The Missing Years

By Douglas Fritz

Murphy Riggins is 75 years old. He is a well-adjusted person with above-average intelligence.
But there is something very different about Murphy. For the last 57 years, Murphy has been missing what nearly everyone takes for granted -- his first 18 years worth of memories.
A terrible twist of fate left Murphy with no idea who he is, where he came from, or who his family is. Murphy lost his memory and nearly lost his life. The mystery was never solved.
But Murphy may get a chance to discover his lost past because a friend is working on a time machine.
Will the time machine work? Will Murphy get a chance to return to the past? What evil forces will try to prevent him from making such a trip?
Just who is Murphy Riggins?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Douglas Fritz
• Release date: Aug 2, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476386751

Douglas Fritz

I was born in North Carolina, but raised in Northeast Tennessee. I grew up in Kingsport, but have lived in each of the Tri-Cities.I have worked as a sports writer for the Johnson City Press for 35 years, and the Times-News for four years."The Missing Years" was my first novel. I have written three other novels, and am working on a fourth:Controlling Interest (2017)Twenty-One Days to Live (2018)Course Correction (2019)Based on a True Story (in production, 2021)In addition, I have written two screenplays:Like a Vapor (2017)Missing Faith (2017)Also, I have written a stage play:The Jesse Project (2021)I am 56 years old and married to Loretta Fritz. I have three daughters, a stepson and stepdaughter.I am thankful for God's grace in choosing me. I know daily I am not worthy of such a blessing, and it keeps me humble. I see struggling people, but I struggle, too. Anybody can make a mistake. The key is repentance and a daily battle to avoid sin, which includes wearing the spiritual armor of God.

Book preview

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THE MISSING YEARS

by Douglas Fritz

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published by Fritz Blitz

Smashwords Edition

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(edited by Farrah Fritz)

Copyright 2012 Douglas Fritz

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This ebook is licensed for your 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 are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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CHAPTER ONE

Early Fall, 1995

Murphy's dream took him back to a familiar place. He had been there so many times, it seemed as if he could predict what would happen next. Even still, each dream was a little different.

As Murphy stood stoically in a grassy field, the cool rain began to fall. This time it was a pleasant feeling. The rain seemed to relieve Murphy, like a summer shower on a stuffy day. But even when the rain felt comforting, something inside Murphy said it shouldn't feel so nice.

The harsh sound of the alarm clock shocked Murphy out of his slumber. Although he had retired many years before, Murphy continued his working-days habit of getting up at 7:30 a.m. He thought it would keep him from getting soft in his old age.

Each morning it took him a little while to come to terms with the new day. At the age of 75, the tired old body wasn't overjoyed with the interruption of sleep. And for a few moments this morning, Murphy wasn't bothered by the dream.

But then it came back to him.

In a conscious state of mind, Murphy reasoned, the dream could be washed away with a good dose of logic. But no matter how hard he searched for the antidote, Murphy could not cure himself from the mystery of the dream. He managed to at least push aside the dream focus as he turned on the television.

After retirement, TV had become a friend to Murphy. It provided some kind of electronic companionship, keeping him in touch with a world that moved on without him. A few minutes into his routine, however, Murphy wanted to try something different. Today was the perfect day for a change of pace.

Murphy walked into his storage room and pulled out his golf clubs. They were in lousy shape, dirty and just plain old. Murphy didn't waste the moment, musing to himself he had a built-in excuse for that next bad shot. He snickered and shook his head.

Golf wasn't Murphy's strong suit anymore. At one point in his life, he notched a few rounds in the 70s. Glory days. Bruce Springsteen had a nice take on it. If nothing else, Murphy was going to hit the links to revisit those days.

He arrived at the golf course at 9 a.m. It was a very windy day, but that didn't bother Murphy. More built-in excuses. That slice might get straightened out by a nice little burst of wind.

As Murphy practiced on the putting green, he was approached by a young boy. The kid was a bit gangly, but looked like he might have some athletic ability. Murphy struck up a conversation, and sensed the youngster wouldn't mind having a playing partner.

That's fine by me, said Murphy. But I might slow you down. I'm not the golfer I used to be.

