Chapter 5
I was jogging on the track. Boring, but something I did to create stamina. I had little weights on my ankles, and on my wrists. It is amazing how just a few ounces of weight can cause your muscles to ache faster, and your body to work harder!
The track was a quarter mile oval. Four times around was a mile, and I was on the third circuit of my second mile. Just one more mile to go, thank god! Five more trips around the oval and I could hit the showers. That's when I noticed the older man on the side of the track waving at me.
I immediately thought something had happened to my mom! I slowed and came up to him at a brisk walk. He fell in with me, and asked if I were Tom Wilshire. I said yes, and asked how I might help him.
"I'm Robert Simpson, from the Bugler. I came across a very curious thing recently, and tracked it down to you," he said with an intent look.
I felt like I had been kicked in my stomach. The Bugler was the paper I had sent the evidence I had collected about my town mayor and state representative's illegal activities. I just didn't see how he could connect that to me though. I had been very careful.
"I am sure I have no idea what you're talking about, so please, feel free to fill me in," I said.
I walked over to the bleachers, and grabbed my stuff there. While it was cold now, running tended to warm me up nicely. Now that I had stopped, I was going to become cold very quickly. I put my jacket on as I continued my 'cool down' walk.
"You're 'The Psychic'," he made it a statement, not a question.
"I am?" I asked.
He chuckled, and said, "You do 'innocence', very well. Let me tell you why I think you're the Psychic. I have checked with the local paper here, and you have written to them a couple times. Mostly, you help the police solve difficult cases. Now, you were home on vacation, and POW, 'The Psychic' shows up in our neck of the woods..." I interrupted him.
"There are probably hundreds of thousands, millions of school kids all over the country, and you pin this psychic thing on me? I don't buy that because I show up at home, it has to be me," I said, amused.
He was shaking his head and said, "I understand, and I would agree with you except for one thing. You TYPED your letter on a typewriter. It has a flaw in one of the keys. You're father used to write letters to the editor frequently, and the editor recognized where this letter had to have come from," he said nailing me with proof I could not really fight.
He continued. "We have already been out to your mother's house. We asked if we could see her typewriter. She was most accommodating. We typed up a few lines and they match, in every case. No, you're 'The Psychic'. By the way, we didn't 'out' you to her. We told her we had gone over older letters to the editor and were verifying that this was indeed the address and typewriter that wrote such good opinions. We awarded her a free year's subscription to the paper as a cover," he said smiling.
"Well, that was kind of you. Dad loved your paper, and thought you did good pieces on government waste," I said continuing my walk. He kept right up with me.
"Thanks. Would you care to make a comment for the paper?" he asked, holding out a tape recorder.
I thought furiously. I could deny this, but it would raise suspicions, and they would be on me like stink on shit. I opted for a second idea that I had thought out long ago.
"Yes, I am 'The Psychic'. Look, let's go back to my room, and we'll talk," I said leading the way. I assumed he would follow me, and he did.
Fifteen minutes later we were seated at my small table with coffee before us, in my dorm room. I had asked him to turn off the recorder, but said he could take notes if he wished.
I spun him the tale I had ready, and had actually practiced. I had put some truth into it, but had made up a lot, also. In truth, I had thought this out over the years, and had what I thought was a good story ready.
He was thoughtful as he left, and said he understood my position. I thanked him for listening, and said I hoped he would keep my name out of it. He said he would send me a copy of the story when it was published. I was on pins and needles for almost a week, when an envelope with my name and address on it, arrived from out of town.
Inside was a brief note, and a copy of the Bugler's story on me! I read both with fear, which turned into relief! I read the note first. It said the following:
Dear Tom,
You were right. As soon as the story hit the street, the switchboard was hit with literally hundreds of calls from people wanting to be put in touch with you. I fully understand your point of view, and I will be keeping your identity a close secret.
Sincerely,
Robert.
I put the letter down. I picked up and unfolded the column he had sent me to read. As I read it, I relaxed. The reporter had been very kind, and I knew I had someone in my corner from the media! Here is what it said:
A Psychic's Story
By
Robert SimpsonThe Bugler first became aware of this person, who signs all his correspondence simply 'The Psychic', months ago. I know, there are lots of psychics out there in this day and age. Ms. Cleo comes to mind. Unlike Ms. Cleo and her ilk, this young man has an impressive resume, and he does not charge three ninety nine a minute for his help.
This unassuming young man is probably in the same league as Nostradamus. Unlike Nostradamus who saw the future, this young man sees what has gone before. He sees the past as you or I view a film.
His first time seeing something that had happened was when he got off the bus from visiting relatives out of town. A friend's dog had gone missing and he helped find it. As a matter of fact, he said he he was accused of taking the dog to begin with! How else could he go directly to the dog?
After being accused, but then vindicated when his bus ticket showed his innocence, he made a decision never to go public with his ability. Still, he wanted to help. His major problem was and is, that he has no way to control this ability. It comes and goes as it wills. He says he has tried to get some sort of control of it, but that control is still beyond his abilities.
He helps out the police in the college town where he is a student. No, they do not know who he is, but they do take seriously any notes or letters he may send them. One officer (speaking only with a guarantee of anonymity) said it was positively eerie the way this guy got it, and got it right! He also got it right every time, as if he were watching the crime happen.
This young man just wants a college education. He does not want to be paid for his services. He says he is reluctant to go public since he has no control over this ability. I agree with him. How would you feel, if you had a loved one missing, and went to this young man only to be told: "I can't help you?" How would you feel, if you were that young man?
