Infinite: Without Beginning or End

By Jerry Strickel

The story follows Allen Mead, the main character, through a series of events. Each new event leads to more questions for the reader, drawing the reader in, and requiring the reader to use their imagination. From the opening, when Allen disappears, no attempt is made to explain his departure [The tires screamed on the paving, attempting to stop the forward momentum of the vehicle! Then silence, the blue-white light faded to gray, then blackness, nothing, no sound, was he even breathing? Was this death? ]. Or his return, [A feeling of panic! A brilliant bluish-white light! Both feet jammed onto the brake pedal!]. He reappears as a 69-year-old man, with the physical appearance and the abilities of a 20-year-old. The exceptions, along with his young appearance, he has the strength of two men and reactions that are faster than normal. No explanation is offered to the physical changes that occur.

The disappearance of Allen folds into his reappearance, only a lot of time has passed. A lot of questions are unanswered, at first Allen does not realize that he has changed. He finds himself in trouble with the Police and the INS. When he does see that he has changed, the shock puts him on the floor.

Then comes the examination period that tries to prove he is not who he says that he is. Only each test, each check all go to prove he is just one old man that happens to looks like a kid!

When he is finally released, he goes home to meet his wife, he finds her gone and news media camped in his front lawn. He finds his wife, only to have her disappear and be arrested for her disappearance. This leads into a duel with the Sheriffs Department and a few questionable Deputies. He is ultimately cleared of all legal problem and leaves town to get away from it all. While on his way to his sons home he gets a message from a stranger. A message that really makes no sense to him, at the time.

At his sons home, he finds Deputies hard at work destroying the house. Allen finds a way to get the Deputies out of the picture and get his sons home restored. Then he gets another message to be at a given place, a path to find his wife, so he goes. Only when he gets there he gets another cryptic message and off he goes again in a different direction.

When he arrives at his destination, he finds another problem to solve. This leads to armed conflict and working with the FBI hand in hand assisting a friend. The problems are taken care of. A short flight, supplied by his friend, solves one mystery and creates more. A new message and a new destination, only this time he has company. The woman that Allen found looks young but is old like Allen. Together they leave to solve the next mystery.

Their search leads to major problems and big business in the grip of raw greed! After a daring rescue of yet another person, the husband of the old/young woman he found earlier is himself now young. Allen gets them established as real people with their identities restored. He goes on solving problems, getting the courts into the greed package, still looking for a clue to take him to his wife.

With no new messages, which are just words popping into his unconscious or conscious brain and no signs to supply a clue as to where his wife might be. Allen tries to go back to days that are only memories, to see if they really exist, and if he is really who he thinks he is. What he finds, are memories from real events with real people? People that need real help. So Allen helps them and stays until he gets to feeling or need to go in search for a clue again. This leads to his findi? ????? ??? ???? ? ?????? ????????? ??????? ???? ??? ??? ??? ???? ??????? ????? ???????? ?? ?? ?? ? ???????? ????? ??? ???? ????? ????

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 10, 2002
• ISBN: 9781469104102

Jerry Strickel

Gerald Strickel was born in Independence, Iowa and graduated high school there. Served 30 years in the US Navy retiring at the top enlisted pay grade of E-9 as a Master Chief Petty Officer. Tours of duty placed him in areas from the Middle East, in Iran, to the far East, in Vietnam. After retirement in May 1980, he worked as an independent contractor, until service injuries required him to totally retire in 1994. Married a year after joining the Navy, he and his wife have five Children, ten Grandchildren, seven Great Grandchildren. This book is dedicated to his wife of 50 years in April of 2001.

