Lost Times, Times Lost

By Tage Seville

This
novel follows the unlikely, interconnected, misadventures of a couple
of newspaper reporters, a truck driver, a runaway scientist, two
missing children on the run, and a mysterious corrupt global
enterprise headed by one individual.

Imbedded in the plot is one
more of the myriad of attempts to examine the age-old adage involving
the two provincial schools of thought concerning the origin of life.
The first, of life perhaps being the sum of infinite coincidences;
the other, of it being the result of an intelligence. This book takes
the position of the latter.

In taking that position,
the author declares the source of the intelligence is identified in
scrolls stored in various places of antiquity in the Middle Eastern
part of the world. These writings became the basis for our
Judeo-Christian Bible.

The Christian part of that
Bible is identified as the New Testament, which is based on the
birth, life, death, resurrection, and purpose of Jesus of Nazareth,
who is declared as and who we believe is the Christ God sent to give
His life for the salvation of mankind. The book attempts to use
modern-day events as examples of Jesus’s response to the Samaritan
woman at Jacob’s well, in John 4, where He addresses the
physicality of His Father when He said, “God is a Spirit.”

The leaf that travels and
is captured by a squirrel in the opening chapter is one of the
author’s examples of how God uses what may appear to us as a
coincidence to carry out His will.

The ensemble of characters
find their lives turned upside-down by a cutting-edge invention that
has the power to upend the entire power structure of modern-day
economics, closing the wealth gap and rewriting the dynamics of
market control. Through it all, they will be challenged to see what
is unseen and to be heroes in the truest sense of the word—that is,
Good Samaritans.

The novel ultimately makes
a profound statement identifying what’s wrong with the human
species through the voices of a visionary group and a wise American
president.

I hope you will enjoy, be
uplifted, and maybe even be blessed by the read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781639030378

Book preview

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Lost Times, Times Lost

Tage Seville

ISBN 978-1-63903-036-1 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-63961-089-1 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-63903-037-8 (digital)

Copyright © 2021 by Tage Seville

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

The Ride

The Most Powerful Reacts

Back to Work

The Weston Family

Back to Work Again

The Kamaguchi Incident

The Savvy 6 Pact Is Formed

The Five Join FER, the Free Energy Movement

The Powerful Go to War

Love and War Begin

Love and War Continue

Part 1

The Ride

Tulare is a medium-sized city located in the middle of a rather-large agriculture basin. The basin is seventy miles wide and 160 miles long and is situated between two mountain ridges, one to the west of the basin and one to the east. The mountains on both sides are blessed with a canopy of extra tall trees, some growing more than 150 feet in height.

Early settlers discovered that the basin had soil that had unique nourishing qualities. It would be the only soil in the world that could grow a combination of alfalfa, artichokes, corn, soybeans, wheat, and sugar beets. But for the last decade, the farmers have been experiencing a decline in yield, and they are worried about the future.

Scientists from the Department of Agriculture were called in, and they discovered that annual drainage from the forests provided the unique nourishment for the soil in the basin. Further investigation revealed that the trees were dying, and it was due to an infestation of a Japanese beetle that feeds on and destroys the trees’ roots.

The beetle had been accidentally introduced into the environment by tourists early in the twentieth century. In the first years, the intense cold of the long winters controlled the beetle population. But as the earth got warmer, the winters got shorter, and the beetle population exploded.

This place is where our story begins.

*****

It is a cold, windy, uneventful day in late September. It feels like it is going to be a short summer, and winter might have an early start. On this particular day, the tops of the mountain trees appear to be dancing, twisting, and twirling in groups as they respond to the wind as if directed by some sort of mad choreographer.

A single leaf nestled at the top of one of the tallest trees is violently ejected from its host branch and begins its journey to the ground.

On a day without wind, this journey would normally be short in time and distance, but not so today. Today, the little leaf takes off and begins soaring westward like a large bird, gracefully gliding over each of the subdivisions. The wind carries it for miles, occasionally being uplifted by a warm air current but experiencing a slight descent in total as it arrives in each section.

First it flies over the outer farms with its big combine machines and tall grain silos. Then it flies over the airport that is too small for large commercial jets, then over the beautiful lake, which was a major recreation attraction for the state. Then it flies over the inner farms with some producing specialty crops, then the cemetery, then over the city with its shops and malls, then over the huge estates of the few wealthy residents who live in the area, and then over the area containing the homes of the less affluent where it finally comes to rest on a windowsill of a small three-bedroom house appearing to be in need of some minor repairs.

But the little leaf’s adventure was not yet over because it was immediately spotted and captured by a squirrel, who unfortunately, at that very same moment, is spotted by a local tomcat, and the proverbial predatory chase begins. The squirrel makes a mad dash across the short front lawn, but seeing no chance of making it to the nearest tree, it scampers under the car parked in the driveway with the cat in hot pursuit. The squirrel frantically climbs up inside the engine bay and lodges himself up into a crevasse between the engine and the engine bay, where with a little luck, he can remain out of the cat’s reach.

