Complete Story - The Reluctant Traveler

A novel length story (WIP) about Mark, who lives in different time lines.

Author’s note: Each of Mark’s adventures or episodes are based on real events. I’ve done a little research in order to include the events. Some of the characters mentioned are historic figures. But the actual story, dialog, and occurrences are complete fiction.

Time And Time Again


Chapter One
The Beginning

         “Welcome back, Mark.”

         “Where have I been?”

         “That’s what you’re supposed to tell me.”

         “Tell you? What do you mean, I’m supposed to tell you? Who are you?”

         “I’m someone who cares for you right now. We are working together on a special project.”

         “Special project? Wait a minute. Where am I?”

         “Where you have been for a little while now.”

         “Hold on a sec. Start over please. Why am I lying here like this? And again, who are you?”

         “You may call me Ishmael.” As he said this, he fought hard to hide a smile. Moby Dick had always been a favorite book; he found he related well to that character.

         “Ishmael huh. Nice. But you didn’t answer my question, Ishmael.”

         “Mark, there’s a goal we’re working towards, something we want to accomplish. It can’t be done without you. You are not a guinea pig for us. Being here is entirely voluntary on your part.”

         You mean I can leave when I want?”

         “Yes, Mark. That’s exactly what I mean.”

         “Suppose I wanted to leave now?”

         “Then I’d have no choice but to let you go. After you tell me where you were.”

         As Ishmael was speaking, Mark’s mind seemed to shift to a new plane, or new level. His mind slowly cleared as his memory of where he was before he woke returned. Ishmael could see the change in his demeanor, a light flush coming to his gaunt cheeks. Mark looked at his surroundings some, his gaze coming to rest on his reflection in the mirror. He knew that man in the mirror, hair starting to gray around the temples, curly locks atop his head. “At least I’m not going bald anytime soon.” he thought. With that thought in mind, he lay back on his pillow, and for the first time noticed the soft sounds in the room. There was the low beeping of machines that he couldn’t see, the quiet whirring of fans nearby, both mixed with a myriad other noises he couldn’t identify.

         The quiet solitude of the room was broken by the entrance of a young woman.

         “Good morning gentlemen. Can I get either of you anything?”

         “Morning Michelle, I am fine, but not sure about Mark here.”

         Hearing her name, Mark couldn’t help thinking of the Beatles song, and said, “Michelle, my Belle.” A soft smile gracing his wan features as he said it.

         “Mark, you are such a ham. You always greet me that way.”

         “I do? I’m sorry, my memory has failed me there.”

         “I’m not surprised really. You’ve been through a lot you know, so having a fuzzy memory when you first return is not too surprising.” She looked Mark over intently, her gaze shifting from him to the nearby equipment. Her light brown hair framed her facial features, wiry glasses perched perfectly on her slender nose. Freckles adorned her face, most noticeably around the bridge of her nose. She smiled broadly as she looked closely at the instruments and their indications, humming a small tune under her breath as she did. Her hand moved over the tablet she held in her hand, Mark could only assume she was jotting down notes. Finished with her task, she looked over at Mark once more.

         “You’ve seen others like me in the past?”

         “No Mark, you are the first, that’s why it’s so important that you are monitored properly. We have to document what happens just in case…” As she said this, she blushed furiously as if she was afraid she’d said the wrong thing.

         Mark ignored her discomfort and replied, “I wish I knew what I was first at. I’ve never been known to be first in anything.”

         “Rest assured, you are first here. And you won’t be the first to forget me either. You know how it is.”

         “Michelle, I don’t want to forget you, at least not for long.” As they chatted back and forth, Ishmael watched and listened intently. It was obvious the two of them had a nice rapport that deepened more as he observed them.

         “Well, you will never forget me permanently, I’m the one who wears yellow sneakers almost all the time.”

         “Ahhhh….” Mark stopped himself in midsentence. He knew he should know Michelle better, but his brain wasn’t functioning fully yet. He felt a sudden ‘lurch’ in his mind, and realized he and Michelle shared something few had, despite their age difference. He knew he was about thirty years her senior since he was now fifty nine. Starting his thoughts and statement over, he said, “Ah, if you were only twenty years older, we’d make quite the pair, since I love wearing yellow socks. My socks, your shoes, you know…”

         Michelle couldn’t help herself and laughed at this. “Mark, I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve said that, but it always makes me laugh. But seriously, is there anything I can get you this morning?”

         “I think I’m fine, considering I seem to be confined to this bed.”

         At this point, Ishmael broke in and said, “Remember, Mark, you are not confined. You are free to leave at any time.”

         Michelle spent a few moments fussing with things around the room, then left as suddenly as she appeared, waving to the men as she departed.

         “Mark, do you think you can now tell me where you were?”

         Mark nodded his head, realizing he now knew the events of his recent past. Slowly he began to tell Ishmael where he had been, and what he did while there. A far off look came to his eyes as he slowly recalled his experiences. He spoke quietly, almost as if he was in a trance as he recounted where, and who he had been.

Chapter Two
The Answer

         It was 1:30 in the morning, September 12, 2001, and Sara was extremely worried. Worried about a man she had met during lunch Monday, wondering if he had been one of the victims of the horrible attacks yesterday. Making up her mind, she pulled the carefully folded small piece of paper from her purse, glanced briefly at the number, and dialed her phone. Surprisingly, the phone was answered on the third ring by a man who simply said, “Hello, this is Nick.”

         “Rick! Oh man, I’m so glad you are okay!”

         “I’m sorry, but this is Nick, not Rick.”

         “Rick, listen please. I don’t know if you remember me, but we met at lunch yesterday. This is Sara. Sara McCluskey. Susan introduced us, and it seemed we clicked right away. We talked for a while, and I found out you worked in the World Trade Center. After what happened yesterday, I had to call to make sure you are okay. Forgive me please, I’m babbling, but I’ve had a bit to drink tonight. I…”

         Once again Nick politely cut her off and said, “I’m sorry, but really, this is Nick.”

         “Listen Rick. I just need to talk to you. Please. After yesterday…. seeing the towers come down and knowing you worked there…. I had to call you.” As she spoke, Sara idly twirled her hair with her fingers, slowly pacing in circles around her room. Sara continued, “Can I just talk to you? I need someone to talk to, someone who’ll listen, I thought maybe it could be you. At least for tonight.”

         Nick sighed softly, but he knew he would listen. It was one of his strong suits, just like his father and brother. They were all good listeners and were often told things they didn’t need to know.

         “You said you are Susan…”

         “No Rick, Susan introduced us, this is Sara. Sara McCluskey. I’m the brunette with curly, shoulder length hair. You commented on my blue eyes, and how captivating they are. Remember now?”

         “Yes, I do.” Nick lied. “It’s just late, and like you said, after what happened yesterday, my mind was off in another world when you called.”

         “Well, I’m just so glad you are alive. I have a lot of things going on in my life and having a friend I can talk to would really help.”

         The call went on for another thirty minutes or so, with Sara often sobbing at the events of the previous day. After a while her words started to slur, her speech slowing as she spoke. Nick listened for as long as he could until he realized she would soon be asleep on the phone. He was finally able to step in and break her monologue, “Listen, it’s really late. Let’s both get some rest. Sounds like you’re about to fall asleep yourself.”

         “Oh my God, look at the time! You’re right. I’ve kept you up far too long. I’m sorry Rick! Thank you for listening. May I call you again just to talk?”

         Nick sighed, the last thing he wanted was a woman calling him whenever she felt the need. At the same time, he felt a connection with her, and knew he’d listen whenever she called. “Yes of course. Call me when or if you need to. You have my number after all.”

         “G’nite Rick. Get some rest.”

         “G’nite Sara, you too.”

         Nick was surprised at how fast he fell asleep. His mind had been churning all day, unable to let go of the memories of what happened. It seemed as soon as his head hit the pillow he fell into a deep dreamless slumber.

         Sara also fell asleep quickly. She had been so distraught over what happened the previous day, talking to Rick had really set her mind at peace. She was asleep in minutes and dreamed of a man who guided her decisions. In her dream, he was almost faceless. She knew it was Rick, but his face was obscured a bit, almost as if a cloud was between the two of them, no matter how close they were.

         The next morning Sara woke up late. She wasn’t hung over at all, and felt refreshed, ready for a new day. A new world. As she ate her breakfast, she looked at her recent calls list, intending to call Rick to apologize for calling so late. As she looked at his number, she felt something was odd, and grabbed the slip of paper that he’d written his number on. She gasped as she looked at it, and realized she’d misdialed the number by one digit. Horrified, she knew she had to call this man again. Not only to apologize for calling so late, but for thinking that he was Rick all that time.

         Nick’s phone rang as he was relaxing in his garden. Looking at the number, he was pleased, yet annoyed to see it was Sara again. “Hello there Sara.” Nick wasn’t sure why he didn’t answer in his usual curt manner. Maybe there was a greater connection than he thought.

         “Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I called you late last night, and thought I was talking to Rick, a man I’d met the day before yesterday. You sound a lot like him, but I can’t believe I misdialed his number! Please forgive me.”

         “Nothing to forgive Sara. I was still awake. It was obvious you needed someone to talk to, I wanted to get my mind off things too, so it was good for both of us.”

         “You’ve got to be kidding me! You mean you didn’t mind talking to me for almost an hour?”

         “No, I kind of enjoyed it.”

         “Well, what’s your name then? I remember telling you I need someone to talk to. And I do.”

         “I know you do. Everyone does at some point in time.”

         “Then….” Sara hesitated here, unsure of how to ask her question.

         “Yes Sara, you can call me. I’ll listen.”

         “But what’s your name?”

         “Just call me Rick. It seems to be a name you are comfortable with, so call me Rick.”

         “But I’d like to know your real name.”

         “My name isn’t important. I can be Rick for you, and happy to be so.”

         “Well, okay. It’s a little odd, but if that’s how you want it. Do you have time to talk?”

         “Not right now. I’m a little busy but call me later this evening. I’ll make myself available to you and listen all you need me to.”

         Nick wasn’t really that busy, but he’d resolved to spend time in his garden each day to soothe his mind and help him get over his recent losses. He also had an idea that he wanted to investigate. He knew it would be a long project, but he needed to spend a lot of time researching things before he started on it.

         Sara called as planned that night, she and Nick talked for an hour and a half. Nick couldn’t believe how much she had to say, much of it was just things to get off her chest. Finally, she said, “Rick, I’m at a crossroads in my life. I’m twenty-seven, single, eligible in every respect. But I haven’t found a man I click with in that special way. At the same time, I’ve finished my bachelor’s degree, and I’m ready to start a career. Any suggestions on what kind of career I should get in to?”

         “Where’s your degree from, and what field is it in?”

         “Uhh, Business. Columbia University.”

         “No specific field though, huh?”

         “No, I’m not sure what’s right for me.”

         “Have you thought about public speaking? This could get you into several fields in business. A business leader must be well spoken, and able to speak in front of the public.”

         “Me? I could never do that! I tremble at the thought of being in front of people.”

         “Really? Look how you’ve opened up to me in less than twenty-four hours.”

         “This is different. We’re on the phone, we haven’t met, I don’t know you.”

         “And you won’t know the people you speak in front of either. I would recommend joining Toastmasters. It’s a great avenue to get used to speaking in front of people. In fact, I used it when I first started on my business journey.”

         “Oh, I can’t. I know I’ll fail.”

         “I don’t think you will.”

         After a little more chat, the call ended. Nick sat back and wrote notes of all that had been discussed between them, as was his custom. The next day he made a point to look up Sara McCluskey at Columbia. He had fond memories of that school. It had been a while, but he had fond memories. Seeing her picture on the website, he was pleased to see she was a brunette with short curly hair. She looked like she led an active life and was not surprised to find she had been a member of the tennis team.

         He made a couple of calls to friends about Sara. He wanted her guided properly and knew these men would help. Over the next few weeks, he monitored the Toastmasters website, and was pleased to see she had joined it. Over the next few months, he made it a point to attend a session incognito and listen to Sara speak. She was always passionate about her topic and presented herself far better than she thought she could. She was a good-looking woman, he noticed her hair was now cut in a different fashion. She had the look of an experienced businesswoman. She did not appear aggressive, just confident in herself. He found her very attractive, and fascinating.

         Throughout this time, she would call Nick from time to time. She didn’t always seek advice, she often called just to talk to him. Nick realized that there was a deep bond between the two of them, despite having never met face to face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         “Hello again Sara. How are you today?”

         “Hi Rick, things are great here. Hey, listen, we’ve never met, and I think it’s time we do. I mean it’s been five years since my initial call to you. What would you say to dinner this week?” Sara couldn’t believe she was asking a man she’d never seen to dinner.

         “Sara, I don’t go out much.” This was a lie of course, but Nick did tend to stick to himself now, rarely venturing out except to see how Sara was doing. “I don’t like crowds and get extremely agitated around large groups of people.” Another lie. Nick didn’t mind crowds, never had. But he had taken to living alone on his estate, having his necessities either sent to him, or sending someone to get what he needed

         Sara frowned, glad that Rick couldn’t see her face. She knew she was falling for this ‘invisible man’ and wanted to meet him. Sara could sense Rick’s unwillingness to meet and let the subject drop. “I’ve progressed well in Toastmasters, as I think I’ve told you. In fact, I’ve taken a couple of new members under my wing, mentoring them, just as you’ve mentored me from afar all this time. Can you believe it’s been five years? Man, I tell you, I never thought I could do something like this, what did you hear in my voice to make you realize I could?”

         “It was the way you spoke to me. The tone of your voice, little things. I heard a lot of uncertainty, a lot of pleading, but a lot of confidence at certain times. That’s all.”

         “Rick, I’ve asked you for advice many times, along with quite a few inane questions. Somehow, you’ve answered every question I’ve ever asked. It’s like you are an answering machine, not a living, breathing human. Is there anything you don’t know?”

         “Of course, there is. You’ve just asked questions on subjects I have some knowledge on.”

         “Well, I know I’ve said it many times, but thank you Rick. Thank you for mentoring me, having faith in me, and guiding me. I don’t know where I’d be without your advice and friendship.”

         “It’s been my pleasure really. I look forward to hearing about your progression into new fields, new accomplishments.” The connection ended. Sara wondered about Rick. She didn’t know what to think of someone who wouldn’t go out anywhere and wondered once again about her true feelings for him.

