Twyner's Bridge

By Dan Moore

Jake and his mate Erika are folding space-time when something breaks their muse, and they are cast into a cemetery in northeast Colorado. In an instant, Jake finds himself lying in the dark. Erika’s dead body is next to him. He is staring into her lifeless eyes, unable to move. He is stunned and shattered. An unknown killer is lurking just beyond his field of view. When the authorities arrive, Jake becomes the prime suspect in Erika’s murder. He is set adrift, broken by grief and thrust into an unfamiliar territory. Without Erika, Jake cannot twyne the fabric of space and return home. He is stranded. A kindly woman befriends him, giving him a place to stay in her boarding house. Jake struggles to pick up his life again. How can he find meaning without Erika? Twyner's Bridge, the new novel by Dan Moore, will enchant you with a thought-provoking yarn of loss and the power of love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Moore
• Release date: Dec 4, 2013
• ISBN: 9781310204975

Dan Moore

A New Mexico native, born and raised in Los Alamos, Dan began his career in 1974 with the Southwestern Advantage sales and leadership program while attending Harvard University. Moore paid his tuition by selling Southwestern Advantage products door-to-door. Upon graduating from Harvard with honors at the age of twenty, Dan was promoted to district sales manager. He continued his academic success by obtaining his MBA from Owen Graduate School of Management, Vanderbilt University, where he was an honors graduate and class speaker. Among other roles with Southwestern Family of Companies, Moore served as SWA vice president of marketing and was credited with modernizing the company’s sales school, product line, and mission. In 2007, he was named president of Southwestern Advantage, where he served until retiring in January 2023. Over the course of his forty-nine-year career, Dan has trained over 100,000 people on how to lead, sell, and achieve their life goals. His greatest advice for students is, “Have a why that’s focused on a cause that’s bigger than yourself.” Dan is a frequent lecturer at colleges and universities across North America and Europe and has traveled to fifty-nine countries. He has served as an adjunct faculty member at Owen Graduate School of Business and has hosted TEDx Nashville. In his spare time, Dan plays guitar and piano. He prioritizes health, fitness, and yoga. Dan completed twenty-four half-marathons after age fifty-one and the New York City Marathon when he was fifty-six, finishing in the top half of 46,000 runners. Dan and his wife, Maria, currently live in Nashville, TN.

Book preview

Twyner's Bridge

a novel by

Dan Moore

Published by Dan Moore at Smashwords.

This is a work of fiction. All events and characters are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real people, institutions, or events is purely coincidental.

Twyner's Bridge

Copyright 2013 Daniel T. Moore

ISBN: 978-1-3102049-7-5

Discover more books by Dan Moore at

http://www.danmoore.com

http://www.smashwords.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this

Cover art by Jason D. Moore

This novel is set in and around Julesburg, Colorado. This is an actual place, although none of the events or people mentioned in this story ever lived there. A gallery of photographs showing the actual places mentioned in Twyner's Bridge can be found at www.danmoore.com. Look in the right-hand column for the link to the Twyner's Bridge gallery.

For Erika Joy,

of whom we dreamed, but never knew.

Perhaps you came to be somewhere beyond our vision

and graced a world beyond our reach.

This story is dedicated to the thought of you,

for our love is real and your loss has been felt across the years.

CHAPTER ONE

Unfathomable Loss

Erika's body lay next to him on the cold grass. Jake was dazed, his mind refusing to accept the vacant stare on her face. He watched helplessly as her eyes glazed over, her life winking out. At first, her face was contorted into a mask of pain and shock, and then her last breath came as a long sigh, modulated by a deep bubbling rattle. A dribble of reddish spittle appeared in the corner of her mouth and she was gone.

Jake looked away and drew in a sharp breath. It was night. The cold light of a full moon cast pale shadows on a row of gravestones. They were in a cemetery. He felt the sudden weight of a thousand broken lives, countless moments of grief descending upon him, concentrated in his singular loss. In an instant he felt the embrace of a vast community of strangers who had been compelled against their will to let go of their loved ones in this place. This was his cemetery now.

