Middle Falls Time Travel Series (Book 4): The Final Life of Nathaniel Moon Read online

  The Final Life of Nathaniel Moon

  by Shawn Inmon

  Copyright 2018 © Shawn Inmon

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced or retransmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher, with the exception of brief quotations in a review. This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to events or people, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  For Richard Bach, Piers Anthony, Robert Heinlein, | Frank Herbert, and Ray Bradbury. | I have learned so much from you.

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two | Dimension AG54298-M25736 | 1979

  Chapter Three | 1983

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen | 1989

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen | 1995

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen | 2018

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Epilogue

  Epilogue Two

  Author’s Note

  Other Books by Shawn Inmon

  For Richard Bach, Piers Anthony, Robert Heinlein,

  Frank Herbert, and Ray Bradbury.

  I have learned so much from you.

  Chapter One

  Victoria Schmidt was engaged to be married on her twelfth birthday.

  She was married in a secret ceremony on her thirteenth.

  The ceremony was secret because, even with parental permission, minors under the age of sixteen were not allowed to be married in Minnesota.

  The marriage was not Victoria’s idea. She was opposed in every way, and made her opinion known as strongly as she was able. It did not matter, because the marriage had been arranged by Elijah Shepard, in his role as the Spiritual Leader of the New Believers movement, an offshoot of a spinoff of a splinter that derived from a faith no one could track back to its initial roots.

  Mr. Shepard, who had been born Herb Finkelbaum, had nineteen wives, and took two new teen brides each year—one on the Summer Solstice, and another on the Winter.

  When Victoria’s father told her she was betrothed, she had said, “I won’t go.”

  “You will,” William said, removing his belt.

  Bruised and battered, she went.

  Victoria was repulsed by the groom Shepard had chosen for her—Dick Dillon, a fifty-six year old insurance salesman almost twenty years older than her father. His previous wife, Linda, had passed away the year before. The Coroner’s Report had listed Linda’s death as “death by misadventure,” but the scuttlebutt around the New Believers compound was that her fall from the cliff while hiking had not been completely accidental.

  The one blessing of the union was that Dick Dillon was diabetic, and had been rendered sterile a number of years before. His only offspring would be his son, Derek, who was three years older than Victoria, and who had moved away as soon as he turned eighteen. Derek had never adjusted well to having a stepmother who was younger than he was. Victoria suspected that although he paid it lip service, Derek was no more a True Believer than she was, which put his belief at approximately zero.

  By her fourteenth birthday, Victoria was a wife in all ways but in the eyes of the law, and was charged with running a household. Over time, she took an interest in Dick’s business, if not in Dick himself, and showed a natural aptitude with math and double entry accounting. Before she was sixteen, she took over the bookkeeping duties for his insurance office.

  Dick Dillon was an unpleasant man by any standard. He wasn’t attractive, with bad teeth, hair too scant to be called “thinning,” and he somehow managed to be both too thin, with angular, jutting legs and arms, and too fat, with a heavy paunch that swayed when he walked. He was also given to bursts of anger that resulted in violence. While Derek was still living at home, it had been kept in check, but when it was just he and Victoria, it had escalated quickly. She had nowhere to run, no one to turn to.

  The True Believers held to the idea that the man was king of his castle, and responsible for his own business within the castle walls, no matter what that might entail. That meant that even her own parents turned a deaf ear to her pleas, although her mother had the good grace to at least look pained as she turned her back on her only daughter.

  Over time, Victoria became adept at reading moods at a glance and adjusting her own life accordingly, which kept the outbursts and violence to a minimum.

  Victoria spent every minute thinking of how to make her escape, but she had no money and no way to get any. The only transportation she had was the ‘61 Mercury Monterey in the garage that barely ran, which Dick left for her to run errands around town, knowing it would never hold up for a longer trip..

  Her indentured servitude lasted for nearly ten years. In December of 1978, just after Victoria had turned twenty-two, Derek Dillon returned home for an extended holiday visit. He hadn’t been home for many years, and he had grown into a strong young man whose good looks reflected his mother’s side of the family. On his arrival, he was shocked to find the young, spirited girl he remembered, cowed and quiet, meekly waiting on his father and doing as she was told.

  When the elder Dillon went to work, and Derek and Victoria were left alone, she stood taller and became more like the girl he remembered. Derek saw the impact that life with his father had on her, and his heart went out to her.

  Over the month-long visit, Victoria found what she never had before—kind words, a smile, shared conversation, and, inevitably, infatuation of a sort.

  Over lunch one day, Derek said, “Did you and Dad ever get legally married?”

  “No. From the time The Leader married us, everyone here considered us married, and that was all that really mattered to him. My dad mentioned it to him once after I turned sixteen, and he promised he would arrange for it. But then Dad died not long after, and it was never mentioned again.”

