Dr. Harry Topper Ph.D., professor of Philosophy (retired), seventy-three but still, he felt, quick of mind and strong in body, clucked with annoyance. Where in God’s name was his lifelong friend? It was not like him to be late–not Dr. Jack Trask, perhaps the most fastidious man on the planet. Five minutes perhaps, but rarely. Twenty? Never! Something must be wrong.
Just then Trask appeared in the doorway of the diner, tilted his head at Topper and made his way slowly to their table. Trask was older than Topper, already in his mid-eighties, bald as a bowling ball and a little stiff in the joints, but like his friend, could still think as quick as the next young man.
Trask was grinning, not happily, but nervously. Something was wrong.
“What goes?” asked Topper. “In all the times we’ve been meeting here at this table, you’ve never been late. And stop smiling. You’re making me uncomfortable. Stop that.”
Trask laughed, and swept his hand over his head–something he only did when under extreme stress. He focused his gray eyes on Topper. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Harry, but I can tell you this is a big one. This one’s for real. You’ve known me a long time, haven’t you Harry? Fifty-seven years, I think.”
“Has it been that long? Yeah sure, Jack. I know you. So what? What’s this all about? Are you sick?” He could tell that something was wrong with his friend.
“No, no, this is good news. Hah, at least I think it’s good news. Unless I am sick, mentally that is, which after what I’m going to tell you, you will think is a distinct possibility. That, at least, would be a rational explanation, though come to think of it, it doesn’t fit all the facts. Harry, all the time you’ve known me, have I ever lied to you?”
“Hmph! I’m sure you probably have. Like you said, it’s been fifty-seven years. But no, Jack, I consider you an honest man. Is that what it’s going to take to get you to tell me what the heck is going on? Come on, what’s this about? We’re both too old to care about what is true and what isn’t. So spill it already!”
“Okay, but I warn you, you’re not going to like it.”
“I hate it already! Just tell me!”
“I have discovered the nature of time.”
Harry looked at his friend, examining him for signs of psychosis or drugs. Trask smiled proudly, with a trace of worry. Harry snorted. “You have discovered the nature of time. Okay. Go on, and stop smiling.”
“That’s it. I’ve discovered the secret. I’ve learned how to see into the future.”
“You, who can’t see past his own nose can see into the future? Now, come on, Jack. I said you were an honest man, but that’s not fair. You can’t just say a statement like that and not back it up. Are you crazy?”
“Probably,” said Trask. “See, I knew you wouldn’t believe me. That’s why I was late. I decided to take a few minutes before I came here to take a little look-see into the future. I looked over our visit here in detail. I know exactly what is going to happen for the next hour.”
“You do, huh? Okay, enlighten me.”
Trask looked at his watch, and pointed toward the door of the diner. “Look there. In about thirty seconds a lady with brown hair wearing a blue jacket will come in towing her screaming son, a brown-haired terror about eight years old. They will sit at that table.” He flung a sugar packet at the targeted table.
The doorbell jangled and in walked a woman, dragging her son. They sat down at the table.
“See? I told you!”
Topper shook his head. “Sorry, not good enough, and way too easy to explain. You saw her outside.”
“But I didn’t!”
“Even if you didn’t consciously see her, you may have subconsciously seen her.”
“I saw her before I even came here.”
Topper shrugged. “You could be lying or playing a joke on me.” It wouldn’t be the first time Trask had tried to pull a fast one on him. Well, not this time.
“I knew you would say that. Fine! You’re going to order a swiss cheese and ham on rye, and a diet coke.”
“You mean my regular? Wow, you are psychic. Really, that’s all you got?”
“I’m not finished. And when the waitress brings our order, she’s going to spill it on our table.”
“Hmm, interesting,” said Topper. “Okay, I’m game.”
When their order came, Topper stood up. “Careful, Miss! My friend here seems to be certain that you are going to spill our order and I wanted to warn you.”
“Say, that’s not fair!” Trask said.
“Ah-ah-ah! If you can predict the future, then you knew I would warn her. So it’s perfectly fair.”
Trask smiled annoyingly. The waitress behaved as if she were about to feed two senile baboons, which wasn’t–Harry thought–too far from the truth.
She set their food down and Topper was about to announce his victory when it happened: the kid screamed, the waitress whirled, and bumping against the table, flipped his sandwich onto the floor and spilled his drink on the table.
Her eyes widened. “I’m dreadfully sorry! Here, let me clean this up. I didn’t get you, did I? I’ll get you a new sandwich right away. I’m so sorry!”
The waitress disappeared in a tornado of activity, leaving Trask smiling as if had just bowled a perfect game.
