Forging Answers: Surviving The ‘Bending Of Time’ Read online

  Copyright © 2021 by J Michael Siencyn

  All rights reserved. Published by Spiral Books.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Corina Douglas, Burning Legacies Publishing Limited

  Cover design by Andrew Dobell, Creative Edge Studios

  Formatted by Nola Li Barr, Tapioca Press

  ISBN 978-1-7375790-0-7 (ebook)

  ISBN 978-1-7375790-1-4 (paperback)

  Contents

  Prologue

  Making Sense

  Taking Measure

  What Portends

  New Learnings

  New Beginnings

  New Acquaintances

  Establishing Baselines

  Other Existence

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Thank You

  Prologue

  Jason — Friday, September 22, AD 972 — Panic

  I wake up, lying on my back upon a cold stone floor. The darkness, almost suffocating, overwhelms me. Barely conscious, I am confused by the alarming pain. I hurt all over but my head…

  I gasp. "Where am I?"

  In a sudden and paralyzing panic, I realize I can't remember. My head is pounding, my ears ringing; every part of me is shrieking in torment. Somewhere deep inside, my consciousness is screaming at me to get up. I feel an ever-increasing panic highjack my heart. I gasp for breath, and terror almost overtakes me. I must get up.

  I move my shoulder to sit but immediately collapse back to the cold stone in crushing agony. The pain is relentless. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to ease the pain. Motionless, I take a few controlled breaths, attempting to slow my heart rate, thinking if I can only calm my breathing, I can—

  My thoughts are abruptly cut off as I suddenly realize I'm not alone. I hear—no, feel—someone breathing beside me. My breathing abruptly stops. Who can it be?

  My heart races faster, my breathing becomes more shallow, and cold sweat sprinkles across my brow—all signs of panic and shock. No, I can't panic. Who can it be? I can't calm myself, and I feel my consternation begin to crush me. Striving for control, I refocus my efforts. Aside from the low breathing, the silence is deafening. With more self-control, I let the stillness take me. The grasp of my senses begins to converge, becoming more focused. I smell the thick, dank air, wet and heavy. I can almost taste the musty hay and the reeking sweetness of decay laced with the aroma of fresh-cut grass. Listening again for the breathing, I slowly extend my hand, searching, feeling for the source.

  On making contact, my immediate reflex is to jerk my hand back. Still holding my breath, I listen, but there is no disturbance. With more confidence, I reach again, slowly, gently. I find what I believe to be is a feminine hand. I retract my hand again. as I realize that this other person is undoubtedly unconscious.

  Satisfied, I turn my attention back to the darkness.

  The voice is again in the back of my mind, almost audibly yelling now to get up and get the hell away. Trembling, I roll to my stomach with an anguishing jolt as I rise to my knees. With my breath quivering, I take a moment to gain control. The pain in my body is searing. I fall back to my hands and heave, retching.

  The sweat is now pouring off my brow and nose. I am almost vibrating as my body cycles through waves of wrenching pain and sickness. As I begin to steady myself, my hands clutching my stomach, awareness hits that I am naked. Where are my clothes?

  I close my eyes and swallow down, waiting for the pain to subside. I attempt to make sense of this nightmare. Opening my eyes, I peer around again, searching the searing darkness. Wait… is that a faint haze of light?

  Wanting to investigate, knowing I need to move, I ready myself to stand. Pushing, trembling, then lurching, I make it to my feet. I feel like I might be sick again. My inner balance feels off, and I drop back to my hands and knees. The constant retching and forceful heaves hurt my face, chest, and stomach. All I can see are starbursts. My companion, whoever it is, has not moved. Eventually, I push upright again and peer around the obscure darkness, finding that faint, almost imperceptible haze of light again.

  Moving slowly across a slightly uneven stone floor with my arms out, feeling nothing but dark, oblique space, I inch toward the light. Relieved to be up and moving, I push past the bone-shattering, hurt-all-over, crashing waves of pain washing through my body, and the nail in the head pounding in my skull. Frequently, I have to stop, close my eyes, and concentrate on breathing.

  Slowly stepping forward, I feel for anything that might clue me to my whereabouts. Reaching a wall of stone, I direct my path toward that small seam of light. Cautiously taking one step at a time, I find the room circular and relatively large, with noticeable insets about a hand deep, four feet wide, with about eight feet in-between. Finally reaching that dim seam of light, I find a narrow crack in the rock wall. My anxiety returns ten-fold as I realize I am in a cave rather than a dwelling., I continue to search the room, noticing that the floor is slightly patchy and rippling but much too smooth to be a natural cave floor.

  With every nerve in my body hypersensitive, I detect every distinct aspect of this circular stone wall. The feel of the wall's surface undulates from an abrasive to a nearly polished touch. There is an occasional deep gouge where the stone's strata have given way, causing tiny cracks, with some having minuscule pinholes to the outside and allowing an infinitesimal amount of light to seep into the chamber. Turning a deep-set corner, I see through the lightening gloom an opening, maybe forty feet away and elevated above my head by ten or more feet.

