by Gavin Green
Chapter 5
Six years. It had been more than six years since Simon Rike had awoken in the modern world. It still haunted him, and probably always would. Next to coming back to a world that inexplicably hated him, the nightmares were the worst part of his ordeal. The dreams would start simply enough, depicting some part of his earlier life in nineteenth century America, somewhere around the time when Colorado became a state - his home state. And then it would go horribly wrong.
Simon was never sure why the dream version of mountains and thick forests now terrified him, but more often than not he woke with a sudden start, panting and damp with sweat.
In the predawn of a cold November morning, Simon laid his head back down on his clammy pillow and stared up, only seeing memories that, while still somewhat fresh to him, were actually mental pictures that were over a century old. Hikes with his father into the mountains, reading books by candlelight next to his mother on harsh winter nights, and necessary lessons learned from both in a time when Denver was in its infancy.
It still dizzied Simon how thoughts so clear in his head were rare black and white snapshots in history books. Even more maddening was that there was no explanation for the 126 year hibernation, no facts to validate his story, no reasons for why the shift in time happened.
If it weren't for the years of life experience growing up in the late 1800's, Simon might have given credence to the therapists' assumption that he suffered from some sort of psychosis and simply created an 'old west' life in his head as some sort of defense mechanism.
Simon could still recall his parents' voices, his mother's east-coast dialect and his father's slight Norwegian accent, as they'd tell him stories. His ma, Eileen, kept to the more historical facts; how she was an infant when her parents left Ireland to make a better life in America; marrying Simon's father in 1850; venturing west two years later in the great wagon trains bound for California and the pacific northwest in search of gold.
His dad, Andre, usually explained things during chores as life lessons, sometimes giving graphic detail to stories that bothered Simon's ma to repeat. The trek from the east coast out into the Great Plains was filled with grief and sickness, and his dad gave vivid account of how cholera could quickly destroy a body, the results of children run over by wagon wheels, and violence on a daily basis.
While on the wagon trails, Simon's ma realized she was pregnant. The couple decided to stop in the township of Denver and wait to deliver. The baby was stillborn. Andre picked up various work while Eileen grieved the loss. They both agreed that the wagons that continued to roll west carried too much sickness and death, too many bad memories.
They settled in the burgeoning town where labor was always needed. Andre supported them with meat and skins from hunting, as well as working in corrals looking after livestock. Luck and prayers gave them prosperity and another pregnancy. Simon came into the rough world two days before Independence Day, 1855.
By the time Simon was old enough to be aware of things, the Pike's Peak gold rush was in full swing. His dad, who by then also had a hand in claim-jumping and some gold panning, tried to include his son in those vocations to teach the basics of each. Keeping so busy also helped his dad keep clear of civil war recruiters.
From a young age, Simon learned about the welfare of horses and cattle, simple techniques of hunting (he got the unsavory jobs of gutting and skinning), as well as going out into mountain passes with his dad to work rocker boxes in creek beds.
Simon was proud to be trusted enough to help keep his dad's secret - gold. Andre did well in gathering gold dust, nuggets, and the occasional gemstone, and stashed the majority in small burlap bags, hidden in a certain wooded location deeper into the mountains. He called it the 'Simon fund' and made sure his son committed the treasure's location to memory.
In 1864, a flood slammed through the Denver area, taking Andre Rike and twenty others with it. Both Simon and his ma were stunned with the loss, but she set her jaw and made sure Simon kept up with his schooling while she found work as a seamstress. He made a few coins as an errand boy and menial jobs in the stables to help make ends meet, reluctant to retrieve any of the hidden gold unless there were no other options.
In the winter of 1868, Eileen Rike contracted dropsy. By late summer of 1869, at the age of fourteen, Simon was an orphan. The local smith, Ed Cooper, took pity on the boy, giving him lodging and work as an apprentice. 'Coop' was gruff and worked Simon hard and long; he made sure he got his money's worth for taking the stray in, but kept him fed and dry. Working the metal came naturally to Simon, and prior livestock experience sped his farrier skills along.
Other than his parents, Simon felt uneasy in close confines with other folks for any length of time. So, taking all the knowledge from ol' Coop after years of service, he used a bit of his gold reserves to strike out on his own and open his own smithy in 1877. The city was in another rapid growth spurt from recent silver mining, and seemed to develop on a daily basis into a fine metropolis. Despite his sometimes curmudgeonly demeanor, Simon's business did well to keep up with Denver's expansion.
Socially, Simon didn't venture out much, only bending an elbow in the parlors of whorehouses before 'knocking off some steam'. He mostly kept to himself; while he might have sometimes yearned for a wife and family, he didn't have the skills to attract, or even approach, decent womenfolk. As a simple rationalization, he told himself that sooner or later everyone turned into an asshole anyway.