“Sorry,” said Topper. “Still not good enough. You could have paid her. Hell knowing you, you probably tripped her. Really, Jack, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that.” The truth was, Trask was beginning to scare him. Harry wished he would just stop with this nonsense.
“I forget how stubborn you are! Okay, how about this? Why don’t you pick somebody and I’ll tell you what they’re going to do.”
“I have a better idea, why don’t you tell me who I’m going to pick?”
“Really?” asked Trask. “That’s easy. Her!” Trask pointed to an old lady sitting in the corner, eating an egg-salad sandwich and sipping tea.
“Hmph!” Topper snorted. “One in ten chance. The diner’s not that crowded.”
“If I didn’t consider you a friend, Harry, I’d choke some sense into you! For a philosopher, you have precious little imagination.”
“Well, I prefer lack of imagination to this paranoid delusional megalomaniac complex you’ve cooked yourself into. Really, Jack, are you out of your mind? The nature of time?”
“She’s going to leave in thirty seconds.”
“What?”
“Mrs. Egg-salad. She’s going to get up, leave a tip consisting entirely of loose change, one dollar and fifty-five cents to be exact. Then she will go to the counter, pay her bill, complain that her sandwich was too dry and enter the restroom.”
The egg-salad lady performed on cue. Harry remained unimpressed, but confused. “Coincidence,” he muttered, though his resistance was quickly weakening. Trask had always had a strange sense of humor, but this wasn’t funny. How was he doing this?
“I’m not done!” said Trask angrily. “The important thing is that you’re still paying attention. Usually by now I lose you.”
“Lose me?” asked Harry. “What are you talking about? Listen, Jack, I’ve had just about enough.”
Trask held up his hand. “Just listen to what I have to say.”
“Fine, but this is your last chance.”
Harry listened with growing discomfort as Trask laid everything out in excruciating detail: who would leave next and when, what food the customers would order, the topics of their conversations, the appearance of a group of kids on the sidewalk, and so on…each fact knocking down one more brick in Toppers wall of skepticism.
After he was done, Harry was a shaking, pale mass of nervous jelly. Trask sat there smiling smugly. Harry could have slugged him.
“Say, just for a second, that I do believe you can see the future. Answer me this, how the hell do you do it?”
“Ah-ha! I knew you would ask. But I warn you, you’re not going to like it.”
“Well, that’s a brilliant observation. Look at me. I’m a mess. You better not be fooling with me, Jack. I’d hate to have to smother you in your sleep. I’m younger than you, you know, and stronger. I could do it. Nobody would know.”
“Now, Harry. Calm down, it’s not all that bad. I know it’s a lot to swallow in the beginning, but once you understand how it works, it all makes perfect sense.”
“Hmp! Why don’t I believe you? Are you parroting what I’m saying?”
“Sorry. I can’t help it. I spent so much time memorizing it. It’s all very simple. But I have to start with the basics, so you’re going to have to be patient with me.”
“Haven’t I been?”
“No, you haven’t. You’re acting like you always do, and it’s driving me crazy.”
“That sounds like an insult, I think.”
“Just shut up and listen, will you?”
“You tell me. Will I?”
“Yes, you will.”
“All right then, why ask? If you already know what I’m going to say.”
“Quit being such a baby about it.”
“Try seeing it from my point of view. My best friend suddenly knows the future. He knows everything I’m going to say and do before I even think of it. I don’t like it.”
“I knew you would say that. Don’t worry, you’ll come around. Just let me explain. Don’t you want to know how I discovered the nature of time?”
“Not particularly, but I can see you’re going to tell me anyway.”
“Time,” Trask said, “is not what people think it is. First of all it doesn’t flow. Instead, each infinitesimal moment is static. They are stacked next to each other like pages in a book. Time only seems to flow because of limitations in our perception. These limitations confine us to something we like to call the present. At least they seem to. Most people, however, can perceive both the past and the future to a limited degree. I guess what I’m trying to say is that the present moment is an illusion. There is really no such thing. Our concepts of space and movement through space are therefore erroneous. They are illusions, hallucinations. Both the past and future exist along with the present, simultaneously. You are as much in the past now, as you are in the future, and the only difference between the two is because you think you are living in something called the present moment, which doesn’t actually exist. The trick, then, is to expand your perception of the present moment to include the past and the future, which is what the present actually is. Does that make sense?”
“Not at all. Please, Jack. Can we just forget this? I don’t have time for it. I wanted to talk to you about—”
“They want to put you in a nursing home. I know. I saw it. Me too, both of us. They’re going to think I’m senile when this gets out. Well, that’s what you think.” Trask winked. “The truth is much different.”
“This is a mistake, Jack. Stop talking like this. You can’t see the future. I think you might be having a stroke. That sounds like the most likely explanation to me. Shall I call the doctor or do you want to?”