  Moving toward the opening, I nearly stumble over a sudden rise in the floor. Now on my knees, I explore the ground, and to my surprise, I find uneven steps, which appear to be stairs. Thoroughly vexed by my circumstances, I struggle to make sense of where I am and what's going on. But there is no one to answer my questions.

  Acclimating to the cadence of the steps and carefully feeling for the cracks and faults in the floor, I climb up the stairs, stopping to listen and check my surroundings every few steps. Everything remains ghostly quiet, which is frightening enough. Finally, at the opening to this subterranean hole, I see nothing but trees by the muted glow of the moon overhead.

  Overwhelmed by it all, I can't help but let the tears roll down my face and cry, "Where am I?"

  Determined to get home, I step out through the opening. All I can see is dense primitive-looking forest, and behind me, above the opening, a choppy crag of rocks, dirt and shrubs, and small cedar fir trees cover the hole that I just climbed out of. I look around again, taking in the terrain, now more confused. Nothing makes sense. I want to run, but where would I go?

  I force discipline and think for a moment. The woman—who is she? Maybe she may know something?

  Not finding anything at the opening to help me light the way back down into the hole, I take a few fortifying breaths and reluctantly ease back into the abyss. Remembering the treacherous climb out and taking care not to trip or fall, my mind is racing with possible scenarios. Was I abducted and drugged and left here in this hole for dead? What if they aren't finished with me? Oh God, might they come back? And if so, why? What do they want?

  I can't remember anything. For some godforsake
n reason, trying to remember past waking up in this nightmare is worse than panic. I am assaulted by pain and nausea. My memory is cloudy. I can remember many things: people, who I am, and some events. But I can neither grasp anything leading to here nor any sense of a timeline. It's all just out of reach, hidden behind this wall of pain. What the hell?

  Letting my mind wrestle over the possibilities, I work my way back down the stone-chipped steps into the darkened, crypt-like hole when the deafening silence is broken by a horrific scream. The woman is awake! Like a moth to the flame, I hasten my pace down the uneven steps toward the mystery woman. My feet clumsily hit one of those chipped-out steps. Stumbling face first, I twist my ankle and awkwardly fall, just barely catching myself with an outstretched hand. My wrist folds harshly as I yield to the fall, hitting the edge of a step across my ribcage. The impact slams the breath out of my lungs. As I lie there trying to recover, I hear a crash just around the rock wall.

  Still face down, I call out, "Stay there. I'm coming."

  "Jason?" a woman's voice calls.

  I know that voice—it's Kristen. "Kristen, yes, it's me, Jason. Stay there; I'm coming."

  Pushing myself off the steps, I assess my ankle, wrist, and ribs. Thankfully, nothing is broken. With a sigh of relief, I offer up a quick prayer of thanks. Though, right now, I am struggling to believe anyone is listening.

  Hobbling forward, I hear terrifying panic as Kristen cries out, "Jason, wait. Where are my clothes?"

  I then hear her stumbling before there is the sound of her retching. Then she coughs before she cries out, "Oh God? Where am I? My head… the pain."

  Then she retches again. As I round the corner, I hear her short, shallow breaths and know her heart is pounding. Reaching her, I place my hand gently on the back of her neck, trying to calm her. "It's okay. Can you stand?"

  Taking her hand, I help her up. She chokes back her cries of agony, trying to swallow down the pain, nausea, panic, and fear.

  "No, wait, Jason. I am not..."

  She breaks down as another wave of tormenting pain drives deep into her being. With each wave comes an uncontrollable shriek of horror followed by deep convulsing sobs.

  Eventually, she breathes on a whisper of sound, "Where are my clothes?"

  With her body quaking, I don't know how to help her. I am not in that much of a better state right now. I take a deep breath and try to calm her by talking. "Listen, we are in some type of cave. I can't remember how, when, or why we're here. My clothes are missing too." I sigh, knowing that I sound more terse than intended. I try to be more gentle as I ask, "Can you remember anything?"

  I can't see her and have no idea if she heard me, but then she answers, interrupting my thoughts.

  "I remember nothing. Trying to remember is torture." Kristen weeps for a moment, and then I sense her resolve as she says, "Where are we? The last thing I remember is home, my party, friends, and cake. But when…" Kristen's voice breaks,

  Her breathing becomes shallow. I think being awake for a while has eased my pain, but the distance between anxiety and panic and shock is diminutive. Trying to be tender and calming, I answer, "I know. Me too." Then, with a touch of humor, I add, "I had forgotten your party until you mentioned the cake just now. I remember that; I didn't get a slice."

  I think that helped, but damn, we must get out of here! Just be gentle. I want to scream instead. I remind myself humor helped a moment ago and add, "Every time I try to remember, I get this 'nail in the top of my head' delight."

  I hear the humor fall short, and the confidence bleeds out of my voice at the end of the sentence. Silence engulfs us once again before I break it. "Can you walk now?"

  I take the muted response as a yes, or at least not a no, and I reach for her hand. Then with more grit, I say, "Kristen, as I said, we are in a cave of sorts. I have just come from the entrance. It's nighttime and dark outside, but there is just enough light to see through the trees."

  I feel her go rigid, and she takes a step back. "I can't go into the light without clothes on."

