The Magician

By Allen R. Remaley

In any invasive surgery, there is always a chance that unforetold or unforeseen consequences might occur. Infections, missteps, and incompetent procedures due to lack of focus sometimes result in less than desired results and even death. But, in one case, an open-heart repair of the aortic valve results in a phenomenon unheard of in modern times---a man receives the gift of being able to channel things and people from the past to present time. A college professor who thought that he was close to death suddenly realizes that he is more alive than ever and that his ability to conjure up the past allows him to find love, security, happiness and adventure. The gift offered him during a life-saving operation makes him, Jack Riddle, The Magician.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524644055

Allen R. Remaley

Allen R. Remaley has written fifteen novels, collections of short stories, letters and professional articles. While most of his novels are categorized as fiction, some are bathed in actual experience. He is a four-year veteran of the United States Marine Corps, a thirty-seven -year teacher at the elementary, secondary and graduate-school levels of education. He holds a doctorate in French and in the Teaching of Foreign Languages. Dr. Remaley no longer skydives, but he does play pickle ball and strums the banjo. He lives with his wife in Saratoga Springs, NY and in Scottsdale, AZ.

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2016 Allen Remaley. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 10/07/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4406-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-4405-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016916677

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Prologue

Dedication

The Awakening

Rehabilitation

The Invitation

Monticello

The Proposition

The Date

The Rehearsal

The Gun Show

Return Engagement

The Revelation

The Gala

The Princess and the Pauper

Cajun Country

Saratoga Trunk

Westward Ho

Mount Rushmore’s Faces

A Surprise Visit

A Winter’s Proposal

The Going-Away Party

The Retreat

A Hop, Skip and a Jump

Boothill Cemetery and the Bird Cage Saloon

Happy Hours and Buffalos

The Premonition

Cross-Country Transition

Arias, Divas and Bass Voices

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Prologue

The mystery and lack of understanding concerning the supernatural stems from the fact that the human being knows very little of an existence outside the natural world. We, born of woman, made of flesh and bone and governed by primordial beginnings, have worshiped the sun, the moon, trees and things made of stone during our transition from non-thinking forms to the stage of walking upright. We have not been on Earth long enough to fully understand the paranormal, yet we doubt that it exists. We are told that channeling, bridging the physical world and extending ourselves into the spiritual world cannot take place. But, consider what might occur if, for some simple reason, we believed in a God who saw something in an individual, a God who reached out and touched that person and left his mark. This is a story about a man who carries a finger print on his soul.

If there is anything to Spiritualism then the world should know it. If there is nothing to it, if it is, as it appears, built on a flimsy framework of misdirection, then, too, the universe must be told. There is too much at stake for a flighty passing, for unsubstan-tiated truths.

Eric Weisz (Harry Houdini)

Dedication

To teachers who make their classrooms a place of magic.

The Awakening

Coming out of the anesthesia at the end of an open-heart operation is sometimes traumatic. The lightheadedness brought on by the body being kept alive with a heart/lung machine, intermittent blood flow to the brain during the surgery, waking up in a space very unlike that where consciousness was erased by nerve-blocking anesthetic makes one question sanity. The patient questions why no severe pain is associated with that which just took place within his chest cavity. Drugs work wonders on the human body. It is only after the realization that such things take place that the heinous side of chemical concoctions are realized and tempt the user to experiment further with inventions of nature or the Devil. But, here he was. Jack Riddle was waking up.

One of Jack’s last memories was the anesthesiologist telling him to count backward from 100. Before he got to 97, Jack would be unaware of the hands and instruments opening his sternum, connecting him to a life-support machine, and removing his slowly-closing aortic heart valve and replacing it with a new, biological replica.

Jack had been made aware of his weakened valve by his regular physician. Jack, I detect a slight murmur in your heart. I’m setting you up to see a cardiologist. See my secretary before you leave today, and she will set you up with an appointment. A year later, and after being forced to his knees and gasping for breath during play on the pickle ball court, Jack counted back to 97, and his life changed abruptly. Change does not sum up what was to become of Jack Riddle. But, lying there in bed, tubes running out his chest, abdomen and penis and emptying their detritus into catch basins, Jack knew something other than a new aortic valve had been inserted into his body.

The human body is such a magnificent thing. Through the mind, nerve endings and subtle tinglings in one’s vital organs, a human being is made aware of certain differences and functions over time. When asked to read the eye chart in an ophthalmologist’s office, the reader becomes acutely aware that changes have taken place. That pain in a certain area of the body keeps a person informed that things might not be normal. In Jack’s case, he just knew. There was no throbbing soreness, no real discomfort or irritation which announced that any foreign insertion had taken place. He just knew, and he was about to experience the frightening reality of a new quintessence within him.