  Derek nodded, swirling his iced tea around the bottom of his glass thoughtfully. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing, is it?”

  Victoria flushed and cleared the dishes away, but Derek’s deep blue eyes wouldn’t leave her memory.

  Over the next few weeks, nature took its course, and the two of them could hardly wait for Dick to leave for work in the morning. One afternoon, as they lay naked on the bed in the guest room, Derek said, “I know this has happened fast enough to make our heads spin, but love strikes like lightning.”

  Victoria considered. Is this lov
e? No, of course not. But, a smile and a kind word is so much better than anything else I’ve seen. It’s closer to love than anything else I’ve ever known.

  “I’ve taken a job in Louisiana. When I get there, I’ll be staying on company property at first, but by summer, I’ll be able to be on my own. I’d love it if you’d come down and be with me.”

  “I’m sure there are a thousand pretty girls in New Orleans.”

  “None like you. I love you, Victoria.”

  Love was pledged, a pact was made.

  Victoria agreed that if Derek would come back in a few months, when his father was away at work, she would be packed and ready to run. They both agreed that they would never see Dick Dillon again. With an eye toward that, Derek gave him completely wrong information about where he was going to work.

  Derek left her with a few hundred dollars, nearly all the money he had in the world, in case she needed to get away sooner and come to him.

  Victoria counted down the days.

  A month later, on Valentine’s Day, Dick was gone on a short business trip when Victoria awoke to the phone ringing and horrible nausea. When she answered the phone, she heard a recorded voice say, “Are you paying too much for your mortgage? We can...” before she realized she was going to throw up and hung up.

  Victoria rushed to the kitchen sink and threw up the previous night’s dinner. She hung over the porcelain edge for several minutes, waiting for the waves of dizziness and nausea to pass. Just when she felt like she could stand, the phone rang again.

  She weaved her way to the phone and answered, “Hello?” There was a waver in her voice.

  “You okay? You don’t sound so good.”

  “I woke up sick this morning. Probably just a bug. I’m sure I’ll be better now that I threw up.”

  “All right. My flight got delayed, so I won’t be home until later tonight. You’ll need to have dinner ready an hour later or so.”

  “Yes, sir,” Victoria said, then numbly hung up the phone.

  By the time Dick arrived home that night, she had thrown up half a dozen more times and was lying miserably on the couch, too weak to move.

  She looked so poorly, Dick was afraid she might be dying, and quickly drove her to the emergency room. As the doctor examined her, she threw up again in a waste basket in the corner. He gave her a Promethazine suppository to stop the vomiting, which took effect quickly and gave her some relief.

  Victoria, despite being in her early twenties and essentially a married woman for a decade, was still an innocent in many ways. The doctor was not. While he had her there, he took some blood so he could run another test and asked Dick and Victoria to wait there in the exam room.

  For the purposes of the hospital visit, the doctor had been told that Victoria was Dick’s daughter. When the doctor returned half an hour later, Victoria was already feeling a little better, sitting up, ready to return home.

  “Feeling better?” the doctor asked?

  Victoria, looking down at the floor, nodded.

  “Good. Well.” The doctor shifted from one foot to another. “I never know if this is good news or not, but I’ve found the cause of your nausea. You’re pregnant.”

  Victoria’s eyes widened and the color drained from her face, but she did not lift her eyes.

  “Are you sure, doctor? That should be impossible.” Dillon’s voice was strained.

  “There’s always a chance of a false positive, even with a blood serum test, but it’s highly unlikely, especially given her other symptoms—tender breasts and abdomen, vomiting.” The doctor cleared his throat. “Well, there it is. I’ve written a prescription for more of the suppositories if the vomiting should return after this one wears off.” He tore a sheet off his prescription pad and handed it to Dick, then hurried out of the room.

  Dillon roughly grabbed Victoria and pulled her off the table. “Get your ass in the car,” he whispered, his breath foul and hot in her ear.

  It was a quiet drive back to the house they had shared for ten years. The wheels of Victoria’s mind spun, but could find no purchase. Pregnant. As surreptitiously as possible, she moved her hand to her stomach. Pregnant!

  Back at home, Dillon opened the passenger door and dragged her up the steps and into the house. As soon as the door closed behind him, he threw her down on the floor.

  “You are impure. A Jezebel. Whore!” His voice grew louder with each word. He aimed a vicious kick at her midsection, but Victoria rolled on her side and absorbed the kick in her back. She cried out in pain.

  If I lay here. He will kill me this time. He will kick me until I’m dead.

  With a wince, she scrambled onto all fours and crawled away from him. She reached the couch and pulled herself up on all fours.

