First,” I said, “my skills as a warrior succeeded in getting me captured and tortured by the enemy. Second, I can’t exactly use Dr. Knight as a reference on my resume since my skills as a bodyguard got him killed. Finally, it took me years of therapy, self-medication, and self-doubt to wind up here…wherever here is. So, choosing me as the one to save the world is—”

  “But the most compelling reason,” he said, his face brightening, “is your Guide. For whatever reason, Samantha is capable of accompanying you through the Portal to earth. Why? We haven’t a clue. What we do know is none of our other travelers were fortunate enough to have their guides go with…are you okay?”

  It wasn’t so much my knees buckling as it was the room spinning. Whatever it was, this man of action needed a place to land, a space to digest the latest intel. Sebastian didn’t need me to save the world, he needed Samantha—I was her chauffeur, a necessary companion.

  “Nonsense, my good man.”

  That was all he could say? Nonsense?

  “Yes, well, in any case, we have devised a contingency plan should the mission fail.”

  The way he whispered “contingency plan” told me not to ask what that might be.

  He smiled and slapped his hands together. “Right then. On a positive note, we are able to communicate with Samantha from a small visual wireless in my office, so we’ll see what she sees, hear what she hears. I have no doubt you’ll ferret out a solution and everything will soon be right as rain.”

  “What the hell does ferret out a solution mean?” Or, right as rain, for that matter.

  “It simply means, find the bomb and stop it.” He sat down, drew in a breath, and reached across the table, resting his weathered hand on mine. “We know the Nefarists are behind the explosion, but we don’t know who they used to physically plant it.” In a solemn voice he said, “Stop the bomb and you save the world. This needs to work, Brooks. It’s too important to fail.”

  “Well,” I said, finally realizing exactly what they expected of me, “having your otherworldly assistance will certainly help me in—”

  “Uh, yes, about that.” He withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. “We’re not able to communicate with you directly.”

  “Say what?”

  “And, I’m afraid, you won’t be able to communicate with Samantha directly.”

  “Say again?” The hair on the back of my neck prickled. “What will I be able to do…directly?”

  Again, he skirted the question. “You—your soul—will be sent back through the Portal to a day or so before the explosion and merge with your physical body. Of course, Samantha will attempt to guide your actions, lead you down the right path as it were, but as I’ve said, we have yet to work out the problem of direct guide to host communication.”

  “No ghost to host.”

  “Ghost to—ha, I like it. Fear not, however, our technicians are working on the problem of communications as we speak.”

  With sudden clarity, I shuddered. “This may sound nuts, but I saw Samantha just before the explosion. She was trying to warn me about the bomb in the podium. I saw her as clearly as I see you now. How was that even possible?”

  “Interesting.”

  I waited for more. “That’s it? Interesting?”

  “Yes well, it could have been a variance,” Sebastian said, his voice booming, filling the entire room, “nothing more than a glitch, that’s all. Our technicians are always working through tiny problems like that.”

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Tiny? That’s one hell of a problem. If I saw Samantha—”

  “Not the biggest problem you’ll face, I’m afraid,” he said, his eyes avoiding mine. “Your memories of this place, of our conversation, will be sketchy at best.”

  “What the hell do you mean by—”

  “Once again, just another glitch, I’m afraid. Suffice to say, should you have any firm recollection of this meeting, you’ll think of it as a sort of déjà vu experience.”

  I found it difficult to breathe, but finally choked back a lungful of air and blurted out, “No wonder these “missions” of yours always fail—they’re doomed from the get-go.”

  “On a brighter note,” he said forcing a smile, “our tech-nicians have been working on a related secret weapon.”

  “A related secret weapon?” It was all coming too fast. “What does that even mean? What could you possibly—”

  “To be honest, I don’t fully understand it myself, but they tell me they’ve found a way to extract the essence of a pure soul, fill it with a message, and send it through the Portal, placing it into a human vessel—like putting a message in a bottle. They call this process a soul spark.”

  “Great. So, there is a chance we’ll be able to establish communications.”

  He winced. “There is a slight problem with the process, however. The bottles tend to break a short time after receiving the message.”

  “Break? You mean the human vessel dies?”

  “That’s not all. On top of the breakage, we’re not even sure if we’re selecting an appropriate human to receive the message—”

  “This is nuts. You’re sending me on a suicide mission.”

  “Mr. Davis!” His voice softened from its initial sharpness. “Brooks, listen to me very carefully—you’re already dead, so what’s the worst that could happen? All we’re asking is for you to do your best to reset a terrible situation. If the billions remain here…well…” He lowered his head and whispered, “Doom.”

  I glanced out the window again, at the multitudes traversing the avenue, at the lights of the neon city, and at Samantha waiting for me on the front porch. In a calm, and fairly reasonable voice I asked, “How did Kennedy know he was supposed to duck?”

  “Pardon,” Sebastian said, “what was that?”

  I turned to face him. “Simple question. Since those you send back to earth have no memories of After World, how did Kennedy—how did Oswald—know what to do?”

  “My dear boy, let’s not dwell on the past, after all—”

  “How did they know what to do?”

  “Yes, well…uh, where do I begin?” Sebastian turned away from me.

  “For God’s sake man, just tell me.”

  Sebastian dropped his shoulders and spoke in a quiet tone. “As far back as the 1930’s, we experimented with certain ergoline derivatives, in particular, lysergamides—”

  “Stop. In English, please.”

  He stared at me, his eyes wide, his voice strong. “Our technicians developed Lysergic Acid Diethylamide—LSD. We believed the substance would give our travelers
the ability to recall their time in After World, and it did…to a point. While I still believe we were on the right track, we clearly failed in regards to Dallas. So, there you have it, the God’s honest truth. And, since we no longer tinker with mind enhancing substances—”

  “Tinker? You made the President of The United States drop acid.”

  “Yes, well, I suspect that was another reason for the time travel ban. In any case, as I say, the chemical experiments were halted, and here we are.”

  I collapsed back into the soft leather chair. What in the hell was I getting mixed up with? Resurrection, time travel, drugs—

  “No more drugs, Brooks, I assure you.” He grinned. “So, it’s settled then?”

  I stared at the fireplace, hypnotized by the flames performing their frantic dance. Sebastian’s story of changing history seemed foolish—no, more than that. “This is insane,” I managed in a whisper so soft, I doubted having said it at all. I trudged toward the mantle, wondering if Sebastian would stop me if I decided to march straight into the firebox.

  “Free will is in effect at all times,” he said. “The choice is always yours.”

  I felt the steady tamping of shoes from across the avenue, plodding along as if they waded through a river of syrup. Billions of lost souls, doomed to wander for all eternity, unless…

  “I’m in.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’m proud of you, my son.” He glanced up at the clock. “Meet me back here in exactly three hours. You’ll leave for earth at twelve noon, the optimum time for Portal transportation. Do you have any further questions?”

  About a million, but I only asked one. “Can I see my parents?”

  “I’m sorry, visitors are not allowed in Heaven.”

  VI

  Someday I’m going to listen to that little voice in my head, the one that nags at me, trying to make me say or do the right thing. I stood on the front porch of the massive Victorian, close to Samantha, recapping my conversation with Sebastian. You would think she would be more interested, especially with the lives of most of the world hanging in the balance. Her distant manner made no sense. When she glanced up at me, my train of thought jumped the tracks.