Extracts from The Diaries of 'Professor' Cornelius Crane
Epilogue

Steven M. Ferran, CEO of Vision Global arrived home and, after greetinghis wife, made his way to the study and seated himself behind a largeflatscreen monitor. The sensor, detecting his presence, brought the screen tolife with a friendly female voice that greeted and asked, “Good afternoon,Steve. Speech, touch or pad?”

He thought for a moment before saying, “Pad.”

A panel on the desk slid open and a keypad moved into position in frontof him. He shifted his chair forward and touched an icon on the screen marked‘Diary.’

The screen requested a password.

He typed his birthdate into the space provided and hit ‘Enter.’

He stared for the longest time at the impatient blinking cursor beneaththe date, September 21, 2029, before cracking his knuckles and typing:

‘Five days ago on September 16, Cornelius Crane passed away peacefully inhis sleep. At least that is what the nurse at the retirement home had told me.But I know for a certainty that the man was not at peace. I know this for afact because I had spoken to him on the phone on the eve of his death. He hadphoned me, his tone not too dissimilar to that of the evening of August 17,2014 – somewhat hysterical and deranged!’

He stopped and read what he had written. After a long deliberation hepushed the arrowed Backspace key until once again all that remained was thedate and impatient beckoning cursor.

He stood up and poured himself a drink before returning to the seat infront of the monitor. After a long draft from the glass he placed it next tothe keyboard, checked the time on his wristwatch and began typing again:

14h40 - Just got back from Cornelius Crane’s funeral. There were only twomourners in attendance – Myself and Claudia Olivier, nee Crane (His youngersister by almost 7 years).

What a sad, lonely farewell to a man who had lived two very full lives.Two lives – two chances to gather a lifetime of loving caring friends. Whatwent wrong?

Why did a man who had almost everything become so bitter at life? I canonly guess that somewhere along the line he stopped appreciating the gift ofbeing! Touching the face of immortality would surely affect one that way?

Wherever you are now, Cornelius Crane, I pray that you have finally foundthe peace that escaped you in life – both of them!’

Ferran’s thoughts drifted back a little more than 15 years; back to thatfateful night of August 17, 2014; back to the event that took place at theformer CEO’s fancy mansion on Berkley Hill.

Three hours prior to the strange incident, Cornelius Crane had calledhim. The man had sounded hysterical and deranged. And yet there was somethingelse in that pleading voice, a hint of truth and sincerity. And although therewas not a man on the planet that Steven Ferran despised more, that voice had somehowconvinced him to drive out to Berkley Hill to see what all the fuss was about.

“Steve? You’ve come!” Crane had exclaimed at the top of the stairs as hewatched Steve climb out of the large gray car. “I thought it was my sister?”

“Your sister?”

“She’s on her way too! She’s late!” He beckoned Steve up the stairs.“Thank God you’re here! Quick, there’s not much time!” Inside, Crane hadpointed to a large sealed box that was addressed to Ferran. “There, that’s foryou.”

“That’s a lot bigger than the last lot you sent over. I’m not interestedin anything you have to offer me. I thought you would have gotten the messageby now? I knew this was a mistake. Goodbye!”

“Wait! It’s not what you think!”

“And what would that be?”

“A peace offering.”

“No? Then what?”

“My second life.”

“Your second life?”

“Yes, it’s all in there. Everything!”

“O…kay? And who gets the box with your first life?”

Whether or not Crane was affected by Ferran’s sarcasm, he didn’t show it.He simply said, “Open it.” He looked over at the large clock on the wall. Thebig hand was on the 9 and the smaller on 11. “Please, quickly! There’s not muchtime left.”

Ferran stared for a long time intoCrane’s eyes before removing a small pocket knife from his jacket and unfoldingthe blade. “You keep saying that? What’s the rush?” He slid the point of theblade into the packaging tape and sliced away until the top was unsealed. Hepeered into the box and removed the first item. It was a framed note. He readthe words on the yellowed paper beneath the glass: “‘I am neither proud norrelish in the things I have done. So, when Judgment Day cometh – I pray thatGod forgive us both.’” He looked up and asked, “Did you write this?”

“That…is notmy handwriting, but…ironically, the words are very much my own.”

“Nonsense,you have every right to be proud and relish in all your accomplishments. Youhave achieved much more than most men could accomplish in two lifetimes.”

