The Time-Hostage

The Time Hostage

By

Glenn L. Erickson

Copyright 2023 Glenn L. Erickson

Smashwords Edition

All rights reserved

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Revised 7-2-2023

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Transition

Chapter 2: Exploration

Chapter 3: Monday

Chapter 4: 1958

Chapter 5: 1959

Chapter 6: 1960

Chapter 7: 1961

Chapter 8: 1963

Chapter 9: 1964

Chapter 10: 1965

Chapter 11: 1966

Chapter 12: Flight

Chapter 13: San Francisco

Chapter 14: 1967

Chapter 15: 1968

Chapter 16: 1969

Chapter 17: 1970

Chapter 18: Memory Lane

Chapter 19: Evasion

Chapter 20: 1972

Chapter 21: The Nightmare Begins

Chapter 22: Judgment

Chapter 23: Epilog

About the Author

Chapter 1: Transition

The headache was subsiding. My vision was still a sheet of pure white. I could hear, but the ringing in my ears had yet to fade away. I didn’t feel any pain, but I might just be in shock. I tentatively released my grip on the steering wheel and touched my face and then my head, feeling for any injuries. Without being able to see my hand, I couldn’t tell if I was bleeding anywhere. I could breathe alright, and move without pain but…

What the hell had I hit?

I had been exploring an old section of Route 66 in western New Mexico on my way to a service call in Los Angeles. I was early, so I had decided to take a detour away from the freeway.

There was a nasty thunderstorm brewing to the west and I had been looking for a place to pull off to watch it approach. I’m not sure what happened next, but I think a bolt of lightning hit my van. I had hit the brakes and stopped so I wouldn’t run off the road.

I still could feel the van’s engine was running and could feel the air conditioning blowing, so that had at least survived. The radio was issuing static, so I reached over and turned it off.

My vision was beginning to clear when I heard the loud squalling of tires behind me and a car swept past on my left. I heard the car stop, and the driver get out. The vigorous slam of the door told me he was just a bit upset. I reached over and rolled the window down.

I stuck my head out the window and called out, Sorry ‘bout that. I think lightning hit me. I can’t see right now. I had to stop or run off the road!

Bullshit! I heard. There ain’t a cloud in the sky guy! I heard him approaching, so I released my belt and then opened the door to step out to meet him. I stumbled as my foot touched down, so I grabbed for the door to brace myself. I missed. I hit the ground hard and rolled over onto my back, nursing my left shoulder.

The other driver’s tone changed instantly. Hold on guy. I’m coming! I heard a creak of a joint as he crouched down and then felt him place a gentle hand on my shoulder. You took quite a tumble there! You been drinkin?

No, sir. I was driving along looking at the scenery when BAM! Something hit me, or I hit something. I reached out a hand and felt him grasp it. He pulled me to my feet and leaned me against the side of my van. He brushed me off, and I could hear him moving around. I guess he was looking me over.

I saw a shadow, and then a gentle hand tipped my head back, and a thumb lifted my left eyelid. You did take quite a fall there, and your eyes look wrong somehow. I’m no doctor, but I think you need to see ol’ Doc Stevens just up the road a piece. You seein’ any better now? He asked. All trace of his earlier ire was gone.

My eyes felt gritty. Like when you had watched a welder’s arc or stayed too long out in the sun without sunglasses. Blinking rapidly to regain some moisture, my eyes cleared enough to let me see my rescuer. He was a man somewhere in his forties, in an old-fashioned suit with a hat. He had on a narrow black tie over a starched white shirt. It reminded me of the suits worn in early 60’s TV shows like Andy Griffith. I absently wondered why he was dressed like that

Blinking some more, the scenery around me gradually came back into focus. I looked around and saw I was standing in the road, but the sky was totally clear.

Wow! That storm blew away quickly! I could have sworn it was going to rain buckets!

My rescuer looked around and then back at me and said, Sir, there ain’t been a cloud in the sky here in days!

