From the Pen of Greg Norgaard, Book 1: Change the Past

by Greg Norgaard

FROM THE PEN OF GREG NORGAARD

  CHANGE THE PAST

  by Greg Norgaard

  Published by Pro Se Press

  Part of the SINGLE SHOTS SIGNATURE line

  This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters in this publication are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part or whole of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

  Copyright © 2015 Greg Norgaard

  All rights reserved.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 1

  Flared full eyes filled his fat face as he fumbled through the files with furious fingers.

  Thomas Spencer laid the book in his lap.

  He whispered, “Flared full eyes filled his fat face.”

  He sipped the lukewarm crest off his coffee, and once his lips touched the hot layer he removed his reading glasses and cleared the lenses with his yellow and blue striped tie. A small blue shaded sconce lamp lit his face and allowed him light to see the words that lay in his lap.

  He said, “Honey, did you say that you read this?”

  A woman’s voice answered from another room. “What’s that?”

  “Did you read,” Tom added the glasses to his eyes and read aloud, “A Diabolical Murder?”

  A striking woman with light brown hair crossed the room and took a seat on the cushion of the teal davenport that accompanied Tom’s chair. A matching ottoman was in the middle of the room, it centered the space, unused. She brushed aside the slightly wavy bangs that hung softly down her forehead. Her hair covered her ears and ended at her mid neckline. Tom looked over her body, stopping on the hip portion of the slightly flared Swing-skirt.

  Kathy replied, “I did, and it was fun.” Her foot bounced off her crossed legs.

  Tom smiled as he removed his glasses to focus better on the smooth white skin and round green eyes of his wife’s face.

  “It’s fun, I suppose,” he said.

  “Oh, you don’t like it.” Her lips formed a mild pout and she crossed her arms as her eyes got big.

  “It’s not that. It’s just hard to read when you’re around. I, ah, I am mentally preoccupied by your presence.”

  “Oh, is that right?”

  Tom nodded. “It’s a good thing that you’re not around when I am working. Not so sure I could get much accomplished. As a matter of fact, I have a difficult time working with you frolicking around my brainpan, which, by the way, I’d appreciate it if you’d stop doing. To be perfectly honest, that would help me get more work done, you know, if you stopped skipping about my thoughts.”

  “Frolicking and skipping?” inquired Kathy.

  “Actually you were dancing.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes, I believe you were doing the Bunny-hop.”

  “I’m not so sure I know how to do the Bunny-hop.”

  Tom said, “Well, you do, so, if you don’t mind, when I’m working, there will be no doing the Bunny-hop in my thoughts. I’ve work to get done. I’m quite a busy man.” He put his glasses on and pulled up his book. The smirk was poorly disguised in a sham of disinterest.

  Kathy flowed across the room to settle on his knee. He didn’t look up. She kissed his cheek. He turned, kissed her mouth and attempted to place the book on the end-table but instead it flopped and fell to the floor.

  Sunday was Tom’s day of rest. Six days he allowed work to fill most if not all of his time. Sunday was a must. It was an always, without exception, a day he spent fully with his wife. The school would have to wait until Monday morning. Everyone understood this, that is, except the dean.

  Oftentimes Dean Jacobson would call on Tom on Sunday. It stopped when Tom, fed up with being bullied, called the dean a bounder. The cranky paper pusher took offense but knew never to call on Tom again on a Sunday.

  Kathy pulled tenderly from the kiss with an adoring gaze. He kissed the corner of her mouth, then her eyelid, then the space between her face and her ear. His lips faintly slid into the crevice between her jaw and neck. His hand held her cheek. She took it and looked at the watch. It was a round World War II military style with the separate second-hand dial. She put her lips to his starkly scarred knuckles.

  The watchband was over a decade old; brown leather. It needed to be replaced, but it would be a while, if ever, before Tom would allow such an action. The brown band was there when his friends gave their lives. It was there when his fiancée Kathy gave it to him. It was going to stay, at least for now. If not forever.

  Tom said, “Some people believe that an alien race from a far off world in an undiscovered galaxy created us and put us here on the planet Earth to watch us as entertainment.”

  “That’s fascinating Professor Spencer. So, someone or something may be watching us right now?”

  “Anything is possible,” he said with a charmed grin and a sly tilt of the head.

  Kathy removed his glasses and tossed them and said, “Well, let’s make it interesting then.” She kissed him.

  Tom picked her up to carry her to the bedroom. They only made it to the hall.