The Revisionists

  The

  REVISIONISTS

  A NOVEL

  By

  Bryan W. Alaspa

  © 2019 Bryan W Alaspa. All rights reserved.

  For my friend Suzi M who helped inspire this one.

  Collective unconscious, n. - A collection of shared ideas, thoughts and beliefs that act like a unifying force in society. Also sometimes referred to as “mass mind” or “hive mind.” A series of thoughts and structures theorized to be shared among animals of the same species.

  Schrodinger’s cat (theory) - A thought experiment that proposes that all possibilities exist at one time for each decision, until a decision is made and one possibility becomes a reality. It is theorized that all the unchosen possibilities still exist as parallel worlds.

  October 2020

  Victor Wardlow stood in Millennium Park in downtown Chicago, his long coat hanging low against his knees and the sleeves dangling to the wrists. It was too warm for the coat, and he twitched and pulled at the sleeves and the collar because it itched. His mouth hung slack and he stared at the fountain. The one with the faces on it. The various faces change and keep changing. The faces followed a pattern of slow motion staring, smiling and pursing their lips while a stream of water shot from a hole in the monument as if the giant faces were spitting at everyone. He stared at it because it was real.

  He was sure of that much.

  Millennium Park had become his favorite place in the entire city because it was real and the same as it always had been. He was sure.

  Pretty sure.

  Kids and families laughed and danced in the pool of water between the two monoliths with faces. It was just enough for them to get their feet wet. They splashed around and kids laughed.

  None of them seemed real, though.

  He watched a woman with blond hair grab her little girl and lift the tiny human up in her arms. The little girl laughed and clapped.

  It wasn't real.

  Victor looked down at his right hand. The newspaper he bought was still there. The paper was real, but the things on it were not real. Hardly anyone bought newspapers anymore, but such a thought didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing was real.

  On the front page was a story about a new spacecraft leaving from the space center in Florida to the space station. It was the next aspect of the Space Shuttle program. Standing there, watching from the VIP gallery, shown in a photo next to one of the vehicle launching, was the elderly John F. Kennedy, the man who had started the entire space program with a speech all those years ago. Next to him was his son, the current President entering his third term, was JFK, Jr.

  Victor scowled and wiped his head.

  That wasn't right. None of that was right.

  Words and images flashed through his mind.

  Texas. Book Depository. Jackie. A convertible. Oswald.

  More images flashed. Images of a space shuttle. A space shuttle falling apart not long after take off. More words, too.

  NASA. O-Rings. Cold.

  He stared once more at JFK, Jr., too. Third term? Presidents weren't supposed to have third terms, right? He was pretty sure. He remembered. Then he got more flashes.

  A private plane. Underwater. Martha's Vineyard.

  He let out a low moan and threw the paper down. The wind took it and blew it into the water. He watched the water soak through the images and dampen the paper. His mind felt that way a lot late. Like things seeped into it and covered the pictures.

  It wasn't real. This wasn't real. He had been feeling like this for a while now. When was the last time he thought things were real? Years now. Others looked at him like he was crazy when he tried to tell them. He tried to tell them the space shuttle blew up in 1986. He tried to tell them about Dallas in 1963.

  They had tried to lock him up. The gave him medication. It stopped the memories, for a while, but they came back during the night in his dreams and he left that place. Lived on the streets now and his head hurt.

  It felt like his head was going to explode. Maybe if it exploded, he would let out these memories and things would go back to normal.

  He had been planning for a while. It took months of panhandling and robbing people and getting the money together to buy all of the stuff he needed to make things right. It took more months to push it aside and assemble the pieces to create the thing he wore around his waist and chest that would make things right. It would let the right memories out.

  "NONE OF THIS IS REAL!" he screamed.

  Victor threw open his coat. Several of the men, women and even the children screamed when the saw the thick belt and vest he wore beneath. Before anyone could do anything, Victor Wardlow blew himself, and dozens of others, to pieces.

  August 2017

  Madisun Ross blinked into the sun, shielding her eyes as best she could, but not succeeding very well. Never look at the sun, her mother had told her when she was a child, but that didn't prepare you for the day you’re richer-than-God college friend would invite you to his private island and you had to stand at a small airport, waiting for a freaking helicopter to land. Life always managed to throw things at you to break the rules, didn't it?

  "Where will be it be coming from?"

  She turned to face her fiancé, Russell Stone. She loved saying his name, even just inside her mind. They had known each other since college, too, and he had gotten his own invite right from Cal Trove. It had taken a long time, and lots of twists and turns to get here with him and the ring she wore on her finger indicates they would never be apart again.

  "I think from that way," she said, pointing into the sun. "That's where his island is, right?"

  "His island," Russell said with a cockeyed smile. "Can you fucking believe Cal, the nerd we could barely tolerate in college, has his own island?"

  "Yes," she replied. "He was the smartest of all of us back then and he just got smarter. What I can't believe is that he remembered all of us and invited us here. We're gonna see the rest of the group. I haven't seen Justin or Kristin since we graduated."

