looked over at him and put a finger to her lips. He nodded and quietly considered his choices. He could play up the fact that anyone. And that anyone, even a kid like him of an impressionable age, could log on to Cahil's website and become a disciple to the prophet for the cosmic mind, a con. Mark read:
Cosmic consciousness or the cosmic mind-also called “cosmic psyche”-is the extrasensory-spiritual element in the cosmic ether. It is all pervasive as it coexists and merges with matter, and is the source of all mental power and vigor-or psychic energy-which constitutes all knowledge and awareness that all objects and elements share in a universal mind.
The human mind is fed from this great cosmic mind, a limitless reservoir. The human mind is part of and channeled into the vast mind, and the area of its operation in you and me is a kind of supra-consciousness that lies dormant in us-unless we choose to awaken it!
In other words, in every man, there is a region where all-all-can be known.
The site then went into a sales pitch for “symbolic” brain tissue to be consumed by serious seekers of truth and the cosmic intelligence. It all sounded crazy to Mark, but he found the pitch and the product as curious as the site itself, and he knew he had to include it in his report. Maybe he'd contact the Newark and Morristown newspapers for accounts of Cahil's crimes, add some pictures. Fact is, if he purchased the product Cahil sold as “substitute” gray matter to be cooked and consumed, he'd have something for show-and-tell.
Mark breathed in deeply and sent off an E-mail of thanks to the webmaster, expressing appreciation for his insight into the natural power of the human brain. He added that it would make a great report for his college project. He then logged off, stood and returned his little number card to the information desk, where the librarian- pencil nose and sunken cheeks red with embarrassment-quietly suggested he zip up his fly. With apologies he did so.
“ You do realize you can be expelled from ever using our facilities if you can not abide by our rules, young man.” She pointed to a sign that read:
No Pornographic Surfing!
Anyone breaking this rule will lose library privileges.
“ But… I only needed to loosen my pants, ma'am, a bad stomach. I was doing a boring research paper on the brain, honest. No porno stuff. Look at my notes, if you don't believe me.”
She glanced at what he held up and told him to be on his way. She then glanced at a report on the most popular sites being visited by patrons of the library. One that was coming up a lot nowadays among the young demographic was the website called Isle of Brain that the young man had listed in his notes. She decided she had to find time to review this site herself. The public library detested censorship of any kind; however, times had changed dramatically.
“ What was all that about?” asked the head librarian who'd watched the exchange between the desk librarian and Mark.
“ I don't know yet. Says he was on this site.” She pointed to the one she'd highlighted with yellow marker on her list. “But he was playing with himself over there.”
The head librarian bit her lip and shook her head. “People want to build a bomb, they log on to bombs. com. People want to murder someone, they go to palladin. com for a how-to manual on assassination. Porn's gotten so rampant on the Net that you can trip into it without knowing it. So, what is this Isle of Brain business?”
“ Not sure. I'll get on it soon as I find the time.”
“ Do that, and let me know what you find, Gladys.”
Outside, young Mark breathed in a deep mouthful of fresh air, free of stuffy and decaying books. He said a kindly goodbye to the library and walked calmly toward his car, secure-for the moment at least-in the knowledge he and his own brain were in sync with the hunt for the cosmic mind- for his report. He rested his notebook on the top of his car as he worked the key to open the door. He laughed, recalling how anyone with the courage and determination can find the cosmic soul and tap into it by symbolically eating some weird-shaped gray noodles that were supposed to represent the piece of brain tissue called “the real stuff,” and thereby no harm would come to animals or other living beings in the pursuit of one's ultimate quest for a glimpse into the universal mind-God's mind.
Cahil's site also sold weird clay-molded brains that the customer could break open, and within them a cache of oddly shaped, crosslike noodles rested on an island within. Cahil shipped these to buyers, who in turn fished out the noodles, boiled them one at a time, and ate them in lieu of eating the real thing that was supposed to house the soul of a living creature.
“ Weird shit… unusual? Sick, man… this is sick. Yeah, Dr. Stephens is going to love this.” Mark slipped into his car and drove away with his notes.
THREE
Often an entire city has suffered because of an evil man.
Duval County, Jacksonville, Florida July 7, 2003
Less than an hour before a fantastic sunset had settled over the city of Jacksonville, but a river of clouds had poured in from the ocean and blotted out everything. The grim darkness had come on like an approaching army. Next came a light silver drizzle, the sort that warned of worse to come. The night sky masked the gray clouds of earlier, now creating a black blotter of the Heavens with only the occasional star winking through.
“ No stargazing tonight.” The hefty black officer named Lamar Plummet shoved his white partner while they sat eating a fast-food dinner in their cruiser. He had been talking about the beautiful sunset before, speaking of it in reverential tones, saying that only God could paint a sky like that. Sipping coffee and chewing on burritos, Duval County sheriffs deputies Wayne Bierdsley and Lamar Plummet groaned in unison as the police band announced a 911 call on a ten-26-cardiac/drowning/asphyxiation. They had just begun a meal break-but the call was for Venetia Wharf on the St. John's River, less than a mile away. Bierdsley tossed his burrito aside and picked up, radioing in a ten-4, adding, “Cruiser 44. We're on it.”
“ Whoa, damn it, Wayne,” muttered Plummer as the car pulled from the curb and coffee spilled over his lap. “Jesus.”
“ You're always complaining, Plummer.”
“ Whataya mean? This stuffs hot as hell.”
“ You just got through saying you were bored out of your gourd, so we get a homicide call and you're pissed?”
“ Just get me there in one piece. Where'd you learn how to drive?”
When they arrived, they found a rank old fisherman arguing with a uniformed harbormaster, who wanted the man and his shrimp boat out of the restricted area. “Abrams, you take that thing off twenty yards, the other side of the fence. Cops can find you there as well as here.”
“ Damn you, fool. Are you deaf? I've got an emergency here, a dead woman caught up in our nets.”
Climbing from their cruiser, the two sheriff s deputies laughed to see the two old men standing pipe to pipe, fists clenched. A third man, well dressed and stepping from one of the yachts joined them, shoulder to shoulder with the harbormaster, curious about Abrams's catch.
The well-dressed man said, “I'm Jervis Swantor. That's my boat there. Can I be of any service? What's the emergency?”
Other yachts-people living on their ships were now gathering outside, having been awakened by all the noise: men arguing, police sirens approaching and uniformed men in boots pounding down the seasoned planks.
“ E)ead girl's body come up in my fishing net, and when I saw what'd been done to her… I called nine-one- one. The poor thing's been robbed of her brain! Gin you imagine that? A hole cut clean through her head, here!” He indicated his forehead with his finger. “I screamed bloody murder, I did. And this old fool wants me to take her back out and come in proper on the other side, but now the deputies are here, they can give the orders, Mr.