         Nick pondered the call for a while. He had been waiting for Sara to ask to meet and knew they couldn’t. She had no idea what he looked like, his age, or anything. He felt guilty about having seen her without her knowing who he was. At the same time, he was glad he had been able to see her in that manner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

         It was four years later that Nick was able to fully start on that personal project he’d wanted to work on. As an electronics engineer, he and his brother had worked on many ideas. They had been major contributors in designing the original I-Pod, and the follow on I-devices. Since his retirement, he spent much of his time working on new ideas. He knew how the new I-Pad tablets were being designed, and decided he would build something similar, but unique. He couldn’t do it at his estate; it would have to be done in a factory. But since he was going to make just the one device, he knew he could call in a few favors and have it built without anyone snooping into his plans too much. It took a lot longer than he wanted, but in less than two years, he had a working prototype.

         One day, Sara received a small flat package in the mail. Opening the box, she saw a small notecard. “Sara, please do not open this yet. It’s not time. But, if you’d like to meet, please come to 66 Brielle Avenue, Staten Island the day you receive this. Bring it with you, open it when directed please. Be here about 3pm. Tell the gatekeeper your name, and that you are here to meet me. He’ll get you to me. Rick.”

         Sara had to read the note twice to be sure she read it correctly. The smile that lit her face while reading it was bright enough to light the entire New York City skyline. Sara dressed quickly. She wanted to look her best for Rick but didn’t want to look too businesslike. She finally settled on a pair of blue Dockers slacks, a pale-yellow top, and comfortable shoes. Hailing a cab, she hopped in and gave the driver Rick’s address. She didn’t notice the rise in the driver’s eyebrows as she spoke.

         As she sat back to relax, Sara realized how little she knew about Rick. Staten Island? She pulled out her cell phone and used Google maps to look at the area. ‘Wow, he lives in a pretty expensive area!’ she thought to herself. For some reason though, Google maps could not pinpoint her destination.

         The cab finally arrived at its destination, or what seemed to be her destination. All Sara could see was a closed gate with a small call box to one side. She read the small placard next to the box and lifted the phone. “Hello, this is Sara, I’m here to see Rick.”

         “We’ve been expecting you. I’ll be right there.” The voice on the other end did not sound like a man Sara’s age, but someone a lot older. She saw a golf cart coming down the road on the other side of the gate and wasn’t too surprised when a man who looked to be well past middle age get out. “Sara, so nice to meet you! I’ve heard a lot about you. I am Sam, the guardian of this estate. Please, come in.”

         As the gate opened, Sara stepped through, and sat in the seat as directed. Sam closed the gate with a button press and put the cart in gear. “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

         “You’re here to see Rick, right? Well, I’m taking you to him.”

         The cart headed up the slight incline but did not stop at the large house. As they rounded the side of the house, Sara gasped involuntarily in amazement. A large meadow lay before them, and Sam slowly drove the cart down a well-trodden path. “This is where you get off young lady. Please turn that device on now. I will be back when you need me.”

         Sara got out of the cart; a perplexed look written on her face. She was alone in a small glade at the end of the path. Wondering just what she’d gotten herself into, she opened her package and found an electronic tablet. It powered on with the press of a button, and a man’s face popped up from the screen.

         “Hello Sara. Nice to finally see you.”

         “What the hell? Er, I mean, uhh…”

         “It’s okay Sara, I sort of expected this. I’m Nick, that’s my real name. You’ve known me as Rick for almost 11 years now.”

         “I don’t understand! What’s going on?”

         “You wanted to meet me, now you have.”

         “No! I wanted to meet the man I’ve talked to on the phone all these years. Not a holograph!”

         “I know Sara. I wanted that too. But it wasn’t possible. Please walk past the trees you see at the end of the path. I’m there.”

         Sara still couldn’t understand what was going on but did as requested. Once past the trees, she stopped, her mouth moving to say something, but no sound could escape. Finally, she collapsed to her knees, sobs wracking her body. In front of her was a simple headstone.

Nick Griffiths
April 10, 195 - May 5, 2015
He loved many things, even a woman he never met.

         Through her sobs Sara heard Nick’s voice as it tried to soothe her. “Sara, we couldn’t meet, much as you and I both wanted. I wasn’t healthy enough to get out. Though my body was frail, my mind was not.”

         “Rick… I mean Nick, how is this all possible? What is this thing you gave me? How are you able to talk to me as if you’re here?” These questions and many more bubbled to the surface as Sara fought to control her sobs.

         “You know, I never had a name for this thing. You’re going to help me name it though. This was created for you, only you. It’s a one-of-a-kind device, programmed by me to allow you to continue asking me questions whenever you want.”

         “You built this?”

         “Well, I didn’t build it. But I designed it. I had to call in a few favors to have it built for me.”

         “What does it do?”

         “It’s like your own Google. I’ve used my voice, and programmed it to talk with you, converse with you as if I’m here. It will only access Wi-Fi when you direct it to. You and only you can power this on or off. You and only you can access the Internet with it.”

         “All these years you’ve answered every question I’ve asked. Now you leave me with a device here to do it for you. Let’s see how good it is. Who was Rick, the man I met in September 2001.”

         Nick’s voice sounded sad as he answered, “I knew you’d ask that question. Please walk over the hill behind my headstone. We’ll talk more once you’re there.”

         Sara walked up the small hill to a small copse of trees. Seeing an opening, she entered. Once again, she was overcome with emotion and fell to her knees. In front of her were two small monuments.

Rick Griffiths Jr.
August 12, 1960 – September 11, 2001
Beloved brother of Nick, the real genius behind their projects

Rick Griffiths Sr.
January 31, 1922 – September 11, 2001
The father, the patriarch, the one who made us possible.

         “You see my father and brother here. They were both in the World Trade Center when it was attacked. Sara, I’m so sorry to hit you like this, in this fashion. You must realize I couldn’t tell you. Not when we first met. Over the years, my pain eased, and I found a new reason to keep on living.”

         It was quite a while before Sara could calm down and stop sobbing. Her hair was a mess, makeup smeared, eyes red and swollen. Finally, she could think again, and said, “What became your reason to keep on living?”

         “Helping you. Advising you. Watching from a distance as you matured and grew.”

         Sara sobbed once again, but quickly regained control. “I know what to call this device you’ve given me. But first, can it be duplicated? Can more be manufactured?”

         “Of course! That was in the plans all along. You’d get the first one, then if you decided to have more manufactured, then do it. You have the business acumen now, go with it. Run with it! What are you going to call it?”

         “The Answer.”

         As she sat there in her private misery, Sara felt light-headed. Her head bobbed back and forth until finally, she fell to the side, lying on the ground unconscious.

Chapter Three
Mark & Ishmael

         “Welcome back Mark.”

         “Where have I been?”

         “That’s what you’re supposed to tell me.”

         “Tell you? What do you mean, I’m supposed to tell you? Who are you?”

         “I’m someone who cares for you right now. We are working together on a special project.”

         “Special project? Wait a minute, where am I?”

         “Where you have been for a little while now.”

         “Hold on a sec. Start over please. Why am I lying here like this? And again, who are you?”

         “You may call me Ishmael.” As he said this, he fought hard to hide a smile. Moby Dick had always been a favorite book, he found he related well to that character.

         “Ishmael huh. Nice. But you didn’t answer my question Ishmael.”

         “Mark, there’s a goal we’re working towards, something we want to do. It can’t be done without you. You are not a guinea pig for us, this is entirely voluntarily on your part.”

         “You mean I can leave when I want?”

         “Yes Mark, of course.”

         “Suppose I wanted to leave now?”

         “Then I’d have no choice but to let you go. After you tell me where you were. Oh hey Vince!”

         As Ishmael said this, Mark’s mind seemed to shift to a new plane, or new level. He started to recall where he was before he woke. Ishmael could see the change in his demeanor, a light flush coming to his gaunt cheeks once again. Mark looked at his surroundings some, his gaze coming to rest on his reflection in the mirror. He knew that man in the mirror, hair starting to gray around the temples, curly locks atop his head. “At least I’m not going bald anytime soon.” he thought. With that thought in mind, he lay back on his pillow, and for the first time noticed the soft sounds in the room. There was the soft beeping of machines that he couldn’t see, the quiet whirring of fans nearby, both mixed with myriad other noises he couldn’t identify.

         “Mark, do you think you can now tell me where you were?”

         Mark nodded his head, realizing he now knew the events of his recent past. Slowly he began to tell Ishmael where he had been, and what he did while there. A far off look came to his eyes as he slowly recalled his experiences. He spoke quietly, almost as if he was in a trance as he recounted where, and who he had been.

         As he lay back, his mind started to recall the recent events and where he had been.

Chapter Four
A Crash In The Desert

         
“Mac! Mac!”

         “Yeah, what is it Jose?”

         “There’s been a report of more rubbish on the mesa; from the description Manuel gave me, it seems like it might be the same stuff we’ve found before.”

         Mac sighed softly to himself, they had found remnants of weather balloons on the mesa a couple of times already. Each time they called the sheriff, and each time the Army came and claimed the tattered pieces of balloon and weather gear.

         “Well, let’s get going Jose. Can’t leave it lying out there. We both know the sheep will avoid it for the most part.”

         The desert (locals always called it a mesa, even though it wasn’t a true mesa) was an unforgiving place. It could be hot one moment, then incredibly chilly after a sudden thunderstorm. Dry gulches would turn to raging rivers that quickly dried once the storm passed. The landscape in the area of the J.B. Foster Sheep Ranch was unlike most other areas. In the past, the sheep had ignored the debris area. At the same time, they couldn’t risk having them get inquisitive and possibly become tangled in it. Due to the nature of the southwest desert and lack of vegetation, every available acre for them to graze on was needed. Getting that junk cleared had to be a priority. ‘At least it isn’t too hot yet.’ thought Mac as he headed to join Jose.

         The drive to the reported crash site was longer than either of them wanted. They talked about recent events. Independence Day was a week in the past, and there was a lot of work to do. The ranch always had a float in the parade; getting it pulled apart and things back in order was one of the tasks that topped Mac’s work list. As foreman of the ranch, there was a lot on his plate, with more being piled all the time. It was 1947, and the world seemed to move faster with each passing day.

         They finally found the site Manuel had talked about, but both were shocked and surprised at what they saw.

         “What in the blazes do we have here?”

         “No idea Mac, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

         Mac’s worn features reflected confusion, his forehead wrinkled in thought as he looked at the rubble strewn across the mesa. “Well, it doesn’t look at all like stuff we’ve picked up before. Y’know, pieces of a weather balloon. This is totally different. Take that largest piece over there, I’ve never seen anything like it. This is strange, very strange. And look at that hillside! It looks like something plowed into it at a pretty high speed. Look at all the junk! It’s everywhere you can see.”

         Mac continued speaking, almost rambling now. “Not just that, there’s not a single sheep anywhere in sight! Do they know something we don’t?”

         Jose nodded in agreement as he looked around. The sheep ranch was huge, with thousands of sheep raised on it. Yet the vast desert prairie that they could see was empty. Nothing within eyesight moved across the desert. Mac looked around a little more, then looked at Jose and said, “Do you know what else is unusual here?”

         Jose looked around, creases visible on his forehead as he pondered Mac’s question. Finally he said, “There’s no sound of wild life or insects. I don’t see any hawks floating on updrafts near this area, no crows, nothing!

         “Exactly! It’s too quiet here, too void of life. C’mon, let’s go see the sheriff.”

         They drove north to Corona and found the County Sheriff’s office. As they entered the office, Mac noticed a woman was there talking to the Sheriff. She stood to one side, giving Mac only a glimpse of one side of her features. Being a married man, he rarely paid attention to a woman he didn’t know, but this lady was striking. She was about five and a half feet tall, maybe 32 years old, with a figure he thought many women would gladly have at any age. Her shoulder length brown curls hung loosely about her face as she talked to the sheriff. Mac could hear them talking about recent events in the Southeastern New Mexico area.

         “Yes Sheriff, I know it’s boring here, but surely you’ve seen a few things going on. Anything that will give me a short story for the paper.”

         “I know Jean, but really, it’s been very quiet. I think everyone’s recovering from the holiday. Usually I could talk to you about events in the parade, but even the events and parties after it were tame compared to year’s past.”

         At this point, Mac cleared his throat and said, “Excuse me Sheriff. There’s some strange stuff out on the mesa again. I thought it would be another of those weather balloons, like before. But this covers a much larger area, and doesn’t resemble anything I’ve seen.”

         /Hearing what Mac said, the woman moved a little closer to the pair, and spoke to Mac. “Hello there… Uhhhh, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

         Mac was a little surprised she approached him somewhat boldly. After all, weren’t women supposed to stay at home and clean house, raise a family? As a result, he didn’t want to say much to the woman, but his mouth seemed to have a life of its own as he said, “Mac. Mac Brazel. Foreman for the J.B. Foster Sheep Ranch a little south of here.”

         “Good Afternoon Mac, I’m Jean Hummel, with the Roswell Daily Press. Is this something I could use as a story?”

         Mac managed to catch himself before he responded. Something deep inside told him not to say too much about the debris, at least not yet. Instead, he said, “Hi Jean, nice to meet you. I don’t think there’s much here, it’s just a pile of junk on the mesa. Just wanted to let the Sheriff know about it to see if we can get it picked up.”

         “Are you sure Mac?” Once again, Mac found himself a little put off by her demeanor and wondered why she was there.

         “Yeah, pretty sure.”

         “Well, if you change your mind, look me up at the Roswell Daily Press, okay?”

         “Sure, sure will.” For his part, Mac was happy to stop talking to her. For some reason she affected him in a curious way. He couldn‘t put his finger on it, but he hadn’t felt this way around a woman in many years. Maybe it was the yellow ribbon that held her brown curls out of her face. Yellow was his wife’s favorite color after all. He had no idea what it was, he only knew he felt a little different when she was near.

         The Sheriff listened patiently to Mac as he described the rubble found on the desert. Jean stood nearby, listening intently to Mac’s story. Mac tried to ignore her presence, but knew it was useless. He didn’t mind her listening, it wasn’t like a bit of rubbish on the mesa was a secret, but he’d rather have talked to the sheriff alone. When Mac explained the size of area covered by the debris, the sheriff stopped him and said, “Hold on a sec. This thing covers an area twice the size of the other stuff you’ve found?”

         “Yep. You remember how the military down in Roswell came up each time and took it all away.”

         “Yep. I bet they’ll want to see this. Let me call them now then and get them up here.”