He looked back at his lover. Her bare arm was pale in the bluish moonlight. His eyes followed the curvature of her shoulder, and once again they fell upon her face. Erika was no more than a foot from him. The loss of her was not only unexpected; it was too catastrophic to imagine. He tried to reach for her, to wake her from her slumber, but his arms were paralyzed.

Erika moved. A flash of hope filled Jake, lifting him from the depths of exquisite despair. Hope welled up within him, and then he saw the shadowy figure looming over her. Erika was not moving of her own volition. Rather, she was a crumpled marionette, her body flopping in response to the stranger's tugging at the gold bracelet on her wrist. Jake wanted to shout at him, but his paralysis extended to his vocal chords and he was unable to utter a sound.

The stranger forced the bracelet over her knuckles with a desperate yank and then stepped beyond Jake's field of view. Jake heard a rustle of cloth and then a grunt, as if the thief had thrown something. There was the sound of footsteps in the grass, diminishing into the night. A girl screamed in the distance, and then there was a chorus of frightened voices—youthful voices. He could hear young people hissing urgently back and forth to each other. Jake could not make out their words as the sounds faded away, leaving only the rustle of the wind.

Jake willed his body to move. Slowly, he took command of his fingers. He flexed his wrists and then his elbows. Erika's body was limp on the fresh-mown grass. His sole desire was to reach out and hold her in his arms. He looked into her face. Her lifeless eyes stared back at him, unseeing. He mustered every ounce of his willpower, forcing his arms to move. He reached for her hand. Her dead fingers could not feel his touch. Eri, he whispered, but her ears could not hear him.

Jake was still befuddled by the twyne. His body trembled, his muscles responding spasmodically to his brain's commands. It was as though he had been shocked with a taser. Moments before, he had stood with Erika in their bedchamber. They had risen in the night. The room was cool and dark. They met at the window and embraced, their bodies trembling, their souls uniting in unshackled bliss. Their love became palpable, a living envelope surrounding them like a luminous bubble. Then the twyning began.

The room faded from view, dissolving into a gauzy membrane of reality, and then they stood motionless in a place brought near to them by the folding of the cosmos. An immense power channeled between them, forming a rift in the space-time continuum. A portal opened, and they passed through it. They stood barefoot in the moonlight. The crystalline snows of Mount Elbert spread before them like a blanket of diamonds. Her rocky slopes thrust upward into the thin Colorado air, her ridges resembling an ancient stone blade chipped to a razor's edge.

Jake and Erika were bond-mates, their souls entangled in the web of life. They did not understand the mathematics of twyning. They did not comprehend the vagaries of String Theory or quantum superpositions. They were practitioners. They immersed themselves in each other, and a mysterious bridge formed between them, shifting their minds, stimulating their bodies, and creasing the fabric of space. When Jake and Erika twyned, time would dilate into a single heartbeat, an eternal breath, a solitary oscillation of a hummingbird's wings. The lovers had done this many times before. For as long as they had known each other, they had traversed their quantum bridge, tapping an immense power that flowed through them like the heartbeat of God. They would melt into hyperspace, suspended in their ecstasy beyond the constraints of distance, undaunted by the light years of creation.

Erika pulled him close, her lips a hair's breadth away from his ear. Her breath was warm on his cheek, her voice soft and alluring. Make love to me, she whispered. I want us to have a child.

Jake had not been ready for the question. It had stirred a deep fear within him. He pushed Erika away, an icy wall forming between them. He could not look at her, his eyes locking on the distant slopes. The thought of another pregnancy frightened him. He could possibly hope again. He could not dream for nine months, only to see Erika shattered once more.

Jake turned back to her. The look on her face filled him with guilt. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open in bewilderment. She was surprised and then disappointed. It was clear she had not anticipated his response. Even more, her expression betrayed a certain sadness. Certainly they should have been able to speak of anything, but his reaction fractured the purity of their bond. Erika had uttered a word that was precious in her heart but abhorrent in his.

Something went terribly wrong. As they stood, recoiling from her question and his response, they were drawn into a photonic hurricane. Titanic forces wrenched them, shattering the bridge between them. Jake felt as if every drop of blood was draining from his veins. Everything around him dissolved into an obsidian sea. Jake became a hollow bulb, empty and alone. He found himself floating in a darkened maze, his soul pouring out like grains of sand in a whirlwind.

