Beyond Fate

By John B. Albion

Beyond Fate is the story of Tim Storey, a teacher from Port
Washington who suddenly receives intuitive information that he believes may
lead him to the whereabouts of four people who mysteriously disappeared.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> A college coed fails to return home in Green
Bay where her car is later found in a parking lot. A commercial fishing boat out of Port Washington, manned by three
men, fails to return to port on a clear day in December after fishing on Lake
Michigan.

Tim becomes obsessed with the information he seems
to have been chosen to receive when he and a friend mistakenly wander onto the
Clam Lake military base in Northern Wisconsin while deer hunting.style="mso-spacerun: yes"> The interrogation they endure doesnt seem
to fit the error of trespassing, leading Tim to believe there is more to the
base than appearances allow.

Unsure if the random clues refer to the coed or the
fishing boat, he begins an investigation that leads him to the upper peninsula
of Michigan and several startling discoveries.
Tim meets the enigmatic Palmer, a conspiracy theorist and paranormal
investigator who teams with him to solve the riddle of the missing in a journey
that will change Tims life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 24, 2003
• ISBN: 9781410754974

John B. Albion

John Albion has had a successful career in business as a manager, trainer, consultant and a champion of change.  He has published business leadership articles for The CEO Refresher (www,refresher.com) and has been a contributor to the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel business section.  This is John’s first novel and he is actively working on a second, a murder mystery.  John resides in The Villages, FL.

Book preview

Chapter 1

September, 1998

Move it! she shouted to no one in particular. The slow moving tractor-trailer finally cleared the way, allowing the aging Toyota to accelerate down the exit ramp towards East Mason Street like the last skater in a crack-the-whip maneuver. Jan Barger hammered at the steering wheel, knowing she was going to be late for work. A third year student at the University of Wisconsin at Green Bay, she cursed the extra time she had spent at the campus library. The paper on community health nursing was due in one week and, as usual, she had waited until the last minute to get started. Angling the rusty rocket off Highway 43, she headed west into the September sun. Monday would be here soon with more classes, more assignments and less time. This was her third year of the school’s four year nursing program. After she had attained a B

average her first two years of college, Jan’s father had provided her a car. With transportation and a part-time job, she and two friends moved off-campus, in yet another step toward independence.

Jan wanted a job with a personal touch where she could gain experience in her field of study and the enjoyment of helping others. What a perfect match when she found the job at the Westside Retirement Village. This type of work during her high school days back in Grafton was what convinced her to pursue a nursing career. Now she was at risk of losing this job because of all the late arrivals at work, which were brought on by a rash of mechanical problems with the car. The afternoon sun bounced off the hood of the battered Toyota with such brilliance, it was almost painful. Jan squinted to see out the car’s dirty windshield. If she hurried she might make it.

Wham! Without warning, she was at a sudden stop. As reality melted away in the blinding light, and a surreal slow motion took over, she felt herself flying forward toward the windshield.

Damn! In her hurry to get out of the library parking lot, she’d forgotten the seat belt. Somehow, it seemed as though it took forever to impact the windshield. Her hands were frozen to the steering wheel, unable to prevent the imminent pain. How eerie it was in the stillness of the moment that she could hear the thud of metal on metal, the breaking glass, and the squealing of tires on asphalt. As her forehead slammed into the angling glass, and pain began to spread across her head like molten lava, she felt herself snap back into the seat. For an instant she sat motionless, disoriented, the pain across her head started to throb.

What was that? Where… what did… I gotta get out of the car. She reached for the door handle, quickly swung her feet out, and stood in a single motion. This was nature’s turn to admonish her quick movements. She grabbed for the door as her lack of balance threw her to one side. A woman was next to her, taking her by the arm.

You’re okay. Let me help you. The feminine voiced steered her to the curb and guided her down. Just stay here for a minute until you get your legs back.

Jan reached for her legs. She hadn’t lost them in all the commotion, had she?

Two legs, okay, focus, she told herself. The ground isn’t really spinning. You’re in the street and you’ve had an accident. She coached herself back to reality. As she began to stabilize, she looked up to see the front bumper of the Toyota bent at an awkward angle. The left headlight was an empty socket where the bulb once rested. Her mind shifted gears.