         While the sheriff called Roswell, Mac stood back and relaxed, casually looking around the office. Jean stood to one side, and once again he was struck by her appearance. He wouldn’t call her beautiful, but there was something about her. She must have sensed him looking; she looked over to him again, and slowly walked over to stand by his side. Speaking softly she said, “This sounds like it might be a story. I would really appreciate it if you’d share it with me once this is all done.”

         “I’m sorry Ma’am…”

         Jean interrupted him in mid-sentence and said, “Please, call me Jean.”

         “Alright, I’m sorry Jean, but to me, this is just more junk that fell from the sky. Military weather balloon stuff maybe, but of a different sort than I found before.”

         “Y’know, when you said ‘Fell from the sky’, in my mind I saw an object crashing into a mountain or hill. Some kind of object you’ve never seen, or one you couldn’t identify by name.”

         Mac looked at her for a moment, his eyes wide at her statement. “Well Jean, I don’t think this is one of those flying saucers I read about recently. Your statement is curious though. You didn’t call it a flying saucer, you said it was something I couldn’t identify. Interesting.”

         “Mac, once the military has picked this stuff up, call me. We do need to talk.” At this point, their brief conversation was interrupted by the sheriff, who said, “The Army is on their way. They want to get out to the ranch as soon as they can.”

         “Alright sheriff, I think I’ll wait across the street in Isabel’s Café. I’ll watch for ‘em, and come back when I see their trucks.”

         Mac turned to ask Jean if he could buy her a cup of coffee, but she was nowhere to be seen.

         ‘That’s curious,’ he thought. ‘Where could she have gone so quickly?’

         Turning to the sheriff, Mac said, “Where did Jean go?”

         “Who?”

         “Jean, the reporter who was here a minute ago.”

         “I don’t know really. This was the first time I’ve met her. Guess she got bored and left.”

         Mac waited in Isabel’s café, relaxing for a bit. Jose was nowhere to be seen either, but Mac was pretty sure he was visiting friends in town. About two hours after the sheriff called them, the Army showed up. A light cloud of dust seemed to herald their approach, though that wasn’t the case at all. One couldn’t drive anywhere in Southeastern New Mexico without stirring up dust. Mac ambled across the road to the sheriff’s office, where he was introduced to the army’s senior leaders by the sheriff.

          “Mac, this is Major Jesse Marcel and Captain Sheridan Cavitt. Gentlemen, this is Mac Brazel, the man who found the rubbish on the mesa.”

         “Good afternoon Mr. Brazel. Nice to meet you. We obviously want to see what it is you’ve found, would you mind if we followed you to the ranch?”

         Mac looked at the sun and noticed it was well past noon, rapidly heading for the distant horizon. “Well, it’s a bit late in the day to get to the mesa, how about you follow me, I’ll put you up at the ranch guest house, and we can go out early tomorrow?”

         “Well, we were hoping to get there tonight, and head back to the base after dark if necessary. After all, we brought along a squad of airmen to help us get this loaded.”

         “Major, driving unfamiliar roads out here is not the best of ideas really. The roads don’t twist a lot, but I’d feel a lot more comfortable if you went in the morning. Is there any reason you can’t get the stuff then?”

         “Not really, but I wouldn’t want to put you out at the ranch by having us there. Especially since we have that squad with us. We can stay here in town and meet in the morning.”

         “Nonsense Major! We have ranch hands there all the time. The cook always has extra food cooked, and there is a bunk house. Might be about the same as what you have on base, I don’t know.”

         The two Army men conversed briefly out of ear shot, then came back and said, “Okay, we can do that. Let’s head to your ranch.”

         Mac spent a little bit of time locating Jose. Luckily, he located him faster than he thought he would. It helped having a good idea of where he would be. With the Army following behind them, they drove to the ranch. It took about a half hour to get everyone settled before Mac was able to sit back and relax. He knew the next day would be a busy one, but he had no idea how busy it would really be.

         The next morning Mac took the Army officers and their men to the rubble site. When they arrived at the site the Major and Captain were the first to exit the Lorrie.

         “Where’s all this stuff you found Mr. Brazel?”

         “It’s here Major, over this small hill beyond the road.”

         The men walked over the hill and the Major had his first view of the area. He seemed a little stunned as he stammered, “Captain, this debris is,,, is,,,” He stopped for a minute as he tried to find the right word to use. After a few seconds, he said, “This debris is odd, very odd! It’s much more than I expected, how about you?”

         “Major, I wasn’t sure what to expect really, they’re always different. But there’s no way this one can be compared to the others we found. One thing’s for sure, this doesn’t look like debris from a weather balloon.”

         “No, it doesn’t look like that to me either. Look at that gash in the ground. I don’t see how a weather balloon would cause that.”

         The two men continued to explore the debris field, examining small pieces and working with the airmen to place each in the trucks as they did. Eventually every visible piece was collected and packed away. Mac thought it a little strange that they pulled the tarp over the back, effectively hiding everything from view.

         “Thank you for calling us Mr. Brazel. How can we contact you if we need to talk to you?”

         “I think the base has the number for the ranch, you’ve been out here before picking up stuff from weather balloons. I know it wasn’t you, but our number is there. We’re in the phone book too of course.”

         “That’s true. Well thank you again. I hope we don’t have to bother you again.”

         The soldiers piled into the Lorrie’s, and the group left, leaving a cloud of dust behind them as they drove away.

         The next morning, Mac was astonished when he heard the Roswell Army Base news release. “Flying disk recovered near Roswell!” Mac was back in Corona getting supplies for the ranch when the news broke over the radio. Curious about what the military was saying about the rubble, he went to the only person who might be able to answer his questions, the Chavez County Sheriff. As he entered the small office, he found Jean was already there. He felt a pleasant flush at seeing her. She looked even better today than she had the previous day. Her shoulder length brown hair was once again tied in a yellow ribbon, this time it was accentuated by the pale yellow top she was wearing. Seeing him enter, Jean excused herself from the sheriff and walked over to Mac.

         “Mac, good to see you again. If possible, would you be willing to answer a few questions about yesterday for me?”

         “I’m not sure what more I can say, but I will answer them as best I can Jean.” For some reason, Mac wanted to talk to Jean, wanted to learn more about her also.

         “Okay, first off, I would like to know what was really found in the desert. Was it really a flying disk?”

         “Well, at first I thought we’d see more stuff like we’ve found in the past. Weather balloon stuff and parts, you know.”

         “I’m sorry Mac, but I don’t know. What did you find in the past?”

         “Just stuff, you know. Stuff that large balloons are made of. Some rope, pieces of cloth that make up the balloon, small instruments that looked scientific. Things like that.”

         “And that wasn’t what you found yesterday?”

         “Not exactly. There was a large metal object, larger than any we’ve found before. Not much else other than pieces of some kind of metal scattered all over the place.”

         “I see. Thank you Mac.” Jean made a show of writing his comments on a small notepad and softly said, “Meet me at Isabel’s Café across the street as soon as you can.”

         Mac talked to the sheriff for a few minutes, but the sheriff had little he could offer in the way of more information. He wanted to get across the street, but didn’t want to seem rude by leaving so soon. He spent a little time talking about other ranch related topics with the sheriff. For his part, the sheriff listened politely, nodding at the appropriate moments. Finally, Mac excused himself and walked across the street. Jean was sitting at a table in the corner when he arrived. As he looked at her, he saw her eyes light with what seemed to be happiness. Seating himself, the two of them talked softly.

         “Mac, we have to talk.”

         “Yeah, we do. I don’t mean to sound rude, but tell me, you’re a woman. Why aren’t you married and working at home?”

         “Short version. I don’t want to be. Longer version. I want to work. I don’t plan on being here in Roswell very long, I have goals, I intend on working for a paper, magazine, or radio station in a large city within the next year. I hope that’s enough for you. Now, like I said, we have to talk!”

         “Talk about what?”

         She whispered urgently, “What you found in the desert!” Her eyes shone with excitement, and maybe a touch of fear as she said this.

         Taking her cue, Mac responded in a soft voice. “I don’t know what I found in the desert though. It was a bunch of stuff I’ve never seen before.”

         “Mac, what you must do, is convince people you found a weather balloon, or pieces of it.”

         “Why should I lie like that?”

         “I will explain more as we talk. I mean it though, you must convince people you found another pile of debris from a weather balloon. I can’t begin to tell you how important that is.”

         “That might take some doing. I’m not a man who likes to lie. I’ve always told the truth when asked, it just seems to be the right thing to do. So why should I lie?”

         “To save the planet. To save mankind.”

         “What are you talking about?”

         “I’ve been working with them, or for them you might say, to keep their identity hidden. They are here among us, watching us. How many, and who might be one of them, I have no idea. But I was taken to their main ship. It was there I was briefed, and convinced I need to help them. It’s that, or they will wipe us off the face of the Earth.”

         “Them? Who in the heck is ‘them’?”

         “The ones who fly to the stars, the ones who were aboard that crashed craft.”

         “You mean little green men?”

         “Oh no Mac, nothing as trite as that. These creatures are so advanced, so far ahead of us in the things they can create, the things they can do. They really scare me!”

         “Are you one of them?”

         “No, I am a woman, a human. I’m also one of thousands they have working for them, and there are thousands of them here too. They are dangerous. They have weapons we can’t even imagine. We all saw a small demonstration of their power.”

         “There were others with you?”

         “No, at least I didn’t see other humans then. But I’m convinced, and you should be too.”

         “How did you come to be involved in this?”

         “I was out walking one night in the woods behind my house in New York. I saw a flying disk land in a small clearing. I thought I was being quiet, being careful. Somehow they must have known I was there. Seeing the flying disk scared me, so I ran. Except, I didn’t get anywhere. I was lifted in the air by some unseen force and placed in the disk. I didn’t feel threatened, but I was still scared. Then, my stomach lurched like when you’re on a carnival ride. That’s when I realized the disk had taken off. I must have passed out, because the next thing I know, I was on their main ship.”

         “Why are you telling me all this? Why involve me?”

         “You found the wrecked craft. You’re involved whether you want to be or not.”

         “What happens if I refuse to lie?”

         “They will destroy the Earth.”

         “Destroy the whole Earth? Oh c’mon!”

         “When I was on the mother ship, they took me to another system, a fledgling one that was still developing. They showed me. They split a planet into millions of pieces!”

         “You mean like our asteroid belt?”

         “Not quite. This planet literally disintegrated! It was more dust than anything else, I saw no large fragments.”

         “Well, you were probably too far away and couldn’t see anything of any size.”

         “Mac, stop thinking like a human! They flew their craft through the area where that planet had been. There was nothing there other than wisps of dust. Yes, there were larger pieces, but nothing like what I’ve seen in our asteroid belt.”

         “You’ve seen the asteroids?”

         “I told you, they took me to a distant system. We flew past the asteroid belt to get there.”

         “I’m still not convinced….”

         At this point, Mac felt a sort of tickling as if someone was lightly touching him. When he looked around, all he saw was a white mist. He felt his stomach do a flip-flop, then a rush of air for a moment. Slowly the mist enveloping him disappeared, and he found himself in a strange room. Strange gray men, taller than most humans, surrounded him. One of them raised his hand and said, “If our human helper can’t convince you, maybe we can.”

         Mac was astonished, and couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He wiped his eyes as if to see better, but the gray creatures were still there. Looking around he saw he was in a huge chamber better suited for large equipment than him and the gray men. He turned slowly to see around him, and was amazed at the size of it all. “Who are you? Where am I?”

         “You are aboard what your friend Jean, calls our main ship, our mothership. You may call me Klaack.”

         Now Mac felt himself about to lose his grip on his sanity. A tall gray alien had just spoken to him! And in English too! This wasn't, couldn’t be right. He didn’t know where he was, it was all too much for his mind to comprehend.

         Klaack saw this, and reached out to touch Mac’s head. Mac tried to prevent the contact, but suddenly found he couldn’t move. “Mac, relax please. We’re not going to hurt you.”

         “How do I know that?”

         “If we were going to hurt you, wouldn’t we have done that by now?”

         “I don’t know. Right now, I’m not sure what I know.”

         “You will be fine. Many of you go through a bit of shock when you first see us. May I offer you a small drink?”

         “It won’t be poison, will it?”

         “Mac, please relax man. Believe me, if we were going to hurt you, we wouldn’t have brought you here.”

         “Well, there’s some truth to that. Maybe. Tell me. How are you able to speak English?”

         The gray man shook his head slowly and said, “Mac,,,, Mac. We’ve been observing your planet for eons. Do you really think we’d just observe your species and not learn to speak your languages? We know every language spoken on Earth.”

         Thinking for a moment, Mac thought that his answer made sense. “Why did you bring me here?”

         “To convince you, like we convinced Jean. You must not let your species know you found a crashed spacecraft. You have to tell a different story.”

         “Why is that so important?”

         “In our travels across what you call the universe, we have observed many species like yours. In every case, when our existence was discovered, the fledgling species wanted to learn more. They wanted to explore the universe like we do. Your (and their) thirst for knowledge is fine, but it must come in due time. If you try to learn all this before you’re ready, humankind will become more violent than it is now. You may even pose a threat to us. We are a peaceful race; it took us far more time to become peaceful than you can imagine. In our explorations, we’ve learned that a strong defense is necessary. Many immature races tend to be violent. Sadly, some never seem to mature. If we think an attack could one day come from them, we destroy their planet to keep us, and the rest of the universe safe. If your kind learned too much too soon, we’d have no choice but to do the same to your Earth.”

         “Yeah, Jean told me she saw what you can do. So you play judge and jury when it comes to other species? What makes you think that is right?”

         “Oh we don’t like doing it, but speaking in your time frame, we’ve been around over five million years. We’re just more advanced than most. We try to help other species learn to embrace a peaceful existence. Sometimes we can, sometimes we can’t.”

         “How will my story stop humans from advancing too fast?”

         “By itself, it won’t. We have to step in now and then to guide you.”

         “How do you guide us?”

         “Jean told you we have thousands of us among you on Earth.”

         “Yep, but I’ve never seen a gray man.”

         “That’s because we are chameleons. We can change colors as we wish, depending on where we are. It can be unconscious, or intentional. Here, let me show you.” The one he had been speaking with waved his hand, and the wall behind him and the other aliens slowly changed from gray to green, then a pale shade of red. As the wall changed, their skin color changed simultaneously with the wall color.

         Mac rubbed his eyes again as if trying to convince himself that everything he saw was real. A thought popped in his head, so he asked, “You can change colors. But not all humans look the same. I’ve never met others from distant countries, but look at us in America! Black people do not have the same kind of bodies that white people have. Their lips are thicker, they have curly hair, wider noses. Indians have higher cheekbones and a very distinct appearance.” At this, Mac’s voice trailed off as the one he’d been speaking with smiled.