  He put his arm around her and pulled her close. She let herself be kissed and the unreality of the situation just got even more unreal. Was she really standing here? She was a successful writer and had traveled the world, but had never been treated to anything like this before. No private islands. No helicopter taxis.

  There were five of them in college. All of them attending St. Louis Polytechnic Institute of Technology and all prepared to take on the world and change the world and turn the world into their own image through the use of science and technology. Blah, blah, blah. It was only Cal who had managed to do it.

  Everyone knew Cal Trove, of course.

  He was skinny, with wire-rimmed glasses and a hawk-like nose, but he was most famous for wearing his black T-shirt and jeans. That is, when people actually got a chance to see him. What really made Cal Trove famous the fact the rest of the world barely saw him. Although he had representatives for his company stand on a dark stage introducing the newest, fanciest, phones and technology, hardly anyone saw the Master himself. People worshipped him and if anyone had a smartphone in their pocket, it was probably a Trove Industries smartphone running the latest version of the TOS (Trove Operating System), while sitting next to their computer or laptop that was also running a version and watching TV streaming movies from their Trove Box next to their Trove TV.

  He was the great technology recluse. A kind of JD Salinger of the tech world.

  Cal. Of all people. The nerdiest, barely-tolerable skinny turd who drove them all crazy in college with his ideas of changing the world, how he would do it, then regaling you with his thoughts about Batman, the Joker and how their dynamic was really a biblical allegory. He had been from a poor family, ending up at one of the bes
t technology schools in the country thanks to luck, student loans and a scholarship.

  Now, here they were. About the visit The Island. Not the most creative name and if Madisun were writing about it in a novel, she'd probably try to come up with something more creative.

  She had long ago given up her scientific and technology dreams. Most of their college gang had, except for Cal. Russell was an architect, for example, with aspirations of being a famous artist. She, however, was a writer of romance, thriller and detective novels, some of them written under her own name and some by pseudonyms. She had just published her first work of erotica, written under the name Darlene Stillwater, which was a name that came to her in a flash while trying to add something to the title page. Buzz was high on it and it looked like it might become her biggest seller yet.

  "Hear that?" Russell asked.

  She did indeed. An odd sound like a giant, angry, insect, combined with the roar of a small jet. She put her hand to her forehead and immediately a dark shape blotted out part of the sun. The damn thing even looked like an insect, with sleek, but bulbous, windows on the front and wheels that unfolded from beneath the body like legs.

  "How fast do you think that thing flies?" Russell asked, more to himself than to her.

  "Fast," Madisun replied. "Cal likes to do things fast."

  "Always did, the hyperactive little shit."

  The chopper landed and a man stepped out of the door. To Madisun, who knew more about cars than helicopters, he stepped out of the "passenger" seat to the right of the pilot.

  This man was built like a small mountain. Just over six-feet-tall, Derek Clissmon was probably more well-known as Cal these days. Often the only sign Cal was in a location was when reporters or others spotted Derek nearby. He had been Cal's right hand man and bodyguard for years now, seen everywhere Cal went. Always massive, with thick arms and reportedly trained in the Army special forces, he was rumored to have learned more ways to kill a man than Cal had learned programs to add to his computers. That seemed unlikely to Madisun, but seeing him in person, checking out the broad shoulders, bald head, massive forearms and shoulder holsters, it was hard to deny that Derek was not a man to mess around with.

  He smiled and it did wonders for his face. It turned his expression from stony to downright boyish. He held up one hand and waved. Madisun and Russell returned the wave before they even realized they were doing so.

  "Hello, there!" Derek said. "Welcome! Sorry we're running a little late. It's been a busy day with all of the guests arriving. Cal's big on the carbon footprint thing and doesn't want us using multiple choppers getting all the guests over, so it's just me and Rusty here."

  "Are we the last ones to get here?" Madisun asked.

  "Yes, you are. Don't worry, though, you’re right on time. Cal planned it out this way. Don't ask me why. I gave up a long time ago trying to figure out how his brain works."

  Derek shook Russell's hand first and then Madisun's. Her hand vanished within his fist, but his handshake was surprisingly delicate. She wondered, just a tad bit indignantly, if he had deliberately softened it because she was a woman.

  "You guys are in for an amazing ride," Derek said and instantly Madisun could see why Cal liked to hang with this guy. He had an air about him that put you at ease despite his fearsome visage. "It's about twenty minutes from here to the island. The views are great and this helicopter is pretty much the best one on the market. You ready?"

  "We are," Russell said. His eyes were alight in a way that made Madisun remember how he looked in college. The eagerness and excitement he got when he figured out a problem or had a new idea. "You?"

  It took a moment before she realized he was talking to her. She was a little nervous about this. She was an anxiety-prone flyer on a jumbo jet. The thought of such a tiny aircraft, as slick and cool as it looked, was making her stomach do barrel rolls. She wondered if she was going to lose her breakfast. However, Russell was so excited it was hard to for her to pour rain on his parade. "Sure," she responded and gave him what she hoped was her most winning smile.

  "Great!" Derek said and clapped his hands. Then he grabbed Madisun's bag and then Russell's. "The rest of your luggage is already at the house, by the way. Let's go."