  He was on her, raining his fists down on her head and shoulders, knocking her to her knees again.

  “Stop!” she cried, holding an arm up to ward off the worst of the blows. She stumbled backward and fell across the couch. She looked up into his face, distorted with anger, tiny flecks of spittle clinging to his lower lip.

  “This is your grandchild.”

  The truth of her words, and the realization of what that meant, pushed him beyond anger to insane rage. He fell on her, straddled her, and wrapped his hands around her throat. His lips pulled back from his teeth as he used every bit of strength he had to choke her to death.

  Victoria pushed back, gasping for breath, but she was already weak and could feel her remaining strength draining from her.

  She thought of her baby, so incredibly tiny, but already growing inside her.

  Please, God. I don’t care about me, but save my baby. Please.

  It was her final conscious thought as Dick Dillon choked her until she died.

  VICTORIA WOKE UP TO a telephone ringing loudly.

  What? Where am I?

  Her hands went to her throat, but there were no bruises. She swung her feet out of bed and realized she was nauseous. And that damned phone won’t quit ringing.

  She ran to the phone, paying for the effort with an increased wave of sickness in every step. She grabbed the phone and said, “Yes?”

  A recorded voice said, “Are you paying too much for your mortgage? We can save you thousands of dollars over the life of...” before she slammed the phone down.

  At that moment, she remembered everything. The throwing up, the doctor’s visit, Dick killing her. She looked wildly around, but was alone in the house.

  What in the hell happened? The last thing I remember is him straddling me, choking me, and then ... and then, I died. I know it. But, here I am. How is that possible?

  The phone rang again, and she picked it up and said, “What now?”

  Dick Dillon’s voice came from the other end of the line. “Whoa, now. We’ve talked about the proper way to answer the phone. I know it’s not a business, but sometimes clients call me at home, too, and we’ve got to treat them professionally.”

  “Huh? What?”

  “Are you okay? You don’t sound well.”

  “I’m not well. I’m sick. In fact, I think I’m about to throw up. I’m going to go.”

  “Just wanted to let you know my flight got delayed, so you’ll need to delay dinner ... “

  Victoria dropped the phone back in its cradle with a clatter and ran to the kitchen sink, where she threw up dinner from the night before.

  There should be nothing left to throw up. I threw it all up yesterday. What the hell is going on? And why is he calling, acting like everything is normal?

  Victoria’s hand dropped to her stomach. I’m alive. I’m pregnant. I’m living the same day over again. I don’t know how, and it doesn’t matter. I’m going to get the hell out of here. Now.

  She retrieved the money hidden in her closet that Derek had left her, grabbed a suitcase, threw a few clothes in, and ran to the garage. She stopped at the doorway to the garage to throw up again, but didn’t bother to stop to clean it up. She paused and looked back into the house.

>   Anything else I want to take? Her eyes swept the kitchen, the door to the bedroom, the living room.

  Nope.

  Dick thought she couldn’t go anywhere in the Mercury, because he took what he thought was the only key when he left town, but Victoria had made a copy of it two years before. She tossed her suitcase in the backseat and slid behind the wheel. She turned the key, trying to remember the last time it had been started.

  The motor was sluggish, but eventually it turned over. She took a deep breath, put the car in reverse, and backed out of the garage, leaving the garage door open.

  She drove straight to Highway 73, turned an hour south to Floodwood. When she looked at the gas gauge for the first time it was pegged past empty. She coasted into a Shell station on fumes, filled the tank, and picked up a road atlas, blowing a necessary part of her small resources.

  Her nausea returned in a sudden tidal wave and she barely had a chance to open the door before she vomited again. She stopped at a small drug store, bought a bottle of Pepto Bismol and chugged a quarter of the bottle with a grimace. Nothing else for it. I’ve got to keep going.

  She sat behind the wheel, considering. Got to be smart about this. Where to? Derek, I guess. It’s what I was going to do anyway. Can he protect me from his father, though? Would he kill both of us? Will he believe me that he already killed me once and I woke up just fine? Let’s not worry about that.

  She connected with Interstate 35 and drove straight through until the needle on the gas tank once again approached empty. By then, she was in Iowa. Victoria filled up again, realized how little money she actually had, and began to cry.

  She cried until she was done. That’s it. No more. It’s not just me. This little person inside of me is relying on me now.

  She drove until she was too drowsy to go on, then found a rest area and pulled over.

  Should have brought a blanket. I’ve got to start planning things out better.

  Victoria opened the suitcase, found the warmest clothes she had brought, and put them on over what she was wearing, then bundled up in her coat and sat back down behind the steering wheel. She had a hard time relaxing, with people parking and moving around her, but eventually she began to drift off to sleep.