The Secret Truth of Time: A Time Travel / Supernatural Suspense Novel

by C. M. Murphy

  Alma reached into her nightstand, pulled out the picture of her pregnant mother, and stared at it. Alma could see her own face in her mother's. Alma's guilt morphed into shame. Her mother had been so brave. Alma remembered the feeling of her mother's resolve as she crossed the street, even though she'd known death awaited her. And Alma couldn't even bear to have an uncomfortable conversation with a caller at work or her best friend.

  She sat in silence. Her eyes stung with tears of shame. Life was more than just her small perspective. She was connected to something bigger. To her mother, to her father, to something eternal. Alma needed to meet her destiny—not hide from it.

  Alma cast away her guilt and shame in favor of her mother's resolve. The sacrifice her mother made would be pointless if Alma didn't put aside her fear and face her problems. She vowed to be brave.

  A familiar voice whispered to Alma that it was time to wake up. A sense of excitement, the kind she'd used to get as a kid the night before Christmas, whipped through Alma. She threw the covers off and leapt out of bed like she was jumping off a cliff into a pool.

  She floated from place to place like a ghost and found herself looking out the eyes of other people. Dreaming. I'm dreaming.

  One moment she was a jogger thinking about reaching the corner in record time. Another moment she was a woman stepping into a shower. Then she found herself in a hotel hallway rolling a room service cart to the guest in 1112.

  "Thank you for being up so early," the dark-haired young man said, holding the door open. The hotel worker found him very handsome, and Alma giggled to herself. Leo.

  He tipped the hotel worker, Janice, twenty dollars, and she headed for the door. Alma wanted to stay, so she jumped over to Leo.

  He lifted the tray and scoffed at what passed for sausages in this day and age. Alma marveled at how different it felt in this body—her center of gravity was lower. Leo sat down and began his breakfast, his mind pondering Alma and The Infinite Truth.

  Alma felt like a spy as she listened in on his thoughts. Leo had assumed attaining higher consciousness would be something attained by Tibetan monks or an Immortal Mortal. Alma laughed at his puzzlement. It all seemed so obvious to her in that way that dreams made everything seem so simple. In her gleeful state she'd missed Leo's next thought—the one where he'd deduced that it was likely Alma's abilities were because she was his daughter.

  Alma drifted toward the smell of blueberry pancakes. She loved Tita Win's pancakes, and she watched Win Win cook at the stove of her sunny, yellow kitchen from the eyes of a stranger. Alma blushed as her gaze shot to her aunt's behind. Win Win had an admirer!

  "You don't have to go through so much trouble, Winifred," Alma heard herself say in the voice of an English gentleman.

  "No bother. I'm going to make extra for my niece, and bring her some in a little while," Win said. "I do this all the time."

  Alma laughed on the inside. Her tita only made blueberry pancakes for special guests. She must like this man Taylor. He certainly liked her aunt. Dream Alma thought it was good for Tita Win Win. Her aunt deserved some male company.

  And with the idea of male company, Alma's mind wandered to Haniel Hanker. Dream Alma grew giddy with the idea of entering Haniel's thoughts. Until this moment, she'd just drifted without forethought as to where to go. But there had to be a way to find Haniel.

  She floated above Tita Win's house. She admired the view, but it surprised her that she didn't feel the wind. It struck her that she was the wind, or rather the air. Each atom and tiny particle in that atom was part of a greater whole. Dream Alma could peer out at any point in space or time. She experienced the sensible clarity of something complex only afforded to one in a dream.

  Haniel. She wanted to find Haniel. The sky darkened, and the air turned cold. The carefree safety of her dream disappeared. Fear replaced it. She clamored to get back to her own body, her own self. She felt like a sea creature out of her shell, vulnerable to prey.

  In her panic she froze. The simple understanding escaped her. She forgot how she came to be out here in the cold sky and how to get back to the safety of her own body. A fog of purple flooded around her. She wanted to cough as it suffocated her, but she didn't have lungs. Limbless, she couldn't flail or run. Her mind screamed with panic. Her vision darkened until the purple fog turned black. It threatened to consume her. Erase her. She wanted to face this danger head on, but she didn't even know what it was. How could someone face a fear that she couldn't see?