Book preview

INFINITE

without beginning or end

Jerry Strickel

Copyright © 2000 by Jerry Strickel.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any

form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,

or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing

from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the

product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to

any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-7-XLIBRIS

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

Lost and Found

CHAPTER TWO

Examination Phase One

CHAPTER THREE

Renewing Relationships

CHAPTER FOUR

Younger Than Children

CHAPTER FIVE

Search Countdown

CHAPTER SIX

Needle Mystery Unveiled

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Search Begins

CHAPTER EIGHT

Revelations

CHAPTER NINE

Going To Home Of Youth

CHAPTER TEN

Rebuilding

CHAPTER ELEVEN

New beginnings

CHAPTER TWELVE

Sidetracked

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Reunion

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The End and The Beginning

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Search Shopping

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Trek to the Unknown

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

New Home Coming

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Life Renewal

CHAPTER NINETEEN

First Contact

Dedicated To My Wife

CHAPTER ONE

Lost and Found

Six thirty AM, Monday 5 April 1991

Allen walked around his truck, making a routine inspection before the long drive to his first call. The truck had been serviced, complete lube and oil change on Saturday evening, but Allen always wanted to make sure everything was right. He found the windshield washer fluid low, so he topped the reservoir with soft water. He secured his ice chest, making sure he had plenty of fresh water, his lunch and apples for snacks, to the seat with the seat belt. He was ready to go to work. It was 6:45 AM.

Heading east from Imperial Beach, he took the old back roads to save mileage, not time. Destination, east of Jacumba, where it is hot during the day and cold at night. A place where you need an air-conditioner during the day and a heater at night. High nineties to low hundreds during the day and low thirties at night.

Thirty minutes later, as he rounded a curve, starting the drop down to Jacumba, he was suddenly blinded by a brilliant bluish-white light right in front of his truck. He slammed both feet onto the brake pedal, held the steering wheel and prayed for help! The tires screamed on the paving, attempting to stop the forward momentum of the vehicle. Then silence, the bluish-white light faded to gray, then blackness, nothing, no sound, was he even breathing? Was this death? A feeling of panic. A brilliant bluish-white light. Both feet jammed onto the break pedal!

Day one

The truck was just sitting there as if a giant hand had sat it down ever so gently. Only this time, no scream from the tires. The brightness did not fade to gray, it was a bright desert sun shinning into the truck, blinding him so that he had to cover his eyes. To add to Allen’s confusion, the truck was not only stopped, its engine was not running, there was only silence!

Allen sat, drenched in sweat, shaking as he blinked his eyes and focused at the area around him. He was in the middle of a desert, sand, rocks, and cacti, nothing else. His last conscious thought or memory was the trip to Jacumba. No sand, lots of rocks and one long drop from the road to the rocks below, only there were no coastal mountains, no big rocks, where the hell was he? Allen opened the door, unfastened his seat belt and slid out of the truck. There were NO TRACKS! Heat from the sun was oppressive. Allen felt hunger, then a strong thirst. But why was he hungry, he had a good breakfast before he left home? He walked around the truck to the passenger side, opened the door. His ice chest was still secured, he thought of the apples, a good time for a snack. Opening the chest he reached in for an apple, only he brought out a dried out prune looking thing that should have been a fresh apple. The ice was all melted; his bottles of water were there. His sandwich was like all of his apples, mummified!

Allen was now really mystified, as to what had happened. It was only minutes since he had left home. It would have taken weeks or months to mummify the apples and his lunch. If he was going to satisfy his hunger, he had to get out of the middle of nowhere, only which way should he go?

After a long drink of water, which was surprisingly cool, he started to check his truck for damage. A complete go around proved that he had not hit anything, nor had He been hit by anything. The battery was still charged and the radio still worked. He could reach only two stations, one, which seemed to be a local farm/stock report station, the other, Del Rio, Texas. That Del Rio station was not capable of reaching San Diego County. Where the hell was he?

The station he believed to be a local gave Allen an idea. He went to a side compartment of his truck and took out a roll of aluminum duct tape. He cut off a piece long enough to reach from the base of the antenna to above the top. By folding the tape into a V shape, grounding one end to the truck body, he slowly moved the aluminum tape around the antenna. He found an area of about five degrees that he could receive the station, all other areas, only silence. He knew which way to start driving, how far was another question? Then he could find out where he was!

