The Bemused Time Traveler

By Dr. Gloria A. Preston

The Bemused Time Traveler is a story of transition, but more than that, it is one womans journey to truth through love and forgiveness.
A most unusual and provocative book, the story dares to crisscross the psychological with the paranormal crafting, an interesting mixture of suspense that will leave the reader wanting more.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Jul 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490706641

Dr. Gloria A. Preston

Born in Los Angeles, Dr. Preston grew up in Chicago and resides in San Diego where she is completing a children’s book entitled Yonyo and the Magic Thimble. Having earned her doctorate in clinical psychology and master’s in education, the author has interwoven psychological aspects into the framework of her novel, providing a unique insight into the clinical process. www.gapreston.com

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© Copyright 2013 Dr. Gloria A. Preston.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

All Characters and Events are Fictitious

ISBN: 978-1-4907-0663-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-0662-7 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4907-0664-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013911494

Trafford rev. 07/24/2013

7-Copyright-Trafford_Logo.ai www.trafford.com

North America & international

toll-free: 1 888 232 4444 (USA & Canada)

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Contents

PROLOGUE

PART ONE JOURNEY INTO FEAR

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

PART TWO THE CHAOS CONTINUES

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

PART THREE THE ART OF TIME TRAVEL

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

PART FOUR SOME DANGER INVOLVED

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

PART FIVE THE UNSHAKABLE TRUTH

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

For My Family

"In Gypsy Lore it is said that

when a person’s soul is stung with

unutterable grief a mysterious veil

shrouds their eyes and they are

able to see WITH unearthly power

beyond life’s pale."

Prologue

The wind was sharp that early morning in April. Thick, billowy clouds defused the sun’s rays forcing Ann to pull her scarf tightly about her neck. No doubt as surprised as she by the unseasonable chilliness in the air, the park’s Jacaranda trees were shedding their petals. The tiny purple blossoms blew across her path cushioning her footfalls as she made her way up the isolated trail.

At forty-one her athletic body possessed astonishing physical prowess and she took the last mile of the incline with little effort. Reaching the crest of the hill she stood motionless, gazing down at the outstretched city below. Her green eyes still bloodshot from the day before took in the spectacular view made even more vivid by the wind-swept clarity of the day. Brushing wisps of long auburn strands from off her face she tried to keep from thinking about the previous morning.

At the moment of Dr. Chin’s pronouncement… breast cancer . . . the diagnosis chillingly matter-of-fact… her soul shrank in terror at the realization that never again would she be as she was; the old Ann Caldwell, the person she had been, for better or worse, ceased to exist. She rubbed her tear stained cheeks against her sleeve and flinched involuntarily as thoughts began to crowd her mind. Memories have a habit of coming whether they’re invited or not and one in particular cast a poignant reflection.

She had always been the inferior Caldwell girl. Nature had seen to that. The only redhead in the family, she had been lavishly sprinkled with freckles across her straight nose, cheeks, shoulders and arms and as if that weren’t bad enough she was plump and flat-chested and lacked both the height and slender figure of her older sister, Abbey.

However in the summer of her seventeenth year all that changed. The remarkable beginnings of a curvaceous figure which over time more than compensated for her flaws no longer made her feel like an ugly duckling. Elated by her overnight popularity, she thrilled at the admiring glances from male friends, but what made it most worthwhile were the envious looks she got from her sister whenever she wore a swimsuit or a figure-hugging dress.

That’s what I get for being so full of myself, she whispered mawkishly into the wind. Overwhelmed with a sense of hopelessness she sat down on a nearby bench, sobbing piteously.

Dear God, give me the courage to make it through this thing, she cried, raising her eyes heavenward.