  It struck her that there was no danger. She was dreaming. All she needed to do was wake up.

  She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids fluttered as she cycled into the minds of a rapid succession of strangers. The images flashed so quickly only one in ten registered. A television set. The ceiling of an middle-aged woman in the hospital. The windshield of a security guard waking up in his car.

  She struggled to remember who she was when she'd fallen asleep. It was as if her life were a book she'd set down in a pile of books fifty years ago, and she couldn't remember which one it was. She flipped through dozens of lives trying to find herself, and with each change in perspective growing more unsure of herself and more confused.

  As she cycled through a dozen different minds even the visions in those bodies grew clouded with the violet haze. The haze thickened like quicksand around her. It became harder for her to enter each body, and once inside, it threatened to trap her.

  Alma! She heard herself scream in her mind.

  Her eyes shot open, and she jolted upright in bed. No purple. No quicksand-like fog. Only her apartment. She clasped her hands just to feel her own skin rub against itself. Her heart pounded in her chest.

  "I'm Alma Davis. I'm Alma Davis," she muttered to herself to ensure she wouldn't forget and careen out of her body to be lost in a sea of violet obscurity. She rocked back and forth, wrapping her arms around herself as if she could hold herself down. "I'm Alma Davis," she repeated to herself, and after a few minutes tears of relief flowed down her cheeks. The wetness on her face reinforced her embodiment, her connectedness to the shell that housed her independent sense of self. Her tears slowed, and she got out of bed to blow her nose.

  After throwing the used tissue in the bamboo wastebasket her aunt had given her, Alma stared at her reflection in the mirror. The skin around her eyes was puffed from sleep and weeping. The redness of her nose and eyes confirmed she'd been crying. She noticed something string-like in her hair—cobweb. It must've gotten there last night when she came up the stairs. She pulled the sticky, cotton-like web out of her hair, threw it away, and washed her hands.

  She double-checked to make sure she'd gotten it all, and then stared at her face in the mirror. Her thoughts vacillated between marveling at its familiarity and the alienness of it. That reflection was what the world saw when it looked at Alma Davis. But who was Alma Davis? Why was Alma Davis Alma Davis?

  She shook those thoughts out of her head and decided to wash her face. The cool water soothed her red nose and swollen eyes. She dried her face and felt refreshed and calmer.

  It was just a dream she told herself as she looked in the mirror again.

  No.

  She'd resolved to face her problems, not avoid them. With everything that had happened to her in the last few days, there was no way that was a dream. She needed to think. All of this was happening for a reason.

  Alma took a deep breath and tried to focus her rattled brain. Coffee. Yes. Nothing like coffee in the morning to kickstart one's mind and make a person feel like herself.

  She left the bathroom and went to her kitchenette, but a knock at the door interrupted her. Alma's mouth went dry. She knew it was Tita Win bringing her the blueberry pancakes. Her recent body-hopping was real, and so was the danger lurking in the fog.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Alma opened the door to find her aunt holding a plate of blueberry pancakes.

  "What's wrong?" Tita Win Win asked.

  "I'm fine."

  "Yo
u're pale and sweaty," Win said, handing her the plate of pancakes and pushing by to get into the apartment.

  Win cleared a space on the little table, took the plate back from Alma, set it down, and motioned for Alma to sit. "Eat pancakes, and tell me what's wrong."

  Alma sat down. Her aunt's quiet resolve had a power few could resist.

  Win Win got a fork from the drawer, handed it to Alma, and took a seat next to her niece. Alma took a bite and then devoured the rest of the pancakes within minutes. Win waited without a word.

  "Sorry," Alma said when she finished. "That hit the spot."

  Win nodded. "Feeling better?"

  It amazed Alma to realize she was feeling better. "Much better."

  "Good. Tell me what happened."

