Eternal - Immortality Lost: Eternal, #1

By Ward Christman

The first of the Eternal series, a nanopunk novella detailing the lives of Calvin, an amnesiac drifter, and his best friend, a golden retriever named Hobbes.

Calvin wants to do something great with his life, but there is just something holding him back. It is more than his frivolous sense of humor or the fact that most of his conversations are with a dog, but he just can't remember...

When he tries to be a good Samaritan and stops a crime in progress, he sets in motion a series of events that will not only reveal what makes him so different but arouse the interest of a clandestine group that will stop at nothing to get to Calvin and take his secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ward Christman
• Release date: Mar 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386397205

Ward Christman

Ward Christman and his family live in the Pacific Northwest. After 25 years in the computer industry, he has traded his desk and laptop for a laptop and desk, working as a writer. Look for more titles in the Eternity series to come, as well as works in other genres.

Book preview

Unlikely Heroes

Travis Bonham awoke to the sound of a dog barking in the apartment upstairs. He hated that goddamn dog. He would have yelled for it to shut up, but he was too disoriented.

Instead, he reached over the edge of the bed to his filthy floor and retrieved one of his black leather boots.  He slung it upward, in a feeble attempt to hit the ceiling and scare the dog. It bounced off his bedroom wall and fell on top of his dresser, breaking a plastic bong and spilling bong water all over his clothes.

He breathed out a deep sigh of discontent. His head was throbbing, his mouth was dry, and his eyes were crusty. He could smell his own breath. It hung over the room, like a dense fog that reeked of dog shit and death.

Travis scratched his head, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He had never been kind to himself and his body reflected that. His skin resembled someone twice his 20 years, and the gravel in his voice should have taken decades to collect.

His day started as it always did; a coughing fit that would put a career smoker to shame, then his traditional wake and bake to ease him into the day.

There was nothing for his pipe except the ass of whatever he was smoking night before. This day is just getting better and better, he thought. He had to go see Deuce. He had nothing to smoke and nothing to sell.

The problem was that he also had no money, and there was no way Deuce would front him product again. Travis saw what Deuce did to other guys who were behind, and knew if he went to Deuce without at least $500 he would leave the meeting with nine fingers at best.

Travis had to find some money on the way there. He could go downtown first; there were always opportunities downtown or at the park.

He pulled a cell phone from the back pocket of the jeans he slept in and held down the button on the front. After the phone beeped he tried to speak, but only more coughing erupted from his mouth.

Finally, he was able to growl out, Call Scrote.

I’m sorry, I didn't understand what you said, a robotic female voice responded. He hit the button on the screen and yelled, CALL SCROTE, YOU STUPID FUCKING BITCH! Did you mean, Call Scrote? the voice questioned politely. YES!" he barked. This started another coughing fit.

He could hear his grandmother yelling from the living room, Are you talking to me? He ignored her.

The phone line engaged, and there was the sound of a phone ringing on the other end. During the third ring Travis heard what he imagined was the sound of someone opening a closet that was jam-packed with all types of sporting goods, which rained down in an avalanche on an unsuspecting Scrote at the other end of the line. Ow! Fuck! he heard Scrote's voice.

Travis didn’t bother to introduce himself, Dude. I need you to give me a ride to see Deuce. I am going to take a walk downtown first, pick me up at one by the fountain at the park. He didn’t wait for Scrote to respond. He hung up the phone, got up and walked to the bathroom.

Five minutes later he was bursting out the door of the apartment building and heading toward the MAX light train station. There were usually opportunities at the station, but he would have to wait until he was closer to downtown. If the cops came to his neighborhood looking for someone they would inevitably come to him.

The ride frustrated Travis, as did most things. He hated the people in Portland. They were always fucking smiling at you, and they expected you to smile back. Travis never did.

The light-rail train was almost silent, but the people were not, and as MAX slid into the downtown station Travis had picked his mark.

There was an idiot on the train with his kid. The kid was little, and The Idiot spent the whole ride spouting crap to him about Chuggington and Thomas the Tank Engine. As if anybody wanted to hear all that crap about stupid kid shows. Travis remembered watching Thomas when he was young, but he wouldn’t have admitted it.

The Idiot jabbered on the whole time like he wasn’t aware of anybody else on the train. The kid said something about how the MAX was white and was just like riding on Chatsworth from Chuggington. Travis had to stop himself from yelling at the kid, Chatsworth was a Diesel-Electric and MAX is an electric light-rail. They are nothing alike you stupid little fucker!

As the doors opened, Travis moved toward them, bumped The Idiot, and disappeared into the crowd with his wallet.

On his way to the park Travis emptied the wallet of $42 in cash, and threw the rest into a dumpster. He didn’t play with credit cards ever since he got caught using one he lifted when he was 12 and spent 6 months in juvie. They called it Identity Theft and made a big deal about it like he was a terrorist or some crap. All he wanted was some money for Dots and a movie ticket at the theater. It wasn’t worth the drama.

