Time Walker: Episode 2 of The Walker Saga

by Shannan Sinclair

  Thomas never truly fell asleep during sessions. He only drifted into a semi-conscious stupor. Relaxed, but coherent. And then he’d take his trip. In his drug-induced state, he spoke of places and situations as though he was there witnessing it firsthand. At first, Sigmund thought Thomas was the dullest of all his test subjects. His other lab rats spoke of demons and angels or had conversations with the headless, limbless charred corpses that haunted their recent memories of Vietnam.

  Initially, Thomas’s hallucinations seemed boring by comparison.

  The first time Sigmund realized something was different about Thomas was on January 24th. He opened the log to Tuesday, January 23, 1968, perusing through his transcribed shorthand.

  2100 Thomas Reed arrives

  2326 Assistant escorts Mr. Reed into room #6

  2334 Assistant gets Mr. Reed comfortable. Asks him if he wants services. He says no per usual.

  2342 Thomas appears to be napping. Various involuntary twitches of fingers, legs…

  2351Thomas begins talking:

  “I’m on a ship. It’s a military ship. I’m in uniform. I’m in the mess and I think it’s lunchtime. Commander Bucher just interrupted us…telling us to man our positions. There’s a war ship advancing toward us at high speed.”

  2353After some silence - “the intercepting vessel is at battle stations, but we’re in international waters. There are three PTB’s approaching. (Note: PTB= Patrol Torpedo Boat) We’ve hoisted our flag.”

  2356 “Two MiGs! What the hell is going on?!” Mr. Reed appears distressed. Assistant is speaking to him calmly. Telling him he is ok, she is with him.

  2359 Mr. Reed is shouting. “There are two more warships! We’re retreating out to open sea!” Assistant reassures him, tells him the date and time to keep him grounded in reality.

  0003 “PTB alongside. Armed Koreans are trying to board our vessel! Retreat!” Assistant: date and time. “I’m still here,” she says.

  0006 “They’re firing! Bullets from the ship, and they’re preparing to launch torpedoes!” Assistant: “Relax. Breathe. You’re okay. Don’t fight it.”

  0013 “We’re incinerating documents. Others are throwing things overboard. We’re going to be captured! Crew is destroying equipment.”

  Assistant gives him a time check. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart.”

  0020 “Hodges is dead.”

  Assistant: Time check. “You’re okay. I’m here with you.”

  0033 Mr. Reed is grunting and kicking. Fighting off something in his “sleep.”

  Assistant looks at the mirror at Control. Looks back at Mr. Reed and tries to console him. Assistant is not convincing to Control so probably not to Mr. Reed. Will scold her later.

  0049 “We’ve been captured. I’m blindfolded. I think I was unconscious for a while. And I have broken ribs.”

  Assistant: “You’re still with me, honey. It’s 12:49 January 24.” She touches his hand.

  Control will be having a stern discussion with assistant regarding physical contact with test subject during trip.

  0104 Mr. Reed has been silent for 15 minutes. Possibly asleep now.

  0115 Control taking break. Leaving Assistant to monitor Mr. Reed. Likely that physical contact with test subject ended his trip. Assistant will be disciplined.

  0601 Mr. Reed is sobering up.

  0621 Mr. Reed leaves the lab.

  Sigmund had left the lab that morning in a terrible mood. Who knew what Thomas could have come up with if Misty hadn’t physically connected with him? And boy, did he let her have it. Not in the way he’d have liked. The rules were different in this line of work. She wasn’t his employee, she was the US government’s.

  Sigmund walked home that day fuming. He remembered it clearly. He’d set his sights on Astrid. Visualized his intents the whole way home. He’d take her by surprise. She wouldn’t expect him on a Wednesday morning.

  He completely understood and appreciated Vater’s teachings now. After a bad day trying to fulfill your mission, it was imperative to release your rage in the proper way as to establish the proper order and control of things. After a session with Astrid, he would be able to sleep well through the afternoon.

  Then she could make him breakfast.

