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| Portrait of The Invisible Man courtesy of Retropicts.Com |
Part Three
By John Pirillo
"Time is only a doorstop to success and a short way to Realization!" --- The Golden Buddha
I'm beginning to see a trend in my interviews. Men and women of great stature make great mistakes, and spend the rest of their lives, or a great portion trying to amend them. This is, I believe, a sign of an awakened consciousness, a person ready to step forth from the shadows of life and become a major player in the unfolding of the evolution of life about them.
Men such as Einstein, Mark Twain, Buddha, Jesus, Mohammed, and Leonardo DaVinci are roadsigns on the path of enlightenment. They show us the best in ourselves so that the spark of greatness that lays dormant in all our souls might one day explode into the fullness it can be."
The Interview begins after this:
You must forgive me if I digress just a moment. I was so stunned, yet again, by the outburst from this seemingly kind and benign gentleman, that to have him state unequivocally that he was a murderer not only frightened me, but made me fear for my sanity. For this was not the man whom I had written. Not the man at all.
"So." I managed to stutter rather unsuccessfully. "You killed a man." Trying to appear unfazed by the admittance, but barely able to hide my fluttering heart that must have been beating in my eyes and expression.
Professor Langdon adjusted his cufflinks, then his collar and finally looked me in the eyes. An effort I could tell by the strain about them. "Not intentionally."
Inside I breathed a sigh of relief.
"You see, when you experiment with leading edge medicine or science, there is always the risk of harming the innocent. Something I have always taken great strides to avoid at all costs, even if it meant harm to me instead."
"But something went wrong?" I prompted him.
He nodded, his eyes gazing inwards a moment, before refocusing on me. "You see, the loft I shared next to the Thames also had another graduate student there. His name was Thomas Ridley. He was the son of a poor farmer, and was hoping to revolutionize farming through the introduction of chemicals that would precipitate accelerated growth in crops."
He leaned forward. "His work could have saved the starving millions of many countries."
Then he thrust his head between his hands and began to weep.
I was probably in greater distress than he at the time. How do you comfort a man who weeps over a death you did not write, but yet happened? The paradox of it all left me gripped in a malaise of helplessness, much as he might have felt at that time as well. Finally, I mustered my thoughts and put a hand on his arm.
"Sometimes, we unleash...or stop forces for good. But if our intent is pure, then I know we will be forgiven, even if we don't always forgive ourselves."
He looked up, his eyes reaching for hope in mine, then took out a hanky and blew into it. He shoved it back into his jacket, and then sighed. "I'm sorry. I must be shaming myself in front of you."
"Not at all. I'm proud of you. You are far more than I had created."
He examined my face for falsehoods, and then a faint glimmer of sunshine lit his face. He went on. "Thomas was only twenty at the time. I was twenty one. So both of us were still hardly beyond our childhoods, but both of us were blossoming into our own spheres of influence and genius."
He paused to catch his breath, and then continued. "Thomas would help me set up my experiments, as I would his. We both fed input into each other's works, such as friends are wont to do."
"Sounds like nothing wrong with that." I interjected.
"There wasn't. It was when he stayed to witness one of my experiments that things went horribly wrong."
I waited as his face ran through panoply of emotions, which I think must have been tearing at the roof of his soul at that time.
He continued. "Thomas watched from beside me as I administered a more than usually strong dose of my experimental drug to a dying dog I had found in the alley below. It was a miserable thing. I knew it had at best only a few more hours to live and I administered a shot to it to numb its pain. It was actually happy in its last moments, licking at its fur to clean it and giving us that usual canine smile that warms our hearts."
He paused for a long moment, his heart heaving with pain over the vision. I knew he loved animals as much as I. I had written him that way, but his depth of feeling was far beyond my own at that time.
"At first he continued to sink into oblivion, ignorant of his own death, then his ears straightened up and he bounced to his feet and began barking."
"And?"
"And then he leapt at Thomas and vanished."
"Remarkable."
"Yes. But only if it had not meant the death of my friend."
"I don't understand."
He leaned close again, the misery on his face as evident as a sore on one's hand. "The chemical made it not only invisible, but penetrating as well."
I was shocked. "You mean it was able to leap into his body?"
Professor Langdon didn't reply. It was obvious.
"He died instantly. The effect of the drug wore off the moment it entered his chest cavity. His heart and lungs were crushed by the mingling of the dog's atoms with his own. It was horrible. He just stood there, a look of utter shock upon his face and amazement."
Professor Langdon gripped both my hands so hard they hurt. "He had just seen a miracle and then died from it."
He wiped at the tears beginning to dot his eyes once more, sniffling miserably. "I shall never forgive myself for that death. Never!"
I sat there quietly a moment, and then said. "But you have helped save so many through your invisibility. Like the time you caught the serial killer who was assassinating the Queen's Ministers and then had sought her."
He wiped at his eyes, blew his nose again, and then looked up. He seized my hands again, even harder.
I tried not to show my pain, because his emotional pain, I'm sure at that time, was much, much worse.
"The good is sometimes outweighed by the bad in friendship. You must understand, we were like brothers, he and I. I was crushed. My immortal soul tarnished."
At this point my cell phone died once more. I put it on the charger and sat with him a long time, not speaking, just allowing him to settle down emotionally. I gave him food to eat and drink.
I will reveal more in our next portion of the interview later on. There is much that has not been asked, or revealed yet, which I have hidden from you dear Readers, but which he has so kindly and mercifully requested I reveal to ease his heart and pain and show you the truth of what being a hero truly is. For the greatest of lights sometimes can also be surrounded by darkness.
Sincerely and with love
The Author and Interviewer
John Pirillo
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