Then everything stopped and there was only stillness. The trees were quiet and unruffled. There wasn’t a sound to be heard. She closed her eyes and listened but for the beating of her heart, all was silent. When she looked about, every blade of grass had been replaced by barren, desolate terrain; a lifeless moonscape that seemed to have been carved from a block of wood. The air was hot and fetid and she found herself choking on her own breath. An unquenchable fear wrestled her previous worries into irrelevancy as she struggled to rationalize what was happening. She took in the nothingness with revulsion, contemplating in disbelief the grim surroundings.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a solitary figure. He stood a few feet away and was gazing directly at her. Clad in hermit’s rags, his face was obscured by a shadowy cowl that covered his head like a dark, spidery net. His aged and frail frame was weighted down by a course brown tunic. In his left hand he carried a walking stick.

Awestricken, she watched as his right hand emerged from his worn, practically empty sleeve and a boney finger stretched menacingly in her direction. He spoke then, his words humble and unpretentious.

All born of flesh must suffer death; seek the truth while there is time.

The words sought out the emptiness in her heart, enlightening the uncertainty of the moment. It was a message that lingered; resounding within her long after the vision had disappeared.

As she stared in disbelief at the spot where his feet had stood, a spray of tiny incandescent crystals shot out of the ground. Transfixed by the myriad of swirling lights, her eyes watched the splintered fragments collide and explode into a kaleidoscope of color, hurtling and tumbling into a cascade of jewel-hued splendor.

Her first thought was that she had been visited by the spectre of death but the morbid notion vanished as the flickering slivers of flame enveloped her in an uplifting sense of unutterable joy.

During the long months of medical tests and the surgery that followed, the constant memory of that moment kept her spirits high. No matter how unpleasant the treatments or difficult the mending process, she felt confident and full of hope.

The gift, however, was ephemeral and the euphoric optimism soon faded. The visions hauntingly intensified as did her fears and frustrations. Until now she had relished her freedom and independence but whatever was happening changed all that.

Loneliness began to consume her; grievous and heartrending it served only to increase her depression. She ached to fill the emptiness that had become her life. At once, angry and cynical, she brooded incessantly while waiting like a helpless bystander for destruction to strike. Unwilling to heed her own anguished appeals and unable to recognize the wisdom of insight, she buried herself in despair.

PART ONE

1.jpg

JOURNEY INTO FEAR

Chapter 1

THE KISS OFF

He made less noise than a ghost. Only his foul smelling beer-breath hitting her full in the face revealed his presence. When she opened her eyes he was hunched over her, leering expectantly. She turned on her side and pulled the covers up over her head.

Go away, Mitch, I’m tired, she yawned.

Get up. Hell, it’s almost noon, he bellowed.

She drove her head further into her pillow.

Did you hear me? he rasped hoarsely. What I got to say won’t wait… and neither can I, he warned, kicking hard at the bed with his boot.

Later, Mitch… go away and leave me alone, please, she pleaded, relinquishing a long, murmuring sigh in hopes of placating him.

The tirade of profanities and the blow from the back of his hand exploded simultaneously. Reeling in shock she screamed hysterically as the warm blood inside her mouth trickled down her chin.

My God, you hit me; I’m bleeding, she shrieked, holding her hand to her face.

The outbreak of her high-pitched squeals startled him. Shut the fuck up, he warned, his slack jaw quivering in fury.

I… I… I can’t stop… , she whimpered fitfully.

You’ll stop or so help me… , he flew at her in rage, dragging her off the bed and throwing her to the floor.

Her head struck the edge of the nightstand opening a small gash above her left eyebrow. As the blood oozed down her cheek she grabbed a corner of the bed sheet to staunch the bleeding.

Get out of here, do you hear me, get out, get out, you… you miscreant, she shouted through closed eyes.

So you want to call names, huh… why you rotten bitch… I came in here to tell you something and you’re going to hear me out, he growled.

Go to hell, Mitch, I’m not listening to you anymore, she yelled.

Fuck you… when I tell you to do something, you do it or else, he ordered.