  "There's this purple mist hovering over me when I sleep, and when I—"

  Alma stopped, not knowing how to describe what she'd been going through. Now that she was convinced that what was happening to her was real, she didn't want her aunt to think she was crazy. "I think what killed mom is after me."

  Tita Win Win gave Alma a solemn nod. "Have you been followed in this world?" she asked, motioning to the space around her, "or the other?"

  "You mean like in my mind or in real life?" Alma asked.

  "It's not just in your imagination," Win said.

  "I know."

  "So has someone followed you on the street or home?"

  "No, just this sort of dark haze that feels like it's going to smother me or choke me."

  "And this just started after you got the watch?"

  "That and other things," Alma said.

  "I see," Win Win said, her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth turned down.

  "Do you know who killed Mom?" Alma asked.

  Win shook her head no. "Your mother was very specific about me not knowing that."

  "Why?"

  "She said knowing too much might make her plan not work."

  "Her plan to save me?"

  Win nodded. They sat in silence for a while until Alma decided to confess.

  "Doug and I went to Professor Cassidy's office since all of this started after I met her. Leo—"

  "Wait, the Leo who died? Is he back?"

  "He's about my age now. Cassidy called him so we could talk."

  "You two have a lot to talk about," Win said. "Did he have any ideas about what's been chasing you?"

  Alma looked down. "This sort of thing they call a paramortal that wants to acquire our life force or power or something."

  "They chase us," Win said. "Your grandmother. Your mother."

  "You?"

  Win shook her head no. "They don't care for healers much, and I gave up most of my power."

  "What do you mean you gave up most of it?"

  "I did things the Western way. Studied medicine, prescribed medication, stuff like that," Win said.

  "Do you think giving up my power could save me?"

  "You might be like your mom—too powerful." Win paused and then changed topics. "Listen, I have a friend in town you should talk to. He's sleeping right now after a long flight. Do you have work today?"

  "Doug called us both in sick for the week."

  "Then you can come with me to see my patients."

  "Doug and I are supposed to go to Professor Cassidy's house to meet with Leo."

  Tita paused to think. "You should talk to him, but then meet me here at the house, okay? And no falling asleep."

  "Why can't I fall asleep?"

  "Your unconscious mind is more susceptible to attack than your waking mind. So stay awake until you see me again. As a matter of fact I'm going to make you coffee."

  "I can make it," Alma said.

  "It's better when I do," Win insisted as she walked over to the kitchenette.

  Win made the coffee, and Alma began to clean up her father's stuff strewn around the apartment. Even Tita Win's healing couldn't save her father from cancer, and apparently Win couldn't have saved Alma's mother either. Her mother had foreseen her own death, but couldn't save herself. Or chose not to save herself to save Alma. What good was having power if you couldn't use it?

  Win finished making the coffee and poured a cup for Alma, complete with the newfangled vanilla-flavored creamer Alma enjoyed. Win stayed to make sure Alma finished a whole cup and started on a second.

  "Drink the whole pot," Win said.

  "I won't fall asleep for years," Alma said.

  "Page me if you need me. I'll be home by four. Charles, my guest, is sleeping in the house, so don't be alarmed if you see him."

  Alma noticed Tita Win smile when she said Charles's name. Win had a crush, and Alma knew through her few moments in Charles's mind that he liked Win, too.

  She assured Win a few more times that she'd drink all the coffee and page if something happened, and Win eventually left.

  Alma sat down and sipped her coffee. Win was right. It was better when she made it. Her aunt just had the magic touch. Alma's mind mulled over the phrase "magic touch." All of these powers weren't magic, but they were close. And yet, no good seemed to come of them. There had to be a reason why all of this was happening.

  The beginnings of an idea blossomed in Alma's mind. She rushed over to the photo of her mom in the drawer and flipped it over to read the back: To my daughter, Alma, with hopes that this will not be our only photo together. Love, Mom

  Alma had thought that her mother had hoped she wouldn't die that night and might live to see Alma born. But when Alma reached into her borrowed memory of that night, her mother's only worry was that her vision might not be true. That visions with strong emotional ties were more likely to be erroneous.

