1 Chapter 1
My welder’s helper ground the next metal piece with a rhythmic white noise that blotted out distractions. We were fabricating a pipe manifold for one of the Navy’s warships. Isolated under my hood as I welded allowed me to brood. Denise had dumped me. She told me why, even made a list, but I didn’t get it. Maybe she was high maintenance, and I’m too blind to see it.
“Sam.” a voice I recognized penetrated the shop noises. “Are you ready to call it a day?”
“Half a minute. Pete,” I finished the final pass on a pipe joint, lifted my hood, dropped the stinger, and turned to my helper. “Chris.” He kept grinding. “Chris!” I shouted. He jumped and ceased his efforts. Then, removing my earplugs, I said, “Let’s wrap it up.”
“You got it, boss man,” Chris replied. He got busy putting tools away. The kid was eighteen and my apprentice.
“Let’s punch out,” Pete said. “It’s beer thirty.”
I looked at my watch. “We’ll be a little shy on the clock.”
Pete shrugged. “The company doesn’t care as long as we don’t go over eight hours.”
“Fine by me.” I hung up my leathers and welding hood and tossed my gloves into my tool bucket. After washing the soot and grinder dust off our faces, we paid homage to the almighty timeclock, and five minutes later, we were in Pete’s pickup, leaving the shipyard in his rearview mirror. We carpooled on days that we didn’t ride our motorcycles. The past few days had been mixed fog and rain — typical San Francisco weather. I’m a fair-weather motorcyclist.
“Hey, get a load of that guy,” Pete said, pointing to a middle-aged man standing on the street corner. “Looks kind of like Gandalf.”
The man had shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair beneath a conical wide-brimmed hat and a beard. He wore a full-length oilskin coat open in the front to reveal what looked like sweatpants and a belted tunic. The colors were forest green, brown, and black. He also bore a staff of some sort of gnarly twisted wood. The coat made sense given the rain, but the hat and the staff seemed a little over-the-top.
“He’s probably a hippie from the sixties,” Pete added.
I shook my head. “Hippies from the sixties are twice his age and drive around the country in RVs.” We laughed.
I fished out my phone and took a pic. My neck tingled. The guy’s gaze followed us as we approached and stayed on us as we passed and continued down the street.
After burgers and a couple of beers at a brewery, I saw the wizard-looking guy again — no hat this time. He had an empty mug before him and a plate cleaned of all but a few French fries. I never saw him come in. In fact, it surprised me because I had assumed he was on foot, and it was too far to walk that fast. I can only guess he must’ve driven here right after we saw him.
As if sensing me, he turned his dark-eyed stare upon me, which made the hairs on the back of my neck stand and tingle again. He was interrupted when the waitress presented him with the check. After handing her a few coins, they appeared to have a short slightly aggravated discussion. Then he held up what I could clearly see was a gold coin and handed it to her. She snatched it from his fingers and looked around with an alarmed expression. I looked down at my beer just as her scan fell upon my person. When I looked back, she was examining the coin and her demeanor changed. In the span of a few seconds, her face expressed annoyance, caution, avarice, and then joy, after which, she departed to the bar and returned smiling to the guy with a pitcher of dark ale and a frozen mug.
I turned to Pete, “Did you see…” Pete’s chair was empty. I spotted him at the end of the bar talking to two scantily clad hotties who I thought were of questionable legal age. Pete waved me over. I complied.
“Ladies, this is Sam Gordon,” Pete introduced. “Sam, this is Liz and Adriana.”
“I’m pleased to meet you,” I said. The girls giggled. I turned to Pete. “Hey dude, I’m headed home.”
“Oh man, like, are you freaking whacked? Stay and party with us.”
“Sorry, I have a history test next week.”
“Study tomorrow.”
I gave Pete a flat stare. “What, study on a Saturday night?”
“I see your point. Why don’t we party with these ladies tonight and tomorrow night?”
I gave him a half-grin. “Stay out of trouble.” My eyes darted briefly to the girls before I bid them all a good night.
Before leaving, I went to the restroom to relieve myself and checked my pistol. This was the Bay Area, after all, and I was going to be walking home alone at night. Then, assured the holstered Smith & Wesson M&P 9 mm was concealed and accessible, I departed.
The night was dark and foggy. A streetlight glowed with a pale nimbus in the mist. Cars crawled by, cautious in the poor visibility. After walking a couple of blocks, I turned and strode into my neighborhood. It wasn’t exactly the best of communities, but it was usually quiet for the most part.
Stepping up to the door of my apartment building, I turned and saw the man from the brewery and the street corner. My neck tingle returned. I wasn’t sure it was him just standing there in the darkness across the lane, but how many people with shoulder-length hair, wearing a long coat, and carrying a staff should a person be expected to see in one day? I went inside and shut the door with a satisfying click and then went upstairs to my apartment.
I got up early the following day, loaded some snacks and water in my backpack, and rode my bicycle to Golden Gate Park. The fog had lifted, and the blue sky promised a pleasant day. I half-expected to see the Gandalf look-alike again as I power-biked through the park but I did not, unsure if I was relieved or disappointed. I decided to treat my well-earned hunger to breakfast at Jodie’s Bakery. Locking my bike in the rack by the café, that tingling sensation from the night before returned. It ran down my spine.
The café’s tinted windows prevented a clear view of the patrons within, so I entered and saw the familiar figure of which my early warning itch had advised me. The stranger stood beside a table as if expecting me. His staff leaned against the wall, and his archaic clothing had been replaced with tan cargo shorts, a blue windbreaker, and sneakers. “Mr. Gordon…”
“Why are you following me?” I demanded. “And how do you know my name?”
“Please, sir, won’t you sit down? I took the liberty of ordering breakfast.”
At that moment, the waitress arrived bearing two plates—one with link sausages, scrambled eggs, and hash browns. The other plate had my usual eggs benedict with home fries. She placed the first plate before the man, and the other she set at the empty place before him.
I sat down. “Who are you?” I began to eat.
“You can call me Miller.”
“Mr. Miller…”
“No, just Miller. May I call you Samuel?”
“No, the name’s Sam. Why are you following me?”
“Sam, you have some unique talents that you are not aware of. I can see this in you. In fact, that’s why I decided to speak with you. Have you heard of transtemporal travel or dimensional portals in the multiverse?
I stared at him. At first, I thought he was a little whacked, but now I’m sure he’s a complete nutcase. “You’re talking time travel, right?”
“Yes, exactly, but with different dimensions and parallel timelines depending on what sort of events change from the original history.”
“You’re talking about theories postulated by science fiction writers.”
He shook his head. “Not just theories, I have run experiments with some success.”
Miller was indeed insane. I wolfed down the last of my breakfast and cleaned my plate with a piece of toast. “Would you excuse me? Nature calls.” I grabbed my pack and headed towards the lavatory.
“You can leave that if you wish. I will keep an eye on it.”
“No offense, Miller, but I just met you. I would feel better keeping my things secure.”
“Of course.”
“I passed the men’s room and beelined for the back door, but as soon as I stepped through, everything instantly changed. I found myself beneath a giant oak tree on green grass and no buildings, cars, or people. I turned around, reaching for the door, but it was gone.
