Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series

by McWilson, Randy

But, what about those people? The Chief, and the cute waitress, and Shep, and Doc, and Ellen. And all the others.

  But what happened?

  Think Collins, think. What is the last thing you remember?

  He flashed back to the impending crisis in the reactor room. The heat, the steam, the red lever, the pain, the urgency of it all. He recalled the failed attempts to move the bar, but then, success! Mission accomplished.

  There’s more Collins. C’mon. Remember!

  He closed his eyes and pieced it back together. The painful victory lap back to the door. Ellen smiling. Wait. Something happened. What happened? He concentrated harder.

  My foot. The boot. I slipped…it slipped. I hit a wire. Ellen said NO SPARKS! Oh, no! A spark! A flash of light.

  Then…here.

  Here.

  Wait, what was it that Ellen said they were doing? She said predictable lightning. They were trying to create LIGHTNING. The Chief said it could send a person through those cracks in the sky. What is a spark?

  A spark is…lightning. And now, I’m home.

  I’m home!

  Powerful joy overtook him. He stood frozen in the moment, lost in wonder, until a welcomed voice added to his euphoria.

  “Daddy! Push me, Daddy!”

  That sweet plea could have only come from one sweet source. JASMINE!

  He spun about and beheld his precious daughter on a swing, not quite twenty feet away. His ability to speak was almost beyond him. “Jasmine?” He stared at her—white summer dress, her tiny shoes, her beautiful face.

  “Push me, Daddy! Up high this time!”

  Well, of course I will! Of course I will push you, sweetheart!

  He wasted no time running towards her when another familiar voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

  “I'll have lunch ready in just a minute, you two!”

  As if in slow motion, he turned about to see his estranged wife, his gorgeous wife, smiling at him, busy with bread and deli meats on a colorful blanket nearby. He stared at her in shock, and she glanced up at him. “Everything all right, baby?” she asked.

  Baby? Everything all right? Everything hasn’t been all right for years!

  She finished composing a masterpiece of a sandwich, and looked up. “Really…is something wrong?”

  Something was wrong, but, then again, it couldn’t have been more right. He was transfixed.

  Jennifer cocked her head and lowered her voice. “You’re staring at me like I’m laying here naked or something.” She blushed a bit.

  “No, nothing’s wrong,” he said. “It...uh...couldn't be better. Really.”

  Jennifer waved him off and pointed over at Jasmine. “Well, it isn't going to be better if you don't give that six-year-old some daddy-sized pushes on the swing.” She reached down for a mustard bottle.

  Denver blinked and nodded. He started walking towards Jasmine as she struggled to pump her legs in a vain attempt to gain altitude. He stepped front of her, with tears in his eyes and studied her lovable little face.

  She greeted him with a wrinkled frown. “But Daddy, you can't push me from this side!”

  He grabbed the chains, slowing her motion, and dropped down. He pushed back the hair out of her face. “I love you so much.”

  Jasmine was happy but clearly frustrated. “Well, I love you, too, Daddy, but swing me! Swing me high!”

  There was no sense in delaying the simple request of someone so cute and yet so demanding. He rose and maneuvered his way around behind her. He wiped his eyes and then grabbed the sides of her seat and gave her gentle pushes. But, like her father, she was a thrill-seeker. “Faster, Daddy! Higher!”

  Laughter poured out as he dutifully obeyed his pint-sized boss. In under thirty seconds, Jasmine was flying high as requested and he took a few steps back to enjoy the sight on this perfect day.

  Nothing could make this day any better, he thought.

  He, of course, was wrong.

  Almost on cue, soft hands with passionate red nails slid across his muscular shoulders. Goosebumps rippled across his arms as he glanced down at his wife’s delicate and manicured hands.

  Jen encouraged him to turn around, as she gazed into his still-misty eyes. “Thank you for taking the day off to spend some time with us.” He beamed as they both turned to enjoy the swinging spectacle for a few moments.

  “It means so much to her,” she said. A soft hand grabbed his chin and turned his face towards her own. “It means a lot...to me.” Her face lit up with a smile he hadn’t seen in years.

