Time Lost: A Time Travel Novel, page 11
She lowered the flashlight and let her eyes adjust. Okay, no cigarette, but I can still take a deep breath, she thought. She took one, exhaling slowly, as if she were smoking. Then she took another, and then another.
Gradually, her fear subsided.
Sally stepped off the patio and explored the backyard of Bert’s house, ambling past a birdhouse, a birdbath, a couple of white wrought-iron chairs, and a flowerbed that had seen better days, surrounded by a cute Victorian-style plastic fence.
She shoved her hands into the jacket pockets, tilted her head back, inhaled, and once again blew her breath back into the vast vault of sky and stars. The moon hung like a magical thing and gave off a magical light; its glow glazed the grass and the changing autumn leaves.
In that peaceful and entrancing moment, Sally allowed her imagination to run free, and she dreamed of distant galaxies, and other worlds and other people. These thoughts were new to her. She’d never put her mind on such things before. Her life had been a set thing, a predictable experience, one of school, marriage, and family.
Standing in the center of the lawn, gazing out over the trees and up into the dazzling mass of stars and constellations, it came to her that her encounter with the spaceship and the alien had shattered her small view of life and the world. Her mind had been pulled and stretched. Her little dollhouse of a world had been swept away and replaced by… what?
She hadn’t told Bert what had happened. They’d driven through Rosemont, a town that looked both familiar and at the same time so different, and by the time her memories had crashed in, she was mentally and physically exhausted.
To her, Rosemont was a small town, but now it was expanded and modernized. Keith’s theater, where she used to sell movie tickets at seventeen, had turned into an Apple Store. She didn’t know what that meant until Bert explained it to her. She’d noticed his initial surprise when she’d asked, but he was too much of a gentleman to ask his own questions.
Memories resurfaced of people streaming out of the theater after a movie, men dressed in suits, ties and hats, couples on dates holding hands, heading to the ice cream parlor nearby.
In 1953, the movie theater was the center of town, and the weekends were always bright and cheerful, with action and celebration. As Bert’s car crept along Main Street, Sally sadly recalled Woolworths, Van’s Grocery, the pool hall, and the bookstore—all gone. The narrow two-story brick building which housed The Rosemont Chronicle was also gone, replaced by a new fire station.
During high school, and especially after reading the article about her being chosen as the Miss Rosemont Queen of 1944, she’d held the dream of writing for The Rosemont Chronicle. It was the reason she’d began studying shorthand—to work as a secretary and then, after a few months, submit some human-interest stories, hoping they’d be accepted.
It was an impossible dream to think she could be a reporter, when only two men worked there: the editor, Art Wright, and the reporter, Jimmy Long. They were tense, clever men. Sally had often sat near them in the Town Diner, listening to their banter. Art, the older of the two, had a gruff voice with a feverish sulking look, and Jimmy was an Army veteran who smoked, cursed, and ran with women, or so Sally’s mother had said with frowning disapproval.
But to Sally, that newspaper building had sat on hallowed ground, and whenever she’d passed it, admiration and longing had bloomed in her chest. She’d view the black-and-white sign that hung on hinges over the front door...
THE ROSEMONT CHRONICAL
News Worth the Ink
... and she'd imagine herself working there.
After they’d turned into Bert’s driveway and braked to a stop, Sally had no voice and no words. She felt beaten and depressed, and she’d followed Bert into the house, with her head down and her hands pushed into her pockets. He seemed to understand her state of mind, without knowing the thrashing storm that raged inside her. He’d taken her immediately up to her room.
Still outside, Sally ambled through the Indiana night in a mood of reflection and contemplation. Her thoughts reran the events at the hospital the evening before she’d escaped with Kyle Fisher. Dr. Stanley had come into Sally’s room and shown her a laptop computer, setting it on a table and inviting Sally to sit behind it.
It was a miracle—a thing unimaginable, with its glowing window that looked out on a world of places, movies, people, and ideas.
“I’ve found additional information about your children, Sally,” Dr. Stanley said in a quiet voice.