         “Like I said, we are chameleons. Not only can we change our color, we can change body style too.”

         Mac almost gasped as the one in front of him slowly changed. Suddenly, Mac thought he was looking in a mirror, as he was now looking at a replica of himself.

         “There are more of us on your Earth than you might think. We guide humankind, leading you, teaching you how to live peacefully.”

         “Not to be disrespectful, but why did World War II occur recently then? As well as everything else going on.”

         “We are not all powerful, we are not what you call gods. We can only guide, and offer advice. Many times, we aren’t listened to. But we are patient, we will teach you to live in peace, or destroy you.”

         Remembering what Jean said just before he found himself here, he began to believe they would do what this alien said they could. Klaack saw the change in his expression, and knew he had made his point with Mac.

         Suddenly, a gray mist surrounded Mac again. Once more he felt his stomach do a flip-flop and knew he was heading back. The tickling ceased, and he found himself staring in to the blue eyes of Jean.

         “They took you, didn’t they!”

         “Yes, how long was I gone?”

         “Only a couple of seconds.”

         “It seemed like it was at least an hour.”

         “Well, you’ve been here the whole time gazing into space. I’m guessing they ‘took you’ when your face seemed to relax. When I looked in your eyes, I didn’t see ‘you’ there and figured what had happened. A moment ago I saw your eyes focus, and when you looked at me, I knew where you had been.”

         Mac ran a hand over his balding head, wonder and amazement apparent on his face. “The amount of power they yield is astonishing. They say we need to mature more as a race; I can see their point. I wonder why they don’t intervene and stop us from warring the way we do.”

         “I don’t think they are a warring race. They have great power yes, but they do not like to use it. To them, using it means they have failed in helping a race learn to live in peace.”

         “You may be right. With everything I’ve seen today, I need to change my story. I just wonder what I can say about it now. The truth’s been told already, how can I backtrack?”

         “You didn’t say anything, the Army did. All you need to do is say you thought it was more debris from a weather balloon crash.”

         “That’s true. I’m not happy about having to lie, but I’d rather live with this lie than see our race annihilated. It’s getting late, I should head back to the ranch.”

         Mac excused himself and walked to his car. As he walked past the barber shop, he heard the radio blaring. The announcer was complaining about the Army changing its story from yesterday. “I think there’s a cover-up going on around here. Yesterday, in a press release Colonel Blanchard, the Commanding Officer at the Roswell Army Air Field announced the Army had recovered a flying disk. This morning, Brigadier General Ramey, oh and he’s Colonel Blanchard’s superior over in Fort Worth by the way, says that all they recovered was some battered balloon parts. I’m told he even held up a piece of metal shaped like a disc and said it was a radar reflector. I’m telling you, there’s a cover-up!

         Mac poked his head in the door and said, “Ralph, that announcer is full of it. I helped the Army recover that stuff, it was balloon debris. It’s happened on the ranch before, will probably happen again.”

         As Mac walked across the street to his car, he felt dizzy, and a little nauseous. He got in the car and sat back, his head resting on top of the seat, eyes closed.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~


         Mark said, “And that’s when I woke up and saw you. How long was I gone?”

                   Ishmael replied, “You were gone maybe forty five seconds. Less perhaps.”

“Wow, it was at least three to four days for me!”

         I know. Time isn’t the same when you’re out, is it? An associate did some checks on this Mac Brazel while you were telling the story. I guess weather balloons were found on the ranch just a few weeks before, and one other time much longer in the past. He was interviewed several other times after this incident, and during at least one interview, he firmly stated, ‘I am sure what I found was not any weather observation balloon.’”

         Ishmael continued speaking. “One thing puzzles me though. Why didn’t you tell the others what was going on? I mean you are here, and went back in time, so why didn’t you tell them what you know of this incident?”

         “Well, when I was there, I was Mac Brazel, I had no memory of being me. It was as if my persona was completely gone until I woke a little bit ago.”

         “I see. This is not what I was expecting in this project. Still, it’s an interesting turn of events.”

“I guess. Plus, that would give some credence to what I experienced as Mac then, the visit to the alien mothership and seeing what I saw in the desert.”

         “Yes it would. Also, this event changed Mac’s life. He was placed in military custody for a week, and never mentioned what happened while he was there. After being in custody, he became very bitter and upset about discovering the rubble. He got to the point where he wouldn’t talk about finding the UFO. In fact, one person tried to talk to him as he was eating breakfast in that same café. Instead of answering, Mac got up and left without finishing his meal.” As Ishmael finished saying this, he looked over at Mark, and saw that Mark was gone once more. Ishmael worked quickly, adjusting the equipment to bring Mark back when the time was right.

Chapter Five
Mark Wakes Again

         “Welcome back Mark.”

         “Where have I been?”

         “That’s what you’re supposed to tell me.”

         “Tell you? What do you mean, I’m supposed to tell you? Who are you?”

         “I’m someone who cares for you right now. We are working together on a special project.”

         “Special project? Wait a minute, where am I?”

         “Where you have been for a little while now.”

         “Hold on a sec. Start over please. Why am I lying here like this? And again, who are you?”

         “You may call me Ishmael.” As he said this, he fought hard to hide a smile. Moby Dick had always been a favorite book, he found he related well to that character.

         “Ishmael huh. Nice. But you didn’t answer my question Ishmael.”

         “Mark, there’s a goal we’re working towards, something we want to do. It can’t be done without you. You are not a guinea pig for us, this is entirely voluntarily on your part.”

         “You mean I can leave when I want?”

         “Yes Mark, of course.”

         “Suppose I wanted to leave now?”

         “Then I’d have no choice but to let you go. After you tell me where you were.”

         As Ishmael said this, Mark’s mind seemed to shift to a new plane, or new level. He started to recall where he was before he woke. Ishmael could see the change in his demeanor, a light flush coming to his gaunt cheeks once again. Mark looked at his surroundings some, his gaze coming to rest on his reflection in the mirror. He knew that man in the mirror, hair starting to gray around the temples, curly locks atop his head. “At least I’m not going bald anytime soon.” he thought. With that thought in mind, he lay back on his pillow, and for the first time noticed the soft sounds in the room. There was the soft beeping of machines that he couldn’t see, the quiet whirring of fans nearby, both mixed with myriad other noises he couldn’t identify.

         As he lay back, his mind started to recall the recent events. As he was about to speak, the quiet solitude of the room was broken by the entrance of a young lady. Mark thought she looked very nice in her attire. She wore pale yellow casual slacks, white top tied at the waist with a yellow sash. Her yellow sneakers made no sound as she walked around the room checking the equipment.

         “Can I get either of you something?”

         “I think we’re fine Michelle, at least I am. I’m not so sure about Mark here.”

         At the mention of her name, Mark couldn’t help himself, and said, “Michelle, my Belle.”

         Michelle laughed when he said this, and said, “Mark, you are such a ham. I love that song! I might be much younger than you, but the Beatles are one of my all-time favorite groups!”

         Mark smiled at her and said, “I’ve always been a ham Michelle. Don’t know how to be anything else.”

         “Well, I like you just the way you are. Then again, do I know the real you?”

         “I could say the same about you Michelle, do I really know you? Do we know each other well?”

         “I think we know each other well enough. I know some of your background though, have to you know….” At that, Michelle stopped as she contemplated what she had just said. She couldn’t give away how much she knew about Mark. Knowing him well was part of her job after all.

         Michelle and Mark chatted a little more before she excused herself, announcing there was plenty of work to do that wasn’t getting done by itself.

         Ishmael coughed softly and said, “Well, where were you this time?”

         Mark found that his talk with Michelle had cleared the cobwebs from his mind. As he thought back to the recent events, his eyes softened, gazing at the tiled ceiling overhead. He spoke slowly and softly. His voice was low, unemotional as he related his recent adventure.

Chapter Six
Death In Dallas

         Arthur was relaxing at his favorite outdoor café near Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas. He was here for a couple of reasons today. The first was the café itself. Arthur had found it during one of his treks to downtown Dallas from his home in Fort Worth. He made it a point to dine there whenever he was in Dallas. The second reason, and really more important, was that President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade would be coming by in about an hour.

         “Good morning sir! What can I get for you today?”

         Arthur looked up to see a young woman who would be his waiter. She was dressed in jeans, and an off white T-shirt with the café’s logo emblazoned on the front. Having dined there many times, he found he loved the logo of a cowboy hat wearing waiter with their slogan, “The best darned breakfast in Texas!” Asking for iced tea, he smiled as she walked away, the slogan on the back of her shirt proudly saying, “And lunch too!”

         Arthur knew this would be a day that the world would long remember. He had listened to Kennedy’s speech in Fort Worth for the Chamber of Commerce this morning. Being a close friend to important people had its benefits. Attending a meeting meant for Chamber of Commerce personnel only was a result of that. It hadn’t been easy, but it was worthwhile. The president’s speech had been worth listening to, and only served to make Arthur even more positive of the future.

         As Arthur relaxed in the sun of the November morning, a mature woman approached him and sat beside him. She was wearing a tan colored overcoat with a pale yellow scarf wrapped around her light brown hair. “Hello Arthur, how was the speech?”

         “It was everything we thought it would be and more. You’re looking good today, as always. And, I see you’re wearing yellow also.”

         “Yellow is my trademark Arthur, you know that. There were no problems with you attending his speech?”

         “I told you I would be attending it Marta. Jerry is a good man, he has connections. Without his help, we wouldn’t be here talking right now after all.”

         “You know me, I worry about everything. I have to when it comes to our job here. Everything has to go like clockwork today.”

         “Quit worrying, I have it all under control. You know, dressed in that long coat and scarf, you look a little like a Russian grandmother, not the lovely Italian lady I am so attracted to. If I didn’t know you were thirty two, I’d put your age at fifty five or so.”

         “Arthur, you know the look is intentional. I don’t have time for idle chit-chat, I want to be on the knoll when the President’s motorcade drives by. I intend to snap a few pictures to commemorate today. I assume Lee is ready and in place?”

         “Like I told you, everything is set up. The world will be changing after today. I just hope it changes the way we want it to. Try to get some good shots, the looks on people’s faces will be priceless.”

         “Let’s hope it goes as well as we think it will. Crawford’s plan is solid. I’m positive I will get some good shots. I’m a trained professional after all. Can’t wait to get in the lab and develop them.”

         Arthur felt a little rebuffed her lack of response to his small romantic repartee. He felt a strong attraction to her, but she had never reciprocated. However, he remained determined that the two of them would connect.

         He was momentarily distracted by a man loudly demanding service a few tables away. When he looked up again, Marta had disappeared among the crowd gathering to see the presidential motorcade pass-by.

         Arthur’s meal arrived and he dined slowly, enjoying his ice cold tea. Afterwards he relaxed a few minutes, enjoying the late morning. As he lit a cigarette, he heard two or three pops in the distance. Someone nearby mutters, “Fireworks already?”

         A couple of minutes later the people in the café clamored to the television screen in the corner of the room. One of them shouted, “Kennedy’s been shot!” Arthur tried to show shock and surprise, and turned to see what was happening on the TV. There was no live coverage of the motorcade, just a news report. Reports came in sporadically about the shooting, but nothing that shed any light on the recent happenings. After a few moments he sat down at his table, as did most everyone else. He contemplated what had just happened, thinking of the changes that would now occur in the world.

         About a half hour later, a tap on his shoulder brought Arthur out of his reverie. “Hey Arthur, I’m sorry man, but I think I failed you today.”

         “Lee, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a ticket for the Mexico City bus?”

         “I do, but things didn’t go as planned today.”

         “What are you talking about? I heard two or three shots, so what could have gone wrong?”

         “I never got one shot off! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know who it was doing the shooting, didn’t even know Kennedy had been assassinated until I heard it on the radio.”

         “Why didn’t you get a shot off?”

         “The janitor came in. He’s a man I befriended while working there. He never saw the rifle, it was still hidden. He kept talking, asking questions, not being too nosy, but just being there. So I never got the rifle out. I was shocked when I heard gun fire. I’d lost track of time with him there. I had no idea it was late, then the janitor ran out to see what was going on. He came back in breathless a few minutes later blabbering about a shooting going on.”

         About that time the television screen went blank momentarily, then an obviously upset announcer came on the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have extremely sad news to relate to you. As you might know by now, President Kennedy was shot while in his motorcade shortly after noon. I was just informed a few minutes ago that he has succumbed to his injuries. President Kennedy is dead!” With that, the announcer dropped his microphone and sobbed in front of the camera.

         Arthur looked at Oswald and said, “Well, if you didn’t shoot anyone, who was the shooter?”

         “I don’t know.”

         “You mean to tell me Kennedy’s dead, and you didn’t get a shot off? Lee, something’s going on. This is not how it was supposed to go! Why was the janitor there in the first place? Wasn’t today a sort of holiday due to Kennedy’s Motorcade?”

         “I know this isn’t how it was supposed to go. And I don’t know why the janitor was there, I was very surprised to see him. But I had no idea why he appeared when he did, and couldn’t get him to leave.”

         “Well, you can’t stay here. You’ve been with me too long now as it is. Keep to the plan, we’ll talk later.”

         Lee and Arthur parted ways, Lee heading down the street in a general southwesterly direction. Arthur slowly found his way back to his hotel, and sat in his room. He listened to the radio to hear the details of the day’s events. Kennedy was dead, Johnson the new President, and Arthur had no idea who the president’s assassin was.

         About two hours later Arthur was lying on the bed in his room, listening to the announcer reiterate for what seemed to be the hundredth time the timeline of the president’s assassination. Suddenly he heard an excited voice break in on the airwaves. “They have caught the president’s killer! Lee Harvey Oswald, an employee at the Texas Book Repository has been arrested in connection with the assassination of President Kennedy this afternoon. Details to follow.”

         As the day went on, there was more news about the president’s killing. Oswald’s high powered rifle had been found on the sixth floor of the Texas Book Repository. Arthur gasped and sat up straight when he heard the announcer state, “Ballistics has a perfect match between bullets found in the presidential limousine and this rifle. There can be little doubt as to who the president’s assassin is.”

         This news caused Arthur to grunt in surprise, and he muttered to himself, “There’s no way Oswald killed the president. We’re being set up. And here we were, thinking we ourselves had things set up perfectly.”