Who did I hit? Are they okay? Panic and a nauseated feeling began to set in.

Don’t worry about a thing, little lady. I think you got the worst of this one. You hit the I.C. bar of my trailer. It’s a little messed up, but hell… I do more damage to it backing into a dock than you just did. Nothin’ to worry about, said the driver of the semi-truck and trailer she had tried to push across a busy intersection.

Are you sure there’s no damage? No one’s hurt? This is all my fault.

Far as I’m concerned it never happened, but this fella, here, may not agree.

Jan looked up to see the blue uniform of a policeman, ticket book in hand, waiting to record the facts.

Can I see your driver’s license and registration, please? That’s a nasty looking bump on your forehead, ma’am. Do you need medical attention?

No…no, I’m okay. She touched the egg-size bump and winced in pain. No blood. That was a good sign.

Look at me. Follow my finger with your eyes. I can’t let you drive if you’re injured, the officer explained.

Am I going to get a ticket?

’Fraid so, ma’am. Following too close to avoid an accident. From the looks of that bump, I ought to be writing you one for failure to wear a seat belt, but I think you’ve had enough punishment for one day.

You don’t know the half of it. When my Dad hears about this… Jan groaned as she remembered her father’s warning that she would bear the cost of all repairs, insurance and traffic tickets, if any. She returned to the car and dug out the required identification as well as her insurance information. By now the small crowd of rubbernecking gawkers began to disperse. They were disappointed by the lack of blood or any meaningful drama, Jan was sure. Looking back at the car, her eyes began to well up. The car wasn’t much, but it was her first, something she’d worked for.

Do you think you can start the vehicle? the police officer asked. You seem okay to drive.

Jan circled around the Toyota and checked its condition as the police officer directed traffic around the scene. No fluids were on the pavement, and the grill didn’t look pushed in. With shaking hands and cautious optimism, she gave the key a turn. Like a Swiss clock, the compact car’s engine fired right away. The windshield had a crack running from top to the bottom where she tried to stick her head through. Ticket in hand, she waited for the police officer to wave her on before joining traffic and continuing at a cautious pace. She felt the same uneasiness as she did the first day she received her driver’s license.

What now, she thought? She was an hour late for work and had a $100 traffic ticket. Her car had one headlight, a bent bumper and a cracked windshield. She wondered what it would cost to make the repairs. There was a possibility she could get it fixed before her father found out. Maybe it would be best to go to the Stadium Club and find her roommates. They were off work by now and probably at the bar planning their Saturday night. Besides, a good drink would help steady her nerves. By this time the supervisor should have called in someone to take her place. Going into work late meant just one more thing to explain.

Following her decision to skip work, Jan made a left turn at the light, onto Lombardi Drive toward the stadium. Sunday’s game was out of town, so traffic was light. Within two minutes, she was in the oversized parking lot, a second source of income for the bar owner on game days. She parked the car in the rear of the lot. From her purse she took $35 in cash and stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans, then locked her cell phone and purse in the trunk of the car.

Relaxing was so much easier when not having to worry about a purse in the bar. The bulging key chain never looked good in her tight jeans, so she slid them under the front seat and walked into the bar.

The Stadium Club was more like a shrine to retired players from the Green Bay Packers than it was a bar. Walls were covered with signed photos, jerseys and helmets of players like Starr, Hornung and Nitschke.

For Jan and her roommates, it had become a second home where a young college girl could get a drink without an ID, no questions asked, as long as she smiled coyly at the teasing older men who probably remembered more about football than about young women.

Hey, look who’s here, eh.

Hey, Stu! Have Leslie or Kelly been in?

Not yet, Jan. What can I get yah? Stu asked.

Stu had gone to work at the Stadium Club as a young man, soon after coming home from World War II. Now his weathered face had more texture than a raisin. Jan and the girls were Stu’s favorite customers and they in turn, looked to Stu for fatherly advice. When the guys got too close for comfort, or appeared to be getting abusive, Stu stepped in and showed them the door. Stu had lost his wife ten years ago, and with no kids from the marriage, his family became the regulars at the Stadium Club.

Give me a Seven and Seven, Stu. I got a big problem.

Didn’t I tell you to work less and study more, Jan?

