Copyright © 2017 by Evalyn Anderson.

Author Photo by: Gilkey Portraits

ISBN:      Softcover             978-1-5434-2841-4

                eBook                 978-1-5434-2842-1

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Rev. date: 06/09/2017

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

This book is dedicated, with thanks, to Mohenge Malafa, M.D., G.I. Surgeon, Moffitt Cancer Center, and his dedicated team, especially Tai Hutchinson, ARNP, who made this book possible by saving my life from liver cancer.

CHAPTER ONE

I opened the courtroom door, my momentum propelling me several feet inside, the large wall clock showing I’d just made it on time. Then, the scene in front of me began to register; everyone frozen in place, a man holding a UZI telling us why he was going to kill everyone in the courtroom.

Fighting my way to consciousness, I realized that my phone was ringing. My bedside clock said five; my alarm wouldn’t go off for another hour. I wet my dry mouth from a glass of water on my bedside table before answering.

I hope I didn’t call you too early, John, the sheriff of an adjacent county apologized, but I’ve got a really strange case. I wonder if you could stop by before you go to work. I’ll make us a pot of good coffee. John knew that I was an absolute beast before I’d had my morning coffee.

I’ll be there in under an hour, I promised. I threw off my nightgown and jumped into the shower. When John said he had a strange case, he had a strange case. He’d never called me for anything ordinary. My law firm couldn’t take a case that wasn’t assigned to us by the court. John only called me for situations that were unusual. I worked them entirely on my own, using funds from a trust set up, with me as trustee, to assist clients.

It was still dark when I drew up in front of John’s office next door to the jail. Following the heavenly odor of good coffee, I found him in the back interrogation room, which doubled as a break room. Good morning, John. How have you been?

Just fine, thanks. Last week was pretty harrowing because Janice was giving birth to our first grandchild, a boy, but I think I’ve recovered now. He poured me a large cup of coffee.

Congratulations! I said, sincerely.

Thanks.

I sipped for a moment, relishing the first cup of the day, then asked, What kind of strange case have you got?

About two o’clock this morning, a local resident, James Piggott, called to report a man watching his house from a small stand of trees facing his front door. He didn’t think the guy was armed, but he sure didn’t want to shoot anybody, so he asked if I could come out and look into it. John paused to drink some coffee. I drove to his small farm. The intruder didn’t seem to be doing anything but watching the house.

He was trespassing on private property, of course, I commented.

Of course. He was startled when I asked him what he was doing there. He said he’d come home, but it seemed that somebody else was in his house, and he didn’t know what to do. I told him I’d take him to my office, and we’d discuss it.

He wasn’t armed?

"No. Unless you call an old-fashioned folding knife a weapon. I found it later when I asked him to give me some identification. The first thing he did was have a fit when I got him to my car. He kept cursing me and accusing me of fooling him, and showing him his home to deceive him. I hadn’t a clue as to what he was talking about. I figured he might be having some kind of mental breakdown, so I persuaded him to get into the back of my car, which is secure for hauling prisoners.

"I took him to my office. It had been very dark under the trees, and I always keep the ceiling light in the car turned off, so I got a good look at him for the first time when he got out of the car.

He’s fairly tall, with a raggedy beard. He’s wearing old fashioned bib overalls, a flannel shirt, and old-fashioned boots that look hand-made. ‘Are you Amish?’ I asked when he stopped for breath, after yelling and cursing me again.

‘Amish? What’s ‘Amish?’ he asked.

"I let that go, and asked him what he was cursing me about. He insisted that I knew, but I told him I didn’t have any idea. Finally, he said, ‘Well, maybe you weren’t told anything.’ I asked, ‘Told about what?’

‘That they were going to torture me like this. That they’d tell me they were taking me home, and then create this false image so I’d think I was home when I wasn’t.’

"‘What false image are you talking about?’ I asked when I got him inside the office.