I stared at him and then glanced around again. He was right: the ground was dry and the weeds brown. Had I lost consciousness? How much time had gone by anyway?

The man then glanced past me towards the open drivers’ door of my van. He stepped towards it and said, I ain’t ever seen a van like yours before! What is it? Foreign?

An ’88 Caravan. I got it junk and restored it. I drive it around the country for my business. Why?

Mister; I sell cars for a living, and I ain’t never seen anything like this! He poked his head into the open door. I heard him gasp.

Just where the hell did you get this? And what’s all that stuff stuck to your windshield? I thought a second and realized he was probably speaking about my toll transponders and GPS.

He stepped back and then slowly walked around the van, taking in the details with a disbelieving look. As he came back to the front of the van, he said, Mind if I look under the hood? He asked as he searched for the hood latch.

I shrugged and reached in to pull the release. He jumped back as the hood popped and then grinned and said, Inside hood release. Ingenious!

I didn’t see why he was so impressed. Cars had had internal releases for years. Why was it such a novelty? Didn’t he sell cars?

A sharp intake of breath drew my attention back to him. The man was holding the hood up with both hands, apparently at a loss as to how to prop it open. He was looking around the engine compartment with undisguised wonder.

He then caught sight of the vehicle ID plate and exclaimed Chrysler? He looked at me and said, Sir! I may sell Chevys, but I know every model Chrysler sells, and this ain’t one of ‘em.

He spotted the hood prop-rod and managed to engage it. Stepping back, he waved a hand towards the engine compartment and added Where’s the carb? And what battery doesn’t have caps?

And why’s the engine sideways? He leaned in and exclaimed, his voice rising "Front-wheel drive??? I haven’t ever seen any car like yours before!"

Why was my old van such a marvel to him? I guess my confusion must have shown because he calmed down almost immediately and came over to me, concern showing plainly. That tumble you took must have scrambled your brains some. You look shaky. Waving a hand at the van, he asked, You feel well enough to drive?

I nodded and went around to the front of the van to close the hood. He headed to his car.

Thanks again for stopping! I said to his back.

He waved without turning around. Glad to help. You follow me to Doc Stevens, and he’ll give you something for your nerves.

He climbed into a mint-condition Aqua-and-White1957 Chevrolet Belair. Someone must have spent a couple of thousand hours to get it looking original. It even had white-wall tires!

I shook my head in wonder, and then climbed into the van and followed him to the next town. It wasn’t long before we reached the outskirts of what looked like it something copied from an old postcard I had once seen in my mother’s family pictures. There was even the old-style billboard welcoming me to some town called Coolidge, New Mexico. The coolest little town in the west. A dog chased my van down the street, barking furiously.

I followed the man down a side street near the outskirts of town. I pulled up behind him when he stopped at an old two-story white clapboard house with a porch swing and a screen door. My rescuer got out of his car and came back to me as I stepped out of the van.

By the way sir, my name is Earl Barret. I own Barret Motors on the other side of town. He held out his hand, and I grasped it gladly.

I guess I was still too shaken up to be civil back there. Sorry. I replied. My name is Ben, Ben Miller. He shook my hand firmly then indicated the house. I saw a wooden sign hanging from the eaves stating Doctor A. Stevens, General Practice. I followed Earl up onto the porch and waited to one side as he rapped sharply at the frame of the screen door. Earl leaned towards me and whispered loudly Doc’s getting a might deef in his old age! He added a conspiratorial grin to his words.

I’m not so deaf that I can’t hear you, Earl! I looked through the screen door and saw a rather portly older man coming towards us. He opened the screen door and stepped out, letting the door slam shut behind him. Spotting me lingering to one side, his tone changed, and he looked me up and down intensely. Are you going to introduce us, Earl, or do I have to do everything myself?

Earl whipped his hat off and introduced me. Ben Miller; this here is Doc Stevens. He’ll fix you up proper. I shook hands with the doctor. His grasp was firm.

