Lost In Time

By Peter D. Bull

John Bull,redundant and depressed sees a jacket in a charity shop window which unbeknown to him has an historical relic in the lining. He’s drawn to the jacket but he doesn’t know why. Forces from the 15th century have chosen him to return the relic to them, and are manipulating his every move. They chose him for good reason. Back through several previous lives, he had proved himself to be resourceful, brave and capable. The forces have developed a way of transporting someone in time & John finds himself inexplicably interested in regression. His friend Sam tells him that he’s mad to be regressed, but he does it anyway. Instead of going back to the 15th century where the forces are waiting for him, he is redirected to his other lovers & lives. He has to drop into his old body in each life, until finally the process is perfected, and he finds himself sitting at a table with one of the greatest men in history. He falls in love with his granddaughter and makes her pregnant after a raunchy night of sex with her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 18, 2017
• ISBN: 9780244301873

Book preview

Lost In Time

LOST IN TIME

By

Peter D. Bull

COPYRIGHT

Published by Lulu Enterprises Inc.

3101 Hillsborough Street

Suite 210

Raleigh, NC 27607-5436

United States of America

Copyright © 2019 PETER D. BULL

Category: Fiction, General

ISBN: 978-0-244-30187-3

Front cover image © PETER D. BULL

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

DISCLAIMER

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organisations, events or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

CHAPTER ONE

For almost three years, John Bull had been out of work after having been made redundant by Ford Motors in Dagenham.

He had spent a great deal of his time just wasting away the days in snooker halls and pubs, and when the money allowed he would lay the odd bet at one of the many bookies in his home town.  At first he had found it hard to adjust to being out of work, but like many others in the same position, he grew used to the daily stigma and embarrassment of his situation, and as time went by he wondered if he could actually face working again.

He’d built up a small network of people in his area who were also on the dole, and when it was possible they would get together in two’s or three’s to hang around the local shopping mall, and would invariably end up having a moan about their situation and the system that they were certain had put them there.

Some of them had turned to crime, and others had just given up altogether, not having been bothered to even look for work.

Many had started dealing in drugs, and had no intention of looking for work, but John had not gone down that route. He’d seen too many of the unfortunates being sent to prison for such antics. At thirty-two years of age he felt as though he was well and truly on the scrap heap of life, and saw no way of getting back on track. Work was impossible to get locally, and he felt that he was too old for the few jobs that were available.

He had fallen out with his girlfriend a year earlier due to the pressures of unemployment, and was even more disillusioned when she’d got back into full time work herself. It made him feel like a ponce when she’d come home and offered him a handout from her first month’s money.

He’d told her in anger to stuff it, and walked out of their shared flat to get drunk, only to find her gone when he’d arrived back later that night. He was well aware that she had used the episode as an excuse. He didn’t consider it to be a serious enough situation to warrant her leaving him. She’d left her engagement ring and every bit of jewellery that he’d ever bought her over the years, and that added up to a lot as he’d been working nights for a long while and had been on good money. He had put it all into a Lloyds bank coin bag, and had put it at the back of a drawer just in case they ever made it up. He thought that she’d be well impressed if he still had the stuff when she came back to him. They had been together for twelve years, and he now started to wonder if she’d been seeing somebody else if she could walk out on him so easily over something so trivial. The thought of her being unfaithful to him was grinding him into the ground. He constantly felt sick with the thought of it. He’d tried to contact her after a month, but she had changed her mobile number. He was now as low as he could get and the future was so bleak that he tried to sleep with the aid of drink and pills, just so that he didn’t have to think about his miserable life. 

With his parents constantly nagging at him to get off of his arse and get a job, he was beginning to feel as though it was all for nothing, and had on more than one occasion, felt like taking an overdose of something to block out reality for good, once and for all.

Each week he would collect his dole money, and even with what he saw as a restraint in his spending, he was broke again after three days. So more and more of his time was spent at the pub, where he grew more and more depressed. He was in a bad place in his mind and he was aware that something had to change, and soon. The thoughts of suicide going through his head were worrying him, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t do something silly at some point in the future, especially when drunk.

