Guardian of Time

by Linda Hawley

  “Can’t we just go back to Seattle?!” my seatmate loudly demanded, her first words since the near-crash.

  “After the miracle by the pilot, I’ll agree to whatever he wants,” I said quietly to her. Blondie blinked at me, still shocked.

  She looked at me like a deer in headlights, fright visible on her face, with channels of foundation gouged down her cheeks and congealed on her chin, where her tears had plowed it away.

  As I took in her changed appearance, I patted her hand, gently reassuring her. “It’ll be okay. It was just a freak weather thing. We’re okay now.”

  Her face still hung horrified, her eyes dull.

  “…we’re going to be making a turn back to Portland now,” the pilot continued, preparing us. “Thank you again for your patience,” he added.

  Slowly, the pilot turned us around 180 degrees, and we headed back to Portland airport. About twenty minutes into our flight back, we hit the storm again, making many passengers gasp. But this time it seemed like a normal storm, not a life-ender. As we approached the runway, the wind stopped, everything went eerily calm, and we touched down gently.

  The plane erupted with passenger cheers and a loud “Thank you, Jesus” praising from a passenger behind me. It was a surreal and beautiful moment for all of us; I couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear.

  The flight attendant spoke to us again. “As soon as we meet the gate, the emergency medical crew will board and take off injured passengers one by one. Everyone else please remain in your seats until instructed by crews. Thank you for your help.”

  While the plane taxied, the flight attendants tidied up the plane, since some of the overhead bins had flown open during the crisis. The first thing out of my seatmate’s mouth since landing was, “Maybe I should quit my job and stay home with my daughter,” she said pensively, looking straight ahead.

  “Maybe you should. You did get a second chance today,” I said, watching her.

  She looked me in the eyes, then suddenly grabbed me in a hug, her tears having returned. I patted her back like a mom would.

  “I thought I was dead,” she cried.

  “I know,” I said gently, trying to comfort her.

  The plane quickly reached our gate. I remained in my seat as emergency personnel walked off the injured passengers. It looked like the injuries were mainly cuts and scrapes, although I saw one passenger who was holding his shoulder. I wondered if he was hurt by someone’s luggage smacking into him. No one near my row was injured, and I wondered how that was possible, considering how much stuff was flying around the cabin.

  That’s odd.

  We were finally cleared to deplane. I sat, allowing other passengers who were desperate to escape our near-tomb to go first. Of course, my seatmate was one of those. I realized that we had never even exchanged names.

  Weariness made me wary of moving, the adrenaline draining from me as my body began to feel less numb.

  As I sat, I thought about my call to Elinor at the Bellingham airport and my breakfast with Aunt Saundra. Did I have a premonition of what would happen today? I wondered. Our being alive was a miracle—there was no doubt about that in my mind—but were we alive only because of the pilot’s skill?

  Once all passengers were out of their seats, I took my time rising in the quiet and retrieved my messenger bag from under my seat. Thankfully, I hadn’t put it in an overhead bin. As I strode past two flight attendants—their lips slightly too pale, eyes too wide—I stopped at the cockpit, where the door was now open.

  “Hey, I just wanted to say thank you,” I offered sincerely, knowing it wasn’t enough.

  Both the pilot and copilot turned around and gave me thumbs up, then immediately turned back around to their instrument panel and clipboards. Airline personnel were already entering the cabin to conduct their near-crash investigation, the bustle of life clean and fresh against the current of fear that had passed through the cabin not long before.

  Chapter 2

  PORTLAND, OREGON

  The Year 2015

  After logging my name, an airline clerk cleared me to leave. I slowly walked away from the gate, adrenaline fatigue plaguing me, dumbly following the signs for rental cars. It was surreal to be walking down the wide terminal with passengers rushing by—as though it was an ordinary business-travel day—when in reality, I should not even be alive. I watched other passengers from my flight holding one another close as they walked, shock still apparent. Knowing I was very late for my GOG meeting, I inexplicably felt no desire to hurry.

