Project: Second Time Around: Paranormal

By Earl E. Somers

Project:Second Time Around
A Missionarys Special Mission

There I was lying on a slab in the mortuary, due to be cremated the very next day. I was deadsimply deadoblivious to anything that had occurred or what was yet to occur. Then I actually became aware that I was shivering (after all, it is freezing in a mortuary holding room). It was dark as I opened my eyes, wondering why I was lying naked on a hard table. Then a hand grasped mine and raised me to a sitting position. What was happening to me? I soon learned the answer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781493154265

Earl E. Somers

Earl E. Somers was born in Fountain Hill, Pennsylvania, on September 28, 1927. He retired from the US Army in 1969. He married Gertrud Schaefer while stationed in Germany and fathered three sons. Additional personal data about the author may be obtained from any of his previous twelve books, except Sons and Daughters.

Book preview

Copyright © 2014 by Earl E. Somers.

Library of Congress Control Number:       2013922804

ISBN:                  Hardcover                          978-1-4931-5425-8

                            Softcover                             978-1-4931-5424-1

                            eBook                                  978-1-4931-5426-5

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.

Rev. date: 12/21/2013

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CONTENTS

FOREWORD

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

DISCLAIMER

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Epilogue One

Epilogue Two

FOREWORD

My books are listed variously online at Amazon.com, Buy Books On The Web (BBOTW), and elsewhere.

Several of my books have been converted to e-books, with more to follow.

Both hardcovers and paperbacks make ideal and inexpensive gifts for any occasion.

Books may be read and enjoyed over and over while candy and flowers are soon discarded.

Do your book-reading family and friends a favor.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would be remiss if I did not credit members of my family, friends, and acquaintances who encouraged me in my literary pursuit. Keep writing, they said. And so I shall, as long as I continue to be inspired.

As always,

my good friend, Steven Big Guy Strickland,

proofreads my manuscripts and is helpful

resolving text errors and computer glitches.

Finally,

whatever accomplishments

we enjoy in our lifetimes are only

possible by the Grace of God.

DISCLAIMER

It is very important that readers of this novel are aware that the author is venturing into topical areas in which he is unfamiliar. He has used author’s license in describing the presence of ELCA (Evangelistic Lutheran Church in America) in a few of the African nations. Whether such isolated, primitive native villages actually exist is merely a figment of his imagination. In actuality, quite a few different missionaries other than ELCA are also active in the various African nations.

The levels of leadership within ELCA also may not be accurate. The author tends to indicate that one bishop is assigned to each nation where ELCA has a presence. Synods supervise major cities where one or more missions are located. Each synod is headed by a reverend doctor who is one level above clergy missionaries, including pastors.

My abject apologies to all who fault me for making such undocumented assumptions. My apologies to the African nations cited in my novel.

Please remember: this is a fictional novel.

Chapter One

Sometimes early retirement for many of us from the daily grind translates into more time engaged in pleasurable pursuits in which we were limited during our working careers. In my case, it was more time spent on golf courses within driving distance. Also, I now had no excuses for not attending Sunday services regularly with my wife. Making occasional driving excursions in and around the greater San Francisco Bay area proved satisfying to both of us. Inasmuch as our children were grown, married, gainfully employed, and residing great distances from us, we didn’t have as much interaction with them or their families as we would have liked. Of course, we had occasion to visit them and vice versa.

Our lives more or less fell into a set routine. Gradually, we became more active in church activities. My wife accepted a position on the church council and took her turn hosting the after-service coffee-and-snacks hour in the Fellowship Hall. All in all, we—the Bob Buckleys—enjoyed our participation in the church activities. Our church sponsored a softball team comprised of preteens, aged nine through twelve—both boys and girls. Some of the children were Sunday school attendees—others from surrounding neighborhoods. I was recruited by the team’s coach to assist her. Our church was positioned adjacent to a high school sports field which was made available for our use when not otherwise occupied. It was a learning experience for me, which I soon relished.

Coach Heather McCoy was a former softball pitcher in college and was eager to impart her knowledge to the youngsters—and also for my benefit. As I became more involved with the team in general, and with the children and their parents in particular, I was enjoying myself immensely—to the exclusion of some of my previous pursuits, including golf. All of our games were played on Sunday afternoons—half of them at our home field and the away games no farther than Daly City, a mere ten miles distant. Parents provided most of the transportation, with Heather and myself providing the rest.

Immediately following each game, all the children were treated to pizzas and soft drinks—costs shared by the parents of the losing team and the sponsoring church. It so happened after our team was victorious in a game in the Mission District that the losing team protested the final score because they accused the plate umpire of a series of bad calls which favored our team. The older brother of one of the boys on the Mission team protested vehemently—resorting to using unprintable foul language in his tirade against the umpire. Because he was obviously inebriated, he was not taken seriously by our team but still managed to inflame the passions of the others.