"He replied, ‘My house and part of my farm. I was trying to puzzle out why there were other houses so close to it. I was becoming suspicious before you came up on me. After I saw your moving carriage and the lights in this place, I knew I couldn’t be home.’

"I didn’t know what to make of that, but I didn’t want to get him riled up again so I introduced myself as the sheriff, and asked him for identification. He seemed to be puzzled by what I meant by identification, and I explained that I needed to see his driver’s license or a credit card with his picture on it.

"He sat down and started to cry then; big heaving sighs as if his heart was breaking. My first thought was that he was drunk, but I hadn’t detected any odor of alcohol on him. When he quit, I gave him a glass of water, which he refused at first, but I finally convinced him that it was just plain water.

"When he’d regained his composure, I asked him if he had anything in his pockets that had his name on it. He got up and emptied out all his pockets. I was shocked at the contents. He had an old-fashioned clasp knife, some really old coins, a cotton handkerchief, and a bag of shiny objects that looked like cut diamonds, but they’re too large to be diamonds. I don’t know anything about jewels, but they’re probably glass or zircons.

"‘This was what I had in my pocket when they took me, except the bag of rocks, which they gave me before I got off the ship,’ he explained. ‘But that was all to deceive me; they never took me anywhere.’

"That’s when I decided I could tackle the situation better after a little sleep, so I asked him if he was hungry. He said he wasn’t, so I showed him to our temporary holding cell and suggested he get some sleep. ‘We’ll figure this out in the morning,’ I assured him. He looked pretty dubious, but he lay down on top of the cot with his clothes on, and I turned out the light. After all that, I forgot to ask him his name.

I went home and dozed a little, but I figured I’d better call you before you left for work, thinking you might be able to help me get information out of him and help me figure this out, even if he doesn’t need a lawyer.

Wow! I said, This is strange. Did you talk to James Piggott again?

I called him after I left the guy in the cell and asked him if he had any relatives that might think the farm was home, and he said he couldn’t imagine anybody who’d think it was. His grandfather had left the farm to him in his will because he was the only one in the family who liked to farm. He’d given that up a while ago, got a job in the city and sold off lots. He’s willing to come take a look at the man today to see if he ever saw him before, or if he could have been a hired hand who’s gone off the deep end, and thinks the farm is his home.

Maybe the man will give me more information when you tell him I’m a lawyer and will represent him for free, I suggested. I see your point. I can’t grasp his response to you.

I just gave him a good breakfast that Barbara made; he’s probably finished now. I’ll check and see. Have another cup of coffee, he offered. Barbara is John’s wife.

I sat there drinking the coffee and waking up. Even awake, what I’d just heard didn’t make any sense.

John returned with a man with an unkempt black beard, wearing bib overalls, a flannel shirt and clunky-looking boots. He looked like he was between thirty-five and forty years old. He stared at me as I got up.

This is Ms. Jane Marlowe, a local lawyer. She’ll represent you pro bono. The man just kept staring at me.

I moved toward him and held out my hand. I’m pleased to meet you, Mr…?

You devil! he exclaimed. Claiming to be a lawyer! Women aren’t lawyers; only men are.

I beg your pardon. I can show you my Bar identification if you wish.

Bar? I’ve never been in a bar in my life; why would I want to see your bar identification? And why is this identification thing so important? You all know who I am by now, and I’ve already been tortured enough without having a lewd woman tell me she’s a lawyer.

Watch it, Buddy! John exclaimed. This is a lady lawyer, not a lewd woman.

Only lewd women wear paint on their faces and dresses that barely hide their body.

If I didn’t know that it was impossible, I’d think this guy came straight out of the Nineteenth Century. Why don’t we all sit down and you tell us your story? I suggested. Why were you on the premises of Mr. Piggott early this morning?