In one instant, Erika was at his side. In the next, she slipped away from him as if some cosmic rip current tore them apart. Their intimacy was broken. He felt himself losing his balance and then falling. Terror held him in a suffocating embrace. He reached out for Erika with his mind, not daring to think of anything else lest he fall victim to the horrors that were lurking just beyond his senses. Even so, her face became diffuse and indistinct in the darkness. Jake was alone, drowning in her absence. He was stunned by an unfathomable sense of loss.

* * *

When Jake awoke, he felt the atoms in his body resonating like a chorus of microscopic bells. His mind was clouded, his vision blurry and spectral. Was he in a cemetery? Was Erika lying next to him? Did a thief rip the bracelet from her arm? He wasn't sure. He was able to move his arms, and he reached out for her, pulling her toward him. Her body was limp and lifeless.

A flicker of light danced on a nearby stone. It was the beam of a flashlight. Well, I'll be . . . It was a man's voice. The light was much brighter now, falling directly on Jake and Erika. What do you think you're doing out here? The voice was stern.

Jake still could not speak. It was as if he and Erika were wrapped in a cocoon, a shrouded place where death hung like a fog, clogging the senses and distorting time. His eyes were locked on her face. He whispered her name over and over, willing her to wake up and give him one of her radiant smiles. She did not move.

Is that blood? What did you do to her?

Jake heard the man's voice, but it was muffled and distant. He was of no consequence. Nothing mattered except Erika. He called to her from the prison of his soul. Eri! Eri!

My God! Is she dead?

The voice was closer now, but Jake paid no attention to it.

Put your hands behind your back, buddy. The man stepped over him, but Jake remained where he was, clutching to Erika with a fearful grip. Hands behind your back! The man pushed Jake with his foot, rolling him away from his beloved's body. Then the man knelt down and put his knee in the small of Jake's back. Seconds later, he was handcuffed.

The man stood up and Jake rolled back toward Erika. Once again, he fixed his attention on her face. Is this real? he asked her corpse. What happened to us, Eri? Something went wrong with the twyne.

The man keyed the microphone fastened to his shoulder. Sally?

Go ahead, John. The woman's voice was tinny, her words terminated with a squawk of static.

Better get Wally out of bed. I've got a woman with a stab wound over here in Hillside Cemetery. I'm pretty sure she's dead.

Jake's eyes filled with tears. He's lying to us, Eri. You can't be dead. Wake up and show him! Tell him he's wrong!

The woman named Sally responded to the man's radio call. Roger, John. Contacting emergency medical now. Another burst of static erupted from the radio, and then it was silent.

Get up, Eri! Jake commanded. Please, honey. Show the man you are alive.

The man's flashlight illuminated Erika's face. He knelt down and checked her pulse. She's not hearin' you, he said softly. She's dead.

* * *

Sheriff John Wagner knocked lightly on the open door before entering the Sedgwick County Coroner's Office. Wanda Davis was a nurse practitioner in Julesburg, Colorado. She had been elected coroner three years earlier. She was in her fifties, a sturdy woman with gray hair and a weathered face. Wagner offered her a Styrofoam cup of steaming coffee. Kinda strong this morning, he offered. I think Sally lost count and used a couple extra scoops.

Perfect, muttered the woman. Strong is good. Davis pulled the plastic lid from the cup and took a long swig. She set the cup on her credenza so it wouldn't spill on her desk and then wiped her mouth with a crumpled paper towel.

Wagner dropped into the molded plastic chair in front of Davis's desk. He was built like a wrestler. His body was compact and solid. His skin had a perpetual tan, and his hair was cut short, making him look bald. A thin scar traced its way from his left earlobe to his nose, a reminder of a nasty fight he once had in his younger years. Gonna ship the body to Sterling?

The coroner nodded, opening a file folder stuffed with pictures. She turned it so Wagner could get a better look at them. She probably died of the stab wound. The first picture showed a dark red circle of dried blood, caked into what remained of a thin housedress. In another shot, the corpse was on her stomach, her bare bottom protruding ungracefully from the rumpled edge of her skirt. A bronze grave marker emblazoned with the word Veteran protruded from her back. The killer grabbed it from Mike Peckinpah's grave. Helluva thing to use a flag holder from a soldier's grave to commit a murder. The medallion's got an eighteen-inch rod. He jabbed it between her ribs. Punctured her heart, most likely.

