Rebirth: The Time Guardian Series

By Q.B. Finn

A scientist developed a time machine to undo an abuse he experienced in his youth. Before he could accomplish this personal mission, the FBI commissioned him and his team to prevent a terrorist act in the past. Unfortunately, these two missions took a back seat to their accidental entrance into different historical events. How can they stop their time hopping, restore history to its correct setting, and return home safely? Not only are they traveling through time, but they are racing against time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Legacy Elect Books LLC
• Release date: Dec 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223957669

Book preview

Scriptures and Quotes Referring to Time

"So do not fear, for I am with you;

Do not be dismayed, for I am your God.

I will strengthen you and help you;

I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."

Isaiah 41:10

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I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.

Revelation 22:13

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There is a time for everything.

Ecclesiastes 3:1a

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The only reason for time is so that everything doesn't happen at once.

Albert Einstein

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Going back in time has already started a change in the time continuum and simultaneously affected the time portal. How much change? I am not sure. It depends on how many times you venture through the portal.

Professor Albert Hernandez

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Time is unfaithful for those who abuse it.

Unknown

PROLOGUE

April 4, 1865 – 1:45 PM

Dressed as a Union officer, McGee walked down a dimly lit hallway, checking his small, metallic handheld device. The device continuously beeped as he approached a specific office door. Hesitating momentarily, McGee reached for the doorknob and turned it, pushing the door slightly open.

Excuse me, sir.

McGee paused and turned to see a Union officer of the same rank as himself—me. McGee blocked most of the hallway, so I tried to slide behind him to pass. As I brushed against him, he let go of the doorknob, turned to face me, and pushed me against a closed door that didn’t open.

What is your problem, man? There’s enough room to walk by. Do you want a fight?

Excuse me? I don’t want any trouble from you or anyone else.

Well, you have one now.

McGee stepped up to me, fists clenched, and swung several times. I dodged away from his

punches.

Nice try. Is that all you got? I taunted.

McGee wiped his face with a wry grin. He pulled out an 1865 revolver and aimed it at me, pulling back the hammer as the cylinder rotated into position. McGee's finger slowly pressed the trigger. I stood frozen for a few moments, wondering how to stop him from firing his gun. I had the circular disk in my right hand, hidden from his sight, which could return McGee to our appropriate time.

Blam! Phish!

~

"Stop! Stop! This is ridiculous! Are you trying to make us believe you were at the

Confederate White House in 1865? If your testimony is about this time period, I cannot

accept the storyline and certainly cannot believe it. I heard you were an excellent

storyteller, Professor Hernandez, and now I see that’s true. I don’t believe what you’re

presenting today is factual. I’ve spoken to many scientists who told me that no one can

travel through time. So, I believe this is a fantasy you made up to justify your actions.

Can’t you come up with a better story than this?"

The Chairman, Ronald Jones, of the Senate Oversight Committee in Covert Operations (SOCCO), had plenty to say about my testimony and recordings. I lowered my head in humility and a touch of shame.

Sir, let me explain.

"No, Professor Hernandez, you’ve done enough of that today. So, this is your explanation

for arresting six citizens from the Arab community and a former FBI agent? This is horse

manure. You can do better, sir!"

I looked at the Chairman with great concern, trying to understand his justification for such an outburst. Before you wonder what happened next, let me take you back to the beginning before Chairman Jones’ outburst. My team and I left my NYU lab to stand before this committee to explain how a disrupted and decaying time continuum justified the incarceration of seven individuals for various crimes. Sometimes, the beginning can explain the end of a story better than simply serving as the opening for every account. This factual, non-fictional story will enlighten the truth in your heart and give you solace to have a second chance in your life. As the recording will illuminate, the beginning was not pretty because of a submerged memory in my mind and heart, but the Light brought it out. I had to learn to deal with that memory, but a Voice indicated I don’t have to face it alone. I narrated a video recording to transition the entire account of our missions dealing with time terrorists and the shifting time continuum. This story contains three stages across various historical periods: Rebirth, Crossing Over, and Restoration, all recorded as evidence of our actions and the orders given to us through the FBI, ultimately coming from the President from 2018 to 2021.

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Chapter 1

July 17, 2018 – 9:30 PM

"In each person's life, pivotal moments carve a lasting imprint, shaping their inclinations

towards good or evil. These tragic or joyful events leave indelible marks on one's

character, influencing their choices and actions for a lifetime. I've encountered three such

moments that have deeply etched themselves into my psyche, defining my outlook,

behavior, and the enduring pain that has reverberated through my mind, soul, and heart."

