Time Lost: A Time Travel Novel, page 1
TIME LOST
A Time Travel Novel
by
Elyse Douglas
Broadback Books
Copyright
Time Lost – A Time Travel Novel
Copyright © 2024 by Elyse Douglas
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The copying, reproduction, and distribution of this e-book via any means, without permission of the author, is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and refuse to participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s intellectual property rights is greatly appreciated.
ISBN: 9798876985552
Dedication
For Annie, who loves to look at the stars.
Quotation
“Like a master illusionist, time conjures visions of what was, what is, and what could be, leaving us in awe of its magic.”
~Dexton Collier
TIME LOST
PROLOGUE
Sally Anne Davis Mason, a 27-year-old wife and mother of two, vanished on the night of October 5, 1953.
A newspaper article about the event appeared in the local paper, The Rosemont Chronicle.
Mysterious Disappearance Rocks Our Town!
Local Woman Vanishes without a Trace, Leaving Police Baffled!
Days and weeks of searching by police, friends, volunteer groups, and even the FBI had produced not one shred of evidence. Sally Mason had simply disappeared.
Sally Anne Davis was first featured in The Rosemont Chronicle at the age of eighteen, having been voted first place in the Miss Rosemont Queen contest of 1944. The article read,
Amidst a spectacle of beauty and elegance, Sally Anne Davis, a captivating 18-year-old, was crowned the esteemed Miss Rosemont Queen of 1944. Her raven black hair, blue eyes, radiant smile, and unwavering poise enchanted not only the judges but also the entire community, who eagerly cheered for their new queen. In a momentous ceremony at City Hall, Sally Anne was crowned by Mayor Fassbender, an honor that marked the beginning of her year-long reign. Filled with a contagious enthusiasm and natural charm, Sally Davis addressed the crowd, stating, “I want to bring hope, joy, and a positive impact to the people of our beautiful town, the State of Indiana, and the entire nation."
On October 5, 1953, Mrs. Sally Anne Mason was driving her 1951 Chevy Styleline Belair along Route 9, a blacktop two-lane road. She was about four miles from home. The night was clear, with a dazzling display of stars and a crescent moon hanging low on the horizon.
When it happened, Sally’s car was the lone vehicle on the road. She had just completed the first night of an eight-week shorthand course at Rosemont High School, her old alma mater, and she was proud of herself for her courage and initiative, even if she hadn’t done well on her first night. But her teacher, Sybil Brown, had spoken encouragingly to the five women. “It’s your first night. You’ll get it, girls. Don’t be discouraged. Just practice. Very few take to it right off.”
Watching the fragmented yellow lines on the road blur by, Sally felt a surge of nervous excitement. She was back in school, rediscovering the joy of learning and the potential for expanding her skills and, hopefully, her horizons.
The occasional glare of headlights stabbed her eyes as cars zoomed past. Was she driving too fast? What was the speed limit? She’d driven that road so many times, but she couldn’t recall.
She switched on the radio and found WQMI and dialed into the Rollin’-with-Folen radio show. As Frankie Lane crooned, she snaked a hand into her purse, feeling for her pack of cigarettes. A cigarette would help calm her nerves. Ahead, a black-and-white road sign loomed out of the darkness.
SPEED LIMIT 35
Sally glanced at the glowing speedometer. Too fast. Her dial read 43.
Using the car cigarette lighter, she lit her cigarette, blowing a feather of smoke toward the windshield.
There was comfort in Frankie Lane’s song, and in the familiar hum of the Chevy’s 6-cylinder 92 horsepower engine. She was well aware of the horsepower, a detail her husband Ronnie had intentionally kept from her. With a sneering grin and a smug expression, he’d said, “Women don’t know nothing about cars, and they don’t need to. They can barely drive as it is, and most should be kept off the roads.”
One day, to spite him, she’d snatched the car manual from the glove compartment and looked it up. Yes, 92 horsepower. Not stopping there, she’d also memorized “Spark-ignition 4-stroke engine,” whatever that was. She’d be prepared the next time he said women knew nothing about cars. And, of course, he’d repeat the line because it was one he frequently used, along with, “I love you, baby, but I think you must have flunked Home Economics.”
Well, now she knew something about cars, and she was going to learn shorthand, and nothing or no one was going to stop her, not even Ronnie.
Then she saw it. A bluish white light flashed across the road ahead, at tree-top level. Thinking it was a reflection from her headlight beams or from another vehicle, Sally leaned her head forward over the steering wheel, stared out the windshield, and scanned the sky. She saw nothing, but she slowed down, sensing danger.
The night grew as black as a cave. The moon was gone. The stars were gone. Growing uneasy, she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, staring out the windshield, her eyes round, scared, and watchful. She thought of Ronnie, and she wished he was with her.
Her quick eyes darted about, and she saw it again—a blueish white light ahead, descending from the dark sky like a puff of smoke, expanding.
Sally watched in horror as the blue, boiling cloud morphed into a massive, glittering spacecraft, hovering ominously above the road, emitting a low, eerie throb that drummed deep in her chest.
