Free A Man Overboard by Shawn Hopkins Page A

plane of existence with true ramifications to be applied across actual time and space…then forget it. He’d just kill himself and save the misery of failing whatever test some pantheistic non-being called “Everything” had somehow and for some reason conjured up to amuse its unconscious self.
    He needed a drink before his mind slipped down the hill of sanity and plunged headlong into this philosophic migraine. He’d gone there before and understood why some scientists reportedly killed themselves in the face of certain revelations, revelations concerning the very essence of existence, and he had no intention of returning to that padded room now. It was too much for the mind of the creature to grasp the methods and the world of the creator, reality itself a black hole full of infinite questions. Scientists learning of more and more dimensions, so-called “dark matter” comprising 97% of the universe, quantum physics, string theory…
    Jack shook his head and, with great effort, pushed all the madness out of his mind with one mental stroke.
    “Jesus Christ. Get a grip.”

    Jesus Christ. And suddenly, he knew why people like his wife chose to believe in nothing. It was easier to avoid the chaos, both philosophically and ethically. But such a belief system would lead him right back to the same irrational theories advising him that nothing was real, that it was all some scam, a random, meaningless mistake. There was no soul, no spirit, just the here and now and nothing forever. Love a chemical reaction in the brain, truth, beauty, and joy cruel fantasies produced by natural selection meant only to prolong the human species for…something. Shit. That was more depressing than the “why” and “how” questions.
    Stop!

    He smacked himself in the face, trying to stabilize the pillars of his own sanity. And in an instant, his world focused, the ivory towers of endless conjecture turning to sand and blowing away, the house that lay beyond the windshield— his house—the anchor keeping his mind from dissolving with them. He was back in his own driveway.
    A drink. Now. Before I lose my freakin’ marbles.

    He knew that getting smashed wouldn’t help find Joseph, but neither would winding up in a padded room, drooling all over himself for the rest of his life.
    He shut the engine off, and the headlights fell away. Taking the key from the ignition, he pushed the door open and stepped out. Standing there in the darkness, he studied his environment. Felt the cool night air glide through his hair. Smelled the freshly cut grass of nearby lawns. Listened to the strange cricket symphony. Watched fireflies blink yellow in the neighbor’s yard. And in all of it, the reception of the perceived authenticity never wavered. Never gave way to a watery static as alien dream-gods tried better adjusting antenna REM. There were no giant arthropods crawling up the sides of the chimney, no deep-sea fish from hell swimming through the yard—though he did double-check to make certain they were fireflies blinking around him and not the glowing photophores of demon anglers.
    Satisfied for now that he wasn’t actually an undead prisoner to the ocean’s floor, he continued to the house. But when he went to put the key into the keyhole, the door pushed open. Again. Only this time, he knew that he’d locked it.
    He stepped back carefully. There was no car in the driveway, but he found a black, unmarked van with tinted windows parked in the street six doors away. His pulse quickened.
    A noise came from inside.
    Being the Jerry that he was, mentally prepared to survive anything from Martial Law to the super-virus that would wipe out mankind, he slipped his shoes off, leaving them on the porch as he eased the door open. Once inside, he silently shut it behind him.
    The smell of kerosene hit him at once.
    Kerosene? Hethoughtof the kerosene heater he kept in the garage. But what would someone in a dark van parked halfway down the street want with