He was at his parent’s house one day and was waiting for his mother to bring a cup of tea out into the garden to him. He was looking at a magazine that had been left on the bench. He noticed a page dedicated to depression and self-help. As he read on, he became uncharacteristically interested in what he read. It touched on regression therapy, something that he had never heard of before. He tore out the two pages and stuffed them into his pocket to read later. His tea was given to him, which he drank thirstily. He borrowed ten pounds from his mother. She told him not to mention it to his father, and he left after kissing her goodbye, and promising to try harder to get a job.

On the way home, he passed by an Oxfam shop. He noticed a jacket in the window, which was displayed on a worn-out manikin. It was only an ordinary looking jacket, grey in colour, but something stuck in his mind as he walked on towards home. Later that day he read the magazine article and was fascinated by the thought of regression. During the evening as he was going about the normal pattern of his mundane life, he kept thinking about the jacket. He had no intention of buying it, but never the less it kept coming into his mind.

The next day was a Saturday. He generally liked Saturdays for some inexplicable reason, because in reality, every day blended into the next seamlessly. It wasn’t as though it was a day off of work to be enjoyed, as every day was now a day off of work. He decided that he was going to put a bet on as he’d been given the unexpected ten pounds by his mother.

He placed his bet early on in the morning; way before the day’s racing had started.

As he walked around the town, he thought once more about the jacket, and decided to have another look at it as it was only in the next street from where he’d decided to have a coffee.

As he approached the shop, he was surprisingly disappointed to see that it was no longer in the window. He had an inexplicable interest in the garment. He looked into the display area, and noticed a man holding it up to himself inside the shop.

A feeling of loss came over him as the man tried it on. Without thinking about it, he rushed into the shop and stood near to the man as he looked into the full-length mirror. The lady who was serving asked the man if the jacket suited him, or if he would like to try another of the many jackets hanging on the rails inside the curtained off area.

It is a bit tight on me. The man replied, and handed it to the lady. She hung it over the rack in order to show him to the other area to see more jackets. In a split-second John had picked it up and walked out of the shop with it. The woman serving was still attending to the man so didn’t notice John leave, if she had in fact ever noticed that he was there in the first place.

John would never have stolen it under normal circumstances, but he’d spent his ten pounds on the horses, so he was broke yet again. He ran down the road until he was out of the street, where he slowed down to look at his new jacket. He put it on and was very comfortable in it. Although a little tatty, it was very him. It felt as though he’d had it for years. He was unable to understand why he liked it so much, he felt at one with the garment.

His Saturday was off to a good start, and was made even better when he went into the bookies to find that he had won just over two hundred pounds on an outsider. Things really are looking up, he thought to himself. He put another twenty pounds onto a late race, then immediately regretted the move, but it was done.

He stopped off for a beer on the way home, and hired a DVD for the coming evening.

As he relaxed on his worn-out sofa waiting for the racing to come on the television, he fell asleep. He had a weird dream about all manner of things, but the jacket came into it. He dreamed that there was a valuable historic pendant in one of the pockets. He awoke just as the race was starting. There were ten minutes to go before the start, so he poured himself a beer to enjoy whilst he watched his money go down the drain. For the first few furlongs his horse did nothing to get excited about. Then the leading horse fell, bringing down three others. His horse was now in fourth place and going well. The commentator was getting more and more excited, so too was John. His beauty was now in second place and looking strong. He was now standing and shouting encouragement to the sweating animal as it romped home in first place against all the odds. He’d won for the second time in one day.

He was ecstatic as he jumped around the room like a child at Christmas. He bounced up and down on the worn-out Sofa until a bit of the stuffing popped through the covering in one corner.

Thank you, thank you, thank you God. He shouted at the top of his voice.

My luck’s changing at last. He exclaimed again and again.

Then he stopped bouncing, became deadly serious and said to himself out loud. It’s that jacket.  It’s a lucky jacket.