Sally braced herself, and then Meg informed her about her son, Don Mason. “He lives in Fort Pierce, Florida, and he’s seventy-seven. He’s retired now, but he owned two hardware stores and, by all accounts, he was very successful. He was married three times, lives with his third wife, and he’s the father of two sons and a granddaughter.”
While Sally closed her eyes, digesting the information, Dr. Stanley continued. “Your daughter, Mary Mason Donovan lived in St. Louis, worked as a nurse, and married a plumber.”
Sally’s eyes opened. “Is Mary dead?”
“No, she’s not dead. Her husband died in 2018, and they had two children and three grandchildren. Mary is not well, Sally. She’s living in a nursing home, and she has Alzheimer’s.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Sally said.
“Alzheimer’s disease is a progressive and irreversible neurological disorder that affects the brain. You might know it as a form of dementia. Mary’s daughter is looking after her. Even if you went to see Mary, she probably wouldn’t know you, and it might be too much for her. And how would you explain your difficult situation with her daughter?”
Sally closed her eyes, and her quivering chin lowered to her chest. “God forgive me…”
“It wasn’t your fault, Sally. You had nothing to do with what happened to you.”
Sally blinked tears. “My poor, beautiful baby…”
Gathering courage, Sally faced Dr. Stanley and asked about her husband, Ronnie.
Dr. Stanley turned the laptop toward Sally so she could read what was on the screen. “Take a few deep breaths, Sally, before you read this.”
As Sally’s eyes moved across the screen, she didn’t emotionally connect with the words. They swam in and out of her consciousness, like water flowing through fingers. It was a generic obituary written for any man at any time. But when she saw her name, it seemed to rise large and bold from the thicket of all the other words. A hand moved to cover her heart as she choked back emotion.
CHAPTER 22
Sally read her husband’s obituary from 2002, her lips moving as she followed the words.
In Loving Memory of Ronald David Mason (1926-2002)
Ronald David Mason, affectionately known as “Ronnie,” passed away peacefully on July 19, 2002, at the age of seventy-six. He was a devoted husband, father, friend to many, and a respected Rosemont businessman who owned and operated Mason’s Construction Company. His life was marked by both love and loss, and left a lasting impact on those who knew him.
Ronnie’s life took an unexpected turn in 1953 when tragedy struck his family. His beloved wife, Sally Anne Davis Mason, vanished without a trace, and despite extensive efforts, her body was never found. It was a heart-wrenching event that left a void in Ronnie’s heart for the rest of his life.
Despite the profound loss he experienced, Ronnie found the strength to move forward, and in 1955, he married Linda Hughes, also from Rosemont. Together, they built a loving home and were blessed with two wonderful children, Mrs. Peggy Lewis of Camden, Maine, and Mr. Lawrence Mason of Indianapolis. Ronnie cherished his second family and devoted himself wholeheartedly to their happiness and well-being.
Ronnie’s capacity for love knew no bounds, and he remained a dedicated father to his children from his first marriage, both of whom survive him. His daughter, Mrs. Mary Donovan, resides in St. Louis, Missouri, and his son, Mr. Donald Mason, resides in Fort Pierce, Florida. Both of them carry their father’s legacy in their hearts.
Throughout his life, Ronnie embraced the joys and challenges that came his way, and he was known for his warm smile, kind demeanor, and unwavering support for those he cared about. His presence will be sorely missed, but his memory will be cherished by all who had the privilege of knowing him.
As Sally gazed into the laptop screen, a sense of darkness enveloped her, pulling her into a void of memories. The scent of Ronnie’s Aqua Velva aftershave filled her senses, and she vividly recalled the taste of his mouth and the sound of his commanding voice. The weight of the moment was suffocating, and when she remembered one of his fiery slaps across her cheek, she grew nauseated.
Gritting her teeth, Sally turned her head from the screen. The words chilled her, and it was as if Ronnie’s presence were still there, reaching out across time and death.
