Mirrored Memories

By Robert M. Leger

Standing dazed on a street corner in Chicago, thinking he should be 2000 miles away. The man he sees in the mirror can't be him – there's got to be some kind of hidden trick in the glass.

If this isn't power production engineer John Shaketon, who is it? Is someone trying to drive him crazy, or maybe kill him? Does he know something that he should forget? Has he forgotten something that he should know – something behind the face that isn't his?

As Gwen Shaketon travels across the county with a man who says he is not John, her husband, the pair pick up a strange man, now working as a short order cook, but who says he used to be a preacher.

A Route 66 adventure, with lost gold mines, an attacking pack of coyotes, and Reverend Jack.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert M. Leger
• Release date: Jun 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201125950

Book preview

Chapter 1 – Desert Run

The wound where the bullet had grazed him in the temple still bothered him. He winced when it flared, but kept his hands on the wheel well enough.

Running down the interstate can be mind numbing, he thought. It’s too clean, plain, uniform. That’s the point, of course, and it’s made for those Point A to Point B folks who have to get somewhere.

This road was clean and wide, with good shoulders and guardrails, and mesmerizing. But if you could lift your eyes from the road, the world pushed its way through to your brain. A long stretch of deadness, hot, red, and dry, flattened out to the distant mountain towers. In the flatness, John Shaketon saw a mound of rocks here, a pitiful bush of some kind or other over there. He longed to pull over and inspect the ground. He knew, somewhere out there, maybe a little way from the deadening road, was life.

Underground, tiny, scrambling from seedling to tumbleweed shadow to rock pile, there was something. He knew it. Probably scorpions, but how could predators live without prey? Lizards, then. There was certain to be lizards, adaptable, slinky, knowing where to hide, where to find food and water.

Shaketon’s mind drifted, and the road let him drift by being straight, flat, empty.

Suddenly, from the corner of his eye off to the right and up ahead he saw something move. It startled him alert and he eased off the gas momentarily. An animal? A tumbleweed pinballed by the wind? The woman in the car, Gwen, was asleep beside him, and he didn’t want to wake her. In the back of the motor home, their new friend, Reverend Jack, slept. He hadn’t made a sound for over an hour. There were no cars in sight behind him or in front of him for as far as he could see, probably ten miles in either direction.

He took his foot off the gas completely and slowly glided down to a very slow roll. Gwen didn’t stir. The change in the engine noise was too gradual. He eased to the shoulder and pulled off to the side, being as gentle as he could. The shoulder was very good at this spot and the transition from the road was smooth. He stopped. Still she slept.

He left the engine running, put it in park, and carefully opened the door. The heat blast hit him, but it was late afternoon, cooling, and bearable. He glanced at her again as he closed the door gently, not all the way.

He walked around the back of the RV and off to the right, feeling the stones of the shoulder crunch under his feet. It was the first natural sound he’d heard in hours.

He tried to pick out the spot where he’d seen the movement and finally saw a dark object off in the distance. It didn’t move, and he stared a little longer.

What’s the matter, Gwen suddenly said, and he jumped. Turning, he saw she’d rolled the window down and was squinting at him, worried.

Nothing. It’s okay. I’m just stretching my legs. He turned away, hoping she wouldn’t offer to join him. For the moment, he wanted to be alone.

He waited, his back to the motor home, and when he didn’t hear her door, relaxed.

I’m just going to walk over here a ways, he called back over his shoulder, I’m fine.

He started walking slowly, first listening for her, then, when it was quiet, listening ahead. He forced some leg stretches to prove that’s what he was really doing.

No movement or sound behind him.

He walked a few steps and stopped, listening.

Even in a very quiet, isolated place like this, there was always sound if you could be quiet enough yourself to hear it. A little wind, the car engine behind him. He walked a few steps further, slowly, straining his eyes at the dark spot he’d seen, and trying to listen for life around him.

