Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series

by McWilson, Randy

  He grabbed a seat at the long bar as far from the front window as possible. He figured he could hop over the counter and make a break through the kitchen if he was forced to. Denver reached around to ensure that his gun wasn’t showing.

  That little piece of steel was his ultimate back up plan if things went south.

  Journal entry number 25

  Monday, April 22, 1946

  I can’t wait to visit the new Flamingo Casino. It just opened about 6 months ago. It looked great as we were coming in on the bus.

  Hopefully Sin City will turn into Cash City for Ken and me. We need money to live on, and we will need large sums of money (eventually) for time-travel research. What better way to acquire large sums of money than gambling? We have weighed the pros and cons of this effect on the time-stream, and we feel like this will be a minimal impact on the future.

  Our plan is to hit multiple casinos and bet on sports. Ken is a bit of a sports buff, and he knows the outcomes of a lot of games. I think we could spend a few weeks here and rake in a small fortune.

  They say the house always wins.

  Well—the house never met Ken and me.

  CHAPTER 9

  She had peered through that smudged window in the swinging kitchen door at least a thousand times. Every time the bell on the front door clanged, waitress Katie Long peered out. She was always looking for something, never sure what to expect, and never sure what she wanted it to be.

  But today, she was intrigued, and grew far more certain that she might have found what she had been missing. Katie was so caught up in the moment that she didn’t even notice the close approach of fellow-waitress, Beverly Welker.

  She examined Katie and then bent down, apparently trying to locate the object of Katie’s attraction. “What’s so interesting? Is Mayor Vorhees picking his nose again?”

  Katie reluctantly stepped aside, allowing a better angle for her coworker. Bev adjusted and spotted Denver over at the bar. Her hands dropped to her hips. “Well, hello there, handsome.”

  Katie shook her head with playful disgust and bumped Bev away from the door. “You know the rules. First one to the window wins.”

  Bev wasn’t so easily dismissed. “That’s never really been a rule. More like a guideline, sugar. Let’s uh, settle this one the only fair way.” She reached down into her mostly-attached apron pocket and held up a quarter. “Heads he's yours, tails he's mine.”

  Katie grimaced in mild protest, but her coworker flipped the coin anyway, and it bounced and settled on the counter nearby. They leaned in…heads. Bev stepped away from the swinging door and stretched out her arm towards it.

  “Go get 'em, you lucky tiger!”

  Katie blushed a bit and stared at her fun-house reflection in the flimsy metal door. She carefully teased and pulled a few strands of blonde hair down and then straightened her outfit. She turned to Bev who surveyed her up and down like a proud mother inspecting her daughter before her first big social event.

  Bev stepped back. “A goddess in a greasy apron, but hey—a goddess no less. Now get out there to this unsuspecting mortal!”

  _____________________________________

  Denver noticed a well-worn trifold paper menu sandwiched between the ketchup and mustard bottles, and flipped it open. He was impressed by the incredible level of detail of this vintage, small town simulation. Right down to the coffee stains on the menu, complete with 1950s prices…nice. He turned it over, admiring the craftsmanship. He was running his finger down a ragged fold when a question startled his investigation.

  “Don’t get a paper cut. I think we’re fresh out of bandages.”

  He nearly dropped the menu and looked up into the simply beautiful and wide-eyed face of Katie Long. He surveyed her figure and fashion, order pad in hand, complemented with a perfect cherry-lipped smile. It was a setting obviously borrowed from a Normal Rockwell painting. If the menu was an impressive prop in this little charade, the waitress sealed the illusion.

  A little bit predictable, but I doubt they could’ve picked a better actress. I’ll give ‘em that.

  She stood there while he judged her like a runway model. The tension became uncomfortable and she broke it. “Can I get you some coffee for uh, starters?”

  He continued to study her, but he was thirsty, and he was hungry. “Oh, sure, coffee sounds good…black.”

