Time and Technicalities (Timewalkers Book 1)

by RP Halliway

  The meal was ready quicker than they expected, and within an hour from exiting the highway they were back on the road and headed toward the meeting with the professor.

  “Professor William Andrews—renowned expert in past memories and regressions, specializing with children,” Evie read from a website on her phone. “Over 120 publications with his team, on memory reconstruction and three books on what he calls ‘reclaimed memories’.”

  “Does it say what a ‘reclaimed memory’ is?” Silas asked.

  “A ‘reclaimed memory,’ per the good professor,” Evie said, trying to keep the mood light and sound academic, but laughing a little too hard at the end, “is a memory of another person that inhabits the consciousness of the child.”

  “Hmmm,” Silas said. “Sounds totally made up.”

  “I agree. But for some reason—here we are! About to visit the good professor,” She finished with a laugh as Silas nodded.

  The GPS routed them to the research building. “Looks like a pretty fancy campus,” Silas looked at the older white marble buildings and ornate architecture, along with the newer glass buildings consisting of large inwardly sloping windows with sculptures clinging to several outcrops.

  “Maybe a bit,” Evie said with a nod. “Oh, did you go to college?”

  “I started, but then dropped out. I liked the working part better.” Silas felt a his face warm as the words came out.

  Evie looked up with a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it. Most people here are just like you. You are probably better than most, actually.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I can just tell. It’s easy to see actually.”

  Evie waited a second inside the entrance, then walked up to the main desk. “Hi. We have an appointment with Professors Andrews this afternoon.”

  “Let me have a look,” the female assistant said. “Yep, here you are. It looks like the professor is either done for the day after you, or has blocked off the afternoon.” Then she called out to a young man walking by. “Mark, these two are here to see Professor Andrews. Could you take to them to the lab?”

  “Sure,” Mark said. He led them up the stairs to a wide hallway with marble floors. “Just go down the hall, right in the middle—can’t miss it.”

  Evie walked a step ahead of Silas down the passageway. They walked forward until they found a door with a shiny golden placard that read, “Professor Andrews, Memory Studies.”

  Silas and Evie glanced through the narrow glass window on the right side of the door. Inside, a man in a lab coat slowly trailed after a small boy, who was running in circles on the colored mat littered with toys.

  Almost instinctively Evie and Silas gasped in unison. “Timmy,” Silas whispered.

  “Yep,” Evie whispered back, a small chill running along her spine.

  Silas knocked on the door. The professor soon appeared in the window with a wide grin and opened the door to let them in.

  “Silas and Evie!” Professor Andrews said, waving them into the play room. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Hello, Professor Andrews,” Evie said.

  “I trust it wasn’t too hard to find the place?”

  “GPS led us right here,” Silas said, trying to smile. He nodded toward Evie for support.

  “Good.” Andrews waved them to chairs along the outer wall of the room. “Have a seat if you wish.”

  “You’re tall!” Timmy said, running up to Silas and looking up at him.

  “Thanks, Timmy,” Silas said without thinking.

  Timmy frowned and squinted at Silas. “How did you know my name?”

  “We read it from the professor’s clipboard,” Evie said, quickly trying to cover the misstep.

  Her answer seemed to satisfy Timmy who then turned to Evie. “You’re pretty.”

  “Thanks.” She felt her face warm from the child’s compliment.

  “Timmy is four years old,” Professor Andrews said. “And it seems like he is of interest to you, at least from your email. That, and an artifact?”

  “Potentially,” Evie said. “And we are curious as to what you do here.”

  “A common question,” Professor Andrews said. “The easiest answer is to just say we listen to stories.”

  “Stories?” Silas asked.

  “Yes. Like Timmy here. At two years old he would talk to his mother in ways that would worry her,” the professor explained. “For example, he said that he lived in a different house. And that his mother wasn’t his mother. Those are quite worrying things for any parent to hear.”

  “I bet.” Evie imagined how strange hearing those types of things would be.

  “And a little while after that he started saying names of people that nobody in the house recognized,” the professor continued. “Names of people he could not possibly have met or know. And after several months, his ‘memories’ got stronger and he became more adamant about not living there and about having another mother. So his mother brought him here for us to record his story.”

  “Is it only kids that have this kind of thing going on?” Evie asked.

  “Kids seem to be the most active in these memories. Maybe because as they start making their own memories, their ‘reclaimed’ memories start to fade.”

  “What exactly are reclaimed memories?” Silas asked.

  Professor Andrews shrugged as the three sat down in the ring of chairs. “Memories that seem to come from another person or another consciousness.”

  That confirmed what they’d read on the internet.

  “And what age do they fade?” Silas asked.

  “Usually they start to fade around age four—which is why Timmy is here. Four is the most active, in terms of getting eloquent answers with the strongest memories, but after that, the memories start to fade fast even though the verbal capacity of the child is improving. By about five to eight the memories completely disappear, and the child has essentially zero recollection of ever having any of them. In fact, during follow up interviews, the former subjects typically remember the sessions vividly, but have only fragments of their ‘reclaimed’ memories, even after reading their own words.”

