Out THere

Ray Dragon’s writing career had fallen on hard times. Ray was running dry after the relative success of his first book, Loving Them Madly. This is a fictional account of serial killer Simeon Beckwith’s horrific murders of young women near the Oberlin College campus. He also wrote a few travel articles for This Our World, in which the only traveling he did was over a mouse pad. Unfortunately, the magazine failed before any royalties were paid.

So, when his agent, Becky Schimmel, called with a new gig, she got Ray’s full attention. “Ray, I’m not going to sugarcoat this. I’m not. This is near the bottom, Ray, but look at it as a ladder. You move up one rung at a time, and you eventually reach the top. One rung at a time, Ray, that’s all, one at a time.” She paused, waiting. “Ray…are you there?”

“Becks, this sucks.”

“I didn’t say it didn’t. But, believe me, Ray, I’ve been trying my heart out for you.”

“Okay, lay it on me.”

“It’s not that bad, Ray. It’s called Out There. It’s all about time travel. They plan to start slowly with an anticipated run every two months. But, they’re confident of going monthly before the end of the year as their subscription base expands. Also, Ray, they plan to do author profiles and public events where you’ll be seen and heard.”

“How ‘bout paid?”

“That too, they promised.”

“I’ll try it, Becks. Maybe you can reduce your commission; that would help.”

“Can’t do that, Ray. My cat has a seasonal allergy, and the medicine is costly. I will email you a contract, Ray? Sign and scan it back to me. Ta.”

“Send it.”

Ray settled back and stared at the blank screen before him, waiting for the contract and more information about Out There. He poured another coffee before the return from Becky finally arrived.

Horsefly Publications announces a new bi-monthly online magazine offering a truly unique insight into time travel. First-person accounts of their extraterrestrial journeys will be featured in each issue, as well as tips to enhance your chances of inter-planetary encounters. In addition, articles prepared by some of the world’s most talented writers will expand your imagination to the breaking point…

“What a crock of shit!” Ray was laughing so hard he spilled coffee on his Doomsday Invaders tee shirt. He reviewed the submission guidelines deciding, “I can do this in my sleep.” Ray scanned the signed contract back to Becky, never realizing the shit he had just stepped into.

###

Ray never looked gift horses in the mouth. So, when an invitation to a posh party arrived, he was only too happy to reply. The thought of hobnobbing with the Chicago elite squeezed out any notion of, “Is this a mistake?”

He had his suit dry cleaned and bought a nice dress shirt with a subtle pinstripe at the Goodwill resale outlet, along with a tie sporting an impressive-looking crest. His shoes were almost new and a little too black to work well with his light tan suit, but they complemented his hair.

Ray took the cross-town bus and got off two blocks before the exclusive Lakeshore address. He showed the invitation to the skeptical doorman, who failed to touch his hat brim as he was doing for the other guests. Ray went to a back corner of the elevator and was ignored by the other people as it lifted smoothly to enter a private lobby where guests were greeted by a maître d’.

Casually tapping the invitation into his left hand, Ray passed inspection and was allowed into the apartment. The opulence of this spread was stunning, something Ray couldn’t imagine in his wildest dreams. It was owned by a hedge fund executive named Cecil Lupinski and his much younger wife. Ray headed for the bar, and a Martini expertly mixed by a man wearing a short white jacket and black bow tie.

No one paid attention to Ray as he stood against the wall, scanning the room—and saw her. He asked for another Martini and carried that toward the wall of windows. And so, the adventure begins.

###

Becky Shimmel had been widowed twice in less than six years of marriage. There were no children. At age thirty-one, Becky was cresting on the proceeds from her husband’s estates. She was on top of her game. And being a literary agent was the latest game. The first thing that came to mind when she met Ray Dragon at a penthouse party on Lakeshore Boulevard.

She was attracted to Ray by his name, by the unruly black curls and his unbridled enthusiasm. She had fun with Ray and would keep him alive for that purpose.

Ray spotted her at the far side of the room by the balcony sliders, holding an empty stem glass and staring blankly over the high-rise skyline. She was tall, even taller than he, with her spiky heels. She 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 approached with two glasses in his hands. “Hi, I’m Ray; I thought you might like a refill.”

“Thank you, Mr. Dragon, that’s very kind of you.”

Surprised, Ray stumbled out, “How did you know my name.”

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

Ray blushed and said, “I didn’t realize my fame was so apparent. Please call me, Ray.”

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

###

Years ago, her mother had a heart-to-heart, birds and bees, discussion with her teenage daughter. Becky was fascinated with sexual intrigue and men. But, above all, her mother stressed that she should remain aloof and let them grovel on her terms. “In short, my daughter, follow the money and never let them see you sweat.”

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

She first saw Ray Dragon on a local access TV channel when he was interviewed by a young girl as part of her achievement badge requirement in Girl Scouts. Becky was initially attracted to this man by his naiveté--no one could be that simple. She arranged a party and included Ray Dragon as a guest against her husband’s futile wishes. However, she had grown increasingly tired of Cecil. It was time to move on.

###

Becky sensed Ray’s approach without turning to face him. And when she accepted the offered Martini and thanked him, she was gratified with the evident shiver he felt as his fingers brushed her cold hand. She nodded slightly and looked directly into his eyes, “Thank you, Mr. Dragon, that’s very kind of you,” and began to weave her web.