  “Only color we got today,” she said. “The blue brew with pink polka dots doesn’t come in from Chicago til next week.” She winked, tucked the order pad away, and turned to grab a fresh pot.

  “So, are you all serving the uh...the lunch menu yet, Katie?” he asked. “I'm not really a breakfast kind of guy.”

  She donned a stern face, with just a hint of a smile and leaned in. “Lunch? Oh, dinner. No, not for another half-hour, at least officially,” she said. “But I think I can sweet-talk Bob back there to make just about whatever your little heart desires. It's the middle column.”

  “Uh, sorry, the what?”

  She pointed at the menu, and tapped it. “The middle column. The middle of the menu, that's the dinner menu.”

  He blushed. “Oh, I'm so sorry, yes...just a bit out of it, today.“

  Beverly passed by with a plate of food and a low growl. Katie shot her a look and moved her own attention down to Denver’s wedding ring.

  “While you're looking, should I set out another plate for your wife?” she asked.

  “Another plate?” He looked up. “For my....oh. Oh, no, I'm not marri—I mean, we're sep—uh, it's complicated.“

  She retrieved her order pad again as the doorbell sang its sad song and another patron strolled in. Denver’s whole body twitched at the sound, and he glanced over at the man and back to Katie. She continued her picturesque stance and smile, waiting for Denver’s order.

  “Well, uh, let's keep it quick and simple,” he said. “Can I get a burger, everything on it, and some fries?”

  She began writing feverishly as she rehearsed it. “Put a cow in the wheat field and run it through the garden, and a side with eyes. Got it.”

  Denver contorted his face. “Sounds either delicious, or... dangerous. Guess it'll be a surprise.”

  She smiled and started to turn. “Oh, I'm full of surprises.”

  He watched her cute figure stroll towards the back.

  Maybe this simulation isn’t so bad after all.

  Journal entry number 26

  Tuesday, April 23, 1946

  I may have jinxed us with my last journal entry. Who could have known?

  Sports betting is not yet legal in Nevada!

  Apparently that doesn’t happen for at least several more years from now. I know my Dad talked about doing it in the mid-1950s. This is a disaster. Absolute disaster. We spent almost all of our remaining cash on this trip! I’m sure we could find some unsanctioned (illegal) outlets for this type of enterprise, but that is far too risky. I proposed that we should go back to my earlier plan involving the stock market. Ken thinks there is still hope with gambling. He said it involves horses.

  CHAPTER 10

  Denver enjoyed a few long sips on his cup, surprised and grateful that it wasn’t simulated coffee. As he contemplated his options, he constructed a mental map of what he had seen of the area. The town of Normal, frankly wasn’t normal. It was so picture perfect that it reminded him of those meticulously designed fake communities used in nuclear testing in New Mexico. Or was it Nevada? Or maybe both.

  But the real difference, he noticed, was the people. Those model towns were meant to be destroyed. Their citizens and their pets were wood and plastic mannequins, but here, real flesh and blood. In those simulated communities, they were studying blast effects and radiation, but what about here?

  What are you researching here, Uncle Sam?

  He imagined they were studying a very different kind of bomb, a psychological blast. Perhaps testing the limits of human endurance and the breaking point of a person whose entire life has been replaced, down to the coffee sta
ins on a paper menu.

  It seemed so far-fetched, so fantastic, but it was the only possible explanation. Right? The only one possible.

  But unlike the Army, he didn’t sign up for this, for any of this. Maybe that was the point. After all, it wouldn’t be much of a test if you knew it wasn’t real. He had left active duty over eight years ago, but perhaps there was some clause, some fine print, a tiny caveat that gave Uncle Sam permission to conduct psyche tests, even without consent.

  It didn’t matter. I’m not a guinea pig, and I’ve got enough trouble in my personal life. I don’t need military trouble as well. I’m getting off this train.

  Katie navigated past with a tray filled with plates for a nearby booth. Denver snagged her attention. “Excuse me, Katie. Uh, what is the best way for a guy to get out of town, like, as soon as possible? “

  She stopped on a dime, balancing her burden. “Hmm... what is it, Friday? Well, probably the ten-fifty to Chicago.”

