Off The Pages

The car pulled up to the mansion. The Torrell family estate sat in the woods of upstate New York, a giant marble-and-stone building on a wide stretch of land. The mile-long winding driveway led up to the forty-room main building. The young man stepped out of the car. “Oh!” the doorman said, signaling the enormous wood door to creak open. “Christof! I heard you were coming. Your grandfather is waiting for you in the lower dining hall.”

Christof Torrell popped the trunk of the Rolls-Royce and hoisted the Styrofoam crate out. He climbed the steps to the front entrance and stepped through the huge doorway into the spacious grand entryway to the old mansion. Inside, he strolled across the enormous front room and past the grand staircase, and through a door into the spacious main dining hall. He set the crate down on the tremendous mahogany table next to his grandfather.

“Sir?”

Johann looked up from his tablet. He smiled at the sight of his grandson and business partner, “Ah, Christof!” he stated. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“And me, you, grandfather,” Christof said, pulling a knife and opening the crate. “I brought you some of the champagne from Firestorm Spirits.”

The elderly man perked up. “Ah, yes,” he said. “I needed to see what the hubbub is all about. Magazines are calling it the best champagne ever devised. I must try it, since all the other important folks are giving it a go.” He saw Christof glancing at the screen of the tablet. “Do you believe it?”

Christof tilted his head. “Believe what, sir?” he asked.

The head of the Torrell Group regarded the article with disdain usually warranted of old gym socks. “All the billionaires are funding these massive humanitarian campaigns,” he scoffed. “Giving up almost all their wealth. It’s almost like the whole world’s gone damn socialist!”

Christof laughed. “Oh, believe me sir,” he remarked, “it’s truly absurd.”

“Oh don’t worry,” Johann assured, “I won’t be giving up on the proper order anytime soon.” He grabbed a bottle and reached for his corkscrew. “Would you believe I spoke with Stephen Mavil the other day…”

“Oh,” Christof noted, “the head of the Mavil family?”

Johann nodded as he pulled. “The one that owns scores of mines across the globe,” he replied, “yes that’s the one. Would you believe what he did?”

“What, sir?”

The billionaire pulled until the cork popped and he poured some champagne into a drinking flute. He looked up, incredulous. “He said his family and he were giving up most of their mines to their employees!” He shook his head.

Christof gave a startled laugh. “What sheer insanity!” he cried.

“I couldn’t fathom living on the twenty or so million they’ll have left after what they told me their plan was,” Johann stated.

Christof shook his head in dismay. He poured himself a glass and drank it. “Oh, that’s good stuff,” he uttered. “Anyway, isn’t this the spirit-making company that Jericho started?”

“Sure is,” Johann replied. “I’m damn proud of that boy.” He smelled the alcohol. “I met him first when he was just a teenager, but even then, I knew I could cultivate in him that spirit of competition.” He paused, reminiscing. “He made sure of himself. He was no minnow, Jericho, no he was a shark. He was destined for the upper echelons of society.” He looked at his grandson. “Is it good?”

“All the world’s elite are drinking it,” Christof noted.

“They know taste when they drink it,” Johann said. “Anyway, cheers!” He put the glass to his lips and took a strong sip.

The businessman found himself shot out of his body and into the memories of other people.

A hurricane of scenes, images, and feelings shot by in rapid succession. He experienced the life of a war widow in Africa, watching her children starve while she was powerless to feed them. The scene shifted to a child in southeast Asia dying from a warlord’s bullet, bleeding out before his parents’ eyes. Next, he found himself a black man forced to sell drugs to feed his poor family, only to be murdered by cops over a bag of weed. This, and a thousand other horrors played out in raw, visceral detail to him.

One instant, Christof saw his grandfather take a sip, and then he almost fell backwards in his seat. The glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The billionaire’s eyes began to well up. “Sir?” Christof asked. “How was it?”

