Sherlock Holmes, Quantum Entanglement and The Illuminati

By Imrah Baines

Love between the centuries... And then there's The Illuminati... Cue Sherlock Holmes…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legend Press
• Release date: Jun 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781789556094

Book preview

who?

PART ONE

1

…So basically, they locked on to me…

Who?

The demented and the deceptive.

I beg your pardon?

The deranged and the depraved.

And they work for justice, do they?

So they say. But I’d say they work for injustice – that’s a far more accurate description of them. You see, they learn to do all sorts of things in those secret societies. I’m locked, I’m telling you. And what’s more, they get into my dreams. And I’ll tell you, they don’t just get into them, they manipulate them. And what’s more, they communicate by mind. And it’s not just speech that they communicate, I don’t mind telling you. And it’s like they’re doing all this stuff to drive me insane, I’m telling you.

I should really have been listening intently. My mind, however, was distracted, for I was eager to get away. She would be walking by the river soon, and if I did not hasten, I would miss her and not see her until the next day.

Who are they? I’ll tell you who they are – they’re the corrupted forces of the law… corrupted by power because they answer to no one; that’s for sure, I’m telling you. And what’s more…

Mr Murphy, I am afraid that your time is up, I interrupted, at pains to end the session. And I am now due to take my lunch.

Aye, you have your lunch, and I’ll leave you be. But wherever I go, I don’t mind telling you, they come, too, you see? Everywhere. Even my dreams.

I am sorry, Mr Murphy, I really must dash, I asserted, trying not to be impolite.

Of course you must. But first let me tell you, that it’s all to do with mind…

Of course it is, Mr Murphy; of course it is…

They say the world has lost its mind, but, no, Dr Harrington, it’s not lost – it’s just hidden.

By base deceivers who dwell in a secret society and have locked onto you and get into your dreams?

Perfectly put. Nothing’s as it seems. All is but a mystery. We’ve been lied to, Dr Harrington; all of us, I don’t mind telling you.

Yes, well, lunch time beckons…

Aye, of course it does. But you’ve yet to tell me your diagnosis.

My diagnosis? I was not thinking clearly and was rash to respond with my reply, so eager was I to get outside. My diagnosis, Mr Murphy, is that you are mad.

Mad? he repeated, almost shrieking. Mad? I? Me? Mad?

Well, do think about it, I urged, struggling to be interested. You talk about a secret group of people who have this so-called ability to lock on to people, and to get into their dreams, and you say they can transfer language solely by thought, by mind…

Not just language…

Well, Mr Murphy, does not all that strike you as a bit mad? You must see my point of view, for which rational person would actually believe you?

Rational? he repeated. No, there’s nothing rational about all of this. And until they came, I don’t mind telling you, I wouldn’t have believed it. But tell me, Dr Harrington, what’s rational about the world? Does something not strike you as a little odd, upside down, inside out?

Possibly you are right on that account.

If anyone’s mad, ’tis they. What is mad, is that we can all do these things, but no one knows – that’s the madness. ’Tis not I who is mad.

Quite clearly, he was not. But what he spoke was not rational, and far too wayward. And if I were to make a diagnosis, I would have to admit to being unable to do so.

Mr Murphy, I shall reserve judgement until we have conversed some more. Only then can I truly make an effective diagnosis.

Very good, he agreed. Further discussion is just what we need.

Indeed.

No need to tell me I’m mad.

I do apologise.

Offence not taken. I can see you’re eager to have your lunch, so I shall depart this instant and see you in a week’s time.

I would not see Mr Murphy again next week. In fact, the next time I would see him would be a hundred and twenty years in the future, in 2019. For now, he departed and I took myself immediately down to the river, worrying that owing to Mr Murphy’s prolonged moaning that I had missed her. However, as I strolled at the usual hour and in the usual place, I was relieved to see her there, walking towards me along the Thames. This time I planned to say something, but what, I did not know. As it turned out, it was she who called to me.

Excuse me, she smiled. Are you able to ferry us across the river?

So perplexed was I by the question that I momentarily forgot about her elegant demeanour, her proud countenance, her striking features.

The river? I mumbled.

Yes. My friend and I wish to cross. There are some deer on the other side which we thought we would like to see.

