The Timefarer

By Harrison Becket

JACK IS A YOUNG, recently separated man living in the city of Chicago. The year is 1997 and for some time now he has felt a growing sense of alienation for the era in which he lives and with the culture and people that surround him. One morning, on the way into the office, he is involved in a violent bus crash and suffers a blow to the head.

The injury somehow unlocks an innate ability within Jack to travel thru time. His first encounter sets him back two weeks, where he has to come to grips with this new reality. He eventually arrives at work in time for an office party that he recalls already took place in the past. However, this time he modifies his behavior to affect a more pleasing outcome with a new co-worker and love interest.

Still struggling to control and understand his new abilities, Jack attempts a leap further back in time to the 1970s to visit with his long dead, grandfather (Doc). Upon arriving at the family farm, Doc takes him in for the night and proceeds to share details about Jack's ancestry, including tales of his great-great grandfather, David Ogden (an old Cherokee ex-slave and farmer in West Virginia).

This time Jack chooses to make the jump even further back in time to the late 1800s, just after the Emancipation Proclamation. He misses his target initially, distracted by watchful eyes, tracking his every step. He eventually makes his way to the old West Virginia farm and similarly encounters his more distant ancestor. Later, after narrowly escaping the noose of a roaming lynch mob, Jack attempts to leave this era for the sake of everyone's safety including his own. He is soon pursued by both the watching eyes and by a local mob. Still a novice to his newfound talents, he carelessly attempts his escape. But this time there is no clear plan in mind for his journey.

Jack then appears in a cold, dark cell located in the Russian prison camp of Darnitza (1940s). Here he suffers brutal beatings and interrogation at the hands of soldiers who believe him to be an American spy. It is here that he makes first contact with Marcus (another time traveler – but also one of Alexander the Great's generals) who tells Jack that it is his submission to fear that has led him to this prison. Jack is offered the choice of either returning home (provided he swear to never use his abilities again) or join up and learn the ways of the Cadre of Timefarers (an ancient order of time travelers).

Jack chooses to join and accepts Marcus as his mentor. The next night they execute their escape from the forced labor camp, first by getting past the perimeter gates, then by mentally creating the "gate" of light that allows the Cadre to appear in any time and place of their choosing. Their escape almost fails as Jack is still learning to control his emotions.

At last they arrive in mid-1600s Dublin, Ireland and find shelter at the Brazenhead Inn (a common meeting place for members of the Order).

Here, Jack recuperates from his injuries, however it is becoming now more apparent that an evil presence is drawing ever closer to him. Knowing full well that Jack is not yet prepared for this encounter, Marcus introduces him to Redmond O'Hanlon; an Irish revolutionary and highwayman. Over the following months, Redmond instructs Jack in the art of combat with the blade and even takes him on a few roadside robberies at night.

It is on the last night that Jack first comes face to face with the evil, Philotas (Marcus' son) who up until this point carries powers far beyond all others in the Cadre. He is also a shape shifter, carrying within his being, the presence of an old Ogre King, whose mission is to bring an end to all of mankind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Dec 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781483588551

Book preview

978-1-4835885-5-1

CHAPTER ONE

Discovery

At last the day arrived when Jack had just stopped caring about where his life with this woman was headed. And it only added to his loneliness and Sarah's growing sense of estrangement from him.

So ended the fun and the laughs. Life went quiet, and both lovers moved off to their respective corners.

One night he returned home to their apartment and opened the door to find empty spaces where a book or photo of hers once laid or was hung, now gone.

He saw a scribbled note left on the kitchen counter. Without opening or reading it, he dropped it slowly in the trash and silently gazed out the old sash window as the ‘L’ train rumbled by.

On the table was left an old dog-eared photo of the two of them together dating back to their school days. But those were the college years when life was simpler and full of possibilities.

Jack remembered that time well.

He turned his attention to the garden window just above the kitchen sink, where he and Sarah had made a habit of lining up old wine bottles from their more memorable nights.