  Finally, I reached Budget rental cars. Sinéad had reserved a car under Fastbreak, which meant that I didn’t have to wait in the regular line. There was no one else in the Fastbreak lane, and in three minutes I had the car keys. I quickly found the Ford Fusion hybrid, and I could only hope that my GOG contact had waited; I had no safe phone with me.

  I guess I’ll just hope for the best. At least I’m alive, I thought.

  True to Portland’s reputation, I was caught in a barely-moving traffic jam, and it took me fifty minutes to get to the garden. When I parked, I was nearly two hours late.

  I approached the garden’s ticket booth.

  “Hello. One adult please,” I requested.

  “Good afternoon,” the white-haired matron said cheerfully. “That’ll be $18, dear.”

  I handed the elderly woman cash, amused that her white permed hair barely cleared the counter; she was so short.

  “You know, dear, included in the admission is a free guided tour,” she added enthusiastically. “It starts in a little over a half-hour, right over there,” she said with a smile while pointing her small, gnarly finger.

  “No, thank you…” I paused, looking at her name tag, “Deloris.” I turned away, looking at the map to find the meeting place.

  Calling after me with an elevated voice, she added, “But I’m sure you would learn a great deal about the garden if you go on the tour, especially since you’re here alone…”

  Over my shoulder I said, “I just want to walk the garden alone, thank you.”

  “I understand—I’m just trying to help you, dear,” she shouted.

  I waved back at her as I kept walking, trying to orient myself towards the Strolling Pond Garden. Passing through the Japanese garden, I should have absorbed the feelings of peace and tranquility, but, with my head buried in the map, I didn’t notice much of anything.

  Finally I reached the meeting place, but there were so many secluded nooks of the garden that I had to walk around a good bit to find the GOG contacts. I searched for a full twenty-five minutes.

  Giving up, I stopped. They left. I almost died in a plane crash to meet them, and they left. I was irritated. Standing on the Moon Bridge in the Strolling Pond Garden, I stared at the trees and lush vegetation that surrounded me, seeing the splendor of the garden for the first time. What a day. I then had an epiphany.

  Rushing back to the garden entrance, I approached Deloris. There was no line.

  “Hi Deloris,” I greeted her with a smile.

  “Oh, hello dear,” she exclaimed. “Are you enjoying your stroll?” she asked sincerely, smiling in return.

  “Well Deloris, I’ve reconsidered and would like to take the tour. When does it start?”

  “Oh my dear. They have just started—see there…” she wagged her finger. “You can catch them,” she said, enthusiasm and urgency rushing out of her, pointing to a group that had just started walking.

  I started to hurry toward the group. “Thank you Deloris,” I called over my shoulder.

  Catching up with the group, I arrived just as the tour guide was finishing his speech about what new improvements to the garden had recently been completed. I listened, trying to push the last few hours from my mind.

  He continued, “The Japanese Professor who designed the garden, Takuma Tono, was quoted as saying, ‘A Japanese Garden is not only a place for the cultivation of trees and flowering shrubs, but one that provides secluded leisure, rest, repose, meditat
ion, and sentimental pleasure. The Garden speaks to all the senses, not just to the mind alone.’”

  My mind was engaged, and I was beginning to slough off the near-tragic morning, bathing layer after layer of stress away as I explored the gardens.

  The next two hours were filled with a sensory extravaganza that delighted me and the other six people on our tour on the newly cloudless day. I was happily lost in every shade of green that was represented in the vegetation. I heard the sounds of water in all five gardens, in the form of Koi ponds, creeks, and even a waterfall. They seemed to wash away my tension. The zigzag bridge made me feel like I was floating on water as it wandered through big plantings of lilies and other flowers, statues, and majestic stones. The smells were pleasant and spicy. I felt a peacefulness overcome me as I saw the flowers in bloom. The ducks and their quacking babies swimming in the pond renewed me.

