Ghosts in Time: End of the West, page 1
Ghosts in Time:
End of the West
D. R. Delgado
Copyright © 2020 D. R. Delgado
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN-13: 9780473632618
Cover design by: www.mattlinares.com
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
To Brooklyn, for the time I lost
Prologue:
The World’s Strongest Man
1890
John watched little Tiffany sleep soundly, clutching her ragged teddy bear tight. He couldn’t help fretting over her sheets every now and then. She looked cold to him even though the warmth of the day still sat comfortably in the room. Others thought of him as a tough man who needed little to get by on in this world, but when it came to his Tiffany he worried.
He dimmed the light of the gas lamp and leaned back in his chair. It cried under his weight and size. He packed his pipe tight with tobacco – the sweetest in all Alcala. A spark sent the smoke and taste into John’s mouth. He relished the flavor and blew a well-crafted smoke ring into the air.
It was just him and Tiffany now. The only thing on John’s mind was to get the two of them out of this two bit desert town of Alcala. It had been home for a winter but now that spring was bringing the desert heat he thought only of taking his daughter to California, to find a nice sunny town to raise her in. She would be able to go to a good school and John would find work in a lemon orchard or an orange orchard for that matter. Yes, definitely oranges so he could bring them home and Tiffany and her friends would be able to snack on them after school. In fact, given that John was so magnificently tall, he’d be able to pick the sweetest oranges from atop the trees with little to no help from a ladder. It was a terrific idea, John thought to himself with a smile and another puff of smoke.
In California, they’d be far away from the circus and any fans of his that might recognize him in the street.
They’d lead a normal life, have space to themselves. He’d take another wife perhaps. She’d need to be strong and fit, but not as strong and fit as John. That was impossible. She’d need to be able to teach his daughter about the womanly subjects that he couldn’t.
His late wife Betty would have been amazing at these kinds of things. He would have loved for the two of them to raise their daughter and grow old together. But, sadly childbirth had taken her from him.
Tiffany tossed in her sleep with soft baby snores. Though she was five she still snored like an infant. Her wide button nose may have made it hard for her to breathe, but it was one of John’s favorite things about her. She had soft brown locks like her mother but John’s big eyes that took everything in.
John stood up and pried the curtains open to look down onto the street. The Sheriff’s Deputies were still posted at each corner of the streets, but they were the only souls down there. John thought it was excessive to try and find only a handful of men that may not even be in the little town. He was sure he could protect Tiffany and himself if it came to it.
John closed the curtain once again and sat back down on his chair. He knew it would be a restless night as tomorrow was the start of his new life. A clock struck midnight and John counted the hours he would get of sleep before he would wake again.
Suddenly, the curtains blew open and into the room. There was no gust of wind, but rather a flurry of whispers that circled John as they danced around the room and down the hall. He jumped from his chair, knocking it over.
“Who’s there?” he called out into thin air.
The door to his bedroom creaked open and out from the shadows appeared Tiffany, his daughter. Only not the wee one nestled in her bed, but a much older version of her, no year past twenty. John looked down to his daughter who was sleeping soundly then back to the young woman standing before him. His heart pumped hard. She bore so much resemblance to his late wife.
“Tiffany?” John asked.
“Yes, Daddy.”
She smiled at him and he knew with his heart that it was his daughter.
“How are you doing this, my baby?” John asked, standing back.
“I can’t go into that. I need you to do something for me though, Daddy,” Tiffany said, staring into John’s eyes. “Tomorrow you’ll run into a clockmaker and a female engineer. She is a bad person, Daddy. Stay away from her.”
“I don’t understand,” John said, shaking his head. “There’s no such thing as a lady engineer.”
“I know me being here is confusing you, but it’s for the best that we don’t go with her. She’s mad.”
Another stream of whispers bounced around the walls and John scanned the room trying to find them.
“Don’t listen to her, Daddy.”
The voice came from the corner of the room. John turned to see another girl sitting in his favorite chair, smiling with malice. She could have very well been the older Tiffany’s twin, but there was something unhinged about her. While the first older Tiffany wore a flowing white dress, this one wore a black one that was shredded and worn.
“We need you to help Evelyn.”
“Don’t lie to him. She’s the reason we’re like this,” White Tiffany said.
“Yes, of course that stops all this from happening.” Dark Tiffany rolled her eyes. “We need him to at least get Miss Adler to the observatory.”