One red in particular caught his eye, causing him to recall the first time they met on campus. After much prompting, his roommate, Bruce, persuaded him to tag along to a house party he had been invited to.

Are you certain you wouldn't be better off alone? Jack asked as they walked thru the campus courtyard.

Who’s going to talk to me standing like an idiot alone by myself? he replied. Besides, that linguistics major of yours comes in pretty handy when you do that parlor trick of yours.

Yeah, I'm not up for that tonight.

You've gotta do it, man! It brings the ladies over like nothing else.

Jack had developed an uncanny knack for picking up languages on the spot. But this was still a time when he had the stamina to feign an ongoing performance in order to appear interesting to others. A day would eventually come when he grew tired of the theatre.

But for that moment at the party, Sarah noticed him and was interested.

It's crazy how you are able to flip from Italian to Greek to Farsi all at once like that! How do you do it?

Just a good ear for language, I suppose.

Oh, I think there's much more than that going on with you. Either way, I'm impressed!

He loved her smile. He also loved how in spite of his occasional off the cuff rants, she appeared unaffected, giggling at his odd take on the world and the people around him.

She seemed to understand him then and over the few short years that followed. Then came graduation and the little apartment they shared in the heart of downtown Chicago.

That was in 1997. Being one of many who felt voiceless in the new America, a country with a culture seemingly unrecognizable compared to what had come before, Jack moved with Sarah to this metropolis in the hope that living among this bustle of Midwestern minded people might help kindle a stronger connection with others of his generation. Not an easy thing to do if you don't understand your own generation; and he didn't.

The culture had recently shifted further off the road away from him; growing louder, more intrusive, more dimwitted, almost feeding off its own sense of self importance and its own indulgences.

He felt himself beginning to hate everybody. Sarah grew uncomfortable seeing this change in him.

I get that you are disillusioned and frustrated, but why must you always be so unpleasant about it? she asked one night while out in the real world of work, wine, and office politics.

I think you're becoming an introvert, she added.

Funny, I don't feel like one, he answered under his breath. Jack started to become quieter, withdrawing into himself, reading his history books. The more time passed, the less it seemed he had to say.

One night he returned from work and saw her sitting at their small kitchen table. How was your day?

Well, let's see, she replied which led to a line of storytelling that lasted some twenty minutes.

Jack calmly and attentively sat, listening to every word, trying to retain everything that she shared in the event that he might be asked about it later. Some nights he was.

Anyway, I guess I've decided to just get over it.

That's good, honey. Well, you'll never guess what I had to deal with this morning, Jack replied.

He could already start to see a glaze skim over her eyes. Sometimes this was subdued with a forced expression of interest. This time he heard the all too familiar mid-sentence whisper of, Oh babe, I don't care.

Jack began to understand that this clearly had become a relationship where he was expected to put in the effort for both of them.

So had ended his last real connection with this world. From here on out everyone in his life would be an acquaintance. On his own and aimless, he would attempt once again to start over. Somehow.

Starting over, he thought to himself, sitting alone at that small kitchen table. Easier said than done.

All the little things he loved about his old life now felt like orphaned ghosts. Jack felt the best that living had to offer was firmly in his rear view mirror. Over time he could feel his mind going dark, and the expressions he wore were just masks. His outer self became a shroud to his inner spirit.

This represented the reality of his daily life for the few years that followed Sarah’s departure. He retreated further into his books, most of which related to the history of man. Whatever time Jack read about, he found himself taking more of an interest in than his own present.

Until this morning.

The rattle of the alarm sounded the start of a new day. A distant screech from a crow laced with that bleary gray light of winter nestled in the room where he slept.

It was a constant challenge getting used to the modern alarm buzzer. As far back as he could remember it was always too jarring to his senses. That's what the modern world represented to him now; a constant visual and auditory barrage, an assault to human sensibilities.