Reluctantly, he took the empty chair. After staring at us for a while, he began, They said I was home, told me to keep the bag of rocks they’d given me earlier safe because they were worth money on Earth, and took off. It was dark, with just a little bit of moonlight, so it took me a while to locate the house. I was walking toward the house when I saw lights come on upstairs, then go out in a few minutes. After I thought it over, I realized that the lights weren’t lamps; they were too bright. I was just beginning to wonder what it meant when you appeared. He indicated John.

You say ‘they.’ Who do you mean by that? I asked.

You know who they are; you’re in league with them.

No, we aren’t, I objected. We’re not in league with anybody. We both want to help you.

He laughed scornfully.

That’s true, Mr…Can you tell me your name, please? I asked.

He mulled that over for a few minutes, then said, Clyde Piggott.

You have the same last name as the man who owns the farm, John commented, puzzled.

It’s my farm. My Daddy left it to me and my brother David. David died, so it’s mine.

Why don’t you pretend that we don’t know anything about this, which is actually true, and tell us the whole story so we can understand the situation? I asked.

He looked at us, dubiously, then finally began. To start with, you know I’m from Earth, and I was picked up on June 23, 1897.

It was our turn to stare.

He continued, ignoring our looks. The creatures on the spaceship promised that they’d return me where they found me so fast nobody would know I was gone. I was scared to death, but I knew I couldn’t get away from them so I did everything they told me to do. It seemed like I was where they took me for a long time, but they kept telling me that I was in a time something or other, and though it seemed like months to me, it was only seconds going by. But what I don’t understand is why they lied to me. I did everything they asked, and all I wanted was to go home, but here I am still in some place that isn’t home.

How do you know it isn’t home? John asked. You said you recognized the farm house as yours.

But there weren’t all those houses near it. And it wouldn’t have had lights like yours. He gestured toward the overhead light. And nobody would have carriages that move themselves, and you have a screen with moving figures on it. He gestured toward a TV screen. I saw those kinds of things on the ship and in the building where they took me, so I know I’m not home. They’ve made an image of the house for me to look at, but it isn’t real.

I was trying to get my mind around this statement when I thought of work. I looked at my watch. It’s time for me to go to work. I have a court appearance at ten.

Can you come back after work? John asked. By then, we might get this straightened out. James Piggott is coming in sometime today to look at this guy. If necessary, I’m sure he’ll give Clyde permission to tour his house, so he’ll know it’s not his home.

What about my wife and children? the stranger asked.

John looked startled. You have a wife and children?

Of course. Those things must have put them somewhere when they took me, since you’re saying somebody else is living in my home.

I have no idea where to start looking for them. What’s your wife’s name? John asked.

Esther.

I haven’t had any report about her or missing children. I’ll check with other law enforcement offices nearby to see if they know anything. Meanwhile, make yourself comfortable in the holding cell and watch the news or your favorite TV program.

He looked puzzled, then the light dawned. You mean the moving pictures and sound are about the news?

Yes, John replied. And entertainment. Haven’t you ever watched TV before?

Only on the ship and wherever they took me. I saw it, but I never watched it; it didn’t make any sense.

John and I looked at each other. Finally, he said, Jane, can you wait here a moment till I take this gentleman to his cell?

Yes. It’s still early; traffic isn’t heavy yet.

I watched the two of them walk out of the office. I wondered if I was still in bed dreaming, or if the last hour had really taken place.

John returned and sat down opposite me. What do you think? he asked.

I think I’m still in bed dreaming.

He grinned. I would think so, too, if we weren’t sitting here. I can’t make head or tail of it. It’s the first time since I’ve become sheriff that I’ve been completely stymied.

What worries me is the wife and children, I said. You don’t suppose he’s killed them and then had a total breakdown?

I had the same chilling thought. I’m going to find out if anything happened last night, and I’ll check out this Clyde Piggott. I’ve never heard of him before. Everybody knows James Piggott; he’s a nice guy. He owns the farm that this fellow is calling home. Our guy could be some distant relative with the same name, or he just made it up because he knows who owns the farm.