  “Ten-fifty? What is that?”

  Without a free hand, she tilted her chin at a clock on the wall. It was almost 10:30 in the morning.

  “Ten-fifty. A bus for Chicago leaves in about twenty minutes, just up the block, corner of West Beaufort and Broadway,” she offered. “I'll be right back.”

  She continued on with her delivery, and he grabbed his smart phone. Surprisingly, or maybe unsurprisingly, it read: 1:18 A.M., MONDAY. He studied it closer.

  Still no bars, no signal. Not even GPS. How is that possible? You can’t hide from satellites. Must be scrambling the signal.

  Katie returned with an empty delivery tray dangling by her side. “Whatcha got there...a picture?”

  “A picture? Oh, no, I was, uh, just checking the time on my iPhone.”

  “Huh? I'm sorry, did you say your phone?”

  He glanced into her confused face, and shoved the device back into his pocket. “Well, yes…and uh, no…well, it's—it's—”

  “Complicated, right? Well, look, sit tight and I'll be right back with your uncomplicated food.”

  He nodded with a forced smile. “Thanks.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Police Chief James McCloud, out of breath, frustrated, and sweating completely through his uniform, rushed up to the front door of the police station. He tried everything he could think of to open it—except for kicking it in—but that did cross his mind.

  It's locked, no keys, thank you—Denver Collins! He still yanked on the handle a final time anyway. He spun about and met the stare of two women transfixed by the unusual spectacle.

  “Mornin’, ladies,” he covered. “Just a little routine security check. Nothin’ to see here, folks.”

  They appeared satisfied, and he tipped his hat as they moved along. The Chief rounded the corner and jogged his heavy frame to the back alley, only to be greeted by a steaming mass that was once his fully-functional squad car. He leaned in the car window and searched for the keys.

  Nothing.

  He mopped his dripping brow and jerked vigorously on the handle of the back door to the station.

  Locked, of course!

  He scanned for observers in all directions, and stepped back. With gun drawn, he raised his right leg and kicked the door in, splintering the lock area with a loud crash. The commotion startled the stray mutt half a block down out of his summer slumber. The dog raised his head as McCloud was shocked by the mess inside.

  What the…?

  He caught sight of the mangled pieces of metal and wood that used to be his weapons collection. He looked up at the splintered remains of the door to his handmade gun cabinet. It was hanging on by a single, bent hinge. The entire scene reminded him more of tornado damage than vandalism. He stepped over the shattered chunks of glass and checked the bathroom, then the closet. No one.

  McCloud went off high alert and secured his weapon into his underarm holster.

  Wait…what’s this? He moved towards the cell and leaned over, spotting his keys on the floor under the cot, and the contents of his ammo boxes littering the area. He picked up a loose shotgun shell and then tugged on the cell door.

  Locked, of course.

  The Chief couldn’t help but smile. This guy is good, real good. He hurled the shell against the cinder block wall. It broke apart and tiny pieces of lead bounced and rolled all across the floor.

  “Nicely played, Mr. Collins, nicely played.“

  CHAPTER 12

  The swinging metal doors burst open and Katie emerged from the kitchen with Denver’s steaming dinner plate. He may have had trouble believing his eyes here in Normal, but he couldn’t deny the reality of the home-cooked meal that his nose conveyed.

  She eased the large dish down in front of him with grace. “One cute little cow in the wheat field...”

  He smiled and lifted the bun, revealing the vegetables hidden below. “And then run it through the garden,” he said. “I get it now.”

  She pointed at the fries. “And a side with eyes.”

  He couldn’t decode this clever culinary clue. She appeared almost hurt. She pointed again. “Potatoes. Eyes.”

  He shrugged in ignorance. She waved her hand. “Forget it. Anything else I can get for ya?”

