Out There by Ed N. White

Ray Dragon’s writing career had fallen hard after his first book, Loving Them Madly, in which Ray detailed the gruesome murder investigation of three young women near the Oberlin College campus with a vivid imagination; now, he was running dry. He wrote a series of travel articles for This Our World, in which he only traveled with a mouse and Google, but the magazine failed before he got a check.

So, when his new agent, Becky Bremel, called with a gig, she got Ray’s full attention. “I will not sugarcoat this, Ray; this is near the bottom. But look at it like a ladder; you move up one rung at a time and eventually reach the top.” She paused, waiting. “Ray…are you there?”

“Becks, this sucks.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t. Believe me, Ray.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

 “It’s a bi-monthly called Out There, about time travel. However, they are confident of going monthly before the end of the year as their subscription base expands. Also, Ray, they will conduct author profiles and public events where you’ll be seen and heard.”

“And paid?”

“That too, they promised.”

“Send it.”He finished his oatmeal and poured another coffee before her message arrived.

Horsefly Publications announces Out There, a new bi-monthly E-Zine offering a unique insight into time travel. Each issue features first-person accounts of extraterrestrial journeys and tips to enhance your chances of interplanetary encounters. It will expand your imagination to the breaking point….

 Ray reviewed, signed, and returned the contract, never realizing the dangerous otherworld he had entered.

A month prior, Ray received an anonymous invitation to a posh party to land him smack dab in the middle of Chicago’s movers and shakers. Ray never looked a gift horse in the mouth and was happy to reply.   

He bought a recycled suit, dress shirt, shoes, and a tie sporting an impressive crest at a charity shop. The shoes were too black to work well with his light tan suit, but they complimented his hair.

He took a crosstown bus to the Lakeshore address and showed the invitation to the skeptical doorman. Ignored by the other guests, he retreated to a back corner of the mirrored car, checking his teeth and adjusting his tie as the elevator lifted smoothly to a private lobby on the 18^th floor where a maître d’ greeted them.

  Ray passed inspection and continued into the luxurious apartment owned by Cecil Lupinski, a hedge fund executive, and his much younger wife.

Feeling apprehensive, Ray headed for the bar tucked into a corner of the spacious, high-ceilinged living room in front of a gilt-framed Modigliani nude. A man in a short white jacket and black bow tie expertly mixed a martini. Ray nodded, then peering over the brim, scanned the room—and saw her. He asked for another martini and moseyed toward the wall of windows where the adventure began.

###

Becky Bremel, thirty-one, widowed twice with no children, was cresting on two inherited estates. She was on top of her game. And being a literary agent was the latest game when she invited Ray Dragon to the penthouse party on Lakeshore Drive. 

His name, the unruly black curls, and unbridled enthusiasm attracted her. He looked like he’d be fun, and she would keep him alive for that purpose.

Ray spotted the woman by the balcony sliders at the far side of the room, staring blankly over the high-rise skyline. Wearing spiky heels, she was as tall as he and had cascading red hair that set off her flawless face like a Rococo picture frame. The black sheath clung to her like Saran wrap. Ray strode across the thick lavender-colored carpet and approached with two glasses in his hands. “Hi, I’m Ray; I thought you might like a drink.”

 When she accepted the offered martini and thanked him, his shiver gratified her as his fingers brushed her icy hand. She nodded slightly, looked directly into his eyes, and said, “Thank you, Mr. Dragon. That’s very kind of you.”

 “How did you know my name?”

“I make it my business to know famous authors.”

 “Wow! Please call me Ray.”

This was the start of their business relationship. Becky added him to her client list, assuring him of future success.

###

Becky Bremel toyed with prospective suitors while they made her laugh, kept her in designer clothing, and did not offend her with their bad breath or dandruff.

A month ago, she first saw Ray Dragon on a local access TV channel, where a Girl Scout interviewed him for her achievement badge requirement. So, against her husband’s futile wishes, Becky arranged a party and included Ray Dragon as a guest. Having grown increasingly tired of Cecil, Becky decided it was time to move on.

###

After some small talk, she drained her glass, placed it on a passing tray, and said, “I’m sleepy now and am retiring for the night. Please get in touch with me regarding your writing. I’m a literary agent and could represent you in a successful career. Be sure to meet my husband before you leave.” Ray had several more martinis. In the morning, he found the business card she had dropped in his jacket pocket.

###

After the party finished and the catered help had cleaned up and left, Becky’s aged husband, Cecil (Loopy) Lupinsky, did a backflip off the balcony. He was screaming frantically for most of the eighteen-story fall.

A week after Cecil Lupinski’s death, Ray learned the details in the Sun-Times.

Lupinski, Cecil Dominic, age 79, fell to his death from his Lakeshore Drive penthouse. Police investigators say he may have suffered a dizzy spell after drinking alone. He is survived only by a sister, Mrs. Grace Barton of Winnetka. Instead of condolences, please send contributions to….

Several things jumped out at Ray: drinking alone…only a sister. Becky had introduced him as her husband. What the hell is going on?