         Arthur was tense for some time after. The next day he had trouble focusing on work, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. As was previously arranged, he drove to Marta’s house to meet her for a final time. As he was parking across the street, he saw two men in dark suits leaving her house. When Marta answered the door after his knock, the first thing he said was, “Who were those men?”

         “They said they were from the FBI.”

         “What did they want?”

         “Apparently I was seen in the crowd yesterday, and they’ve been looking for me. Someone labeled me the Babushka Lady. They’ve been asking anyone who has photos of the shooting to turn them in for evidence.”

         “You didn’t give them your film, did you?”

         “Of course not! But when I tried telling them I had no pictures, they searched the house while one kept me in the kitchen. I tried to stop them from taking the camera and film, but they told me it was now the property of the government.”

         “So your film’s gone….” Arthur’s statement had a note of finality to it, and a look of desperation came over his slim features. “Marta’, we need to…” He never finished his statement as Marta interrupted him.

         “I know, I know. But what was I supposed to do? They took my camera too Arthur. My camera!”

         “Marta, did they show you any ID? Did you get a look at their badges or perhaps the names on their ID’s?”

         “Arthur, I’m sorry. I never thought to ask. I know I should have known better, but I didn’t even think of it.”

         “We have a major problem here. Oswald didn’t kill Kennedy yesterday. He came by the café, told me he never got a shot off.”

         “What. Were you seen with Oswald?”

         “Probably. But people were focusing on Kennedy being shot, not on the two of us.”

         “You know everyone is going to be questioned. We need to change our plans, now!”

         “I know. But first, Oswald told me he didn’t kill Kennedy. The janitor came in as he was setting up and started talking to him.”

         “Janitor? There was to be no one upstairs with him, I gave everyone the day off to see the president!”

         “I knew you had, or were going to. Apparently this was a man Lee knew well.”

         “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

         “Yes, we have been set up, and may be in danger ourselves. This janitor was no janitor at all, he was there watching Lee, and us, all along. They killed the president, and will pin it on Lee. And ultimately, us also.”

         “Well, you know I have to leave, I am expected in the homeland tomorrow. You better disappear too. You do have your fake ID’s and passport, right?”

         “Yes, I’m heading down to Brazil. It might be best to stay out of America for a while.”

         As they were discussing their new plans, the radio could still be heard in the next room. “Ladies and gentlemen, Oswald is being led from the city jail. He will be taken to the county jail and await his fate there.”

         Suddenly shots were heard on the radio, with sounds of a struggle nearby. “My God, he’s been shot! Lee Harvey Oswald has been shot ladies and gentlemen! The man who killed President Kennedy has been shot while being led from the city jail!”

         Arthur and Marta looked at one another, fear flashing in their eyes. “I will see you when I can Marta. Take care of yourself, travel safe.”

         With that, the couple left the house going their separate ways. Arthur drove to his hotel and packed his few belongings quickly. As he exited the room, he saw two men in black suits walking down the hallway towards him. Wearing dark sunglasses and fedoras, their faces were impassive. Arthur found their overall look a bit disconcerting, but it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He turned and ran down the hallway, his mind recalling Marta’s visit by men dressed exactly the same way. As he ran, he dropped his suitcase, its contents spilling over the floor. Reaching the stairs he bounded down them, jumping over the rail as he turned corners. Reaching the first floor, he slammed into the exit door. As he ran through the door, he was roughly grabbed by two men dressed exactly as the others. Not a word was said as the men hustled Arthur to a black van idling nearby.

         Arthur tried to say something to the man on his right, but before he could get a word out, his face was covered by a damp rag. He tried to hold his breath, but to no avail. He could feel fumes entering his sinus’s as he held his breath. Eventually he had to breathe in, when he did, he knew what had dampened the rag, and quickly passed out.

         When he came to, his instincts took over and he flailed about wildly, trying to escape any way he could. His flailing around was for naught, was bound securely to a chair. Bright lights were shining in his eyes making them water. He attempted to look around, but his head was held as securely as the rest of his body. He couldn’t see anything other than the light in his eyes. Suddenly the light was blocked as a figure moved in front of it.

         “Well, hello there sleepy head. Good to see you have finally woken from your slumber.” The speaker spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. There was no accent to his speech, no tell-tale giveaway as to where the speaker was from.

         “Who the hell are you?”

         “Who I am is none of your concern. We want to know a few things though. First and foremost, why did you and your accomplices kill the president?”

         Arthur remained silent, glaring into the darkness now that the light was blocked. “Look Mr., Dowling, your gunman is dead. Your female accomplice will be apprehended soon. Things will be better if you cooperate.”

         Arthur’s heart jumped at the news that Marta was not a captive also. He was glad at least one of them was free, maybe there was some hope yet. This hope was quickly dashed by the man’s next statement.

         “We will find her, rest assured we will find her. In the meantime, I have a few questions you should answer. Again, why did you kill the president?”

         Arthur sighed, his head sagging against its restraints. His eyes darted to the left, then right as he tried to focus on something. He could still see nothing at all, and realized he was probably doomed. “We didn’t assassinate the president! We may have had proof of who did it, but some of your people took the camera and film yesterday.” Arthur replied.

         "Arthur, if we had that film, we wouldn't have you here. There is no camera or film, so stop lying."

         "I'm telling you, she took pictures of the motorcade! Men dressed just as you came by her apartment yesterday and took it as evidence."

         Arthur saw movement to his left, then his head was jarred to the right as the blow landed. “That is not the correct answer Arthur! We know your team killed the president, ballistics prove it.”

         “Your ballistics my ass. We’ve been set up, Oswald told me he never got a shot off.” Once again movement to his left before Arthur’s head was rocked by an even more vicious blow.

         “You really shouldn’t lie to me Arthur, this will only get worse with more lies.”

         “I have no reason to lie about what Oswald told me.”

         Arthur cringed inwardly, knowing another blow was likely coming. Instead, his senses were assaulted by the smell of bad breath and body odor. Arthur’s eyes watered from the stench, his stomach almost retching at the awful smell that seemed to surround him.

         With his foul mouth inches from Arthur’s face, his interrogator said, “He was lying to you. There’s no doubt he killed the president. We have his gun, it is a perfect match for the bullets we’ve removed from the limousine, and the president.”

         “Oswald would not lie to me.”

         “Mr. Dowling, if we don’t get better answers from you, we will have no choice but to resort to stronger tactics. Ones that I’m sure you don’t want us to use. Now if you’ll cooperate with us, I’ll see to it that Randy here doesn’t hit you again.” This was a new voice, one off to Arthur’s right. While this voice was quite a bit deeper than the first one, Arthur was surprised to realize it held the same flat, carefully spoken speech. It was then that Arthur knew he was in the hands of true professionals. Men who had been trained to speak with that flat Mid-Western accent so you couldn’t quite tell where they hailed from. Men who would kill him as easily as he would kill a spider. He knew he would talk, and soon at that.

         Arthur looked straight ahead and said, “Give me a minute, I’ll tell you what I know. But as I’ve already said, Lee didn’t kill the president. He could not lie to me.”

         There was silence in the room as Arthur said this, and feeling that he was a little safe for the moment, he continued, “Why couldn’t he lie to me? I knew that when he lied, his nose would twitch as if it itched. I don’t think anyone else ever noticed that. When we first met, he lied to me about meeting a woman on an assignment. I saw his nose twitch and knew he was lying. So I told him I knew he was lying, and that I’d have him killed if he ever lied to me again.”

         “Assignment, so you’re a KGB agent.” This was said as a blunt statement, not a question.

         “No, I’m not an agent. I was, or am, an analyst. We were here on our own, not on a KGB assignment.”

         “So you admit Oswald and you were working together. With that woman,,,”

         “Yes, three of us.” Arthur silently prayed that his looks did not give away the fourth person involved.

         “So, you’re a Russian KGB, uh,,, employee. Working here on your own, not on KGB assignment. How did you know that Oswald’s nose twitched when he lied?”

         “It was part of my job, I studied him like no one has. I knew his every movement. His nose did not twitch when he told me he didn’t kill the president.”

         The man with the deeper voice leaned closer to him and said softly, “How do we know everything you’ve said is not a lie itself?”

         “I’m in no position to lie to you. You can kill me at any moment, telling the truth might save my life.”

         “I really thought you KGB agents were tougher than this. Yes agent, you’re not an analyst. We’ve had you, and several others under surveillance since Oswald met you in Russia.”

         Arthur’s hopes vanished into thin air as he heard the man say this. A moment later, any remaining hope he may have had was dashed when the unknown man continued, “Now, why don’t you quit lying to me, and tell me who the fourth person is who’s been working with you?”

         Arthur’s spirits soared a little on hearing this. His secret assistant was still safe! He knew he was likely doomed, but also knew his assistant would continue to work to erode America from within.

         Once again the first man moved towards Arthur and said, “I think it’s time to end this boss. Randy, go ahead, see if you can make him tell us a bit more. Truth that is.”

         Arthur knew this was rapidly getting out of hand, and once again struggled wildly to free himself. His efforts only served to elicit a couple of chuckles from his captors. His restraints were very secure, keeping him confined in the chair, making him feel like a fly trapped on flypaper. This realization hit him hard, and his head sagged against its restraints. As it did, he felt a wave of vertigo sweep over him, and he passed out.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~


         Mark said, “And that’s when I woke up and saw you. How long was I gone?”

         Ishmael replied, “You were gone maybe thirty seconds. Less perhaps.”

         “It’s amazing how time seems to move slower when I’m there. For me, it was a few days, yet here it was only a few seconds.”

Chapter Seven
A Conversation Between Disparate Souls

         As Mark spoke with Ishmael, a young brunette woman entered the room. Mark looked at her and said, “Rhonda, help me Rhonda. No wait, that’s not right, Michelle, my belle!”

         Michelle looked at Mark and smiled. “That’s the first time you’ve come back and remembered who I am without being told. I think you’re beginning to adjust to these adventures you’re experiencing.”

         “I don’t know if I’m adjusting more, or if my memory’s improved some. In the recent past, it’s not been good at all. But it seems to get sharper with each passing day. Err, I mean minute I spend here.”

         Michelle smiled at Mark as she busied herself around the room, checking to make sure everything was just right. As she prepared to leave again, Ishmael stopped her. “Michelle, can you sit with Mark a few minutes? I need to go talk to Brian about the results from Mark’s first two adventures.”

         “I would love to sit with Mark, Ish. Go share your findings, see what Brian has learned, we’ll be fine here.”

         “You’re sure you are okay with all this? It’s a lot you know.”

         “I will be fine, Mark will be fine, now get going!”

         Mark watched each of their faces as they spoke, and could see the trust they had in each other. He found himself wondering what kind of relationship they had outside of work. After Ishmael left, Michelle sat near Mark and watched his wan features closely. Satisfied that all was fine for the moment, she sat back and relaxed.

         Mark glanced at her, and couldn’t help wondering where she came from.

         “Michelle, how did you get in this business?”

         “What? Oh, working here? I have always been interested in the sciences. This field is new, just starting to explode into the forefront of science. Ish came up with this project, and I was lucky enough to join him.”

         “Ishmael, is that his real name?”

         “No, of course not. But he’s a huge fan of Moby Dick, his father read it to him as a youngster, and he’s read it many times himself. He adopted the name of the main character from that book as his pseudonym.”

         “Do you know his real name?”

         “Yes, of course.”

         But you can’t, or won’t tell me.”

         “No, it’s his decision, his alone.”

         Sensing this was a somewhat taboo subject, Mark changed the subject. “How did you get involved in this field?”

         “I have to say it started early in my life.”

         “Really, why. How early?”

         “My mother encouraged me.”

         “Not your father?”

         “My father was in the Marines; I was told he was deployed more than he was home. Shortly after my third birthday, he deployed again. He was a pilot; his squadron was involved in the bombing of the Bosnian Army that year, 1996. He didn’t die in combat; he died from a massive heart attack after a routine mission. The reports I eventually read said he was relaxing after returning from a particularly strenuous mission, reclining back in an easy chair. He started to get up, and as he did he simply fell over, and never moved. I was still three at the time, so I don’t remember him too well. I only know that my mother never got over his death. She kept a picture of him on her dresser, and always said that if she ever fell in love again and her love died in some fashion; that she’d rather die with him than live life alone. She blamed no one and nothing. I know she had a broken heart that never healed.”

         “So your mother encouraged you to pursue a career in this field? Did she help get you into the right university?”

         At this point Michelle’s eyes welled with tears, her lower lip quivering. Seeing how upset she had become, Mark said, “Never mind, it’s not important. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

         “No, it’s fine Mark. You would think that after almost thirty years, that talking about this wouldn’t upset me so. But it does, and that’s fine. Let me start from the beginning. I was eight years old when my mother died. She was killed in a plane crash. My aunt was given custody of me and raised me here in San Francisco.”

         “I’m sorry to hear about your mother Michelle. Your aunt must have been a special lady to keep your mother’s wishes in mind, and help you get started.”

         Hearing that, Michelle chuckled as she wiped a tear from her eyes. “Aunt Sarah never wanted me to do anything other than what I wanted. For the longest time, I had no idea what I wanted to do. After reading how both my parents died, I became interested in the New Sciences. My aunt saw something in me though, and told me to specialize in this field; it was just getting off the ground. I had a decent inheritance from my parents which allowed me the chance to attend the most prestigious schools. So yes, Cal-Tech is where I decided to go. I studied with professors and scientists that were working on the cutting edge of this technology. I met Ishmael at a conference, and we hit it off quickly. He asked for my resume; I guess you could say the rest is history.”

         As she finished speaking, Michelle looked over to Mark and saw that he was once again gone. Her training kicked in as she busied herself. She calmly set the instruments to the correct settings to bring him back.

         Once done, she looked around and saw Ishmael watching her. “How long have you been standing there Jeffrey?

         “Long enough to listen to your conversation with Mark. You two have quite a rapport if you ask me.”

         “Oh don’t be preposterous Jeffrey.”

         “I’m not! If his memory was better, that would be one thing. But he seems drawn to you, even from the start.”

         “That’s not true. I do love caring for him, as I know you do too. That’s a large part of it.”

         “Yes, we both love caring for him, as we will anyone who decides to volunteer. To think that I almost didn’t hire you.”

         “What?” Michelle lunged toward Jeffrey, hands raised as if she was going to attack him

         Jeffrey laughed at her response and said, “You know I’m teasing you. You were going to be my assistant from the moment I saw you.”

         Abruptly Jeffrey changed the subject. “Everything set for his return?”

         “Yep, set exactly as we calculated in the lab, all we can do now, is wait of course.”