She smiled, her eyes catching the reflection of the sun and they did emit a spark, causing a warmth in my heart.

Quite wonderful, I remarked.

What is? she asked.

Sorry?

You mean the deer?

The deer?

Across the river.

Oh, yes, the deer.

I smiled, noting how she now looked at me uncertainly, as if I were perhaps a simpleton.

Well?

The river? You wish to go across?

That is what I requested, she said, speaking slowly. My friend and I wish to go to the other side…

To see the deer?

Yes, she smiled, revealing a quite wonderfully warm expression; her eyes, again, alight.

Glancing across the river, I deliberated. What to do? For she had mistaken me for a river taxi, and while it would have been simple enough to rectify the misunderstanding, I found myself not exactly wanting to. For here was an opportunity to converse and to familiarise myself with quite a charming and elegant lady, the likes of whom had never stirred within my heart the emotion that was currently stirring.

They say that when scientists create experiments, they mix up chemicals and the reaction between elements causes sparks and smoke. I thought to myself that now I was in an experiment, that I was one of the elements, and that she was, too. And that…

Well? she queried, looking at me, again, as if I were a simpleton.

Yes, I replied decisively. Yes.

Both her and her friend, who was equally as graceful, though perhaps not quite as remarkable, smiled.

Very good, said she. Where is your taxi?

Please, wait a moment. My taxi is near and I shall bring it to you. I nodded my head. Please, do not go anywhere.

We shall wait for you here, her friend informed me.

I turned and walked away. Once out of view, I increased my pace, walking past the wharf, the small dock, the ale house, the church, and there I saw a small boat in which a taxi man was lounging, lazily, chewing a blade of grass.

Excuse me! I called out to him.

He turned, squinting, as if he were hard of hearing, as well as seeing.

Excuse me, but how much to rent your boat for a short time?

Half a shilling’ll get you across.

No, I do not want to get across. I wish to take someone else across.

I can do that, after all, that’s my job.

Yes, I agreed. But the circumstance is such that ’tis I who is required to do this deed.

How do you mean? he queried, getting to his feet, frowning, looking confused.

Please, if you would allow me to simply ferry two friends across the river, I shall pay you a whole shilling.

He considered this, but did not look convinced.

You would be doing me a great service, I smiled. You see, someone has mistaken me for a river taxi. And because my heart is all a flutter, I wish to oblige simply to spend a few more moments in this good lady’s company.

You deal in deceit?

I beg your pardon? I said, stepping back, stunned. I do no such thing.

The man looked at me, as yet confused.

You sound like a deceiver to me.

This is an impossibility! I declared, thoroughly offended.

But you’ve let this lady go on thinking you’re a river taxi?

Love, my good man, is not so simple. When you meet one who inspires a chemical reaction in your heart, well… ’tis not so simple in this day and age where you can quite simply state…

Alright! Alright! he interrupted. I don’t want your life story. You can borrow the boat for a shilling.

Thank you, I smiled, handing him a coin.

I’ll be over there, he told me, walking over to the ale house. Don’t be longer than fifteen minutes.

I clambered into the small rowing boat and took hold of the oars, pushing myself away from the bank of the river. The boat moved effortlessly, as the current carried it along, with there being barely any need for me to row at all. Swiftly I moved past the church, the ale house, the small dock, the wharf, and there they were, standing where I had left them. I directed the boat to the river bank, where they stood, and they both smiled upon seeing me. When viewing her smile, I was again enraptured, for her whole face lit up, revealing a wonderfully kind and joyous expression; in such emotion, was my heart captured.

Where are you going? she called, as the small boat drifted past them on the current.

Just turning around, I called out, attempting to move the boat against the current, which was not so simple a task; for the tide was in and the river was full.

Are you OK? her friend called out, as I continued to drift away.

Yes, I smiled. Perfect.

Beneath my breath, I cursed the river for making a mockery of me. For long, I had loved the Thames, considering it a good friend of mine; but now, at the wrong time, did it jest with me, making a show of me. Yet I was determined to succeed. With all my strength, I somehow steered the boat back to the river bank, to where they were waiting. So exhausted was I by my exertions, I found myself perspiring profusely and breathing rather heavily.