Doc; This feller liked to scared the pants offa me down the road a ways. I came ‘round a corner, and he was stopped plumb in the middle of the road! I had to swerve to miss him and damn near ended up in the ditch!

Doctor Stevens sniffed but continued his intent examination of me. You were probably driving too fast, as usual, Earl. Ever since you got that rocket, you’ve been tearing up the roads around town. I heard Angus had to warn you a couple of times!

Earl tried to look abashed but failed. He glanced out at his car and said, Doc; what man can resist putting his foot down now and then when you get to drive the latest iron out of Detroit!

Now it was my turn to be surprised. I looked at the car that, up to now, I had assumed was a beautiful restoration. I looked back to Earl, then at the doctor, wondering if I heard correctly.

’Latest iron out of Detroit’ Earl? I thought it was a ’57 Belair?

Indeed, it is! Earl looked at me, the car and the doctor, uncertainty showing in his glance at me.

To change the subject, I said, I must have heard wrong,

Earl regained his good humor and told the Doctor, Like I said, Ben here claims he was struck by lightning, but I haven’t seen a cloud in weeks.

Uh-Huh, Doc uttered without taking his eyes off me. Well, come on inside out of the heat, Mr. Miller. We’ll take a look at you in the office.

I shook hands again with Earl Thanks again for your help Earl, and for being a good enough driver to avoid clobberin me!

Earl grinned expansively and said, "Been my pleasure, Ben! You’ve given me quite a jolt. Guess I’ll have to slow down a bit, and look into what Chrysler is building these days." Looking out at my van, I could hear him mutter under his breath something about ‘damned competition.' Earl glanced back as he stepped off the porch and waved jauntily.

I heard him start his car and drive away as I followed the doctor into his office. I stopped at the door and just stared. The doctor’s office was straight out of a Norman Rockwell painting I had once seen: An ancient roll-top desk, a tall black leather and chrome examination table and a metal-and-glass cabinet stocked with medical supplies. I felt like I had stepped into a Twilight Zone episode.

It was then I received the greatest shock: On the wall was a large calendar, showing September 1957. "X’s were drawn through the dates up to Thursday, the 19th.

I guess my shock must have shown as Doc Stevens grasped my arm and guided me to the examination table. I sat down in a daze, while the doctor examined my eyes and ears and took my pulse and blood pressure.

Doctor?

Um-hum? he responded while writing notes on a pad. Done, he turned to me and added, What seems to be the problem?

Pointing a shaking finger at the calendar, I asked, "Is that today’s date?

Yep! Turning back to me, he could see I was shaking. He moved closer to catch me if I fell or passed out.

Why? What’s wrong? What day did you think it was?

Now, I’m not the most intelligent of men I’ll admit, but the pieces, however unbelievable, were beginning to fall into place. I didn’t want to alarm the old doctor by blurting out I was from the future, but the evidence around me was, somehow, that bolt of lightning or whatever, had sent me back in time!

Uh, sorry. I’ve been traveling a lot, and I guess I lost track of the days is all.

Uh-Huh. Glancing at the doctor, I could see he wasn’t buying my explanation altogether. He continued to study me while I desperately tried to reorient myself to what appeared to have happened.

Coming back to the present, I shuddered and then asked, Sorry to have taken up your time Doctor. What do I owe you? I stood up from the examining table and reached for my wallet. It was then I realized all I had was a debit card, a Visa card, and a few bills. All of which would be useless here.

Seeing me hesitate with my hand on my wallet, the doctor answered You don’t owe me a thing. You gave me a chance to remind Earl he is a damned fool driving like he does and nearly running into you.

I was relieved. That too must have shown as the doctor indicated the door to his office and said, I was about to have some dinner. Care to join me?

My stomach growled, so he chuckled as he turned and led the way to the back of the house. I looked about in wonder at items I had only seen in my grandparent’s house when I was a youngster. The hall was wide and wallpapered in a floral design. The door frames had moldings I had only seen in historic old homes. A narrow carpet of a faded oriental design shielded the wooden floor. I glanced into the next room we passed and was brought up short by beautiful but dated furnishings. It had a floor-model Zenith AM/Short-Wave console radio placed where a TV would normally be.