He is more than happy to help out when and where he can. But his help is sporadic, at best. So I take my hat off to this 'reluctant psychic', and pray that he gets some sort of control over this ability at some point in the future. I will keep his identity a secret. I respect what he has done, and I respect him as a person. I wish him well in his chosen work, and hope he continues to help out when he can.
I sighed and put the article down. He told me he would see what he could do, and it was enough! There were good reporters in the world, after all. I carefully folded the clipping and the note, and put them in an envelope to save.
Levy was a little disappointed when I reported no luck with going back in time. I still had not told him of my trip into the past, and I was not going to. Especially, I would not tell John. I would never hear the end of the crimes against children that I should go back to stop.
I was making a little headway on trying to gather and store energy, or power. I am not sure how I did this, but I could feel myself absorbing and holding energy! I could also feel it slowly leaking away, too. This was another thing I was going to have to figure out.
By the end of the second year of college, I was able to view all the way back to 1700. I was hesitant about trying physically to go very far into the past, as where would I find the nearest energy source? There were no stadiums that I new of way back in 1700. Churches, yes, but I would have to go to the east coast states to find an old church, with years of accumulated power.
Failing that, I could always go to England for even older churches, but did I want to make a dangerous voyage on a sailing ship? NO! Nor did I want to get stuck in a foreign country when I arrived back in my present time. Somehow, I thought they might consider me an illegal, if I just showed up without a stamped passport and started looking for a flight home.
I used my summer vacation to explore the immediate past. I took trips to other states, and made sure that certain potential power sources were located in the times I intended to visit. I also made sure transportation was available via trains. I did not relish the thought of days on end of horseback or wagon riding.
I also did extensive research into the clothing of the specific times I intended to visit. I could stay as long as I wanted, as I always returned to my own time at almost the instant I left for the past. How did I know that? I knew because I made two more brief trips into the recent past. I had to be careful not to stay long, or get myself hurt or killed. It wouldn't do to get myself killed over something stupid, back in the past.
One of the things that happened when I found that British officers body, was that I came to possess several rare old coins. I sold two of them through an auction house known to deal in antique collectibles. Even after taxes, I cleared over sixty thousand dollars!
So it was with only a little trepidation that I kissed Mom goodbye, and flew to Boston. I planned on going back to 1875, and I wanted a place where I knew there were churches that had survived through to the present.
From Boston I intended to take the train to Washington D.C. I took the diary of the British officer with me, since at that time, one of his descendants was assigned to the British Embassy to America.
I had converted some of my cash into period money from before 1875. I would need some money after all. Let me tell you, for the dollar value I paid for those coins, it was a damned expensive trip! I had to find a better way to get older style money. Armed with my money of the time, I set off to go into the past.
That is exactly what happened. As I rode the train, I thought about what I had with me. While I had in my possession this diary or journal of Captain Edward Avery-Smythe, it was simultaneously lying hidden in the small cave like hole I had discovered it in! My head hurt with this kind of thinking.
Two days later, I was in the lobby of the British embassy, waiting to see the naval attaché. The current lord Avery-Smythe was a serving officer in the royal navy. He also had a bit of political clout, which explained his current assignment.
I rose as a man entered, in the naval uniform of a British officer of the time. He held out his hand and we shook. He had a firm grip. He was perhaps forty-five or fifty, about five feet 8 inches tall. His eyes were brown, and his hair was white. His face was seamed and craggy, with a slight leathery look to it. Definitely a man who had lived his life in the elements, I thought.
"I understand you claim to have something belonging to my family?" he asked me in a clipped tone of voice.
"Yes, sir. It was sent to me by a friend, who knows of my interest in old things. Particularly things concerning our Revolutionary War," I responded.
"Hmm, yes. Dreadful what happened back then. You colonists got off lightly if you ask me," he said while staring at me.
I opened my valise, and pulled out the diary/journal of his ancestor. When he saw the crest on the cover, his eyes widened. He looked up at me, and then back at the book in his hands.
"How did you come to be in possession of this, if I may ask?" He asked me curiously.
"As I said, it was forwarded to me from a friend. He claims that some kids found the remains of a body in a hole that had been severely overgrown with brambles. He said that supposedly, there were several items found with the body. A flintlock rifle, and pistol, a sword, some coins, and this, as well as some maps of the time were found. Probably, for the campaign he was involved in. I have read it, and if he were my family member, I would have wanted to know. So I have brought it to you. I understand they gave the body a proper burial," I embellished.
"I suppose you want a reward for returning this?" He asked sharply.
I frowned. "No. I just wanted to return what I assumed to be a valued piece of family history. Good day, sir!" I exclaimed, and turned to go.
"Wait! I apologize to you, sir. At least let me offer you a meal for your trouble?" he said a bit more warmly.
So it was that I found myself the guest of Lord and Lady Avery-Smythe. They were very gracious hosts and were thrilled to get the book back. I made all the appropriate comments and ate a meal that while I supposed was good for its time, seemed tasteless to me.
After I left, I headed back to the train station. Again, two days later, I was back in Boston. I was standing before a very historical church. With bag in hand, I entered the church and worked my magic.
I startled an elderly lady who just turned around to find me where I could not possibly be.
"Oh! You startled me. I didn't see you! I must be getting old. Uh, why are you dressed like that?" she asked. She pointed at my clothing, and I smiled.
"Why ma'am, this is what all gentleman in the 1870's wore, didn't you know that?" I responded jovially.
"Oh! Are you in a play?" she asked me, giving me my reason for being dressed like this.
Edited By teNderLoin