Dream Of Echoes

By Karen C. Webb

John had given up on life when he lost his girlfriend and his job within days of each other. He decides to leap to his death from an old steel bridge in Oregon just as the autumn time change takes place. Fall back in the fall, that’s his plan. But instead of drowning, he falls back through time. He’s pulled from the river by two young men and wakes up to find himself in a wagon on the Oregon Trail in 1847. The wagon is owned by a petite but strong young lady that quickly captures his heart. When the wagon train moves on west without them, John must learn how to survive in the wilderness, how to hunt and fish, all the while falling deeper and deeper for his one true love, Kate. He spends the happiest six months of his life with her, but when he loses her unexpectedly in the Columbia River Gorge, he is faced with the ultimate decision. Was his future in the past or would his past catch up to him?

The plot idea involving the main character moving from the present to the past, traveling on the Oregon Trail is complex yet creative. Time travel is an interesting subject by itself but traveling back to the Oregon Trail allowing John to meet and fall in love with a recently widowed Katie is ingenious.
Amazon Vine Reviewer

The strongest aspect of this excerpt is the first person narrative. John Baker's recounting of his time travel experience sounds genuine; his language evokes the impression that he is truly surprised by the turn of events his attempted suicide has set in motion.
Amazon Vine Reviewer

• Language: English
• Publisher: Karen C. Webb
• Release date: Sep 23, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310112997

Karen C. Webb

Karen Webb lives in New Mexico and has traveled all over the country. She is an avid reader of fiction and enjoys writing it as well, setting her stories in locations she has visited. She writes as time allows, carrying a laptop with her and writing when she can. "I have more ideas for novels than I have time to write," says Karen. She also enjoys gardening, horseback riding and hiking through the mountains, searching for buried treasure with a metal detector.

Book preview

Chapter 1

November 6, 2010

I drove down Interstate Ninety from Seattle, then I cut off onto highway eighty-two and pulled into a gas station. I couldn’t get my credit card to work at the pump and I had to take it inside.

Evening, the clerk said as I handed him my card. He was tall and slim, with really blond hair, almost white. Even his eyebrows were a pale blond and his complexion was almost ghostly. The future is in the past, he said as he swiped my card.

Excuse me?

True love is on the other side, he said as he gave me a big smile and handed me back my card, displaying a row of perfect, even white teeth.

I’m sorry, I don’t understand. I thought maybe this guy was off his meds or something and I turned to leave. I was almost out the door when he spoke again.

Enjoy your journey, he said.

Okay, thanks. I waved politely and went on out to pump my gas. What a weirdo, I thought as I stuck the nozzle into the gas tank. I could still see him staring at me out the window beside his cash register. He seemed to be unmoving, just standing stock-still and staring at me.

I quickly forgot the albino weirdo as I continued on my way, my mind drifting back across my mound of problems. I crossed over the Columbia River and into Oregon. The river here was wide and very deep with swift currents and I knew the water had to be barely above freezing. Of course, when wasn’t it? The Columbia was cold as hell no matter what time of year it was.

I saw a marina on the Oregon side as I crossed the old steel bridge. I quickly took the exit and pulled my car into the marina parking lot. The marina was empty this time of night, but there were lights on the docks that shone across the few pleasure boats moored there, reflecting off the river like huge yellow beacons.

I’d heard on the radio as I drove down that tonight was the time change.

Don’t forget to set your clocks back one hour before you go to bed, the cheery voice of the lady on my radio had been my only company as the miles flew by. Remember, it’s fall back in the fall, spring forward in the spring, she went on.

Perfect. I had just been forming an idea the last few miles and that old steel bridge looked perfect for it. I’ll do it just as the time changes, I answered the cheery voice on the radio. And backwards. I nodded my head as I thought about it. I liked the irony. Fall back in the fall.

I parked my car in the empty lot, put my wallet in the glove box, threw the car keys and my jacket on the seat and started walking. I took my shirt off as I walked toward the bridge and threw it to the side of the road. The cold breeze off the river sent shivers through me, but I kept going, climbing the hill up to the bridge. I was slightly winded by the time I reached it, the wind from the river making it harder to catch my breath. There was very little room between the traffic lanes and the old steel span of the bridge and I stayed as close as possible to the steel girders as I walked to the middle. I began climbing slowly up the steel span, which was easier than I’d thought it would be. There were small steel connecting plates running along the outer edge that made it relatively easy to climb.