“I don’t know what the hell is happening but you two…” John was interrupted by a slow pounding on the street below. Although John would never admit it, the sound rattled his nerves and he knew that weaker men would have found it bone chilling. It was a steady rhythm of steps, not of a man or animal but of a machine that was inching closer.
White Tiffany’s eyes were wide with fear.
“He’s coming for us. We have to go now. Please, listen to what I said. Don’t go with Evelyn Adler.” She slipped back into the shadows of the dark bedroom.
“Always running…” Dark Tiffany got up from the chair and followed her twin into the shadows.
“I miss you, Daddy,” she turned to tell John before disappearing into the darkness.
John stumbled over his fallen chair. “Tiffany.” he called to them both, but the whispers came again and John knew they were gone. Somewhere on the street below, a mechanical cry grated the cool night air. A guttural moan welded in searing pain. One that couldn’t be made by men, but, only by machine.
1. The Clockmaker
1890
Robert’s hands held the components and the tool with careful precision. Each piece was exactly where it should be and this missing part would make it whole. Robert’s hands were steady and his mind was focused. With a gentle click the clock was complete and with it, the machine came to life and began to mark time.
With a handkerchief, Robert’s thin fingers dusted prints from the new clock. For a moment he paused to marvel at it, admiring his own talent. He couldn’t help but puff what little of a chest he actually had. He looked around the showroom of his clock and watch shop. On every surface clocks ticked and tocked in unison, counting each passing moment.
Robert glanced over to the photograph of his wife Victoria and the stitches in his broken heart came unraveled once more. Victoria loved his clocks and used to be in awe of each one he created. She would tell him each was more beautiful than the last, but they weren’t perfect. She told him he needed to devise the perfect clock. He knew it was just a daydream but somewhere deep in his heart he thought if he did it, then maybe, just maybe, his Victoria would come back to him.
It was Victoria’s idea to open this shop out here in the untamed American frontier for the adventure and excitement. Unfortunately, Robert wasn’t the kind of man who sought these things. To him the territory of Arizona was dry, barren and much too warm for his liking.
Robert put down the clock and the tool, threw his waistcoat over his shirt, and stepped out of his shop. The desert air hit him hard and he squinted into the sun. There was the usual buzz around town as he walked past the wooden shops and buildings. People were chatting and laughing amongst themselves as they hurried where they needed to go, completely content with their lives out here in the desert.
“Good morning, Robert,” the Sheriff called out. His thick grey mustache was the only part of him seen under his weathered Stetson, his eyes hidden away from the hard sun.
“Morning, Sheriff. Making your morning rounds?” Robert called up to the Sheriff, inching closer to him and his horse.
“I’d love to make a start on my rounds, Robert, but there’s trouble around these parts.” The Sheriff slid back his long overcoat to rest his hand on his revolver, as if it were comforting to know his weapon was still close to him.
Robert pulled away. “Oh, that doesn’t sound well. What kind of trouble are we talking?”
“Villalobos and his gang of thieves are up to no good. We got word they were planning something, but we’re not sure what. You’ll see the Deputies.” He lifted his hand to point at two Deputies poised on the corner of the street. “All around town, ready for when or if they make a move.” Sheriff leaned in, as if to av
“Oh my,” Robert whispered. “Well I do hope you stop these hoodlums from hurting the townsfolk. Or the town for that matter.”
Sheriff straightened up on his steed. “That’s our job, Clockmaker. You have a good day now.”
He spurred his steed and sauntered down the dirt street away from Robert.
Robert turned the corner and right into Lady Madison, an older widow. Someone with poorer manners than Robert would say she had aged well past her dress style. Her corsets were just a bit out of fashion, her skirts frayed at the bottom and patched, and her makeup was thick.
“Oh hello, Robert!” Lady Madison threw herself at Robert, trapping him against the wall of the Post Office. “I keep bringing up my bedroom clock to you and you still insist on putting me off sir”.
Robert backed further into the dusty wall.
“Good morning, Lady Madison”.
“Oh, no need for formalities, Robert. You know my name is Claire.” The woman leaned in further. “So when can I expect you? I have a new brand of coffee. It’s simply delectable. I’d love for you to try some.”
Robert edged along the wall to evade Lady Madison’s advances.
“I’d love to Claire, but I’m terribly busy. Clockmaking and what not, you know. Sorry, sorry. Have to run.”
Robert ducked into the Post Office and waited a moment for her to follow, but thankfully she didn’t. There was no line in the Post Office this morning. Actually, there was no one to be found at all.
