Warren Murphy: Lost Yesterday

This boon or curse to mankind belonged in the hands of the only people who truly cared about human life; the people liberated by Poweressence, which was not a cult, not a religion, not a fraud, but as Wilbur Smot understood in the very marrow of his soul, the absolute truth.

Wilbur eased the older man back to his office and then, being very careful neither to breathe nor to touch the brownish potion, he discarded the tests in the beakers. He removed all the notes compiled by the Brisbane chemists throughout the years and stuffed them in his pockets. Wilbur would take both the vial and notes to the one place in the world that would know how to use it. He would get them to the place he trusted, the place he trusted so much he allowed them to take thirty percent of his pay every week.

It was an old brownstone building, bathed in the sharp light of a sunny winter day, snow caked on the roof, a big sign in front offering a free character test. Wilbur had taken one of those when, lonely and frightened, straight from college, he came to Brisbane Pharmaceuticals.

The first level of tests showed that he had suffered blockages that made him, in the words of the attractive female examiner, unsure of himself.

At first he thought anyone could have assumed that simply because he had taken the test at all. Wilbur was not stupid. But then their probing questions turned up areas of fear and anger that even he was surprised to see actually existed. And when the examiner gave him a simple mental exercise to do, among a group of people, and the fear was diminished, he signed up for Level One. He did not hesitate, especially since the course was going up in price the next week.

Level One gave him a sense of a grand goal in his life as well as the tools to help him achieve it. Level Two gave him a sense of strength and peace. Level Three, far more expensive, gave him the challenge of throwing off all the shackles that bound everyone outside Poweressence.

Level Four, he knew, would be far more expensive than Level Three, and he did not know how many more levels he had to pass to free himself totally. But he did know he had found the truth. Those who made accusations against this wonderful freedom-loving, human-enriching movement were really suffering; they were sunk in the mire of negativity right up to their eyeballs.

The truth always had enemies.

Dr. Rubin Dolomo, founder of this great freeing secret of mankind, was perhaps, like all the great truth givers, the most persecuted person of his time. And why?

People feared the truth. From governments to secretaries with nice breasts and dimples, the truth presented a danger to them. And why? Because if they knew the truth, they would have to give up their slavery to their negative meaningless lives.

Dr. Rubin Dolomo did not hate these people, he felt sorry for them, and Wilbur should also. They were in darkness and could not help the things they did.

Of course this didn't mean the group didn't have to defend itself. Indeed it did. A child driving a massive truck might be innocent of all wrongdoing because of its age, but still the truck would do horrible damage. Imagine it running into a crowd. Imagine how many people it would kill.

In that case would it be wrong to remove the child? Would it be criminal then, to save so many?

When Wilbur looked at it like that, the fact that an eight-foot alligator was deposited into the swimming pool of a newsman writing defamatory articles about Poweressence did not seem so terrible. Poweressence had no intention of killing the man; they only wanted to bring him to his senses. Not that Dr. Rubin Dolomo would ever do anything like that himself. But enthusiastic supporters, full of desire to free the writer's soul, had ventured what might seem too far in the eyes of the world at large.

“You mean you follow a man who sneaks alligators into people's pools because they say bad things about him?” Wilbur's mother had asked.

“You don't understand, Mom. Dr. Rubin Dolomo can free you from a life of pain and underachievement and loneliness. Someday I hope you will change your mind.”

“I already have. I used to think he was a hustling fraud. Now I think he is a vicious hustling fraud. Wilbur, leave those people.”

“Mom, get rid of your negative forces before they ruin you.”

“I'll pray for you, Wilbur.”

“I'll release my negative forces for you, Mom.”

Wilbur remembered that sad conversation as he bowed to the portrait of Dr. Rubin Dolomo, founder of Poweressence, set above the entranceway to the second floor of the building. Only those who had passed the first level were allowed up here. Those walking in from the street for their free character test were kept downstairs in booths, away from pictures of Dr. Dolomo, even away from any mention of Poweressence. This was not deception.

The deception was all the lies people told about Poweressence. Therefore, to hide the fact that Poweressence was behind the tests was really giving the truth a chance, because then the person, after taking the test and seeing what was offered, would have a chance to judge fairly. Otherwise, bombarded by newspaper propaganda, a perfectly innocent person might logically be led to think this was all a come-on for a fraud, a hustle to part a victim from his money and his self-control.

Therefore, Dr. Rubin Dolomo's picture was kept only on the second floor, and only when a person reached this floor was he allowed to venerate the picture and understand, yes, indeed, in the secrecy of pure surroundings, that this was religion, and Dr. Dolomo was sent by the forces of the universe to help mankind.

Only when he saw the picture did the young chemist allow himself to think thoughts of religion. He kept the vial and the formula close to his body. He told one of the workers he had an urgent message.

His Level Three guide was unavailable, so a Level Four guide had to come and see him. The Level Four guide looked somewhat harried for someone who was supposed to be free of negative thoughts.

“I have discovered in my job an incredibly powerful drug that will remove people's memory. It is so dangerous only we should have it.”

“Fantastic. What does it do?”

When Wilber explained the chemical formula, the Level Four guide decided it was above his power to make a decision and moved Wilbur up to a Level Five guide. The Level Five guide whistled at the thought of blocking memory with a whisper of a substance and he passed Wilbur along to the next level. The Level Six guide was working an adding machine and smoking a cigarette. Cigarette addiction was something Poweressence was supposed to cure.

Level Six did not seem at peace with the positive forces of existence, rather still a sufferer of negative input.

“Okay, what do you got? Whatya got?”

Wilbur explained.

“Okay, what do you want for it?”

“I want for it to be used for the positive power of mankind.”

“C'mon. You gonna do business or you gonna play in my pudding? How much you want? You sellin' the formula? You sellin' what? A dose? A quart?”

“I am not selling anything. I want to give back the many blessings I have received.”

“Where did you come from?”

“From downstairs.”

“What level are you?”

“I have, with the good help of my guides, broken through to Level Three.”

“Ooooooh,” said the man with the light of recognition on his face. “I see. This is not business. Good for you, kid. You're going to give it away, right? Explain it to me again.”

And Wilbur tried to explain the formula.

“Look, kid. That's too big for this Toledo franchise. You had better go right to headquarters yourself. Right to Dr. Dolomo.”

“I'm going to see the doctor?”

“You got to. This is national. But tell him that Toledo is in for Toledo's share. Okay? He'll know what I'm talking about, and don't forget to tell him you're at Level Three. Right?” said the man, giving Wilbur's cheek a little pat.