Then he realized there would be no big life in a place like this. Nothing like, say, a coyote. He bent down, looking at the dirt and scrub weeds. Strange that the weeds could grow, when almost nothing else could. Strange too that the wind didn’t blow away more dust. Probably had taken care of the loosest dust centuries ago, he decided, what was left had learned how to hang on, even here.

There were ants, he noticed. Big black ones, hustling around from nowhere to nowhere.

From the squatted position he looked up again and saw the spot move again. He still couldn’t tell if it was alive or the wind, and he started walking closer.

When he was about a hundred paces away, he saw it take off, a jackrabbit or large mouse, it moved fast. Within a hundred feet it disappeared, probably into an underground burrow or covey. He stopped walking, satisfied and unwilling to disturb the little creature any more. It was obviously running from him, and he didn’t want to be the intruder.

He stood still a moment longer, looking now further out to the reddening horizon. Probably there were quite a few such critters scurrying around, but they didn’t want to be disturbed and he didn’t want to disturb them, he only wanted to appreciate their life, here in the middle of the nothingness.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the warm air, knowing there was life there, feeling like he was breathing it in a little too. He unconsciously fingered the unusual ring on his right hand, a shiny silver cylinder about a half an inch wide.

He turned. Gwen was leaning out the window looking at him silently. Was she used to this kind of behavior from him or just wondering what he was doing? He hoped she was drinking it in too. Drinking in the dryness, he mused to himself.

He walked back to the motor home, again pretending to stretch out his legs. Whether or not she was buying it he couldn’t tell, but as he got close she said quietly, Do you want me to drive?

No, that’s okay. I’m okay.

She watched him around to the door and in, wondering.

Little jackrabbit or something out there, he said.

She turned to look and then turned back, smiling.

Uh huh.

He could tell she was figuring him out, but he forced himself not to look back at her and let her know that he knew she knew.

He closed the window, put it in drive and started off slowly. In a minute he was being droned back to numbness by the tires and the engine. They traveled along quietly for a few more seconds, then she softly said, I love you.

He turned to her and smiled, then turned away. Who did she really love? Her husband, John Shaketon, or the man he really was, Bill Clemens?

In the brush a few hundred yards from the road, a rangy animal lifted its head, sniffing, listening. But when the noisy thing – the motor home – started moving away, he lost interest.

The coyote laid its head again on his outstretched paws, sleepily closing his eyes as the heat drained from the day.

Chapter 2 – SunTech

The current thinking was that teleportation, as in ‘beam me up Scottie’, was way too unrealistic. The amount of information that would be needed to do the transportation was massive beyond description. SunTech Industries, however, had managed to convince at least one government agency that it had a possible line of research that could lead somewhere.

SunTech had employed Dr. William Landsmith, who thought it might be possible to reduce the load on the teleporters by chunking information, grouping sets that were massive by atomic standards, but still miniscule in the real world. He’d been experimenting with objects of as uniform density as possible - diamonds.

To ensure that the diamonds were transmitted without damage, he’d had a number of small diamonds marked with distinctive scratches by experienced diamond cutters. No two in his set of a hundred were alike. They were also so small that all of them together were worth barely $200.

He envisioned a process almost like a photocopy machine in that it bombarded the subject with massive amounts of high-energy light, which was then projected in a vacuum chamber to another location and projected onto a receiving medium.

The receiving medium was the major problem, however. It was a highly toxic cloud of arsenium lanthano-nitrotrigliceride.  The research chemists were having a heck of a time maintaining a stable mixture, and the biochemical engineers were telling Landsmith that the mixture would have very unpredictable, read very bad, results on humans. Landsmith didn’t care about that so much. He assumed that long before any living tissue was transported a more refined, and safer, approach could be developed. He only wanted to prove the concept. He could almost imagine the Nobel ceremony, where he received the prize in physics.

In the meantime, he’d have to rely on the chemical engineering team to produce a suitable containment field.

Besides, the main bugaboo at the moment was the mechanics of the energy source for the light beam. Massive amounts of energy were required, and power generation schemes were falling by the wayside, one by one, as inadequate. The last attempt, on a small nuclear generator, was better, but it brought on another level of complexity and regulatory nonsense.

