Time Fixer - The Blake Bergman Chronicles: Time Fixer, #1

By John Vella

People say that when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. They are wrong!

I know this because I remember when I died. I remember it as though it was yesterday.

In fairness, it was yesterday, but that's not the point.

The point is that when I died, my life most certainly did not flash before my eyes.

Thinking about it, I must admit that I'm glad it didn't, as I hadn't really done anything worth revisiting. Up until that point, anyway.

My name is Blake Bergman, and this is my story…

Buckle up for a roller coaster ride of emotion as you follow the exploits of Blake Bergman and his friends, as he attempts to save the whole of time and space, and get the girl, armed with nothing but a bracelet and a smart mouth!

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Vella
• Release date: Oct 20, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393557807

Book preview

Chapter 1

The day had started pretty much the same as any other. The alarm clock woke me at 06:00, as it did every day, just in time for the morning news bulletin. I reached over and fumbled for the button to silence the unwelcome voice of the radio announcer, and grudgingly threw back the covers, before rolling out of bed, wishing that I had managed to get more than three hours of sleep.

I’d had the dream again last night. The same one I have had every night, and I do mean literally every single night, over the previous six months, and my dumb-arse brain still hasn’t figured out that it’s only a dream.

Walking through a vaguely familiar park, hand in hand with my girlfriend, Diana, on a pleasant autumn morning. There is a thick carpet of red leaves on the ground. I can smell the enticing aroma of candy floss and waffles before we turn the corner and see the stalls, with groups of people eagerly queuing up for their sweet treats. That smell, combined with the fragrance from the Sweet Autumn Clematis flowers which line the pathway is overpowering, but at the same time romantic.

Diana is wearing a matching outfit, as always. Today it is a pair of navy-blue shorts and a tight-fitting pale green t-shirt, which contrasts the mane of curly red hair, which cascades in a waterfall past her shoulders and ripples in the breeze. She looks fantastic, just like she always did. Five-foot seven inches of perfection. To call her beautiful would be an understatement.

Not just outwardly, though that is undeniably true, but inwardly, as well. Diana is as smart as she is good looking and sees the good in everything and everyone. She also laughs at all my jokes. OK, most of my jokes, but still! I still cannot believe that this gorgeous, sexy goddess chooses to be with me. Every time I see her smile or hear her laugh, it feels like I’ve just won the lottery, and it’s my birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one.

We walk past what looks like an old, abandoned cinema, the walls covered in peeling movie posters from the eighties. I can clearly make out Robocop, Battle Beyond the Stars, Strange Invaders, The Woman in Red, Bill & Ted’s Excellent Adventure. There’s another poster, with a man running away from a helicopter, and I see icy mountains in the background, but I can’t make out the title.

A child’s laughter attracts our attention, and we turn to see a young couple pushing a stroller. As they walk past us, the couple smile at us, as does the toddler. The toddler’s eyes glow red, which startles me, but Diana squeezes my hand, and as I turn to her, she flashes her eyebrows at me, and everything seems perfectly normal once again.

I look up at the sky and feel a raindrop land on my cheek. We hear a short rumble of thunder and the heavens open, almost instantly drenching us. Diana shrieks and we start running toward an abandoned bandstand, Diana laughing with the gay abandon of a child, and me trying my best not to fall over.

We run into the bandstand and come to an abrupt stop as we clatter into the railings and end up, panting and soaking wet in each other’s arms, Diana still laughing while trying to catch her breath. The rain has made Diana’s top almost entirely see-through, revealing her amazing curves. Damn, this woman is hot! Tearing my gaze away, I look into her eyes, which sparkle like the most beautiful emeralds.

OK, Blake, I tell myself. This is it... time to propose! Now or never, just do it! You know the script off by heart. It’s easy! Diana Hunter, I love you. Will you marry me? I take off my jacket, wrapping Diana in it, and gently kiss the back of her hand. I tell her that I have never been so happy and the last year has been like a dream. She replies, If it seems like a dream, it probably is a dream, but now it’s time to wake up, and then she vanishes. I mean literally vanishes, before my very eyes, as though Scotty, from Star Trek, had beamed her up!