Travis walked into an open plaza near the park and was surprised to see a street performer with a crowd gathering around him. There were always street performers downtown, but they were usually homeless trash, banging on a can or beating some crappy old guitar they had scrounged. Mostly, people ignored them, or if they were pitiful enough, passers-by might drop some change into their cup. Today’s entertainment was different.

A crowd of 50 or more people had gathered around a guy that was standing on a box talking. There was dog lying next to the box, but it didn't seem to be part of the show; it was just looking at the people in the crowd. Travis didn't pay much attention to the show, but could tell the performer was doing some sort of mind reader routine.

He knew this type of show was nothing but bunk, but he also knew that a bull-shitter could see right through a bull-shitter. Attention was the nemesis of a half-assed thief, and Travis wanted none. He needed to be careful, but this crowd was too juicy to ignore.

Travis skirted the crowd, picking the easy marks. He walked up behind a business man and crowded him, pretending to be trying to get a better view of the show. Another wallet was his that easy.

He moved around the crowd and found a woman on the edge with her purse hanging from her shoulder. It was open, like she wanted him to take some. He reached in and grabbed out her wallet, then moved on.

Travis didn’t notice the dog laying next to the performer seemed to be tracking his progress around the crowd.

As Travis surveyed the crowd, a couple, maybe in their late 60’s, dropped a couple of dollars in the performer’s hat and headed toward a nearby alley. Travis knew that older people always carried cash. He was able to follow them without changing his direction or speed, and he fell in behind them as they walked away from the crowd.

Stalking the unwitting couple, Travis reached in his pocket and felt the handle of his butterfly knife. The couple was walking toward their light blue 2015 BMW 328i, parked about 30 feet down an alley. At the far end of the alley, Travis could see Scrote pull up in his car; he couldn’t believe his luck. This was the perfect setup.

The couple reached the rear end of the Beamer, and Travis pulled out his knife, flipped it open with a twist of his wrist and said, Hey! The couple turned around and looked at Travis. He felt a swell of power as they simultaneously recognized the blade in his hand and fear spread across their faces.

I want your cash now! he said with the steeliest voice he could. He wanted control of the situation without being overheard, but to Travis’s dismay, the fear that was evoked by the sight of the knife left their faces. The old woman’s expression changed; she was almost smiling.

Travis felt rage boil in his chest. Who does this bitch think she is dealing with? Give me your fuckin’, was all he was able to get out before he felt someone grab him from behind; his feet left the ground.

He was suddenly horizontal, five feet in the air, and the world seemed to be in slow motion. He knew the ground was approaching, but was helpless to change what was about to happen.

Life returned to normal speed at the moment he landed, flat on his back and the wind rushed from his lungs. His head hit the black top with the thud of a melon dropped at a supermarket, and he felt his hand eject the knife. It skittered across the pavement out of his reach, but Travis was too busy trying to get his lungs to start accepting air again to go after the knife.

It seemed like forever before he heard a high-pitched squeal and his lungs started to unwillingly relent to his demand for air. Just as Travis began to regain his faculties, and his knife re-entered his mind, a large dog jumped on his his chest. It growled into his face. He couldn’t fight back, he felt as though the ground had fastened itself to him, holding his arms and legs and body from moving.

Travis realized that the street performer was standing over him, and the crowd stood watching and clapping. I’m Calvin, and this is my Wonder Dog, Hobbes, ladies and gentlemen! The performer laughed, taking a bow to the crowd, but the dog paid no attention to anyone but Travis.

Scrote heard the ruckus, and came close enough to recognize that Travis was in trouble. He snapped a couple of pictures with his phone, and took off just before the police showed up. Travis was booked for several counts of theft and assault with a deadly weapon. He knew Scrote would go to Deuce, and they would have him out in no time.

Celebration

Calvin burst through the door of their small, drab apartment, barely able to contain his excitement. What a day! Hobbes! That was so awesome! Hobbes calmly walked past Calvin, climbed on the couch and turned in three circles before settling down.

I think we should celebrate! Calvin continued. How ‘bout we take tomorrow off? We can sleep in, and then maybe we go over to the coast for the afternoon? Hobbes watched intently as Calvin switched on the TV, but when Calvin settled on a re-run of The Mythbusters, Hobbes put his head down for a rest.

Come on, Buddy! You should be excited! What we did today was great! Calvin wanted to share his high with his best friend. That’s what we should be doing! Not some stupid mind reading side-show act! We could be Superheroes! Can you imagine!?!

Hobbes could not rest with Calvin acting this way. He got up from the couch and walked to the kitchen for a drink.

The apartment that Hobbes and Calvin shared was sparsely furnished; a second-hand couch and a television resting on a piano bench were the only furniture in the living room. The only thing in the apartment that showed any taste or character was Hobbes' eating area. Hobbes liked to eat, and he felt that it was one of the only things that really deserved some fan-fare.

Hobbes’ water dish was on a low antique cabinet,