Doing Dead Man's Time

By Matthew L. Schoonover

Phil Talbot is in the here-after, awaiting judgment. He is given the opportunity to come back to the mortal plane and fix the one mistake that changed his supernatural fate. But there are two conditions: he isn’t to know what that mistake is, and he is not allowed to come back as himself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Write Words Inc.
• Release date: Aug 28, 2013
• ISBN: 9781594319167

Book preview

Doing Dead Man’s Time

by

Matthew L. Schoonover

Published by Write Words Inc. at Smashwords

copyright 2011 Matthew L. Schoonover

Publishers Note: This book is a work of fiction based entirely on the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons is purely coincidental. Real places mentioned in the book are depicted fictionally and are not intended to portray actual times or places.

All rights reserved. No part of the book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Author or Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

Warning: Redistribution of this file, either on disk, CD, or over the Internet without consent of the author or publisher is a violation of United States Federal Copyright Law and of several International Trade Agreements.

Prelude

In the here-after

"Yes Gabriel, I understand you’ve been waiting to see me?"

"Only a millennia, Father. It’s about Purgatory ..."

"Go on."

"It’s kind of hard to purge sins outside of time, Father. I mean, one minute and one year tend to blend together after a while. And it is getting kind of crowded over there."

"So let me get this straight, Gabriel: you want to take a few souls out of Purgatory and send them back to earth…to what?"

"You’re reading my mind again, Lord. To speed up the purging process of their repentance. You did say no unclean thing shall enter your—"

"Yes, yes, I know, I know (everything)…but by themselves?"

"We can put in some guidelines…and we’ll have to have some kind of guide to keep them on track."

"My Guardian Angels are pretty busy right now. And then there’s him. Ever since Job, he insists on being a part of these earthly decisions."

"Actually, Sir, I’ve already passed him a teaser through one of his subordinates. He likes the idea, especially the part about a guide."

"I’m sure he does. Free will you know. Any soul sent back to earth can still fall. But what does that have to do with the guide?"

"He’s agreed to provide someone."

"Interesting. But you know the rule, Gabriel: One soul, one body."

"I’ve given that a lot of thought, Father, and I think I’ve come up with something…a loop-hole of sorts."

"I’m intrigued. Tell me more."

"Strictly speaking, there’s nothing that says we can’t have one body…two souls…it’s the same, uh, trick that Legion pulled—"

"Go on."

"Yes, sir. Here’s what I have in mind…"

"Very well, Gabriel, I’ll allow you a test case. You may have one soul."

Chapter 1

In the Here and Now

A flash of blue on the back of Talbot’s eyeballs, a sudden and intense pain in his chest as if every rib had been violently crushed, heart and other organs pureed in a gasp of agony too quick and complete to allow description or detail—then inflated in an agonizing process of the experience in reverse — and then a feeling of calm and inner peace.

At first he attributed the mélange of sensations to some kind of shock to his system, like coming out of a long, dark tunnel into a suddenly fierce, bright day and stopping to blink his eyes and adjust himself to his new surroundings. It was something like that but more; a renewed sense of the knowledge that eyes were for seeing—that he had indeed forgotten about eyes or eyesight.

Talbot was waking up.

It was more than the fierce blinding light of suddenly being awake, the sudden attack of disorientation and confusion. He was becoming more and more aware of a vague and undefined sense of departure, of something leaving him. Like soft music in the back of his mind that he didn’t even realize he was listening to until it was gone; unaware of humming a catchy tune and slowly, casually becoming aware of it, and then unable to repeat even a single note simply because of that awareness. And no matter how hard he tried to bring it back, to duplicate it, he could not.

He was actually hearing the tune in his head (not really a tune at all), aware of it as it faded. His eyes were closed and he was leaning slightly forward in a relaxed position as water ran down his naked body in soft, warm rivulets. The water was hot to a comfortable degree and the body was lax to the point of being limp. Talbot realized that he was still mostly asleep.

Slowly the tune faded to be replaced by the sounds of water spraying from the nozzle, hitting and splashing off body and tiles. When he was sure that the last vestige of that tranquility was gone and that he was completely unable to hum even a single note of that forgotten tune (no feeling of regret or loss when it was gone, just a sense that it was no longer here—that once he had been tranquil and now he is, strangely and inexplicably, not) he opened his eyes.