  Nothing could make this day any better.

  He, of course, was wrong once again.

  She rose to her tiptoes with a slow kiss that turned passionate at just the right moment. He was almost awkward at first. Denver couldn’t remember the last time they kissed like that.

  The perfect moment on that perfect day was rudely interrupted by a perfectly needy six-year-old. “Gross Dad! Gross! Push me again!”

  He didn’t want to stop. But, as he thought about it, he was in a perfect win-win situation. He could keep kissing, or keep swinging. He couldn’t lose on this one if he had wanted to. Two different women controlled him, and he couldn’t have been happier.

  Jennifer smiled and rolled her eyes, as she released Denver. She pointed at his chest playfully. “That's the only other woman I ever want to share you with! Got it?” She winked and strolled back toward the blanket, as he took a few steps, giving Jasmine another couple of daddy-sized pushes.

  He reached up and tickled her sides as she passed by, and uncontrollable giggles soon followed. He gave her another extra-long push and ran under her, taking the fun to a whole new level.

  But it was right then that another distinct voice from his past created the first crack in this otherwise most perfect day.

  “I beg your eternal pardon, sir, but would you happen to have the time?”

  Doc?

  Denver turned toward what sounded like his imaginary, dream friend from an imaginary nuclear-powered research lab, in an imaginary 1956.

  A smartly dressed elderly gentleman with a miniscule terrier on a leash stared up into Denver’s incredulous face.

  “Doc? Doc?”

  The impossible visitor appeared puzzled. “Did you say clock? Yes, my good man, clock, I was asking for the time.”

  Denver shook his head. “No...no, not clock. Doc. Doc Stonecroft. Doctor Stonecroft? Don't you remember me?”

  The distinguished gentleman strained his eyes, and adjusted his glasses. “Can't say that we've met. But then again, at my age, the mental processes are not what they once were. But, uh, back to the temporal question?”

  Denver was frozen. The man leaned in. “Temporal. The time. Do you have the time?”

  The time. Temporal. Doc? What is happening? Denver snapped out of his inner deliberations. He took out his phone. “Oh, yeah…the time, sure, it’s, it’s 12:41.”

  The polite senior bowed his head in gratitude. But something on the other side of the gentleman caught Denver’s attention. A young boy walking by had been abducted by an older man, who had clutched the child’s arm. The boy began screaming as he was dragged to a car nearby.

  Denver panicked. What is going on?

  “Thank you, my good man,” said the Doc Stonecroft look-alike, temporarily distracting Denver.

  “Oh, yeah—uh, don’t mention it.” Denver glanced back up and they were gone—no child, no abductor, no car. He spun around wildly. What? The crack in his otherwise perfect day, had just widened to a considerable degree.

  “Where—where did they go?” he demanded.

  “I’m not entirely sure whom you are referring to, sir, but I can assure you that we all need to go for shelter at once.”

  Denver looked down at him. “Shelter?”

  “Oh yes. My canine companion loves the park, but Napoleon cannot abide a severe storm.”

  “Excuse me, did you say a storm?” Denver scanned the sky: nothing but blue.

  The man smiled and
chuckled, “And I thought that I was the one with degenerative hearing loss. Yes, sir, a storm. An electrical storm.” The elderly man motioned toward Jasmine on the swing set. “You'd best remove your child from that infernal metal entertainment contraption. It’s a veritable lightning rod. Good day, sir.”

  Denver nodded in return, and watched Jasmine, who was having the time of her life, as the old man and his mutt hastened away. Without warning, the colors and shadows around Denver muted somewhat, and the temperature dropped at least ten degrees. He studied the sky once again.

  What the—?

  Brilliant blue faded into a dull, gray overcast, and violent clouds of varying shades jockeyed for positions above. His meteorological observation ceased when a wayward Frisbee slammed into his shoulder.

  An apologetic voice called out through the increasing breeze, “Sorry! We are so sorry!”

