Guardian of Time

by Linda Hawley

  “In my divorce, I have the right to claim Rachel on my taxes, since I pay child support! But the IRS won’t accept a copy of my divorce decree. Instead, I have to follow their bureaucratic appeals process. The really crazy part is that my ex-wife has been living with a guy who’s been supporting them for almost two years—my ex isn’t working—and my ex bragged that the guy makes about four hundred thousand a year. Rachel even calls him daddy. When I went to court to lower the child support, do you know why they denied my request to lower the support payment?”

  “No.”

  “Because my ex isn’t working. In their calculations, I’m the only wage earner. The system is screwed up, Ann,” he said angrily.

  “You’re right. The system is screwed up, and you’re the one getting screwed.”

  “I am. Yes. I am getting screwed. This morning, my wife calls me. Guess what she says?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Tax bill. We got our property tax bill for our house. Guess what? Our property tax has gone up three hundred dollars compared to last year, and now we owe fourteen hundred dollars. Our tax bill went up, but the real estate value went down!”

  “Oh Raymond.”

  “I hate the government. I hate the injustice. It’s like I’ve lost all my power. I’m working hard for my family, I’m living a clean life, but I feel like I’m being kicked when I’m down. I am literally worth more dead than I am alive…”

  “…don’t say that,” I abruptly stopped him.

  “Why not? It’s true,” he said defiantly, boring through my eyes.

  “Because you shouldn’t say things like that; it’s bad karma.”

  “Karma. You’re gonna talk to me about karma?” he said, laughing rawly.

  “Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say. As your friend, do you want me to help you talk through all of this, to help you come up with solutions? Or just listen?”

  “I know you’re a smart woman, Ann, but I’m just as intelligent, and so is my wife…”

  “…I didn’t mean to insult you. I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “I know you didn’t. I’m just sayin’…my wife and I haven’t been able to come up with a single solution since the court denied my child-support-reduction request. If she goes back to work as a teacher, she’ll have to start at the bottom, which means she’ll bring home about seventeen hundred a month. We’ll pay about a thousand in child-care, so we’ll only gain seven hundred from her working, and when you consider that we’ll have to buy a second car, gas, and insurance, I don’t see how it will make any difference at all.”

  I looked at him, unable to think of anything useful. I felt helpless to come to my friend’s aid.

  “On the phone today, my wife said she was going down to the county to apply for food assistance,” he said, looking defeated. “You know, Ann, when I was a kid living on public assistance, I swore that when I grew up and had a family of my own, I would never get help from the government. So I’ve worked hard to support my family, and now look at us.”

  “Maybe I can help you.”

  “No, no, no…that’s not why I told you,” he said proudly. “I’m not looking for a handout from you; I just needed to talk about it, and I knew you wouldn’t judge me.”

  “You’re right; I won’t.”

  “With all this financial stress, and now my mom’s passing, it’s just more than one person can deal with.”

  “Well, you’re not alone, Raymond.”

  “I know that in here…” he said, pointing to his head, “…but in here…” he pointed to his heart, “I feel like a single man fighting the entire U.S. government.”

  “I understand that, and anyone would feel that way,” I said, trying anything to comfort him. “Along with you and your wife, let me ponder this too, and maybe I can help come up with some ideas.”

  “You’re very kind, Ann,” he said, looking at me with defeat in his eyes.

  “I know we can come up with something, Raymond. Just don’t lose hope. There’s always hope,” I passionately pleaded with him.

  He looked at me with eyes that had lost their soul.

  Neither Raymond nor I touched much of our lunch. I decided right then to do something to help my friend and his family. Maybe I could do something anonymously, to preserve his dignity. I just had to figure out how.

  All day, I couldn’t shake the injustice of what was happening to Raymond and his family. I was very sorrowful on his behalf.

  Later that night at home, I got some clay ready to throw on my potter’s wheel, which was always a good idea when I needed to ponder something. I moved the Herkimer diamond hanging from my neck to the inside of my shirt, so that it wouldn’t dangle into the clay. I wore it all the time now, even when sleeping. I believed that it was helping me refine my abilities. As I kneaded the clay, I thought through the facts of Raymond’s situation.

  He makes enough at AlterHydro to support his family. The health insurance is expensive, but necessary, with his son’s asthma. That’s an expense they’ll need to keep. The mortgage is a lot, but even if they sell the house, they’ll likely lose money, because of the drop in real estate value. They certainly can’t get into a decent apartment in Bellingham for less than a thousand. It’s down to the child support and the tax garnishment. I could pay for a lawyer to fight the child support, but it’s the law that’s the problem. The biological father has to pay child support, even if there’s a stepfather in the picture. So a lawyer can’t help. What’s left is the taxes. “I can pay his taxes, and make that problem go away,” I announced to the clay. “Maybe I can do it anonymously.”

  As I finished kneading the clay, I stuck it on the potter’s wheel in a lump and sat down. With the water and sponge next to the wheel, I dripped a stream of water onto it and started the wheel. I forced the clay onto the wheel and smoothed the sides as the wheel whirled.