The boy didn't say anything as they headed to the first tee. He ripped a screamer down the middle of the fairway, a crisp lick that traveled like it was steered by radar.

My name is Mark, said the boy.

I'm Murphy Riggins, came the reply.

At this point, Murphy was a bit nervous. Mark's first shot was good enough to intimidate anyone. He stepped up to the tee box, took a mighty swing, and nailed a low sizzler. It was one of the best tee shots Murphy could ever remember hitting.

Nice shot, said Mark. Want me to carry your sandbag?

Murphy laughed, and as the round continued he could sense something strange was happening. He was hitting the ball further than he had in years. The shots were crisp and the putts were falling. And Murphy didn't even feel winded.

Hole No. 18 was a medium-range par four Murphy had dominated in years past. In his younger days, he would pull out a driver and swing for the fences. Getting close to the green was not out of the question back then.

I think I'll take a rip at it, said Murphy with a chuckle.

He took a giant whooshing swing, driving the ball low and hard. It rolled onto the green, just a few feet from the flag.

Unbelievable, mumbled Murphy.

He hadn't paid close attention to his total score. And when the eagle landed it left him with a 75.

A 75? he said aloud, more perplexed than excited.

Yeah, dude, you beat me by two stokes, said Mark. But I still enjoyed playing. Hope I didn't slow you down.

Mark slipped away as Murphy stared at his scorecard. Murphy wasn't tired, but hunger was creeping into the equation. As Murphy left the course to get a burger, a cool rain began to fall.

CHAPTER TWO

For most people, childhood memories are an integral part of life. For Murphy, they were non-existent.

His life began at 18, or so it seemed after all these years. For the most part, he was a normal person. He had been able to keep a regular job and got along with just about everybody. In fact, a lot of folks considered Murphy one of the most likable people they knew.

But one fateful day set Murphy apart from the crowd. The actual events of Oct. 2, 1938 had never been clear to Murphy. Eight months after his accident — whatever it was — Murphy snapped out of what doctors had termed an irreversible coma. Unfortunately he had no idea who he was or where he was from.

Murphy stayed in the hospital for another year. Nobody came to see him. Nobody at the hospital knew who he was. The hospital staff didn't even know the name of the person who brought Murphy's near-lifeless body to the hospital.

For 10 years, Murphy agonized about what had happened. Who were his parents? Did he have any siblings? Why wasn't anyone looking for him? Murphy searched for answers, but found none. Trying to grasp what little sanity he had left, Murphy gave up his search and turned things over to the Lord.

Murphy's eyes had been opened to the sovereignty of God, and he believed it with all of his heart. Murphy didn't know why, but knew in his heart there was a reason for his non-functioning memory.

Perhaps enforcing his beliefs was his ability to function normally in society. He learned and understood things easily, and was considered an intelligent person. Murphy did struggle to solve the mystery of his physically damaged mind retaining so much potential.

One problem for Murphy was forming close relationships. He seemed doomed to a life of isolation. By the end of the 1960s, Murphy had done a good job dealing with the cards he had been dealt. He had lost a lot of the bitterness that attacked him through the years. He had gotten to the point where he wanted little more out of life than to live.

Of course there were disadvantages to being a loner. But Murphy was able to short-circuit the negatives through mental chess and Scripture. For instance, Murphy reasoned not having a wife allowed him to escape a lot of the stress most married folks face daily. He reminded himself the Bible teaches those who marry will face difficulties.

Building a fortress for his new life, Murphy started with the basic elements of sanity and reality. Indeed, Murphy was normal. He was so normal he was able to withstand a most abnormal life change.

However, Murphy didn't give up thinking about the past. He fantasized his parents were famous or his brother turned out to be a president. Maybe he was the son of a war hero, or perhaps he was the relative of a football star. Whatever the case, Murphy often wondered if wondering was almost better than knowing. As ludicrous as it sounded, that thought sometimes comforted Murphy.

Could 57 years have really passed since his accident? Was it even an accident? He didn't feel his age, but did think he looked it. He had made it this far without going crazy, so Murphy seemed contented to live the final years of his life the same way he lived the previous 57.

