Back to Normal Series Book One:
PARADIGM RIFT
RANDY
MCWILSON
Moving Images
Publications
Cape Girardeau, Missouri
Paradigm Rift
Copyright © 2014 by Randy McWilson
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means–electronic, photocopy, recording, or any other–except for brief quotation in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Published by Moving Images Publications
Cape Girardeau, Missouri
www.MovingImagesPublications.com
Lightning Photograph by Erica Murphy-Burrell
ISBN-13: 978-0615990606
Dedicated to
My family who encouraged me
My students who indulged me
My colleagues who supported me
Ron Pokracki who challenged me
Danny Janisse who motivated me
Special Thanks to
Janet L. Cannon, editor
Patti C. Whittington, editor
John LaRose
Alison Niermann
Bruce Boulden
David Dickey
Jonathan Fritzler
Jeremy J. Ford
Debbie Franklin
Contents
Back to Normal Series Book One:
Journal entry number 1
CHAPTER 1
Journal entry number 4
CHAPTER 2
Journal entry number 7
CHAPTER 3
Journal entry number 12
CHAPTER 4
Journal entry number 18
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
Journal entry number 21
CHAPTER 7
Journal entry number 23
CHAPTER 8
Journal entry number 25
CHAPTER 9
Journal entry number 26
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
Journal entry number 34
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
Journal entry number 41
CHAPTER 17
Journal entry number 52
CHAPTER 18
Journal entry number 87
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
Journal entry number 91
CHAPTER 21
Journal entry number 117
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
Journal entry number 129
CHAPTER 25
Journal entry number 138
CHAPTER 26
Journal entry number 153
CHAPTER 27
Journal entry number 164
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
Journal entry number 165
CHAPTER 30
Journal entry number 173
CHAPTER 31
Journal entry number 182
MEMO July 5, 1947
CHAPTER 32
MEMO July 7, 1947
Journal entry number 188
MEMO July 10, 1947
CHAPTER 33
Journal entry number 206
MEMO July 12, 1947
CHAPTER 34
Journal entry number 207
MEMO July 14, 1947
CHAPTER 35
Journal entry number 208
MEMO July 15, 1947
CHAPTER 36
Journal entry number 229
MEMO July 22, 1947
CHAPTER 37
Journal entry number 231
CHAPTER 38
MEMO October 29, 1947
Journal entry number 375
Journal entry number 412
CHAPTER 39
Journal entry number 452
CHAPTER 40
MEMO August 11, 1950
Journal entry number 466
CHAPTER 41
Journal entry number 479
CHAPTER 42
MEMO July 22, 1951
CHAPTER 43
Journal entry number 481
CHAPTER 44
Journal entry number 535
CHAPTER 45
Journal entry number 561
MEMO June 4, 1952
CHAPTER 46
Journal entry number 630
CHAPTER 47
MEMO June 17, 1952
MEMO July 28, 1952
CHAPTER 48
MEMO August 9, 1955
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
Journal entry number 743
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
EPILOGUE:
Coming Soon:
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Journal entry number 1
Friday, March 8, 1946
There are two things you should know about time travel— first, it's impossible, and second…it's terrifying.
I can hardly eat. I doubt I’ve slept more than two hours in a row since I fell into this unimaginable horror. I’ve been throwing up all over the place. I don’t think I’m crazy, but insanity might be a much better explanation. I would gladly accept a mental disease, at least most of those can be treated. I’m afraid all the doctors in the world can’t cure my disorder. It’s been three long, gut-ripping days here in Normal.
Einstein said that the laws of physics created an impenetrable wall that stopped any possibility of traveling backwards in time. What about me, Albert? What about Phillip Nelson? Another brilliant theory of a brilliant man ruined by reality. Who knows—maybe I did it when the conditions went beyond the possible, or maybe I did it when the Universe wasn’t looking.
Unfortunately, I wake up every day tormented with the painful realization that this nightmare is very real. I can’t escape where I am, or when I am, though I have rationalized both away countless times.
Denial dies a lingering death when nursed by hope.
CHAPTER 1
Sunday, June 15, 2014 6:39 p.m.
"But, Daddy, how does the light in the sky make noise?"
Denver glanced up into the rear view mirror at the puzzled little ball of curiosity tucked away in the back seat of the SUV. Her attention was divided between a small tablet computer and the irregular flashes of lightning accenting the late afternoon urban landscape.
His mind raced for an age-appropriate and satisfying meteorological explanation. "Well, sweetie, the lightning kind of makes, uh, cracks in the sky, and the thunder is the sky cracking open."
The skeptical six-year-old leaned toward her rain-splattered window and stared, scrunching her little nose. Her blue eyes surveyed the thickening sky. "I don't see any cracks, Daddy, just clouds."
