Fallon: Memoirs of the Reborn (eBook)

“We may dominate the earth, but we should not dabble in God’s work,” Jackson James mumbled under his breath, after sweeping the parking lot with his dark eyes to ensure he and Smith were alone. The moon reflected off the rippling surface of the puddles left behind by the thunderstorm. Cracks in the crumbling pavement crawled drunkenly toward the weeds that had invaded the unkempt lot. The petrichor, stirred up by the thunderhead little more than an hour ago, still hung thick in the air, benign yet intoxicating to those, like Jackson, who craved the sweet smell of the rain.

Smith clearly wanted to be inside with the other members to hear the last of the scientist’s presentation. He glanced back at the door that he had propped open when he followed Jackson out to the parking lot. Furious, Jackson had stormed out of the presentation. Smith had reluctantly peeled himself out of his chair to follow Jackson, to catch him and shake some sense into his brain. Now, hearing the scientist’s voice creep through the cracked door, he wished he had just stayed out of it and let his friend hang himself with this low-class temper tantrum.

“You see,” the scientist said, trying to wrap up his findings into a simple conclusion, “by further developing this process using the properties of lightning, we can actually control the phenomenon of reincarnation. The mind would retain its memories and be able to recall them, once it is born again into a new body. The new body would learn faster because a greater amount of knowledge would already be, let’s say, pre-loaded.”

“How difficult is this process to recreate?” one of the members asked, slightly adjusting the mask over his eyes.

“Only the people you select would be able to make this work, as long as you keep the process secret. If the information gets leaked, anyone with enough money and a thunderstorm would be able to copy it.” The scientist shifted in his seat under the weight of the thirty pairs of eyes focused on him. Until now, he had only worked with a few members of the Order at a time. They always had at least their eyes hidden, but it seemed less intimidating when there were fewer of them. The scientist fidgeted with the microphone cord that lay coiled on the small table.

“Do you have the blueprints?” another member asked.

“Yes, here they are.” The scientist handed the rolled blueprints to a man that stepped over to his chair. The man’s movements reminded the scientist of a military march–quick, sharp movements accented by the clicks of well-polished shoes. The scientist felt that the man must have been an assistant to the members. His eyes were also covered, but his uniform and demeanor spoke volumes about his lower status. The marching man delivered the blueprints to the leaders, then snapped to attention.

The leader unrolled the blueprints, scanned them quickly, and rolled them back up. He handed them over to the marching man who then disappeared through a dark doorway. The scientist watched until the marching man disappeared. Finally, he turned his attention back to the leader.

“I hope you’re pleased. I know we got a little behind schedule, but finally the plans are complete and we can move on to phase two.” The scientist wiped the sweat from his brow as the leader stood and approached the stage. “And of course, we need to discuss the final terms of payment.”

“I am certainly pleased,” the leader replied. “Before we move on, there is one more item of business we need to address. Please follow these gentlemen and they will let you know your next steps.” The leader ushered the scientist toward two men, who were waiting near the same doorway that the marching man went through. Looking from one to the other, the scientist nervously allowed them to lead him across the threshold.

Out in the parking lot under the spindly shadow of a dying tree, Jackson paced in front of a stoic Smith.

“Since when do you believe in God?” Smith asked, though his tone didn’t sound surprised.

“I don’t agree with killing him. He has a family, just like you and I.” Jackson thought of his precious little girl. She was probably getting ready to take a bath as they spoke. She would demand her pink rubber ducky, the wash cloth with the bunny on it, and a cup of ice–just because she loved the curious feeling of ice-cold meeting luke-warm, as she plunged a fistful into the water.

“And what about your life, Jackson? Are you willing to live this life in a tainted shell of a body that you will not be able to control anymore?” It was Smith’s turn to pace in the shadow of Jackson’s still stance. “I would also think about your daughter. No doubt she inherited the same mutant genes you did.”

Jackson shuddered at the thought of his little girl going through the same pain, the same medical prodding that he was currently going through. Was it selfish to think only of his own family and not the family of the scientist?

“You know how this goes, Jackson,” Smith hissed between clenched teeth, afraid of being heard by passersby. The parking lot was in a remote location, but just one jogger could blow the project for good. “If we leave him alive, our entire existence will be threatened. We have come hundreds of years to this point in time right now. We will dishonor the blood, sweat, and tears that our brothers before us have shed in this quest if we do not complete the process. You know he will talk for the right price. If you don’t do it for yourself or your daughter, then at least do it to preserve the Order.”

Jackson could not deny the truth. If anyone ever found out about the Order or its activities, they would all lose their freedom and possibly their lives. Great pains had been endured to ensure their activities remained secret. Even Jackson took some pride in the fact that the world was oblivious to their business even when the world was at stake.

“Think about it,” Smith said, adjusting his tone. “Imagine that you never have to fear death again. Imagine that you never have to start over again. When your body’s done, it’s done. There’s no point in trying to preserve flesh that rots over time, no matter what. But your mind–and your fortune, which I must remind you the Order has helped you obtain–can now live forever. Your wife can live forever. And your daughter can live forever. Forget about the Hollywood version of immortality. Our minds and our souls will truly be immortal. That’s our advantage if we do today what needs to be done.”

As Jackson paced, Smith’s words floated around him, but stopped short of entering his thoughts. Instead, he allowed the memory of this morning’s phone call from the doctor’s office to replay in his mind. It is genetic... no cure... symptoms will gradually increase over time... it is fatal.... A muscle in his leg twitched, silently reminding him of why he had gone to the doctor in the first place. Muscle spasms weren’t uncommon for Jackson. He had them occasionally, for as long as he could remember. Over the last month though, they were getting stronger and more frequent. When the spasms nearly made him wreck his motorcycle, he decided he needed to do something.

As he sat in the waiting room, Jackson had remembered how his father had died of a mysterious disease when Jackson was a teenager. Doctors didn’t know what it was and had tried everything they could to treat him. At first, it was the spasms, but over the course of a few years, his father became immobile. He relied on Jackson and Jackson’s mother to help him get from one room to another. By the time, his father could no longer eat on his own and Jackson had hit full throttle on his teenage rebellion. He didn’t want to drown in the grief of watching his father suffer, so he left. He left his mother to become the full-time caregiver and he never looked back.

Years passed after his father’s death before he was able to speak to his mother again. He pretended to be sorry for not being there with her. He saw the shell of a person that his mother had become and he felt deep down that he would have been the same if he had stayed. His mother pretended to forgive him. Still, neither Jackson nor his mother could pretend enough to salvage their relationship.

Jackson went to great lengths to test himself and prove that he wasn’t going to die like his father, but the tests did just the opposite; they proved he shares his father’s fate. Damn the legacy of bad genetics.

His own symptoms weren’t severe yet, but he was fully aware that they would become debilitating. How could he tell his wife that she will eventually be a widow? How could he ask her to do what his mother did? How could he tell her that their daughter has a fifty-fifty chance of facing the same fate? He thought about the project. It could help him escape the prison that his disease will eventually cause his body to become. He could escape and come back in a new body that is not diseased. He could also give his daughter a better chance.

Jackson continued to pace. The thought of beginning a new life without his wife and daughter, no matter how alluring, felt like a punch to the gut. And even if he escaped the hands of his disease, he risked being born into another body with even worse disabilities. He would always remember this life. He wondered, would he ever...