  Monet would have loved to paint this, I thought introspectively.

  After the tour concluded, I returned to the Strolling Pond Garden and took a seat on a wooden bench in a private cove. It was the perfect setting to gain perspective and just think. I needed to uncover what I felt was sitting just behind my consciousness, so I began a transcendental meditation. Thirty minutes later, I opened my eyes to the sunlight bouncing off the green oasis, creating a vibrant visual feast. The sweet, spicy smell of the Japanese honeysuckle wafted to my nose. My skin felt warmed by the sun, and I felt at peace.

  The near-crash…it was clearly caused by the weather. That’s certain. But the save—was it all the pilot’s doing? I pondered.

  If we had crashed, none of us would have survived; intuitively, I knew this to be true. I was now certain that I did have a premonition of the morning’s events, which is why I called Elinor this morning, to say goodbye. But the pilot’s prevention of the crash—that didn’t feel like it was the full explanation. Then the realization came into my consciousness, stirring me.

  The Herkimer. It was around my neck, and I was considering its power just as the plane was about to cartwheel sideways. I remembered the peace and joy I felt in that moment, and the power of the Herkimer at my breast. Could I—with the Herkimer—have helped the pilot prevent the crash? Had I helped prevent the wing from hitting the tarmac by focusing all my energy on it?

  The answers to these questions were unknowable using logic. All I knew was that it was possible I had intervened in the near-disaster, using the power of my mind, along with the Herkimer. It was certainly true that unexpected paranormal events were lately becoming the norm.

  Chapter 3

  BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON

  The Year 2015

  I left the garden with my mind clear and drove back to Portland airport. I felt peaceful, especially believing that I had played a part in saving the lives of those on board the plane with me. Even blondie would live another day to be a mother.

  After a short wait, I boarded my flight back to Bellingham. The sky was perfectly clear, which suited me just fine. Gratefully, my return flight from Portland was uneventful.

  The next day, I returned to AlterHydro.

  Lulu and I walked in the entry of The 1910.

  “Hi Vicki,” I cheerfully offered.

  “Ann—I don’t know what you were thinking,” the hag scolded me out of nowhere.

  I stopped, facing the offensive office manager, who was already going red in the face with budding rage.

  “Okay, what’s going on?” I asked her calmly, with a bit of loathing in my voice.

  She stood from her chair behind the reception desk and leaned toward me. The raging energy coming off her was palpable. Lulu suddenly stood alert by my side.

  “You are supposed to call me if you take an unscheduled day off. You didn’t call yesterday,” she exclaimed. “I don’t know who you think you are! Do you think the rules don’t apply to you? You are the only one—well…maybe not the only one—who doesn’t do what’s expected of you…”

  “Vicki…” I said with a raised hand, interrupting her with a detached rebuttal. “If you’ll check your email, you’ll see that I sent my boss an email—copying you—notifying you both that I would be taking a personal day. That meets the requirement of notifying you,” I calmly offered.

  “No it does not. What if email goes down?” she nearly screamed at me.

  A low growl began in Lulu’s throat. Other employees were coming into the foyer, giving Vicki disapproving looks, shaking their heads. It was turning into a scene.

  Standing firm, I began my rebuttal. “Vicki, when is the last time our email went down?” I asked her logically.

  “Well…well…”

  “That’s right—during the three years I’ve been here, we’ve never had our email system go down once, thanks to Paul’s genius. So I know that if I send you an email, you’re going to get it.”

  “But…but…you should have called me,” she stammered.

  Pausing, I looked at her in silence. “Vicki, have a nice day,” I offered in conclusion, walking off with Lulu.

  Whack-job!

  Taking a deep breath, I walked down the hall towards the stairwell, hearing Vicki murmur. I couldn’t get away fast enough.

  After opening the stairwell door, I smacked right into Paul.

  “Whoa!” I exclaimed.

  Paul’s face went pale in surprise.

  “Vicki thinks your email system isn’t what it should be,” I told him abruptly, rolling my eyes.