Allen checked his watch after he started the truck engine, it said ten twelve, but the date was all messed up, it was not the 25th. The watch must have been damaged during whatever happened, like the mirrors, all cloudy, no reflections. He started to move out toward, a mountain peak way off in the distance. That peak had been close to the center on his crude radio station fix. He had not gone more than a dozen feet before he stopped. He was sinking into the sand. He got out, and went from one tire to the next lowering the tire pressure so he could drive on top of the sand and not sink into it.

Two hours later, he stopped again. There was something or someone about twenty yards of his course. He moved closer, and saw that it was a man barely able to raise his arm, calling for help. Allen went to see if he could help this man, and maybe find out where they were. He took a bottle of water with him, helped raise the Mexican and gave him a drink. The Mexican could not speak English and Allen could not speak Spanish, so he just helped the man to the back of his truck and laid him in a spot that was clear of equipment. He then fixed a shade cover to keep the sun off his passenger. Allen got back into the truck and started on toward the distant mountain peak.

A half-hour later, Allen saw two more figures lying in the sand. He stopped to check them, and found both souls, stiff and very dead. What to do, he could leave them to the scavengers of nature, or take them with him so their relatives would know what happened to them. He pulled them to the truck. One at a time, he lifted them up on top of the ladders, tied them securely for their ride to some place, unknown, toward the mountain peak.

During the next two hours of driving, Allen found six more Mexicans, five alive, one more dead. Now a new problem faced Allen, dark clouds moved in front of the mountain. He had to stop, or loose his reference point and just wander around until he ran out of gas.

Allen pulled the truck into a depression, so it could be used as a windbreak from the cold desert wind. He found scrub brush, used his acetylene torch to start a fire to cut down the cold that kept creeping into the encampment. Some food would really be good right now, at least they had a limited amount of water from the melted ice, in his ice chest, they would need more, he thought, but at least they were warm. Allen went out to forage for more firewood, and then he saw it, salvation! He hurried back to the truck, got his heavy gloves, his big knife, and went back out into the desert. Some thirty minutes later he came back to the encampment, carrying something. He cut out the pulp center from the Barrel Cactus, and passed it around to the Mexicans, and then cut some for himself. Moister, and food to keep the body going. Four more times Allen left the encampment to forage for scrub brush to keep the fire going until the first light of dawn broke behind them. They had been driving west; they could not be in San Diego County. Where the hell was he!

Allen climbed on top of his truck to look for the reference point, the mountain peak. There it was, still looking as distant as though the mileage had not been cut down. It still seemed to be just as far away. He helped everyone back into the truck, and got into the truck to start the days trek. He checked the gas gauge, and was confused again; he still had over half a tank of gas left. Six hours of driving over the desert and only half a tank of gas used, impossible, the gauge had to be wrong. At least he had a blitz can of gas in the bed of the truck. Five gallons would take them more than one hundred miles on a highway, how far could it last on the desert floor?

Day two

Allen’s watch said it was 5:30 the 26th. At least the time seemed to be right, even if the date was all messed up. He started the truck and pulled out of the depression, turned slightly toward the distant mountain peak. Slowly Allen moved into the gray desert morning. What if he found more people, before he found a road, or a sign, or something to let him know that there is civilization out there, someplace. Shortly after six AM, Allen saw what appeared to be a person kneeling in prayer. As he drove closer, he was sure that it was a young woman, she was not moving! That could mean only one thing, she would be dead. He pulled along side, turned off the engine, and got out to render whatever type of help he could. Allen reached out to touch her shoulder, and got the sharp pain of a cactus needle. All he had found was a blanket, draped over the cactus that looked like a person kneeling. Then he saw the tracks, moving away from the cactus, and blanket. Someone was in trouble, he had to see if he could find, and maybe save the lost soul. He walked to the back of the truck, carrying the blanket. He asked, Does any one speak English? A small boy sat up, and said, I speak good English, I go to second grade before they take my Mama away. Now my Papa is dead, I don’t know where my Mama is. Allen said, Ask them if they will help look for a person that lost this blanket, there are tracks over there, I could use some extra eyes to look for a person that may be alive yet!