CHAPTER THREE

Whenever Murphy went to sleep with something heavy on his mind, he would wake up the next morning with even weightier thoughts on the matter. The first thoughts of this day were of his incredible round of golf. How at this age could he have played so well? It had been so many years since he hit the ball like he did yesterday. It couldn't have been luck because a good bounce or two doesn't account for the extra strength he seemed to have on the course. Also, Murphy didn't believe in luck, sticking to the Scriptural course of Proverbs 16:33. And if his round was nothing more than a fluke, he could return to the same course and shoot his normal score of close to 100.

Without much more thought, Murphy got his things together and headed out for another round. He teed up the ball and promptly sliced a wicked spinner into the woods. In his amazing round the previous day, he did not hit one shot out of bounds.

By the time Murphy reached the 18th hole, he was exhausted. His score was already close to 100, so he didn't even finish the final hole.

When Murphy got home, he crawled into bed. There was no doubt in his mind now. The other day was simply a blessing from the Lord.

Friday greeted Murphy with a brilliant sunshine. He recalled a song he liked called, The Unclouded Day. He liked Don Henley's version, and the lyrics were the same as the old hymn:

"O they tell me that He smiles on His children there,

And His smile drives their sorrows all away;

And they tell me that no tears ever come again

In that lovely land of unclouded day."

That song was the perfect description of this blue-sky morning. It was so tempting Murphy had to get his golf clubs out once more.

As he arrived at the course, Murphy saw Mark working on his chip shots just off the practice green. Murphy tried to duck out of sight, expecting Mark to ask to tag along again. He liked Mark, but knew he would never be able to repeat his grand performance.

Would you like to team up again, Mr. Big Shot? said Mark with a smile.

In no position to refuse, Murphy nodded his approval. With Mark along for another ride, Murphy wasn't thinking much about yesterday's poor round. Then Murphy stepped up to the first tee and nailed a picture-perfect drive. It wasn't until the fifth hole, when he chipped in for a par, Murphy realized his success was coming back with a vengeance. He had the same feeling and was producing the same kind of wonderful shots.

Murphy was beginning to realize his renaissance was more than just a one-day thing. He wasn't sure why he was able to play like a 40-year-old again, but had a gut feeling he should just accept and enjoy.

You're playing some great golf, said Mark.

Thanks, Murphy said almost sheepishly.

With a par on the 18th hole, Murphy finished with a 74, one stroke better than his age. This time, he was a little more pleased about his game than just shocked about it. Mark said goodbye and Murphy headed for his car. Then something suddenly dawned on Murphy. Could there be some sort of connection between his low scores and playing with Mark?

On Saturday, Murphy decided to find out. Another lousy round convinced him there must be some reason why he was 25-30 strokes better when in the company of Mark. For the next five days, Murphy went to the golf course and waited for Mark — but he never showed up. Murphy asked the regulars at the club if they knew Mark, but nobody did. However, some of them had seen Mark playing with Murphy.

Each time Murphy played a round of golf without Mark, his score got higher.

CHAPTER FOUR

George McPeak had spent a lifetime creating things. He loved the challenge of coming up with something new. Through his inventions, George had become a fairly wealthy man. But despite his nice life, he never lost his desire to help others. A good number of his inventions were designed with poor people in mind. He created inexpensive devices that performed just as well as their higher-priced counterparts.

It wasn't hard to say George was a good person. His only vice, if you could even call it that, was his passion for one invention that never figured to come to fruition.

George believed life and time were such complex events, no one had really understood them through the years. He always believed there was a key that would unlock the great mystery of the past and the future. George was a Christian, and he leaned on Scripture for support — believing the Revelation to John was future events and John was an eyewitness. In order to view these events, George believed John traveled through time. Of course, George believed this to be a supernatural act of God, but also understood God had revealed wisdom for man to understand many things that would be impossible without such wisdom. With this approach, George began working on what he hoped would be his greatest invention.

Starting in 1983, George dedicated the better part of seven years to his project. He hoped not to gain fame or riches from it, but only wanted to help people better understand the purpose God had for their lives. In that sense, he focused more on traveling into the past, where a retro view of one's life might help make more sense of today's pathway.