I was about halfway up when I saw two eighteen wheelers coming down the hill on the Washington side. It’s a steep hill and they were picking up speed as they came at me. I flattened myself against the cold steel of the bridge and hoped like hell they didn’t see me. I wasn’t interested in explaining myself to anyone right now. I’d done enough of that shit lately, thank you very much. The trucks blew by me, side by side, big diesel engines screaming, and the wind from them almost caused me to fall. The old bridge trembled under me as they passed. I tightened my grip and resumed my climb. I pulled myself to the top of the span, sat down and kicked my sneakers off, watching as they hit the swift current below and disappeared.

Would it be high enough? I had never done anything like this before so I really had no frame of reference. I crawled to my knees, then slowly to a standing position atop the steel girder. I stood looking down at the swift current until I felt dizzy. The wind was lifting my hair and it felt like the entire bridge was moving. I stared at the dark, dark river below me for a couple of minutes as I stood there, swaying in the wind. It looked pretty far to the water from this height. I was beginning to think I had screwed up by hesitating. The longer I stood there, the harder it was to consider letting go and falling—falling on and on, my body tumbling head over heels—then the smack of that water. It would be like slamming into concrete, I was sure of it.

Shit, I can’t do it. I was about to sit down when I heard a man yell from the marina. I looked up and he was outlined under the yellow marina lights, waving at me from the deck of a boat. He yelled something unintelligible, but I could only guess what he was thinking. I knew what I’d be thinking if I looked up and saw a guy standing on top of an old steel bridge in the middle of the night.

Dammit all. I turned with my back to him, and to the river. There was no traffic on the highway in front of me now, not even the trucks.

I looked at my watch. It was a nice watch, the last thing Stacey had given me and I didn’t want to lose it. It was white gold with a calendar and a backlight with a dark blue face. It was one minute past two a.m. on November 7, 2010.

I could still hear the man yelling at me. I risked a quick look back and he was running up the hill toward the bridge. I took a deep breath of the cold, wet air, let go of the steel girder and fell backwards toward the cold, dark depths swirling below me.

Earlier that day

I was done with women. Forever. I had never had much luck with them anyway. I had thought I would spend forever with Jocelyn, my high school sweetheart. All I wanted was to settle down with her and start a family. But I guess she had other ideas. She ran off to California with my best friend. She wanted to be an actress, she told me. And she said I was trying to chain her down, that I was holding her back from her dream.

I saw her on TV a couple years ago, walking the red carpet at the Oscars with my best friend beside her, flashbulbs exploding in their faces.

Since then, it’s been a string of failed relationships. The latest, Stacey, I proposed to last year. I thought we were happy together. Hell, I had been happy, perfectly content in our little love nest in Seattle. Sure, we had our arguments, but what couple doesn’t, right?

Then I came home early from work last week and found her in bed with another guy. I wonder how long it had been going on while I was out on the road. It broke my heart, honestly; I had really loved her and I had wanted to spend my life with her.

And maybe things would be different now if the trucking company had given me a route closer to home. Instead, I’ve been gone so much lately, my girl had to find comfort in the arms of another man. And maybe I wouldn’t have been in Phoenix last month if they would’ve kept me closer to home. I’m sure that minivan swerved in front of me on purpose so they could sue me and the trucking company, the bastards. No matter what I did lately, everything just seemed to be falling apart.

I had started with the company right out of high school. Working the docks at their warehouse in Yakima. Eventually, I’d moved up to driver, hauling fruit and vegetables all over the Pacific Northwest. Four years of loyalty I’ve given that company, then one accident and I’m out on my ass. Well, screw you all.

I jumped in my car and headed east on ninety, then continued east on highway eighty-two, not sure where I was going, but certain a drive would clear my head.

I had sat around the apartment the last two days, my thoughts as dark and gloomy as the thick, gray clouds hanging over Seattle. I had circled several jobs in a newspaper yesterday but I couldn’t seem to get motivated to call any of them or leave the apartment. Which I would probably lose now anyway. Stacey had taken care of the bills while I was away and it seems the rent was already two months behind, even before I lost my job. It only served to deepen my depression until finally I had jumped in the car and just started driving.

I had barely even slept the night before, so I probably wasn’t thinking too clearly anyway. I had dreamed I was falling. I know, we’ve all had that dream, right? Well, this time was different. Someone pushed me and I was falling, on and on, falling and falling. I woke up and sat up in bed and, I swear, I was still falling. I had to put a hand on each side of me to stop the fall. In my half-awake state, it felt like I bounced on the bed when I stopped falling, as if I had really been falling and had landed on the bed. I know, weird, right?