Chapter Eight
Mark Returns Again

         “Welcome back Mark.”

         “Where have I been?”

         “That’s what you’re supposed to tell me.”

         “Tell you? What do you mean, I’m supposed to tell you? Who are you?”

         “I’m someone who cares for you right now. We are working together on a special project.”

         “Special project? Wait a minute, where am I?”

         “Where you have been for a little while now.”

         “Hold on a sec. Start over please. Why am I lying here like this? And again, who are you?”

         “You may call me Ishmael.” As he said this, he fought hard to hide a smile. Moby Dick had always been a favorite book, he found he related well to that character.

         “Ishmael huh. Nice. But you didn’t answer my question Ishmael.”

         “Mark, there’s a goal we’re working towards, something we want to do. It can’t be done without you. You are not a guinea pig for us, this is entirely voluntarily on your part.”

         “You mean I can leave when I want?”

         “Yes Mark, of course.”

         “Suppose I wanted to leave now?”

         “Then I’d have no choice but to let you go. After you tell me where you were.”

         As Ishmael said this, Mark’s felt a change in his senses. His mind seemed to relax as if he were meditating. He would almost swear it shifted to a new plane, or level. He started to recall where he was before he woke. Ishmael could see the change in his demeanor, a light flush coming to his gaunt cheeks. Mark looked at his surroundings some, his gaze coming to rest on his reflection in the mirror. He knew that man in the mirror, hair starting to gray around the temples, curly locks atop his head. “At least I’m not going bald anytime soon.” he thought. With that thought in mind, he lay back on his pillow, and for the first time noticed the soft sounds in the room. There was the soft beeping of machines that he couldn’t see, the quiet whirring of fans nearby, both mixed with myriad other noises he couldn’t identify.

         As they talked, Mark felt his mind slowly clear, the events of his past excursion slowly coming to mind. It was a little like a dream it seemed, but a dream that he could remember every detail of. He relaxed back on the bed, his mind churning as his memory cleared. He looked over to Ishmael with a wry grin and said, “This one will most likely surprise you!”

Chapter Nine
A Flight To Nowhere

         Amy lay on the cool sand of the beach, her breathing starting to return to a more normal rate. One hand was draped over her face as she got her thoughts in order. “Where did we go so wrong? One minute we were gliding towards the beach, the next we were fighting for our lives.” As she thought this, another came quickly to mind. “Fred! Where’s Fred!” Stiffly, muscles screaming with every movement, she climbed to her feet.

         “Fred! Fred! Where are you Fred?” Her voice fell quietly on the soft wind blowing across the sand. She looked around the sunlit beach, slowly getting her bearings. The sky was crystal clear with a high, light cloud cover. She scanned the beach once more, then the ocean. Her gaze quickly came to rest on the sea, the never ending surf, waves crashing on the shore. Looking still further out, she could see the remains of her plane sitting on in the water. It seemed to be supported on a reef or sandbar, it was difficult for her to really know. Waves were slowly engulfing it as the tide came in. She had no memory of leaving the aircraft and getting to the beach, but knew she must have made the swim somehow. Amy was never one to admit defeat, and refused to do so now. She sat back down to try and relax, only to bolt upright when she saw something move in the cockpit. Knowing it had to Fred, she jumped to her feet and shouted his name again. But the brief, weak movement, had stopped.

         Amy walked into the waves and dove through a breaker. She started swimming to the plane with faltering strokes. She had no idea what she could do to help Fred, but she couldn’t just leave him to die. It wasn’t a long swim, but it took more of her remaining strength than she thought it would. She finally reached the plane, then struggled to climb through the broken door to enter the small cabin. She reached across the seat and was relieved to see Fred respond weakly to her touch. Despite his body being soaked with seawater, she could see that his breathing was irregular, his skin pale and flushed.

         “Oh please, please,” she thought to herself, “Please don’t be badly hurt.” Instead, she looked at him and said, “Fred, are you okay enough for me to move you out of here?”

         Fred looked at her with glazed eyes. It was as if his mind was somewhere else, not there in the plane with them. She was surprised at his sudden whisper, “It’s okay. They’re coming for us. Everything’s going to be alright.”

         “All that can wait Fred, we have to get you out of here!”

         “No, I’ll never make it. I am hurt badly, very badly. My right leg is lodged under my seat here, my chest feels like there’s an elephant sitting on it. I can’t feel much anywhere else. Get back to the beach!”

         Amy ignored his weak pleas and released his restraints. When she tried to move him from the seat, he screamed in agony. “No Amy! I know I’m done, whether you free me or not. Now get to the beach before the tide comes in. I know I’m bleeding a lot, get away before sharks get here!”

         Amy knew Fred was right but refused to consider the idea of leaving him. She spoke his name again, receiving no response. Her hands enveloped his head as gently as they could as she looked in his eyes. His eyes were glazed, unfocused, there was no rise and fall of his chest to indicate he was still breathing. Amy sobbed as she realized Fred was dead. She looked around the tiny cabin and gathered what supplies she could. She looked back at Fred one more time, his body was completely relaxed now, his head loosely rolling from side to side as the plane was rocked by waves. She had never been one to cry much, and was surprised to feel tears rolling down her cheeks. She climbed from the shattered cockpit and grabbed a life preserver. Laying flat across it, she paddled towards the beach, the waves seemingly stronger with each crest.

         Reaching shallow water, Amy looked back at the plane. What she saw made her cry even more. The plane was sliding deeper into the water with each pounding wave. With the plane went all chances of communication with the rest of the world. ‘At least I don’t have to worry about freezing here on this island.’ Amy thought to herself. She stared at her plane as long as she could, as if she was trying to will it to float to the beach. As the plane became submerged, she saw it roll a little in the waves, its wings now broken from the fuselage. The waves inexorably pulled it towards the open ocean, as if trying to hide its wreckage from any searchers. It finally disappeared, leaving Amy alone on the beach. Once the plane had gone, Amy passed out once again, her head hitting the sand with a dull thud.

         Waking, Amy found her mind was clear, while her body still felt like it had been beaten severely. She lifted her head and looked around, taking stock of where she was, and what was available for her to use. She was on a small island, but she had no idea which one. Fred had been the navigator for the two of them, and though she had a good idea of where they were, she also wasn’t familiar enough with the local terrain to know which island she was on.

         She was pretty sure that the island was uninhabited, and as she took stock of her situation, she realized her true plight. Everything had gone down with the plane. She had not managed to grab much before leaving that last time. The radio transmitter was gone. A thought came to her mind, There isn’t any way I could power it on either’. They had not carried much food with them, the space had been very limited and the extra weight would have consumed more fuel. She had only grabbed a couple of small snacks brought on board in Lae. Those might last her a week if she really rationed it.

         The next few days jumbled together for Amy. She regained her strength faster than she would have thought, but her mind couldn’t focus on the task at hand. She finally managed to start a small campfire, but struggled to keep it going. The few provisions she had grabbed from the plane didn’t last too long, she was now living off the meager fruits and vegetables near her beach shelter, and the few fish or crabs she managed to trap.

         About five days after being marooned on the island she twisted her ankle while walking over the rocky terrain. She cursed at her stupidity and her inattention to her surroundings. At the same time, she knew it was caused by dehydration and hunger. It was then that she realized something needed to change drastically, or she would never get off this small sliver of ‘paradise’.

         The next morning she walked the beach a little, wincing at each step initially. She found the more she walked, the better she felt, and realized she’d escaped serious injury the day before. She didn’t get far for the beach wasn’t that long, and she didn’t have the stamina to explore further. If she had been able to walk just a half mile further and rounded the curve of the beach, she would have seen the wreckage of a tramp steamer sitting high and dry on the rocks, its back broken in two places.

         Arriving back where she started, a weariness unlike any she had ever experienced engulfed her. Amy knew she had suffered from shock shortly after the crash. Her knowledge on this subject was very sparse. She had no idea how long it lasted, but was pretty sure it would be gone by now. It bothered her that she her mind still seemed to fail her, and never realized that she had suffered a severe concussion during the crash. Her brain could only process a little information right now, causing her to act like an automaton. She half crawled, half walked to a nearby palm tree and leaned back against it, willing her mind to rest. Once again she slept. So soundly that she never heard the sound of a plane passing high overhead. As she slept, dreams engulfed her as her mind wandered back to the beginning of this long flight.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~


         Amy slowly ambled out of the ready office, her eyes on the silver Electra sitting on the tarmac. It was early in the evening, but also hot, very hot. It was late June, but Amy felt sweat forming in her armpits quickly. She wasn’t surprised, they were at Lae Airfield, Papua New Guinea. She cursed the heat but knew there was nothing to be done about it, since they were very close to the Equator.

         She carefully walked around the aircraft, checking the aileron’s for ease of movement. It was a task she would rather not do, but one she’d done hundreds of times. The next leg of their flight would be over nothing but ocean; she wanted to be sure the craft was in tip top shape.

         “Amy! Amy, whatcha doin?”

         “Over here Fred, under the right wing. I’m just making sure everything is set for our takeoff tomorrow night.”

         Fred joined Amy under the wing, and together they continued to inspect the aircraft. As they walked, they softly discussed the coming flight.

         “Amy, you should be resting! You’re not completely recovered from your spell of Dysentery. I know we flew from Darwin to Lae after it, but didn’t the doctors tell you….”

         Amy interrupted him by placing a finger on his lips, saying, “The doctors worry too much. I am fine, I think you’ve seen that for yourself.” With that said, she kissed him softly on the lips and walked away, leaving him standing speechless under the right wing of the Electra.

         Looking over her shoulder at him, she said, “I know I’ll sleep well tonight, will you?”

         Fred could only shrug in agreement as he ambled after her. “More rest is better though. That short break in the East Indies was good for us. Getting the direction finder repaired while there is a major relief.”

         “Fred, you’ve been great this entire trip. We couldn’t have gotten here without your navigational skills. Instruments be damned, I bet you could have gotten us here, and onward without them.” Once again she smiled at him with her impish smile. Fred could only wonder what she was thinking of, or planning.

         Fred blushed on hearing this. He had received many accolades before, but had never gotten used to hearing them, especially from Amy. “Well, you’re the pilot, I’m just the navigator. We’ve discussed this before. It’s a team effort, we’re a team here.”

         “One thing that will not happen again, is that crazy business with the radio. Obviously, we can’t leave here without having that problem solved!” Amy’s look of anger was not lost on Fred; he knew they couldn’t experience that problem again.

         “You mean the radio failure? We have to make sure the Itasca knows what frequency we’ll use, and we need to know theirs of course. I’m sure that’s been taken care of, I’ve been exchanging cablegrams with them about that problem since the Darwin flight.”

         “Okay, as long as you have it under control. This is an adventure as you know. And I always say, ‘Adventure is worthwhile in itself’. Once we have this adventure completed, maybe we’ll have others together…. Who knows?” She laughed as she finished saying that, then ran to her car and drove to their hotel that sat near the Lae airport.

         Fred completed his walk-around of the aircraft, then slowly walked to the hotel. He relished the long walk, it gave him the chance to think about this trip, their flights, and what was going to happen once they arrived in Oakland. He knew that Amy would be fawned over by the press and the general public, and figured he would be largely forgotten. That was fine with him, he was not a man who yearned for the spotlight. At times he wondered what it would be like to have the spotlight on him. He had a past though, one that needed to be kept out of the limelight. He knew things would ugly if the press wanted looked into his history enough.

         Fred found himself a bit worried about this next stretch of their journey. Amy had not successfully used the Radio Direction Finder (RDF). It was understandable in many ways, the Bendix system was difficult to grasp, and in testing it the day before, Amy had not been able to find the sharp minimum which would indicate the direction of the RDF beacon. Despite these thoughts troubling his mind, Fred finally found peace and slept deeply.

         At 8am the next morning, Amy and Fred were going over their final flight preparations. Their flight path had been painstakingly drawn on the maps, their destination Howland Island and a rendezvous with the USCGC Itasca. Fred had checked once again with the Itasca about the frequencies to be used, and finally, with all the planning behind them, they enjoyed a hearty breakfast. At 9:30 they were in the Electra running over final flight checks. Everything was completed to their satisfaction before Amy started the engines and let them idle until they were fully warm. They taxied down the grassy runway, and at 10am sharp, they lifted off, heading east into the sun.

         Their flight over the ocean was uneventful for the most part. In fact, it was tedious. For Amy, it was almost boring. Keeping the Electra level at ten thousand feet was not difficult, but it did require some concentration on her part. Amy checked the instruments frequently while Fred busied himself checking their path, navigating by stars. Once he was satisfied they were on course, he’d relax a little, only to repeat it all within an hour.

         About five hours into the flight, Amy contacted Lae, reporting thick clouds in her area, and lowered her altitude from ten thousand to five thousand feet. As they neared Howland Island, she called the Coast Guard Cutter Itasca. She knew that once they established communications, the Itasca would guide them to Howland using the Radio Directional Finder equipment.

         “KHAQQ calling Itasca, over.”

         There was no answer to her transmission, and she tried again. “KHAQQ calling Itasca, over.”

         Suddenly Amy and Fred received a signal from the Itasca. There was no voice, but it was a steady signal at 7500 Hz. Fred rotated the directional antenna to gain a null, but was unable to obtain a suitable one. “Amy, I can’t get a null.”

         “Keep trying Fred. You know as well as I do that with no null, we won’t know their position, and can’t get to them!”

         “Yes, I know that. Believe me, I’m trying, but really, there’s a little change in the signal as I rotate the antenna, but it’s not enough to establish a null.”

         Amy began whistling into the microphone trying to give the Itasca a continuous tone so they could home in on it. “Itasca, if you hear me, I cannot hear you. We must be near you, please transmit so I can hear you.”

         Nothing came over the air waves at first, then suddenly she heard Morse Code being transmitted, but they could not determine its direction.

         Amy transmitted again and said, “Itasca, we must be near you, how do you read? Over.”

         There was no answer to her transmission, and she tried again. “KHAQQ calling Itasca, we must be on you, but cannot see you…. gas is running low…

         Amy knew they were in trouble if they couldn’t contact the Itasca. Concern etched across her youthful features as she made another transmission. "We are on the line 157 337. We will repeat this message. We will repeat this on 6210 kilocycles. Wait. We will listen on 6210 kilocycles. We are running North and South."

         Amy repeated the same message several times as they desperately tried to communicate with the Itasca. With gas running low and unable to communicate with the Itasca, she set their course due south as she’d just reported.