After some small talk, she drained her glass, placed it on a passing tray, and abruptly said, “I’m sleepy now and will be retiring for the night. Please contact me regarding your writing. I’m a literary agent and could represent you to a successful career, be sure to meet my husband before you leave.” Ray had several more martinis, and 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. Screaming frantically for most of the eighteen-story fall.

It was not until a week after Cecil Lupinski’s death that Ray learned the details in a newspaper.

Lupinski, Cecil Dominic, age 79, fell to his death from his penthouse apartment at 37110 Lakeshore Blvd. Police investigators say he may have suffered a dizzy spell after a night of drinking alone. He is survived only by a sister, Mrs. Grace Barton of Winnetka. Anyone wishing to offer condolences is advised to send contributions in Mr. Lupinski’s name to the Sierra Club.

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

Becky was busy that week and not able to meet Ray and completely erase his memory. Therefore, Ray was left with snippets of doubt. He had the tangible card and was sure he had been somewhere drinking. She was tall and beautiful. Beyond that, everything else was fuzzy. “What the…give her a call.”

Ray was nobody’s fool, just a little confused. She answered his call on the third ring. He said, “Mrs. Lupinski, hello…it’s Ray Dragon, Mrs….”

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

“Mrs…Becky…we met somewhere, I can’t actually recall where, but I have your card. I 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 kind of 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.” Becky punched the air, trying not to laugh.

“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 literary agent…I mean…that’s all.”

“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. Then, after a few moments, she made the appointment that would seal Ray’s fate, “Will next Wednesday, the tenth, work for you…11:30 at Mario’s…do you know where it is... Then, of course, lunch will be on me.”

“Sounds great,” Ray tried again. “I’ll wear my tan suit, the one I wore to the party.”

“Have we met before?”

###

The lunch date went well, and there begins the rest of the story. Ray stood and pulled out her chair after the meal, the coffee, and a shared crème Brule. 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 just where.

“It’s really my pleasure,” She said while picking up the check. “I’d like to meet with you in your home so we can comfortably 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 left while Ray was rooted to the floor as if he’d been tasered.

What just happened? As Ray walked down Arnold Avenue past the Olde Tobacco Shoppe and the Cuban bodega, he had a strange feeling of uncertainty. A dreamlike sense that everything that just happened had not happened at all. At the intersection of 33rd Street, Ray 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 was not done with him yet.

###

Ray was in love. He bought some light French pastry and some dark French Roast coffee. He checked the bathroom twice before two o’clock 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 1920’s flapper. The amount of fabric in her dress was barely legal. The scent of her perfume made his head swim.

Ray had practiced his 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 had to be done but was gratified by the shiver in his shaking hand as she held it a few seconds longer. Her eye contact backed him up, and he nearly tripped over the coffee table set with the pastries on a dinner plate covered with aluminum foil.

She asked Ray about his work without needing to see some examples. She 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, then kissed him on the cheek and shivered his soul. Downstairs, Becky pressed a tissue to her eyes; she was laughing so hard.

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, and this time the tears were real.

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, searching Google for the information that would change his life.

Becky suddenly realized she was sitting in the dark, feeling a little buzzed. The bottle of Pinot Grigio was nearly empty. She fired up the remote and sat there in the glow of the large wall-mounted, muted flat screen and replayed her new emotion. This she had heard about but never thought would happen to her. It was called love.

###

Ray’s Google searches began to pay off. First, he visited blogs of people who had reportedly experienced time travel. Then, he focused on a site offered by Parnell Williams, who not only had the experience but was willing to chat 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 strong lady…I remember when

I…”

“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, becoming 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 actually did experience 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. I was there for seven days. I’d fallen off the roof of my barn. Doc says I’m lucky to be alive. Says I may have scrambled my brain a little. Ya know, like an omelet.”

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

“That’s when I met the Queen.”

“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 don’t remember much 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 chest.

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

Ray dropped the phone and clutched at his shirt collar, gasping for air. He felt like he was going underwater. How could this man know this—this 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, talking 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 his hands.

###

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 not sure 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 and sat there with a bad feeling. She had encountered something like this once before. Powers more extraordinary than hers had interfered in a relationship with a young artist when she was a gallery owner. She replayed that scene looking for answers. That man also was young and good-looking, not a bad artist, and she thought he’d be fun for a while.

He was a man willing to sell his soul to please an attractive woman. She thought it was funny at the time and led him on until she was done with him. These memories now collided with her present. She had experienced new emotions then but was unable to fully understand their power. Now, in her relationship with Ray and the first bloom of love, she was determined to save him.

Ray was waiting at the door and opened it on the first scratch of her fingernails. She returned as a redhead, thinking he preferred that and let her hair grow long overnight. She was dressed in a skimpy black sheath and wearing turquoise lipstick. Ray was in a sleeveless undershirt, torn jeans, bare feet, and a three-day growth of beard…looking scared.

When she entered the room, she could see the turmoil in the space that had previously been so neat. There was no pastry, and Ray had run out of coffee. She had an overwhelming urge to hold him. “Sit down, Ray; let’s talk about this.”

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

Ray jumped back, startled by her touch, expecting the chill of her hands. Instead, he felt softness and warmth. When her lips met his, the heat went to his toes.

Becky kept her hands framing his face, “I want you to stop writing.”

Ray heard her words but didn’t understand.

“I want you to get away from Out There. I want you to redirect to this dimension, and I’ll help you do that.” Ray still 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 in place. Then, when she got to the door, she turned and said, “I will set you free.”

At the sidewalk, Becky turned right, tears streaming down her face. She walked quickly to the corner of 33rd Street and stepped in front of a speeding Uber.