  As I entered my creative zone, I let my intention slide away, and in its place, I allowed my mind to wander. I found myself remembering a conversation with John O’Brien, when I was still with the CIA.

  *

  We sat in the remote viewing room, after another training session.

  “I know that the primary goal of Project Stargate is to observe targets and gather information on them. But has anyone ever altered events while remote viewing?” I asked, curious.

  “My, my, lass, now you’re considering the possibilities of what we’re doing here,” John said excitedly.

  “So it’s our goal to eventually change events?”

  “Well, Ann, let’s say that it’s our hope.”

  “Has anyone done it yet?”

  “Not that we’ve documented.”

  “What do ya mean? Has it been done, but not in a controlled situation?”

  “Let’s move to the observation room,” John said cautiously.

  We walked the twenty feet to the empty room.

  After closing the door of the soundproof and camera-free room, he faced me. “Ann, changing events is not something that anyone on our team is focused on.”

  “But it’s been done?”

  “Yes.”

  “By who?”

  He paused while I stared at him. “Me.”

  “You? When?” I asked him, full of anticipation.

  “Not long ago.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Okay, I’ll explain, but I want you to know that I worked on this outside of the normal protocols.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I just wanted to know if it could be done. So I worked on it on my own.”

  “How?”

  “Boy, you are one impatient lass, aren’t you?” he asked, with a chuckle.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah, just tell me about it.”

  “After I learned to remote view and went live, I decided to try to change something. I was viewing a meeting where Mikhail Gorbachev was present…”

  “Wait a minute…I didn’t know you spoke Russian.” I shook my head, co
nfused.

  “I do, and four other languages. Can I continue, Ann?” he asked, frustrated with me.

  I gave John a dirty look. He continued.

  “It was 1986, just after the Chernobyl disaster. In the meeting, they were discussing moving more than one hundred strategic nuclear weapons from the Ukraine and Belarus to the outer regions of Russia. The conference room they were meeting in had its walls and ceiling covered with heavy wood panels. There was a very long table that easily seated fifty people. Present were many military officers in uniform and several suited KGB agents. On one long wall were three maps. The first was a map of their current arsenal, the second was a map showing where they could move the one hundred warheads, and the third was a map showing what countries the warheads could reach when fired. On that last map, all targets were either within the United States or its territories. Gorbachev wanted to use the Chernobyl disaster as a cover to hide those weapons from us…”

  “Oh man, what a meeting to be remote viewing,” I said excitedly, grinning at him.

  “You’re right about that, lass. Viewing this meeting was one of my greatest successes for the Agency. Since it was such a high-level meeting, I decided to test my skill in changing the future. So the next morning at my house, I did another remote view, but this time I viewed those coordinates one hour earlier in time. I watched as the room was prepped for the meeting. Servants brought in food and drink, and the room was set up. At one point, an officer came into the room and put the maps on the long paneled wall. When he was finished and left the room, I started to imagine that the third map—the one that showed the U.S. targets for the warheads—did not exist, and therefore was not on the wall. I don’t exactly know how it happened, but I think I may have blacked out. I awoke on my couch with a massive headache. I had no idea whether I was successful or not. I took some heavy medicine, and about two hours later the headache was gone. I decided to remote view the target a third time, but I would go in right as the meeting was starting, to see if the map was there. When I viewed the room, the map was missing.”

  John paused to see my reaction.

  “So you did it! You changed something using only your mind?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you ever try it again?”

  “No, because later that afternoon, I got the worst headache of my life and ended up having my girlfriend bring me to the hospital. By then I was bleeding from my nose. It took Demerol to knock out the headache. After that experience, I wasn’t eager to try it again.”

  “I can see why. But you succeeded—you traveled to the past—and you changed the future. The map was gone,” I said passionately.

  “It was. So I know it’s possible to change something physical. I don’t know if you can change events that involve human beings, though.”

  *

  As that conversation with John flowed through my mind, I considered what I had recently achieved while remote viewing, as I worked the clay into a pot on the wheel.

  I destroyed digital information at the Canadian Motor Vehicle Records Centers. But I haven’t changed anything physical. I also haven’t tried to alter events themselves. I had brought back the Herkimer—that was not only physical, but it was bringing an object from a dream to reality. Also in that dream, I may have caused an earthquake by dreaming it. Can I go back in time and change Raymond’s tax lien, altering the course of events? I wondered.

  As I worked on the pot, I let my mind marinate on how I could help my friend using my paranormal abilities. When I finished, I cut the vessel off the wheel using a wire and placed it on the drying rack. After that, I took a bath and went to bed, still saturating my mind with Raymond’s situation.

  Chapter 6

  BELLINGHAM, WASHINGTON

  The Year 2015

  In the morning, Raymond was on my mind as I awoke, and couldn’t shake his dire situation from my mind. I decided to take a run with Lulu to shake off the pain I felt for my friend and his family. Running in the rain always cleared my head. That put me a half-hour behind in getting to work, but since I was on a flex schedule, I didn’t worry about it.