  Russell was off and ahead of Madisun. She followed, trying to tell herself she had nothing to fear. That Cal was the kind of guy who was famous for having the best and this was probably the safest helicopter in the known universe. The weather was perfect, the sun shining and the air was calm. There weren't even any clouds on the horizon. It would be a smooth ride.

  Anxiety, however, always had the tendency to linger, tell you that such thinking was ridiculous and you were foolish for doing so. It gnawed at her again as she climbed up into the deep, rich, leather seats. She wondered if they were going to have to put on headphones to hear themselves speak, but Derek said this chopper had such advanced soundproofing it wasn't needed. Once inside, it had the feeling of a much bigger space than it looked from the outside.

  In too short a time, the door closed, the seatbelts were on and the chopper began to vibrate much harder as the engine revved. Madisun must have given away her anxiety, because just as the wheels lifted off the ground and thumped back into place in their housing, Russell reached out to grab her hand. She hadn't even realized how wide her eyes were or that she had been staring out into the sunlight while chewing her lower lip. He leaned in close and she could smell him. The scent seemed to put her instantly at ease.

  "It's going to be fine," he said. "Relax. Try to enjoy the ride."

  She nodded and kissed him. "Right," she said.

  The chopper rose higher. Madisun stared at the back of the pilot's head where she saw that Derek and the pilot (Rusty) were talking into mouthpieces. Just as she noticed this, the helicopter shot forward and they were pressed into their seats. It was an acceleration unlike anything she had felt before.

  This is Cal showing off, she thought. All these years later and he's still trying to impress us. Me, in particular.

  She held tight to Russell's hand, but he was staring out the window. He squeezed back without turning to look at her.

  It would be good to see everyone again, she thought. It had been so long.

  May 1993

  "Can you believe that we're going to graduate?" Kristin shouted into Madisun's face. She was more than a little drunk. The ceremony and stage-walking was tomorrow, but they had been partying all afternoon and evening. "I mean, we are really going out into the world and shit!"

  Kristin's blond hair hung in a loose ponytail, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, with no shoes. Where had her shoes gone? Fortunately, they were just in the apartment they all shared and not outside. She could hurt herself. Despite being one of the smartest women Madisun had ever met, Kristin was always the one who wanted to party. Perhaps more book smart than practical.

  "That's kind of the whole point," Madisun said with a smile. She was a little buzzed, but not too bad, sipping her third glass of wine in an hour. How many others had she had before those? She had lost count. "You aren't nervous?"

  Kristin laughed, tilting her head back and letting out a braying sound which filled the room. Over in the corner the CD player was playing some slow Van Morrison song. Max was slow dancing with his current girlfriend, a local bartender named Charlene. How many girlfriends was that in the last three months? Three? Four?

  "Of course not!" Kristin said. "My dad owns a company that will guarantee me a good-paying job. You should come with me, Mads! Think of the things we could do."

  "Your dad owns an energy company," Madisun said. "They're the bad guys."

  Kristin laughed again. "Don't be such a pill. Yeah, but imagine what we could do and how we could change things!"

  "I don't think I could stand to live in Minnesota, Kris," she replied. "It's bad enough to head back to Pittsburgh. I have a few prospects out there, anyway. I'm sure I'll find something."

  "You'll end up working for Heinz!" Kristin said and t
hen laughed again. "Finding new and amazing ways to dispense ketchup!"

  Madisun laughed. "Well, someone has to do it."

  "Do what?"

  Russell strolled over, his eyes dancing up and down Madisun's body first and then Kristin's.

  "Make life better for condiments!" Kristin replied and she flung herself at him. He seemed surprised, but caught her in his arms. His eyes found Madisun's and he made them go cross-eyed. She stifled a laugh.

  "Well, someone has to innovate in that area!" Russell said. "I mean, those fucking bottles are a pain in the ass the first time you open them. That goddamn air bubble in there is a long delay between serving me fries and me being able to eat them."

  "You have to tap the side," Madisun said. "Right there on the 57."

  "I know, but maybe you could fix that."

  Kristin was now forcing Russell to dance in time with the beat, but he continued to focus on Madisun.

  "I'm not going to work at Heinz," she said. She hoped. She really didn't know what she was going to do, but already she was wondering if she wanted to go into any form of engineering or technology. After the years spent here at the school, she was burned out. She had been writing stuff in her notebooks for the past two years now. Short stories and poems mostly. She was starting to wonder if she could do something with those skills instead. What would her father say, though? All this money spent to send her here. All of the tests showing her amazing IQ. All of those years bragging about his genius daughter and how she was going to change the world. Now she wanted to come home and be a writer.

  She had money. The trust was already in her name and now she could access the cash. It was too much to think about right now and she took another gulp of the wine.

  "You guys should all just stick with me," Cal said from across the room. He had a reedy voice that cut through the pleasant sound of the music. He was in his ratty, tattered, nasty jeans, his beard scraggy, unkempt, dangling around his chin and his glasses held together more by goodwill than solid construction. "I'm the one with the ideas that are going to change the world."