  Silas and Evie looked at each other. “Robert” Evie mouthed to Silas, and he nodded.

  “What are these memories like?” Evie asked.

  “Honestly, if I wasn’t in this as a researcher, I would be freaked out,” the professor said. “We’re 95% sure Timmy has the memories of one Arthur Nordstrum, shipping magnate in the early half of the 1900s.”

  Silas and Evie exchanged looks of confusion and amazement.

  “Exactly,” The professor continued, catching their reactions. “Starting at two years old, he said he lived in a different house. He’s slowly built a picture for us. Los Angeles California, palm trees, sunny weather, maybe Long Beach port, a large house on a hill, knowing Al and Edith Gustafson, real people who lived in Long Beach until 1933—real enough so that we have pictures of their house interior, which Timmy can tell which pieces were moved out of place from when he would visit.”

  Silas and Evie listened with stunned silence, so the professor continued.

  “Timmy names his mother as one Gertrude Nordstrum, Nee Weathersby, of Boston. There was a Gertrude Weathersby of Boston, born 1842, died 1914, mother of Arthur, Grace, Andy, and John. All of this is consistent with Timmy’s memories, but Timmy’s mother and family insist that there was no way for Timmy to pick up this information in their house.”

  All this felt impossible to Silas. “It could be a very clever hoax.”

  The professor waved his clipboard toward Timmy. “It could. Which is why this research center is here. We strive to dig at the memories to see if any cracks appear. I think we’ve exposed four hoaxes so far. They were very clever and almost got away with it, but they all eventually developed inconsistencies that showed them to be faking.
Timmy doesn’t seem to be a hoax—so far.”

  “Let’s say it is real,” Evie said. “How . . .”

  “To be honest, I’m not an expert on that. I am a practical researcher, studying the stories of these children to see if they are true or hoaxes. I’m letting the other groups try to figure the theory out.”

  Timmy walked up confidently to the group, not bothered by their conversation and interrupted. “Nordstrum Shipping lost twenty four percent market price on October 30, 1929.”

  Professor Andrews quickly wrote down the statement on his clipboard and signaled behind the mirror. Evie imagined a researcher would be quickly searching for that data in old newspaper archives.

  “Thanks. Anything else happen that day?” the Professor asked.

  Timmy scrunched up his face for a minute. “Nope.” His voice was confident, and growing disinterested.

  “What was the price drop?” Andrews asked Timmy.

  “Twenty. Four. Percent,” Timmy replied, articulating each word to the professor, almost sarcastically.

  “What caused the drop?”

  “The loss of the demand futures from the global market,” Timmy answered, not looking up, his lack of interest growing.

  “What were the goods shipped?” Andrews asked, pressing for still more information as Timmy’s memory lingered.

  “Goods shipped . . . ” Timmy echoed slowly, sinking deep in thought. “Mainly automobiles and automobile and tractor parts. Typically to South American markets,” Timmy finished.

  “What day?” Andrews interrogated again.

  “October 30th,” Timmy repeated with a scowl. The child seemed to understand Andrews’ process after all of the sessions.

  “All out of San Francisco?”

  “Mostly out of Long Beach,” Timmy answered, shaking his head at the professor. “We already talked about that.”

  Professor Andrews smiled toward Evie and Silas with a shrug.

  Timmy seemed to notice a particularly interesting toy, and turned away from his audience. Running back to the center of the play room, Timmy forgot the adults in the room, along with his memory, and resumed playing with toys.

  “Seriously?” Silas asked, his eyes wide as he pointed to Timmy.

  “Yes. Exactly,” Professor Andrews replied with a grin as he straightened tall in his chair. “That is what we do here. Listen to the stories, and try to track down any details. That was a particularly high confidence conversation Timmy just had with us, so that will be quite useful to build his case.”

  “And the kids can’t be coached to do this?” Evie asked.

  “Personally, and this is just my personal opinion, I find it difficult to believe that these children can be coached with such details and not give away the coaching in some form. As a parent myself, I can tell when my child is making up a story, and definitely can tell when my wife and I have coached a child to tell a story to the other.”

  Silas and Evie gave the professor a quizzical look.

  Professor Andrews laughed. “Yes, while it may be unethical, and not scientific at all, my wife and I did engage in the practice of coaching our children to tell stories to the other, just to see what it looked like, and how easy it was to break the child out of the story. It is what helped to set up this lab format—having a highly distracted child makes the coaching very evident, and the coached facts get lost quite easily. For example, Timmy just said twenty four percent, which is very hard for a four year old to understand, so details like that have to be memorized. Challenging them on the day or the percent can make them interject their own story into the details—because children love making up stories—and distractions make it easy to get them to adjust their coached story.”

  “And your interrogation?” Evie asked.