Shall we get in? she asked, not waiting for a reply. If we are not quick, the deer may move away. Indeed, her friend agreed. And we have never had an opportunity to see the deer before, despite residing not far from here.

Worry not, you shall be there in a moment, I assured them.

Her friend was of significant size, and the small boat was weighed down and was now twice as hard to navigate. I began rowing across the river, and though my idea was to idly chat with the beautiful lady who had enflamed my heart, I found all my efforts and concentration went on rowing the small boat. Even so, I did try.

You say you reside here, I said between breaths. I have…

The boat suddenly turned and the currents now dragged it up the river.

Where are you going? asked the lady, concerned.

To the other side. The landing is just a bit up this way.

Are you sure?

Yes, I replied, unable to control the small boat, so simply we continued to be dragged up the river.

We are moving away from the deer, her friend observed.

That’s right, I agreed, as the boat rotated three hundred and sixty degrees.

With all my might, I eventually directed the boat across the river and we finally reached the bank, though it did take a whole fifteen minutes. They disembarked, no doubt now fully convinced I was a simpleton, and went to stroll upon the green. Despite having hoped to accompany them both on their walk around the park to view the deer, so exhausted was I, that I simply slouched by a tree and closed my eyes.

They spent an hour walking around the park, during which time I rested and fell into a deep reverie of sorts. In my dream, I was punting a small boat up the river, going from Smallberry Green towards Henley, with the exceptional lady with me. Together we lazily drifted upstream, taking in the view amid the sunshine. We conversed nonchalantly, and we spent time enthralled in conversation, savouring one another’s company. The whole day had been spent traversing up and down the Thames, where we refused to stop, for we were enjoying one another’s company far too much. At the end of the day, we sat upon the bank and caught a view of the sunset. Alone we sat together in perfect contentment.

I am not sure if I can go another day without seeing you, she told me as we prepared to depart.

Fear not, I remarked. I can think of nothing worse than never meeting with you again.

She smiled and her eyes again softened my heart. I looked away, when, all of a sudden, a song did start. She began singing a tune so gentle, yet mesmerising; a voice so delicate, yet with substance. I listened intently to the harmonies and, momentarily, I wanted to weep; I wished to place my arms around her and lift her from her feet, as she had done to me.

You sing beautifully.

’Tis a song for you. It just came to me, the words, the tune.

You are incredible, I whispered.

As are you, she smiled, looking away coyly.

Taxi man! Wake up! Wake up!

What?

I awoke with a start, and saw her standing over me with her friend, frowning.

Take us back to the other side, if you can?

Of course I can, I muttered.

Are you sure? her friend asked. You had difficulty enough getting us to this side.

We climbed back into the boat, and it was imperative that I this time give a good account of myself, for ‘twas possible that I would not see this most gracious of women ever again, and never before had I met a lady who had stoked such a fire in my heart. Besides, I had gone to much trouble to secure the boat. Possibly this was my one and only hope.

How were the deer? I asked as we set off.

Fabulous, her friend replied.

So, where is it you reside, if you do not mind me asking? For you said that you do not…

The boat is drifting, her friend noted.

Yes, ’tis the current.

But we wish to go the other way. You must take us back to where we embarked.

Yes, I shall do my best, rest assured.

Your best? her friend said with some concern. ’Tis no good dropping us off in another place. We wish to disembark from where we departed.

Yes, I smiled, once again, having to use all my exertions to fight the current.

The boat, again, rotated three hundred and sixty degrees, not once but thrice, and I could hear both ladies complaining. I struggled, again, but duly managed to get the boat across the river and back to from where I had picked them up. I sat exhausted, perspiring, out of breath, as they hastily disembarked, handing me a shilling before rapidly walking away without so much as giving me a fleeting glance.

The taxi man was none too impressed with me when I returned his boat. I handed him a shilling and another to ease his disquiet, though he constantly complained at the business he had lost.

How did the deception go? he asked me.

Whatever do you mean? I enquired, offended.

You were trying to fool the lady into thinking you were a taxi so that you could make a favourable impression, weren’t you?

I was hoping to win favour, yes. But this was not deceit, not deceit as in deceit. This was merely taking an opportunity to make an acquaintance.