“You have noidea of the truth of your words…and yet, I have achieved nothing…nothing!” Heclenched his fists. “I believed that the only way to stay at the top was totrample everyone else down. But technology is nothing…meaningless! It is thehuman spirit that matters. It took me two goddamned lifetimes to learn thatsimple, obvious, fundamental fact of life. And I learned it far too late.” Hewaved a hand at the walls of his livingroom. All this is meaningless!Worthless! Technology is evil. It changes us all. Makes us more like itself;dehumanizes us. A billion cellphones in the world; hundreds of social networks,yet nobody talks to each other anymore – I mean really talks to each other!”

“You said youhad something important to tell me? You said we needed to talk. Against mybetter judgment I have come. But I’m here now. So, talk! I’m listening.”

Crane staredat the clock. “So late! So late! Never before has the word late had suchsignificance.” Then he laughed cynically. “Well, maybe once when Erika told methat she was late.”

“Erika?”

“No time tofully explain. It’s all in the diaries.”

“What diaries.”

“My diaries.They’re all in that box. Read them. For God’s sake you must read them. Please!”

“Why?”

Again hiseyes went back to the clock. This time he pointed to the date indicated at thebottom. “Tonight is the eve of my deathand rebirth. It was tonight, August 17th, 2014 that we did it. At exactlytwenty three hundred hours.”

“We?”

“Yes, you and I, at Crane Global Visions. Only then it was called VizionGlobal – with a z.”

“What? You’re not making any sense, Crane. And you keep mixing your tenses.”

“I have a confession to make. My whole life I’ve carried the burden, thetruth of who…what I am…all alone. It has been a terrible weight to bear. Verysoon I will be gone. Before that time comes, I want to be sure that you willlearn the whole truth. I have chosen to reveal my terrible secret to youbecause you were once my friend; my one and only true friend. And although Idid you wrong, and I know that you will never forgive me, I do know that youare the only one who will know that what is written in the diaries is thetruth. At first it may seem absurd, but I know that you will eventually acceptit as the honest and absolute truth.”

Ferran had felt like a priest who was about to perform the last rites,but would first have to suffer hearing the irrational ravings and confessionsof a delirious, dying man. He uncomfortably asked, “Did you murder someone?”

“What? No…yes…no!”

“Well what is it yes or no?” Crane started laughing. “I’m sorry, did Isay something humorous?”

“No, it’s more…ironic.”

“I also fail to see the irony.”

He laughed even louder. “Well, it’s only now that you made me realizesomething. I’ve never thought of myself as a murderer before. I alwaysconsidered myself more an…executioner. The Angel of Death! Yes, the judge, juryand executioner of those who would prey on the weak and helpless. Unfortunatelya lot of innocent people got hurt along the way; you included. I could havefixed that, but it’s too late now.” He pointed yet again at the clock. It wasfive to eleven. “Not much time left.” He laughed cynically again before adding,“I once wrote that, ‘I have all the time in the world.’ Now it’s only fiveminutes. That’s three hundred seconds. Sounds like a lot doesn’t it? But I feeleach one passing now like a terrible hammer-strike chipping away at the last ofme. Soon I will be no more.” There was a sudden realization. “I tried to buildit again. I thought I would have enough…time. God, how I have come to hate thatword. I was wrong. Destroy it! You must destroy it!”

Crane hadstarted to sound hysterical again, so Ferranquickly asked, “Who are both?”

“Both?”frowned Crane wiping some spittle from the corner of his mouth.

“The notesays, ‘I pray that God forgive usboth.’”

Crane’s laughturned into a low disturbing chuckle before he said, “The man I was…and the manI have become.”

“That isstill one and the same person.”

“Is it? I begto differ! But I pray that you are right.” Ferran was about say something, butCrane, for some strange reason, was now even more obsessed with the clock onthe wall. “Look!” It showed 1 minute to 11. “Only Time will tell. The eleventh hour approaches. They say, ‘Timewaits for no man,’ but she’s waiting for me. Oh, she’s waiting all right! Ifeel her in the shadows, a cold dark specter. I sense her cloak starting toenfold itself about me. She prepares to carry me away.”

“She? Ithought it was Father Time?”

“Oh, no. Onlya woman could be so devious; so heartless; so…fickle. Any minute…any second nowshe’ll change her mind, and the man I am will be gone forever. I know it willbe difficult to understand or accept, but at least try to be kind andpatient…with the boy.

“The boy?What boy?”