John Shaketon was part of the power production team. Bill Clemens was one of the chemists. Normally their paths would never have crossed, but this project involved them and about 25 other researchers, about 10 of whom had doctorates in their field, though none were quite of the caliber of Landsmith. John and Bill figured Landsmith’s ego wouldn’t allow him to hire anyone that might be brighter than him. John was more of a mechanical wizard, he could piece together just about anything, especially with metal. Bill was talented, but also more of workman level grunt.

Neither minded being second fiddle, or third, to this band of braniacs, because the project was so exciting, top secret, and of course, lucrative. Government funding was involved, of course, but John and Bill couldn’t ever figure out what agency, exactly. Their large paychecks said SunTech Industries, and that was good enough for them.

Shaketon liked being able to work with all the great tools, and he could get anything he needed, with almost no questions asked. He pieced together some pretty amazing apparatuses in the last few months, if he did say so himself. Some of them were one of a kind, built from a few notes he put together himself. Unfortunately, he was extraordinarily poor at documenting his work, at least until he’d proved a concept to his satisfaction, so his creations would be almost impossible for someone to reproduce. This was the way Landsmith liked it.

Shaketon’s major problem was precision. He wanted to be able to create super-efficient, super-precise conduits for the light energy. He was very good at his assembly work, but very good was way too inadequate. They needed perfect. That meant more machines, machines to build machines. The electron welder was essential, but it often took several days to program one operation. Landsmith didn’t mind. He was preoccupied with other problems, and he trusted John and his team to do the mechanical functions.

One of the tricky parts of their work was that Bill Clemens and most of the brains worked in California, in the desert east of San Bernadino, at a fairly remote, pretty much hush-hush facility. And John worked outside of Chicago, at a small manufacturing plant in a non-descript industrial park. Most of the communication between the two teams was through blueprints and technical specifications faxed or even couriered between the two areas.

John and Bill took advantage of the remote site, though, whenever John came out from Chicago to work with Bill. Bill always managed to get John to spend an extra day and they’d go exploring in the desert, usually on some silly search for a lost gold mine or something Bill had found out about. The searches were always fruitless, of course; most of the useful ore areas had been discovered, drained, and closed down. Bill kept dreaming, though. Of course, these trips could only be made in the fall or winter months. The desert summer heat would have killed them.

Landsmith, and apparently his customers, wanted the two facilities separate for security reasons, they said. Shaketon also suspected that there was something else involved, something silly like the fact that some very important congressmen on some very important committees were from Illinois and California. Having worked in aerospace for some years, John knew this wouldn’t be the first time projects were awarded to companies based on which congressional districts their manufacturing plants, (and voters), were in.

Shaketon’s non-descript building was actually a very secure facility – actually a building within a building. The outer building looked like all the other places nearby, cement block boxes with one front door and one back door and one window by the front door. Inside, though, another building had been created. This inner structure was entirely shielded on all six sides from any kind of electromagnetic or radio wave transmission. A receptionist and a serious guard sat at a desk next to sophisticated recognition systems in a small nearly useless reception area. The reception area was only for the benefit of someone like the mailman who might poke his head in. The male receptionist/guard took phone messages because there were no outside lines, or, of course cell phones. Most of the people inside, though, had already told their friends and family they couldn’t be reached.

And no one was supposed to get past the guard and the security systems that wasn’t authorized. The reality, however, was that the security system was buggy. Shaketon found the security restrictions annoying.

The facial recognition system that gave them access to the building was often down or it had to scan them several times to get it right. They were improving the system every few days, in fact, another major upgrade was expected next weekend, but for now it was pretty flaky. The backup card system was okay, but anyone who had a card could get in. Shaketon just wanted to have the right tools to do his job, and then just to do his job.

Landsmith understood the difficulties of a split team, and tried to get them together, usually in Chicago, every few months. Recently though, he had arranged for a get-together in Las Vegas, wanting to throw in a little reward for the team.