And then came the fateful day that changed Simon's life in ways that he still couldn't fathom, a cool morning in the spring of 1881. He decided to take another hike up into the mountains for the day, taking his guns and knife only as defense, and perhaps to take home some small game.
Unexpectedly, Simon suddenly felt very tired during his walk, so exhausted that he had to stop and rest. Falling asleep out in the mountains, and in thick woods no less, was foolish, but he couldn't help himself from drifting off. Wild dreams came to Simon; dancing with a beautiful but strange woman, exotic skies, frenetic sex.
When he woke, all gear but his revolver was missing, and that rusted lump of metal was beyond ruined. He holstered it anyway and began to make his way back to town.
Simon noticed the difference in the air quality first, just before he saw the asphalt road. He reached for his gun when the first car passed him as he walked along the shoulder. At a good viewpoint coming out of the foothills, he stood in awe at the modern city spread out before him.
As he slowly made his way through outer suburbs, someone must have called the police to report a cowboy walking down a residential lane with a big sidearm on his hip. After the second backup car arrived, the officers finally subdued the resistant man and took him off the streets.
The story Simon gave had insane written all over it, and he was transferred to the psychiatric ward. After initial medications wore off, he was slowly introduced to the modern world. Culture shock was putting it lightly, and at times he didn't take it well. Also, the fact that the staff and other patients either wanted nothing to do with him or were unreasonably confrontational, left Simon isolated and he had to learn many things on his own.
The silver lining of everyone's avoidance was that he got to spend many hours on the computer undisturbed every day. He first followed the programs that taught basic functions, and then on to the internet. The months in captive solitude as he studied this strange new culture let Simon dwell on the fact that everything he knew was gone; his horse, his accrued savings, his business, his life.
Finally, in October of 2007, after months of observation and counseling (where he actually received almost none of either), Simon had his competency hearing. Even though his court-appointed lawyer openly described Simon as completely without social merit, he did his mandatory duty to defend the case. Despite amnesia and delusional emotional trauma, time in extended therapy and under watch proved Simon Rike to be fully competent, if not eccentric and easily loathed (that was in the sealed transcripts as well).
He was released and grudgingly given temporary housing and food stamps. Simon was also supposed to be visited regularly by social workers, but they soon enough stopped checking on him in person, and mailed or emailed him information to answer his queries.
Six more months were spent in a shabby duplex while Simon tried to acclimate as fast as he could. The lack of social interaction slowed the process, but extensive time on the computer compensated for most of that failure.
Even though Simon eventually came to a basic understanding of how the new world worked with all of its amazing industry and technology, he still felt confused and alone in the alien environment. He had to learn all the rules on his own, with society blatantly against him for no apparent reason.
He once even went against the grain of his nature, attempting to start polite conversation in a local tavern. The ensuing brawl got him sued for damages.
Noting the amazing current worth of gold on the internet, Simon reluctantly ventured back into the mountains to retrieve the many bags of his father's gold. There was an apprehension he couldn't explain in walking through the formerly familiar canyons, valleys, and wooded glens, but Simon came out with the family treasure, and vowed never to return to those peaks and forests again.
He bought a house that suited his needs, albeit unfortunately on the west side of Denver, so close to the mountains he wanted to avoid. It was a smaller two-story home with a huge metal storage shed built next to it, all set back and away from distant neighbors. Simon converted the front of the house's main floor into a display room; the kitchen and dining area ran along the rear of the house, with a central staircase that led up to his bedroom and computer room. At daunting expense, the outbuilding was converted into a proper smithy.
In the five or so years that had since passed, Simon's business had barely kept afloat. His reserves had dwindled from exorbitant supply costs and lack of walk-in customers. He came to rely solely on internet advertising and sales, taking his hated presence out of the equation. Still, he was in a slow, steady decline.
On another sad note within that time, Simon had not made a single friend, not even anyone he could call an acquaintance, although he managed to get to know the local police through a long list of misdemeanors. They were quite aware of Mr. Rike; they couldn't stand him, but they got to know him well. On many occasions it was proven that Simon was not the instigator in a disturbance, but they were still reluctant to let him go.
Almost as bothersome to Simon was that after an arrest, whether he shared some blame or not, the court would send a social worker out to his home to follow up, considering his past. Luckily, they never stayed long enough to impede his work.
After the fiasco at the supermarket the day before, and then the routine down at the police station where they finally watched the security tapes and rancorously released Simon with yet another warning, he expected another official visit soon. Icing on the cake; another court-appointed fool asking questions with a sneer, but hopefully not spitting on his floor as they left. Their appearances and quick departures always left him more bitter than usual.
Simon tried to deny his depression, and had thus far done a good job of gritting his teeth in the face of all his adversities... even if he sometimes unclenched those teeth for a drink or ten. Still, the continuous pressures were wearing him down, and with his business on a slow downward slope, despondency was becoming an unwelcome houseguest.