I realized the Doctor was waiting for me, so I hurried to catch up to him. He turned and stepped through another doorway. I received another shock: The kitchen was straight out of Better Homes and Gardens, circa 1940. There was a hulking gas stove against one wall, bright yellow metal kitchen cabinets, and a speckled green linoleum floor. The kitchen table was a square chrome-edged model with a yellow Masonite top. Filmy curtains framed a large glass jar that contained tea-bags floating in some water. An old-fashioned Frigidaire refrigerator sat near the back door. The refrigerator looked new.

The doctor saw my interest and said, Just got that a few months ago. I keep some of the serums I use in there. It even makes ice! He pulled the handle, and the heavy door swung open noiselessly. Sure enough, it was just as I had seen in the old Popular Mechanics magazines I had found at the back of my dad’s closet after he had died.

My host invited me to sit, and I watched as he made iced teas. He expertly cranked the lever on the aluminum ice tray, which squeaked as the cubes tipped up, ready for grasping. The doctor plunked several cubes into two tall glasses, then lifted down the jar of sun tea and poured a generous portion into each glass. The ice cracked several times and then bobbed to the surface as they came unstuck from the bottom.

Sugar? he asked, holding a spoon poised over a white ceramic bowl.

Two please!

The doctor spooned in two heaping teaspoons of sugar and then stirred vigorously. He handed me one glass and then tapped the rim of his glass to mine and said, To the end of an interesting day!

I said nothing but saluted by raising my glass in response. The Doctor sat down opposite me and sipped appreciatively. Good tea this!

I had sipped at the same time, and I had to agree: it was good tea. Thank you, Doctor.

Please. Call me Andy. I’m only ‘doc’ when I’m seeing people or want to impress someone.

Thanks, Andy. Please, call me Ben. I saluted again.

Andy set his glass down and watched the ice cubes slowly twirling in the glass. He wasn’t looking at me, but I could tell he had questions. I decided to try and divert him.

Can I help with dinner?

Already in the oven. My friend Margaret came by earlier and started a pot roast for me. He looked saddened momentarily and then went on. My wife, Sara, died a few years after our son was born. Since then, the neighbor women, ‘specially the older ones, have kind of taken me under their wing to see the house is clean and my clothes mended. He absently stroked a button on his shirt as he spoke.

A timer dinged on the stove, and Andy heaved himself out of his chair to check on the roast.

"Can I set the table?

Silver’s in the drawer to the left of the sink. Plates are in the cupboard above.

As I set the table, I wondered if this was all real. The smell of the pot roast was real enough, and I could still taste the tea. I rinsed my hands and dried them on a well-worn towel draped over the front of the sink. I sat down at the table and wondered if I was dreaming.

Andy startled me out of my reverie by banging the door to the oven shut. Roasts’ about done, as far as I can see. He spotted my table settings and grinned. I didn’t think to use the good china. Thank you.

He turned to the sink and washed his hands. I noticed the towel we both had used looked suspiciously like an old flour sack. He leaned back against the sink and looked me over. I dreaded what might come next.

My host hung the towel up, returned to the table and sat down. He glanced at me and then said quietly, Ben; what happened out there on the road today was no mere traffic incident. Was it?

I shook my head but said nothing. I looked into my glass, wishing I could see a ready-made answer.

Andy continued when I failed to respond. I can tell from your manner of speaking that you are not from anywhere around here. Your van, your questions about Earl’s car and the date makes me think you are in fact not of this time!

I nearly jumped out of my skin to hear him state it so plainly. I faced him with fear, wondering at his rapid deduction of what I was only just beginning to come to terms with. Andy noticed my reaction and held up a hand to reassure me.