Jack Riddle believed in God. As a young United States Marine, he had ample opportunities to pray. His wishes were usually granted, and he served his country for four years believing that his God wanted him to live a longer life than had been offered his parents. Both his mother and father, at least until he left his wife and young son, succumbed to lung cancer before the age of sixty. Tobacco had addicted both Jack’s parents early in their lives, and the parasitic cancer, such an insidious killer, took over their bodies. An equal-opportunity assassin, cancer shows no mercy. Jack thought about how much suffering had taken place in his parents’ lives as he looked down across his body.

Protruding out from under his hospital gown like some terrible slithering serpents, their bodies bubbling with blood-like liquids, were tubes carrying away the waste and infectious fluids being ejected from his body. Catch basins collected this vile mixture of what was once life-affording watery substances. Some of this vile stuff would later be analyzed by the care-giving staff. But, there was some good of what was draining from his body; Jack gave thanks for the catheter which helped empty his bladder which allowed him to avoid what might have been a painful and cumbersome trip to the urinal.

Attendants and nurses had been circling him like some vultures looking for an easy meal. Bed pans were emptied, blood pressure recorded, and blood samples were collected and sent for testing. The surgeon who had cracked Jack’s sternum and repaired his faulty aortic valve stopped by and gave a thumbs up on his successful operation. Then, Jack was left alone. Or so he thought.

Jack reflected back over his life. High school football, four years as an enlisted Marine followed by eight years of college and university classes of American studies had helped him earn a doctorate in American history. After twenty-five years as a professor in an upstate New York college, Jack had enjoyed teaching young Americans about heroes, heroines and scoundrels who had built what Jack thought to be the greatest nation on the face of the Earth. With that in mind, Jack almost drifted off into a much-needed sleep when he began to think of his studies of the American Civil War. He thought of soldiers dying from terrible wounds and battlefield infections. He then closed his eyes and conjured up the story of a young woman who, neglecting the advice of others, went on often in the heat of battle tending to bleeding and dying men in germ-infested settings. It was at that moment that Jack knew that he was no longer alone in his hospital room.

Off in one corner of his tiny enclosure, seated on a chair, sat a young woman wearing a white nurse’s cap but dressed in a black, long taffeta gown. Her shoes were high, black leather, buttoned style not regularly worn by any other nurses he had seen in the hospital. The young woman smiled, and said, Jack, don’t be afraid. You are in good hands here, and the doctors say that you will recover from your operation in good time. But, you must be patient. I am here to give you some news.

–Do you work here?

–No, Jack. I am a visitor and a messenger. You must relax and listen closely.

–OK. Go ahead.

–Jack, there has been a transformation that took place during your operation.

–Just a minute. I went in for only a new aortic valve. Did they put something else in me without my consent?

–No, Jack. Your transformation was spiritual. You are soon going to be able to do things you never dreamed of doing. If you are careful. This new power will enhance your life.

–Who decided that I might need or want any new power?

–That is not for me to say, Jack. But, listen to me. I, too, was a teacher. The change in you will probably make you a better teacher. But, this is what I believe. I have almost complete disregard of precedent and a faith in the possibility of something better. It irritates me to be told how things always have been done. I defy the tyranny of the precedent. I cannot afford the luxury of a closed mind. I go for anything new that might improve the past. You, Jack, can improve our knowledge of the past by drawing forth and bringing to light moments thought lost. That’s part of your new power, Jack.

–Wait a minute. Who are you, where do you fit in as far as this hospital staff goes?

–Jack, I’m a nurse. You will be able to see my picture in the museum where the present American Red Cross is located. Now, Jack, my mission is over. You will do well as long as you do not try to use your new power to harm or do ill will to anyone. Be safe, Jack.

Jack closed his eyes and was going to call his visitor to task in a flurry of not-too-appropriate expressions. When he opened his eyes again, he was once again alone. He tried to blink away his disbelief when he was interrupted by a nurse who came into his room and said, Mr. Riddle, you are not allowed visitors yet. We heard voices, and we came in to check on who might have come in your room. Can you tell me anything about who came to visit you?

–Something tells me that Clara might have come in for a while.

–Clara?

–Yes, she was a nurse a long time ago. She’s associated with the American Red Cross.

–Mr. Riddle, I hope you’re not talking about Clara Barton. She’s no longer among the living. We had better check you out a little more. Any headaches? Can we get you something?

–No, thank you. I must have been talking in my sleep.

Then, in the midst of needed rest, Jack