  He remembered marching up to the house and undoing his thick leather belt when he noticed that the Chronicle was already on the porch. Typically he would have left it for Astrid to handle, but something about it made him stop and pick it up.

  Even folded, he could see the headline: N. Korea Hijacks US Ship.

  Astrid evaporated from his thoughts, and he sat on the porch to read the article.

  A Navy intelligence vessel engaged in a surveillance mission off the North Korean coast was chased down by North Korean patrol boats. The North Koreans intercepted, opened fire, and captured the vessel.

  The news article that morning made no mention of the crew being held hostage. But Sigmund knew, knew that Thomas had seen the whole thing, may have even been a part of it! It was incredible. And that was just the beginning.

  On March 12, Thomas witnessed a rampage in the village of My Lai, Vietnam. He described American soldiers going berserk, killing domestic animals, unarmed men, and elderly women. He witnessed women and young girls being raped. He described the CO, a Lt. Calley, obliterating infants like a maniac. Thomas Reed’s vision lasted for three hours, his longest trip yet, until finally an American helicopter landed between the rampaging company and the fleeing villagers, stopping the carnage.

  The next morning, when there was no mention of it in the paper, Sigmund thought it must have been a flashback from Thomas’s own time in country. But then, it actually happened…four days later. The CIA was calling it a successful MKUltra experiment, but the Army was covering the whole event up. The public still had no idea that it had even happened.

  Then, April 2nd, another jackpot. Sigmund flipped through his log to find it.

  Tuesday, April 2, 1968

  2100 Thomas Reed arrives

  2318 Assistant escorts Mr. Reed into room #6

  2322 Assistant gets Mr. Reed comfortable. Asks him if he wants services. He says no per usual.

  2338 Thomas’ fingers twitch, leg jerks, he appears to be asleep.

  2344 Thomas speaking, voice affected,

  “…difficult days ahead…doesn’t matter with me now. I’ve been to the mountaintop…

  He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain…

  2348 “I’ve seen the Promised Land… I may not get there with you… But I want you to know… tonight… that we… as a people… will get to the promised land.”

  2356 Long silence.

  0001 “I’m positioned behind some bushes. There’s a motel across the street.”

  0003 “The sign says Lorraine. It’s painted off-white with teal doors and large, curtained windows.”

  0005 “There are people are coming out of room 306. It’s on the second floor. They’re mostly negroes. They’re talking and smoking cigarettes.”

  0012 “He’s there. He’s on the balcony. He’s leaning over the railing.”

  0013 “He’s turning to leave.”

  0014 “He’s shot. He’s shot. Oh my God, he’s been shot in the face.”

  Assistant: Time check. “I’m here. You’re all right.”

  0015 “Someone is running behind me. In the shadows. I can’t see their face.”

  0016 “Someone is yelling from the balcony, ‘Dr. King has been shot!”

  0017 HRS“I’m beside him now…Dr. King. There’s blood everywhere. So much blood. So much blood.” Assistant: “Breathe. You’re okay.”

  0020 Silence.

  0032 Silence.

  0045 Silence.

  0052 “They killed The Dreamer.”

  Sigmund knew Thomas was talking about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. Everyone had heard his “I Have a Dream” speech. He was inspiring people, galvanizing them into action regarding civil rights. He was also making enemies, enemies who would w
ant him dead. But on April 2nd, Dr. King was not dead. And he was not dead on April 3rd, but he did give the speech about a mountaintop on that day. And on the afternoon of April 5th, 1968, Sigmund was able to confirm that his assassination had taken place in Memphis.

  Sigmund had been keeping these premonitory visions to himself. His project was proving to be far more successful than the past three, and Thomas was turning out to be Sigmund’s legitimate star. A bigger picture was beginning to form, a vision for what all this could mean and what Sigmund could ultimately do. Each session with Thomas was providing a goldmine of information that added credibility to Sigmund’s résumé and could be used to line Sigmund’s own pockets.

  Sigmund turned the log pages to a clean sheet. Even if tonight was a bust, the BZ should make things very interesting. In blue pen, he titled the page.

