Time Travel and Dimensional Journeys

by Douglas Daech

  ***

  Bloodline

  He felt like he had a hangover. He was shaky and his joints ached, even his hair hurt. “I didn’t drink last night.” He muttered to himself. The words hurt his ears. He thought of the earlier evening, slowly sorting it out. I was home in my apartment watching television. I didn’t even get high. “Boy, what a rough night.” He said, still foggy. He got to his feet and staggered into the bathroom. Leaning on the sink he splashed some cool water on his face and looked into the mirror. He didn’t expect to see what he saw.

  His name was Jackson Taylor, born in 1957. He was twenty two years old. Twenty-two, he thought. That didn’t seem right. He had a confused moment. He was fifty-four. In his minds eye he could remember his birthday bash at the corner pub when he turned fifty. It was his last real birthday party. The guys from work bought his drinks all night. But the reflection in the mirror was not that of an old man. He recognized the reflection as himself, but as a younger man. He remembered other things too. He remembered his whole life, before this point and even after. It was strange, as if he was living it a second time.

  Then it struck him like a rock. He recalled the Winston University research lab and the experiment. He wasn’t a scientist and didn’t know all the deep secrets of the process, but understood the basics. He had volunteered to be a test subject and was paid three hundred bucks. He was told it was an experiment in retro-physical biology, and they used a lot of big words to basically say he would be time traveling back to when he was a younger man. He really didn’t expect the thing to work, it was a little far fetched, but he was paid either way. As the test subject, he was supposed to leave a mark in the past that could be identified when he returned to the future. It was his task to prove that the process worked. It was a simple task. In the fall of 1979 a new wing was added to the Science Center at Winston University. He was a freshman there at that time. He was to mark the freshly poured concrete in the front walk of the building. Simple and long lasting, the letters would last the test of time and prove that he was there and the experiment worked.

  He didn’t have a lot of time to accomplish his task. The mixture of physics and biology that spun him back to a different time would only allow a few hours to accomplish the work. Before too long he would wake from the chemically induced sleep and be back in his old self, probably with an even worse hangover, back in the year 2012.

  That’s when and where it all started. The scientists that perfected the process and hired him as the test subject explained that it was impossible to actually transport a person into the past. There was some law of physics that said matter couldn’t be created or destroyed, but it could be changed. They could temporarily change the mind-state of a person in the past with a different mind-state. The mystery of ones consciousness, or soul, was sent into the past down the bloodline. They said it could be passed years or even generations back into a person’s ancestor.

  He ran his hand through his thick dark hair, where just a day earlier it was gray and thinning. His face was free of the wrinkles that showed his fifty odd years of struggle. And struggle it was, he wasn’t an ignorant man, but the lucky breaks that offer so much in life to others had never come his way. Why else would he offer himself up in such an experiment for a few hundred dollars? Now, his eyes were clear and alive; his body was strong and healthy. He felt the vitality of youth he hadn’t felt in thirty years. He smiled at the handsome reflection in the mirror. Had he known how well he would feel, he would have done it for less.

  Dressed in jeans and his favorite Beatles T-shirt, that had been discarded years ago, he headed to the campus. At this point in his life he was a student, but his first year of college was his last. In the summer he would take a well paying job in construction. He would be hired by the same company that was working on the Science Center, which was nearly finished, with only the landscaping and walkways to be completed.

  The sidewalks were all laid out and the concrete had recently been poured. The scientists back in the lab really knew their stuff and had transported him to exactly the correct time. Strolling up to the front of the building he admired the new construction. Five great marble columns framed the main entrance. Over the years they had taken a beating. Only yesterday he had stepped through this very doorway. Some of the marble was cracked and the stately wooden doors, warped with age, moaned under their own weight as they opened. But, as he looked at the building now, it had its whole life in front of it.

  All he had to do was finds a section of walkway that would last fifty years and make his mark. He strolled along the grass beside the damp pavement. The workers had poured it a while ago and were loading their tools into a truck. He crouched behind a leafy bush where he was hidden and pulled a twig from its branches. In neatly placed letters he carved out the words; “Taylor was here - 1979.”