  “Uh, yes—and no, I mean, no I don’t need anything.” She began to walk away, he reached up. “Oh, wait, actually yes. Can I have my bill now? I have to literally eat and run. Maybe even run and eat. Sorry.”

  Katie pulled out her pad, scribbled some barely decipherable math and slipped it face down by his plate. “You can just pay me when you're ready.”

  He thanked her and devoured his food, eyeing the clock several times. He plucked the bill and turned it over. Sixty-two cents. He shook his head as he continued to wolf it down.

  _____________________________________

  Katie and Bev converged in the kitchen and watched him eat, with all the base interest of a couple of adolescents at a peep show. Bev broke the silence first. “You know what they say—healthy eaters make healthy lovers!”

  “Would you stop it! No, he's in a hurry, said something about getting out of town.”

  “You know, a man like that has a girl in every port,” Bev said. “Probably headed to the next one now.”

  Katie faced her cynical companion. “You don't know that. Anyway, he has a wedding ring, but he kinda got strange about it.”

  Beverly backed up and began collecting a few items. “Definitely a big danger sign, Miss Katie Long. He is a walking, talking heartache. I can smell it from here.” She paused for a second. “A handsome heartache, but it all hurts the same in the end, no matter how they look.”

  Katie continued to study him, and leaned in closer to the window. “I dunno. I somehow feel sorry for him. He seems kinda out of place, almost...lost.” She paused and pushed through the door.

  _____________________________________

  Denver was finishing his last burger bite as Katie appeared with a pot of coffee. “Fresh cup for the road?”

  He protested with his hand as he reached for his wallet. With some difficulty he managed to swallow. “Oh, no, no thanks. I really have to go.”

  Denver thumbed through his cash and tried to pull out a five dollar bill. It snagged on something and almost tore the corner off. He held it up and frowned. “Well, it all spends the same way.” He slid the bill across the counter as he stood and wiped his mouth. “This should cover it, and keep the change.”

  She was wide-eyed and nearly speechless as he made his way out. “But, you, you can't be serious!” she protested. “This is too much mon—”

  He waved with a “don’t mention it” look and was gone before the dysfunctional doorbell finished clanking.

  Katie remained staring, almost frozen. Bev drew up beside her, and grabbed her coworker’s shoulders.

  “If you love someone, you gotta let 'em go—and if they don't return, well, then you need to hunt them down and strap 'em to a crop duster.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Chief McCloud plopped his frustra
ted and tired frame down at his desk and began dialing his desk phone. At least he didn’t cut my phone cord! He scooted back and partially opened a drawer, then jerked it out all the way. Of course! He came back for his wallet and phone. He shifted the phone to his left hand and examined all the drawers. Disgusted at what he didn’t find, he slammed them all shut and leaned back.

  “Hey Leah, I need Shep.” He rechecked a few of the drawers. “It's me. Listen. We have a situation. He's gone.” He tapped on the desk. “Denver Collins is gone, and he is armed.” He scrubbed his chin. “Yes. And there's something else—he found his wallet and his phone.”

  He rolled his eyes and rubbed the sweat off his wrinkled brow. “I know...I know that, too. I am well aware of what this could mean…I will find him, we will find him…I've called O'Connell in.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I know this is a bad time!”

  McCloud leaned in and fished a liquor flask out of the bottom drawer. He nodded a few times and took a quick hit on the bottle. “No, he only knows what I've told him.” He put the cap back on the bottle. “No, he doesn't know 'bout that. Don't worry! We will clean this up. I promise you, I promise you: I won't let them get to him first.”

  He returned the flask to its hiding place. “I will eliminate this threat. Period.” McCloud slammed the phone down into the cradle.

  He pulled out his gun, and checked the chamber. It was full.

  CHAPTER 14

  As he made his way back to secure a seat, Denver thought that the 10:50 to Chicago idled more like a freight train than a bus. With each step, he debated the rationality of this escape plan. Surely the bus was as much a part of the grand charade as the rest of this psychological experiment.