Steam.

Steam so thick Talbot thought it was on the wrong side of his eyeballs. Everything inside the shower stall was concealed by it. The opaque glass of the shower door hid everything outside.

He turned off the shower.

Opening the shower door slowly, he peeked out into the bathroom. It was a hotel room. He could tell just by looking but he could not determine the period in time. From the fixtures and decorations it could be any high-class hotel any time between the late sixties and the mid-nineties. He realized he was ‘cataloguing’, a bad habit he’d always had, and laughed nervously. You mean where, not when, he told himself. He was surprised by the sound of his own voice. It sounded like the voice of a stranger.

He grabbed a towel off the towel rack and wrapped himself in it. He noticed the large mirror over the sink, a steam covered silhouette staring back at him. He approached the mirror, wiped it off and took a good look.

He was a tall, well tanned, Caucasian with brown eyes and long, jet black hair. He was clean-shaven—apparently he’d shaved before going into the shower—and all and all, not bad looking. There was a scar on his forehead, an old scar, pink and faded. He pulled his hair back with a hand. The scar ran from under the hairline to just above the right eye.

Rakish, he thought.

He still felt disoriented although he couldn’t have said why. He saw everything as if for the first time. And yet somehow it all looked familiar. The face in the mirror seemed like someone not himself, as if he was looking at a familiar stranger.

Then he noticed the earring. A small diamond on a sliver base in his right ear. This last caught him by surprise and he felt a momentary dizziness.

I’m gay?

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and put his hands over his ears. His eyes moved under the lids as he repeated to himself, Left, right, left, right, until he was sure which ear the ring was in. With a sigh he exhaled the breath and opened his eyes. As the disorientation began to leave him he saw that the ring, despite the mirror image, was actually in his left ear.

As he studied that face, the sense of familiarity grew stronger. And with that familiarity came a sense of something else: A feeling he couldn’t identify, something alien, a sense of…of what?

A sense of hatred?

The door to the bathroom opened. A brunette walked in, brushing her hair. She had clean limbs, clear eyes and a half smile on her face. She was dressed in a slip and bra. Talbot felt his breath catch in his throat. She was beautiful.

She stopped halfway to the mirror when she saw him standing there. He could not decipher the look on her face. He felt his body tense.

She poked the hair brush accusingly at him. You better hurry up, Sleepy-head. You know you’re not supposed to be here. My brother will be here soon to pick me up and you know how he feels about you.

Talbot stared in slack-jawed surprise. Part of his mind told him that they’d only recently met—

– while another part of his mind seemed to be fighting to bring up memories old and dear, memories of laughter and games, fights and friendships and differences of opinions, of long walks and long talks.

Susie? Is that you?

She laughed and it was music to his ears. Of course it’s me, Silly. Who else would put up with you? She frowned as a thought occurred to her. Then it was gone and she was smiling again.

Something about a funeral, Talbot remembered. He’d seen her at a funeral. But whose?

Her own? That didn’t make sense. It had to be someone else. He could almost see the coffin, the crowd, the family. It was all fuzzy, all except Susie, crying her eyes out. She was younger then. They all were. (Who were they?) He remembered wanting to put his arms around her, to comfort her, knowing that he could not.

A gasp came to his lips, so abruptly that Susie asked, What?

Nothing, he said.

But it wasn’t nothing. He’d just remembered being sad at the funeral because he couldn’t comfort dear, sweet Susie…dear sweet sister Susie.

Chapter 2

Charlie

Susie came over and gave him a hug. He returned the hug, feeling her warmth, enjoying the sensation. Slowly, he realized that she was not hugging him in the same way that he was hugging her. She leaned up to give him a kiss. He turned his head quickly to receive the kiss on his cheek.

What are you doing here, he asked.

What am I doing here? She laughed. Silly, it’s my room. You must have had a lot more to drink last night than you promised you would.

Last night?

Just a couple of beers you said.

He had no recall of the night before. I’m…I’m sorry, he said lamely.

She looked at her watch. Omigosh! She jumped out of his grasp and ran into the other room. Hurry up, Sleepy-head. They’ll be here any minute! She reappeared with an armload of clothes and tossed them at him. You’re not supposed to be here, remember, and she was gone again, closing the door behind her.