Why don’t you try to sneak a DNA sample from James while he’s here. It could give you a place to start looking for this Clyde’s identity if you find that they’re related.

He grinned. Counselor, you just asked me to do something illegal. I’m surprised at you.

We both laughed, remembering what we’d done in a previous case he’d asked me to take pro bono.

Can you return tonight? he asked, desperately.

The day is young, so I can’t tell for sure. I’ll call you if I can’t make it.

I’ll clue my deputies in when they arrive at eight, and tell them to treat him in a noncommittal way.

Good. See you. I hurried out to my car, my head in a whirl.

Though I was early, the morning chaos had already started. It took a while for the office manager to get it all sorted out. For once, I was glad I had a ten o’clock hearing; it kept me from getting assigned to a new client who was super rich, but had a reputation for being difficult to deal with.

I see you’re on time, Ms. Marlowe, Judge Lightener commented as I rose with my client. Wisely, I kept my mouth shut. After I’d saved her life and that of everybody else in the courtroom, the only thing she’d said was, You see; it pays to be on time. Several late nights in a row had caused me to be late three times prior to the UZI incident.

That day, I’d nearly killed myself getting there for a nine o’clock hearing, because she’d threatened to jail me for contempt if I was late one more time. My prestigious firm would have loved that. Being on time for the Uzi incident did pay off, though, for a lot of people, including myself. Had I been a few minutes early, though, which is what I usually tried for, I’d now be dead, along with the others.

I spent the day going through the motions of practicing law, but my mind was worrying away at the problem John had called me about that morning. The most likely answer to the puzzle was that the client was having a breakdown, but his appearance, the meager contents of his pockets, and his references to modern technology didn’t really add up.

I whipped my files into shape faster than usual and was out the door at six, something I rarely did. Being single, not dating, and no pets, I was never tugging at the chain to get away for the day like so many of my colleagues.

As soon as I got out of my car at John’s office, he came out, greeting me with Boy, am I glad to see you!

Sounds ominous, I commented.

"Well, the guy just clammed up on me all day after he had a fit about the Gideon Bible I always keep in the cell. He said it was the work of the devil, who’d changed the words to lead people astray. I asked him what he meant by that. He said the words weren’t anything like the King James Bible.

Rather than argue with him about Biblical translations, I called a nearby preacher, who said he never used the King James version and didn’t have a copy. I called my own pastor, then, and he had the same answer, but he referred me to an old lady about ninety who lent me one. The guy settled right down with it, after a deputy had picked it up, but refused to talk to me when I tried to ask him some questions. I thought maybe he’d talk to you, since you’re his lawyer.

He didn’t seem to have a very high opinion of me, I said, dryly.

We can only try, he said, laughing at the recollection.

How about the visit from James Piggott? Did he recognize him?

No, he didn’t. And this guy didn’t seem to recognize him, either. That doesn’t mean a lot, so I got DNA samples from their coffee cups and sent them to the lab. James let him tour the house, and he pointed out knots in the wood and odd elevations that he said proved it was his house, though a lot of changes had been made since he’d seen it last.

How about the wife and children?

I checked the nearby sheriffs and police departments, but there wasn’t anything that looked relevant. One woman is missing, but she’s only nineteen, and this guy must be at least thirty-five, so I doubt that could be his wife. And she didn’t have any children.

Well, bring him on and I’ll do my best to get him to talk.

Okay. He went next door to the holding cell and returned with the strangest client I’d ever had.

Good evening, Mr. Piggott, I said, extending my hand.

He ignored the hand, but gave me a tentative Even’en.

Sir, this lady has volunteered to represent you for free, and I suggest you tell her your entire story so she can decide what you should do, John said.

What I should do? I don’t understand.

Well, you’ve violated the law by trespassing on private property, John explained, and that issue will have to be addressed legally.

How could I trespass on my own property? he asked.