“I’m not having a stroke. You don’t believe me, fine. You’ll find out soon enough.”
“What’s wrong, Jack? Do you need money? Is that it? Is that why you’re talking like this? You know my nephew is rich. Do you want me to ask him for money? I will if that’s what you want. You don’t have to go through all this song and dance.”
“I don’t need money. What could I do with money? I’ve discovered the answers, Jack. The answers to everything.
“Everything, now? I thought it was just the nature of time? You’ve gone crazy, Jack.
“Would you like me to prove it to you?”
“That you’re crazy? No thanks. I’ve seen enough evidence.”
“No. That I can see the future.”
Harry sighed. And Jack called him stubborn? “That’s what I’ve been asking this whole time.”
“You never asked me to prove it.”
“Yes, I did.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes, I did! For Pete’s sake, just show me whatever it is you’re going to show me!”
“You don’t have to shout.”
“Now, you’re the one being a baby. Just show me!”
“Fine. What do you want to see?”
“Oh, Christ! Really? I’m leaving. I can’t take this anymore!”
“Sit down. Sit down. I’ll show you.”
Harry sat down reluctantly. The truth was, he was afraid of what his friend was going to do, and he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see it. What if everything Trask was saying was true? It would mean that everything he thought about the universe was a lie. Perhaps, he thought, I’m the one who’s going crazy. Maybe this is all a dream, a nightmare. Maybe he finally got old-timer’s disease. Frankly, looking at Jack, he preferred the latter explanation.
Jack then proceeded to start predicting things again. And not just a few things…everything. Every damn thing that happened, Jack was there to narrate it seconds before it occurred. It was equally convincing and maddening.
“Fine!” Harry finally relented. “Stop! Okay. Let’s say I believe you. While I think it’s more likely you’ve slipped me some hallucinogenic drug or that you have hypnotized me and are pulling some practical joke, let’s say I believe you. So you’ve discovered the nature of time. So what? What are you going to do?”
“I knew you’d say that. Well, here’s the bad news. Nothing.”
“Nothing? What? You can see the future and you’re going to do nothing with it? Why, you could save millions of people’s lives. You could predict sporting events and make millions. You could prevent all kinds of tragedies from occurring. And you’re going to do nothing?”
“Well, you see, I’ve got some bad news.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m dead.”
“What?”
“I’m a ghost, Harry. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed.”
“What?” said Harry, as dozens of little spidery feet crept down his spine. “But I can see you.”
Jack nodded and grinned superciliously. “Don’t you get it?”
“No, what?”
“You’re dead too, Harry. We’re both dead.”
“What, I don’t understand. I feel fine. I’m not dead.”
“Exactly. You feel fine. Where’s your arthritis? What about your bronchitis? You’re dead, Jack. You’re dead and you don’t know it. You’ve been reliving this scene over and over. How do you think I knew what would happen? I haven’t been able to get through to you until now.”
“You mean you can’t see the future?”
“Look down, Harry. That’s you, lying on the floor. That’s your body. Your dead body.”
Harry looked down. Sure enough, his body was lying on the floor of the diner. It looked very dead.
“I’m dead?”
“Yes,” said Jack. “You’re dead. You finally realize it. Thank God! I can’t believe how stubborn you’ve been. Every time I tried to convince you before, you wouldn’t believe me. You are so stubborn, I had to trick you.”
“Wait, then you haven’t really discovered the nature of time? And I’m dead?”
“Dead as a door knob.” Jack pointed up at the divine white light that was tunneling down toward them.
Harry began laughing with relief.
“Relieved to find out there’s life after death, aye? I don’t blame you.”
“No, that not it. It’s you. I already have enough trouble with you being a normal human. The idea of someone like you being superhuman, well, God wouldn’t be that cruel to the universe.
—
Preston Dennett has worked as a carpet cleaner, fast-food worker, data entry clerk, bookkeeper, landscaper, singer, actor, writer, radio host, TV consultant, teacher, UFO researcher, ghost hunter and more, but his favorite job is writing speculative fiction stories and books about UFOs and the paranormal. He has sold 38 stories (at last count) to various venues including Andromeda Spaceways, Black Treacle, Cast of Wonders, Daily Science Fiction, Grievous Angel, The Future Embodied Anthology, Perihelion, Pulphouse, Sci-Phi Journal, Stupefying Stories, T. Gene Davis’s Speculative Blog and many others. He also won 2nd place in the Writers of the Future Contest, and has written 26 non-fiction books and more than 100 articles. He spends his days looking for new ways to pay his bills, and his nights exploring the farthest reaches of the Universe. He currently resides in a crowded suburb outside of Los Angeles, CA.