“The innocentboy that I once was.” Crane suddenly grabbed a remote lying in front of the TVand shoved it into Ferran’s hand. “God, I almost forgot! Once it’s happenedpush the play button. I was planning on asking my sister to help but…” Heglanced at the clock again. “I’ve needed a drink all day, but I’ve refrainedfor the boy’s sake.”

“What happenswhen I push play?”

“It’s a videorecording to help me understand.”

“You? It’s methat needs an explanation! What are you…”

“Not longnow. Read the diaries.”

“Explainyourself, man?” Ferran’s frustration had started to manifest itself in an angrytone.

“Too late!You took too long to get here! Read the diaries!”

“Why, what’sin the diaries?”

“Look,” saidCrane as the minute hand shifted to 11 o’clock pm. “The Sword of Damocles falls. Read…the…diaries.”

Ferran wasn’t sure, but for a brief moment he thought he had seen astrange luminance, like St. Elmo’s fire dancing over the top of Crane’s head,and his hair had seemed to prickle upright as if charged with staticelectricity.

“Are you okay?” Ferran asked as Crane clutched the sides of his face.

Cornelius hadbeen reasonably restrained up to this point, but now he started to shout likesome religious fanatic witnessing a vision. “Oh, God, it’s happening! I canfeel it! I can see it!”

“See what?”

“It’s truewhat they say!”

“What?”

“I can see mylife flashing before my eyes. Like a dam of memories bursting and being sweptaway into the darkness…into oblivion.” Crane reached out his hand as if hecould touch that torrential stream. “It’s rushing away! Going…going…going...”His tone became quieter and less frenetic with each repetition. “Going…go…” Andthen he was silent.

He sat therefor the longest time. His hand still stretched out. Then suddenly it was as ifsomeone had stuck him with a pin. He jerked up straight and looked about withan expression of utter dread. Thereseemed to be a new brightness in those eyes. Not the spark of intelligence butthe glow of youth. He stared at Ferran, his eyes seeking information –answers!

“What?”frowned Ferran.

And then camethat unforgettable bombardment of questions.

“Whathappened? Who are you? What’s going on? Where am I? What place is this?” He was terrified at the sound of his ownvoice as young tears flowed over time-worn cheeks. “I want my mommy! I want togo home!”

It would be awhile before Ferran was convinced that the man who had stood before him was nomore; replaced now by a terrified, weeping wretch. Still a man, but with thementality of a six-year-old.

It was alsomuch later that he recalled Crane’s words when he had asked him about theframed note.

‘The man Iwas…and the man I have become.’

What did itmean? What was the significance?

He haddecided then that he would read the diaries!

Steven Ferran stared at the flatscreen monitor and the words he hadentered into his diary. This time his thoughts drifted back less than a week. Backto the last conversation that he would ever have with Cornelius Crane.

“Ferran! Hello!” he had answered the call late at night in this samechair.

“It’s Crane. Cornelius Crane.”

“Crane? I already told you that the answer is, ‘No!’”

“That means you believe!”

“It doesn’t make any difference.”

“It makes every difference!”

“I knew it was a bad idea letting you read the diaries.

I thought it was the decent think to do – helping you to fill in that biggap in your life.”

“It was! But it would also be the right thing to do to help me fill itcompletely…properly.”

“Everybody deserves a second chance, Cornelius.”

“Exactly!”

“And you’ve already had yours.”

“No, that’s not true. Can’t you see that I’m…”

“Who were you to decide who lives and who dies? Who made you judge, juryand executioner?”

“That wasn’t me!”

For a moment Ferran was silent in thought before saying, “Yes, Iunderstand fully now what you meant when I asked you on that night shortlybefore you turned into a frightened sobbing child; when I asked you who theboth of us referred to in the note that Joaq Du Maille had written.”

“That’s obvious, me and…”

“You and the man that you had once been! That was your reply!”

“Eh? Having to live one’s life over almost all the way from the start ,pretending to be a child can obviously cause one to go… a bit crazy.”

“A bit crazy. Declaring one’s self to be The Angel of Death is not a bitcrazy – it’s fucking insanity. No person has the right to make themselvesjudge, jury and executioner over the rest of mankind.” Then Ferran calmlyadded, “Romans 1, Verses 17 to 21.”

“What does that say?”

“I know that you have a bible right there next to you, Cornelius.”

“Hold on.” There was an extended silence before he spoke again. “Hello?”

“I’m still here.”