Bill Clemens had wanted to look around the Las Vegas area before. Outside of town a few miles, the countryside turned very rugged. A famous rock climbing area was to the north, the huge recreational area, Lake Mead, was to the east, and rugged dry desert stretched out to the south and west. Clemens thought the latter areas would prove promising for exploration, maybe some interesting minerals, and maybe, gold.

On the week before his trip to Vegas, Shaketon and Clemens had made plans to do some exploring. John was not too enthusiastic. It was, after all, June, and very warm out there. But Clemens was very insistent. He said he had a real good lead on a mine to the south of the city. He made John promise he would go with him.

––––––––

Mrs. John Shaketon, Gwen, was bound for college from the moment she was born; it was just a question of figuring out which one by the time she was ready for it. As it turned out, it was a small school in Indiana, where she did well in many sports but not spectacularly, and in debate, which led her into law.

She never knew quite what why she was so stubborn, though there were stubborn streaks in both her parents, Roger and Camilla Rollings of Chicago.

Gwen was named after King Arthur’s love Guinevere because her father was a wild romantic. She was always called Gwen, however, because, although her mother loved her father’s romantic nature, she wanted her girl to grow up with a practical side.

Gwen caught her father’s disease however, and often dreamed of romantic escapades and rescues by dashing young princes on their white chargers. She worked hard to keep her romanticism in check, but often failed. Torn between two worlds, she’d fallen hard for the romantic and practical John Shaketon during her sophomore year at college.

He had in fact rescued her, or anyway got her stalled car started on a lonely dark road on her way back to campus. He attended Ball State in Indiana in the engineering program, and she a smaller school in mid-state, but the distance between the two campuses proved no problem. He was used to working hard, and driving the distance between them never bothered him.

They were married just after college, and he began working at a medium-sized engineering firm in Chicago while she got her law degree at the University of Illinois in Chicago. Their first child, Millie, came along just as she was nearing graduation, but managed to hold off till late June to enter the household.

Gwen studied for the bar while nursing Millie and somehow or other was able to land a job at a small firm in the city. It was crazy for a while, fitting in husband, baby and job, but the firm was a good one, glad to have another female on the staff since it was headed by a lady, Margaret Compton.

John was doing well at his engineering firm, showing his skill in practical terms that the other, more theoretical engineers envied.

John Junior soon showed up a while later, then Isabelle within another year.

Gwen found herself extremely happy and extremely busy. Busy-ness with the kids kept her in the more workmanlike ranks at the law firm, but they liked her, and she liked the job.

In their teen years, the kids needed more attention, and gave less time back to the family, but John and Gwen hung in. Gwen longed for more romantic times with her husband, but there seemed to be no possible way to work it in. Isabelle had band practice, Junior was in football.

Millie was very studious, having inherited the brains from both her parents. She quickly won a scholarship and was off to Princeton, to the surprise, delight and sorrow of mom and dad. It was so far away. But Millie was doing great, very self-confident. Gwen and John knew that was best for her, but at times they wished she was a little more dependent, a little more needy. It was hard for them to loosen the strings.

As far as Millie was concerned, they contented themselves with thoughts of grandchildren. Though there were no immediate prospects, they were pretty sure that would all work out.

Junior mentioned one time something about joining the Army after high school, but only to get the GI Bill for college. Gwen didn’t say anything, not able to decide if that was a good idea or not. She thought the Army was scary for her little (6’ 1’’ 200 lbs) boy, but he did seem to have his head clear about the future.

Isabelle was too young still, only interested in boys and her girlfriends. And her girlfriends were only interested in boys and other 14-year-old dramas. Part of Gwen wanted Isabelle to stay a little girl forever, but part of her wanted to see her blossom.

Chiefly though, Gwen thoughts returned back to John. She loved him and worried about him constantly. She enjoyed her career, but was mostly interested in her family. Soon enough, it would be just the two of them, John and her. Was he happy? What about retirement? What would they do?

Chapter 3 – A Corner in Chicago

The morning was bright and cool, early summer, daring you to play hooky. John Shaketon walked down Southward Street, towards the corner where he met his vanpool.