Talbot dressed quickly in blue jeans, white tee-shirt, black Dingo boots and black leather jacket, none of which looked familiar to him. The clothes were clean but the jacket smelled of cigarette smoke. I don’t smoke, he said to himself. Do I? He found a pack of Marlboro Reds and a Zippo in the jacket pocket, along with keys to a motorcycle (his) and a motel room (his?).

He was just buckling the belt when the door opened and Susie came in, dressed in a white cotton skirt and blouse, which made her look stunning. She carried a duffel bag.

Here’s the rest of your stuff. She put the bag in one of his hands, grabbed the other and led him from the room. Now remember, she said, leading him through the hotel living room. Lunch is at one in the dining room downstairs—just a few friends—and rehearsal is at six. Then Dennis has you until tomorrow. But tomorrow you’re all mine, Mister. She stopped and turned to him, gave him another hug.

Over her shoulder Talbot noticed a television turned on with the volume down low. It was one of those early morning news/talk shows, and Warren Beatty was talking about how important it was to get McGovern elected.

McGovern? he said.

Stop gawking, Susie admonished. You’re only interested because you like his movies. Once more she took his hand and led him to the door.

At the open door she jumped into his arms. Before Talbot knew what was happening, she kissed him on the mouth. He froze. Then pulled away.

She laughed as she closed the door. And I thought I was the shy one. He could still hear her wonderful laughter through the door.

Standing in the hallway, confused and without direction, Talbot moved to the elevators. He tried to remember anything and everything about himself. He couldn’t understand why he was having such a difficult time remembering things. He knew he had a sister, Susie, and a brother…Tom.

That seemed to be the sum of all his memories.

He knew that Susie was his sister, just as surely as he knew that she wasn’t. It didn’t make sense and yet a part of his mind assured him that it made perfect sense.

The elevator doors opened and he stepped in.

It was very confusing.

He noticed a beautiful blonde standing at the rear of the elevator. He turned to face the doors, noticed that the lobby button had already been pressed and waited for the doors to close. Occupied with his thoughts he really didn’t notice the doors close or the sudden, soft drop as the elevator started on its way.

Something, some subconscious mental process was keeping him calm, preventing him from the mad rush of panic that logic said he must experience at this sense of incomplete self and unexplained duality.

Fine, be that way.

Startled, he turned—and almost knocked the blonde over. He hadn’t heard her come up behind him.

I guess I deserve that, she said. She stepped even closer.

Deserve what? He stepped back against the doors to put some space between them.

Why, the cold shoulder, of course. She stepped forward and slipped her arms through his and around his back. She looked up with sultry eyes. Still, you can’t blame a girl for trying.

I’ll say, came another voice.

Surprised, Talbot looked around the blonde. He thought they were the only two in the elevator.

A small, impish man with beady eyes, black hair combed forward into a widow’s peak and dark, arched eyebrows stood in the back of the elevator. He was ogling the blonde. Hubba, Hubba, the little man said.

Ignoring the interruption, the blonde continued: After all, she said, stretching up and bringing her lips against his, brushing them lightly as she spoke, emphasizing each word: We—were—this—close—to—being—married—once.

Talbot couldn’t help being mesmerized. He had no knowledge of when he put his arms around her, but had to force himself mentally to let her go.

Awww, the little man said with disgust.

She stepped to the rear of the elevator. The little man had to move quickly to get out of her way. And still she ignored him.

She leaned against the back panel with a sexy smile on her lips and a look in her eyes that said, ‘come and get me’.

Talbot took a good look at her: Long blonde hair with lots of body, blue smoldering eyes, full lips and curves in all the right places with all the proper proportions. She wore a blouse that was low cut and loose fitting over tight blue jeans tucked into pointed-toe cowboy boots. The woman exuded sensuality. He knew there was no challenge in her look, only invitation.

Yeah, the little man said enthusiastically. Oh yeah.

I don’t think so, Talbot said, as much for his own ears as for those of the other two.

She shrugged. I was on my way to see Susie, to congratulate her on getting you back.

Back? This was from both the little man and Talbot, however, the little man’s voice held a slightly different inflection.

Yeah, back. You know…after last night? She gave him a questioning look. You do remember?

Yes, he said, keenly aware of the woman’s probing glance and the little man’s lascivious look. No, he amended. Not exactly.

How much do you remember?

Talbot shrugged his shoulders.