Wresting himself up from his worn out sheets, he shuffled his aching feet over to the icy bathroom sink.

Jack glanced passively at his image in the mirror, just barely taking notice as he always did. As if he was purposely trying not to acknowledge himself, or what lay within the recesses of his thinking. This time however, he did stop and forced himself to peer down deep into his own two eyes.

Really? he mumbled. Was that chin stubble coming in more gray now than black? Had his hairline moved another half inch back since yesterday? When did those eye sockets get so shadowed, so hollowed out? He remembered the more familiar chiseled features from his youth that hinted to his father’s Native American heritage.

Jack could see age was settling in now and shook his head as he reached for the washcloth. For years the Persian blood that came from his mother appeared to keep him unnaturally young. But that elixir of youth gave out sooner than expected.

Still he gazed deeper into his own expression. Behind the pupils of his grey eyes he took in the shadows and blind corners of his inner self, the emotional life that for so many years Jack chose to abandon. Then, little by little, small flickers of light touching what seemed to look like glowing embers began to appear from behind those dark eye sockets. He jumped back with a start.

Glancing up, it all went dark again.

Great, I'm losing it, he mumbled, strolling off to get dressed.

It was late in the month of April, and while it should have been spring weather out, the biting gusts of the Chicago winds nipped at his cheeks as if it were still February. He started down the back alley behind his building to catch the #151 bus to work.

Just as he approached the stop, an older man, coiffed to high heaven, pulled up in his BMW to chat with a friend standing in the street. The self-satisfied gent lowered his window causing Jack to wince at the inane chatter coming out of the steel box.

Oh you must come by some time and see the addition Jules and I have going with the house.

The recipient of this talk responded along the same lines, and the babbling went on and on this way, seemingly forever.

What do I have, and what am I going to have next? was all these types, the one-percenters, had to talk about. That constant expression they wore while staring through you, sifting through society for that next opportunity to step further up the ladder of success and notoriety, turned his stomach.

Forget human relations for the sake of finding friends who are kindred spirits. Who are you and what can I get from you? What can you do for me? That's all that was going on here. Buying and selling.

The United States of Consumers. To Jack, that was all that appeared to be left of what once was an aspiring and inspiring country. Generations of builders gave way to generations of buyers. Makers became takers, with little thought placed towards where this focus was directing the society.

Too few Thomas Edisons and Henry Fords were being born and raised. Far too many Jeff Spicolis stood in their place.

For all his faults, Jack saw this with glaring clarity. The end of meaningful human relations. Replaced by utter nonsense.

The bus approached, but the man in the BMW ignored it, taking his time wrapping up the conversation at the expense of others. OK, listen I'll call you. We'll definitely have to get together soon. How are the kids by the way?

HONK. HOOOOOONNNNNKK! blared as the bus driver leaned deep into the horn.

Jack heard a few hisses from among the commuters as they waited for their ride to work, but no one said anything to the man because these were times when no one wanted to get involved. The gent, who continued to take his time almost out of spite, slowly pulled away to carry on what, in his outwardly conditioned mind, constituted the perfect life.

Asshole, muttered Jack, among a sea of assholes.

This drew a few stares from among the crowd as he boarded the bus. The driver squinted an artificial smile, barely amounting to an acknowledgement.

Jack nodded in similar fashion and headed to the back to melt in with the pool of mass perfume and stale perspiration. There was only one seat left open on this bus and for good reason, it was damp.

With one hand on a vertical steel bar, he leaned back against a wall by the rear door, peering at his watch. Just a few feet behind him, more inane talk emanated, which caused his gums to ache. He gazed out the side window, counting down the blocks, one-by-one to his final stop - his salvation, where all would be quieter and saner once again.

CRASH!

The bus veered sharply then railed up and over the rear end of a large sedan, crushing the roof almost flat.

Jack felt his head clang hard against the metal pole he’d been holding. Brushing pieces of broken glass that had showered around him from his shoulders, he slowly stood up. He swayed for a moment as if he might black out.