Kids were already out, yelling, playing cops and robbers, firing up their skateboards, shooting hoops. School had only been out a week, and the kids were still running hard. They were weeks away from the late summer doldrums.

The morning coolness still soothed the air, but Shaketon was sweating a little. He shook it off, thought about how he hated going to work on such a day. He reached the corner, glanced at his watch and saw he was a few minutes early.

There was a sudden snapping sound somewhere off to the left and he felt a sharp pain in his temple. He jumped back, dropping his briefcase, and grabbed his head. He staggered slightly, but held his feet.

He blinked slowly, groggily, looking around with a confused look on his face. Then he focused suddenly and stared, wide-eyed.

What the... he began to speak, but stopped.

He whirled this way and that, looking for something. Finally he saw that further down Southward there appeared to be some commercial buildings, stores or something. He started walking fast, almost running in that direction. He stumbled a bit, and before long his age, 47, betrayed him, and he slowed.

He kept moving and the first place he came to was a diner, closed at this hour, but he was only looking for something that would tell him where he was.

There, in front of the diner, a newsstand. He went to it quickly. The Chicago Sun Times. He was in Chicago!

Chicago? How did he get there?

He reached a hand up to his head, which was aching in a new way now. What was happening to him? How could he be in Chicago?

He looked on down the street, though he wasn’t sure what for. He turned and came to a little mini-mall on the corner, on the other end was a liquor store. It was open, so he walked over to it. J & B’s liquor, it said on the sign. He walked in, stared excitedly around him and saw the guy behind the counter, gazing dully back at him.

Jack Shaketon walked up to him and asked, Pardon me, I think I’ve ... I’ve been hurt or something... He trailed off and the clerk’s eyes got bigger, trying to size him up. Drunk? Stoned? Not likely, not in that business suit.

I... he began again, uh, where am I? What is this place?

The clerk hesitated. This guy was whacked anyway, but the clerk said, You’re in Arlington Heights. He stopped, waiting for some recognition.

North of Chicago, he added when he saw the man’s expression.

Chicago? How did I get here?

Um, I don’t know man.... Uh, you need an ambulance or something?

He was going to say no, but just then his head hurt again and he staggered, leaning heavily against the counter. Yeah, maybe

Uh, what’s your name, man the clerk said, as he reached for the phone.

John Shaketon paused for a moment, and then shook his head to try to get rid of the fuzziness. Bill. Bill Clemens.

The clerk nodded but said nothing as he dialed 911. When the emergency operator answered, he said, Yeah, I got a guy her who seems to be hurt or something. Doesn’t know where he is. He kept his eyes on the man rocking unsteadily in front of him, and then he added, Says his name is Bill Clemens.

There was a pause, then the clerk gave the store’s address, his phone number, name.

Okay, he said, Okay, about 5 minutes, okay. No I don’t think he’s in much danger of dying or anything... He held his hand over the phone and said to Jack Shaketon, Hey man, you sick or anything? You in pain?

John shook his head, but winced when he did it, so he said, My head hurts.

The clerk reported this to the 911 operator, He says his head hurts.

He hung up and turned his attention to the man. Uh, you want some water or something?

John Shaketon said No, I...I just ...

The clerk came around the counter, having decided this guy wasn’t going to be a problem to anyone but himself. He walked him out the door to the curb. No sense messing up the place with a wacko.

Here. The ambulance will be here in a minute. Sit here till they get here.

The clerk glanced down the street, nervous about leaving the register, but there was no one around so it shouldn’t be a problem. He hesitated between leaving him there and going back in, then decided, what the heck, build up some karma points and stay with the guy. Nobody around anyway.

Shaketon sat on the curb, rubbing his neck and trying to figure out what was going on. The ambulance arrived about 10 minutes later and the EMT did the usual, took his blood pressure, looked in his eyes for signs of a possible drug problem. When he was satisfied there was nothing life threatening going on, he asked him if he really wanted to go to the hospital.

He was still confused. "Is this