Seated on my sky-blue, wool-blend sofa, I pondered deeply. The wall panels behind me were scarcely discernible, obscuring the details of the photos adorning the walls near my plasma TV set. Among those images lay glimpses of joy and innocence from my youth, alongside snapshots of my wife's own youthful experiences.

"I wish I could relive those youthful times and never grow up. If only I could remain

frozen in that moment forever. Alas, we all age and must bear the fruits of our lives;

hopefully, we ripen fully so we can savor the sweetness of life and not wither away into

decay, forgotten and discarded."

Clad in an Albert Einstein tee, his iconic visage captured mid-tongue wag, I contemplated his famous assertion: 'Time is an illusion.' A paradox, for one who unlocked the mysteries of relativity to dismiss time as illusory. Does this suggest that our entire existence, bound as it is by time, is but a mirage? Does it imply that even the construct of God, the creator of time itself, is a mere figment? These existential quandaries haunted me, leading me on scientific odysseys in search of answers.

But I digress. On that evening, clad in navy Nike shorts, clutching a black remote in one hand and a bowl of snacks in the other, I sought solace in the flickering glow of the television. Channel after channel, I flicked, desperate to drown out the cacophony of pain echoing within. Alas, the screen offered no reprieve, and I resigned myself to the silence that enveloped me, a stark reminder of the turmoil within.

"The first of these defining moments occurred in my youth, stumbling upon my father's

stash of illicit magazines nestled within his woodworking shed. Innocence shattered by

the graphic imagery seared into my impressionable mind, forever altering the course of

my nascent understanding. It was a silent burden I bore, a secret knowledge that set me

apart yet weighed heavy upon my soul."

As I sat in the darkness, memories of that harrowing discovery flooded back, each recollection a fresh wound reopening within my psyche. Oh, how I wished to undo that moment, to preserve the purity of my innocence untainted by such depravity.

"If only I hadn't looked at those magazines, perhaps my innocence would have remained

intact, free from the haunting influence of those deviant thoughts for years,"

I murmured to myself as I shook off the numbness from my legs, which had spread throughout my whole body after sitting on the sofa during the half-hour TV search. I headed to the fridge, hoping to find something to quench my thirst. My gaze skimmed past the Pyrex beakers of leftovers and bags of fruits and veggies in search of a bottle of wine, but instead, I opted for filtered water and filled my glass. Surveying the kitchen, my eyes fell upon the three-day mess of dirty silverware, pots, and pans. With a shrug of my shoulders, I shuffled back to the living room and plopped myself on the sofa once again.

Yet, fate had more trials in store. A few years hence, I fell victim to the vile predations of a trusted family friend, his betrayal leaving scars both seen and unseen. It was a betrayal that echoed through the years, poisoning my trust and staining my soul.

"He coached the middle school track team, and my parents trusted him dearly. This was

the second event hidden deep in my heart and consciousness for many years. The third

event moved that hidden sexual abuse to the forefront of my mind and spirit.

As a young man, I sought salvation from those images by attending various churches,

including Lutheran, Catholic, Baptist, Episcopal, Methodist, and others. However, I

never found it in any of them. Salvation came to me unexpectedly at the Holy Ghost

Church, a nondenominational church in Los Angeles. I entered the church and quietly sat

towards the sanctuary's rear, eager to hear a message of salvation.

From the age of twelve until my early thirties, I desperately sought a message that could

cleanse my mind, heart, and soul, and relieve the burden that had plagued me for most of

my life. During that service, I felt the presence of God in my heart and mind. When the

pastor gave an altar call, I stepped forward to the makeshift altar, repented of my sins,

and surrendered my life to Jesus Christ. Today, I believe that He is my Savior, my Love,

and the Way, the Truth, and the Life guiding my path. Jesus is the cornerstone of my life."

Tears streamed down my cheeks as I gritted my teeth, the memory flooding through my mind, heart, and spirit.

"That same evening, at home, while I slept, God unveiled a hidden sinful event

perpetrated against my body by someone I once trusted. It had been suppressed within

the recesses of my mind for many years. When I awoke, I was drenched in sweat. Despite

a gentle cool breeze filling my bedroom, intended to provide relief, the lingering heat

from that revelation persisted. I cried out to God, 'Is this a dream, or did this abuse truly

occur? And if it did, why reveal it to me after all these years?'"

Now, three hundred sixty-five days have passed, and still no answer. I harbored immense anger towards God for His deafening silence.