In Bert’s backyard, under the vast night sky, the house loomed, a big shadow. Sally shook the painful memories away and went wandering, her mind restless. She’d lost her life, both the worst and the best of it. She’d lost all that time, all the happy moments and all the sorrows. Her children had grown up without her, not knowing what had happened to their mother, and now, maybe she was even losing her mind.
The distant moan of a train whistle brought Sally back to the present, and as she paced and pondered, she vowed again she would find Don and Mary, and she would tell them she hadn’t abandoned them. She’d tell them the truth if it was the last thing she ever did.
A flash of light to her left drew her eyes. Was it a flash, or did she imagine it?
There it was again, this time to her right, and her head jerked around. Fear drummed. The night sky seemed close, the moon staring back at her, the stars swirling patterns. She searched the sky, the trees, circling the space, looking for it. The spaceship.
Something in the trees seized her attention, and she whirled about, vigilant. A torch of light flared up, illuminating the night like a bonfire. A blue flame expanded, danced, and rippled into the shape of an iridescent man. Sally breathed hard as he locked his eyes on her, only forty feet away.
Sally didn’t move, her heart pounding, but she was determined to hold her ground. This time, she wouldn’t run or faint. This time she’d stand firm, wait, and watch.
Minutes passed—or was it hours? The tall man kept his glowing eyes on her, the color of sparkling rubies. Was it the same man she’d seen before on Route 9? She wasn’t certain, but there was the same short, snow-white hair, and the same splendid countenance.
“What do you want?” she said, at a whisper, the fright growing in her. “Why are you here?”
He didn’t answer, and he didn’t move, so Sally didn’t either.
The moment expanded into an eerie, silent solitude, a private, intimate moment. He didn’t approach, and so she waited, pondering her choices. Stay or run?
Suddenly, a peculiar thing happened. Within her mind, echoes of a past conversation resounded, and a vivid scene unfolded before her, as though it were being projected onto a cinematic screen.
Sally watched, transfixed, as she and Linda Hughes, the woman Ronnie married after Sally had vanished, were standing together on the sidelines of the Rosemont High School football field, dressed in their cheerleading outfits.
It was a cool and golden autumn afternoon, just before a home game. Ronnie, the quarterback, was throwing the football to a teammate, warming up his arm. Even during practice, Ronnie was all power and skill. All shouting, and pointing, and condemning the slightest mistake, and he dominated the field.
Linda Hughes edged in close to Sally, her eyes fixed on Ronnie, with a gleaming adoration. “You’re so lucky, Sally. Ronnie is the neatest guy in school. A real dream.”
The players darted about the field, sliding, pivoting, falling back, blocking. Ronnie snapped the ball, and a wide receiver broke away, sprinted, and reached. The spiraling football struck the tips of his straining fingers, bounced from them, and went sailing to the ground, wobbling away.
Angry, Ronnie threw his hands to his hips. “Mike! You dumbshit, you should have caught that. A fat grizzly bear could have caught that ball. Get the hell away from me. I’ll never throw you the ball again, you pimpled-face cripple.”
Linda had swooned at Ronnie’s swaggering performance. “Gee whiz, Sally. If you ever get over him, let me know, and I’ll move in.”
As the vision continued, Sally watched Ronnie parade across the field as if he owned it. She didn’t like his ugly words. Mike was skinny, with a flame of acne on his face, but he was a nice boy, kind and respectful, and shy.
She saw the embarrassed despair on Mike’s face as he tugged off his helmet and then went shambling off to the bench, sitting, head down.
Ronnie approached Sally with a sneering grin. “I’m going to tell Coach to kick Mike off the team. He’s no good. He’s a clumsy, deaf-and-dumb idiot who has no business on the football field.”
Sally defended Mike. “Mike is not deaf and dumb, Ronnie. He’s one of the smartest students in school, and he’s nice to people.”
Ronnie turned to her, his face pinched in anger. He slapped her, hard, and then he went storming off to the bench. Sally had felt the sting of that slap for an hour.
As her memories and the vision melted away into the sounds of the night—the chirp of a cricket, the murmur of a truck on the highway—Sally staggered, regaining her balance.