The boy jabbered words that Allen did not understand, and then looked at Allen, and said, They are all too weak to help, we all need food and water. Allen shook his head, and walked to the passenger door, opened the door, opened the ice chest, and took out the last bottle of water. He took the empty bottle and filled it from the melted ice, this he gave to the Mexicans. The other bottle, he took with him, after he removed the keys from the ignition. Allen struck off following the tracks, he hoped this would be a short trail to track! The person he was tracking was falling down, and finely, was crawling on all fours. Allen worried that this had been a waste of time, they could have driven miles across the desert floor in the time he had spent following a trail. Then he spotted movement ahead. He quarry was still alive! He moved closer and called out, the person turned, held out a hand and fell face down into the sand. Allen lifted the person, brushed the sand from her face, and opened the bottle of water, giving her a sip, then another. After three sips of water, she started to cry, softly at first then screaming about her lost son. At least she spoke English; enough to allow Allen to under stand what she was trying to say. Allen told her of the boy in his truck, as soon as he could he got her onto her feet, and they started back to the truck. It was getting dark, and Allen was getting worried about getting lost in the dark. He should have brought a flashlight, but he never expected to be out so long in the desert. Then he heard the sound of his truck engine being cranked over. DAMN YOU BASTARDS, roared Allen as he half carried the woman over the last rise. There he could see his truck, and the people that were too weak to help in the search, but not too weak to steal his truck!

The little boy started yelling Mama, Mama, and then something that Allen had no idea what it could mean, other than the kid was happy to see his mother! Allen walked to the front of the truck to see what they had done. They were trying to hot-wire the ignition, and in the process had messed up the wiring harness. Allen disconnected the battery, so he could clear all the shorts, and not kill the battery. The woman called to Allen, telling him that they were trying to start the truck, to go look for Allen and for her, they were not trying to steal the truck. Also, that they were getting cold!

Allen put his tools away, and took a flashlight and went out to find some scrub brush to make a fire with. After several trips, he got out his torch and started the fire. Allen told them, It will not be as warm tonight, as last night, we are not out of the wind tonight. After some jabbering, the kid asked, Why don’t you move the truck? Allen looked at him, and just shook his head, then went back to work, repairing the wiring. It was after eleven PM when Allen finished getting the wiring corrected, and test started the truck, checked out all of the systems, and shut down the engine for the night. Back out into the desert to scrounge up some more scrub brush. No where, did he see any barrel cactus, no mid-night snacks tonight!

Day Three

Allen awoke with a shiver, the eastern sky was ablaze with color, the sun would soon be up and the cold would be gone. Allen checked his watch, 5:30 AM time to get people loaded, which he did without any problems, they seemed to understand, Get into the truck, with out needing some one to speak for them, or to them! Five minutes had passed, the truck was loaded, the lift gate secured, Allen started the truck and headed toward the distant mountain peak, 5:35, on the road again!

His watch showed 7:48 when he saw the asphalt road just ahead. Finally a sign of civilization in an other wise barren desert. After getting onto the road, he stopped and let everyone out to stretch, while he took the aluminum duct tape to check which direction he should go. The makeshift direction finder said, to head back toward the east, at least the sun still came up in the east every morning. He got everyone back into the truck, started up, turned around and headed down the road. Less than a quarter of mile down the road, he stopped, he had to air up the tires. It was like driving on mush, snow or mud. Slipping around and very unstable.

Allen used some adapters, and inflated his tires with R-22 Freon. With the tires inflated to 40 pounds, he figured the road heat would bring the tire pressure up to the normal 60-PSI. What he knew for sure, as he started down the road, the truck drove real good, and the ride was great as they traveled down the road at 65 MPH.

With the ability to drive at more than idle speed, the gas gauge seemed to drop toward empty. Allen looked at his watch when he saw a major road off to his left. It was 10:28, passed breakfast time, early lunch time, and damn he was hungry. Nothing to eat since the cactus, night before last, when he fed everyone with the cactus. Signs up ahead told of a sharp turn, so Allen slowed down, turned, and saw the underpass dead ahead. As he drove through the underpass he saw the buildings. A gas station, restaurant, motel and the radio station that he had been heading for. The mountain peak was still a long way off, but still in a direct line with the radio station.