"Come on, Lord! If this is true, why reveal it to me after all those years? In fact, why hide

it from me if You plan to reveal it later?"

I yelled as I navigated through the cluttered living room, careful not to trip over the plastic bins and cardboard boxes scattered throughout the space. I was already packed for my upcoming move to New York City, just a couple of months away. Reaching the window, I searched for a solution or perhaps a sign from God. Instead, all I found were the slow-moving lights of LA traffic, even in the wee hours of the night. The lights outlined the highways winding through the sprawling landscapes of land, mountains, and the concrete jungle of LA.

"The hidden event I've shown you is the product of a broken individual who exploited

your youth and vulnerability. It wasn't your fault, but I urge you to forgive him.

Remember what I did on the cross as I was dying."

I heard God audibly making an incredible request, but I ignored it and instead focused on questions about myself.

"What should I do with these thoughts and memories, Lord? They've become a part of me

now, so how can I rid my heart and mind of them?"

I stood there waiting for a reply, bracing myself against the windowpane. One minute passed, then three, stretching to nine, and finally twelve. Slowly shaking my head, I shrugged my shoulders and walked out of the living room. Suddenly, He spoke audibly.

"Albert, you are to forgive him and give Me your pain, anguish, shame, hatred, hurt, and

evil desires. I will heal you from all of it, and you will find security, rest, and joy in Me."

"Lord, this is difficult. I would rather take action to alleviate this pain than forgive that

evil man."

As soon as I stepped into my office, I sensed His voice persisting, Don't do it.

I halted in my steps and glanced around my office, finding no one present to account for that voice. Despite the absence of a physical presence, I proceeded to my ivory-topped desk, seated myself, and powered on my laptop. With trembling hands, I typed the name of my abuser into the search bar, bracing myself for what lay ahead. And as the screen filled with his familiar visage, a surge of emotion washed over me, mingling with a sense of profound relief. For in that moment, I knew that I had taken the first step towards reclaiming my peace, towards forging a future untethered by the chains of the past.

Chapter 2

July 18, 2018 – 3:35 PM

This cloudless day brought a gentle, soft breeze that caressed my face as I drove my metallic blue Hyundai Sonata to a specific neighborhood in Los Angeles. I obtained Coach Hood’s route by calling his supervisor, claiming to be one of the company’s board members observing each employee while on the job. The supervisor provided me with Coach Hood’s route, which I GPS-tracked. I then drove to the Copley Place cul-de-sac, where he usually delivers packages between 3:30 PM and 4:00 PM.

Upon arriving at the cul-de-sac, I parked in front of 135 Copley Place and waited for the Direct Packaging truck for close to an hour, as he was running late. During the wait, I removed my gun from the glove compartment, checked the cylinders, and ensured the safety was off. I rubbed the weapon like an owner rubs a dog after it has done a good thing.

"He needs to be held accountable for the pain he caused me. I wouldn't be surprised if he

inflicted similar harm on other individuals for years."

Grr!

A grey truck bearing orange lettering reading Direct Packaging – The Most Trusted Mail Carrier in America pulled into the community. My heart raced with apprehension and uncertainty about what I was about to do. I rubbed my face, trying to shake off the remnants of my brief thirty-minute nap taken due to sleepless nights. The truck halted at a driveway, its hazard lights blinking. After a few moments, Hood emerged from the truck dressed in his Direct Packaging orange and silver uniform, leaving the vehicle running with a loud rock tune blaring from the driver's side.

It's him!

I was still weighing my options, trying to devise a plan.

"Should I shoot him before he delivers his packages or after he finishes his rounds in this

community? It probably wouldn't make much of a difference," I mused to myself, deciding to take the shot whenever I had a clear opportunity.

I sank lower in my driver’s seat, ensuring he couldn’t spot me. As I waited for his return from the first delivery, I felt an unbearable wave of stress wash over me, sweat trickling down my forehead until it was absorbed by my brow. Even with the air conditioner cranked up, the sweating persisted, so I rolled down the window in search of fresh air, hoping to alleviate the tension. My legs trembled with nervousness, adrenaline coursing through my veins.

"I can't bear this pain any longer. Lord God, forgive me for what I'm about to do, but I'm

choosing to disregard Your Word in pursuit of relief and peace."

Coach Hood returned to his truck and drove through the cul-de-sac circle.

He's passing two houses without a delivery. Is he leaving the community?

The metallic cranking of the truck's engine grew louder until it stopped at a house across from my vehicle.

Now I've got him!

I took out my gun and quickly cocked it. Coach