(///nebulas.parsnips.confesses – The Wreck of The Titanic)
At this point, Walter was prepared to try anything. He was 22 but felt 62, such was the fatigue brought on by the endless restless nights, permeated by images of death, the sense of drowning and the unrelenting hopelessness that dominated his thinking. And The Titanic. Always The Titanic.
He was wandering aimlessly up Fifth Avenue when he saw the sign. He was between jobs again – 1930s New York was a tricky place to find employment, especially for someone unskilled and prone to falling asleep in the middle of a shift. So he felt he had nothing to lose from a free experimental service which would supposedly cure him of his ills.
He found himself inside a small room, where an old gentleman who identified himself as Dr Norris welcomed him and explained his revolutionary procedure and how he needed test data right now more than money.
Walter almost walked out when the next thing he heard about was past lives. But against his better judgement, and because he had nowhere else to be, he stayed, and was told more about Dr Norris’ hypnotic system which would not only reveal a subject’s past lives but also connect with that past life across time, to allow an interaction to take place which could perhaps solve the problems of the present day. “A man who confesses his past can embrace his future,” Dr Norris finished with the flourish of a salesman.
It was free, and nothing else had worked. This wouldn’t either. But it passed the time, and it was warmer than it had been outside.
Walter relaxed as Dr Norris began the procedure, and it wasn’t long before he was no longer aware of what was happening.
“No!” he yelled with great ferocity. Dr Norris almost fell off his chair. “No!”
Dr Norris recovered himself. “What is it, what’s the matter?” All he got back were repeated cries of No, which finally dissipated. Dr Norris breathed and tried to take Walter back a little further.
“What do you mean there’s an iceberg?” Walter blurted out. “We need to miss it, we have to miss it.” Then silence again. Dr Norris coaxed him back further still.
Walter’s expression began to ease as he muttered random phrases. “Enjoy the stars, the galaxies, the nebulas from deck,” he said. More silence. “Potatoes and parsnips please. And a glass of red.” More silence. Then he was still, but he no longer looked like a man traumatised. He seemed to be a man in command.
“Who are you?” Dr Norris asked.
“I’m Edward Smith.”
“And where are you?”
“Southampton of course, what an odd question my good man. I am in Southampton ahead of the Titanic’s maiden voyage.”
“And you’re travelling on board?”
“I’m the captain you imbecile.”
“Ah yes, my apologies. Well safe travels Captain. And be really vigilant for icebergs. They can take the greatest ships down you know.”
Dr Norris sensed that Captain Smith had gone. But Walter’s expression seemed calmer, more serene, as Dr Norris brought him back round. It seemed that the treatment might have worked.
Walter woke up. “So what happened? Did you make a connection?”
“Yes, I believe we did.”
“And was I on The Titanic? Did I drown?”
Dr Norris looked puzzled. “Why would you have drowned?”
“When it sank. When it hit the iceberg.”
Dr Norris looked positively perplexed now and he looked strangely at Walter. “The Titanic has never sunk,” he said eventually. “It sails back and forth to this day. I went on it myself only last year. It had a tricky first journey, it is true, but the captain said he received some advice about icebergs just before it set off on its maiden voyage and that ensured he stayed safe. Maybe you’re thinking of that.”
“No! No! That’s not true. What are you talking about? I have to leave.”
Walter tried to get up, but he found his legs were no longer responding. In fact his whole body was not responding. Mainly because much of it didn’t seem to be there any more. His legs faded. His arms and chest faded. Then his head. Then there was nothing.
Dr Norris stood up and poured himself some water. He stared back at the empty couch. He had this strange sensation that he had been working with a subject that afternoon, but once again nobody had come in. He shook his head. Ah well. Maybe tomorrow he would paint the sign a brighter colour.
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what3stories 