         As they continued on, they saw a small island in the far distance, almost on the horizon. “Amy, if you can, get us to that island. Maybe we can find a small beach to land on.”

         “Right, I’ll do my best Fred.” Amy knew the engines were close to running on fumes, and throttled back until they were almost idling. Slowly the plane lost altitude as it approached the island. Spying a desolate beach, Amy revved the engines some to control their flight. At this point, they were just a few feet above the waves. Suddenly a downdraft caught the small craft and quickly pressed it down. Amy jerked the column up, but it was not enough. The planes wheels hit the water, the plane slamming to a stop. The two of them were thrown about, screams and grunts from each of them as the Electra was wrenched violently by the waves.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~


         When Amy woke, tears were streaming down her cheeks at the memory of their flight. She wasn’t too worried, the Itasca had heard them, that much was obvious. She figured it would only be a matter of time before she was found. She did not realize that she had missed a plane flying over as she slept.

         Throughout that day, Amy rested as best she could, keeping an eye on the sky and ocean, expecting to see a plane or ship at any moment. It was during one of those moments of searching that caused her to fall. As she walked along the beach and undergrowth of the island, she would pause to search the sky and ocean. During one of those searches, she kept walking, and tripped over a branch. She fell clumsily, her head banging hard against a thick branch. Blackness engulfed her as she passed out.


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~


         Mark said, “And that’s when I woke up and saw you. How long was I gone?”

         Ishmael replied, “You were gone maybe a minute this time.”

         “This one, it was a little different it seemed.”

         “I know. In other episodes, it would be a few days for you, but less than a minute for us. This time though, the time difference wasn’t consistent.”

         “Well, that’s why you’re doing these experiments, huh. You’re the scientist, the professor. I’m just a guinea pig, so-to-speak.”

         Ishmael smiled as Mark said this, and replied, “You are far more than a mere guinea pig, I hope you know that.”

         “Well, I don’t know that, but thank you. I hope that one day I will regain my complete memory, and can know who I really am.”

         “I do too Mark. But you must know that we know your background, your history. We had to for you to do this.”

         “Then tell me about myself!”

         “All in due time Mark. Right now though, we need to check you out as we usually do.”

         As they spoke, a young woman entered the room wearing a pale yellow slacks and a white shirt. Her shoes complimented her slacks, being an off yellow type of sneaker that Mark hadn’t seen before. “Michelle, how are you my Belle?”

         Mark’s question caused a smile to illuminate her features, a smile that seemed to light the room. “Why thank you Mark, I am doing well, I can see you are too!”

         “Michelle.” This time, Ishmael spoke. “During his most recent adventure, Mark was Amelia Earhart!”

         “Amelia Earhart? Wow, how interesting is that? You’re going to have to tell me about that later Ishmael. Promise?”

         “Yes my dear, I will, I promise.”

         As they spoke, Mark felt a tinge of envy come over him, causing him to stop and wonder about things. Why would he feel envious of the two of them? His mind pondered this a bit. As he sat there silently, he felt a great fatigue come over him and closed his eyes.

         Ishmael saw Mark slip away, and quickly came to his side, monitoring his breathing and heart rate. Satisfied, he turned to Michelle and said, “His Amelia Earhart story is fascinating. I can’t wait to tell you about it. How about over dinner tonight?”

         Michelle smiled at him and said, “Jeffrey, you know I’d love that. Usual time?”

         “Well, it all depends on Mark here, doesn’t it? He should be back shortly. After that, I’ll get him settled for the night and meet you at the Cliff House. I’ll text you when I know a good time, and make our usual reservation.”

         Michelle smiled at Ishmael as she left the room. Despite the problems they faced working together, she found working with him far more satisfying that she had thought possible.

Chapter Ten
Mark Surprises Ishmael

         “Welcome back Mark.”

         “Where have I been?”

         “That’s what you’re supposed to tell me.”

         “Tell you? What do you mean, I’m supposed to tell you? Who are you?”

         “I’m someone who cares for you right now. We are working together on a special project.”

         “Special project? Wait a minute, where am I?”

         “Where you have been for a little while now.”

         “Hold on a sec. Start over please. Why am I lying here like this? And again, who are you?”

         “You may call me Ishmael.” As he said this, he fought hard to hide a smile. Moby Dick had always been a favorite book, he found he related well to that character.

         “Ishmael huh. Nice. But you didn’t answer my question Ishmael.”

         “Mark, there’s a goal we’re working towards, something we want to do. It can’t be done without you. You are not a guinea pig for us, this is entirely voluntarily on your part.”

         “You mean I can leave when I want?”

         “Yes Mark, of course.”

         “Suppose I wanted to leave now?”

         “Then I’d have no choice but to let you go. After you tell me where you were.”

         As Ishmael said this, Mark’s mind seemed to shift to a new plane, or new level. He started to recall where he was before he woke. Ishmael could see the change in his demeanor, a light flush coming to his gaunt cheeks. Mark looked at his surroundings some, his gaze coming to rest on his reflection in the mirror. He knew that man in the mirror, hair starting to gray around the temples, curly locks atop his head. “At least I’m not going bald anytime soon.” he thought. With that thought in mind, he lay back on his pillow, and for the first time noticed the soft sounds in the room. There was the soft beeping of machines that he couldn’t see, the quiet whirring of fans nearby, both mixed with myriad other noises he couldn’t identify.

         As they talked, Mark felt his mind slowly clear, the events of his past excursion slowly coming to mind. It was a little like a dream it seemed, but a dream that he could remember every detail of. He relaxed back on the bed, his mind churning as his memory cleared. He looked over to Ishmael, his lips quivering a little. “This was my last excursion, after I tell you where and who I was, I’m done.”

         “Are you sure Mark?” Ishmael was dismayed to hear Mark say this, but knew it was an inevitable decision.

         “Positive.”

         “Well, tell me about this latest excursion, and I will fill you in on everything we’ve been doing.”

         “Good, I have to return to this last excursion though!”

         “Mark, you know there’s no guarantee that will happen.”

         “I know, but I think I’ll be pulled back somehow.” Mark lightly rubbed the ‘token’ in his right hand as he said this. “Okay Ishmael, this is what happened this last time.”

Chapter Eleven
A Romance Of The Times

         Alan hurried through the crowded streets of the Bronx. He detested large crowds of people, and could never get used to the throngs of people that seemed to be everywhere he went. A loner by nature, he had few friends. Those he did have were close, and understood his reluctance to venture out in crowds.

         Being from the Bay Area of San Francisco, he was used to crowds, but here in the New York City Metro area, it was a little different. The rush of people here was unlike the Bay Area. There was a difference in the people that he couldn’t put his finger on.

         Tonight he was meeting his close friends Rick and Nick at the Porchetta Di Mare restaurant. Despite his dislike of crowds, he had decided to use the subways to get there, instead of a taxi. He had taken the B train from his hotel in Manhattan to Tremont station. He enjoyed walking, and had decided to walk from there. Now he was wishing he’d taken a taxi since his feet were feeling like lead. But his destination was close, and he trudged on.

         Porchetta Di Mare was one of Rick’s favorite places to relax and dine, and Al had agreed to meet him and his brother there to lay the groundwork for their new cellular phone. He also planned on dropping a few hints to them about other ideas he had for gadgets they could create in this electronic age. After all, the millennium had passed a scant eighteen months ago, and cellular phones were all the rage, he knew they really needed to dive into that business.

         “Al, great to see you my friend! It’s been far too long.” Rick rose to greet Alan as he approached the table, shaking his hand and hugging him.

         “Alan, we really need to meet more often, how else can we brainstorm?” Nick shook Alan’s hand also, hugging him just as his brother had.

         “Well guys, I can’t always just up and run here y’know. But things are advancing quickly in our world, who knows how we’ll meet in future years?”

         “So true Al, so true. We have one more joining us tonight. Melanie has agreed to work with us. She was highly recommended, and lives out in your neck of the woods!”

         As they were talking about projects each of them were involved in, a young woman who looked to be in her late twenties approached the table. Being the first to see her, Nick rose to greet her. “Melanie! It’s good to see you again.” Moving an arm to include Rick and Al, he said, “This is my brother Rick, and our best friend Al. Guys, Melanie is not technically inclined, so let’s keep the ‘shop talk’ at a minimum, shall we?”

         Melanie shook each man’s hand and greeted them pleasantly before they all reseated themselves, menu’s unopened for the moment. Al was the first to break the short silence. “Rick, you’ve told us this is your favorite place to kick back, relax and eat, what do you recommend?”

         Rick looked at the three of them without looking at the menu and said, “We have to start with the Brasato e Peperoni Secchi, maybe see if we can get a large Insalata Caprino e Pera, and one of us just has to have the Spigola al Forno.”

         “What did you just say? I understand one of them is a salad, but c’mon man! Speak English!” Al exclaimed.

         Melanie leaned toward Al after Rick’s recommendations and softly said, “He’s recommending we start with Short Ribs, veggies and cheese, a goat cheese and pear salad, and a dish featuring a fish found mainly in Europe called the Branzino.” She winked at him after she finished saying this.

         Both Rick and Nick looked at her speechless, unbelieving that she understood what Rick had said. Melanie looked around a little sheepishly and said, “No, I don’t speak Italian. But I dined here so many times in the past that I’ve almost memorized the menu. Much like Rick here it seems. It doesn’t seem it has changed much in the last few years.”

         “Can’t we just have a pizza and some pasta?” muttered Al.

         This drew a laugh from everyone, even Al laughed at his small joke. After a bit of small talk, they ordered their meals and sat back to chat. Nick looked at Melanie and said, “Well we’ve hired you on with this project, and while I know a little about you, tell us in your own words about yourself.”

         Melanie looked around at each of them before slowly starting to speak. “I was married to a wonderful man. He was my life, my love. Just over five years ago, he died while deployed to the Middle East. He wasn’t killed in combat, he just had a massive heart attack and died almost instantly. I’ve raised our daughter Shelley ever since.”

         Melanie stopped for a minute to grab a drink of water. Al looked at her and said, “Melanie, you don’t have to continue if you don’t want to. We’ll understand. We don’t need to know your personal history right now.”

         “Thank you Al, but no, talking about it is making me feel better. I’ve just recently gotten to the point where I can talk about it without breaking down. Anyway…..” Melanie stopped to lightly to blow her nose and wipe her eyes before continuing. “As I said, he was my life, my love. I have always sworn that I’d never fall in love like that again. But I also know things can happen, and that I may. If I do, I will die if he dies. I do not want to suffer that kind of loss again.”

         The three men sat in somewhat of a stunned silence at this revelation. Rick whispered slowly, “Wow, that… that is…” At this point he stopped, unable to voice his thoughts.

         The men looked at each other in wonder, eyes wide, looking almost like fish out of water. It was Al who found himself able to speak. “Melanie, I wish I could tell you I understand, but I’ve been a loner all my life. So has Rick and Nick. We feel for you as best we can, and I can’t speak for them. Wow, I feel for you, I really do. My heart goes out to you for your loss.” Al was astonished at what he had just said. After all, here he was, a man who had always lived alone, and now he tells a strange woman he could feel her pain?

         Melanie smiled at all of them and continued, saying “It’s okay, really. I have survived, as has my daughter. Anyway, somewhere along the way, between raising my daughter and running a small household, I studied at USC and managed to get a Master’s Degree in Business. I’ve worked with a variety of corporations, and am very good at meeting people, preparing marketing documents & materials. I excel at that kind of work.”

         “Melanie, I know we all feel for you, and am glad you’ve learned to live life again. My condolences to you and your daughter for your loss.” Nick nodded his head in agreement as Rick spoke, then added, “Speaking of your daughter, where is she? She’s not alone in a hotel room, is she?”

         Melanie laughed a little at this and said, “No, my sister Sarah is taking care of her back in the Bay Area while I’m here. I planned on doing a little sightseeing while here to refresh my memory of the Big Apple.”

         With the initial greetings done, they decided on what to have for dinner. Not too surprisingly, Melanie went with Rick’s recommendation on the Branzino. Al couldn’t decide what to choose, and thought about Spaghetti & Meatballs. It was Melanie who tsk’d tsk’d over that, and said, “What’s your favorite meat? You can’t just have Spaghetti & Meatballs in a place like this. Try their ‘Pollo Osso Buco’. I’ve had it, and it’s excellent!”

         With appetizer and dinner dishes decided, they sat back and relaxed. To the astonishment of Rick and Nick, the four of them were quickly involved in a deep conversation. Al was normally the quiet one in any group, so having him involved with such animation was surprising.

         Their appetizer arrived and was quickly demolished. That done, they made small talk while waiting for their entrees. Each of them studiously steered the conversation away from business. There was a good reason for this too. In the world of modern technology one couldn’t be too careful. A careless word uttered in the wrong location may lead to a competitor mimicking your product. Each of them knew of these dangers, and naturally kept their work out of the discussion.

         Dinner completed, Nick looked around the table and said, “Why don’t we retire to a little more private location? I’d like to talk about where we’re going in our efforts here.

         The four of them moved to a small room Rick had reserved. Once they were comfortable, Rick became all business. “Okay everyone, here’s what I think we need to do. Cellular phones are here, there will be a day when they’re as indispensable as our computers are. Nokia, Kyocera, Sony Ericsson, and Motorola are the big names in the business. I want our name mentioned with theirs, or even before. I don’t intend for us to just join the cellular phone market, I intend for us to dominate it in a few years.”

         The others nodded as he spoke, and the conversation moved on to the overall project, with Rick providing details. “I mentioned us entering the cellular phone business. We cannot jump into this realm soon enough, but we also can’t do what I envision. The technology just doesn’t support it yet.”

         Al leaned back, hands linked behind his head and said, “What do you mean Rick? After all, we can make cell phones right now, so what’s holding us back?”

         “Well Al, first we have to make a cell phone, huh. That’s not too hard for us and our company. But as you know, we have to manufacture it to work on different carriers networks. Companies like Nokia, Motorola, Nextel. That’s the easy part.”

         “Easy for you to say that is. But go on…”

         “I want users of our phone to be able to choose their carrier.”

         “Wait a minute Rick. A user on a cell phone has a contract with a carrier, don’t they?”

         Now Nick spoke up and said, “Exactly. That’s one reason why we can’t make this particular phone right now. It’s for the future. But imagine having a cell phone with a certain carrier, but you lose coverage. What if you could then have the phone search for a valid cellular signal, and switch the phone to that network?”

         “Now who’s going to agree to that?”