He was undoing his zipper when she looked up. Before she could squirm away he had climbed on top of her. His overeager hands held her fast, her wrists in a vice-like grip above her head, her body pinned to the floor amid the shreds of her nightgown.

She heard herself shouting but the words were incoherent. She struggled to free her hands; her fingernails clawing at the empty air. Her mind, clouded with humiliation, seemed unable to accept surrender even as her body shuddered in gratifying relief.

Heaving himself off the floor he fastened his pants. Don’t say I never gave you nothing, lady, he glowered, and if you don’t want your ass hauled up out of here you’d better get the fuck up now, he warned, his face contorted with anger as he slammed the door shut.

She ignored the ultimatum. Instead, drawing herself upright, she staggered to the dresser and rummaged through the drawer for another nightgown. Repulsed by her own nakedness, she quickly pulled it over her head. She rinsed with mouthwash and put a bandage on her forehead before an onslaught of thoughts from the sexual encounter forced her back to bed.

Who does he think he’s kidding; that’s the only way he can make love to me without being turned off by my appearance. It’s not lovemaking; it’s debasement but I’d be lying if I said it could be different between us. God, what’s happening to me?

Struggling with the absence of intimacy, the murky, pervasive bouts of loneliness proved an unrelenting force. Being alone was not some nighttime horror; it was emptiness without escape, minutes, hours and weeks of it. Convinced that moments of conventional passion were no longer hers to have, she became desperate for a sense of connection that would free her heart from the aching void. Abandoning her last vestiges of pride, she allowed herself to be drawn to men who temporarily quelled the unceasing emotional pain. Never mind their superficiality and crudity; it was enough that their presence offered a respite from the crushing isolation of aloneness.

Oh Gogo, I don’t envy you your nine lives; one is bad enough, she said, stroking the cat’s soft fur.

Ann, get out here on the double before I come in and yank you out. The surly voice had grown more demanding.

He’s in a vile mood, Gogo. I best not antagonize him or he might do something really bad. Mommy has to act contrite or the big ape will leave us. We don’t want to be alone, do we, puss? She gave the tiger-striped feline a peck on the nose and placed him gingerly on her pillow. Be back soon, my precious.

Mitch honey, okay, I’m here already. What’s the emergency… . WOW… what cyclone hit this place? Ann’s eyes surveyed the rubble-strewn room. What’s going on in here? she asked trying to keep her voice restrained.

What the hell does it look like?

A mess; the place looks like it did when you moved in.

Except that I’m moving out, he said, brushing his long, sandy hair from off his pock-marked face as he grappled with a tape dispenser and a large packing box.

When did you decide that? she asked softly, her face ashen.

His silence was unnerving.

She could feel herself freaking out.

Well? Her question hung in the air as she walked past the carnage and on into the kitchen… Did you hear me, Mitch? Why now? I’m not mad. Let’s forget the whole thing, she cajoled, and I’ll buy you lunch at Wu Chung’s and get you that jacket you liked. She walked back into the room and smiled down at him.

Not this time.

She chose to ignore him. What do you say, honey? I’ll get this room back together in a jiffy and we’ll make a day of it.

You like it caveman style, don’t you, babe, he snarled.

It was my fault, honey, totally; I shouldn’t have gotten you so mad; forgive and forget, she implored pathetically.

You ain’t got no pride left, do you? You look like you were hit by a truck and you’re begging for more. I’m tired of this game of yours. If you ask me lady, you need a shrink.

Don’t, Mitch, Ann said, blinking back tears. What is it you want from me?

Aw, quit the phony act… you’re not fooling anybody, he said irritably.

If I promise to see a shrink… .

I don’t give a damn what you do; I’m bailing the hell out of this joint before I lose my fucking mind. It’s over. In case you didn’t recognize it what I just gave you was a wham bam thank you, ma’am, goodbye, he said ruthlessly.

Don’t I deserve to know why?