A state patrol car was parked in front of the restaurant, so Allen headed there too. Leading the Mexicans in, requesting, Coffee and a menu. The Mexicans can order what they want, if they do not have money, I will cover the cost. With his coffee in hand, he went looking for the State Patrolman. He was a she, having an early lunch in a corner booth.

Allen introduced himself, and told her his story, about the illegal aliens, those dead as well as alive. Of those that were alive, some were in very bad shape and could use medical attention. Patrolwoman Sara Langly, used her radio to call for assistance, medical and Border Patrol. Then asked Allen for some ID. Allen pulled out his wallet, took out his driver’s license and handed it to her. Patrolwoman Langly looked at the license and asked, What kind of a joke is this supposed to be, who are you? Allen was startled, but gave all the required information that was on the license, first, middle and last name, age, address and drivers license number. Langly said, You memorize the license very well, but this is the license of an old man, not a young kid like you!

Now Allen was even more confused, he was sixty three years old, not a kid! He held out his hands and said, Are these the hands of a kid? Allen held up his hands, and took a good look at them himself. What he saw totally defied reality. He saw the hands of a young man, not a man 63 years old. No fingers bent and deformed from arthritis. He looked around, saw a mirror on the wall, went to it, and looked at himself. Allen saw himself, only not as an old man, but as he had been, at twenty-two or twenty three years of age. Next to the mirror was a calendar. It should have been 6 or 7 April 1991, only it was 8 October 1997. Allen went into shock, saying, What the hell is going on? Then he fainted, folding limp as a wet rag onto the floor.

CHAPTER TWO

Examination Phase One

Allen regained consciousness with the help of the ammonia capsule held under his nose. At first he was confused, everyone seemed to be in a fog, he could hear, but could not see anyone. With a second application of the ammonia capsule, he was clear, and full of questions. Only Allen did not get to ask a single question, there was a barrage of questions coming from at least six different people.

Who are you, were did you come from? asked Patrolwoman Langley. A deep voice asked, Where did you pick up the Mexicans? That deep voice turned out to be a senior INS Agent. Allen’s answer was simple and to the point, Out on the desert where I found them dying. Lt. Garcia informed Allen he was then under Federal Arrest. All Allen could say was, Why, all I did was save a few people, and offer to buy them breakfast, which I have not yet had, and I am darn hungry. Lt. Garcia told him to shut up and wait for an attorney. Then came the handcuffs, very tight on the wrists. Allen yelled out for Patrolwoman Langley to give Lt. Garcia his identification. Some one hit the side of Allen’s head and told him to shut up, then pushed him out the door and into an INS vehicle.

Several hours later, Allen had been processed, mug shot, printed, given a quick physical, which did little more than prove that he was alive, and locked into a detention cell. For all intent he was alone, no one occupied any of the adjoining cells. Allen called out, asking for food. A door opened, and the largest man Allen had ever seen, slid sideways through the door. Turned, faced Allen as he straightened up. His head was only inches from the ceiling in the cellblock. When he quietly said that Allen would be fed when it was time to be fed, so shut up. He turned, bent over and slid crab style, back through the door, closing it with a bang!

Time passed, how much Allen had no idea, he dozed on and off waiting for food to come. He did not want to call out and piss off the guard. He could squish his head like a grape in his massive hands. Then finally a sound, the sound of the door opening, and Lt. Garcia with a full squad behind him, coming into the cell-block. No guess as to where he was going, Allen was the only prisoner in lock up.

Lt. Garcia stopped in front of the cell door, standing just out of reach. He just stood and looked, for at least a full five minutes. Then he asked, Just who are you? Allen looked him square in the eye, and said, Just the same as before, I’m Allen B. Mead, if you received the finger print report back from the FBI, you know that I am who I said I was. If they gave the full run down, they told you that I’m a retired Chief Master Sergeant, USAF. That I served thirty years and that I have never been arrested before, and should not now be under any kind of arrest. Am I right Lieutenant Garcia? Lt. Garcia said, You can’t be the same guy, he would be 69 years old, and has been missing for over the past six and one half years.

