Soul of Jubie Walker

By D. Davidson and R. Marcano

Jubie Walker is not a normal fifteen-year-old-boy. He loves to read about history, listen to big-band music, and doesn't seem to connect with any of his classmates. He also has the strange dreams…

Though he fights to stay awake, Jubie finds himself nearly nightly in a place filled with shadows and unexplained wonders. It's somehow 1942, and American soldiers are fighting the Japanese in World War II. Someone, or something, has attached itself to the very soul of Jubie Walker.

While Jubie struggles with the haunting of the soldier's ghost, he must ask himself: Is there such thing as transferal of a soul? Perhaps life is a never-ending saga with one soul and many bodies, bringing repressed memories to the surface when déjà vu comes around.

One thing is certain. The soldier—and Jubie himself—will seek eternal peace until it is found.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Aug 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098390983

Book preview

(1)

The sweeping waters of the Pacific Ocean spilled onto the white sandy beach. The early morning sun rose from the east, inviting another day to begin. A flock of tray gulls, with their recognizable high, pitched Caaaa-Caaaa, covered the pale blue sky. A whiff of saltwater embraced the air—the beginning of another warm spring day in sunny Southern California.

On the other side of Pacific Coast Highway sat the upper-middle-class community of Huntington Beach. The homes were one-or two-story single-family dwellings—most were painted a sanitized white with gray or orange tile roofs. It often got referred to as a bourgeois, white middle-class locality. But in truth, to afford this neighborhood, a person needed to make a six-figure salary.

The Walker family lived in a two-story white stucco house at 7926 Harmony Lane. A 10-year-old boy rode his bike, delivering newspapers throughout the neighborhood. As he passed each dwelling, he flipped the folded newspaper onto the paved walkway as near to the house as he could get. It was a perfect spring morning. The towhead tossed a paper to the stoop of the Walker house; he grinned that his flip was near perfect. He continued along the sidewalk on his 20-inch black Mongoose bike. The air held humidity, but the pastel sky looked clear. Indeed, it would be another gorgeous day.

A pleasant fragrance of CHANCE by CHANEL imbued the room. Phyllis Walker stood at the stove in the large modern kitchen and scrambled the eggs in the gray Teflon pan. She wore a floral print summer cotton dress that fit her slender figure. A kitchen table sat in the middle of the room; a breakfast counter positioned off to one side. Phyliss was a shapely 37-year-old brunette and mother to Jubie and his 17-year-old sister, Megan. Siblings as different as night and day.

Hank Walker relaxed at the kitchen table, reading the newspaper and drinking his morning cup of coffee. Hank was the patriarch of the Walker family. He just turned 40 years of age but still appeared to be in good shape. Hank was oblivious to everything around him until he had his first cup of coffee.

Megan sat on a stool and pressed against the breakfast counter, eating frosted flakes cereal. She hated sugar-laced cereal. Megan hated all cereals but ate them to keep her mother happy and off her back. Megan’s jeans and blouse fit much too snug, and she overdid the makeup on her face. Her blonde hair fell well below her shoulders. Her looks and her upbeat personality made her one of the most popular girls at school. Popular but not easy, much to the chagrin of the male students in her class.

Phyllis scooped the scrambled eggs from the frying pan and dropped them on a plate. She wiped her hands across the front of her linen apron. Phyliss reached for the toast that just popped up in the toaster and headed over to the kitchen table. She served the eggs and toast to Hank. Remember, we have dinner at the Palmers tonight, she jogged his memory.

Hank peeked up over the newspaper. I might have to work late if I don’t close that deal.

And just what do I tell the Palmers? Phyliss challenged.

I didn’t say cancel. I’ll let you know later today.

Phyliss made a face. Nothing like last-minute notice.

Hank folded his paper. This is a five-million-dollar deal for the company, Phyllis. Somehow, I think it might be a little more important than dinner at the Palmers.

Megan turned from the breakfast counter and scowled. Well, I hope you don’t expect me to stay home tonight and watch my weird little brother. I have a date with Coy Masters.

I’m afraid you’ll have to break your date with... COY MASTERS, said Phyliss in an agitated voice. You can’t expect me to find a babysitter on such short notice.

Megan jumped off the stool. Father!

Don’t get me involved, said Hank. I got my own problems.

And another thing, young lady, lectured Phyliss. Stop referring to your brother as weird.

Megan slipped back onto the stool to finish her cereal. Well, he is weird. Everybody says so. All he ever does—read those stupid books and type on his computer. Oh, and talk to his imaginary friends. Megan turned to her mother. He has no real friends, you know. Most of the kids his age wants nothing to do with him.

That’s enough, young lady, said Phyliss.

Well, it’s the truth, said Megan. And frankly, sometimes it’s embarrassing to admit he’s, my brother.

The conversation got interrupted when young Jubie Walker entered the kitchen. Jubie carried a book in his hands, and he was wearing his dark-rim glasses. Megan caught sight of her younger brother. Her face reddened, embarrassed by what she had said.

Phyllis smiled at Jubie. Good morning, sweetheart.

Jubie looked at his mom and then stared over at his sister, Megan. He was not mature for his age. He was intelligent beyond his years, but his exposure to social proprieties; limited.

Megan turned away.

Jubie strolled over to the table and sat across from his father.

Morning, champ, said Hank as he folded the newspaper.

Jubie replied in a low voice. Morning. Then he opened his book and read.

Would you like some eggs, Jubie? Phyliss offered.

No thanks, Jubie never looked up. Just juice.

Phyllis gaped at her husband.

Hank shrugged, and his eyes went to Jubie. What ya reading there, Jubie?