Johann Torrell looked up and saw knowing eyes. “My god…” he said, bewildered. “It’s…so horrible.” He broke down. “Oh my god! It’s all our fault! We could have made a world where these people didn’t have to suffer! It’s all our fault!”

Christof grabbed another champagne glass and poured some more. “Go ahead,” he offered. “Take another drink.”

The billionaire grabbed the glass with trembling hands, and forced himself to take another sip.

“I take it you’ve taken a drink,” Jericho said to himself in the mirror. “Using a number of powers, I’ve put a bit of power into each batch of liquor this startup of mine makes. If, like me, you’re a member of the richest and most powerful class of people on the planet, then this will work specifically on you.” He paused to gather his words. “When superpowers became real and I found I could copy them, I did what I always did. I identified the new currency—in this case, powers—and sought to collect them the way I collect money.” He pulled off his tie and dropped it on the bed.

“At some point, I came across the power to relive memories, not as people remembered them, but as they actually happened. This turned out to be my most important moment, though I didn’t know it yet. It caused me to see how utterly wrong I was about everything. I saw the inevitable disaster our wealth hoarding and endless greed would bring. I saw how we would continue ravaging this planet and crippling the common people to our own ends until everything would devolve into chaos. Thankfully, as it turned out, most people seemed too nervous to cause much harm, and the first few weeks after powers became real were unusually calm. Then Jack Hurst happened.”

He removed his suit jacket. “So, what have I done? Simple. I’ve collected many thousands of memories in my journeys and given some to you. These have been hand-picked to clash with your preconceived notions and to challenge your philosophies that have led you to your greed and wealth hoarding. I’ve chosen ideas that will directly challenge your beliefs in hierarchies and other Ayn Rand horseshit like I used to believe. You might be worried about all this information hindering your mind in some way. Don’t. I’ve taken care of that.”

He grinned. “Some of you may wonder if I am a puppet master, controlling you like a marionette. I have not. Nor have I programmed you like a computer. All I’ve done is shown you the different point of view, and also given you a tremendous boost of compassion and empathy, whether you wanted it or not.” He sighed and stepped closer to the mirror. “At this point, I know some of you are cursing my name, wishing they could reach across space-time and strangle me. I don’t blame you. In the weeks to come, I know you will make the world a better place. The experiences I’ve shown you, along with your newfound compassion and empathy won’t let you do otherwise. You won’t be able to drink yourself away from helping. You won’t be able to act as if you aren’t a problem. Your conscience, whether you had one to begin with, or just the one I’ve helped give you, won’t let you not act.”

He paused for effect. “Believe me, I’m not being self-righteous when I say this. I’ve set aside finances for all the deals I’ve made, and the taxes and other expenses I’ll owe, and other than that, I’ll only have a small fraction of what I have now. I’m going to be part of the solution going forward, and now, so are you.” He gestured. “You may think what I’ve done is wrong. You may say I’ve stepped over a line, that I’ve committed an unforgivable sin, altering your mind. Just less than a year ago, I’d have believed you. However, the time of man has drawn dangerously short, and the time for half-measures is over. Only drastic steps could save us all. Still, I can give you two pieces of consolation. I believe, in time, you will even come to thank me, and here’s why.” He lifted one finger. “First, even after you’ve given away almost every cent, you’ll still have more than enough money not to worry. That’s how rich you are to begin with.”

He lifted a second finger. “And second, I’ve pulled your neck from the guillotine.”

The memory vanished.

Johann wiped his eyes.

A crash echoed through the room. “Father!” a middle-aged man yelled. “I heard screaming! Is everything alright!”

Johann composed himself. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “Reginald, my son! Yes, yes, I’m fine. Don’t mind me, I’m just an old codger having a senior moment.”

Reginald pat his father on the shoulder. “Well, that’s good,” he said. “Don’t scare me like that again!”

The elder Torrell grabbed a spare glass and poured. “Say, my son,” he offered, “why don’t you try some?”