That statement took Allen right off his feet, as he fell back onto the bed. Missing, six years, no way, he just left home two days ago, or at least that is what he remembered. Or was it? He thought hard, trying to remember all the events of the past several days. A bright light tires screeching, gray fog changing into black, then nothing! Waking in the middle of no where, out in the desert. The drive across the desert, picking up people, the restaurant, his arrest. What was going on, were was he? Why was he here?

Lt. Garcia yelled at him, Hey, what is wrong with you, get that blank look off your face and sit up, answer me! Allen blinked, looked at the Lieutenant, and said, I do not know what happened. I do not know where I have been. I can not explain why I have grown younger. Can you tell me how it could happen?

Lt. Garcia turned to his squad and told them to continue to interrogate, find out who he is how he got an old man’s fingerprints. Then he left the lock-up, the interrogation began. Requests for an attorney, were dismissed without any answer. Just an endless stream of questions from the five interrogators. Hours past, Allen began to feel faint, from lack of food and water. He turned away, and said it was over, No food, no water and no sleep, no more questions. He closed his eyes and blocked them out. In just a short period of time, Allen was sound asleep. They could not wake him from his deep sleep.

Allen stirred and woke up, in a different place. He had been sleeping so soundly, that the agents had taken him, under guard, to a hospital for observation. Allen pushed the call button on the side rail of the bed. When the nurse answered, Allen said Coffee, food, water, orange juice please. What he got was an interrogator. He answered the first question with a statement, No food, no water, no answers. Allen rolled over onto his side, preparing to go back to sleep enough was enough, he was hungry, thirsty and it was time to eat and drink! The alternative, was sleep to refresh his body? The agent left.

The next time the door opened, a nurse with a cart came in. No food, she was there to take blood and urine samples. After drawing what seemed to be a pint of blood, she gave Allen a sample jar and pointed to the bathroom. A few minutes later Allen returned with the sample jar filled, and asked where his food and coffee was. All the nurse did was jot down information on the jar and leave.

The door opened with a bang, two big orderlies came in pushing a gurney. They looked like a pair of professional wrestlers. No arguments with this pair. One orderly told him to get on the gur-ney, he slid onto it with no problem, from the bed. They covered him, and strapped him down. No escape possible now!

X-ray was first; he was shot from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, front, back and sides views. Then on for a CAT Scan. Allen was secured to the table, and he was rolled into the machine.

Pictures were taken from the top of his head to his feet. Every view possible of the inside of a person’s body was covered. Next stop, Cardiology, to get his heart checked, and while he was there, they checked his lungs and lung capacity. It was as though Allen was a sample of rock; no one said anything, good, or bad. Then back to the room that was to be his home for the next few days. Once on the bed, one of the big orderlies grabbed his arm, the other orderly snapped on the cuffs, and hooked him to the side of the bed. He was not going anywhere without the bed. Once more Allen asked for food and water, without so much as a grunt from the orderlies as they left the room. At least they could have put a TV in the room so he could have something to pass the time of day with.

A short time latter, the door opened, and a nurse came in with a tray of food. She said, Did you say you wanted coffee, well you can’t have any, at least not until tomorrow. The doctor said you were not to have anything that could stimulate you, before he examines you, and that will not be until tomorrow morning. At last, someone communicated without questioning him, or demanding his cooperation. Maybe things were looking up for him. At least he had food. Removing the cover over the plate, he yelled out, This is not food, this is rubbish! His plate was covered with salad greens and broccoli. He launched the plate toward the door where it shattered into a dozen pieces. Salad greens and broccoli went all over the floor.

The door opened, an INS guard looked in, laughed and said, I thought you were hungry, and closed the door laughing. Oh ha, real funny, where is my food, damn it there are laws about cruel and unusual punishment. Where is my food, I want food now! screamed Allen and he was successful, because a nurse brought in the main course, no more salads. No coffee, but he did have a roast beef dinner with all the trimmings. It was good, and after two large containers of water, he was ready for sleep, and that he did for the next ten hours.