Deception never wins, the man told me.

I became a little rattled, for I was worn from the labours of having to row against the current and felt an exhaustion.

I told you, I explained, a little impatiently. I am not a deceiver. This was not a deceit. This was an attempt to win a lady’s heart.

So? he interrupted. Did it work?

If you mean, did I make an acquaintance with the elegant lady who did so kindle a passion within me, then, no.

Told you so, he quipped. Honesty’s always the best policy.

Yes," I agreed, walking away, exhausted from the labours of the day.

2

Picnicking in the park on a fine summer’s day. I polish off the olives, then start on the grapes.

You eat like a pig, she moans. You know, there used to be deer in this park, not that long ago.

How do you know? I ask.

It’s called Old Deer Park.

I love the way that she does that. She takes commonsensical notions and explains them to me; things which I’d never have thought about.

There used to be docks over there, she tells me, pointing to the river. A whole wharf once existed there.

Is that why that pub’s called the Town Wharf?

Of course.

I wonder if they’re still serving food in the pub. I mean, the grapes are OK, but I could do with something more substantial.

How it’s changed, Anita remarks. Fewer everything back then, more of everything now. And yet, you wonder if it’s really changed anyhow.

Cake. Yeah, that’s what I need. Never mind grapes, I need a proper dessert.

I guess the river back then was a major means of transport, and you must’ve had all sorts going up and down here. It’d be fascinating to be here a hundred years ago…

Do you think the baker’s is still open?

Sorry?

Could do with some cake.

What?

Cake.

Cake?

Yeah, cake. Or biscuits. Or just some chocolate.

What’s wrong with you? she huffs, annoyed that I’m not interested in her history lesson. It’s not that I’m not interested, I’m just hungry.

Anita’s into all this healthy eating business, and, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with it, nothing wrong with eating organic lettuce leaves with olives and hummus, and grapes for dessert, but it just doesn’t fill me up.

You’re obsessed with food, she complains, shaking her head; and I guess I’ve done something wrong again. Let’s just go, she groans, packing up the remains of the picnic.

We start to head back; an atmosphere seemingly arisen from nowhere. But that’s what it’s been like lately – one moment, fine; the next, and a tempest has brewed.

What is it? I ask, trying not to antagonise her. I only asked about the baker’s.

She keeps walking at a brisk pace, and I know better than to say anything more, so I just follow silently.

You’re just… She stops, in the middle of the park, searching for the right words. Just…

Just hungry?

No! she snaps. Just so blasé about everything.

What do you mean?

She resumes her brisk walking again, as if there’s little point in even trying to explain to me.

I know things aren’t right, I tell her. When I look around, I see things are upside down. Of course I do. But I don’t let it all get me down, like you do. What do you want me to do? Be miserable, like you?

She stops, sighs, huffs, shakes her head, opens her mouth to speak, closes it, then storms off again. So we walk in silence, without any words being exchanged. It’s not until we bump into Silence and Simone, does the conversation start up again.

What’s up? asks Silence, while Simone walks off with Anita.

Usual. You?

Same old.

Yeah.

What’s up with Anita?

Don’t know. Just said something about cake and she went off on one.

Cake?

Yeah.

What sort of cake?

I didn’t say. Just hungry.

Think she’s jealous?

Of cake?

I dunno. Simone gets jealous about all sorts of stuff.

Simone drops back while Anita goes on walking ahead of us.

Why did you have to upset her? she snaps at me. You’re so selfish.

What are you talking about? We just had a nice picnic in the park.

She was talking to you about stuff, and you could’ve listened to her.

I was listening. She was only moaning about stuff.

Moaning? she shakes her head. It ain’t gonna last with that kind of attitude.

Leave him alone, Silence tells her. He didn’t do nothing.

You can shut up! she snaps at him. What do you know?

I know that this is between her and him, and you should keep your nose out.

She’s my best mate, protests Simone. I don’t like seeing her upset.

I only said something about cake.

You don’t get it, do you?

Obviously not.

You need to listen to her.

I’ve been listening all day.

We cross over the bridge and then we all go our separate ways.

Maybe you and her aren’t meant to be, Silence says.

But how can