  “To press for as much new information as possible relating to the reveal,” Andrews said. “And to also try to get them flustered and to change from memorized or coached answers to their imagination. Children typically panic when pressed, and their imaginations take over from coached or memorized information.”

  “This seemed like incredibly detailed information,” Silas said.

  “That just makes it easier to confirm or to expose as the hoax,” Andrews said. “All of the information will be looked into for veracity.”

  “And the lie?” Evie asked.

  “Children are also very likely to try to please an adult—especially in a setting like this,” Andrews said. “And by adding little false statements into a question, a coached child will be more likely to go along with a false statement to please the questioner. As you saw, Timmy rejected the false statement, with somewhat incredible maturity.”

  “That did seem very un-childlike,” Evie said, nodding to the professor.

  “The maturity level varies along with the information. Sometimes the details come one at a time, and the child doesn’t dwell in the reclaimed memory, but sometimes—like now—the child will stay with the reclaimed memory and act as the original owner of the memory would.”

  “Makes sense,” Silas said, somewhat understanding the method of the questioning.

  “And the ‘how’ is still unknown for all these memories?” Evie asked.

  “Exactly,” Andrews said. “I have no way to look for how memories like this are formed or transferred.”

  “Or why children?” Silas asked.

  “The why children doesn’t have a concrete answer,” Andrews said. “But children seem to be more open, or suggestible to, or even more aware of, different realms—whether real or not. Their transference of nightmares to the real world, and vice versa is every parent’s experience, at a minimum. Along with possible ghosts or spirits that adults can’t see. Adults can’t even remember that they went though those same experiences when younger for the most part.”

  “Is that why children love fairy tales?” Evie asked, fondly remembering her first book—a gift from her parents.

  Andrews nodded. “Fairy tales and other magical stories enliven the imaginations in children. Much more, in fact, than with adults—at least in my experience.”

  “Because they see those places?” Evie asked.

  “I can’t say that for sure,” Andrews admitted, “That would be a possible answer, but I would steer away from that explanation myself. I would say the answer is that most likely that children haven’t seen the reality of the world and just like to believe that everything is possible.”

  “So there could be actual connections between different realms and children?” Evie asked.

  “It’s one possibility, for sure,” Andrews said, then shook his head. “Not very probable from a scientific standpoint, and definitely not provable by any means.”

  “Is there a scientific explanation?” Silas asked, seeing the look on Andrews’ face.

  “So far there is insufficient evidence for any scientific reason, so I cannot give any answer as to how this is possible.”

  “Do you have a guess?” Evie asked.

  “Even if I made a guess it would be outside my area of expertise,” the professor answered. “As a parent, I would be horrified if my child had these memories, and would probably believe a supernatural event more than anything else. In fact we have studied children from all over the world, in many religions. In one case in India, the child was reunited with the ‘family’ from her memories hundreds of miles away, and it was a deeply religious moment actually.”

  “She met another family?” Silas asked, stunned at the thought.

  Andrews nodded. “Yes. A rare case where the past life and present life with people still living. The child called each person by name and position in the family, as if the child had known them for years. Even some nicknames of the family.”

  “And that can’t be faked?” Evie asked.

  “Family gatherings are actually one of the easiest to fake,” Andrews said. “
A limited information space—just names and faces—all in a controlled setting, such as a house. Very easy to teach to the right child, and offer visual and audible cues during any session.”

  “Was that case a hoax or real?” Evie asked.

  “That one seemed to be on the level. We do not ever confirm anything as ‘real’, only plausible. But we definitely call out hoaxes that we find.”

  “And some religions have higher rates of ‘reclaimed memories’ in children?” Silas asked.

  Andrews shook his head. “I haven’t found any indication that the religion of the family makes a difference in the number of children who experience ‘reclaimed memories’, although the number of cases is so low as to trigger the ‘small sample size’ arguments from all sides. But the supposedly ‘true’ cases can’t be explained by any known science at the moment.”

  “You think the ‘how?’ answer might be in religion?” Evie asked.

  The professor thought for a moment. “My personal opinion? Absolutely supernatural—no other explanation comes close. But that isn’t what you are looking for.”

  An alarm sounded on the professor’s wrist. “Timmy, time for milk and a nap.”

  Timmy walked over to the table as an assistant emerged from the mirror room with a tray of snacks—milk and a few marshmallows.

  “This seems like a good time to move on from here,” the professor said, handing his clipboard to the assistant. “Let me take you to phase two of the project.”

  Chapter 7

  Professor Andrews walked the pair down the hall to the last door and opened it. A large room greeted them, with an equally large machine centered between all four sterile white walls.

  “You mentioned an artifact?” Andrews asked.

  Evie nodded. “We both had a dream with an artifact in it. Do you study dreams?”

  Andrews shook his head. “I am not involved in dream studies in any way. I also don’t know anything about artifacts, or anyone to direct you to.”

  Evie and Silas felt a small part of their hopes dashed with Andrews’ information.