I realized that this guy was smarter than he looked. That’s what we have to sort out, I explained. I need to know your story so I can see how to proceed.

How can you be a lawyer? You’re a woman.

Well, Mr. Rip Van Winkle, this is the Twenty-first Century, and nearly half the lawyers in this country are women.

He stared at me. Twenty-first Century? he asked, bewildered.

Of course. What time did you expect it was?

Like I told you before, he replied, patiently. I was kidnapped June 23, 1897. They told me the time here when I returned would be only seconds later.

Who kidnapped you? I asked.

The things in the funny ship that flew.

Things? I asked. Not people?

No. They weren’t people. They had shapes something like humans, and they could talk to me by using a funny machine.

John and I exchanged a glance.

Was it a UFO? I asked.

What’s a UFO? he asked, frowning.

That’s an abbreviation for ‘unidentified flying object.’ Some people think they’ve sighted them flying low over the earth. They think they come from outer space.

Yes! he shouted, looking excited. That’s what it could be!

Tell us how it all happened, I said, trying not to show my skepticism. Begin at the beginning.

After sipping his coffee for a moment, he began. I went into the woods to look for one of my cows who’d wandered off; she was bad about doing that. When I got near the clearing where she usually goes, I could see this funny silver-like thing sitting on the ground. It was almost as high as the trees. I was scared and started to leave the woods, but something grabbed me from behind. Let me go," I yelled. I heard some noises that I couldn’t understand, sort of like people talking in a foreign language.

"They pushed me toward the silver thing. I tried my best to get away, but they had a death-grip on me. When we got near it, a door opened up and these strange creatures came out. They looked something like humans. They dragged me into the silver thing while I was kicking and screaming and trying to get away. I found out later that they called it a ship.

"When we were inside, they sat me down, bound my hands and legs to a table, and they sat across from me and turned on some kind of thing that started to hum. I was scared to death, but soon the machine was asking me questions that I could understand, though I had to strain a little. First it asked my name and age and where we were. I couldn’t see any harm in answering, after I thought it over, so I answered the questions.

While I was sitting there, I started to hear funny sounds, and then I felt vibrations like we might be moving. I started to panic, but the machine said, Don’t be afraid. We’re taking off, but we have a different time than you, so we’ll bring you back within seconds, your time, to where we found you."

I was so scared I thought I was going to have a heart attack. All I could think of was my wife and children looking for me and not finding me. It seemed like a long time, maybe more than a day, before we got to where they lived.

What kind of place was it? I asked, casually, not letting Clyde know of my skepticism. Anybody could pick up this story from a book or magazine article about UFOs.

"It seemed like it might be some kind of hospital place, because they took me to various rooms and did strange medical things to me. It was big. There were rooms going off on both sides of a long hallway, with different medical machines in them.

My room was at the end of the hallway. It was big, and had a bathroom on one side. They taught me how to flush the toilet; the one on the ship didn’t flush. They had water running out of a pipe that they showed me how to wash with. The room was furnished with a bed, a table with two chairs, an easy chair and that talking thing on the wall like you have. I never did get to leave that building and find out what was outside till they took me back to the ship. They blindfolded me when I arrived, but not when I left. It was a really strange place from what I could see, which wasn’t much.

What kind of medical things did they do to you? I asked.

All kinds of nasty things. They took blood out of my arm. They put stuff on my skin; some of it burnt or hurt, some of it felt soothing. They weighed me and looked in my eyes and ears and…other places I couldn’t say in front of a woman. They put funny things on my body and hooked them up with a machine. They gave me different things to eat and put tubes down into my stomach; all sorts of things.

So you were dragged into what sounds like a UFO, taken to either some station in orbit or their planet, and given medical tests. How long did the testing last?

It seemed like a long time to me. I kept pleading with them to take me home, but they kept saying that time was different on Earth and I wouldn’t be gone long enough for anybody to miss me. They promised again to bring me back to where they found me.