The voices in her head were gone, and the blue shimmering man, who had stood among the dark trees, was also gone. It had all happened in a flash.
She cast her anxious gaze about, searching for him, searching the sky, the shadowy corners near the house, and the dimly lighted stone walkway that led to the birdbath.
He was gone, and in the stillness, her mind sharpened and questions arose. Why had she married Ronnie when she knew he could be violent? Had she been sleepwalking in high school? Had she really loved him?
As Sally started for the house, she glanced back over her shoulder to the spot where the extraterrestrial had appeared. Would he have transported her back to 1953 if she’d had the presence of mind to ask?
CHAPTER 23
Kara Gonne and Morgan Compton strolled under sunny October skies in Washington’s Lafayette Square, an historic public park located directly north of the White House. They didn’t speak for a time as they wandered the paved pathways, passing trees, benches, and the imposing statue of Marquis Gilbert de Lafayette, a young French nobleman who had fought for American Independence, despite a degree prohibiting Frenchmen from joining the Continental Army.
Tall trees, blazing with fall colors, provided shade and also created a sense of privacy and seclusion amidst the bustling city. Because of its proximity to the White House and its historic significance, Lafayette Square Park was often monitored by law enforcement and security personnel, and it was an ideal location for covert meetings. Frequently, agents strolled, mixing with tourists and students, watching as they took photos of the White House, the statue, and the fall magic.
Kara and Morgan found a secluded spot near the edge of the park, away from any major pedestrian traffic, and sat on a bench, Morgan crossing his long legs and Kara sitting rigid.
She looked at Morgan, a middle-aged man with curly, carelessly combed graying hair at his temples and over his ears. He had an indifferent expression, languid gray eyes, and a prominent nose passed down from his old-monied Massachusetts family.
Morgan had pursued a double major in International Relations and Computer Science at Harvard, where he’d graduated with honors. His exceptional academic performance caught the attention of the CIA’s recruitment program, and he was approached during his senior year.
After joining the CIA, Morgan’s analytical skills and technological abilities quickly set him apart from his peers. He was initially assigned to the agency’s Cyber Division, where he excelled in identifying and countering cyber threats posed by hostile foreign actors. His ability to navigate complex computer networks and uncover hidden information was invaluable.
As he gained experience and proved his capabilities, Morgan’s responsibilities expanded beyond cyber operations. He underwent rigorous training at “The Farm,” as the CIA’s training facility was dubbed, where he honed his skills in intelligence collection, surveillance, and counterintelligence, skills that later helped him to identify and neutralize moles and double agents.
When Morgan was forty one years old, senior officials within the CIA recognized his skills and talents and moved him to a top-secret team that investigated UAPs (Unidentified Aerial Phenomena, formerly known as UFO sightings). He underwent specialized training, focusing on the history of UFO investigations, advanced data analysis techniques, and protocols for handling sensitive information related to UAP sightings.
He became part of a select team of experts, which consisted of other top intelligence agents, scientists, engineers, and analysts. The team worked collaboratively to investigate and interpret UAP data, analyze patterns, and attempt to understand the nature of mysterious aerial phenomena.
Morgan was divorced and had a son, Justin Morgan, who was a junior at Columbia University, majoring in business administration.
“You’re sitting at attention and you’re staring at me,” Morgan said, not looking at Kara.
“Yep, I am. I hear your mind working,” Kara responded.
“Not working. I love the fall. I love the cool air and the changing leaves. Last night I listened to Sinatra’s September of My Years album.”
“Never been much of a fan.”
That turned Morgan’s head, and he stared, incredulous. “No way. Not a fan of Frank Sinatra? Why, Kara?” he asked, with an over-exaggerated lift of his eyebrows. “Say it ain’t so, Joe.”
“Now, what’s that expression a reference to?” Kara asked.
Morgan sat up. “Come on, Kara. You, Kara Gonne, the woman with the I.Q. as high as the Eiffel Tower, and you don’t know about the 1919 World Series Black Sox Scandal? I don’t believe it.”