  He bent down to retrieve the toy when waitress Katie Long ran up to him, adorable and breathless. He rose and handed it back to her, and she smiled with her trademarked red lips. “Thanks! Must've been the wind.” She turned around and tossed it back towards her friend.

  Denver followed her every move, and called out, “Katie?”

  Another familiar female voice behind him made him jump. “I'm not Katie, handsome, but you can pick me up like a Frisbee any day of the week.”

  He turned on his heels as Ellen Finegan seductively stalked toward him, her vibrant red hair dancing as if it were alive in the steady breeze. Before he knew what was happening, she threw her arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long and deep kiss. He resisted and pushed back, breaking free for a moment, but she refused to be refused. She hauled him back in as the strong winds wrapped her wild hair about his face.

  Denver shoved her away, but she seemed to find that as an irresistible challenge. A lover’s game. “Oh, I love a fighter!” She pawed at him again, but he managed to get all but one arm out of the danger zone.

  A few rumbles of thunder in the distance revealed the storm’s impending fury and the wind kicked it up another notch.

  What was that?

  Denver discerned another strange sound above the roar—it was giggling, but not from Jasmine.

  Jennifer?

  He gazed to his left and was horrified that his wife was rolling around on the blanket in a passionate exchange with Chief McCloud. He was groping her aggressively and kissed her bare neck.

  There was no doubt she loved it.

  “Jennifer? Jennifer!” Denver yelled.

  Neither of them seemed to notice him and Ellen pulled on his arm with all her lustful might. “C’mon! Let’s show them how it’s really done!”

  The harsh wind made forward progress all but impossible as he tried to reach his willingly violated spouse. He called out again. “Jennifer! What is going on?”

  The storm intensified in dramatic surges as lightning flashed and popped around them. Large drops of cold, intermittent rain drops pummeled his face. He escaped Ellen’s improper advances as a horrific scream from the playground pierced the turbulent air.

  “Daddy! Help me, Daddy!”

  The violent wind tossed Jasmine about in the stinging rain. She struggled to hold on as she flung about, twisting, screaming, and crying out. A bolt of lightning slammed into a large tree nearby, and a huge branch exploded downward as the crashing thunder drowned out all competing sounds.

  Denver fought hard to reach his daughter, shielding his face from the driving rain that struck like thousands of liquid bullets within the maelstrom. His leg struck something on the ground.

  What’s this?

  He nearly tripped over a boy who was rolling around in the wet grass, writhing in horrible pain. The boy screamed, clasping his right side. Denver attempted to lean over to assist him, but another close bolt of lightning flashed, and the distressed child was gone. Denver spun about in every direction, hunting for the boy.

  He’s gone!

  He caught sight, yet again, of his currently-unfaithful wife in her blatant blanket debauchery. It literally sickened him, but Jasmine’s desperate cry refocused his resolve.

  “Daddy! Help me!”

  He strained to reach her, but the hurricane-force gale made standing a lost cause, let alone forward motion. Another blinding flash of lightning arced all across the sky and instantly Ellen was standing before him. She grabbed him and shouted into his ear, “You'll never get back to your daughter. Never!” She roared with laughter.

  With a swift motion he heaved her aside, sending her tumbling across the ground. He could hear her laughter echoing above the noise and confusion. He grasped once again for Jasmine as the terrified little girl attempted to reach out to him, but the wind jostled her in a dozen different directions.

  “Jasmine! I’m coming! Hold on, I will save you! I promise!”

  But he couldn’t, and he didn’t, and he shouldn’t have.

  Time slowed all at once. It was as if Denver could trace each individual raindrop as it hurled through the air and splashed into the ground. He looked up in disbelief as a tremendous bolt of lightning branched out from a menacing thundercloud just overhead. Time slowed further, nearly to a standstill as Denver watched the lightning’s erratic, fiery path down, down to the Earth below. The white-hot bolt hammered the swing set, vaporizing the metal and rending the entire playground in a violent explosion of light, heat, and despair.

  Denver wailed, but no sound escaped his terrified lips, “Jasmine! No!”

  They were the last words of Denver Collins’ perfect day.