Why? Why not? Your medical problems are one thing but I sure as hell can’t put up with a crappy psychic junkie… seeing things and babbling in your sleep all the time. Face it baby, you’re delusional… hell, you’re the only one I know who can trip-out on a magic carpet ride without a hit. Besides, it’s no good between us anymore, and hasn’t been for a long time.

Why don’t you say what you mean? You can’t stand looking at me anymore. She tore open her bathrobe and pulled at the neck of her nightgown.

Mitch stared at her. Can the drama, babe. It’s you who can’t stand to look at yourself; every fucking mirror in the place is gone. A lot of women have breast operations but they get fixed up and move on with their lives. I’m not saying it’s easy but hell, you’re acting like some kind of casualty… like you were shot up in some fricken war or something.

You don’t get it. I tried but… no options; no alternatives. I’m begging you, Mitch, try seeing me as I once was. I couldn’t bear the thought of being without you, she said, going to pieces right in front of him.

I ain’t got that much imagination, baby. I hooked up with you because I thought both of us wanted some fun but what I didn’t figure on was a damn nutcase, he said bitterly.

Well, Mitch, I’m finally seeing you for what you are… an ignorant jerk without a high school diploma who’s got the unmitigated gall to try to analyze me.

Look, at least I know who I am; it’s you who’s got the problem. I never bargained for no relationship with a kinky, kooky broad like you. You beat all, you know that; pointing your finger at me like I was some fucking pervert.

So the charade’s finally over. She felt her shoulders go limp and exhaled loudly. I’ve got to hand it to you, Mitch. You’ve finally got my back up, so skip the lousy lecture and get the hell out already.

Color me gone, baby.

Where the hell’s the coffeemaker? she asked sorting through a box he hadn’t yet closed.

I packed it. I bought it when you threw the last one at my head… remember? I’m taking this one with me.

Like hell you are! I’m going through every one of those boxes you, bastard. She flew at him but he grabbed her wrists and flung her to the ground.

It’s not the coffeemaker, is it? It’s Peggy. Isn’t it, isn’t it? He let go of her before she could answer and shook his head. You’re nuts.

Why couldn’t we have talked about it? You didn’t have to pull a silly stunt like this to get my attention. She got up off the floor rubbing her wrists and stared at the small scar on his temple. Don’t you want more of the same thing you had today? I could make it good for you. You don’t need someone like her in your life. We’ve been good for each other, she said, trying to put her arms around him.

He shrugged her off. Like you said, the charade’s over. We’ve had a good run; leave it at that. You spent some money on me and in return I gave you what you wanted.

Thanks, Mr. Bottom of the Barrel, she sneered.

Look who’s talking, he retaliated, staring at her angrily. You’re so afraid of being alone that sooner or later you’ll drag someone else in here. Be careful baby the next guy doesn’t put you in a body bag on some slab in the morgue.

Mitch, she said reaching out for him, I… I want us… to be friends. Please don’t leave me; I couldn’t stand it if you left me.

Oh, knock it off already. You can’t even level with yourself. I may be a dropout but even I recognize a crazy-ass spook when I see one. Better find out what that’s all about before they start feeding you through tubes in some psycho ward. He put on his leather jacket, pulled out his cell phone and punched in a number. You guys ready? Everything’s good to go.

I swear I’ll call the police… this is outright theft, you bastard, she spit the threat into his face.

Go ahead, call the police. After all, you’re one of their favorite people; your DWIs are famous at the Wabash precinct.

On second thought, Mitch, you’re right. I’ve got enough scars and sure as hell don’t need a prick like you to make anymore.

Mitch held up his nearly empty bottle of beer. Here’s to us kid, you, me and all the other assholes, dicks and pussies of the world, he laughed, guzzling down the last dregs.

Ann heard the knock on the door and moved toward the bedroom. She sat on the bed with Gogo until she heard the door slam shut. Even then she waited until it grew dark before coming out to survey the damage. He had left a tangle of wires, busted fixtures and chards of broken glass. A lamp, a table and a couple of chairs were the only things untouched.