He looked around to locate the garment as it contained the winning ticket. He felt into the right-hand pocket which was the pocket that he favoured in any jacket or coat. It wasn’t there. He panicked and felt in the left-hand pocket, it wasn’t there either. He started to shake with fear as he went back to the right-hand pocket. Nothing at all was found. He felt into his jeans and emptied the contents of all four pockets. Again he found nothing but fluff and some odd change from his beer purchase. He went back to the jacket because he knew full well that he’d put the slip there, and in the corner of his favoured pocket, he found a small hole. He hung the jacket from his left hand and held it high. At the same time he was feeling from the outside to see if he could feel anything. He felt what he presumed was a small coin, and could hear paper rustle. He put his right hand back into the pocket and with the action of two fingers, he made the hole bigger. He located the source of the rustling noise; it was the winning ticket. He fell to the ground on his knees with relief. Then he went back in to get the coin. It may be a pound. He thought.

He had the object between his two fingers, and gently removed it from the enlarged hole.

He was still on his knees as he looked at the wondrous looking item. It was certainly old, and it was most certainly made of purest yellow gold.

His mouth dropped open at the sight of the work of art. It was magnificent. It glistened in the light from the window, and weighed a lot considering the size of the thing. Then he remembered his dream.

What the hell’s going on? He said out loud to himself.

I stole a jacket, and my life has turned around in a matter of hours. What IS happening here?

He ran down to the bookies with his ticket and relieved them of three hundred and fifty pounds.

He then walked around to the Oxfam shop and apologised for his stupidity in walking out with a jacket and forgetting to pay for it. The lady smiled and told him not to worry, and charged him three pounds. He gave her ten then skipped off home with a grin on his face, feeling self-righteous at his honesty and his generosity.

Once at home, he retrieved the golden coin from its hiding place, and scrutinised it more carefully.

It’s definitely gold, and it’s definitely foreign. He thought to himself.

There was no date on it, just a head on both sides. It was very thick too, nearly an eighth of an inch thick with a rounded edge, but not perfectly round, it was slightly misshapen with a small hole for a chain to be inserted above the head of the person depicted.

It must be a pendant of some kind if it has a hole in it. It wouldn’t be a coin. He reasoned aloud.

He hid the item in the back of a drawer, and went to his friend’s flat.

Come on Sam, we’re off out for a curry on me. He said to his hard-up pal.

His friend had never seen John with more than just his dole money to spend, so was surprised at the very least, but not withstanding that, he bounded out into the night air with relish at the thought of a free meal.

Where did you get hold of money? What have you been up to you slippery bastard? He asked with a grin.

John just laughed and said that he’d had a win. Not a word was said about finding the pendant, but he did think to himself on that night out, that as something good was clearly attached to the object, it would be best if he wore it around his neck for safe keeping, but as gold is renowned for being a soft metal, he wouldn’t want to wear the hole any bigger with any kind of metal chain. At the back of his mind, he remembered that he still had a leather cord in the drawer from years ago. That will do nicely if I can find it. He said to himself.

After a good meal for which his friend was immensely grateful, John went home to find the leather cord that he’d had since his clubbing days. It was exactly where he thought it was. He sat and re - read the article about regression. He found it strangely enticing. It was not a subject that he’d ever given any thought to up to that time, but he was drawn to the idea. Maybe it would help my depression. He thought. But if it didn’t help, it would certainly be interesting to say the least.

When he’d been looking for the cord, John remembered seeing a ball of blue tack in the drawer that he’d kept when he’d taken down the decorations last Christmas. He pressed the pendant into it on both sides to create a perfect likeness of the face that was depicted on it. His idea was that if he was going to find out about the history of the piece, he wouldn’t have to show the original to anyone, thus avoiding the possibility of having it stolen from him, or losing it when removed from his neck.

That night John didn’t sleep well. He was turning over all manner of things in his head. Even when he did manage to drift into a shallow sleep, he dreamed of being taken back in time, and he liked the idea. The pendant that was now a permanent feature around his neck was strangely comforting. It was as though he’d always owned it, and it was warm at times. He thought he’d imagined the warmth coming from it, but then he noticed a slight discolouration to his skin where it had touched him. It was nothing to worry about, he thought, but never the less it was a fact; he was slightly red in that area.

He read the article for the fourth time and was no less intrigued at the end of it. The next morning, he asked his friend Sam if he could look up something on his computer, and although Sam was reluctant to allow anyone into his private world, John’s curry treat the night before made it impossible to refuse the request.  

I’ll get you into it. What do you want to look up? Sam asked.

I just want to look something up on Google.