"Calm down, Ben. I’ve been around a long time. I’ve seen medicine advance from little better than leech-craft to the antibiotics I store in the Frigidaire there. I have seen airplanes evolve from the paper-and-wood constructs to the new jet fighters and passenger aircraft I see flying now. I started my practice right here in Coolidge back when I made rounds in a horse-drawn carriage.

I can see the day when man will fly in space and maybe even visit the moon. He paused there and then went on sadly I just hope mankind can survive that far. As he said that, Andy looked at me intently. I wanted to confirm his speculations but dared not. He dropped his gaze and toyed with his glass.

The timer dinged again. Roast’ll be done now. Why don’t you pull your vehicle around back of the house and park it in my shed. It has doors and will keep prying eyes away. He glanced at me meaningfully.

I headed out to the van. I glanced around before getting in and wondered why the van hadn’t drawn any attention. It was then I noticed Andy’s house was only one of four on the dusty street, and the others looked empty. The yards were unkempt, and there were no other cars visible.

I pulled the van around to the shed Andy had mentioned. I saw an old horse-drawn carriage quietly sulking at the back of the shed, covered in dust and looking forlorn. I pulled the van in, shut it off and locked the doors. I then closed and locked the shed’s doors.

As I headed back into the house through the backyard, I saw several beautiful rose bushes that looked like they received expert care. Their scent followed me into the house.

Andy had dished up the roast and potatoes while I dealt with the van. Thanking him with my eyes, we sat down and ate while Andy reminisced about the history he had seen. I was grateful that, even though Andy was intensely curious, he wasn’t about to intrude uninvited.

After dinner, I helped clear the table and dried while he washed. Dishes done, we headed out onto the porch and enjoyed the warm evening with more of his excellent tea. I asked him about some of the things he had mentioned about his life, and he willingly talked until late.

When the church bell sounded 11 o’clock, Andy yawned hugely and invited me to use the spare bedroom. It’s at the front of the house upstairs.

It was my son’s room before he went off to college. He hasn’t been home in a while, so I don’t think he’ll mind if you use it.

I thanked Andy, and he waved it off. You look like you could use a little time to yourself. I’ll be heading to Albuquerque in the morning to run some errands, so you’ll have the place to yourself. Feel free to help yourself to what’s in the refrigerator. Bread’s in the tin box on the counter. Goodnight!

Goodnight, Andy. And thanks. I was just a bit overwhelmed Andy would so freely offer his home to what amounted to a total stranger.

When I heard him snoring, I let myself into the house, quietly latched the screen door and closed the inside front door. I found the room he’d told me about. It was like stepping into a movie set from the 50’s. Baseball posters adorned the walls, and a Yale pennant was tacked over the picture of a stunning young woman.

The bed stood so high I practically had to climb into it. As I drew the covers over my tired body, I wondered if I would wake up back in my present, or here.

Chapter 2: Exploration

I was jarred awake by the sound of a banging screen door. My heart was racing. I wanted to investigate but decided to wait until my wits settled back into some semblance of order.

While waiting for my heart-rate to slow, I looked around. The room was just as I remembered it the night before. Sunlight streamed in through the window. The ceiling looked about ten feet high. It had some sort of textured panels that had been repainted several times. The ceiling light fixture was cast-iron with three clear light bulbs.

The walls had striped wallpaper, and the floor was wood with a short-pile pale blue area rug. There was a tall dresser of lacquered pine. A few small pictures in ornate metal frames held family photos. The room smelled unused.

The picture of the lovely young woman I had seen the night before was even more remarkable in daylight. It didn’t look like a poster so maybe his son’s girlfriend?

As I dressed, I reviewed the events of the last day. That I was back in 1957 was now beyond dispute. What could I do about it? I had no idea what had happened to bring me here, and even less of an idea how to get back. Was my stay here permanent, or temporary?

I had read books and seen movies dealing with time-travel. I had sometimes laughed at the suppositions I had seen and read. I wasn’t laughing now. I was back in time. What should I do? What could I do? Should I lay low and hope to interfere as little as possible? Should I take advantage of the situation to benefit myself? What?