Sometimes George wondered if his work was outside of God's will for his life. But he comforted himself by thinking if God didn't want him to discover this, it simply would not happen. Such a thought process was different from something like robbing a bank, which is obviously wrong. But George had to be careful and make sure his motives were pure. He knew God sovereignly allowed Satan to persecute Job, so success, George thought, should only be measured in the amount of good fruit his invention would bear.

The first seven years of work on the project were times of great frustration. It seemed like each time George made progress, some minor problem would cause a major issue. The road to success was far from paved, and George's desire was getting dampened more each year.

Through creative genius, George had never spent more than four years on any invention. So in 1990 he was beginning to realize his time travel plans were probably a grand illusion. After seven years of work, he didn't even have a model for his invention.

What seemed to frustrate George the most was the fact he believed he knew the two basic parts of the invention. In order for a human to travel through time, the person's body would have to be disintegrated without death occurring. Secondly, the process would have to include some method of sending the disintegrated body in the reverse direction of Earth's orbit. And the body would have to travel at a speed greater than the Earth's rotation.

Through mental processing, George decided it would be unwise to spend energy on sending someone into the future. If there was no set of events that had occurred, coming up with a formula for reintegration would be nearly impossible. Even when reducing his plan to a past-time event only, George began to convince himself his prize invention was based in folly. And he slowly began to spend less and less time on it.

In 1992, George was working on a simple experiment in his lab. The experiment utilized ice, which was melted and refrozen. As if a bolt of lightning struck him, George was inspired with the idea that ice, or very cold temperatures, held the key and could lead to the building of a model for his invention.

In the heartless Vermont winter, George had the perfect forum for working on his model. He knew it would take a tremendous amount of heat to propel a body at a high enough rate of speed to send it back in time. Therefore, in order to keep vital organs from simply melting, the body temperature would have to be lowered to an incredibly low level. George felt he had the basic tools necessary to begin the actual procedure of building a time machine.

When George began to believe his invention might become reality, he decided there should only be a one-time return voyage — if even it was possible. He feared his invention could be used for evil purposes if people could travel back and forth in time.

George's only goal was to send someone back in time, maybe someone deserving of a second chance. George had no intention of doing it himself. His life had been full and rich. He was raised by loving parents who took him to church and loved him immensely. George was married in 1975, and had two remarkable children. If he had it all to do over again, he wouldn't change very much, if anything.

CHAPTER FIVE

Sometimes it seemed like the day would never end for Marie Fariss. No sooner would she get one story done when another assignment would be thrown at her. And yet, strangely enough, Marie felt like she thrived on overload. Being pushed to the limit had become a way of life, so why not just go with the flow?

Anyway, the pressure she faced at the Buffalo Daily Courier was nothing compared to what she might encounter at one of the television networks. That was Marie's goal. She longed to get her foot in the door at one of the big three. And her ambition didn't stop there. She wanted to carve out a Dan Rather-type niche some day.

All of this inner drive made Marie a solid piece of determination. But no matter how hard she tried, she didn't feel like she was getting any closer to her goals.

When she was a little girl, her father stressed to her making it in the professional world took guts and a little bit of luck. But most of all, her father said, you have to make people notice you. In the field she chose, Marie knew getting noticed depended mainly on what you could find out about somebody. Interesting stories were walking around everywhere.

But without an insider's knowledge, finding those gold nuggets presented the searcher with a caustic maze. Just because you find the pearl, doesn't mean the clam is going to open up and let you take it.

Marie had produced several good stories because she peered on when most folks had stopped looking. But she didn't want to just churn out good stories. She wanted the pot of gold. Writing about the rainbow wouldn't get you noticed very often.

A lot of times, Marie thought she might be living her life for her father. He had always been so good to her and maybe she felt compelled to show her appreciation. Her dad always said he didn't care what she did as long as she tried to be the best she could possibly be. So when Marie decided in college journalism was right for her, she made up her mind to do everything she could to be the best journalist ever.

Marie's father died just one week before her graduation. She couldn't