The engine bay is warm, and the squirrel thinks he can wait out the cat. It’s cold, so the cat shortly gives up and moves on, which would ordinarily been thought to be an end to the adventure. But the consequences from this adventure doesn’t end here either because the squirrel’s panic-like activity across the engine dislodges an electric wire from its mounting, causing the exposed wire to create a mild short against the car’s frame.

*****

Now the owner of the house and car just happened to arrive at the house about the same time as the leaf. He is tired and is ready to settle in for the night. Both he and the house are bone-chilling cold, and he heads for the pantry to get fire-burning materials for the stove in his room.

The house is well over a hundred years old. The original owner was rumored to have been an eccentric who built the house without architectural plans. The unique stove was also his creation. It was small in size, and you could attach a tank for heating water, and it had a grill for cooking food. He installed one of these stoves in each of the bedrooms and a larger one in the living room.

The overall condition of the house was marginal but livable. It was the major reason the owner was able to acquire it for a rock-bottom price. But those old antique stoves came in handy one year when the power grid was down for two weeks during a severe winter storm.

The stove could burn a variety of wood and coal products. Though small in size, it was capable of making the room so hot you couldn’t stay in it. There were a few times that the owner had to open the bedroom’s door and window and spray water on the burning coals to get the room temperature down.

The owner removes the old ash and by-products left in the stove, refills it with fresh charcoal, and relights it. He places his favorite comforter over the top of the stove and prepares for bed. A few minutes later, he takes the blanket, now more than toasty warm, wraps it around his body, and collapses on the bed. Needless to say, in less than a minute, he is sound asleep.

Seven-thirty the next morning

Thump! Thump! Thump! Silence.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Silence.

Thump! Thump! Thump! Silence.

Soft music, louder music, even louder music.

Whaaaa! Whaaaa! What is that? Where am I?

"Oh, for Pete’s sake, I’m gonna kill that clock!"

Somebody get me a sledgehammer!

The music stops abruptly. There’s a short period of silence.

Well, maybe I’ll kill the darn thing tomorrow.

Vincent Andrew Trundel, our near comatose and delirious sleeping owner of the house, is violently awakened by the most insidious pounding noise of his vibrating alarm clock

He had purchased this clock at a local garage sale, thinking it was a deal. Now, after hearing the alarm, he would gladly pay them three more dollars to take it back. He’s been promising to buy a new one for months.

Vincent kills the alarm that’s just out of his reach and slowly rolls his aching body out of bed. As soon as he’s on his feet, his bladder reminds him that it is also fifty-nine years old, which means he better get to some relief and quick. It’s a mad dash to the only bathroom in the house, hoping with great anxiety that it’s unoccupied. His housemates never seemed to pass up an opportunity to remind him of the times when he didn’t quite make it through the kitchen to the backyard.

He shares the house with two other guys. It’s a living arrangement he was forced into. He would have preferred to live alone, but his finances would not permit it. He had been married and divorced three times and has four children, all grown and living in other states. He rarely hears from them. He hasn’t heard from his oldest son in years. He believes he has an enlarged prostate, although he has not been diagnosed. He hates doctors and hospitals and figures that if he has to die, he’d rather die alone at home. His friends and colleagues call him Vinny.

Now in reach of the bathroom door, he sees the light shining under it, and that means that there’s somebody in it. It’s time to panic again, and he makes a mad dash through the kitchen, and this time, he makes it to the backyard without incident. Now outside, he mumbles to himself, Now I know why they once called public restrooms relief stations.

It’s an average fall day. A few rainclouds hover over the city. The racket of what sounds like a million small birds congregating in the trees behind Vinny’s yard can be heard all over the neighborhood. To Vinny, it sounds like ten thousand wives simultaneously fussing at their husbands who had been out all night.

Vinny completes his regimen. Suddenly, there’s a loud noise of someone slamming a window shut. He quickly starts back into the house, hoping he wasn’t spotted. Back in his room, he completes his morning preparation and is off to work.

*****

The Tulare City Examiner is a small-town newspaper located in the southern part of the city. After working as an Associated Press reporter for many years, Vinny grew tired of the long periods of living out of a suitcase and being away from his family, which he felt greatly contributed to the failure of his marriages. Tulare was the town where he grew up. He decided to return there and take a job with the local newspaper so that he could spend his remaining years near his first home.

He has been working on the paper for the last five years. He is about two years from retirement.

Harold Pettish is a workaholic and the paper’s chief editor. He is also Vinny’s boss. He’s been with the paper fifteen years. Harold is always there no matter what time Vinny arrives, and he’s there when Vinny leaves. But Vinny enjoys the overtime pay.

*****

It’s another busy day at the paper. Vinny doesn’t finish up until late that night. After receiving notice from Harold that the work is finished for the day, he shuts down his computer, turns off his desk light, and heads out of the building for his car in the company parking lot. While looking for his keys, he wonders if he’ll ever be able to afford a car with remote door locks. In the car, he put the key in the ignition, turning it to the right like always. To his surprise, nothing happens. He tries again, and again there is no response; he tries several times, but there is no sound from the car’s engine.