She laughed and it was distinctly different from Susie’s laugh—less from the angels and more throaty, more earthy. You never could hold your liquor, Charlie, she said. How many did you have last night?

How many what?

And you don’t remember the dance? Talbot shook his head. Or the fight? His eyebrows raised. Or what happened between…us? Talbot stared at her and the look in his eyes was answer enough.

He looked to the little man, for help or relief or distraction, he wasn’t sure.

Don’t look at me, Bub. You’re on your own.

Maybe it’s just as well, she said. About going up to see Susie, I mean. She looked at him with those smoldering eyes. I don’t feel like seeing her now, anyway. She moved toward him. Maybe I was just using that as an excuse. Maybe I just wanted to see you again. She was close enough now for Talbot to smell the perfume behind her ears. Maybe I just wanted to find out if there was any fire left in the old furnace. She was pressing her body up against his and looking at him with invitation.

How? he managed to squeak out as he jerked his eyes from hers and stared at the ceiling.

She shrugged sensually. Oh, I don’t know. Maybe if we kissed, like old times, and none of the old fire came back…? She left the sentence unfinished and shrugged again. Want to find out?

Oh hell yes, the little man said with rapt enthusiasm.

Talbot said nothing. Breathing was hard enough.

Just then the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Talbot almost fell into the lobby.

Hello Chucky, Melissa. What a pleasant surprise.

A tall, lean young man stood outside the elevator looking in. He had sharp green eyes and dishwater blond hair cut close to the scalp. He was clean cut and dressed to Ivy League perfection.

The blonde, Melissa, stepped back and Talbot bent down to pick up his duffel bag.

Hello, Dennis, Melissa said, still smiling a devil’s smile.

Talbot straightened. Dennis! He turned a beaming smile on the young man.

Dennis gave him a cold look; there was a shift of attitude in his eyes that told Talbot to be wary. His own smile died a slow death.

Dennis looked at Melissa, and here he was all smiles. Saying your good-byes, Melissa?

Don’t you wish.

Not exactly.

Melissa blew Dennis a kiss as she walked by. All eyes turned and followed her until she was out of the lobby. Then Dennis turned his attention back to Talbot.

Normally, I’d be upset at seeing you here so early in the morning. But since Melissa is with you, I know it must be okay. Rubbing his hands against each other, he added, Ready for tonight?

I haven’t gotten over last night, Talbot said.

Just a warm up for tonight, Dear Boy. Dennis waved it away as nothing. Don’t worry, I’ve taken care of everything. All you have to do is show up.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

Dennis laughed good-naturedly, but Talbot noticed that the laugh didn’t touch his eyes, which still held that undefined shift in them.

You’re not having second thoughts are you?

Talbot shook his head, hesitantly.

Good! Because I’ve gone to a lot of trouble and expense to set this up. There was something almost conspiratorial in the way he said this. To Talbot it sounded like a threat. Dennis moved into the elevator. See you later, he said. The doors closed.

Once again, set adrift, Talbot moved through the lobby.

The little man followed close behind.

Talbot paused on the street. He put his hands in his pockets and felt the keys. He pulled them out. One to a motorcycle and one to an apartment. He put the apartment key back. One at a time, he said.

He moved down the street, looking for a motorcycle parked at the curb or for a parking garage.

The little man followed.

"It’s June 6

th

, 1972, the little man said, conversationally. D-Day!"

Excuse me, Talbot said, Do I know you?

Not yet, the little man said. Not yet. He stuck out his hand.

Talbot ignored it.

So who you going to vote for?

What? Talbot had no idea what he was talking about.

For president…who you going to vote for?

I don’t know. Look, whoever you are, I’m kind of busy right now. I’ve got a lot on my mind.

I know…Philip Talbot. I know.

Don’t call me Philip. I hate that name. Call me Phil. Talbot spoke automatically and then became suspicious. How do you know my name?

The same way I know where your motorcycle is. Or should I say, where Charlie’s motorcycle is. His smile turned impish. Go ahead, take my hand. He proffered it again.

And again, Talbot ignored it. What’s going on? What am I doing here?

Right now, you’re looking for the motorcycle. You can call me Rafe, the little man said. He moved his hand up and down, trying to get Talbot to take it.

Why should I?

Why shouldn’t you?

What are you not telling me?

Everything, he said.

Talbot