The Teleporting Man

I had this request from a client on Freelancer.com which I would like to share here as part of my portfolio. The request stated “Please write a story of a character who can teleport but only to places he had deep connection with. I want at least 5 such places he teleports and they must have big significance.” There were no restrictions outside this (aside from a 5000 word limit), he just had to teleport. Now immediately I thought of the movie Jumper, but the problem that being able to teleport everywhere is that there is no real issue that you can not get out of. Okay so in Jumper they had the hunter dudes that used special tasers to stop the Jumpers from jumping, but that would turn it into an action piece and the client was looking for 5000 words. There was no space to flesh out a massive backstory of conflict, besides, I really did not what to write something so cliche. I have a couple of go two friends, who read a lot of sci-fi and fantasy, who I can go to with the topic to get the creative juices flowing. They are great sounding boards that I usually just ask “tell me everything you think of when I talk about x y z”, and BOOM the story begins to form. Its a great way to identify quickly the cliche and the boring while understanding what people expect from whatever the topic is.

Anyway I hope you enjoy this story. I had fun writing it, though maybe one day I will go back and re write the ending. Enjoy!

Lynda Hansen was nervous. As she walked along the corridor of the hospital, she found herself mentally checking the contents of her satchel for the tenth time. It’s just an interview, she thought to herself as she stopped short of the nurses station. In an effort to calm herself Lynda took a moment to look around. The walls of this hospital were all the same egg shell white colour, occasionally broken by bulletin boards containing a seemingly contrast display of varied health posters and notices, faded by time. The facade gave the whole place an eerie calm. I hope that’s not a telling sign, she sighed under her breath. Shrugging her shoulders, she gathered her resolve and approached the nurses station. Behind the desk sat an older woman wearing light blue scrubs, it was the same as the other nurses, however this woman seemed to give off an authoritative vibe. Peering over the desk, Lynda could see that this nurse had additional symbols on her identification badge which was currently clipped to her ample chest. Must be the head nurse, thought Lynda and she cleared her throat to get the woman’s attention. The woman glanced up at the young woman standing across the desk from her, and gave her a look over the rim of her glasses, which Lynda could see were too thin for her full rounded face. “Can I help you?” the nurse asked, in a tone that suggested she really did not want to be interrupted from what she was doing.
“Ah yes,” replied Lynda clearing her throat again, “I am looking for Timothy Gallagher’s room.” Lynda did not have very much to go on. The message that summoned here to this place, two hours away from her city studio apartment and two hours out of her comfort zone, had only given her the hospital name and the name of the patient to speak to.
“Are you immediate family?” the nurses tone suggested to answer no, was going to cause some issue, but Lynda had no choice.
“No,” she answered her voice shaking a little, “But I am a friend.” Lynda never liked this part, interacting with people in person. She much preferred it if she could do it from the comfort of her chair in front of her computer screen. People always seemed easier to deal with when it was through email or a messenger app. It was also easier to lie to get information that you wanted. On the Internet Lynda could pretend to be anyone, in the real world Lynda had to pretend to be herself.
The nurse rolled her chair around the desk to get a better view of the young girl who had interrupted her already busy day. She looked her over with a discerning stare before pointing to a row of seats which were lined up against a wall nearby. “Please wait over there, someone will come get you shortly.” She finally said.
Lynda spun on her heel and walked quickly over to the row of seats which she had been directed to and sat down. The butterflies were back in her stomach. Time seemed to slow down as she waited to be seen. Time which she spent reading the various faded signs and posters which she could see. Signs which directed the reader to mental health services, posters that graphically showed the symptoms of the latest rash going around and, Lynda’s personal favourite, posters which detailed the way to help someone in the event they were choking. Wow, was the only thought that ran through Lynda’s mind.
After what seemed like an eternity she was approached by another, younger, nurse. “Are you the girl here to see Timothy Gallagher?” she asked, before Lynda could respond the nurse added, “If you would like to follow me.” The nurse lead Lynda through a set of double doors, which had required a swipe card to access, and down a similar coloured corridor from the one she just came from. This one did not have as many posters or bulletin boards, but was instead lined with blue doors either side. Each door displayed a white board with, what Lynda could only presume, had the patients name written on it. There were also windows on each door, the glass was see through, but reinforced with wiring. The nurse in front of her stopped and turned to face a door whose white board read ‘Gallagher’, and using her ID badge on an access panel next to the door frame, opened the door for Lynda. Lynda hesitantly stepped into the room, unsure what she would find. “If you need anything, just let me know,” the nurses voice sounding kind in the stale environment. She closed the door leaving Lynda in the room. Looking around the walls were more of the off shell white that the others had been. The room was big enough for four beds however only currently one was set up on the far side of the room from the door. It was partially obscured with a plastic hospital curtain. A realization struck Lynda. “There are no windows,” she said under her breath. Her voice, while a whisper, sounded loud in the silence of the room.