What about the life I left behind in 2009? My clients would miss me but would find someone else to solve their problems. My ex-wife would probably assume I was taking up with another woman. The rest of my family would wonder, but I was so seldom in touch with them that it would be some time before they actually began to miss me or wonder where I had gone.

As I pondered the situation, a thought occurred to me I’d had when I was younger. Once, I had yearned to go back and change some of the things I had done or witnessed when I was powerless to change or stop them. Now, I had an opportunity to make a difference for my younger self.

Then it struck me: was I really here? Or was I lying in some hospital bed, dreaming about this? My stomach decided to interrupt by growling noisily.

I stepped out into the hall to explore a bit. The bathroom was easy to find as the door was standing open. It had a deep porcelain pedestal sink like I had seen at my grandparents’ house. To the left was a claw-footed tub that looked deep enough to swim in!

Yellow print curtains gathered by a short strap of the same material framed the one small window high up over the tub. The walls were of white-painted beadboard. The doctors’ razor rested in a ceramic mug on the sink. His toothbrush hung in an old-fashioned four-place ceramic cup-holder to the right of the sink

Nature urged me to empty my bladder, so I sat on one of the coldest toilet seats I had ever experienced. I washed up afterward and then decided to put off exploring to shower and shave.

I put my shoes on and headed out the back of the house and into the shed. As I retrieved my shaving kit and traveling bag, I noticed I had left the satellite radio receiver on. I reached up to turn it off to save the battery when I saw it was displaying Acquiring Signal. Curious, I sat in the driver’s seat and turned the ignition to accessory mode. I turned the radio on, and it rewarded me with a loud hiss of static. I had it scan the FM band: nothing. I changed it to AM and was instantly rewarded with a radio announcer relaying the days’ news. I listened in fascination to what I used to only hear on CDs I bought from Cracker Barrel. Only live!

I turned the ignition off and sat there contemplating my situation. I could try and explore this time, but I would need to blend in if I didn’t want to attract attention. And I would need money and a place to stay. The possibilities paraded past as I pondered what course to take.

As my thoughts wandered, I glanced around the inside of the van. I suddenly realized I would have to hide or deal with my stuff! My tools were probably okay, but the digital meter would have to stay hidden. The same for the laptop.

My eyes fell upon my cell phone sitting in its holster on the passenger seat. A wicked grin crossed my face as I realized I would not need it again for a while. Curious, I slid it out of its holster and flipped it open. No bars. So much for the phone company’s claim, I thought, chuckling.

I turned the phone off and slid it back into its holster. Looking around one last time, I got out and locked the van. It would have to stay here, out of sight, until I could come up with a way to store it more permanently.

I hefted my shaving kit and travel bag and headed back into the house, pausing again to admire the roses.

I placed the bag in my room and carried the shaving kit to the bathroom. Fortunately, the shaver was fully charged as I didn’t see any outlets. Then, as I was shaving my neck, I spotted a small outlet in the base of the light over the sink. I grinned, reminded of seeing the same fixture at my grandparent's place.

As I stepped into the tub, I noticed the over-sized circular shower head hanging over the end and the oval curtain rod for the shower curtain.

The water was ice-cold at first but quickly turned scalding. I had to adjust the faucets several times before I managed to get a consistent temperature. I showered quickly as my stomach was threatening rebellion if I didn’t tend to it quickly.

In the kitchen, I explored the cupboards and the refrigerator. The bottle of milk with the paper cap brought back pleasant memories of my own childhood. It had been my job to place the clean empties on the front porch and then bring the new bottles inside and put them in the refrigerator.

There wasn’t any cold cereal, but I did find some oatmeal. I boiled some water and dumped a generous handful in. I stirred the mixture and watched it gradually thicken. I found some bread and a stove-top toaster and made toast. No margarine here: I had to use brick-hard real butter! I managed to