Even after she has disappeared, her soft voice echoes the words, over and over again, Wake up, Blake.

I call out her name and just as I do every day, wake up in a cold sweat, the pain as tangible as the day before, Diana, I mutter to myself, Where the hell are you? Where did you go? Why? I look at the clock. The dim red LED figures tell me that the time is 3:33 am. It is always 3:33 am. I silently curse the night for being so long, and the bed for being so big, and so lonely, as I drift back into another fitful sleep.

I couldn’t remember the last time that I had slept for more than six hours straight, but I consoled myself with the fact that a hot shower and plenty of coffee would wake me up. Thank god I didn’t get hangovers! Sipping my coffee, I couldn’t help but smile at the irony of it all. Here I am, one of the biggest names in the world of cardiology, but I am unable to mend my own broken heart. I’m sure Diana would have laughed at that one, although I wouldn’t even have thought of it if she were here. Nope, it’s too early for paradoxes, and I haven’t got anywhere nearly enough caffeine in my system for those mental gymnastics.

Still, there was only one more day to go. I had booked the flights from New York to London almost a year ago. It was meant to be the start of a once-in-a-lifetime romantic tour of Europe, starting with my home town, before moving onto Paris, Venice, Rome and a dozen other cities, most of which I hadn’t told anyone else, not even Diana about, as it was going to be the most magnificent surprise-fest of all time. Now it was going to be a not so romantic solo voyage, but even with everything that had happened, I was damned if I was going to give up a trip back to London, even if it meant going on my own.

Sitting down with my cup of coffee, I switched on the morning news. Same old same old. War, famine and economic doom and gloom. What a time to be alive! Absentmindedly flicking through the channels, I came across a documentary about World War 2. I watched this for a few minutes before picking up the remote control. If my maths is right, and it usually is, the football match should be starting any minute now, and I really want to watch this game.

I pressed the button to change the channel, but just as it flicked over, I saw a familiar face on the screen. It was only there for a split second but... Diana? No, it couldn’t be! That footage is ancient, but I was so sure it was her. Even in black and white, that magnificent hair was unmistakable. I switched back to the documentary, but the scene had changed.

Cursing, I changed the channel back to the football. Come on, Blake, you idiot. You’re still seeing her face everywhere. She’s obviously moved on, and it’s time for you to do the same. If only I could. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw her face everywhere until the day I die.

I watched the football match and was happy that my team had won. Note to self: don’t forget that everyone calls it soccer in this country, and even after all these years your colleagues still love winding you up. Don’t let them! I Turned on the radio and, after agreeing with Sting that, yes, I am an Englishman in New York, jumped in the shower. Washing my face, I realised that I hadn’t shaved for several days.

There was no way I would have gotten away with this when Diana was here.

Going for the caveman look, are we? she’d say, with that glint in her eye. Giving my chin a final going over, just to make sure it was as smooth as smooth can be, I managed to catch myself with the blade. I’d been using cut-throat razors for many years and rarely managed to have a full shave without shedding a few drops of the red stuff. Looking down at the sink full of water, I saw three droplets of blood fall landing in an almost perfectly straight line, diagonally, just like the forward-slash key on my computer. I was more annoyed with my own clumsiness as I picked up a wad of tissue and held it to my face.

My father was a great one for dishing out advice, whether it was requested or not. One of these nuggets of wisdom was If you’re going to use aftershave, don’t cut yourself,

I wish I’d thought about that before I splashed a palm-full of that devil’s piss all over my freshly cut face, Jesus H Acid-Faced Christ! I yelled out, doing a little My face is on fire dance, and managing, with a terrifying degree of accuracy, to kick the corner of the bathtub with my little toe.