  Journal entry number 153

  Friday, March 14, 1947

  Just past my one-year anniversary as a Jumper, and time just sent us an anniversary gift: Grant Forrester. And a few days ago, President Truman bequeathed a gift to the whole world: the new Truman Doctrine.

  Our exclusive club has now grown to FOUR. Yet another male. Grant is officially the youngest, coming in at 24 years young. He jumped from 1972, and with his thick sideburns and nearly shoulder-length hair, I probably could’ve guessed his era within 3 or 4 years. He kind of reminds me of a young Lee Majors. He is a medical student and apparently from a family of money and power. Enough of both to keep him out of Vietnam.

  Grant was a tough one to track down, and we almost didn’t. We have spent many hours discussing the mechanics of time displacement, especially with the more scientific perspective of X when the language barrier allows us. We have concluded that FLaT, our little acronym for Freak Lightning and Thunder doesn’t necessarily have to always bring a new time Jumper.

  Yesterday, approximately 10:45 a.m., FLaT came to town. Ken, Larry, and I fanned out. We agreed to meet a few hours later at 12:45 in front of the Normal Theater uptown. (I was just there a few days ago and watched Angel and the Badman with John Wayne and Gail Russell. Fifteen cents for a movie, and popcorn for less than a dime!)

  Those two hours came and went with no luck. We jumped in the car and hit a wide perimeter, almost into Bloomington to the south and Kerrick Road to the north. We drove back into town about 2:00 p.m. and went over to the college campus area, parking on Locust Street. We walked all over the campus and luckily, Larry spotted him. Grant was inside Milner Library.

  Obviously, our greatest concern is the amount of contact and amount of observation, i.e. which Locals has a Jumper talked to, and has anyone seen a Jumper in their non-period clothing?

  Grant said that he had stopped a small group of college girls and asked them where he was, and what was going on. He said they laughed at him, and kept walking. He reported that he had quite a few stares, but no other worrisome conversations.

  He was hungry for both food and answers, and we took him to the house. We filled his stomach quickly, but his appetite for information is still pretty strong. It is fascinating how time displacement affects people differently. I couldn’t stand the sight of food, and he can’t get enough of it. He appears to be fairly self-confident and pretty sharp. A good addition to the family.

  I
’m worried about the first haircut for this “pretty boy”—time to introduce him to Vitalis Hair Tonic.

  Now that we are at 4 men, from diverse backgrounds of knowledge and skill, it is starting to feel a bit contrived. Is our predicament the result of natural accidents, or unnatural selection? Did we jump here, or were we brought here? Are we being studied like a bizarre zoo exhibit? But who, why?

  On another note, X seems to be making some real progress. I’ve noticed a lot less obvious fits of profanity and quite a few more “bon’s” and an occasional thumbs up.

  CHAPTER 27

  The distant look in his eyes suggested that he would rather have been just about anywhere rather than at work. Dr. Ferrel Montgomery slid into his oversized chair and rolled up to his over-cluttered metal desk. The springs in the seat protested, but he wasn’t embarrassed in the slightest. He combed thick fingers through salt and pepper hair (more salt though than pepper) and closed a folder, sizing up the immaculately dressed, eager blonde sitting opposite him.

  She seemed almost too eager.

  They always seemed eager at this stage.

  “I've had a final meeting with the hiring committee,” he said. “We have decided to move forward with your employment if you are still interested in the offer, Ms. Beussink.”

  He noticed that she was trying to mask her excitement.

  It didn’t work.

  “Oh, yes, absolutely, Dr. Montgomery. Thank you.“

  He leaned back. The chair felt almost at the breaking point. “Now, as we do with all nursing positions, there is a probationary period, usually twelve weeks.”

  “I understand.”

  He selectively withheld the fact that most new hires didn’t make it one month, let alone three.

  He glanced up and removed his glasses, like a gambler contemplating how to play his difficult hand. He wiped the smudged lenses, and then locked eyes with her. “This isn't a job for everyone, Miss Beussink. It can be…more than a little challenging.”