Becky was busy that week and unable to meet Ray and completely erase his memory. Therefore, Ray kept snippets of doubt in that part of the brain that deals with the bizarre. He had the card and was sure he had been somewhere drinking. She was tall and beautiful. Beyond that, everything else was fuzzy. “What the…call her.”

 She answered his call on the third ring. He said, “Mrs. Lupinski, hello…it’s Ray Dragon.”

“I’m sorry, your name is familiar, but my name is Becky Bremel. Have we met?”

“Mrs.… Becky…we met somewhere. I can’t recall where, but I have your card and think you asked me to call. I’m a writer. Maybe we met at a party last week…I think. I just heard about your husband, and I’m….”

“I’ve never had a husband.”

“Oh, well, I was just wondering….”

“And your name again, please.”

“Ray Dragon, it’s an unusual name. But it’s hard to forget.”

“Oh yes, now I remember you.”

“You do? I mean …well, thank you and….”

“Yes, you were that writer, the Girl Scout child interviewed. Was it last Spring?”

Becky was toying with him and tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Dragon…Ray?”

“Um…can I start over…I think I’m making a fool of myself.”

“Yes, please do.”

“Well, I’m a writer…I had a near-best seller with Loving Them Madly a few years ago. Do you know it?”

“No.”

“Oh… anyway, I’ve done a lot of other good stuff, and I’d like to meet with you and talk about a relationship…I mean, as my agent.”

“Why not, Mr. Dragon…Ray? Let me check my schedule. I’m quite busy this week.” Becky smiled as she imagined him slowly twisting in the wind. After a few moments, she made the appointment to seal Ray’s fate, “Will next Wednesday, the tenth, work for you…11:30 at Mario’s…do you know where it is? Good. Lunch will be on me.”

“That sounds great,” Ray said again. “I’ll wear my tan suit, the one I wore to the party.”

“Have we met before?”

###

The lunch date went well, and the rest of the story began. Following the meal, coffee, and a shared crème Brule, Ray stood and pulled out her chair. He offered his hand, saying, “That was a delightful meal, Becky. Let’s hope it’s the start of a good working relationship.” When they shook, the shiver that reached nearly to his elbow was something he had experienced once before. He wasn’t sure where.

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, picking up the check. “I’d like to meet with you at home to discuss the future.” She gave him a mongoose-like smile and adjusted her Hermes scarf.

“Yes, I live at four-fourteen….”

“I know where you live, Ray. I’ll see you there next Tuesday at two p.m. Ta.” She turned and disappeared while Ray stood frozen to the floor as if he had been tasered.

What just happened? Ray felt strangely uncertain as he walked down Arnold Avenue past the Olde Tobacco Shoppe and the Cuban bodega. A sense that everything that had just happened had not happened at all. He moved as if in a dream and, at the intersection of 33^rd Street, stepped in front of a speeding Uber. The driver swerved at the last second, bounced over the curb, trashed a trash can, and bounced out into the street again, screaming at Ray, who heard nothing and continued his way home. Becky had not finished with him yet.

###

Ray was in love. He picked up, mopped, spiffed, and polished his tiny apartment. He bought French Roast coffee and croissants, placing them on a paper platter covered with aluminum foil, and checked the bathroom twice to ensure the toilet seat was down and the hand towels hung straight on the rack.

Her appearance startled him. She now had short blond hair bobbed like a 1920s flapper. The amount of fabric in her dress was barely legal. The scent of her perfume made his head swim.

Ray had practiced a greeting in front of a mirror so he was confident he would not stammer or blush. He was wrong. “So, nice to see you, Mrs. Lup…Becky.” She realized more work was needed, but felt gratified as she held his hand a few seconds longer and noticed it was shivering.

Becky asked Ray about his work without seeing it, stated the contract terms without producing one, and said, “Yes, I’d love some dark French Roast coffee,” without seeing the bag in the kitchen. She overwhelmed Ray without him knowing it. When it was time to leave, she shivered his hand, kissed him on the cheek and shivered his soul. Downstairs, Becky pressed a tissue to her eyes; she was laughing so hard tears streaked her deep blue mascara.

###

Later that afternoon, back in her apartment, feet up, white wine chilling in her hand, Becky was ashamed of herself. Self-centered, rude people like Cecil Lupinski were one thing. A nice guy like Ray was something else; the tears were real this time.

###

Ray sat on the couch for a long time after she left. He drained the cold coffee cup, finished the pastry that she had half-eaten, and picked at the aluminum foil. He was in love. There was something about her that infused him. Something that inspired him. Something that caused a frantic attempt to write a piece for Out There, which she would find extraordinary. Ray started immediately. He refilled his coffee and replaced the foil-covered plate with his laptop. Then, he searched Google for the information that would change his life.

###

Time slipped by, and Becky suddenly realized she was sitting in the dark, feeling a little buzzed. The bottle was empty.

 She fired up the remote and sat in the glow of the wall-mounted flat screen, not paying attention to it, and replayed the last few memories and the new emotion. This she had heard about but never thought would happen to her. It was called love.