  He paused, staring at me for an uncomfortable length. “What?” he asked, shaking his head.

  He seemed preoccupied.

  “You should go talk to her,” I said, goading him, then smiled.

  He didn’t smile back, but instead looked grim. I pushed past him, eager to get free of Vicki’s mutterings, which I could still hear. Lulu and I bounded down the stairs, while Paul exited into the hall toward Vicki. As I reached the basement, I saw that Edwin was gone.

  “Looks like we’ve got it all to ourselves,” I announced happily to Lulu. I got settled and was 15 minutes into reading through my accumulated emails from my absence, when my phone rang.

  “Hello. Ann Torgeson.”

  “Hi Ann,” Bennett cheerfully replied.

  “I bet I can figure out how you know I just got in.”

  “Yes, you’re right. Vicki called me; she’s very upset.”

  “Yeah, she was raging at me in the foyer.”

  “I already heard about that from someone else. But that’s not why I called.”

  Well that’s good.

  “Do you think you can come up here so we can chat?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right up. Should I bring the latest manual?”

  “No, just you.”

  “Okay, see ya in a few.”

  “Bye.”

  My heart started to beat faster.

  “I hope I’m not in trouble with Calvin,” I whispered to Lulu, scrunching up my nose. She just looked at me. I got a paper and pen, leaving Lulu in her bed.

  Bounding up the stairs and then down the wide hall, I found Bennett’s open door.

  “Hi,” I warmly announced at the doorway, knocking.

  Whew, no Calvin Klein cologne today…what a relief! I thought.

  “Hi Ann,” he replied, coming around his desk.

  “Take a seat.” He gestured to the chairs in front of his massive desk. He sat in the seat next to me and shifted it so that we were angled toward one another.

  Hmm, he’s never done that before.

  I smiled at him, lifting my eyebrows, unsure where this was going.

  “Did you have a good day off?” he asked.

  “It was fine, thank you. Everything go okay here?”

  “Sure.”

  I smiled.

  This is weird.

  There was silence while Bennett pensively gazed at an original Gary Benfield figurative painting over my shoulder.

  “Bennett, are you planning on firing me and trying to figure out how to lessen the blow? Because if you are…”
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  He laughed, interrupting my speech. “Ann, if I fired you, I’d be screwed.”

  “Well, thank you. But whatever it is…I like the truth better than this silence.”

  “That is like you—blunt,” he replied, standing up to close his door.

  “Wow—closed door—it must be serious,” I teased him gently with a smile after the door was shut.

  After sitting down, he leaned toward me. “Ann, loyalty is a pretty big thing to me.”

  “Okay…”

  “Our technology patents are the nucleus of everything we’re doing here. If we didn’t have those patents—or if our intellectual property was stolen—we’d be completely screwed,” he said carefully, drilling into my eyes.

  “I get that,” I said with equal eye contact, trying to figure out what prompted the speech. More silence. “Bennett, is this about the manual? Do you want me to keep it under lock and key or something?”

  “No, no, no…” he answered impatiently. Silence again as he studied the painting. Then he looked into my eyes. “Ann, someone told me you went to Portland yesterday,” he blurted out, staring at me.

  What?

  “I went to meet friends for the day. But instead of meeting my friends, my plane almost crashed during our landing…”

  “Wait. Your plane almost crashed?” he asked with concern.

  I told Bennett the story about the storm and my plane, making sure to mention the Microsoft Sales Director who sat next to me.

  “You should write that down, Ann.”

  “I don’t think it’s something I’d ever forget.”

  “I wouldn’t think so,” he agreed. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  I sat looking at him, unsure what to say next, so I plowed ahead.

  “So when we did finally land, it was very late, so I missed my friends entirely,” I quickly explained, remembering what the CIA had taught me.

  When lying, always use as much truth as you can, to help keep your story consistent. I would explain everything about my day in Portland, if Bennett wanted, but I would leave GOG out of it.