No, Stu, it isn’t school—

Let me at ‘em. I’ll kick his ass. Stu assumed a boxing stance, not seen since the days of bare-knuckle fighting.

No, Stu, it’s not a guy. I was in a car accident on my way to work.

You okay? Stu placed the drink on the bar, and leaned closer to Jan. Holy moly! Look at that bump on your forehead. Looks like you lost that fight, eh?

My head hit the windshield.

You better take it easy, cupcake, Stu said as she tilted her head, throwing back the contents of the mixed drink.

I’ll be okay, Stu. You’re a peach for worrying about me though. How about a refill?

He hurried off to mix her another, and attend to the growing crowd.

She swiveled around on her barstool, checking out the crowd. Pretty much the usual Saturday night collection of people. In the corner were two older couples talking together. A group of four young guys were by the door, laughing louder with each new pitcher of draft beer. A woman at the jukebox danced by herself as she selected songs.

Jan turned back to the bar and took a drink from Stu’s second delivery. She noticed her light jacket had fallen to the floor and bent down to pick it up. As she did, the blood rushing to her head caused a stabbing pain in the area where her forehead had hit the windshield. She grabbed the jacket, sensing she might black out from the pain. The pain was as though she drank ice water too fast on a hot summer day. As she straightened up, the pain subsided to a dull throb. White-hot light filled her vision, and drove into her brain. Like an oncoming freight train, or the onset of a migraine headache, the light was unstoppable. The light. There was no shutting it off.

Then as soon as it had come, it was gone, leaving her stunned, her hand gripping the barstool for stability. Staring across the bar, she saw a strange face in the mirror on the back wall. This was still Jan Barger, but she no longer knew that. A twenty-year-old college coed, stood motionless by the bar in the Stadium Club, jacket in hand and bathed in new sights and sounds. The feeling was as though she’d been dropped from some giant womb. Bright light began to give way to clarity, and the cold silence dissolved as the sounds around her increased. She blinked, blinked again, and adjusted her hearing to the sound of an old Motown song. These people…who were they? What was this place? As the unanswered and unknown began to build in her mind, a growing fear set in. Like a trapped animal, the young woman looked around, anxious for a path to escape. There, to the right, she spotted a door.

She moved in the direction of the door as a voice from behind the bar called, Hey! Where you going Barger? Barger?

Who was he talking to? The young woman wondered, clearing the door and moving away from the fading sounds. Once outside the crowded bar, a new feeling of peace spread over her.

The former Jan was at ground zero, day one. The warmth of the sun on a cool fall day pulled her forward in search of basic needs, food and protection from the coming night.

With the unawareness of an immigrant, she walked and absorbed the array of lights from businesses. Without a purpose of her own, the people she watched rushing about seemed like bees in a hive, a part of some greater common goal.

As the sun dropped out of sight, she slipped the light jacket on to fend off the falling temperature. Driven by unexplainable forces, she wandered without direction. She had no knowledge of where she was going, only that she must go.

While the night air began to spread over her, she squeezed her hands into the pockets of her jeans for warmth. One hand felt the texture of money. Money she remembered, its source wasn’t important. This meant she could eat.

Like a homeless person, she had become invisible on the street, moving unnoticed through the incandescent and neon light of the city streets. A sign on a nearby pole indicated Highway 29, nothing more. Lifting her head, she noticed the lights from a roadside diner. At the same moment, she smelled the aroma of cooking food, wafting along the street. The ache in her stomach drove her feet to move in the direction of the smell.

Outside the diner were rows of hulking trucks, their engines idling like sleeping giants. Inside the bright diner was a long counter with men lined up on stools, just as the trucks outside. She slipped inside, trying to adjust to the brightness. The darkness had been so much more comforting and secure. Inside, everything was awash in light. Her instinct was to hide, but her stomach said no. Quietly, she sat at the first available stool.

What can I get you? asked a waitress in a pink dress.

Uh, I’m hungry. I want what I smelled out front.

Honey, what you smelled out front ain’t never been on a plate. How about a special?

Sure. I guess so. A special.

Turkey or beef?

Turkey sounds good to me.

Herb! One special, make it a bird, shouted the culinary ringmaster. Coffee?

Okay.

You don’t say too much, do you, honey? You from over at that college?

No. I was just out walking.