He looked back, somewhat disappointed, but not all that surprised that his makeshift weather tale was so easily challenged. Traffic, like his explanation, had just come to a total standstill, so he played every parent's ace card in these innocent bluffs. "Well, they're...invisible cracks. Big, invisible, cracks."
Jasmine's eyes darted around as she appeared to weigh her father's words. Whether it was actual satisfaction or just first-grade attention deficit, she leaned back, returning to her digital distraction.
Denver’s seeming victory was disturbed by a series of quick rings. He grabbed his phone off the seat and checked the screen: JE
NNIFER COLLINS.
Denver looked away and tossed the phone down, but then reconsidered after eight rings. He shoved it to his ear. "Yeah?" He rubbed his forehead. "Listen, we're on our way, Jennifer. We got stuck in traffic…People act like it’s never rained on the streets of New York before."
Denver raised his hand in silent protest, as if to stave off the verbal assault. "What? I get two weekends a month and you complain about me being fifteen minutes late? Whatever."
He threw the phone across the seat as the bumper-to-bumper traffic relaxed and the rain intensified.
"Was that Mommy?"
"Uh, yes, Jasmine. It was your mother."
She put her head against the window and enjoyed the cool glass on her cheek. She traced the paths of the large raindrops racing down with her finger.
"It's getting bad, Daddy."
"Yes it is, sweetheart. Yes it is. And it gets worse every day."
With considerable maneuvering, their SUV escaped the hectic New York boulevard, and minutes later the glass storefronts were replaced by brick apartment buildings. Denver pulled up to the curb, and hopped out, making his way around to Jasmine's door like a perfect gentleman.
He avoided eye contact with Jennifer, who was already outside waiting on the porch, as his little beauty emerged from the back seat. Her tiny umbrella popped up and her proud dad had to avoid being hit by it as she raced through the rain.
"Mommy!"
Jennifer latched onto her daughter and pulled her up into a rotating hug. "Mommy missed her big girl! I am so glad you're back home with me."
"Me too, Mommy!"
Denver walked up to the pair with Jasmine's small suitcase in tow. He looked around at anything but his wife, who released Jasmine and knelt by her. She fixed the child's ruffled collar. "Hey, you know what?"
Jasmine listened with great expectation.
"It's almost dinner, why don't you go wash up for Mommy, okay?"
Jasmine threw her arms around her mother's neck and gave her a smooch. "Okay!"
She started to go through the door, hampered by her kid-sized umbrella, but her father interrupted this severe breach of daddy-daughter-protocol. "Hey, wait a minute. How about a big see-you-later kiss for Daddy?"
She broke out in a grin and rushed back to him as he bent over to meet her. She wasted no time planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek and then disappeared through the doorway.
He watched her go, and he grew tired of watching her go, and always with the same fear. It seemed there was an irrational person coexisting within, always whispering that he would never see his daughter again.
Today was no different.
Denver shook it off. He had to shake it off, as he rose and started back towards his car, his rain-soaked shirt clinging to him.
Jennifer wasn’t budging. "My lawyer said you still haven't turned in your paperwork."
He stopped cold.
He didn't want another fight.
What he did want though was a shower and a beer, but not necessarily in that order. Denver turned back. She wants a fight? In the rain? Why not?
He returned fire. "I love how you make it sound so cold and formal; like our lives are just...just documents that need to be neatly filed away."
She took a few steps towards him, just out to the dripping edge of the porch overhang. "I didn't start this whole mess, Denver, but I'm sure gonna finish it! For my own sanity, for Jasmine's. Just sign the papers!"
"I'm sorry if I can't erase the last eight years of our lives with just the magic wave of a pen, Jennifer!"
She spun away and shook her head in disbelief, or rage, or probably both. The door cracked open, and a sculpted male with mixed-martial-artist written all over his attitude stepped out.
"Everything okay, babe?"
She put her hand on her forehead, not even looking at him. "Uh, yeah...it's, it's fine. I'll be inside in a minute." The men glared each other down, and Mr. Attitude moved back inside.
Denver pointed, "Lemme guess—latest boy-toy of the week?"
She stormed out into the rain and jumped into his face. "Look! I don't have to answer to you or to anybody else!" She marched back onto the porch, shielding herself from the rain. Jen glanced back one final time as the lightning began to unleash the storm's fury. "Now do the right thing for once, and sign the damn paperwork!"
She was gone.
He was alone.
He appeared paralyzed until a crack of thunder jolted him back to reality. But it was a fractured reality, a shattered existence he could never have imagined only eight short years ago. He glanced up at the apartment door, and then at the entire building. It didn't seem even remotely possible he had met Jen on an early summer night, in this very same building. In fact, the night they first met was almost identical to this night, minus the bitterness, of course.