He started to read: “‘Return evil for evil to no one. Provide fine thingsin the sight of all men. If possible, as far as it depends upon you, bepeaceable with all men. Do not avenge yourselves, beloved, but yield placeto the wrath; for it is written: “Vengeance is mine; I will repay, sayeth theLord.” But, “if your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give himsomething to drink; for by doing this you will heap fiery coals upon his head.”Do not let yourself be conquered by the evil, but keep conquering the evil withthe good.’”

“Exactly! You should have that framed and placed on the wall right nextto Du Maille’s note.”

“But don’t you understand, if you send me back home I can make it allright again?”

“Or worse?”

“I understand the pain you must have suffered on your wedding day, butyou can’t hold that against me?”

“You think that’s why I’m refusing to help you?”

“It must certainly sway your decision?”

“I’m a better person than that. It’s all water under the bridge a long,long time ago. I’m very happy with my second wife now thank you. I never didmarry again in your first life remember. If I had, I may never have agreed tosend you back. I may have been too afraid that you would screw up my successfulmarriage. Something you could easily do now given yet another chance.”

“What happened to Nikki?”

“My first wife, Nicolette?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She developed some sort of heart condition much later in life. I heardshe passed away a couple years ago. She never married nor had any kids herself.I guess they really were meant for each other. Still, it’s kinda sad having twolifetimes and not producing a single offspring. The other Cornelius Crane choseto forego that wonderful gift and pleasure. He never knew the joy of bringing anew life into the world. He was only interested in putting the same life backinto the old one, over and over and over, and then calling it new each time.How absurd! The man truly had a warped and selfish attitude.”

“That was the other me. You yourself said I’m a better person now, andthat you believed we could have been friends. If we work together we can do it.There’s still time to finish the job before it’s too late. Just think, we couldboth use it. We could both have our lives to live all over again.”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said?”

“I have! It’s just so damned unfair! Can’t you see…”

“It’s gone, Cornelius.”

“What?”

“The Consciousness Projector is gone. I personally dismantled it into athousand pieces and dumped it into the garbage chute.”

“You’re lying. How could you even think of destroying such a fantastic…”

“Because you asked me to. Because at the end you finally came to yoursenses and realized that what you…what we had done was wrong. Terribly wrong!Your diaries have made that quite apparent. No! I…”

“There’s still time to build another. Send me back! I’ll fix it all up. Ipromise! Send me back to ’65 again and I promise you that I’ll fix it all up? Iwon’t mind having to go through another childhood. I, anyhow, missed mine. Thiswould be the perfect oppor…”

“What about the possibility of the timestream having been split into asecond continuity?”

“What about it?”

“What if instead of being projected back to ’65, your consciousness nowfound the brain pattern of your sick and dying self in the alternativecontinuity?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Time travel can be very confusing.”

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“But not me.”

“Then…”

“No! When I said it was wrong what we had done, you misunderstood me. Itwas not just about the changes that were made in the timeline.”

“Then what?”

“Every person is only supposed to have one life. That is why we must makethe best of the time allotted to us on the one great journey given us.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but…”

“No! It would be wrong. It was wrong! It’s time for you to put some faithin the hereafter.”

“What?”

“Who knows what lies for us beyond the veil of death? Shit, Crane, we allgotta go sometime, but I gotta hand it to you though. For a short moment intime, you almost managed to attain immortality.”

Cornelius Crane knew that his pleas were futile, yet he begged one lasttime, “In God’s name, Steven, I beg of you? Please, help me? You’re the onlyone capable of helping me to achieve it? You’ve got to help me to go back?”

Ferran was reminded once again of the frightened sobbing manchild. Andalthough he had felt a certain sense of pity, before ending the call andsilencing the pathetic sobs, the last words that Steven Matthew Ferran everspoke to ‘Professor’ Cornelius Crane were:

“I’m really terribly sorry, Cornelius. I really am, but I think ThomasWolfe summed it up beautifully back in the forties already when he said, ‘Youcan’t go home again.’”

As he watched the keyboard disappear into the large desk, Ferran suddenlyfelt a great urge to hug his wife. And did.

“What was that for?” she asked frowning and smiling.

“Because I love you. Because most people think that they have all thetime in the world to say it or show it. Because tomorrow may be too late?Because far too often…tomorrow never comes.”

“You sound just like my dear ol’ departedmom.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she would often say to my father, ‘Honey, try to remember that Iwant flowers now – and not on my grave when it’s much too late.’”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Ferran heading towards the front door. “Your motherwas an extremely wise woman!”

“Where are you going?”

“To the florist, of course!”