  Exasperated with the whole situation, I hear her breathing begin to race. I take a minute. I can't let myself lose patience or get angry with her, not now. Too much is at stake. I pull her in close in the hopes that she will not panic further. She doesn't fight me. After a minute, she settles, and I try again. "I understand your concern, but we don't know how we got here. Someone may have drugged us and brought us here, and that someone could be back any minute. We have to get away from here. It's mostly dark outside, and the forest appears to be even darker. It will be sufficient to hide you, but we have to find somewhere safe to stay while we figure this out."

  Silence greets me. Trying my best to be calm and patient, I snap, "Kristen?"

  She immediately barks, "Okay, fine."

  Taking her hand, I lead her up the steps. The silence is eerie, and we both move toward the entrance without a word. As we step out of the cave, Kristen's breathing is still racked with small tremors.

  Her voice breaks, "Where are we?"

  I don't know how to answer. I know she is scared, and truthfully, I am horrified. My mind continues to comb through the possibilities. Who brought us here? Why? Where are they? When will they come back? These questions and more race through my mind. The silence is maddening. Over my shoulder, in the small opening, a shooting star breaks my thoughts, and I realize she is watching me while waiting for an answer.

  I take a breath and swallow down the anger and doubt, but I still answer with too much irritation in my tone. "Kristen, I don't know. I have been awake for about an hour. I haven't any answers."

  I let that sink in. I am ashamed of how I sound right now, but I begin to feel encouraged when she doesn't break into another panic or an outrage.

  I add, "Sorry. You deserve better. Besides, you seem to have it together better than I did when I first awoke."

  Kristen nervously chuckles, shivering in the cold night air. "I am scared shitless, but there is not much sense in falling into hysteria. Truthfully, it's better knowing you are here. But, Jason, I really need clothes; I am so cold."

  "Okay, well, that is good. Let's get away from this cave and find some clothes."

  Making Sense

  Marge — Tuesday, September 26, AD 1972 — A Distraught Mom

  "May I speak with Captain Davis, please?"

  I have made this call to the local police department every day for the last week in the hope of receiving answers. I can't let the anger get the best of me. Frank and I have been distraught with worry, anger, confusion, and even horror since the kids' disappearance. A voice on the other end interrupts my thoughts…

  "Good morning, Mrs. Connors. We have received some news this morning from the FBI Laboratories in Washington. Not much I can tell you over the phone. Honestly, the findings pose more questions than answers. Why don't you and Mr. Connors come by the station this afternoon, say 1:30 p.m.? We can have the FBI Techs on the phone to help explain their, ahh, conclusions."

  "Thank you, Captain. We will be there." Unsettled by the news, I try to keep my voice steady. Hoping there might be more, some good news at least, I ask, "Captain, do you have any other leads?"

  "We are following all leads, Mrs. Connors. I will see you at 1:30 p.m."

  Hanging up the phone, I sit down at the kitchen table with my head in my hands and begin to sob again. Thinking back through the events, I let my mind wander. There are not many clues. Friends and family were here for Kristen's eighteenth birthday. No one saw anything. Kristen's new friend, a new freshman friend from Western Carolina University… what was his name again? Bobby, that's right. He could not keep his eyes off Kristen. He swears she was there, and then she wasn't. There was no light, no bang, just a wild and frightened cat who came racing through here like his tail was ablaze.

  "Oh God, Mother Mary, and Jesus, where are my babies? What happened to them?"

  I cry out in pain. My heart is reeling, almost suffocating. Are you listening? Is anyone listening? I
let the anger take its course, knowing that I will feel a release after.

  Moments later, I breathe a few deep breaths as the anger turns to despair. I know the cycle well, and maybe that knowledge is an improvement, a form of self-control. What is frightening is all the possibilities that my emotional mind conjures up. But I try to convince myself of the hope that Kristen is with Jason. Jason is a strong, smart young man. Frank is right. As long as they are together, they'll be okay. He is so much like his father, that boy. He is strong, smart, a fighter, and a survivor. He will take care of his sister.

  I bang my fist down on the table, making the cat jump. "I will not give in to fear and despair. Kristen is with Jason; she has to be."

  I can't help but chuckle at the differences between those two—like oil and water. She is fiery, full of life, imaginative, quick to learn, and quick to act, and… she is a hand full. I chuckle as I feel the cycle of grief, anger, and despair begin to lighten at thoughts of Kristen.

  On the other hand, Jason is deliberate, resolute, and determined with every single thing he does. He has always been a good boy. Stubborn and a bit arrogant like his dad, but solid, steadfast—a maverick and smart as hell. He will make a damn good engineer. I wouldn't want to tangle with either one of them. Him, captain of the Duke Blue Devils wrestling team, and her, captain of the volleyball team, would be a handful for anyone.

  Frank comes through the back door, but I am still tangled up in my wandering thoughts. He's back from the shop earlier than I expected.

  "Frank, we need to be at the police station at 1:30 p.m. They have information from the FBI Labs."

  He says nothing and pulls 'his' water jug from the refrigerator.

  I voice my concern. "Frank, you're back early. Is everything okay?"