Yeah, whatever, said the waitress as she poured a cup of coffee, then hurried off to fill other cups that rattled on the counter. Before long, the waitress returned with a plate heaping with slices of turkey on white bread and mashed potatoes on the side, all swimming in a sea of gravy. Jan dug in with her fork as if she were one of the hungry truck drivers. As she ate, the turkey reminded her of a different time. The image was warm, full of other people. Inside her an emptiness lurked.

The waitress with the broken glass personality whisked by again, dropping a check as she passed. Her total was $4.50. A smiling face drawn on the back included the message, ‘Come back again, Kathy.’ Jan pulled a crumpled $5 dollar bill from her pocket, laid it on the counter on top of the check, and left unnoticed. Outside again, she searched for her number 29.

Once more she took up her primitive quest, heading west and wherever her number 29 took her.

The food had helped. Moving toward the edge of town, she felt warmed and confident. Ahead, she could see where the well-lit urban areas faded away, and the unknown began. She forged ahead like Magellan, not knowing where she would drop off the edge of the world. The need to move on without stopping was inner, primal, almost manipulated by some unknown force, and her need to know why. With each step, the stars seemed to grow brighter, urging her on as instinct overrode reason.

At the edge of town she heard a low growl that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up as her survival instinct kicked in. What manner of animal could be tracking her in the darkness? The sound grew louder and appeared to be coming for her from the rear. Looking left and right for an escape path, she sensed the attack would be soon. A sudden white glare bathed her in light with nowhere to hide. Just as she was about to dive into the nearby bushes, the sound grew to a peak, and was joined by the high pitched squeal of air brakes. To her left she could see a massive tractor-trailer, like the ones she’d seen at the diner. From an open window she could hear its occupant call out, Need a lift?

Yeah. I guess so. Her heart rate returned to normal.

Well, climb in, then.

She scaled the metal indentations cut in the side like steps, and swung open the door. The growling beast’s driver was now visible.

Where you headed?

The middle-aged man had what looked like five days of beard and wore a baseball cap with the word Mack on it. Could that be his name?

I’m following 29.

Yep. I gathered that. That’s what you were walking on. I mean what town? I’m goin’ as far as Houghton, up in the U.P.

U.P.? I’m going to the U.P., too.

Great. Sit back and relax. We got about three and a half hours to go. Names Joe, Joe Capaletti. What’s yours?

Ah…um…I don’t remember.

You don’t remember your name? You’re kiddin’ me, right? Oh. I get it. It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me, but you don’t have to worry either. I’m not one of those psycho truck drivers. Can’t hardly blame a woman these days, what with all the stalkers and such. Hell, I’d probably not give anybody my name either if I was hitchhiking.

The truck with its red and yellow lights lumbered into the night as Joe marched through the gears, building momentum, his mysterious rider staring out the window into the darkness. This rider was different, an enigma, but not a threat.

Jan stared out the side window as the shadows of the intermittent woods of central Wisconsin flashed by in the dark, wondering why she didn’t know who she was.

Did she have a name? That question had been like an incision cutting into her private thoughts. Everybody had a name. Why couldn’t she remember hers? This question had opened a Pandora’s Box, which could not be overlooked. The bliss of her ignorance was shattered. What else was there she didn’t know? She didn’t like this feeling of emptiness. This void inside her demanded an explanation.

Looking into the dark abyss of the night was like looking into the void within herself. She twisted her high school ring with Grafton ‘96 across the top. This only clue to her existence also hid the only clue to who she was. Inside the band were the initials JLB, if she only knew to look there. She had to follow her instincts and the road. Maybe someone at the end of this journey could tell her who she was, and why she was being pulled along to places she had never been, for reasons she didn’t know.

The aura of destiny hung over her and weighted her soul like a ship’s anchor. If there could be so many stars, with so many names, she must have a name. She felt the truck lurch as Joe down shifted the eighteen-wheeled rig to accommodate a slight incline.

They were making good time in the cool fall night. For almost two hours the mystery rider sat silently looking out the window into the darkness.

Beautiful night out, isn’t it? You can’t beat the U.P. in the fall. Wisconsin’s not bad, either. Too bad we can’t see the colors in the trees. Joe tried to make idle conversation to break the silence.

