Remember Me (21 page)

I conceded, but still felt much better than I had in a long time. Stacy had given me back my sense of purpose and refilled the well of hope I’d lost. The next day I caught the tail end of a conversation she had with my parents. “He’s doing fine…don’t worry. Yes, Mom. I will…no…I can’t. Talk to you soon. Bye.”

I never doubted for a minute that Stacy had come here all on her own accord. She had too much of our mother in her. It really didn’t matter any longer. I was thankful for her company and even more thankful for her much needed compassion.

I held Emily deep in my heart and she would never, ever

be forgotten. The company I was preparing to found would be named “E.M.J.” The world could take its best guess as to what the initials stood for, but would never be able to come close. Emily Marie Johnson’s name would not cross their lips, but E.M.J. would always stand as a personal tribute to the daughter I loved. In my own way and by the slogan I chose S 155 S

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for the company, I hoped to keep Emily at the forefront of my thoughts. The world might ponder the slogan, but it wouldn’t be easily forgotten. “Remember me” would be my driving

force and my moral compass to be steadfast and true. I would never forget.

Stacy and I made several phone inquiries to Dr. Thurington.

Finally, after the third phone call from Stacy, she managed to peak his interest enough so that he agreed to a meeting with us. Stacy and I spent the next couple of days preparing our verbal presentation for the meeting with Dr. Thurington. It would be insightful, but not enough to risk our plans—should he decide not to come on-board with us.

Stacy was utterly amazed to find out that I had accumu—

lated nearly one point two million dollars in cash assets. In the last year, I had found other people to bet with in addition to continuing my ongoing wagers with CJ. My goal was to raise five million by the end of the year. If I was going to be a player in the upcoming technological revolution, I would need a big chunk of seed money. The best way to borrow money is to not need it. That initial amount would need to continue to grow down the road. I had no idea how long it would take for E.M.J.

to begin to turn a profit. I was going to have to be the ready influx of capital until it reached that point.

I’d also taken to the stock market—playing with the ups

and downs of market timing. It would be a long time before the internet traders roamed the halls of Wall Street. So far I’d been mostly successful. I also knew something the stock brokers didn’t: Black Monday was only six months away. To many, it would be severely devastating! The DOW Jones Industrial Average would lose over twenty percent in one day. It was about to be a glorious opportunity for me to make significant money.

I also planned on it being my ticket out from underneath S 156 S

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CJ and the “Family.” They would come out of it smelling like a rose, and I hoped to earn my freedom. At least, I believed that I could. CJ didn’t know that I had both taped and videotaped several of our meetings over the past year. I had made sure to mention many of the players I’d met from Chicago in our casual conversations. It didn’t make me feel very honest. If I felt some remorse, I would then remind myself with whom I was dealing. It still didn’t help much. I hated being deceitful, but my options were limited. I would save their butts financially, and hope that I could hold it over their heads. I could continue to offer up a yearly bet or two, but I wanted them out of my life. I wanted to ease the threat of them showing up on my doorstep. Only time would tell.

Stacy did her homework on Dr. Jasper Thurington. He was

a single man, and based on the picture pasted to the back of his latest book,
The Reality of Time,
he appeared to be in his early fifties. He was bald and shady looking. Maybe that was only my opinion, but I instantly had a poor first impression of him based on his picture alone. Stacy seemed to think he epitomized the classic look of a physics’ scholar. Where she saw distinction, I saw beady eyes and a cocky smile. My years of dealing with similar men shaped my current opinions. He had the look of a man who believes he is more than he really is.

Our appointment was scheduled for April twenty-fourth

at ten a.m. He graciously granted us fifteen minutes of his most valuable time. His office was on the second floor of Physics Hall, on the Iowa State main campus. The door to his office was shut when Stacy and I finally managed to find it.

We’d turned the wrong way at the top of the steps and had to backtrack to his office. A helpful student had finally given us the correct directions, after noting the lost look on our faces.

As we stood outside his door, we could hear a loud voice coming from the other side. A man’s deep baritone voice carried S 157 S

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out through the closed door. He sounded like he was arguing with someone. Since I only heard one voice, I assumed he was holding his discussion on the telephone.

After a couple more minutes, the sound of his voice went silent. I was just about ready to knock when the door burst open, and a young woman barreled out. She ran full-tilt into Stacy. “Excuse me, I’m sorry,” she apologized. Her complexion was dangerously red, the anger very evident. The look on her face was like a bomb ready to explode. She carried a paper in her hand, and I surmised it was the object of her displeasure.

I had no trouble seeing the “D-” scrawled at the top of the page in bright red marker.

I jigged sideways out of her way, before she could run me over as well. I caught the look in Stacy’s eyes, and a silent acknowledgement flowed between us—we should be careful. It would be wise to be absolutely certain that the grand Doctor of Physics could and should be trusted!

“Excuse me,” said Dr. Jasper Thurington, from the doorway of his office, “Might you two be Mr. Warren and Ms Johnson,”

accenting the Ms with a little too much flair for my taste.

“We are,” Stacy responded before I even attempted a reply. I stood with my hands at my sides. I didn’t know whether to run or hit him. His mere presence affected me negatively.

It ran alarm bells up and down my spine. He came across as egotistical, obnoxious, and “holier-than-thou.” To top it off, he was basking in his own personal essence. There was a very old phrase my father used to say to me when I was younger:

“He’s getting his kicks at the expense of another.” Thurington definitely had that look. My guess was that he purposely gave the girl her grade to goad her into a confrontation that she couldn’t win.

“Please, come in, come in,” he sang out to us. He bent

slightly at the waist and encouraged us to enter with a graceful S 158 S

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wave of his arm. “You’ll have to forgive the mess. I’m in the middle of grading the term papers for the Basic Physics class.