Now doing a one-legged dance, one hand clutching my obviously broken beyond repair foot and the other wafting my molten lava chin, I couldn’t help but laugh through the pain, and I was still laughing as I fell over with all the grace of a tap-dancing elephant, landing in a heap on the floor. Diana would have been in hysterics, watching this, and there she was again. In my head. Always in my head.

For several months after she vanished, the police were convinced that I was responsible for her disappearance. I was hauled into the station on more than one occasion and, since they had already decided that I had murdered her, they didn’t seem too concerned about where she was, and no amount of pleading with them to continue with their investigation made any difference.

I showed them the receipts for the European tour and asked why I would spend so much, and it was a hell of a lot, by the way, if I was planning on killing her. Did they care? No! I took out adverts in the newspapers, asking her to let someone, anyone know that she was safe and well, even if she didn’t want to see me again just so I’d know she was OK, but no luck there either. I also hired a private detective to try and find her, but he couldn’t find a single lead to follow.

Even something as simple as dressing for work is less fun since she left. It was so easy, You’re wearing that shirt with that tie? she would say, Try this tie instead. It matches your eyes, And the thing is she was right. She was always right. Checking my look in the mirror, I decided that it would do, and left the house, hoping that the final day before my well-earned vacation would be a quiet one.

It was another glorious New York morning. The sun was already up, and the smell of freshly baked bagels filled the air. The city that never sleeps, indeed. An ambulance sped past me, sirens blaring and lights flashing, in the direction of the hospital. Oh, please don’t let that be a heart attack on its way to ruin my day, I said to myself. Although I suppose if it is, that person is probably having a slightly worse day than me.

Chapter 2

The drive to the hospital was uneventful, as it always was. I spent the entire trip looking at the people walking by, living their lives, as I did every day, on the off chance that I would glimpse Diana. I never did, and I was beginning to think that maybe she was gone forever. Was it something I had done? Had I scared her off, with my boundless enthusiasm? I know that our relationship had been intense, but I always thought that was what she wanted. She had never given me the impression that I was going too fast, in fact, it was she who had suggested moving in together, three weeks after we had started seeing each other.

I fought to shake these thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t go back to the dark place again. I had been there once before, and it very nearly finished me. I had managed to get the drinking under control, although I still have a few drinks every now and then. OK, every night, but it helps me get to sleep, and it’s not a whole bottle of whisky anymore.

Arriving at the hospital, I parked my car and started to walk across the car park. Looking around I saw the usual brand-new BMWs, Porsches, Mercedes, and then there was my car, a matt grey 1972 Hillman Hunter, imported from Australia by a friend of my dad, who gave it to me for my eighteenth birthday. It was an old car, but it still ran like a dream. The Hillman Hunter - Even my car seemed intent on reminding me of my Diana.

The five-minute walk from the car park to the hospital wasn’t too bad when the weather was on my side, which it was today. Walking past an alleyway, I saw the usual collection of homeless people who were always hassling us doctors for money on our way into work. I always kept a wad of five-dollar bills, which I handed out. I knew a lot of these people by name and was happy that they would spend it on a hot meal, or a coffee, and not on booze or drugs.

With each five-dollar bill, they also received a business card with the contact details for a half-way house, where they could get free medical check-ups and help sorting out housing and maybe even a job. How many people took advantage of this, I don’t know, but at least I was trying to help them.

I hadn’t even managed to get past the reception desk before I heard the PA system, Doctor Bergman to the Cardiology Suite. Calling Doctor Bergman,

I quickened my pace. The PA system didn’t generally call out my name unless something serious was going on, although my stomach was cursing the electronic witch for depriving it of the chance to enjoy a hot breakfast. Serves me right for hoping that the ambulance wasn’t bringing in a patient for me, I guess.