Upon opening his eyes the first time everything was blurry. Then he opened his eyes again and saw the full extent of the accident.

Jack knew there was going to be no easy way into the office this morning.

CHAPTER TWO

Light

It was that same old gent in the bimmer who’d taken his sweet time at the bus stop. Just minutes later he cut the commuter bus off while racing toward the red light. Who knows what urgent business he was late for or if cutting people off was simply a game to him? It mattered little at this point as the police arrived on the scene with an ambulance to take the body away.

The riders disembarked like ants. Jack helped an elderly woman struggling with her cane to get up to her feet.

Departing the bus, she looked up at him with a wrinkled smile and winked. Well kiddo, it looks like the world is gonna have to find a way to get along with one less one.

One less what?

Asshole she muttered, hobbling off to catch the next bus.

Another ambulance pulled up with medical responders who addressed the needs of those more severely injured. The others continued out toward their original destination, lovers of monotony and routine.

And so did Jack, along what appeared to be a darker, dingier path that stretched out along the thin sidewalk before him. Somehow it suited his mood at the moment, but strangely not in a negative way.

A medic on the fringe of the scene stopped Jack, grabbing ahold of his elbow. Say buddy, your head is bruised and that bump doesn't look so good. Let me check it out.

I'm fine.

Ok, but seriously a bang on the head shouldn't be taken lightly. Why don't we-

I said I'm fine, he replied, his voice tainted with an air of sourness as he strolled around the corner.

He was again alone out on the streets of Chicago, and it seemed as if the clouds themselves darkened toward the spot where he was headed. This continued for many minutes until farther up in the distance he began to notice a strange single ray of what appeared to be sunlight pulsing, seeming to cut a path through those dark clouds to the ground below.

Then the light shone more fully from behind the gray glory to peek out through the dense cloud cover. It hit the sidewalk, and then rose up along the path to meet at his feet.

Well, will you look at that!

Jack welcomed this new experience. It was a nice contrast to the staleness of the tin can express he had become so used to with his daily bus ride.

The surrounding air outside smelled comparatively sweet. It was spring, with a new path seeming to open up before him. A route he had seldom taken before, even on the longest, sunniest and warmest of days, it was as if the path invited him along its way with a sense of welcoming, a longing.

By this time he was running late to work, but for once he didn't care. The pain from his head injury subsided; all stress had left his body. Deciding he was in no rush, he smiled as he strolled along the new route.

Unlike so many other mornings, which prompted him to cast his eyes to the ground, this day led his gaze upward, to the beacon of light still streaming through the overcast.

So strange he thought.

He focused intently on it. Then from nowhere, a thought came to him. A memory from two weeks back. A day similar to this one, when his mood was light and where she smiled and spoke to him. Where there was a brief moment of normalcy and of acceptance to this life - his life. Where he laughed and seemed genuinely happy, or at least the happiest he'd been in a long time.

That is until he spoke his mind on his contempt for people of the modern age and of the present culture. The outward signs of a sick and disease-ridden society. That moment at the office party when he knew he had said too much, when she shut down, excused herself, and walked away. When once again he found himself alone.

And yet this day was opening up so much to him, it seemed that he was not thinking about how the conversation ended with his co-worker Jane, but how it began. The possibilities. Like when he was a younger man back in school with Sarah. Could it happen again? How he wished that it would.

This added to his longing, a yearning to start over. To try having the conversation with that pretty girl at the office just once more.

The day began to glow, particularly the rays of focused light in front of him. The immediate space around him gathered into a deepness and shivered as he stepped forward.

Wait, something wasn't right.

Did the sun just move? he asked himself, stumbling a bit.

A rush of dizziness swept over him. Perhaps he should have had his head checked before leaving the accident after all.

Looking more closely at his surroundings, Jack noticed changes.