Well WHAT do you want to look up? Sam grinned, expecting something of a sexual nature to be asked for.

I just want to find out something about regression. John replied.

What the fuck is regression? He asked.

It’s when a therapist, has the ability to put you into a state of trance I think. A bit like hypnosis. Then you’re taken back in time to previous lives that you’ve lived generations earlier. Sometimes hundreds of years back.

You don’t believe in all that old mumbo jumbo do you? Sam smirked

I don’t think it IS mumbo jumbo. John insisted. I don’t know much about it but I’d like to try it out. I think it could be really cool to go back in time.

You’d be mental to mess about with all that occult stuff. You’ll end up having mental problems. Sam said. Mind you, you’re half way there already I suppose. He added with a grin.

It’s nothing to do with the occult Sam. John said, ignoring Sam’s insult. It seems to me that it’s a perfectly natural thing to want to do. If a person had already lived those lives, and had come through to these times, what could go wrong? It’s not as though they’d be going back into those lives, they’d just be remembering them again. What’s the problem with that?

Well wild horses wouldn’t drag me into that world. It’s all unnatural. If we were meant to find out about all that stuff, if in fact it does exist, we’d have been given the ability to do it ourselves. And how do you know that there have been any previous lives? This bloke could put you under, go off and have a sandwich and a coffee, come back half an hour later and give you a load of old bollocks about what you’ve supposed to have told him, and charge you eighty quid for his troubles.

Well I’m only looking into it; I find it interesting. Now for God’s sake turn your computer on and get it up on the screen for me to look at. John shouted with mock irritation.

Over the next hour John read with enthusiasm all he wanted to know about regression. He even went into an area where therapists were advertising their services. There was one that stood out. Firstly because it was the only woman listed. Secondly it was local to him. It was only three miles up the road. He took the number of the lady and wrote it on the back of an unsuccessful betting slip that he’d found in his pocket from weeks ago.

He still was not fully intending to go through with the visit, but he felt it strangely comforting that he now had the phone number of the therapist and her address, so he was really only one step away from being regressed, if he chose to go.

A week or more went by and he and Sam met up a couple of times to play snooker. Sam took the opportunity to make fun out of the situation regarding regression.

Seen any old faces from the past two hundred years lately? He mocked.

I saw Jesus last night. He added. He wanted back the money he loaned me two thousand years ago. He laughed raucously. Apparently I owe him fifty grand in interest. He continued laughing out loudly at his feeble joke.

John just gave him a look of pity. Shaking his head from side to side in disbelief.

Just take your shot and shut up you idiot. And while you’re at it, grow up a bit. He snapped.

The next morning, out of nothing more than curiosity, John walked the three miles to the address he’d written down. It was a room above a hair dresser in the high street. It had a separate front door, so he deduced that it could be one room of a flat being used for therapy.

As he was standing in front of the door looking up at the window, an attractive young woman opened the door and saw him standing there.

Can I help you? She asked with a smile.

Er. I was just, er looking. I’ve got this address and was just making sure that er, I knew where it was if I needed to come. He was caught off guard and spluttered his words like a nervous child.

If you’re looking for Bethany Arnold, that’s me.

He looked at her with an embarrassed grimace.

Oh! Er. Yes that’s the name. I got you off of the internet.

I see. Are you interested in regression then? She enquired.

Well, .... I am, but I’ve not made up my mind yet.

Well look. She replied. I’m off for a coffee just over the road. I’ll only be fifteen minutes or so. If you would like to join me and ask me a few questions, you’re more than welcome.

Er, yes please, I’d like to find out a little more before I commit to a session.

Good, come on then, we’ll go over to Costa’s it’s only a minute up the road on the other side. What’s your name?

John. He said nervously.

Come on then John. And with that they both strolled up the road to have their coffee.

John asked so many questions that they were still sitting there forty-five minutes later. It was getting slightly embarrassing for him to have taken up so much of Bethany’s time, not having committed to spending any money with her.

Is that any clearer or is there anything else that you’d like to know? Bethany asked.

No there’s nothing else, I think I understand it all. I’ll think about it and ring you tomorrow. Thanks very much for your time, let me pay for the coffees, it’s the least I can do.