  “Hey! What ya’ doing?” Taylor jumped up startled, caught in the act. It was Connie, from his algebra class. She sat a few seats in front of him. She was cute, with short blond hair and big blue eyes. She had an attractive figure, and he liked her a lot but he had never gotten to know her. After that one class he had never seen her again.

  “Errr… nothing.” He stammered, realizing he had been seen. “Just making my mark.”

  “Gimme that.” She said, pulling the twig from his hand and kneeling beside the damp cement. Next to his words she carved: Connie too! In an instant she was back on her feet and pulling him away from the scene of the crime walking toward the center of campus. “Teresa and I are going to the Copper Top for Mark’s birthday tonight. You gonna’ be there?”

  These were all names from his algebra class, but he was more of a loner back then and never really socialized with any of them. He didn’t remember Connie ever being so friendly or coming on to him. If she had, could he have been so dense when he was young as to not know it?

  “Sure, what time will you be there?” He said smiling to her.

  “About nine,” she answered, “bring your dancing shoes!” She grabbed his wrist and pulled it to her, reading his watch. “Shit! I’m gonna’ be late. Gotta’ run!” And she headed across the green to the older side of campus.

  Jackson stopped and watched her jog away. I think I just made myself a date.

  Professor Sallans was cleaning his wireframe glasses with the tail of his white lab coat as he explained his theory. “Consciousness is an abstract energy that is not bound to a dimension. It’s is truly free. Some psychics can travel out of the body. All I’ve done is that I’ve developed tools to allow it to move across temporal boundaries. The science is not that complicated. You will be fine.” He said.

  Jackson Taylor was lying on his back on what looked like an MRI machine. Dressed in a hospital gown, his legs, arms and head were lightly strapped into place by a couple of attendants. Wires ran from points all over his body into the machine. The air had an electric ionized smell to it and the whole room vibrated with a low hum. He felt like a science fair experiment.

  Another man in a lab coat brought a tray over to Dr. Sallans. “I’m going to inject you with 20cc of the temporal stimulant. That will allow you about two hours to accomplish your task. The machine will do the rest and get you to the correct date. All you have to do is relax, and allow yourself to travel back to 1979.” An IV had already been set up on his arm and Jackson watched the professor inject the drug into its port. A clock on the wall behind him showed that it was one in the afternoon, and it slowly started to blur. “Now relax, and fall asleep.” He continued. “Just be careful not to make any major changes during those two hours. Just make your mark in the wet cement and prove to us you were there.”

  “Wake up! Oh my god, we’re gonna’ be late!” Connie was throwing a t-shirt over her naked breasts and running into the bathroom. Jackson was naked too and the scent of sex was in the air. They were in her dorm room and he was in her bed, and he was waking up with another t
errible hangover. He saw his clothes piled on the floor next to the wall, and slowly started out of the sheets to get dressed.

  The night before he had met Connie and a few others from Algebra class at the Copper Top Bar, which was just off campus in a small strip mall. They all seemed a lot nicer then he remembered from his college days. Last night they all drank, talked, played darts and pool, and shook off the stresses of school life. Maybe he ended up drinking a little too much, but he had a good time. He had never hung out with this crowd before, he recalled a different set friends that were a littler rougher and gruffer. He recalled college days of smoking pot and tinkering with old cars and motorcycles. Perhaps being 30 odd years wiser helped him socialize with a different type of person. What ever the case, he ended up making love to Connie, and she still seemed to like him in the morning.

  “We have fifteen minutes to get to Algebra class.” She shouted from the other room.

  “Algebra,” Jackson muttered in despair. “I haven’t done algebra since I dropped out of my first year of college.”

  They had made it to the class only a few minutes late and the instructor made no comment on the late arrival. Mark, Teresa and the three others they partied with were all there and looked the same as he felt. Mark looked as though he hadn’t even combed his hair. The other guy that was at the party had his head down in his arms on his desk. He and Connie sat next to each other in the back row where they listened intently to the lecture, but Jackson’s mind was far from present.