If he hadn't been so miserable, he would have smiled as he reminisced about that first chance encounter. He had just begun to acclimate to civilian luxuries again after returning from his tour in Afghanistan when boy met girl. It was a simple case of, "Here, let me get the door for you," and he was never able to look at another woman again, though she did accuse him of it from time to time.
Jen loved the way he looked chiseled and manicured in his military uniform; in fact, she was adamant he would wear it during their elegant but simple wedding ceremony. He wasn't keen on the idea, but he was keen on her. As far as he was concerned, she could have worn a tank top and jeans as she said, "I do."
But that was eight years ago.
Journal entry number 4
Sunday, March 17, 1946
I probably need to move to another hotel or motel soon. I've been at this one for 8 days, and I think that the staff is getting suspicious. I have been signing in as John Wilson, instead of Phil Nelson.
I am not sure how much longer my cash will hold out. I guess I was lucky that I had a $20 and a few $10 bills. I put some marks on them using a pen to disguise the dates. To research for a way to get out (if it is even possible) will require a considerable sum of money and equipment. For money, I have some ideas, if I can get out of Normal and head out West.
Facing a difficult task can be terrifying, even with the support of family and friends. But I am in this alone. I am trying to stay positive, I am focusing on Maryanne and Kurtis. I firmly believe I will see them again...the alternative is paralyzing.
Regardless, I need to come to peace with the absurd and horrific reality that I may never leave here. There is a difference between probable and possible. For example, lightning striking the same person twice is possible, but it sure isn't probable. The odds are nearly insurmountable. The solution? Pretty simple: Figure out where the lightning will strike.
And then be there.
CHAPTER 2
Sunday, June 15, 2014 8:07 p.m.
The empty darkness of Denver's studio apartment was interrupted by the erratic flurry of lightning flashes over downtown Manhattan. With a click, twist, and creak, Denver pushed past the front door and tossed his keys across a table in the tiny foyer. He peeled off his drenched shirt, replacing it with a comfortable if not entirely clean gray hoodie, then headed for the kitchen. A magnet-mounted photo of Jasmine greeted him as he snatched two beers out of the fridge.
He sipped as he migrated into the living room and sank into the couch, just as an uncomfortably close bolt of lightning made even this hardened soldier jump. The lights flickered as well, but stayed true as the thunder rolled.
Denver popped on the man-sized flat-screen across the room, creating sights and sounds to reinforce the illusion that he was not alone. The television rarely seemed to do that though...actually, it never did.
He reached across the coffee table and retrieved a framed photo of Jasmine riding atop his shoulders at the zoo. Pulling it in close, he studied the picture he had studied a hundred times before. His thumb traced across her ecstatic face as he took a long pull on his first bottle.
More lightning.
A wea
ther alert blared across a red ticker along the bottom of his HD screen, but Denver Collins was far more concerned about the personal storm that raged deep inside of him. He set the picture back down as his eyes landed on a small stack of papers. They were documents he had made a deliberate effort to ignore for well over three weeks.
He stared over at the top page and then took further comfort in his bottle. A few lightning flashes, a few claps of booming thunder, and a few swigs of booze later, his courage and interest seemed to revive. He picked up the document and held it at eye level as he discarded the now empty bottle.
NOTICE OF DIVORCE PROCEEDINGS
Denver Wayne Collins V. Jennifer Lynn Collins
He flipped dispassionately through the sheets until he arrived at the signatory page. On the right side, in brilliant blue ink, was the signature of his wife (or estranged wife, or former spouse, or whatever fashionable term one uses these days to describe the last stage of formal, emotional disintegration). He looked to the left side, the line was as empty and flat as he was. He rubbed his thumb over the rough texture of the notarized seal below Jennifer's name.
So, that's all it takes. A signature, a witness, and it's over. How convenient. Marriage. A preacher in a black robe makes it; a judge in a black robe breaks it. Nice.
Denver tossed the offensive packet back onto the table, but most of it ended up on the floor. He pulled the second bottle up to his lips, hitting it hard, but the sight of his wedding ring inches from his nose froze him in mid-drink. He set the bottle down and rotated and removed the golden band.
Denver slid down on the couch and held the ring straight above his head. It was silhouetted against a tiny spotlight overhead, and he began spinning it like a craftsman. He flashed to the day he had proposed to Jen. Denver relived the exact moment she had looked out of the window of his friend's tiny Cessna at just over three hundred feet up. Peering down into the harvested fields right after sunset, she saw Denver's agonizing handiwork. He had spent fourteen hours, two hundred and twenty-seven dollars, and nearly five thousand Christmas lights writing the words "Will U Marry Me?" in letters twenty-five feet wide each, not to mention the eighty-five bucks to rent the gas generator, but at least his military buddy provided the plane ride for free as an early wedding gift.
Paradigm Rift: Book One of the Back to Normal Series Page 1