Well there’s no need but if you want to, thank you very much. I’ll expect to hear from you then John. She held out her slender hand, and he shook it gently.

See you soon. She said as she walked off.

He sat down again when she’d left and thought to himself that she had been very friendly.

He wondered if she was single. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, or any other kind of ring on her left hand come to that. She could have said I hope to hear from you, but she’d said, I expect to hear from you.

Then she said, See you soon. Not I HOPE to see you soon. He wondered if there was any chance that she’d found him attractive. She was certainly a stunner to look at, with her big brown eyes, and her jet-black hair almost down to her shoulder blades. He’d have to see her again if only to suss her out.

That night John met up with Sam and told him all about the meeting with Bethany.

If you ask me John. Sam said. You’d do well to forget about the whole thing. She sounds like she’s way out of your league, and even if she isn’t, you’d be mad to get into all that shit. She’d drive you round the bend with all that stuff. You’ll end up believing in goblins and fairies next thing you know.

I’ve not said that I’m doing anything about it Sam, I’m merely looking into it, and now that I’ve met Bethany I want to meet her again.

Bethany? What kind of weird name is that? She’s probably a witch at weekends. Probably got a covern upstairs. BETHANY! He slurred with contempt in his voice. Bethany the harpy. I bet you a pound to a pinch of shit she’s got a black cat hidden away somewhere.

After four pints of lager, having been paid for by John, Sam was becoming more loose tongued and a little loud.

John left him in the pub as he still hadn’t finished his last drink.

I’ll ring you tomorrow. John called as he exited the brass handled rotating door.

Yeah ok.  Sam slurred once again.

John was home within ten minutes of leaving Sam. He once again picked up the magazine and started to read the article that was now so much a part of his every day thinking. He wondered yet again whether or not he’d imagined the interest shown by Bethany.

He dismissed the idea of phoning her there and then with the pretence of asking more questions about regression. He decided that she’d see through it, and think of him as a nuisance.  He had to play the whole thing cool if he wanted to impress her. She wasn’t like other women that he’d met. She was mystical, and wonderful, and beautiful. He was not about to blow his chance of a relationship with this woman, if indeed there was a chance.

As he lay on the sofa with his feet up, he started to drift into a deep sleep. He didn’t hear the siren of the ambulance that was on its way to pick up Sam after having been struck and injured by a car just a few yards from the pub. He’d walked out into the road without looking, and was hit at twenty-five miles an hour by a blue Nissan.

Witnesses later told the Police that Sam had just walked out in front of the car as though he’d intended to be hit.

It was almost as though he’d tried to commit suicide. One man had said.

The next morning, quite unaware of Sam’s injury, John picked up the phone and spoke to Bethany, who sounded happy to hear from him. That gave him even more reason to get down there and start his regression as soon as he could.

She told John that it was her half day, but if he wanted to go through with it, she would see him that day. He feigned concern for the loss of her time off, but she’d insisted, which egged him on even more.

An appointment time of 1 o’clock was agreed upon, and he was there on the dot. He spoke through the intercom and she buzzed him in. He shut the door behind himself and made his way to the top of the dimly lit staircase. Bethany appeared at the top of the steps when he was a third of the way up. As he looked up at her, he could see the outline of her shapely legs through her gypsy style white skirt. She had left the door to her consultation room open, and so the light shone from behind her, showing everything up to her white knickers. It was as though she was wearing nothing at all. John wondered if she had realised that the light being behind her would have that effect.

He entered the surprisingly professional looking room and was asked to sit down on a chair in front of Bethany’s light oak desk. The walls were adorned with diplomas and certificates of all sorts. He didn’t like to look too closely at them as it may seem as though he was checking her out.

As he made himself comfortable in the plush green velvet covered chair, Bethany started to write down John’s details. She asked why he wanted to be regressed. There was no way that he was about to say, because I’m depressed and want to find out if anything in my past is responsible for it. He’d sound like a nutter. He thought.

Instead he said that he was interested in finding out a little about his history.