Her breath came with pain as the saucer-shaped craft advanced, its dome lights flashing and whirling.
It crept ahead, heading straight for her.
CHAPTER 1
Sally didn’t believe her husband Ronnie was a bad husband, or a mean one, even though he had struck her a few times during heated arguments. Much of what he said and did he’d learned from his father, who treated most women, including his wife, as servants.
But Sally was certain Ronnie loved her, and he was a good provider, and, most importantly, he loved their two children and they loved him.
The latest ongoing argument concerned Sally taking a night school shorthand course. Ronnie was vehemently opposed to it, and after dinner the evening before the course was to begin, the argument grew heated.
“You’ve got two kids and me to look after, Sally. That’s your job,” Ronnie had said, pointing a sharp finger at her. He was of medium build with broad shoulders, a lean face, and a flattop haircut.
“You don’t need to be out fooling around at night when you’re needed here, at home.”
Sally had agonized for weeks about whether she should take the course. But once she’d registered and paid the money out of her allowance, she was determined.
“I keep telling you, Ronnie. I keep saying over and over that it’s only one night a week for eight weeks. Then after I pass, maybe I can work part time. Bonnie can pick Mary up at kindergarten, since she picks Jimmy up anyway, and I’d be home before the bus drops Don off from school.”
Ronnie shook his head , his voice edged and strong. “I won’t have it, Sally. I don’t want my daughter picked up by a neighbor. The next thing I know, you’ll be working late and you won’t have time to shop and cook my supper. No. I’m putting my foot down on this one.”
His strident voice rose, and from the living room, 7-year-old Don cranked up the volume on the radio, as he and 5-year-old Mary, sprawled on the living room carpet, listened to The Mickey Mouse Theater of the Air.
Sally held up a hand like a stop sign and then crossed to the kitchen door and closed it.
Ronnie continued, his face flushing red. “When we got married, we agreed you’d be a housewife. Yes, ma’am, we agreed to that. That’s why you didn’t go to college, remember? We wanted to start a family. So, now, I just don’t get all this. Why do you suddenly want to become some kind of working woman? We don’t need you to work, Sally. I’m the breadwinner, and that’s the way I want it to stay.”
Sally folded her arms to keep her hands from shaking, looking directly at him as she struggled for courage. “Things change, Ronnie. People change. I want to change. Sometimes, I just want to get out of this house and meet people. Maybe I have dreams, Ronnie. Dreams that I keep to myself.”
“What kind of dreams? What are you talking about?”
She swallowed, dropping her arms to her sides. “Maybe I dream about working at The Rosemont Chronicle, and when I learn shorthand, maybe I can work there as a secretary or something.”
Ronnie stared at her as if she’d just lost her mind. “Are you nuts, Sally? Are you completely nuts?”
“Don’t you have dreams?” she countered.
“No, I have my kids, my work, and a wife. At least I had a wife. What the hell, Sally? You’re talking a lot of crap here. You’ll never work at The Chronicle. Never. You’re a woman, and you’re not smart enough, and they’ll never hire you, anyway. Forget it, okay? And forget all this night school business, and be a housewife, like your friends. They don’t work, and they seem hap
Sally squeezed her hands into fists, trying not to provoke her husband. “I want more than they want, Ronnie. I’ve never been out of this town except for vacations in Tennessee.”
“So, is working as a secretary going to take you, I don’t know, to Paris or something?”
“Of course not,” she said, but even as she spoke the words, an image of Don and Mary romping about a small Parisian garret apartment, while she sat behind a typewriter, flitted through her mind.
“Then what the hell are you saying?” Ronnie asked. "I mean, what in the hell are you saying?"
Sally struggled to control her frustration. “I’m just trying to explain how I feel, Ronnie. I want to do things. I need to feel like I’m doing something besides housework and cooking. I can do those things, too, but I want to do more than that. And besides, we could use the extra money, maybe for a nice vacation in Florida. I’d like to see the ocean.”
Ronnie pointed another finger at her face, his eyes wide with a threat. “Well, I say no, Sally. That’s what I’m saying, all right? It’s not right that you want to break your promise to me and the kids.”
Sally huffed out a sigh. “What promise? What are you talking about?”
Ronnie’s eyes flared with anger. “I’m saying it’s not right. That’s what I’m talking about, Sally. I’m saying, I don’t want my kids growing up without their mother.”
“Your kids? They’re my kids, too, Ronnie. I had something to do with them being born, remember?”
“Don’t get sassy-mouthed with me, Sally. I don’t like that, and I won’t take it.”
Sally backed off, her eyes pleading. “Ronnie, I’d only be working when the kids are in school and you’re at work. Nothing’s going to change for you or for them. I stayed home when the kids were babies, but now that they’re growing up, I need to get out. I have to do this.”
Ronnie’s posture tensed. He shook his head and jammed his fists into his trouser pockets. “This is how it happens, Sally. This is the kind of thing that happens.”
“How what happens?”
“Couples start busting up over things like this. So, maybe you want us to bust up, is that it?”
“No, Ronnie, of course not. You’re missing what I’m saying.”