With obviously no knowledge of the misadventures of a desperate squirrel, he thinks to himself, The darn battery must be dead. I must have left my lights on.

He sits there for a while and ponders over what to do. After about twenty minutes, he notices a man on the other side of the parking lot helping a lady with her car.

Finally, the lady drives off, and the man begins walking toward a small dark cargo van; and as he walks, he notices Vinny sitting in his car. He shouts to him, Hey, main. Djou been sitting there a while. Djou broke down?"

Vinny responds, My car won’t start. I think it’s the battery.

Djou want boost?

A little surprised at his luck, Vinny replies, Sure. You got cables? I don’t have any.

I got cables. the man says and continues, I’ll pull my truck over.

Vinny, much relieved, replies, Okay.

Vinny reaches down and pulls a handle under the dashboard. The car’s hood pops up. He gets out and opens the hood just in time as the man arrives with his van and begins connecting the two batteries. When he is finished, Vinny gets back into his car and turns the ignition key. There is a low clicking noise, but the car does not start. After many more tries, the car still won’t start. He finally gives up.

The man comments, Djou battery is real dead. I think cell is no good. You need a new battery.

Vinny, now thoroughly disgusted, blurts out: Just what I needed. My battery waits until all the stores are closed to go dead on me. Now how am I going to get home? Vinny remembers that he let his roadside insurance account expire a year ago.

I got battery, the man says. I think I got one left in my van.

Vinny asks, How much are you asking for it, preparing himself for an exorbitant price,

The man responds, You can have it for thirty dollars.

Thirty dollars? Vinny shot back. Thirty dollars? What kind of battery sells for thirty dollars? Is it stolen? Because if it is, I don’t want it. I’d rather walk home first. I don’t want no stolen goods. My place was ransacked last year, and I lost a bunch of stuff. I don’t want stolen stuff.

The parking lot helper is now offended.

I not steal, I not steal. I not thief. You hurt my feelings. I no thief. I buy my batteries from manufacturer. I no thief.

Vinny interrupts the man’s outrage, All right, all right, I’ll take it. I’ll take it then.

The man calms down and opens the back of his van. Vinny notices that the van is dark inside and dirty outside. Someone had painted over the words Interstate Batteries on the side panels. The man unloaded what seemed to be two carloads of broken machine parts and other junk before he spotted what appeared to be a small battery in the back of the van.

Here it is. I found it. The man picks it up. I put it in for you.

Vinny was relieved that the man was going to install the battery. The battery seemed unusually small, and he realized he wouldn’t have had the right tools for the job anyway.

The man finishes installing the battery.

You ready to go now.

Vinny gets back in his car, turns the ignition key, and the car starts right up.

Thanks, guy, but what about the old battery.

You keep it. I don’t want it.

Vinny, a little annoyed, says, What am I going to do with a dead battery? I don’t know anything about disposing batteries.

You keep it. I don’t want it.

Vinny gives in reluctantly. Well, thanks anyway.

Vinny gives the man $30 and drives off with the old battery in his trunk. At home, finally, he has a drink and hopes it will help him forget the night’s unpleasantries.

About a month later

It is a typical Friday in late fall. Vinny is working overtime again, and this time he works to one in the morning without a dinner break. On the way home, he decides to treat himself to a late-night meal at Elmo’s Diner, where his father would take him when he was a young boy. It was his favorite restaurant. The original owner and his father were friends. Over the years, the restaurant ownership had changed hands on several occasions. When Vinny found out that a waitress he knew in his childhood was still working there, he began eating at the diner frequently.

It has been a long and tiring workday today, and Vinny is hungry. He liked the idea of having a hot home-style meal in a friendly, familiar environment.

Seraf McGuiness is the waitress Vinny had befriended. She had been working at Elmo’s Diner for almost fifty years. She knew Vinny, but Vinny didn’t know she had a crush on his father. She was a good-looking woman who had retained her looks, even at the ripe old age of seventy-three. She was spry, cocky, and full of life, and nobody knew her name was Seraf. Everybody called her Sal. She called Vinny V-Mack and sometimes The V-Mack.

Vinny walks into the diner, looking for his favorite stool at the left end of the counter, and luckily, it is empty. He calls out, Hey, Sal!

Surprised to see him, she responds, Well, if it ain’t the V-Mack. I thought you had dropped off the face of the planet or something.

Happy to see her, Vinny answers back, No, just working like crap on a cringle.

Crap on a cringle. Only you talk like that. Nobody else would understand you.

Vinny shoots back, Nobody still alive.

Sal laughs and begins fixing Vinny his favorite dish: meatloaf and mashed potatoes covered with dark gravy, green peas, and corn mixed together with a roll, butter, and a large cup of black coffee. And for dessert, a large slice of hot apple pie with a double scoop of vanilla ice cream.