  Tuesday, June 4, 1968

  2100 Thomas Reed arrives

  Sigmund looks up from the notebook as Misty escorts Thomas through the door.

  2203 Assistant escorts Mr. Reed into room #6.

  Hello, Thomas. What will you have for me today?

  ∞

  It is so easy to dance when everything is so incredibly beautiful: the sky such a brilliant blue, the air sweet and sour with the essence of the city, the streets filled with happy people sharing nothing but love for each other. She dances barefoot in the cool, wet grass, then along the warm sidewalk of Haight Street. She sashays through the music playing from one transistor radio in the park and into the music of another playing around the corner. A crisp breeze billows up her skirt. It feels delicious caressing her warm thighs. And this skirt! What an intoxicating kaleidoscope of patchwork fabric! How it sways and dances right along with you! Makes you feel like a princess! If only she could pull it apart and devour each patch like a bright piece of candy and be one with its pure color.

  Well, well, well, who’s this?

  She feels the man before she can actually see him. His life force projects out in front of him, full of purpose, commanding her attention. What a turn on!

  As he draws closer, she is ready with a smile that says, I am willing to play if you are.

  My, what light golden hair you have, Sir.

  She adds a little more sway to her hips and lifts up on her tippy toes to dance a little as he passes. He turns his head ever so slightly as she slips beside him.

  My, what blue, blue eyes––

  Aislen tripped backward, spinning frantically away from the young Mr. Lange. As she gained control of herself, she watched the girl dance past him on the sidewalk, still smiling slyly at her target.

  Had she just been that girl? Aislen could feel that, yes, she definitely had. She could feel what it was like being in her body: confident and sexy, deliriously stoned and alive.

  Aislen was helplessly caught up in another vortex of energy now, following reluctantly behind Sigmund. He was walking briskly past a row of Victorian houses, painted in bright, gaudy colors similar to the bohemian girl’s dress. Like a magnet, she was dragged along by his forceful energy as he marched up the stairs of a drab, gray house, unlocked the door, and escaped inside, slamming the door in her face.

  It’s just another dream, she told herself, grateful for the realization. She didn’t feel old Lange in her head anymore, either, and she sighed with relief. She did not want to be around that man in any form. His thoughts and feelings were extremely alarming.

  Aislen tried to will herself awake again, out of this new dream state, but she still felt weighed down. Instead of Lange pulling her down like an undertow, it was as though she lay under a heavy sheath that she could not lift or break through.

  She gave up and looked around the porch. An old rocking chair sat in the sunlight, occupied by a spice orange tabby. He was lounging in the fading warmth of the setting sun, busily grooming himself, lick-lick-licking his legs and rubbing his head with a paw. Aislen had always wanted a cat and thought how awesome it would be to be a cat. What a life! Lying around, sleeping during the day, being served your meals and pampered.

  It had been so easy being the bohemian girl in the street; why not try being a cat? She walked over, shrank herself down and stepped inside the kitty’s space.

  How warm and comfortable! It is a whole new level of being relaxed. He is languid and carefree, very similar to how the stoned girl had felt. His purring hums around her from all sides, relaxing her even more, and the licking feels scratchy and calming at the same time.

  Aislen loses track of time, caught up in the soothing purr and the rhythmic self-massage. Yes, she could definitely suffer through life as a cat.

  Footsteps on the sidewalk startled her awake, and Aislen pounced out of the cat back onto the porch. A man was coming up the pathway. There was something very familiar about him. Was it the way he walked? The way he carried himself? He was wearing army green fatigue pants and a denim jacket. Waves of dirty brown hair came down to his collar and were tucked behind his ears. He looked up to where she stood on the porch, and it nearly took her breath away. Dad. The man standing below looked almost exactly like her father, only his hair was darker and longer, and he looked a bit younger.

  He stood at the bottom of the stairs staring up at her, but Aislen realized he wasn’t actually seeing her. He was stalling—he didn’t want to be here either.

  Aislen felt a sudden urge to be this man. If she could do it with the girl and the cat, why not? Maybe she could find out who he was and why he looked like her father.