I entered the room, as I always did, in the style of a great classical actor entering the stage, exuding, or at least trying to exude, an air of confidence, which some have mistakenly called arrogance. It apparently worked, as I have a reputation, and a nickname. Iceberg. Because I’m always cool under pressure, or at least that’s what people tell me. Not bad, as far as nicknames go, I suppose. I was utterly shocked at the sight that greeted me.

The whole department had come together, and as soon as I entered the room, they started singing happy birthday and letting off party poppers. I looked at the calendar, which was hung on the wall, a corporate freebie with adverts for various medical supplies, and it was, indeed, the 27th of August - my birthday! I had completely forgotten about that. After the singing, if you can call it that, had finished, my boss, Doctor Robert Oakley, walked up to me. His meaty palm slapped my back, and this well-meaning assault was quickly followed up with an enthusiastically warm embrace. At least I think that’s what he was going for... it felt more like a boa-constrictor was trying to turn me into lunch!

This guy, at six foot eight inches, was a giant, no arguing with that, but he was a gentle giant. One of the good guys, who always had a smile on his face and never had a bad word to say about anyone. He took a step back and folded his arms. Looking at him standing there, I could fully understand where the nickname The Mighty Oak-ley had come from. He really did look as though he could withstand a hurricane, Doctor Bergman. Blake,

Doctor Oakley turned his attention to my colleagues,

"I don’t want to say too much because, just like most of you, I have known this man for more years than I care to remember, and I can honestly say, hand on heart, if you’ll pardon the pun, that he is one of the most talented doctors I have ever met.

He also happens to be one of the nicest people I have had the pleasure of meeting. And here we are, celebrating his forty-first birthday. I remember Diana telling about the time... he trailed off, drifting into a memory. Shaking himself out of his melancholy, Oakley raised himself to his full, imposing height, lifted his coffee mug and bellowed, To Doctor Blake Bergman. Happy birthday, and here’s to many more! Everybody in the room echoed his toast, before erupting into a gaggle of laughter, followed by a chorus of Happy birthday Doctor Bergman! and the most awful rendition of For he’s a jolly good fellow" that I had ever heard.

I gave my best look of mock horror, at this assault on my poor ears to the whole of the room, but it didn’t last as a trolley, full of bacon sandwiches, deli subs, various pastries, fresh fruit and pots of tea, coffee and fruit juice were wheeled into the room.

Now it’s a party! I shouted out, What are you all waiting for? Help yourselves, everyone! The rest of the day was remarkably uneventful. I spent most of it going through handover notes with my colleagues and making sure that everybody knew what they would be doing while I was away. Not that I needed to worry, of course. They are all professionals, and it’s not as if I’m planning on dying or anything, eh?

Managing to get away on time for a change, I trudged wearily back to my car, the only thing on my mind was getting home, devouring a hot meal and then hopefully getting sleep. More than four hours would be a nice change, though I couldn’t see that happening.

I saw my car and picked up the pace slightly, spurred on by the prospect of turning on the air-con, to try and counter the effects of the balmy New York summer evening, and blasting out some classic Brit-rock when I heard a noise behind me.

I don’t usually get nervous when out at night. I wouldn’t say I was a fighter by nature, but on the few occasions when it was needed, I’ve been able to punch harder than the other guy, but this evening was different.

Something just didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but something felt a little off. I turned my head slightly and saw a figure emerge from the alleyway. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up,

Hey pal, you got a light? he called over.

Sorry, I don’t smoke, I trailed off, as I saw the gun in his hand.

OK. In that case, you can just give me your wallet and your watch, and we can all be on our way, he said, quietly, but with a snarl that suggested he wasn’t in the mood to discuss the situation.

I have lived in the big city for many years and heard enough tales of muggings gone wrong to know not to argue. I also have two wallets. My ‘real’ wallet, which lives in my inside pocket and my ‘in case I get mugged’ wallet, which cost next to nothing from a charity shop and is full of Monopoly money. I figure that nobody who is going to rob me will stop to see how much they’ve made. Nobody in their right mind, anyway.