Probably things old Peggy couldn’t use, she said, her words echoing in the empty room.

Sure, she had known about Peggy but it never occurred to her that he’d go live in that bug infested flat of hers. Mitch was right though; his kind were a dime a dozen and she couldn’t stand to be alone for too long.

She went back into the kitchen, opened the cabinet and retrieved the last bottle of vodka.

Shit, only one shot left, she moaned, pouring the liquor into a glass of orange juice and gulping down the liquid. She tossed the empty bottle into the trash, halfheartedly vowing it would be her last.

Chapter 2

CAREFUL, YOUR DISTORTED REALITIES ARE SHOWING

Contrary to Mitch’s prediction no one came after him. Terrified that her sanity was deteriorating, Ann sank deeper into the abyss of solitude as the apparitions grew in frequency and power. Weird yet magical, they unfolded like unrelenting dreams blurring the lines between wakefulness and sleep. Sucked into the darkness of unreal moments, she was both attracted and repelled by the images and like an obedient sleepwalker watched the scenes with a blank face.

Panicked that anyone should learn her secret, she avoided the few friends that remained in touch. She no longer kept her doctors’ appointments and had stopped taking her medications preferring instead to self-medicate with alcohol. Afraid of what her co-workers might think, she eluded work on the pretext of prolonged disability. In the beginning she hoped this period of sullen withdrawal was temporary but as the weeks passed she took comfort in quiet seclusion with only her cat for companionship.

For whatever reason, the movies proved to be her only distraction. For two hours in the early afternoon the world of celluloid freed her from the disturbing illusions that stalked her every waking moment. Her dreary existence was obliterated by the threads of commonality woven together on the big screen; a safety net of peace devoid of apparitions.

Hidden in the theater’s darkness she relaxed; the shadows of virtual anonymity disassociating her from personal memories, intolerable thoughts and abject loneliness. Transported with her fellow travelers through the agonies and ecstasies of film, life once again captured a reflection of hope; a brief respite from the dreaded foe. But sadly, like all finales, the end was never far away.

I wonder what a mind sounds like when it snaps, she thought gloomily.

Fearing the long commute home, she knew it would be all the worse in the isolated confines of her apartment. Moving unhurriedly toward the exit, she dawdled at the popcorn and candy counters before finally emerging from the darkened building into the light of day.

Without warning she felt flattened. It was starting again. Swirling lights coiled up around her as sunlit shafts pierced her eyes. She reeled away looking for escape but movement was all but impossible. Ignoring the brightness swimming in her vision, she fixedly gazed at the graffiti splattered doors decorating the theater’s façade, etching the images as reference points into the rational sanctuary of her mind.

In the beginning she had stubbornly resisted the attacks but had since learned it was futile to fight. Most disconcerting were her limitations on control; the visions had a mindset of their own; happening anytime and anywhere.

By now she was well-versed in identifying the physical signs. Growing increasingly nauseous, she waited for the inevitable dizziness to drag her into despair, leaving her emotionally drained. As if caught in the clutches of a nightmare she surrendered her consciousness; floating inward, she squinted against the light as the surrounding scenes, in slow-motion, dissolved and faded.

*      *      *

When she opened her eyes darkness had fallen and the temperature had dropped. Although the rain had stopped, she found herself sidestepping the puddles on the sidewalk trying to maintain a sense of balance. Suddenly her eyes caught sight of a tree limb directly in her path. It was devoid of vegetation and hung precariously low to the ground. Although she swerved to avoid it, she knew the attempt was unsuccessful and that in all likelihood she had torn her coat.

On closer look, however, she was surprised that the tree and its branches appeared unnatural, almost like wood carved into tapestry. There was a one dimensional quality about it and although tempted to reach out and touch the form, its lifelessness disturbed her.