  She slipped down the stairs and slid into the man’s space, hitchhiking within his energy field.

  Ten

  It’s always here that he hesitates–here at the bottom of the stairs. Shame and anxiety wait for him at the top.

  When he was first sent here, he thought he was going to another psychologist to analyze his sanity…or lack of it. After a shitload of tests, the Army determined that he didn’t have any permanent brain damage, but there was still no explanation for the blinding headaches and visions of light. That first night, when the woman opened the door in a see-through robe that exposed her hanging udders and rolls of belly, Thomas thought that maybe it was the Army that was nuts, not him. Did they think that getting laid by a prostitute was the miraculous cure he needed?

  He was obviously at the wrong address, but as he turned on his heel to leave, the woman called out to him, “No, no dear, you’re in the right place. Come on in. We know how to help you.”

  Thomas was so desperate for relief he’d try anything, so against his moral judgment, he followed her inside.

  The woman had led him to the parlor and asked him if she could make him a drink. He accepted. If anything could clear his head, it was Jack Daniel’s. Then she sat with him on the worn, velvet love seat–not too close. She knew to keep her distance. Her name was Misty, and she told him that she was there just for him.

  The drink relaxed him, probably more than he was used to, and to his surprise, he started to talk. At first, it was just idle chit-chat, but it felt so good to finally communicate with someone who wasn’t judging him. After all, who was she to judge? He lost track of time, and at some point, Misty took his hand and led him up the stairs.

  He doesn’t remember the details of that night. He doesn’t remember if they had sex or not. All he remembers is waking up the next morning and Misty leading him to the door. She told him he could come back anytime, that his services were on the house.

  It was his first walk of shame back to the barracks.

  He had no intention of going back. But after a while, the headaches wore him down, and he eventually sought out the bliss he’d felt briefly within the walls of the brothel. Soon his visits became a weekly addiction.

  His headaches stopped. The blinding lights dimmed. His nightmares at home subsided. Now here he is again.

  Thomas pulls a cigarette out of his pocket, lights it, and reaches down to pet the orange tabby brushing up against his legs. Cigarettes and cats are all a person should need. They shouldn’t need
what he is here for.

  He looks back up at the brothel door. While it had been a bastion of bliss for several months, it’s now a different kind of monster. In exchange for the headaches and blinding light, the brothel had started giving him visions of greater magnitude.

  In the beginning, they were just random experiences: some frightening, some enjoyable. But in January, things got real. Really real. Visions so immersive Thomas felt he was a part of it.

  The first one, he was on an intel boat in the waters off North Korea. The boat and his crew were intercepted and taken hostage. He was so grateful to wake up and realize it was just a terrible dream. But three days later, he happened across a newspaper article that described the events of his vision exactly.

  It spooked him. So much so he almost didn’t come back. But now he was hooked on Misty’s company and her cocktails.

  Soon he had another vision. In it, Thomas was a part of horrific rampage with a company of American soldiers on a village of innocent Vietnamese. He was sure it was real, and for weeks he scoured the newspapers for evidence of the crime. But he found nothing and started thinking he was crazy again.

  But then, on his April 2nd visit, Thomas stood across the street from a motel and watched as Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated. He was sure he was actually there. He could smell it, feel it, taste it. It was a full sensory experience, more real than real life. When he woke up the next morning, he couldn’t get to the newsstand fast enough to prove to himself that he had been there and that Dr. King was dead.

  But it wasn’t in the papers or on the news, and Thomas knew he was crazy.

  The next day he was walking by a barbershop and heard Dr. King’s distinctive voice coming from a radio inside.

  “Well, I don't know what will happen now,” he orated in his unique and powerful cadence. “We've got some difficult days ahead. But it really doesn't matter with me now, because I've been to the mountaintop.”

  Thomas stopped in his tracks, a fog of déjà vu descending upon him. He could see Dr. King clearly in his mind’s eye just as he had Tuesday night, standing high on a dais behind a podium, surrounded by a sea of people.