A nurse awakened Allen with his breakfast, no coffee, but two big glasses of orange juice, lumpy cooked cereal, a small container of watery looking milk, and a small bagel, no butter no jelly, no jam, no creamed cheese. Ever eat a cold dry bagel, not even any coffee to soak it in. At least it was food.

Allen had just finished his breakfast, when the door opened and two white-coated men came in. The older of the two introduced himself as Doctor Louis, and pointed to the younger and said This is Doctor Wilmerson, my associate. We have been trying to make some reason out of a very perplexing problem. How can a 69-year-old male look like he is in his late teens or early twenties? How can a 69-year-old have the heart and lung capacity of a twenty-year-old athlete? How can broken bones mend so well, that magnification is needed to see the original fracture? A fracture that at first glances would appear to have never been broken. Your records show that nine years ago you had a stint placed into the main artery to your heart. There is not only no stint there now, there is no reason to be found that would require one to be placed into your artery. Can you explain to us how that is possible? We have no possible explanation on how an artery could be self-regenerating and repair it’s self. If you can tell us how this was possible, please do! Well, can you tell us? Asked Doctor Louis. Allen just looked at the Doctor with a blank stare, shook his head, and asked, Are you kidding me, twenty one days ago, by my only means of time recollection, I was 63 years old and left home on a job. I obviously never made my service call, at least I have no recollection of any thing past trying to avoid a crash. How do you expect me to tell you how my body changed, I still do not believe it!

The doctors went into a huddle, with fast whispers, not loud enough for Allen to understand. Then Doctor Louis turned and said, There is no reason that we have at this time, to keep you here, from a medical point. The INS may want to continue to hold you. I will contact Lt. Garcia and have you released into his custody. Both doctors turned to leave, Doctor Wilmerson stopped, turned back for another look at Allen, and said, The only thing we have found, after all the exhaustive tests, is that you tend to hyperventilate when shocked by events. Like the passage of time, the unbelievable fact that you have reverted in age, while the rest of us have grown older. The result is, you tend to pass out very easily, no reason, other than you are hyperventilating. He stood there with a fixed stare, then said, Totally remarkable, totally unbelievable. He turned and both doctors left quickly.

Allen had finished his dinner before Lt. Garcia showed up. It had been a very long day, with nothing to do but count spots on the overhead, sound proofing tile. Allen was not in a mood to be civil to Lt. Garcia, so he turned his back on him, rolled as far as he could with the handcuff securing him to the side of the bed. Allen was simply going to ignore Lt. Garcia; no more questions would be answered.

Lt. Garcia closed the door, walked to the bed, and removed the cuff from Allen’s wrist. OK, we gave you a bad time, but we had to try and find out what was what. Only problem now, is we still don’t know what is what. It seems that you are who you say you are every thing checks out. The Highway Patrol will give you a temporary license for you and your truck. Tomorrow you can start back to San Diego; at least that is where we figured you would want to go. OK? Allen rolled onto his back and sat up, and asked, Can I get out of here now, like right now. Lt. Garcia nodded, and said, Come on your clothes are next door, as he unlocked the handcuffs. Allen got up and said, OK, my clothes are next door, but where the hell am I? Lt. Garcia looked at him, with his penetrating stare, and said, You really don’t know, do you? Well you are in the INS Detention Center just south of Carlsbad, New Mexico.

An hour later Allen was in a Motel, with a TV running on a news channel. Damn it was real; he had somehow lost six years! He picked up the telephone, and called for an operator to make a call to his home in San Diego. What was his wife going to say, was anyone there in case she fainted, from hearing his voice after all this time had passed? In a few minutes, he would know, as the phone started ringing. Twelve rings and no answer, no answer machines pick-up. He hung up the phone, and placed a second call to his business phone number. Was it still active? His question was answered when a woman answered, South Bay Cleaning. Allen said Sorry, wrong number and hung up. At that point it seemed to Allen that his life had been hung up by someone or something.

The next morning Allen walked to the Highway Patrol Office to get his temporary licenses. As he entered the door, he saw Pa-trolwoman Langley at the desk. He walked up and said, "Hello, I hope I did