“That’s to stop us from trying to escape,” came a voice from behind the curtain. Lynda stepped farther into the room and came into view of a man in his mid-thirties wearing a hospital gown lying on the bed. “You must be Lynda Hansen, thank you for coming.” His voice was calm, even charming.
“Timothy Gallagher, ah, yes hello,” Lynda stepped closer to the man and extended her hand to shake his before realizing that his were strapped, bound by thick leather bands, to the bed. “I, oh, sorry.” She shyly took back her hand.
“They are for my own protection, apparently,” Timothy said, nodding to his restraints. “Apparently I am a danger to myself.”
The butterflies in Lynda’s stomach were back, and this time they were threatening to take control of her feet to turn and leave. Lynda took in a deep breath and looked the man over. Timothy’s head and facial hair was in need of a trim, though not overly long, it was clear he had not shaved in some time. In the florescent light of the hospital room, his eyes appeared a dull green and skin looked as though it had not seen the sun in some time. To Lynda he was nothing like the bold, strapping man that she had come to think of him as. A million questions started running through her mind and she found herself at a loss on where to start. Timothy broke the silence.
“I heard you were looking for me, wanting to do a blog report on the teleporting man,” he looked at her with smirk, “or what was it you were calling me? The ‘Bamphing man’?” There was humour in his voice.
“I just did not know you existed,” Lynda replied, she was feeling a little shocked. So much so that she could feel scepticism start to seep in. It was beginning to fill her with confidence. “I mean, I know that you existed, just you are not …” she trailed off.
“What you expected,” he said finishing her sentence for her. “Tell me, how many of your cryptoids that you blog about have you actually seen?”
Again Lynda was uneasy. Her cryptozoology blog was popular among conspiracy theorists and some seemingly unstable characters. She was beginning to think that her journalist friend was right, that she should not have come. Was he one of them? Well he is tied to the bed, she rationalized to herself. Realizing that she had not answered his question she replied, “um, none in person.”
“Well I can tell you this Lynda, I am the real thing. I promise you that.” She could tell he was trying his best to convince her with his tone.
“Why me? Why now? The message I received provided no detail.” As she asked, her initial apprehension was now melting away.
“I wanted to test to see how much of a curious mind you have. I needed to be sure of that, what I am about to talk to you about, will be taken seriously. I got the feeling from your blog that you, on some level, believe in the existence of things that you cannot see, hear, smell or taste.” His voice started to become horse, as if he was not used to speaking so often. He attempted to clear his throat with a cough. “Do you mind?” he indicated towards a plastic jug of water that was sitting on a bench off to one side. Lynda went over, poured it into two soft plastic cups she found nearby and, in one, placed a plastic straw which was also nearby. She made her way back to the side of the bed, only this time she decided to sit down next to him on a chair set up for visitors. She held up the cup with the straw from which he took a long drink. This gave her a moment to clear her mind of her initial reaction to the situation and gather her thoughts for her questions.
“Thank you,” Timothy said after finishing a fourth mouthful. “So are you open to hearing my story?”
Lynda placed the now half empty cup on the table that had been rolled across the bottom of the bed. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t,” Lynda answered honestly. “I just have never met a cryptoid before, but then again I guess if you are who you say you are then you are not really a cryptoid.”
He let out a small laugh. “I guess you are right, but for my tale I could not find anyone else who could piece it together like you could, so here we are.”
“Where would you like to start?” Lynda asked, she then remembered her Dictaphone in her satchel, fishing it out she held it up, “Do you mind?”
“Whatever will help you to get the story down, I don’t mind,” he replied.
Lynda place the device next to the cup on the table and moved it up the bed, closer to his person. She now regretted not bringing her camera, if this guy was the real deal then she should have had the forethought to get some footage as evidence, she cursed herself. She hit the record button and the device quietly whirred away.