I thought about it. Did they bring you back to where they found you, as far as you can tell?

He wrinkled his brow for a moment, then said, They put me down on the bare spot they’d made when they landed before. When I got out, it felt warm, just like when they were dragging me to the ship in the first place.

I looked inquisitively at John.

I haven’t been in those woods, he explained, so I don’t know if there’s any disturbed place or not.

I turned back to Clyde. So, when they let you off the ship, you started walking toward what you thought was your home?

Yes, after I got my eyes adjusted to the moonlight. It was very bright; that’s how I could see the grove of maples near the house.

Did you have any suspicion that they might not have brought you back to where they found you?

The only thing that appeared suspicious to me right off was that it was dark. They took me in early afternoon, so more than a few seconds had gone by.

Did you recognize the house when you toured it this afternoon? I asked.

It’s my house, all right. I recognized knot holes in the wood I’d used to frame it, the different kinds of wood I’d used, and the general outlay and size of the rooms. But somebody has made a lot of changes to it. I don’t understand what’s happened. I’m almost afraid to think it, but you said we’re in the Twenty-First Century. Could those things have missed the time mark by over a hundred years?

Though he looked like a hick, my client was no slouch in the brain department. That’s possible, I replied, temporarily going along with the UFO fantasy.

Suddenly, he looked stricken. Then my Esther and the children would be dead.

Don’t think such thoughts, sir. Not yet, John objected. We haven’t figured this out; this is just one scenario; it might not be the correct one at all. The question is what do you want to do? Do you have any place to go?

I do have a place to go. That’s my farm, but somebody else is claiming it. You’re the law; what are you going to do about it? He asked, irately.

I could keep you a few more days in the holding cell, if you’re comfortable, or put you up in a hotel while we try to figure this out.

The man thought for a few minutes. I guess the cell will be all right. I don’t have any money for a hotel, and I’ve never stayed in one; I’ve only heard what they’re like, and I don’t think I’d want to.

Would that violate any of his rights, counselor? he asked, turning to me.

We have to use common sense. I can’t see him mingling with the hotel crowd, and he seems to have no place else to go. Barbara’s delicious meals will make up for his being in a cell, and you do have a decent cot in there. John had bragged about the cot when he’d shown me the cell on a previous occasion.

John smiled. Are there any other questions you want to ask him?

I considered it. No. I can’t think of anything. Goodbye for now, Mr. Piggott. If you need anything, feel free to ask the sheriff, or have him call me if it’s something he can’t supply.

Yes, ma’am, he replied.

John looked at me. Could you wait while I return him to his cell?

Sure, I replied. I poured myself another cup of coffee while he took the man to the cell, and wondered what kind of mess I’d signed up for.

When John returned, I asked him if Clyde resented being locked in.

I asked him about that, he replied. He says it makes him feel safe. He’s still half afraid, I think, suspicious that we’re some kind of invention by the aliens to get him off his guard before they test him some more.

Poor guy! I exclaimed. I don’t know what we can do with him. Maybe he’ll be lucky and his rocks turn out to be something worth at least a little money. Tomorrow, John, could you take him shopping for a change of clothing? Here’s a couple hundred dollars. I think that should get him outfitted. I handed the cash to John. I always carry cash because I never know what I might run into in the course of a day.

He took the money. I’ll give you a receipt, and while I’m at it, his bag of ‘rocks.’ I asked him today if it would be all right for me to give them to you, so you could find out what they are, and he gave me permission.

The receipt’s not necessary. That’s money from a special trust fund which I use when clients need help. I don’t have to account for it.

Lucky you! he exclaimed. If I bought him a comb for a quarter with county money, I’d have to make out a long form to explain it. He handed me the bag of ‘rocks.’

Incidentally, I asked, how has he been combing his hair and beard? You didn’t mention a comb as part of the contents of his pocket.

"One of our deputies had an extra comb in his locker. I’ll buy him one now and some