You can have my wallet, but I don’t have a watch, I said

Don’t fucking lie to me, man! he shouted back, staring straight at me. Even from this distance, I could see his pupils, and they looked like those of a junkie, looking to fund his next fix, but there was something about this guy that seemed strange,

With that expensive suit of yours, you’re telling me you don’t have a fancy Rolex or something? Just give me the wallet and the watch, and do it now, or I’ll blow your fucking head off!

At this point I saw another man, turning into the alleyway behind the mugger. Although he was quite far away, I could see him well enough to know that he must have been at least seven feet tall, and he was probably suffering from purpura. What else would account for his purple skin? Yep, even when I’m off duty, I’m still a doctor! My first thought was how to alert the third man to the danger, without letting my assailant know he was there.

Look, no watch! I shouted back, rolling up my jacket sleeve. Without another word, my assailant raised his arm, pointing the gun straight at me. I heard the gunshot, but I didn’t feel any pain. For a moment I thought he had missed me, but looking down at my shirt, I saw a small red dot, which quickly became a large red stain, growing as the blood pumped out of my body. This is bad. Very bad, I thought.

I fell back, but I didn’t feel anything when I hit the ground, although I did hear a thudding sound. It’s difficult to describe precisely what it sounded like, but it reminded me of the time that an intern accidentally tipped a pig carcass off the side of an examination table, and yes, in case you’re wondering, that intern was me.

I don’t know why I was surprised by the lack of pain. I am a surgeon, after all. I had spent some time working in the trauma unit, during my residency, and I knew all about the effect that the rush of adrenalin has on the body.

Hearing the gun drop to the floor and the sound of running footsteps, fading into the distance, I started feeling dizzy and was having trouble controlling my breathing. All I could hear now was my quickening heartbeat, building up to a crescendo. I recognised these as symptoms of shock, and I started to pray that someone would find me before the inevitable happened.

Lay on my back, looking up at the beautiful night sky, I felt that the stars, which seemed to be exceptionally bright tonight, were twinkling especially for me. When I began shivering uncontrollably, I knew exactly what that meant, although I wasn’t scared. I felt the darkness closing in, bringing with it a sense of tranquillity, the likes of which I had never felt before.

As the darkness enveloped me, like a warm blanket on a cold winter night, I felt sad. Not scared, just sad. Sorry that I would never find out what had happened to Diana. And then I had a weird thought. Walking home from work, last night, I had stopped at a corner shop and bought a new, limited edition yoghurt, and I had planned to eat it tonight. Well, that wasn’t going to happen now, was it?

Literally seconds from death, and I was thinking about yoghurt. Not my family, or friends, who I would never see again. Not the injustice of dying at the hand of another man, all for the sake of a few dollars and a non-existent watch. Yoghurt! That was absurd, even by my standards.

I closed my eyes and saw Diana’s face, I’ll see you soon, my love, I whispered, and then... nothing. Just black.

Chapter 3

Even before I became a doctor, I had often thought about what happens to people when they die. Not in a morbid, worms feasting on your rotting flesh kind of way. I have always been fascinated by the concept of the soul. Would we see pearly gates resting on clouds, with an old bearded man waiting to welcome us in? Do we find ourselves in an idyllic countryside setting, pain and disease-free and surrounded by our loved ones who have passed before us? Or maybe we would see ourselves floating around, like ghosts, like that guy in the movie, who gets shot and comes back as a ghost. I can’t remember the name of the movie right now, but I’m sure it’ll come to me. In any case, it was definitely none of the above.

I woke up in what looked like a standard hospital room and, I must admit that I felt slightly underwhelmed. The painted walls were bare, and all the windows, aside from one, were covered by thick curtains. Looking through that window, from my bed, I could see only a clear and cloudless sky. I caught the aroma of waffles. Or was it bread? Or perhaps it was both. Either way, it turns out that Heaven, if you believe