Read Online Thomas World by Richard Cox - Free Book Online

production company optioned it. Paid ten percent for the rights for a year, and then renewed it for another year.”
    â€œA production company in Hollywood?”
    I name a few films produced by the company in question, and Dick’s face lights up. As I said, I rarely tell people about my screenwriting, but when I do, this part always impresses them. These famous films that have nothing to do with me.
    â€œNo shit,” he says. “What was the screenplay about?”
    â€œA big government conspiracy.”
    â€œTrilateral Commission? Illuminati?”
    â€œSort of. In my film a group like that is trying to get one of their members elected president, but they don’t realize the guy is a Satanist who wants to start a world war to bring about the end times. My protagonist went to school with this conspiracy guy and tries to stop him from getting elected. He thinks he’s safe when the FBI assigns two agents to him, but then he figures out they work for the bad guy. Eventually it turns into a race-against-time thriller as they chase him across the country.”
    â€œThat was pretty good timing,” Dick says. “In 1998, I mean. End of the millennium and all that.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought. And the film was almost greenlit a couple of times, but something always seemed to get in the way. My agent and I had this running joke about how the film would never be made because it was too close to reality.”
    Dick chuckles. “There’s no question the government is out to get you, but the problem is more economic than Satanic.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    Dick doesn’t answer right away. I look out the window, where the lawn crew is still cutting grass. One of the men looks into the cafeteria and I make eye contact with him. He’s an older fellow with a beard. He’s staring right at me. He doesn’t look anything like the other members of the crew, who are brown and leathery and probably get more sun in one day than I do in a week.
    My heart beats hard and hot and fast.
    It’s the man from the bathroom.
    But then I blink and look at him more closely and realize it isn’t the same guy at all. He’s just as tan as the other members of his lawn crew, and a lot younger than I first thought. He’s also not looking at me, but rather down at his gasoline-powered weed trimmer, guiding it along the ground in long, slow-motion strokes.
    I look around the cafeteria and notice the polyester women are gone. So is the blue-collar fellow who was watching TV.
    The guy outside glides along the window, trimming grass. Still not the man from the bathroom.
    Dick hasn’t said anything for a while now. When I look back at him I see immediately something is wrong. He’s still facing me, but his eyes…it’s as if he’s looking at something behind me, something far away.
    â€œHa,” I say. “Very funny.”
    He doesn’t answer. It’s almost like his eyes aren’t talking to his brain, like they’re just floating in their sockets.
    â€œHey,” I say. “You all right?”
    On the television, some FOX anchor is ranting about the Internet and how virtual relationships are no substitute for the real thing. The heavy smell of bacon and sausage hangs in the air. Someone in the kitchen is listening to Shania Twain.
    Dick just sits there, and the metaphorical hairs stand up on my metaphorical neck.
    Time crawls to a stop.
    This is what I’m talking about. Everything is all wrong with me. I’d like to believe it started with the blue orb, with a migraine, but I know that isn’t true. I’ve been coming apart at the seams for some time now. The scary thing is I can barely remember anything before the church that morning, except for the Halloween party and the fight I had with Gloria. And the things I do remember don’t make any sense.
    â€œYou want to know how it works?” Dick finally says.
    A