“Morning, Irvine,” Robert called out. “Irvine?”
“Dad’s not here right now,” a small voice called back from behind the rows of slots and boxes. A face popped up from behind the counter. “He’ll be back in ten minutes he said. Can I help?”
“I suppose. You’re a bit young to be working, aren’t you?” Robert asked looking down at the young girl in front of him.
“Good sir, I’m sixteen.” The girl smirked at Robert.
“Oh, I’m sorry. You just look very young for your age then.”
Robert looked around the Post Office. “If you don’t mind, I’ll fetch my mail, please. I’m...”
“Robert Royce.”. The girl smiled again. “I know you. You’re the clockmaker.”
“That is my trade, yes.”
Robert tried hard to keep from blushing and smiled awkwardly.
“My father has one of your watches. One of the finest things he owns.”
The girl held Robert’s eyes for a moment as she expected him to say something, but when he didn’t, it only lead to an awkward silence.
“I’ll go get your mail, Mr. Royce. One moment please.”
Robert watched as she disappeared around the corner, her chocolate brown hair bouncing behind her. He thought she was friendly for a girl her age and tried to remember the watch she sold her father.
“Here you are, Mr. Royce.” the young girl said, handing over a single envelope. “Is it a letter from a lover perhaps? It smells of a woman’s perfume.” She eyed up Robert as though trying to read him.
Robert was puzzled by her remark and wanted to reply with something witty and charming, but found his chain of thought fizzled. As though his wife had just walked into the room, he got a startling whiff of Victoria’s perfume. Robert ripped the envelope open and the full aroma of the fragrance came to him.
He took out the one piece of parchment inside and unfolded it carefully.
She’s waiting, it read. He flipped the envelope over but there was no return address on it.
“Girl, when did this arrive?” he asked.
“This morning with the rest of the mail. Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course it is. I’m sorry. Thank you. I have to go.”
Robert fled the Post Office, confused at what the letter he had received meant. He raced back to his shop and kept the door closed so he could think in private.
In Robert’s study, a full cup of coffee had slowly lost its warmth as he stared at this vague letter that smelt of his late wife. There was far too much to be pondered. He looked for answers in his mind but couldn’t find any. He sought to find answers in the ticking clocks, the only other occupants of the isolated room, but had no luck there either. The fragrance wafted out of the envelope again and gave him another surge of memories. She had worn it during their courtship, the first time they made love. It reminded him so much of Victoria that he even had it put over her when she was buried.
The sun set behind Robert outside his windows. As the shadows of night sank in, so did Robert’s despair. He stared into the darkness, and it stared back at him, reflecting a mad version of himself that had given in to his own anguish. In the shadows he swore he could hear Victoria singing as she would on sun-filled afternoons. But now her voice seemed flat and off-key, as though she was singing along with the keys of a child’s toy piano, in the cold night.
Robert shook his head to snap himself out of his tormenting nightmare. He noticed that a window had blown open. He stood to close it. Whispers blew in, swirling around and inside his head.
“Who’s there?” Robert called out into the darkness. “Show yourself.”
“I’m here, Robert.” The voice came from the doorway of his study. A young girl Robert had never seen before stood there. He immediately backed away. She looked startling and fearful. Her clothes were dusty and ripped and she had very little left of her stockings. But it was her eyes that haunted him. They were dark and sunk into her skull with madness. She appeared from the shadows like a ghost but walked like a person made of flesh and blood. There was an aura about her though like she was displaced from this world. Lost.
“She’s waiting.”
“Who are you?” Robert asked, backing against the wall.
“That’s not important right now,” the ghostly girl answered, edging further into the room. “She’s waiting, Robert. You can still see her.”
“You’re not real. It’s not possible. This is all in my head.”
“Oh, I’m very real. I know you, Robert. You want company.”
Robert slid to the corner of his study, getting as far as he could from the ghost.
She laughed, and the haunting whispers laughed along with her.
“Oh, that’s right. You’re committed to that dead woman. She’s waiting Robert, and you can see her. You just have to do one thing.”
“Lies, all lies.”
“Far from lies, Mr. Royce. Where your precious Victoria is waiting is where it all began for you two. You know the place,” the ghost said. “A young engineer will be visiting you soon. Listen to her and help her to fix what she needs to fix and you’ll see your Victoria again.”
Robert clenched his eyes shut and murmured pleas came out of his lips for this horrible stranger to leave him. As the whispers came again, he was left all alone in the darkness with a faint note of the child’s piano fading into the night.