No wind stirred the trees; a sinister eeriness prevailed. Even the people had vanished. The street appeared under-lit as though the lights, shrouded in unearthly fog, were unable to penetrate the melancholy shadows of the night. The traffic noises had been muffled into silence and she strained to hear almost any sound.

The premonition of despondency deepened; she was desperate to shake it. As the sensation of foreboding engulfed her she looked in alarm down the vacant street. She began walking briskly and then ran as the urgency bubbled up within her.

The neon lights from an all-night diner beckoned her forward. She raced without gaining ground, her feet barely moving. By what presentiment she reached the eatery she had no idea, having never seen the place before. She opened the door and stood hesitantly in the narrow confines of the entranceway waiting for the occurrence to unfold.

From out of nowhere, a huge, barrel chested man charged through the door pushing her aside. He stood with his hands on his hips; his broad shoulders straining against the seams of his houndstooth jacket as he scanned the inside perimeters of the dimly lit café. Obviously annoyed with the results of his search he whirled about in a hasty attempt at retreat.

They briefly came face to face with one another. Except for dark beady eyes peeping out from behind wire-rimmed glasses he was totally masked in a grizzled black beard. Neither spoke but she had the strange impression he recognized her. As quickly as he had entered he was gone, leaving behind the acrid smell of rancid whiskey.

She continued on in, selecting a seat at the end of the counter. Except for the proprietor, a few men in uniform and a couple of civilians, the place was empty. It was a typical joint out of the nineteen-forties. The walls were covered with war-time posters and pictures of Uncle Sam. A woman’s voice wailed from the jukebox declaring that until her lover walked beside her, she’d walk alone. The sense of timelessness was all-pervading and she quivered in the eerie starkness of the sepia-muted surroundings.

From behind the counter the owner was holding court with a few sailors who were drinking beer in a booth across the way. So engrossed in venturing the year’s most popular war film, he paid no attention to her but continued betting on, Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo, while the boisterous swabbies had wagered their pay on, The Fighting Sullivans.

At the other end of the counter, however, a young man sipped his coffee and eyed her attentively. Without waiting for an invitation he got up and came over to sit down beside her.

Hello there, he said, I’m Jim… Jim Hudson. Mind if I join you? His inquiry, although nonchalant, had a sense of determination about it.

She scrutinized him suspiciously but said nothing.

His broad smile had a down-on-the-farm quality that melted her heart and instantly alleviated her fears. She guessed he was about seventeen, maybe eighteen. Tall and lanky, he had an awkwardness about him that suggested he had just recently finished growing into a man’s body. His clothes, although threadbare, unwashed and wrinkled, could not diminish his stature and with a profile that resembled something off an old Roman coin he appeared square-jawed and forceful. His curly hair, badly in need of cutting, was soft and brown like his brows. His eyes, ringed with sleeplessness, were the color of nutmeg.

He started talking non-stop as though they were old friends who had arranged to meet here. Unlike the other manifestations where she had simply been a bystander, her existence at this time and place was acknowledged by this youthful stranger. Could it be that her aura was capable of exerting some influence beyond the sphere of reality?

I’ve got to get out of this town, he said leadenly. The fella I hit in the bar the other night died this morning… a blood clot or something on his brain. We were fighting… I didn’t hit him any harder than he hit me but he went down… out cold, he painstakingly explained until satisfied that she understood the situation. I killed him and you know it’ll mean prison for sure.

She wanted to ask him if he had mistaken her for someone else but he continued on as though any interruption would prove fatal.

You’ve got to tell them for me. Tell them I’ve enlisted in the Marines under the name of Joshua Hezekiah, from the Bible… you get it, JH? That way they’ll know for sure it’s me.

I’m afraid that… , she tried to interject, . . . you’ve got me…

"Please, I don’t have much time. I’m catching the bus for boot camp in twenty minutes and I wanted her… Sally… all of them really, to know