         “That’s our dilemma, and that’s what Melanie is going to help us with.” Now Rick was explaining things again. “We have to get our first phone model manufactured, and most of all, it has to be equal to or better than the others. Once again, Melanie will be key in getting it in the public eye. Then we sell the carriers on the idea of a multi-carrier phone, and each carrier gets a portion of the subscribers fee, based on the amount of time spent on that carriers network!”

         “Whoa, now that’s quite an idea! How far away are we from that concept?”

         “Well, first things first, our new phone we debut in a few months. Then we’ll work on the multi-carrier phone. I already have a name for it too.”

         “I hope it’s a good one.”

         “Well, I think it is. The Universal Millennial Phone.” Rick smiled broadly as he said this, almost like a child who just shared a secret.

         For the first time in a while, Melanie spoke up. “Rick, your whole idea is pretty exciting. But I’m not really blown away with the name. I think it’s too long. Call it ‘The Millennial Phone. It’s short enough, yet it’s different from all other phone names.”

         Nick asked, “Why does the name have to be short?”

         “Because naming a new product is very important. More important than most people who create them realize. We’re in the new millennium now, it fits. Universal is a bit redundant is all.”

         Nick nodded as he looked at her with new respect. “You’ve been with us for a couple of hours now, but that one little statement says quite a bit about you, and how you fit in.”

         The rest of the evening passed quickly, and they all retired for the night. “Where are you staying Melanie?” Al inquired.

         “I’m at the Hilton Garden Inn Times Square. Where are you staying?”

         “Well hell, I’m staying there too! Cancel your cab, ride with me!”

         “What about Rick and Nick?”

         “They’re locals, Nick lives on Staten Island, Rick’s in an apartment on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. They’re both heading to the subway. I took that here, but walked the last bit, a longer walk than I thought. A cab it is for me.”

         “Well, if you don’t mind, I’d love to ride with you.”

         Both of them were quiet during the ride to the hotel. Al was lost deep in thought about the cell phone project, Melanie spent her time texting her sister Sarah and Shelley. Once at the hotel they parted ways, agreeing to meet after breakfast in the morning.

         The next two weeks passed far faster than any of them would have thought. Rick & Nick were busy meeting with their Engineering Design team to get their new product design finalized. Al and Melanie were busy in different areas, but found themselves meeting for breakfast each morning, and often sharing dinners. One night at dinner Melanie lamented that she’d be going home the following Tuesday. Al replied, “I’m not leaving until Wednesday on an early United flight.”

         “I’m flying United too!”

         “Hmmmm, I wonder if I can change my flight plans. That is, assuming you wouldn’t mind me flying back with you?”

         “Mind? I’d love it! It would be nice to have someone to sit with on that long flight to San Francisco.” There was a tone to Melanie’s voice that Al hadn’t heard before. It was wistful, and hopeful at the same time.

         “Which airport are you leaving from?”

         “Newark. You?”

         “Me too! I will call and see if I can get it changed. Would you like to spend the weekend being a tourist?”

         “I think that would be lovely! Won’t Rick want us working though?”

         “Don’t worry about Rick, he won’t mind either of us taking some time off. Lord knows we won’t get much once this project gets going.”

         Al called that night and changed his flight to Tuesday morning and arranged for him and Melanie to sit together. He then called Rick and said he’d be leaving early and was going to spend the weekend with Melanie being a tour guide/tourist himself.

         For Al, that weekend was one of memories. The two of them visited about every tourist attraction in the New York City area. Monday, Al surprised Melanie with a day outing, taking her north to Sleepy Hollow, then further north to West Point. They toured the grounds and marveled at the stone structures that make up West Point. They spent the evening walking Times Square, and Melanie shocked Al by leaning in to kiss him lightly in Central Park.

         “Wh, What was that for?”

         “Just because. You are quite the gentleman Al. Let’s just say the moment grabbed me and took me away. Here, I got this for you when you weren’t looking.” She grabbed his hand and placed a small round object in it.

         “What’s this?”

         “Well, you told me last week how you love hiking, how you take your beautiful walking stick with you when you go. So, I got this for your walking stick at West Point.”

         “Melanie, I don’t know what to say! I love it! Thank you!” Al’s face dropped a little as he said this. “But I haven’t bought you anything special like this.”

         “Al, it’s nothing special. I saw it and thought you might like to have it.”

         “Melanie, it is special, it’s from you after all…” Al started to say something more, but was shushed as Melanie kissed him again, longer this time.

         “Melanie, what’s gotten in to you all of a sudden? I mean I love it, but what’s going on?”

         “I’m sorry Al, I didn’t mean to come on like that. I haven’t kissed a man since my… since my husband died. This weekend has been terrific, I guess I lost my head there for a minute.”

         “Melanie, you didn’t come on to me, you just surprised me. But lose your mind again, will you? And yes, it has been a terrific weekend.”

         Melanie’s eyes filled with tears when she realized Al wasn’t put off by her actions. Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around him, her head nestled in his shoulder. Al embraced her warmly, relishing their closeness, and realized the two of them had become very close quickly. He brushed her hair with his fingers and whispered, “Shall we dine at the Boathouse tonight? A moonlight dinner before flying home tomorrow.”

         “I’d love that. A perfect ending to a wonderful weekend, one of the best I’ve ever had.”

         She grabbed his hand as they continued their walk. Dinner was perfect, both were sorry to see the night end.

         Al kissed her goodnight at her door, then slowly walked to his room feeling as if he was walking on air. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before, but one he wanted to experience again. The next morning, they met earlier than usual and caught a cab to the airport. Traffic was terrible, and they ran late. After checking in, they realized they needed to hustle to get to their gate on time. As they were walking, Al felt himself getting a little dizzy. “Melanie, let’s sit down for a sec, I feel a little dizzy.”

         “Al, are you okay?”

         “I think so, I just need to sit down for a minute. Maybe yesterday wore me out more than I thought.”

         Al sat back and blacked out…


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~

Chapter Twelve
Michelle and Al Fly Home

         Mark finished relating his story with tear filled eyes. He was surprised to see tears in Ishmael’s eyes also. He had never noticed Michelle entering the room, she was seated next to Ishmael, her head buried in his shoulders sobbing softly.

         “Why is she crying Ishmael?” Mark was beside himself, he never intended for Michelle to hear the whole story, and definitely never intended to make her cry.

         Instead of answering Mark’s question, Ishmael asked one of his own. “Are you sure that was your last mission Mark?”

         “Yes Ishmael. Somehow, I need to go back and see Melanie again. So, I’m done. I need to be with her, more than you or anyone else could ever know.” Mark reached in his pocket, his fingers wrapping around a small object that hadn’t been there before. He smiled inwardly and knew he would see Melanie again. Her gift would drag him back, it had to!

         “You know there’s no way to know where you’re going. Nor will I revive you again.”

         “Revive me?”

         “Yes Mark, each time you’ve experienced another’s life, I’ve used these this equipment here to bring you back.”

         “But why?”

         “Because this is what that project you and I are working on is all about. I’ve never been able to ‘send you to another place and time’, that’s been random. There’s no way I can send you back to Melanie at the precise time you left.”

         “I know Ishmael, but I have to try to go back.”

         “I guess all we can do is let you leave the project. Only you will know where you go. I won’t hear about this story, much as I want to.”

         “I know, as they say, It is what it is.”

         “Well, if you are absolutely positive…. when you die this time Dad, I will not bring you back, nor...” At this point Mark interrupted Ishmael and said, “Wait, I’m your father?”

         “Yes Mark, you’re my father. I’m Jeffrey, your son. You’ve been terminally ill for a few months now. I developed this advanced form of life support, but I guess it’s become more of a Life Reviver. This time, when you die, your soul will go wherever it should go, and it will be done.”

         Mark looked at Jeffrey/Ishmael in disbelief, then muttered, “I knew there was something odd here. At the edge of my mind, I recalled reading Moby Dick to a little boy long ago. I thought it was all a dream, not a memory.”

         Jeffrey smiled as Mark said this, and responded, “I had to use the name Ishmael in honor of you and Moby Dick, in case you didn’t come back that first time. When you did come back, I used it that first time, but then I couldn’t change it, could I?”

         At this point Michelle came to sit by them, looking at Mark with eyes still filled with tears. She was still sobbing, but through her heaving sobs she said, “You met my mother! Is she beautiful? Do I look like her? Oh Mark, there’s so many questions I want to ask you, but know I can’t!”

         Mark looked at Michelle, his face full of wonder. “Melanie’s your mother? My God!” Mark sat back, tears rolling down his face unabated. After a few minutes he regained control and looked at Michelle. “Michelle, she is very beautiful, and so proud of her daughter. You and her look a bit alike, but different all the same. I see her eyes in yours, her hair.”

         Mark looked around and said, “Jeffrey, tell me more about this project you say we are working on.”

         “Well, to be honest, this was all your idea. One day we were talking about life in general, how death can hit you very suddenly. We wondered what happened after death and wondered how we could learn about it.”

         “I guess that sounds a little crazy to me now.”

         “It does to me too, even now. Our intentions were to learn what happened to someone after they passed. You know, the life after death idea. We both thought we’d learn where someone goes after passing, we never expected that you could live someone else’s life!”

         “Could it be because I hadn’t really died yet? That it wasn’t my time?”

         “Possibly, but right now, we kind of stuck. We had engineered this equipment to monitor a subject close to death and used it on a few very ill animals. It took some time, but eventually we were able to revive them after they died, but they never lasted long. So, we improved it to the point it’s at now. Still, we couldn’t talk to them, could we?”

         “Not unless you were Dr. Doolittle!”

         At the mention of Dr. Doolittle, Jeffrey chuckled and said, “You said that long ago Dad. That’s why we named this ‘The Doolittle Machine”. Yeah, it’s lame, but it’s special to us both. I’m sure it will be renamed one day, assuming we continue this.”

         “Why wouldn’t you continue this, Jeffrey?”

         “Dad, you are the only volunteer so far. Of course, we’re just getting off the ground with this, and have to publish our findings. That might bring more volunteers and help get everything going.”

         “How exactly did I end up being a volunteer?”

         “Like I said, we had worked together on the basics of this idea for a couple of years. One day, you had a massive heart attack. We almost lost you before we could perfect Dr. Doolittle here.”

         “So that’s why I’ve been sort of confined to this bed the whole time.”

         “Not exactly Dad. This whole time has really been just over a day. All your experiences have happened that fast. I could bring you back each time, but you were never strong enough to stay, it seems. Except this time.”

         “I still don’t feel strong, so we’ll see how long I last. What happened when I had the heart attack?”

         “Well of course we called 9-1-1. The paramedics were here in minutes and were fantastic! They stabilized you at the house and transported you to the hospital with us close behind. You ended up having triple bypass surgery and did well. But you weren’t strong, and they wanted to keep you there for monitoring. My lovely Michelle is an exceptional, and experienced nurse, and we talked them into letting us monitor you. The rest as they say, is history.”

         As Jeffrey said this last part, Michelle blushed furiously and softly said, “You’re biased honey.”

         Mark seemed to jolt at that and asked, “You two are a couple? Geez, now I remember! How could I forget my daughter-in-law and my precious granddaughter?”

         “Tis okay grandpa, you’ve been through a lot. We’re surprised you’re able to function as well as you do really.”

         “So, life after death. You were looking for me to return and tell you about heaven and/or,,, the other place?”

         “Yes Dad, something like that. We’ve never been really religious, so we didn’t know what to expect. But your experiences have put a new perspective on everything. We need to see what happens with other volunteers.”

         “I’m sorry Jeffrey, I’d do more, but Melanie and I were just starting to know one another. Something tells me I have to meet her again if possible.”

         Having said that, Mark looked around the room one more time, then collapsed back on the bed. “Oh God, I’m so tired, I need to ….”

         Jeffrey and Michelle watched as Mark’s eyes closed, the rise and fall of his chest rhythmic and even. His breathing became slower and slower, until it finally stopped. The EKG beeped a couple more times, then emitted a shrill sound as it flat-lined. Jeffrey and Michelle continued to watch Mark closely with eyes brimming. Soft sobs escaped their lips as the full impact of what was finally happening hit them. Their bodies shook as they stood there taking in the moment, not wanting to let go.

         Suddenly Jeffrey let out a soft moan and collapsed into a nearby chair. Shaking uncontrollably, he held his head in his hands as he wept. Michelle moved by his side and put her arm around his shoulder. She held him close until he quieted, the sobs softening, then ending altogether. “I’m sorry honey, I don’t know what came over me.”

         “It’s fine my love, after all you’ve been through with him these last few months, and especially these past couple of days, I’d be shocked if you didn’t need a moment to grieve.”

         Taking Michelle’s hand, Jeffrey said, C’mon honey, let’s call this in and get him cared for properly. Maybe we can get home at a decent hour tonight. I’m sure your aunt would like a break from taking care of little Melanie.”

         “We can’t just leave him like this honey! We have to make a few calls, someone needs to come take care of your father after all.”

         “He’s fine where he is for now. Brian was automatically notified the moment he flat-lined. He’ll be here in an hour or so and get started on everything. The hospital was automatically informed also. Brian will have him transported to the morgue. Tomorrow we’ll meet up, discuss things, and arrange for his cremation as planned. For now, I think we both need to sit back, and think about what’s next.”


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


         Al opened his eyes slowly, his sight adjusting to the light around him. Melanie was hovering over him; her eyes filled with tears. Seeing his eyes coming open, she kissed him deeply before saying, “Oh Al, you scared me to death! Don’t ever do that again!”

         “I’m sorry Melanie, how long was I out?”

         “Only a few seconds, but I couldn’t rouse you, I thought I’d lost you! I don’t want to lose a man again; I told you that the first night.”

         “Melanie, are you saying…” Melanie cut him off with a finger to his lips.

         “No, not yet Al. But give us a little more time.”

“Melanie, we have all the time in the world. We haven’t missed our flight, have we?”

         “No, the gate is right over there, Al.” She replied, pointing to her right.

         As she said this, they heard an announcement on the airport intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, United Flight 93 is now boarding group 1 at gate A17. All passengers in group 1 please board through the red carpeted lane.”

         Melanie looked at Al and said, “There’s the call for our group. C’mon, let’s get on board and settle you down. I’m anxious to get home today. Tomorrow is the 12th, Michelle will be turning eight!”

         The two of them boarded their flight to San Francisco. At 8:01am, September 11th 2001, flight 93 pushed back from the gate with Al, Melanie, and 35 other passengers on board.

Jim Dorrell
8/18/19