Know who she is?

Not a clue. Wanda leaned back in her chair. Looks like she just got out of bed. She had nothin' on but that thin cotton dress. What about the man?

No ID on him, either, the sheriff drawled. He was in pajamas. I bagged 'em for the boys in Sterling. Put him in some jail coveralls.

Think they were into something kinky?

Maybe. Wagner drummed his fingers on the coroner's desk. I've learned not to underestimate man's capacity for perversion. God knows what was in their minds.

City folks. Wanda curled her lip condescendingly. Better get a lab tech from the hospital over here to take a swab of the guy's mouth for DNA. Looks like there is epithelial tissue on the grave medallion.

It must be the victim's. After all, he did stab her with it.

Wanda made a face. The tissue is on the medallion. Only the brass shaft touched the victim. It must have come from the killer's hands when he pushed it into her.

There isn't a scratch on the guy. His hands aren't chafed or cut. Something doesn't add up on this one.

You sayin' your guy didn't do it?

No. I ain't gonna jump to any conclusions. It just doesn't feel right, that's all. The guy was on the ground hugging her when I got there. He didn't have any blood on his hands, either. He was talking to her, begging her to wake up.

Wanda swallowed another mouthful of coffee. Did he mention her name?

Yeah. He called her Eri.

Airy, like a breeze?

I donno.

Last name?

Didn't catch it, but I'll find out. I'm about to go in and question him. Anything else I should know?

There was bruising on her wrist. Pretty sure it was postmortem. Looks like somebody pulled a bracelet off her arm. Left a nasty mark.

There was no bracelet at the scene. I wonder where it went?

Not my department, John.

The sheriff glared harmlessly at the coroner. When can I expect the autopsy results?

A week or ten days for the preliminary findings. The DNA could take a week or two more.

The sheriff stood up. That slow?

This ain't no cop show on TV. These things take more time in the real world. The Sterling guys will probably have to send samples to Denver. Wanda took a final swig from the coffee cup.

That's for sure. If this was TV, I'd have a real coroner to work with. There was a twinkle in his eye. Wanda hurled the empty cup at the sheriff as he ducked out her office door.

* * *

There were seventeen vertical bars placed at four-inch intervals across the front of Jake's cell. It was six feet wide and ten feet deep with a small window placed high in the cinderblock wall at the back of the cage. Jake sat on the cot, his hands gripping his kneecaps. A brown blanket, which served as a bedspread, was still tucked neatly around the mattress. The pillow was undisturbed. Jake had been sitting there all night.

Jake's heart was shattered, as though it were made of porcelain and dropped from a great height onto a concrete floor. His thoughts were like small boats cast adrift in an ocean of memories. He remembered the day when he first met Erika. It was late afternoon on a summer's day. The sun was settling down on the western horizon. Its light was almost horizontal, casting long shadows. Jake was sitting by Lake Ontario on a wooden bench when he saw her. Erika's hair was soft, its fine strands caught in the transcending light of the setting sun. She was walking toward the water, her eyes focusing on a distant sailboat, whose canvas was illuminated by golden rays. He watched her move, transfixed by her beauty.

She turned her head and Jake saw her face. It was filled with serenity, her eyes placid, the hint of a smile on her lips. His heart jumped in his chest, and then, as though she had sensed his presence, Erika stopped walking. She took a deep breath and turned toward him. Their eyes met for the first time. It was as though two ancient souls had reunited, but that seemed impossible since they had never met before. Jake rose from the bench wordlessly and Erika approached him. I was wondering when we would meet, she offered softly.

Acid rose in Jake's stomach as his reverie dissolved into recollections of the night before. The last time he had seen Erika alive, there had been a wall between them. He had built the barrier that had separated them. She wanted a child, and he could not face the question. He had shunned her in a moment of vulnerability. An instant later, the twyne collapsed and she was lying in the cemetery, the victim of an unknown assailant. Erika's face, pale and dead in the sepulchral moonlight, was frozen into his memory. Jake opened his eyes. No! he muttered, trying to banish the image from his mind. He drew in a ragged breath and held it, not sure he could breathe without her. He could not imagine being alone, but Erika was gone, and he could not bridge the gap that now separated them.