Consequently, they departed for home without treating the children. After a hurried meeting of the minds of our team, we all agreed to stop at a Round Table on our way back home to the delight of our children. The plate umpire and the assisting umpire, both of whom were parents from a neutral team, were invited to join us. We were all enjoying ourselves as we discussed some of the highlights of the game—also mentioning our next game against a team on Geary Avenue. We were just about winding down, preparing to depart, when the poop hit the fan—to put it mildly.

A loud voice commanded, Everybody stay in your seats and don’t move! For emphasis, a gunshot shattered a chandelier in the center of the room. Amid the screams of a few of the patrons, the gunman continued, Anyone moves will be shot.

By that time, the gunman was recognized as the young man who had been protesting so vehemently at the ball game. It appeared he was backed up by two other young men—also wielding weapons. The gunman approached the table occupied by the two umpires, Heather, and myself. In a more subdued tone and pointing at the plate umpire, he said, You! On your feet! I have some unfinished business with you. Move!

Hesitating as he looked at me and the others, the plate umpire stated he was comfortable where he was. The gunman—already slurring his speech badly in his drunken stupor, making him incoherent—screamed, Then you will die here at your table!

I don’t know what possessed me at that particular moment, but I sprang to my feet and hurled myself at him, causing him to fire his weapon erratically—shattering two windows behind our table. I managed to grab his arm, bending it behind him, causing him to drop his weapon. I was feeling pretty jiffy for someone who had recently celebrated his sixty-fifth birthday. The last thing I remembered was the looks of disbelief and screaming from the others at our table.

Then my lights went out.

Chapter Two

The police arrived just as the gunman and his two accomplices were entering their car parked on the street, preparing to get away. The police car blocked them from leaving the curb. Panicking, one of the three fired his weapon at the police car and was killed in an exchange of gunfire. The other two tried to flee on foot, but were captured less than a block away. The paramedics arrived simultaneously with the police and soon ascertained that I was dead at the scene—having been shot twice in the back. So much for heroics.

Upon learning of my demise, my wife became irrationally hysterical, causing her to have a brain hemorrhage. Admitted to a hospital, she was placed on life support. That was how she was found by our eldest son upon his arrival from the East Coast. Soon after the arrival of our other two children, my wife succumbed and was pronounced dead.

The last rites and disposal of our ashes upon being cremated was planned and discussed among our children after the requisite viewing at a local mortuary two days hence. The viewing was accomplished with an enlarged photo of me and one of my wife positioned on either side of the podium. In addition to our children and grandchildren, attendees at the viewing consisted of members of our church and a few others of our friends and acquaintances.

Wait a minute! How could I possibly be relating all of the foregoing if I was shot dead at the Round Table? It will all be explained to you in due time as it was made known to me. Read on.

There I was, lying on a slab in the mortuary, due to be cremated the very next day. At the time, of course, I was dead—simply dead—completely oblivious to anything that had occurred or what was yet to occur. Suddenly, I was aware that I was shivering; after all, it is freezing temperature in a mortuary holding room. I became aware that it was completely dark as I opened my eyes. I was in a state of complete confusion because I didn’t know where I was or what was happening to me. Why was I lying on a hard table completely naked, with no blankets, freezing to death? I was struggling to sit up, but I was too stiff.

Then I felt the hand of someone helping me off the table and supporting me as I was led out of the dark room into an adjoining room which was many degrees warmer. Also, there were night lights enabling me to see myself and the man who had assisted me. He led me to a chair to be seated.

Relax for a few minutes while your body temperature returns to normal. When you’re ready, use the restroom in the hallway while I secure your clothing from the holding locker. All your personal items are there waiting to be collected tomorrow by your eldest son.

I finally found my voice. Who are you?

In a word, I’m your guardian angel.

You don’t appear to be an angel. You look like an ordinary human being. What happened to me? Why am I here?

It will all be explained to you in due time. At the present time, it behooves us to complete our business here and vacate the premises before dawn—before someone arrives. Get washed up while I fetch your clothes and personal items. As soon as you’re dressed, we’re out of here.

Departing the mortuary and without transportation, we were obliged to walk a mile and a half to the nearest Burger King. Along the way, I had many questions—which were answered to my incredulity. Essentially, I learned all that had occurred to me and my wife since being fatally shot at the Round House pizza parlor. We continued our conversation while enjoying an early morning breakfast at the Burger King.

I sure have an appetite for someone who was dead just hours ago.

Believe me, I was also hungry. You see, I was sent here as my previous self, in human form, but without any identification or funds. It’s fortunate you had a wad in your wallet. I also noticed you have a key in your wallet.

It’s my spare key to my car.

"Very good. I suppose your son has the other keys to your car. So we’ll take a cab from here to your place and secure your car. We need to get as far away from here as soon as