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* Photo used without permission from: http://www.panoramio.com/photo/14512773
And so, my little story comes to an end. If you happen to be in a Scottish moor and you spot Titus running around, let me know! Remember, if you'd like to go back and read from the beginning, go here: THE STORY, PART 1. Enjoy!
Part 5, The End
As I exited Dr. Thatcher’s tomb, the first rays of daybreak
broke and greeted me to a world so much changed from the one I knew only two
days previous. I scanned the scene before me and calculated how long it would
take for me to return to civilization. I looked for clues in nature to help
assist me in my goal, the migration of fowl, the start of a brook where flowing
waters could lead to a community. I saw none but assumed, correctly, that these
clues would come.
I surveyed
the caves one last time and struck out on my journey home, but before I did,
something caught my attention. A glimmer of light reflected from the moor a
league away. I tried to focus my eyes on what it could be, but unfortunately
the distance was too great. Did the object move? Did it remain fast where it
was? The morning light played tricks upon my eyes and to this day, I cannot
determine with certainty what it was that I saw. I looked again and the
reflected light was gone. Since I had no idea of where I was, I decided to walk
toward where the light had shown. I’m glad I did.
After walking
two hours time I came upon a small village. I asked many of the town's inhabitants if they had
heard of Dr. Thatcher or knew of his work. No one with whom I came in contact
had ever heard of the doctor, though they had heard of the caves. A local
legend labeled them haunted and thus, they were to be avoided. However,
certain young men with more bravado than sense ventured to the caves, but they
were discouraged from reaching them due to strange noises emanating from the
caves themselves.
When I
began to tell them of my experiences with Max and Titus, no one believed me. In
fact, they thought me possessed of evil spirits and drove me from the village.
Thankfully they gave me food and drink enough to survive the distance to the
next town. Unfortunately my experience at the next hamlet proved the same. No
one believed my words concerning all that I had seen.
And, as you
can most likely tell, no one has believed me since, not those in Scotland, nor
in the educated world of my homeland. You see before you a broken man, a man in
whom no one believes.
I wish to
show you something, something I have shown to no man for I feel all unworthy to
see it. As I left the annihilation of the caves, I looked down and spotted
something. It was a metal hand. Whether it was from Titus or one of his replicated
machines, I cannot say, for it hardly matters. They were the same. I picked up
the hand and stowed it in my clothing. I showed no one for fear of reprisal. If
they thought the mere mention of Dr. Thatcher’s work suggested a league with
the devil, than my producing physical evidence of his work would only confirm
their superstitious misgivings.
I have
brought the hand with me today. In fact, it accompanies me wherever I go in the
hopes someone with an open mind and a spirit of discernment might accept my
words as truthful. And here, my Prussian student, it is.
Marvelous,
isn’t it? Only a true master could construct such a magnificent example of
elegant craftsmanship. I see you agree with my summation.
What, of
all the amazing things I experienced, do I remember most? That is an excellent
question, something I have pondered every day since I first climbed aboard
Max’s mechanical wagon. One thing he told me—one thing I cannot seem to remove
from my memory—has haunted me. I remember asking, as we drank in his quarters,
how it was that Titus operated in such a human manner. He moves, I commented,
as if he had a soul and I asked how this was possible.
“Simple,”
Max said, to which I scoffed. “Titus does indeed live. He lives because in him
contains the same element found in all of God’s living creatures. It is the
water,” he said. “The water that turns to steam is life itself, and so is he.”
This is something I’ve never forgotten, so much so that it impairs my sleep and
troubles my days with melancholy thoughts. I close my eyes and see the
emotionless face of the monster, of Titus, and I wonder if he does indeed live.
And so I
have come to the end of my account. The responsibility of belief shifts now to
you. Once you leave this table you must make a decision, whether or not to take
this knowledge and use it to improve the world, or to join the chorus of those
who say I am crazy, or possessed, or both.
But, before
you go, I wish for you to take the hand. I give it to you for two reasons. First,
so that you may know my story is based in truth, this being a token of its
validity. The second is that, like a man in possession of the Koh-i-Noor
Diamond, I want the damned thing gone. The object’s influence in my life has
affected me to the point that I no longer have the strength to bear it further.
And so I
bid you farewell, Herr Daimler. I pray you God’s speed back to Karlsruhe and
your studies. Whatever shall your destiny in life become, I hope you take away
from our meeting the knowledge that the man sitting before you has seen
incredible things, met many amazing people in my life. My wish for you is that
you venture forth and do the same. May God bless and keep you until we may
hopefully meet again.
The End
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