It was originally Professor Willington’s class. I had to take it over when he became ill earlier this semester. It’s been many years since I had to teach a basic physics class.”

There it was in a nutshell! The mighty doctor lowered to civic duty. I just dropped him four more pegs in my respect category. Stacy pinched my side when the great doctor turned to walk around his desk. I got the message…stay cool…control your anger. Thurington motioned us to sit in the two chairs facing his desk. One was a very stylish mahogany wing-back and the other one looked like a reject from a thrift store.

Without hesitation I sat in the reject—it fit my mood.

“Dr. Thurington, thank you for seeing us,” Stacy sang out.

The tone of her voice had a patronizing quality to it. It nearly made me want to vomit,

“Please, call me Jasper.” Thurington’s smile broadened.

The smile was only a step above a rabid skunk ready to bite you. I had no doubt that he could also be one of those skunks that would then spray you just for the hell of it.

“Jasper,” my sister responded, her attitude and demeanor clearly mimicking his. It was a conversational trait that had made her an extremely successful trial lawyer. The banter went back and forth for several more minutes before either one of them attempted to elicit a response from me.

“Based on the conversation we previously had on the

phone, you are interested in my theory of quantum mechanics and its relationship to the theory of time?” Thurington pressed me, while his eyes continued to ogle Stacy.

“You could say that,” I responded more gruffly than I intended it to come out. Quick to redeem myself, I added,

“I’ve always been excited by the notion of time travel and you only briefly touched on it in your latest book. I would really S 159 S

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appreciate it if you might share more of your insights on the subject.”

Thurington didn’t even bat an eye as he sighed, “You have no idea how many people try to satisfy self-delusional ideas of achieving time travel. It’s impossible for us to construct some machine and transport ourselves forward or backward in time!

The ill-conceived plots of movies don’t even use one rational idea as their sub-structure. I believe that only luck would be the ultimate cause of time travel. It isn’t something that man has the capabilities of manipulating.”

He didn’t know how close I came to responding to his use of the word luck by stating, “No, its bad luck.” Instead, I responded with the answer I’d rehearsed, “My whole life I’ve been interested in the fantasy of time travel and now I’m about to achieve a personal dream. I’ve written a book of my own, where the main character is unexpectedly transported twenty-five years into the past. My sister has helped me with the story. Currently, we have both an agent and an interested movie producer in California. They are waiting for the final edited completion of my story. My main emphasis now is to quantify and clarify the mechanics behind my use of time travel within my novel. I want it to be as believable as possible. Hopefully, it can stand up to a basic scrutinization by science experts and science-fiction lovers alike. Nothing kills the reviews of a novel faster than when the author takes unnecessary liberties with science. It was extremely important for me to talk to the leading expert on the theory of time. It’s why we sought you out.”

My little soliloquy had an immediate effect on Thurington.

I saw his face turn into a mask of greed. His eyes registered dollar signs and in his smile I saw the “grand manipulator”

about to emerge. “I see…hmm…I’m assuming remuneration

would be forthcoming as a result of my service and the use of my ideas?”

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“Absolutely,” my sister interjected. “All proper credit in both the book and the movie would go to you. In addition, our agent would be willing to represent you in dealing with all potential compensation from the use of your personal, patented ideas.”

My sister played her trump card…my god she was good.

She put Thurington in his place by her use of the word, patented. We both knew that Thurington didn’t have the ability to patent his theory and so did he. It was just that—a theory.

He might be able to obtain a copyright on his mathematical equations, but he basically had nothing until he had factual proof. He still took the bait and changed his tactics. “Good…

good. Yes, of course, I see. I’m guessing there would be some other form of payment that could be arranged—a consulting fee perhaps? I believe that I could be of great ongoing service to the movie industry in their errant use of scientific probabilities. I could advise them on how real science is so often misportrayed.”

“Oh…most definitely,” my sister threw out in a near

perfect conciliatory tone. “The potential rewards would undoubtedly be great. Should the movie make it to the big screen and achieve hit status….” She let it hang. She was always the lawyer and never one without a great closing argument. She delivered this one flawlessly to the jury.

Our preliminary round with Thurington was now complete. We moved into the negotiation phase. What happened next would determine how much we let Thurington in on the actual events, and why we were really here. It was a big IF.

We could tell him the truth, or keep him hanging with our original story. If I shared some of the truth, I could demonstrate to him how he would benefit and gain financially. He would have a part to play in the new company. He would

need to be sworn to secrecy. Stacy had already written the S 161 S

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confidentiality document. It explicitly stated the ramifications should he break the contract. For his cooperation, he would be given five-percent of the future profits from E.M.J. In addition he would be allowed to question me as source material for a new book. My part would stay anonymous, of course.

Thurington took a moment to decide on how to proceed.

His right hand caressed his balding scalp. I noticed the class ring on his right ring finger and his perfectly manicured nails.

He puffed his lips in and out, and then using the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, twisted the ring around on his right hand.

“Okay…you read my book,” he said more to me than to

Stacy.

“Yes,” I responded. In truth I’d just skimmed it more than read it.

“There is no easy answer, and the debate will rage long

into the future over the schematics and probabilities of actual time travel. Forget about H.G. Wells and his silly notions.

Einstein was closer in his assessment of time slowing down for someone approaching the speed of light. A man traveling that fast will not age in comparison to those around him moving at the normal speed; hence, he will appear to have traveled into the future.” Thurington stood up and walked over to the shelf at his right. He grabbed a mirror that was laying there.

He sat back down at his desk. I realized he had two mirrors, not one. He set them down on his desk. He reached for the pen holder sitting at the end of his desk, near his phone.

He put it in the center of the desk and then picked up a mirror in each hand.

“There are many formulations on the dimensions of time