The stars are radiant.

Sure are. Usually about this time of the year you can see the Northern Lights. What a show that is. Say…I saw you back at that diner in Green Bay. Are you from there?

No, I don’t think so. At least, I’m not sure.

Like a cut from a sharp knife, Joe’s question sliced into her again. Not only did she not know who she was, she didn’t know where she was from. Green Bay? That must be the last place she was from, but she couldn’t remember anything before that. She felt like someone had taken an eraser to her mind and blanked out any thought or notion she ever had, leaving her only enough to survive.

Do you think I could be from the U.P.? she asked.

No way. You don’t sound like a Yuper to me.

What’s a Yuper?

Oh, it’s just a slang term for most of us who live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. We kinda’ take pride in living where we do. It gets so cold, and with over a hundred and twenty inches of snow every winter, you have to keep your sense of humor.

I remember playing in the snow. I think I was younger. Maybe as a kid.

Looks like that wasn’t too long ago. You look to be in your early twenties at the most. How old do you think I am?

No idea. Wouldn’t know where to begin guessing.

Just turned forty-eight. My daughter is probably older than you. Most of my family is still in Houghton.

Family. Another unknown concept to her. Did she have a family? She thought back to eating at the diner and how the turkey had reminded her of a group, maybe family. Could it be hers? Perhaps it didn’t matter anymore. Whatever had happened to her or wherever she had been was of no consequences if she couldn’t remember.

Joe geared the truck down, decreasing its speed as they entered Wittenberg. At the stoplight he flipped the turn signal and turned right, off Highway 29 and onto 45. Thoughts and questions filled her head where only instinct had been before. She realized she had no idea who she was, where she was from or where she was going, but something about Joe said he could be trusted. While Joe steered the massive truck north, she wondered what lay ahead. At some point she would have to leave Joe. After all, he had a family and a place he was from. In the dim interior light provided only by the gauges on the dashboard, Joe could see the look of concern on her face and the bump on her forehead.

You really don’t know who are you are, do you?

No.

So…I guess then you don’t know where you’re going, either.

No, but I feel like I have to move on. I can’t explain why, so straight ahead is as good as any direction.

Straight ahead will put you right smack in the lake, Joe said, laughing.

Yes. The lake. That’s where I’m going.

Well, I suppose I can take you there. It’s about fifteen miles past my turn-off to Houghton, but we’re making good time. The lake it is.

Joe, I appreciate what you’re doing. Giving me the ride and all.

Oh, that’s okay. I’m kind of worried, you not knowing where you’re going and not knowing your own name. I know how I would feel if you were my daughter.

I’ll be okay, she said with an edge of confidence, even though she didn’t quite know for sure where it originated. From deep within her a feeling seemed to reassure and guide her toward safety. Something about Joe had reminded her of something or someone. Somewhere out there in the darkness she had known another Joe. She was sure of that. When and where were two answers that seemed lost forever right now.

The truck bounced along into the night, the landscape becoming more wooded than open, casting even darker shadows and deeper questions for someone with no sense of history. The lights of small towns occasionally interrupted the unending darkness. Antigo, Monico, and Eagle River flashed by in the night. Just a few miles past Conover, Joe seemed to become more animated.

We’re in the U.P. now. God’s country. When you drive through the countryside up here and let your imagination run free it could be three hundred years ago. It’s like going back in time.

Yeah, time. She looked at her watch that showed almost 11:00. Glancing up, she saw two shining objects ahead of the truck. What’s that?

Deer. Up here they’re like loose dogs or ghosts in the night. You see them briefly, then they’re gone.

They’re beautiful, in a sort of haunting way.

Sure. Up here they’re our entertainment. The deer, the bear and the UFO’s

UFO’s?

Oh, yeah, it’s a regular joke here. A lot of people see them late at night when they’re out drinking, the only other entertainment we have. I saw something a few years ago. Not too sure what it was, but it was movin’ faster than hell. By the time I could focus my eyes, it was over the tree tops and gone. No little green men, though. Guess you gotta drink some to see that part. Joe laughed at his own joke.

Does anybody know where they come from?

Nope. No one knows where they’re from or where they’re goin’. Sort of like you.

Yeah, I guess I’m a UFO or an alien. She