The Truth - Prologue (Patreon)

Jon had last seen his Uncle Matt a few weeks ago. Technically Matt Brower was his great uncle, brother to his maternal grandfather. Growing up, he had always known him as Uncle Matt.

The meeting had been very unusual because Jon just arrived at Uncle Matt’s mansion as if he were expected. At the mansion gate, the gate was opening as he arrived. Before announcing who he was, the gate guard said he was expected and waved him through. Jon drove up to the front door and was ushered into the ground floor library by a well-endowed woman in her early 30s wearing a traditional French maid’s outfit. After Jon sat, the first servant left and another equally gorgeous and similarly dressed younger woman carried in a tray of with tea and biscuits.

Uncle Matt’s wheelchair entered the room a few moments later. Uncle Matt seemed many years older than the last time Jon had seen him. Jon had no idea how old his great uncle was. His grandfather had died over 20 years earlier at the age of 72 so Uncle Matt had to be in his late 80s to early 90s he guessed.

The servant nodded to him and left, her hips swaying tantalizingly as she walked. Jon leered after the servant as she left, snapping his head around as his Uncle said, “How’ve you been, Jon?”

“Fine, Uncle Matt,” Jon replied recovering his wits.

“Isabella is a touch more beautiful than Sonya, don’t you think?” His Uncle postulated.

“That would require a lot of painstaking research,” Jon joked. “Is that why I’m here?”

“I’m not commissioning a beauty fellowship. But, seriously, why shouldn’t you be here? You are always welcome.” Uncle Matt replied just before a coughing fit took hold.

Jon started to panic, not knowing what to do. The fit subsided before he could do anything. Finally, he picked up a teacup and offered it to Uncle Matt.

“Thank you,” Uncle Matt said taking the cup and drinking some it. “You are here because I asked you to come.”

“But that’s why I am confused. I don’t remember you asking,” Jon noted, settling back in his chair.

“All in due time, my boy,” Uncle Matt said in a majestic manner. “What do you know about...”  he paused, looking around conspiratorially, before he continued, “... The Truth?”

Jon almost laughed at the absurdity of the question before he realized his Uncle was serious. “I’m guessing you don’t want a philosophic ‘What is truth? What is beauty?’ response.”

“No, I don’t.” Uncle Matt continued, “Actually my question is more related to my life’s work. As you know, I was a journalist for many years always trying to expose hidden truths. Eventually I discovered certain truths in the stock market and grew a portfolio large enough to retire to this extravagant mansion. Filling that mansion with beautiful servants took a few more years of stock market luck.

“But it is that luck that comes to the heart of my question. Is truth fluid or absolute?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question. Again, I fear I’ve taken too many classes in philosophy, Uncle. Plato would say truth is absolute. Modern philosophers would be less sure of themselves. Why don’t you tell me which you believe and maybe I can argue for or against it?”

“You have taken too many philosophy classes.” Uncle Matt said with harrumph. “I would say that truth is fluidly absolute. Confusing, right? Consider, what if you could influence the truth to the point of changing the ‘truth’ about a prior truth? Would there be anything you could not do?”

“There is no what if about that. If you can make night day and black white you can do anything. Those are absolutes if I understand you. Though, that is but a mental exorcise, isn’t it?” Jon replied. He put his hand to his mouth, obviously deep in thought. Uncle Matt did not interrupt. Jon continued, “But, you’re talking about influence and fluidity. You don’t want night to be day. You’re saying early evening twilight is now a little after dusk. You asked me here to your opulent mansion to discuss subtlety?”

Uncle Matt laughed. “You drill down to the essence of my point expertly, Jon. I like to think you get that from your mother. She was always my favorite niece.” Uncle Matt paused for a coughing fit shorter than the previous one. He cleared his throat and continued. “This opulent mansion, as you call it, will be dedicated as a museum after I die. I am not leaving any of my wealth to my various nieces, nephews and their brood. And I'm doing you the favor of not leaving it all to you. They would just hate you and you would lose your family. But, I do want to give you something. And the truth is you can rebuild this mansion with my gift if you master the subtlety of truth. Now, our meeting is over and you will not understand any of this until I'm gone, I’m afraid. I think it's better that way.”