And then Ronnie had a startling thought, and his accusing eyes narrowed on her. “Are you mucking around with someone else? Is that it? Is that what’s really going on?”
Sally stared, incredulous. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. I just want to take a night school course, Ronnie, and maybe work part-time. My mother worked part-time when I was growing up. I’m not running off to Paris or anything. And no, of course I’m not seeing anyone else. Who would I see? Who haven’t I known and seen in this town since I was a kid?”
Ronnie took a step closer to her, not appeased. “Didn’t you take shorthand in high school?”
Sally took a step back. “No, they didn’t offer it then. They offer it now. I took typing, sewing, cooking and home management, but not shorthand.”
His face tightened. “Don’t push me, Sally. I don’t like it when you push me. It’s not right. I told my mother about this night school thing, and even she said it’s not right.”
And then Ronnie wheeled about and stormed out of the kitchen.
Sally turned to the sink, piled with dirty dishes. Her spirit and her shoulders sagged as she fumed and swiped at a dinner plate. If only Ronnie was more like her father, understanding and patient. But he wasn’t, and she’d just have to maneuver around him.
She heard them in the living room shouting with laughter. If she couldn’t go to college, then for heaven’s sake, she was going to night school to study shorthand, no matter what Ronnie did to her.
Late the next afternoon, Sally wanted to get out of the house before Ronnie arrived home at 5:30. She hastily scribbled him a note, telling him of her decision to attend night school. She left the note on the kitchen table, gathered Don and Mary and loaded them into the Chevy. This was one of the two days a week that Ronnie caught a ride to work with his father and left her the car, so she could run errands.
Sally dropped the kids at her parents’ house, told her mother what she’d done, and then she left the house, hurrying to her car. Her mother, Ruby, stood in the front doorway, twisting her hands, calling after her.
“Ronnie is not going to like this, Sally.”
Sally called back over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, if he doesn’t like it, he can just lump it. I’m going to night school.”
After her first class, Sally slouched away from the school to the parking lot and made her way over to the Chevy. It was time to drive home and face Ronnie. Her stomach was already in knots and she had a blurry headache. She felt sorrow and fear, but she accepted them, as she started the car and drove off into the night, hoping to regain some of her fragile courage before she arrived home.
It was anybody’s guess what Ronnie might do to her. Curse her? Slap her? Take the car keys away?
CHAPTER 2
When Sally was about two miles from home, she needed a distraction from her anxious thoughts, and she switched on the radio. In a raspy over-adrenalized voice, the DJ shouted, “Hello, all my friends and neighbors, this is Rollin’-with-Folen with you until the magic midnight hour, right here on WQMI. Okay, now, let’s not wait for grandma to struggle up those steep stairs. Let’s not wait until dear old dad puts the cat out. Let’s not wait for Sister Sue to get back from her date with Backseat Charlie, but let’s get right to it. Yes, with the one and only Frankie Laine and his heartfelt runaway hit, let us spin into action with his new song, I Believe.”
While the car’s headlights tunneled into the night, and the car went winding through the dark trees, Sally lit a cigarette, eased back, and listened to Frankie’s lusty, rough-edged voice. Being alone in the cocoon of night didn’t frighten her. It gave her much needed time to recharge her mental and emotional batteries before she had to face Ronnie’s anger and threats.
When the song ended, and the DJ rattled on about some commercial, Sally thought the road seemed endless. She couldn’t remember it taking so long to drive home from the high school, and there were so many twists and turns that the yellow lines seemed to jump out of the darkness.
Then she saw it. A bluish white light flashed across the road ahead, at tree-top level. Thinking it was a reflection from her headlight beams or from another vehicle, Sally leaned her head forward over the steering wheel, stared out the windshield, and scanned the sky. She saw nothing, but she slowed down, sensing danger.
The night grew as black as a cave. The moon was gone. The stars were gone. Growing uneasy, she stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray, staring out the windshield, her eyes round, scared, and watchful. She thought of Ronnie, and she wished he was with her.
Her quick eyes darted about, and then it happened—a blinding burst—like a massive flashbulb going off. It left spots swimming in her vision. She squinted, her pulse rising. What was that? The light—a stabbing glare so intense, it had the brilliance of ten noonday suns. She shielded her eyes with one hand, the other hand tight on the steering wheel. With a sick pitch of her stomach, she yanked her foot from the accelerator, disoriented, fighting to keep the car on the road.
In a hot panic, she banged down the door lock knob with the flat of her hand. Was the Chevy still in motion? Where was the road?
Straining her eyes, she saw something ahead, and goose pimples rippled up her back. She slammed on the brakes, and her head jerked forward.
A silvery, gleaming, saucer-like craft, disc-shaped with a dome center, emerged from a smoky blue fog, like something dreamed. It drifted over the road toward her; stopped about twenty yards away and hovered.
Sally was frozen, her eyes wide, a hot electric current lifting the hair on her arms, her heart thundering in her chest. The craft was small, only ten feet across, a few feet tall. It pulsed and was as silent as a whisper. It was a thing of wonder. A thing of beauty, with whirling, dazzling blue and yellow dome lights, and a shiny gray surface the color of wet tin.