Jubie held the book up to show his father the title on the cover. Battling Bastards of Bataan.

Jubie! Phyllis became upset at Jubie’s profanity.

I didn’t curse, mom. That’s the name of the book.

Hank chuckled. Another war story, hey?

Jubie nodded.

Phyllis carried a glass of orange juice over to Jubie and set it down in front of him. Jubie’s English teacher says Jubie reads three levels higher than anyone else in the class.

Hank pushed his lips, suggesting it impressed him.

Megan chimed into the conversation. It’s no wonder. It’s all the little creep ever does read books. And have those stupid dreams.

That will be enough out of you, Megan, snapped Phyliss as she glanced at a wristwatch. It’s getting late. You’ll miss the school bus.

Megan peeked at her wristwatch. Shit!

Watch your language, young lady, cautioned Phyliss.

See you later! Megan flew out of the room.

Sometimes that girl is impossible, said Phyllis.

Hank raised his eyebrows but had no reply. He sipped his coffee and glanced up at Jubie, engrossed in the book. You know the Angels are home this weekend. I figured you and I might catch the game on Saturday?

Jubie’s brown eyes stayed glued to the book.

Hanks peeped over at Phyllis and jerked his shoulders.

Jubie? Your father’s talking to you, said Phyliss.

Jubie peeked up from the book. Did you know America suffered its worse military defeat at Bataan?

Jubie! Phyliss hollered. Your father wants to take you to an Angel game on Saturday! What do you say?

Not into baseball, Mom, said Jubie. Besides, the History Channel has a special on Saturday at two o’clock. It’s called the ‘Ghosts of Bataan.’

I don’t understand, Jubie. Why the fascination with Bataan? Hank questioned. It’s all you ever talk about?

It’s what Reese Cochran always talks about, Jubie eyeballed his father.

Sergeant Cochran, your imaginary friend?

He’s not imaginary, dad, grumbled Jubie. I can see and hear him. It’s just like I’m there.

Hank eyed Phyllis and then glanced back at Jubie. We spoke about this before, Jubie. He’s just someone you dream about; he’s not real. Just like your dreams aren’t real.

Well, he sure seems real to me, Jubie replied.

Phyllis interjected. You’ll be late for school, Jubie. We’ll talk about this later.

Jubie gulped the juice, snatched up his book, and got up from the table. He hurried out of the room. See ya!

Phyllis carried the coffeepot over to the table and poured another cup of coffee for Hank. Then she joined him at the table. Hank, maybe we should take Jubie for some counseling?

Counseling? He’s a fifteen-year-old boy, Phyllis. All fifteen-year-old boys fantasize and make up stories. It’s normal.

Maybe. But I’m worried about Jubie.

Hank took a sip of coffee. You’re making too much out of this.

Am I? asked Phyliss. He goes nowhere. Never has friends over....

He’s a loner. I was the same way at his age.

Jubie’s preoccupied with the past, said Phyliss. It’s just not normal. The music he listens to, Swing and the big bands? What fifteen-year-old boy today listens to that kind of music? Phyliss went on. And the books he reads? He acts like the past is the present. That doesn’t seem strange to you?

Okay, so we’ll keep an eye on him, said Hank. If it continues, we’ll take him to a counselor.

Her husband’s reply satisfied Phyliss. but she worried there could be more to this than they realized. She prayed she was wrong. Oddly, her husband never seemed bothered by any of Jubie’s strange behavior. Hank would explain it all away by saying; he’s just a normal teenage boy. He’ll grow out of it.

Phyliss was more skeptical. Jubie’s odd behavior had gone on much too long.

That evening as Phyliss and Hank got ready to leave for their dinner engagement. Megan joined them in the living room. She dressed casually in a blouse and tight blue-jeans. Megan was not happy. Please tell me you won’t be out late.

Hank helped Phyliss on with her coat and then slipped into his jacket. Why, what difference does it make? You’re not going anywhere tonight.

Megan rolled her green eyes.

We should be home by eleven, said Phyliss. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I left the Palmer’s number on the desk in the den.

We’ll be fine, mother, Megan carped.

And check on your brother from time to time, said Phyliss.

I hate the thought of even opening his bedroom door, Megan complained. You remember what I caught him doing last time I babysit him?

Never mind, said Phyliss. You were no angel yourself at fifteen.

I never treated my body like it was a temple of lust, Megan replied.

Phyliss glared at her daughter.

Hank softened the moment. Come on, we’ll be late.

Phyllis kissed her daughter on the cheek. Goodbye, dear.

Phyllis and Hank tried to leave.

Oh, mother, Megan mentioned. I forgot to tell you Coy Masters may stop by later.

Phyllis squinted at Hank; then, her eyes went back to Megan.

It’s no big deal, mother, said Megan. I’ll be eighteen next month. I think you can trust me to have a boy in the house without locking me in a Chastity belt.

Chastity belt? Hank repeated. They still make... Chastity belts?

Be quiet, Hank, Phyliss grumbled. Very well, Megan. Coy can come over, but upstairs is off-limits. Understood?

Yes, mother, Megan whined.

I mean it, Megan, warned Phyliss.

Phyllis and Hank Walker left through the front door.

Megan grinned mischievously.

Jubie was sitting up in bed watching the flat-screen television mounted on the wall opposite the bed. The program on the PBS channel was playing music from the big band era. The song was In the Mood by the Tommy Dorsey orchestra. Jubie’s eyes focused on the television, but his mind appeared to be preoccupied. The throbbing in his head was the warning. The television screen faded and then reemerged with the all too familiar scene rinsed in red.