* * *

Jon was late for work as usual. As he pulled on his pants he noticed there was something in the front pocket. He reached in and took out a nondescript pen case. “How’d that get there?” he wondered. He had the feeling he had seen the case before. Upon opening the case, he found a scrap of paper wrapped around an old-fashioned fountain pen.

As soon as he saw the pen he knew his Uncle Matt had died. Jon shook his head and realized that the meeting at his mansion a few weeks ago was not something he had remembered a few moments ago.

Looking down at the pen again there was nothing unusual about it. It was a fountain pen in a cheap plastic box with faux-velvet lining. The pen was probably nickel-plated, not even silver or gold. The paper contained a list of instructions: the first two lines in black ink, the rest in blue.

The black text read: “When I die, the Pen of Truth will return to its case with this piece of paper wrapped around it. The case will become located in the pants pocket of my great nephew Jonathan Williams. Should he not be wearing pants with pockets at the time of my death the case will appear in the next pair of pants he puts on with an appropriate pocket. Unless he is alone, Jonathan will not notice the case in his pants. No one can reach into the pants pocket to take the case out except Jonathan. Once Jonathan finds the case, these instructions are voided. No one but Jonathan can see this piece of paper.”

Following that in blue ink, he read:

“Jon, it was with the pen you are holding that I have influenced the truth. Guard it well. Use it subtly lest your actions be discovered by those who would use the pen aggressively. I know you will do the right thing. And don’t be afraid to have a little fun with it. Love, Your Recently Departed Great Uncle Matt.”

Jon read the message several times before looking at the pen again. He got up and went over to his desk, removing a piece of paper from the computer printer. After a few moments thinking, he wrote, “This desk is made from real birch.”

He looked down at the birch desk and wondered why he would write something so obvious. He crossed out what he had written. “As I finish writing, this desk will become an oak desk.”

The desk changed before his eyes to oak. He remembered it had been birch but now it was oak. He had no idea what the desk might have been before he had written it was birch.

He could not go to work now. He sent an email to his boss and HR that he would be using a sick day today.

Returning to the pen, he wrote, “I remember what the desk was made of at six o’clock this morning.”

Nothing happened. “The nail on my right hand pinky finger will become an eighth inch longer right now.”

Again nothing happened. “I can change my desk but I can’t change myself,” he thought. “I guess that explains why Uncle Matt wasn’t immortal. Or maybe I can change inanimate things but not people.” After a few moments he remembered his uncle had caused him to forget and remember something based on when he saw the pen so obviously he can affect people just not himself. He thought about how the trigger worked.

He wrote, “My desk will become birch the next time I say ‘birch’.” Nothing happened to the desk. After a moment passed he said aloud, “Birch.” The oak desk was now made of birch.

Over the course of the morning he made a few minor changes to his apartment. He remembered that his uncle had mentioned the stock market several times while they spoke after glancing at his watch and noting that it was 9:30, he wrote, “Between 9:42 and 9:52, the common stock of these three companies will climb 5 points.” He chose three companies in totally different fields and waited. He surfed to a stock tracking website and created a watch list with the three companies. The stocks were basically steady until about quarter to ten when they slowly started climbing. After a few minutes it was two dollars higher than it was at 9:42. They each gained about 5 dollars in value before dipping and returning to their original values. This was amazing. But he was also disheartened. “With the number of computers hunting the market for trends, how long would it take for someone to figure out I had benefited from all of these unexplained surges? I’m sure when Uncle Matt did this there wasn’t one-ten thousandth of the market monitoring in place.” He thought. “Subtlety, he told me.”

“Perhaps instead I should focus on some fun.”