This explanation seemed to do the trick. She wrote down everything as he answered, hardly looking up at him. This was a bit of a disappointment to him. He’d hoped for a little interest from her. As she sat there with her black locks caressing her face, and her black rimmed reading glasses, John thought that she was the sexiest woman he’d ever met. He could no longer see through her white skirt, but he was imagining what was hidden from his searching eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

When she had all the information that she required, Bethany asked John if he was ready to be regressed. He answered in the affirmative and was asked to lie down on his back with his head on the white pillow. Although he was doing everything that was asked of him, his mind was most definitely on one thing only. Bethany was well aware that she was having an effect on John, and had to ask him to relax and to concentrate on what she was about to say.

She placed the recorder onto the small table that was situated next to her, and pressed the start button.

The tone of her voice changed noticeably. She became more softly spoken. She asked John to imagine that he was sitting in a comfortable chair in the gentle sunlight of a walled garden.

The birds are chirping and the sound of running water can be heard in the distance. You are completely relaxed and you feel safe. The walls of the garden are very high and covered with climbing roses. The sun is warm on your face and your eyes are closed. You don’t have a worry in the world, everything is at one with you and you are at one with the world. You start to drift off into a deep sleep in that warm, safe garden. The birds are still chirping and the gentle sound of the trickling water can be heard from the stream not far away. You feel sleepy and more relaxed; your eyes are heavy and you need to sleep. Nothing is bothering you, and you feel safe and content with the world, and you don’t have a single worry.

Bethany was aware that John’s breathing pattern had changed, and her vast experience told her that he was almost under.

She continued.

"You are drifting off to a place where you have no pressures, no worries. You feel sleepy and are slipping into a deep, deep sleep. She snapped her fingers, and he was under hypnosis.

What is your name? She asked.

John Bull. He answered in a drunken like voice, slurred with pure relaxation. He was almost too relaxed to open his mouth to talk.

How old are you John?

Thirty-two.

What are the names of your parents?

Brian and Joan.

John. I’m going to take you back to a time before you were born to Joan, your mother. A time when you were on this earth before as a different person. A different spirit. I’d like you to go back three hundred years.

Mm.

What is your name?

My name is Henry Cartwright.

How old are you Henry? Bethany asked gently.

Forty-one years.

Are your mother and father still alive?

My father is.

What is your father’s name?

It’s the same as mine. Henry.

Do you have work?

Yes.

What do you do in your work?

I’m a builder and stone mason.

What year is it?

Seventeen hundred.

Where are you working today?

I am doing restoration work at the Tower of London.

How much money do you earn for this work?

No answer was forthcoming. The question was repeated, and repeated again.

It was unusual to get no response at all from a client that was in regression. Bethany was mildly concerned.

"I’m going to ask you to return to this current time Henry. When I count down from ten to zero, you will return to this place. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero. You are back with me here in this office.

There was no response from John. He jumped violently as he lay on the therapy bed.

Two minutes of complete confusion followed as John was suspended in another time and place, hearing what was going on around him, but also intermittently hearing Bethany talking to him. He couldn’t respond to her, he was being pulled away from the therapy bed, and towards a time that he didn’t want to go to. The pull was so great that he couldn’t speak, or even think about what was happening to him. Bethany’s voice had almost disappeared altogether, and the sounds of where he now found himself were getting stronger by the second. He thought he could hear some kind of building work going on.

FLASHES went through his mind and body as he became conscious of where he was.

All the confusion disappeared.

He heard a voice. Cartwright when the hell are you going to finish that corner stone? You’ve been on it now for two hours, now get a move on or there will be a price to pay.

John looked around to see a man’s face that was vaguely familiar. His garb was absurd with garments that he’d only seen in historical books or on television in old films.

Well what are you gaping at you fool? The large man asked. You look as though you’ve seen a ghost. What’s wrong with you man? Are you unwell?

John stared at him, still trying to work out in his mind what was going on.

Get on with your fucking work you idiot. The man screamed at the top of his voice.

John returned to the stone that he had found himself working on, and to his absolute astonishment, he started to hone away at it as though he’d been doing the job all his life.

I’ll be watching you Cartwright. The man said.

One more time and you’re off the job do you understand me?

"Do you understand me you facing oaf?

Yes Sir. I do. I’m sorry sir. John called out in sheer panic.

Get on with it then. The man shouted as he turned to leave. "You were one of the