  Jackson Taylor was reeling through the situation, trying to make rational decisions on what to do. He remembered that the Professor said that he would only be in the past for a couple of hours, but it had been over eighteen now. What if Professor Sallans had made an error of some kind? Would he ever get back to 2012? Could the professor have made a mistake that huge? A flood of questions ran through his mind. “How am I supposed to relive a life without making major changes? Is sleeping with Connie a major change? Could I have already changed something important?” He knew what a temporal paradox was. If something in the past changed, it would affect the future. But the more he though about it the less it mattered to him, part of him wanted to stay. He liked being young again and having the experience and wisdom of an older man.

  The hours passed and turned to days, and every morning he woke to find himself a young man. He went through the motions of going to class, doing his work and partying with his friends, always wondering if one day he would leave them, and wake up fifty years later, a test subject in another time. But, as time passed that fear seem further and further from his thoughts and he started living his life in the time he found himself.

  “If I’m going to be stuck here,” he rationalized, “what’s the problem with having a little fun and maybe even making myself a better man? I’ve already got better grades, and I’ve got thirty years worth of memories; surely I can make that work to my advantage.”

  And that is what he did. He didn’t drop out of college after his first year. School was easier the second time around. His attitude was better, and he got along with all of his instructors. They were more like friends than teachers. He ended up being a fairly good student who easily got his Associates Degree, Bachelors and finally a Masters in Economics.

  Jackson didn’t have a great memory, but there were some things he remembered from his first life that helped him gain wealth. He remembered the famous Apple computer commercial that was played on the Super-Bowl halftime show. He knew that Apple was going to explode eventually so he bought all the shares he could afford while they were cheap. In 1980 the stock value increased 1700 percent! It was the age of the personal computer!

  Everyone thought he was crazy when he invested in bottled water. Many people mocked him. “Who would buy bottled water when you can get it from the tap?” But he made a fortune in water too. People he knew shook there heads in disbelief when he started making a profit. He was considered a visionary.

  He couldn’t remember everything that had happened, or was about to happen, but he remembered enough to make himself very wealthy, and very popular. He was a who’s who of Wall Street, a free trader before it was the cool thing to be. He held a prestigious seat in the Wall Street community, and people listened to him.

  But there were some things he couldn’t talk about. There were major events that he remembered that he quickly learned would only cause him trouble if he predicted. At first he tried, but sadly he learned he could not help. He sent anonymous letters to John Lennon, his agent and the police saying Lennon needed to be guarded in 1980. He explained that an attempt would be made on his life. When it actually happened, the newspapers claimed it was a conspiracy and there was another person involved. Letters were written by the killers and clues would lead to a capture soon. Jackson feared that somehow they would trace the letters to him, but the police never came.

  He knew better than to warn President Reagan of the ‘81 assassination attempt. It would only get him into trouble. He knew a Russian nuclear reactor would explode in the mid eighties, but what could he do about that? Who would believe him if he mentioned Three Mile Island, Skylab falling, or the invasion of Kuwait? People just didn’t know these things before they happened. He lived with a fair share of guilt.

  When the Challenger shuttle exploded all he could do was keep Connie from seeing it. They had been married for seven years then, but he kept his secrets to himself. He did what he could to steer clear of the tragedies that he knew were coming. He wasn’t there the first time and he didn’t want to be there the second time. Although he did occasionally work on Wall Street he made sure that he and Connie were far from New York on September 11th 2001. They were vacationing in Costa Rica when the terrorists attacked. On the day before the trip, he sold every share of his airline stock.

  Occasionally he looked back on life and felt he had wronged others. He had a slight advantage this time around, but he convinced himself he had paid his dues in his other life. Where he was once poor and nearly homeless, struggling to get by one week at a time, he was now successful and comfortable. He had a home in the Hamptons and a condo on Miami Beach. When once he had a fifteen year old car that he had to repair every weekend, he now had a fleet of limousines, and a car for every day of the week. He was once lonely and lived his life without a relationship, but now he had Connie and two lovely children. They were his reasons for life, and he had never done them wrong, nor was he ever unfaithful to Connie. It was there, but guilt was not a big part of his personality, the fading memories he held of his previous life could not compare to his complete happiness now. So, when the time came for him to pass, the confession of his life’s advantage was not on his mind, only the satisfaction of a living a fine life.