There wasn't a cloud in the sky. A man who was just standing over by the post office was now gone. Didn't he see a dog walker stroll across the street seconds ago? Now, they were nowhere to be found. Where'd that delivery truck come from?

Long cast shadows of objects that surrounded him had disappeared. The clock over the bank on the corner now read noon.

Noon?

The streets, which had been cold and damp from an early morning rain were bone dry and warm. He checked his watch. It read April 7. But that was two weeks ago.

He asked an old woman who was heading into the nearby pharmacy for the time. Oh let's see, it's just about a quarter past twelve.

Jack's mouth dropped. He hesitated with his next question. I'm terribly sorry but my watch must be acting up. Today's date is?

The 7th she replied as she walked into the pharmacy.

Two weeks ago was now the present. He was at lunch returning to the very same office party that he had been dreaming of from a morning forward in time. How was that even possible?

This is crazy. I've got to be dreaming or having some kind of hallucination.

He looked around as if he expected someone familiar attempting to play a trick on him to appear. But this was no trick. The heavens moved. The earth had changed. He could feel it, like he was in an old, familiar place that his memory could clearly recall in detail.

Around the corner was a barbershop that he'd visited before. Inside was an old color television hanging on the wall that ran that god-awful 24-hour news he despised so much.

Jack rushed in, completely ignoring the attendant standing guard at the cash register. Over the din of the place he could barely make out the sound, but on the screen he saw it again. Monday, April 7, 1997.

The woman standing at the cash register darted him a distrusting look. Can I help you?

You could start by turning off that garbage.

Excuse me?

He motioned to the TV while looking down, tapping at his watch. You know, this crap, where they try to create news out of thin air.

Jack could hear in his own head that all too familiar rant about how thousands die and the news readers (not journalists) are on the scene giving a play-by-play like sports announcers, but with no context, no history. If nothing has happened they would create the appearance that something did happen.

Sir, the news is on for our customers. Do you want a haircut or don't you?

Distraught, he waived her off and staggered outside into the brightness of the midday sun.

Checking his watch again, it read 12:27.

If all was correct and true, this was the end of his lunch break. No matter how unbelievable life was at the moment, he reasoned, Morning or midday, they're expecting me back at work. Besides, he needed a cup of coffee to clear his head and get a grip on what had just happened to him.

Picking up his pace, Jack saw his office fast approaching. There was Tom, an acquaintance from a few cubes away standing at the entrance. Decent to talk to, but no more. Tom was all grins and spills; a nervous, clown of a man who, more often than not, tended to be funny by accident.

For Jack this was mildly amusing except for the times when it wasn't.

Hey, yo Jack! I was looking for you, man. Already took lunch, eh?

Uh, yeah. Look Tom - He pulled Tom aside, away from anyone who might hear him. Have you noticed anything strange around here lately?

Other than management is on another rampage and I'm scopin' around for my next gig? Tssssst - Nope.

Jack gave Tom a grim look, his mouth turned down as his eyes dimmed. You sure about that? You haven't noticed anything different about this place? The surroundings? The weather? Nothing seems out of sorts to you?

What more could he say without looking foolish? Without getting that look that he already had come to know so well. The look that suggests you're an oddity and you don't belong here. That glance of discomfort and doubt that you can be trusted in confidence. The pulling away because they just don't agree with your take on things.

What are you talking about?

Jack wasn’t in the mood for more of this, least of all today. But there was no judgment with Tom, just cluelessness. Jack had his answer. At least Tom was completely unaware. This was his time. He belonged here. Jack did not.

Never mind. Look I'll see you later. He headed to the coffee lounge.

You're coming to the office party later today right? Tom called out as he walked away.

Jack stopped and smirked to himself before swinging his head back.

Absolutely!

He filled his mug and headed to his desk, checking over all his paperwork. Invoices, contracts, emails. Everything ended with April 7, 1997. Nothing later.

I’m losing my mind. He knew what he perceived as happening was impossible. He needed to adjust to this reality, at