Chapter 2

I suddenly felt strong arms pulling me out of the river. I opened my eyes for a second, but it was pitch black out there, darker than anything I could remember ever seeing. But I thought I saw Indians in the second before I passed out. One on each side of me, a steel grip on each arm dragging me up the bank. I don’t mean Indians from India, or even the Native Americans that I’ve always known. No, Indians with long black braids hanging down a naked chest and buckskin breeches and moccasins. What the hell? It has to be a dream, I told myself. I tried to raise my head, but pain shot through my brain and down my neck and I must have passed out.

When I opened my eyes again, I could see bright sunshine outside, beautiful dappled sunshine between the autumn branches of the trees. I’m still alive, I thought as I stared at the trees. Was I happy about that? I wasn’t sure yet; my head felt like it was packed with cotton, or like a massive hangover. But, I was pretty sure I was. I had changed my mind and was about to sit down anyway, right? Then why’d you do it? I asked myself. I don’t know, was the only answer I had.

My vision was clearing as I came awake. I could see some kind of white canvas tent over me and I realized I was looking through a hole in the back of it at the river and country surrounding it. And my tent was bouncing up and down. I turned my head, looking at wooden crates and wooden boxes and round wooden kegs on each side of me. What the hell is this? I sat up quickly, too quickly. My head spun and I dropped back down, groaning.

Whoa, I heard someone call out, and the bouncing subsided. I sat up slowly this time, still trying to get my bearings.

Perhaps you should lie back, sir. You received quite a nasty bump on your head. The voice was soft and sweet, but yet sounded different than anything I’d ever heard. I followed the sound, turning my head slowly so as not to start it spinning again. I put a hand to my head as I turned it. It felt like some sort of crude bandage was wrapped around my head. Was it a piece of a sheet or rag? I quickly forgot about my head as I looked at the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, staring at me through a front opening of my tent. Our eyes locked for an instant. I swear she had the prettiest eyes I’d ever seen. They were icy blue with a dark outline circling the blue. There was a shiny, sparkly look to the blue. I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or mischief—or maybe her eyes just always sparkled—but they sure were pretty.

What the hell? I’m not sure if I said it out loud or only thought it. Are you guys filming a movie or something? She was wearing a bonnet like the women wear in western movies. I realized now—my tent was a covered wagon. A bronze skinned young man with shiny black hair braided down his back turned and looked through the opening.

Strange talk, he said as he grinned at me.

Yes, Acoose, he does use strange words. Yet I understood some of it.

They got quiet as they stared at me and I could hear the silence. I know it sounds strange, but never in my life have I heard the amount of stillness I heard just then. I could hear the water of the Columbia drifting by beside us. I could hear the breeze rustle the leaves on the trees. A few birds were singing their chirping song. And that was it. The absolute quietness literally hurt my ears, like a buzzing sound running through my brain.

I’ve driven along the Columbia hundreds of times, running freight out of Seattle and Portland to points east. I’ve stopped my truck and had lunch sitting on the bank of the river. There’s always the sound of traffic, trains, and trucks hauling logs. I thought maybe they had closed interstate eighty-four for filming their movie. God, the traffic tie-up would be a nightmare.

We are bound for Oregon City. And you, sir? Where were you going when you fell in the river?

Oregon City? Why?

We are going to the Willamette valley to start a new life. At least that’s where most of the immigrants on the Oregon Road are going.

I looked at her, waiting for the punch line, but she only stared back, her blue eyes sparkling. I closed my eyes and rubbed my hands across them, then climbed slowly out of the wagon. My body felt stiff and sore and my head spun crazily as I stepped down. I put my hand up to it again, but the sheet or whatever it was, was in my way. I ripped it off, tossing it back into the wagon, then felt my head again. There was a pretty large lump on the side of my head and I felt a small gash when I touched it. No wonder I was so dizzy. I must have hit my head on something when I jumped in the river, but I certainly didn’t remember anything.

There was another young Indian boy outside by the wagon, maybe fifteen years old. He had no shirt on, bronze skin glowing in the sun. He was wearing what appeared to be buckskin breeches and moccasins. Like the other boy, he had shiny black braids of hair hanging over each shoulder. His arms and shoulders appeared strong and wiry. He looked like he’d been spending six hours a day in a gym.

If you guys are filming a western, it looks like you’re being very authentic.

Strange talk, was his only answer.

I shook my head to clear it. But the pretty girl had said immigrants, hadn’t she? What freakin’ immigrants?

What the hell is this? I said as I looked around me. It had to be Hollywood, filming a movie, right? Yet something felt off—strange and different.

When I felt the rocks of the road under my feet, I