  As Lulu and I drove to work, I made a decision to remote view tonight, to go back in time and change something to help Raymond. After all, John O’Brien had done it successfully, although his brain did suffer some consequences. I was willing to risk it to help my friend. I also decided to ask Raymond to lunch today to offer a financial solution directly from me. If he didn’t accept, I would find a way to do it anonymously.

  I was lucky enough to get one of the electric-only parking spots by AlterHydro’s front door, which was a win on this overcast and rainy Pacific Northwest day. Lulu and I jumped out and into the foyer.

  “I’ve been calling you all morning!” Vicki shouted at me.

  Just what I need—psycho-admin first thing in the morning. “Good morning Vicki,” I said with a smile to counteract her anger.

  “Good morning? I bet it is a good morning to someone who shows up to work almost an hour late,” she nagged a second time.

  I think I might know why you never married.

  I approached the reception desk with Lulu on high alert by my side. “What seems to be the problem, Vicki?” I asked her calmly.

  “The problem is that you never come to work on time. Your problem is that you’re about to miss an all-hands meeting, called by the President himself,” she snarled.

  A low growl started from the back of Lulu’s throat. This was Lulu’s modus operandi when near Vicki.

  “What time is the meeting, Vicki?”

  “Ten o’clock, so you’ve only got five minutes,” she answered smugly.

  “Thank you for the information,” I said with a smile and then turned to head to my desk.

  “And Ann, if your mangy dog growls at me again, I’m going to report it!”

  I turned around and faced the wicked witch. “You can use many words to describe Lulu, but mangy is simply inaccurate. Maybe try using the word Killer,” I said with emphasis on the word.

  Lulu’s growl increased in volume, as though she recognized the name.

  Vicki’s face revealed her fear.

  “Try to work on your vocabulary, Vicki,” I said clearly, seriousness making my voice firm.

  She huffed in silence, and Lulu stopped growling, as if she knew I zinged Vicki.

  Lulu and I turned together to approach the stairwell and then zipped down it quickly. Approaching my desk, I saw that Paul and Edwin were already in the meeting. I dumped my bag on my desk, situated Lulu, then headed to the conference room.

  What’s with the all-hands meeting? I considered, climbing the stairs.

  This was a meeting where every available employee was expected to attend, and Bennett called it when a significant new corporate direction was about to occur.

  Climbing through the dank stairwell, I finally exited and approached the conference room. It was packed, and clearly Bennett was about to start the meeting; I was just in time. All the seats around the conference room table were taken, and other employees were already standing, so I joined them near the door. Bennett looked gloomy, and both Bennett and Brock were avoiding eye contact with anyone.

  This doesn’t look good.

  “Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Bennett began, looking up from the conference table. “For the directors, if anyone is missing from your department, please talk with each of them one on one and convey the message that I’m about to give you,” he said, looking at each director. “No emails,” he clarified, then avoided eye contact with anyone else.

  Getting worse each moment…

  “All of you are valuable members of AlterHydro. So much so that I consider every one of you part of our corporate family,” Bennett started, the air thick in the room.

  Oh no…he’s gonna layoff people.

  “I got a call very early this morning that rocked me to my core. There is no easy way to tell you, so I’ll just press on…”

  Bennett paused at len
gth and then looked down at the table, overwhelmed with emotion. I saw a salty drop fall from his eyes onto the dark polished surface.

  What the heck?

  He looked to his brother with his eyes filled with tears. Brock was stone-faced, with no emotion showing. Some unspoken communication passed between the brothers.

  “Last night, Raymond Brown committed suicide,” Brock coarsely announced.

  The entire room had an audible intake of breath at the same time. The murmuring of employees started. Suddenly the room didn’t seem to have enough oxygen in it; I found myself trying to breath deep, but I was unable to.

  “I know you all have many questions,” Brock said loudly, above the murmur. “I’ll tell you the one fact we know. It happened about eight o’clock last night, in his garage.”

  “Oh no,” I said out loud and headed out the door and into the stairwell. I ran down the stairs to the basement, repeating, “No, no, no…” I made it to Lulu’s bed and sat on the floor next to her. “He died, Lulu. He died, and I know why!” I said to her as she stood and looked at me. Tears filled my eyes, and I was blinking hard to hold them back.

  Just then, the basement door banged open. I looked over. Paul rushed over to me. He extended his hands, pulled me up and in tight for a hug. My reaction to Paul’s kindness broke the dam holding back my tears, and they spilled over onto his shirt. When I could speak, I pulled away, grabbed the tissues off my desk, and blew my nose.

  “I just had lunch with him yesterday,” I said quietly.

  “What did you talk about?”

  It felt wrong to reveal Raymond’s secrets to co-workers, and so I replied, “Just regular stuff…work and his family, nothing in particular.”

  “You probably should keep the lunch thing to yourself. The last thing you’d want is the police asking you questions,” Paul cautioned.

  “You’re right…”

  The basement door opened again, and Edwin joined us.

  “That is terrible news,” Edwin said, standing in our little circle.

  “Yeah,” we both replied, and all of us studied the floor.