There was a loud buzzing sound as a magnetic latch snapped open. Jake's heart leapt. Before rational thought could measure reality, he imagined Erika coming to get him. He twisted on the bunk, expecting to see her appear outside his cell. Eri? Is that you? he whispered.

It wasn't Erika. Instead, it was a uniformed man with a muscular frame. There was a resounding click as he closed the iron door to the cellblock. Howdy, he drawled easily. I'm Sheriff John Wagner. I'm the one who fetched you out of the cemetery last night.

Jake studied his visitor. He was a serious man, always watching and measuring. Behind his casual demeanor was a sharp, calculating mind. He had a scar, probably from a knife, that wandered down his left cheek. His fingers were stubby and calloused. Is he real, Eri? Jake wondered out loud. I remember him. He had the flashlight. He thought I would hurt him, so he put the handcuffs on me.

The sheriff slid a nearby chair over to the cell and sat down. Jake noticed that the man had positioned himself just beyond his reach. He's still afraid of me, Eri, Jake continued. He sits where I can't grab him.

I hate interruptin' your conversation in there, but would you mind tellin' me your name?

The policeman wants to know my name, Eri. Should I tell him? Jake paused, as if Erika was sitting next to him in the cell.

Wagner continued. It's a most peculiar thing. Can't say that I ever found a dead woman with a man in his PJs lying out in the cemetery. Are you some kind of screwball?

Jake glanced down at the coveralls he was wearing. Once again he spoke to Erika. He made me take my bedclothes off last night. He gave me this ugly thing to wear. He fell silent, remembering Erika in her thin nightgown. It seemed as though only moments had passed since he and Erika had risen from their bed and twyned to Mount Elbert. He closed his eyes, painting every recollection of the moment on the canvas in his mind.

The sheriff studied him, wondering if Jake was experiencing a psychotic episode. No sir. It's not often we find two strangers almost naked in Hillside Cemetery. Don't get me wrong. We know there are kids who sneak out there on Saturday nights to drink and carry on and such, but total strangers? That's a new twist. The sheriff's voice turned cold and commanding. What's your name? He leaned back in the chair and waited.

I think it's okay to tell him, Eri. He seems like a good man. For the first time, Jake turned and faced Sheriff Wagner. My name is Jake. How did you get that scar on your face?

The officer paused, offering his prisoner a scowl. That's not important. Do you have a last name?

Jake looked away. Now he's getting personal, Eri. He wants my last name. He wants to look it up on his computer and find out who I am. He paused, partly to think and partly to exasperate the man with the badge. You can call me Twyner, if you like, Jake said finally.

Like the string? Wagner asked.

It's spelled with a Y, Jake offered.

Never heard it spelled like that before. Is it American?

Jake looked up at the small window on the back wall of his cell. He could see the blue sky beyond it. He would never understand, Eri. I can't possibly show him. It's best to keep it simple. Jake turned back to the sheriff. It's what I do.

Your last name is what you do. The sheriff snorted. That's silly.

It is natural. Jake stood up and leaned against the cell door. Your name is Wagner. It's German. It comes from people who made wagons. It's what they did. That's how you got your name.

I'm a sheriff. I don't make wagons.

Then your last name should be Sheriff.

Wagner shook his head and laughed. You're a strange man, Jake.

So I've been told. Jake clasped his hands and looked down at the floor.

The sheriff slid the chair closer to the bars. He was all business, now. Well, Jake Twyner, who was the woman? You were calling her Eri.

Jake winced. The stranger was using his special name for her. Only he called her Eri. Hearing someone else say it made his heart race. He felt the dark fingers of loss grasp at his chest. He crouched down in front of Wagner. She's Eri to me because we are bonded. You would call her Erika.

What's that? The sheriff's eyes narrowed. Some kind of hippy thing?

We have been one for over twenty years, Jake offered.

One what?

We are two, bonded as one, Jake replied. He closed his eyes. Isn't that right, Eri? He furrowed his brow as he reached back into his memory. "The two, born apart and separate, come now to be joined as