  What if her letter saying that she might be murdered that night was just her mother's uncertainty that her vision might now be true, and not a hope that she wouldn't die like Alma had originally thought? Why would her mother write this if she hoped her prediction of her own death was true?

  A possibility dawned on Alma. Her mother knew Alma could travel through time. If Alma was supposed to travel back in time, kill her mother's killer, she would save them both. They would be together.

  The telephone rang and startled Alma out of her thoughts. Out of instinct, Alma answered the call.

  "I'm sorry I was such a jerk last night," Doug said.

  "I know you were looking out for me," Alma said.

  Her date seemed so much longer ago than just last night. It was as if it were another lifetime. If her plan worked, her whole life would change. Would she ever meet Haniel? Or Doug?

  "Do you want to get lunch before seeing the professor and Leo?"

  "How about after? I kind of want to talk to them right away."

  "Are you okay?" Doug asked.

  "Could you drive us? Professor Cassidy's house is on the hill, and I hate those winding roads. "

  "I'll call them to say we're coming over now and come get you." Doug paused. "What's wrong?"

  "I just need to learn more about what's going on, and what's coming after me."

  Doug pulled the car up to the private gate, and pushed the buzzer. "It's Doug and Alma." A voice told him to come on up as the gate buzzed open.

  "Was that Professor Cassidy or a servant?" Alma asked as they drove up the long driveway of the enormous estate.

  "I think it was her," Doug said.

  He was relieved that Alma had forgiven him. He'd let his jealousy get in the way, and he vowed to be more focused on protecting Alma. He'd only had a few minutes to talk to Taylor this morning. His boss's flight had come in late, and they'd arranged to speak on the telephone tonight. Doug hoped he could get away for the call, but if Alma was in any kind of danger, he would just have to miss it.

  Alma had told him what had happened to her this morning. In all of his reading through The Observatory archives, he'd never read any paramortal having powers like Alma's. It fascinated and frightened him.

  Doug parked in the circular driveway right outside the front door. He wanted the car to be as close t
o the door as possible in case Alma wanted to leave or there was an emergency. Doug's mood had turned apprehensive. He need more information and hoped that his boss had it.

  Alma got out of the car and looked around some more. "Where do you think Professor Cassidy gets all her money?"

  "She's lived more than a dozen lifetimes," Doug began, and then realized he was getting ready to reveal things he shouldn't have known. "She must've figured out something about money."

  "How do you know it was more than a dozen?" Alma asked.

  Doug took her by the hand and guided her to the door. "Leo said something about calling her Felix from a thousand years so I just guessed," Doug said as he pushed the doorbell.

  Alma nodded, and Doug was relieved that he'd covered his tracks. The truth was Witnesses had figured out that Professor Cassidy and other Immortal Mortals stored their wealth in antiques and had networks of lawyers and corporations that allowed them to transfer their wealth to their next lifetime.

  "You can let go of my hand now," Alma said. "I won't run away."

  Doug released her. He hadn't realized he'd taken it. Her hand felt so natural in his.

  "It's cooler up here than in the Valley," Alma said. Her body buzzed like it did with antiques, but even more so.

  Professor Cassidy answered the door. "Sorry it took so long. We were out on the back porch."

  "This house is from the 1920s?" Alma asked. A flash of her sitting on the porch with a much younger Professor Cassidy popped into her mind.

  "Yes," Cassidy answered, holding the door open and waving for them to come inside. "I'll get you something to drink. What would you like?"

  "Diet Coke," Alma said, distracted by the home. The place was packed with antiques that buzzed with history.

  "Same," Doug said.

  "I'll grab them from the kitchen. Leo's out back. It's—

  "I know the way," Alma interrupted.

  Cassidy and Doug shot her a questioning look, but Alma was too absorbed in her memories. The far wall of the home was one large glass wall. She walked through the living room and took a left as she got toward the dining room, where she knew there would be a sliding glass door that led to the expansive, backyard deck.