  The ones he loved were there circled around his hospital room bed. His wife, at his side, held his hand. She was still beautiful. Just a few years younger than he; she held her youth much better than he had. Where old age was causing his organs to slowly give out and fail, she was still fairly healthy. His two lovely daughters were there too, one with her husband and his first grand-child, named after him, Jackson. The young man was in his twenties now. His children were all grown and had families of their own.

  “Time has flown.” He thought. At eighty-two, his mind was still active, but his body was showing the years. He was tired, and ready to die. In his own mind he had lived for over one hundred and thirty years when he counted the first fifty. Considering it all, it was a good life. He was ready.

  “We have flat line!” The doctor shouted as he pulled the thin fabric gown off his chest. The cold metal paddles flashed a second of life through his body, but the EKG fell to a flat line again.

  Another attendant flashed a pen light into his eyes. “Pupils are dilated and unresponsive,” he said. “Get the oxygen over here.” A mask was set over his face and air was pumped into his lungs.

  “Clear!” The doctor shouted as anoth
er bolt of lightning was shot through his dead body. It jerked with a spasm and fell back to the table. His left arm twitched, pulling at the spider web of wires that connected him to the machine.

  Jackson Taylor was pulled from the machine by the paramedics and taken to the ambulance. Professor Sallans knew that he was already dead, but he didn’t know why. Jackson had been in the machine for ten minutes and everything was fine. The charts and graphs that recorded his vitals were all normal. Then abruptly, his heart stopped for no reason. It was like it just gave out.

  Within an hour, the police were questioning his assistants while others took photos and samples from the lab trays. The computers were being disassembled and taken to be reviewed. His colleagues from the science department were outside the room, peering in to see what the commotion was. They watched as the police collected all the paperwork and files from his office. The dean of the college was there too, talking to the police.

  He knew that Jackson’s death was not really his fault, it was an accident. It was an experiment, and all the waivers and paperwork were in order. Jackson knew there was a risk, he signed the papers and took the money. The professor knew that it wasn’t his fault, but still worried somehow he was in trouble. In a way, it was his fault. They were kind enough not to cuff him as they took him down to the station for questioning. The dean would follow with the college attorney.

  He wasn’t sure where all this would lead as they marched him past his fellow professors and down the stairs to the front to of the building. As the large doors of the science center swung opened professor Sallans saw the local television station minivans with their satellite uplinks all pointed to the sky. Cameras and microphones were being shoved in his face while questions were being thrown at him. The dean took the moment to say a few words to the reporters. This mess would surely be the talk of the town today. Cameras flashed in his eyes as the procession paused and the police pushed back the crowd of reporters and onlookers. Twenty feet away a squad car awaited him and a path to it was opening. Embarrassed by failure and the unwarranted attention, he lowered his eyes, shying away from the cameras. His life was over, he feared, his teaching, research and all his ambitions were lost. But, as he sat down in the back seat and the uniformed officer was closing the door he saw it. Etched in the concrete, almost covered with creeping grass he saw the words, “Taylor was here.”

  ***

  Read Haunted Romance, by Douglas Daech

  Tori Clark and her mother are starting over. They’ve moved to a new town and they have a new home. Things are different now, but Tori never expected to be sharing her bedroom with a ghost!

  Together, Tori and the ghost work to solve a historic local cold case murder mystery. Along the way, a haunted romance forms between them. A love story spanning thirty years and crossing from life to death plays out as justice is brought to the murderer who still lives just around the corner.

  Born near Detroit Michigan and transplanted to Tampa Florida, then Russellville Kentucky, Douglas has been writing for most of his life. Married to his soul mate Julie, for fifteen years, he has two children, Pam and Dallas.