###

Ray’s Google searches paid off. First, he visited blogs of people who had reportedly experienced time travel. Then, he focused on a site offered by Parnell Williams, who had the experience and chatted about it.

Ray phoned Pocatello, Idaho. “Good afternoon, Mr. Williams. My name is Ray Dragon.”

“Hi ya, Ray, that’s a helluva interesting name. Does it mean anything special?”

“No, sir, just my father’s family name. My mother was a Smith.”

“A blacksmith! Damn, she must have been one powerful lady…I remember when….”

“No, sir, that was her family’s name, S-M-I-T-H.”

“Oh, why dint ya say so? Whatcha want anyway? This is my chat line?”

“Exactly; I want to chat about your time travel experiences.”

“I’m a potato farmer.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Why d’ya ask?”

Ray stopped for a minute and exhaled noisily, increasingly aware that this would not be easy. “I wanted to talk to you about time travel.”

“I don’t move around much. Got real bad Arthur-itis.”

“Sir, I’m referring to the time travel experiences you write about in your blog.”

“Oh, that. My grandson does that for me.”

“He writes this stuff? I thought you had actually experienced this, I….”

“I did; he just does the computer stuff. I’m old. I don’t know digital from a hen’s ass….”

“So, you experienced time travel. Is that correct?”

“Yup, twice.”

“Where?”

“In the hospital, in Pocatello.”

“You were in the hospital twice in Pocatello?”         

“No, pay attention, Sonny. I was in the hospital once for seven days after I’d fallen off the roof of my barn. Doc said I’m lucky to be alive. He says I may have scrambled my brain a little. Ya know, like an omelet.”

Ray was thinking better of this and was about to back up and pack up.

“That’s when I met the Queen.”

Ray scoffed, “You mean Queen Elizabeth in England?”

“No, she’s the Queen now; this was Victoria. It was March seven, eighteen-ninety-one. She received me in the Camelia room at Buckingham. We had tea, and she was very nice. I remember little of the conversation that was, let’s see, one hunnert and twenty-five years ago, but she was very nice.”

Ray thought his head would explode. “Can you tell me a little about your second experience?”

“Sure, it was in Sharon, Massachusetts, August four, nineteen-eighty-six.”

Ray snapped to attention.

“It was in the maternity wing of the Union Hospital. I had just been born.”

Ray’s breathing stopped, and his heart slammed into his throat.

“I was a little young, but I still remember the woman’s name… Muriel Smith. She named me Daniel.”

Ray dropped the phone and clutched his shirt collar, gasping for air. He felt like he was going underwater. How could this man know this—the birthdate of his younger brother? He could hear sounds from the dropped phone, but couldn’t pick it up. Parnell went on for a while, jabbering about something. Ray got up, went to the kitchen, and stuck his head under the faucet, running the cold water to ease the pain. When he came back, the phone was dead. He pushed it aside with his foot and sat on the couch, holding his head in both hands, elbows on his knees.

###

A week passed before Becky made contact again. She expected Ray to be excited about his latest writing assignment. But instead, she did not expect what she heard.

“I’m unsure I can explain this over the phone, Becky. It’s too strange…can I come to see you?”

“I’ll come to you.” She hung up the phone, sensing bad juju like this once before as a gallery owner. Powers more extraordinary than hers had interfered in a relationship with a young artist. That man also was young and good-looking, a talented representational artist—she thought he’d be fun for a while.

So, she convinced him to work abstractly to venture into new frontiers. His enthusiasm for the change was much like Ray’s, a man willing to sell his soul to please an attractive woman. It was funny then, and she led him on until she was done with him. These memories now collided with her present. She had experienced new emotions but could not fully understand their power. Now, in her relationship with Ray and the first bloom of love, she was determined to save him.

# # #

He opened the door on the first scratch of her fingernails. She returned as a redhead and let her hair grow long overnight. She wore a short black sheath and turquoise lipstick. Ray was in a sleeveless undershirt, torn jeans, bare feet, and a three-day beard…looking scared.

She saw the turmoil in the previously neat space. No pastry. No coffee. She had an overwhelming urge to hold him. “Sit down, Ray; let’s talk about this.”

She knew exactly where this was going. Somehow, Ray had tapped into the other world and found himself trapped in a dimension outside her control. Her power had always been contrary, a destructive force she played with until she was tired of the game. However, this was different; love increasingly gripped her heart. She grabbed his face and kissed him hard on the lips.

Her touch comforted Ray with softness and warmth. The heat went to his toes.

Becky’s warm hands framed his face. “I want you to stop writing, leave Out There, and redirect to this dimension. I’ll help you do that.” Ray didn’t understand. She kissed him again, and he wrapped his arms around her like a drowning man desperately clinging to a life ring.

“I must go now.” She touched his cheek as she got up, leaving him dazed. Then, when she got to the door, she turned and said, “I will set you free.”

Becky stumbled down the worn wooden stairs onto the sidewalk, tears streaming down her face. She bolted to the corner of 33^rd Street and stepped in front of a speeding Uber.

Ed N White

Image: Circling clock faces fading into the distance from Pixabay.com