“So,” she started, “I am here with Timothy Gallagher, the teleporting man. Or should I say the Bamphing man?” she looked towards the recording device to recheck it was on.
“Bamphing man, I did like that one,” he replied. “Very comic book. But unfortunately, it’s not like the comics.” His tone turning sombre. “And you can call me Tim.”
“Ok Tim,” the shortened name adding to her comfort levels, “How about we start with the basics, when did it start?”
“It started when I was twelve years old, up until then there was nothing. When you are that age and you wake up one day and you have a pimple, you freak out. Well this was like waking up with an unwanted limb that, like an extra arm.” Tim flexed his wrists against his bindings and stared at the foot of the bed.
“So around puberty?” Lynda asked.
“You know what? This would go a lot easier if I just tell you the story and then you ask your questions at the end. Might be easier you know?” It was more of a statement on his part rather than a question.
“Ah OK sure,” Lynda scrambled about in her satchel for her notepad and pen, turning to a blank page, “Sorry, go on.” She said.
“Well,” Tim began, “Like I said, I was twelve years old. I had a normal childhood up until then. Well actually I can’t really say that. I had a pretty normal childhood. My father left me and my Mom when we were really young. I never knew him, and my Mom never talked about him. We lived in the suburbs, in a township where everyone knew everyone. So I grew up hearing from some of the older folks that my Mom had ‘slept with the devil’. That’s hard on a kid you know?” Tim looked at Lynda with a reassuring smile, “It’s not all bad though, as cliché as that sounds. My Mom had a pretty good job at the local bank and so we never suffered financially or anything like that.
“Aside from the no Dad thing my childhood was normal. I had friends who I hung out with, rode bike with, played video games with. I had my Mom’s parents, Gramgram and Poppop who we would spend every Christmas with at their house in the woods. I loved it there. Such great memories in both summer and winter. I guess it was as good a place for it to all start.”
Tim took a deep breath before continuing.
“It was a Thursday. Isn’t that weird that I can remember the day like it was yesterday, but I cannot remember where I was last week? Anyway, it was a Thursday in autumn. The world was full of golds, reds and browns and I was just finishing up at school for the day. I rode my bike to school every day; we all did back then, but that day of all days my Mom asked if I could pick up some milk on the way home. The convenience store was a little out my way but I didn’t mind. When I came out of the store I ran into the school bully, Mikey, and his goons. I was pushed off my bike and onto the ground. I remember them standing over me and laughing as I had landed on my backpack and the milk was seeping into my clothes. Mikey reached down to grab me and I closed my eyes in anticipation for the inevitable punch. But it never came. I found myself suddenly falling.”
Tim looked towards Lynda who was staring wide eyed at him, pen and paper in her hand. “You know that feeling sometimes you get when you drift off to sleep and you feel like you are falling, only for your body to jerk you out of your sleep in a panic? It’s like that.” Tim gave her a smile before returning to his story.
“Only I didn’t jerk awake. The world around me was suddenly filled with a shadow parody of itself. For a brief moment, this place I found myself falling through was like distorted version of reality. Everything seemed to shift and move like a solid mist in a hundred shades of gray. I was glancing at the sky which had the appearance of a box of melted crayons. There was no noise, just, have you ever been to a concert and stood too close to the speaker then afterwords you are walking down the street and everything seems muted? It was like that.
“I then hit the ground hard and had the wind knocked out of me. I looked up and found myself staring at the tops of trees in some woods. I lay there, alone in the woods by myself for what seemed to be an eternity before the pain in my back went away, and sound returned to my ears. As it turned out I was in the woods behind my Grandparents house, next to a fort which I played in when I was young. I was scared, any kid would be. One moment I was surrounded by a bunch of older kids about to beat my ass for no reason other than kicks and next I am in the woods, twenty minutes away from anywhere.”
Tim let out a chuckle at the memory.
“I was freaked out, so I stayed there in my shelter overnight. I can tell you by the morning, sleeping in clothes covered in spilt milk, it wasn’t pleasant. I sparked a man hunt that night as I was too scared to go home, and it was not like I could just call my Mom, I didn’t have a phone. When they did find me I didn’t know what to tell them. Mikey and his gang were just as freaked out as I was, if not more so. They didn’t say anything either and in fact I don’t recall them bullying me after that.”
“So that is how it started?” Lynda felt like she should ask a question at this point, but feared interrupting Tim would break his train of thought.
“Yeah,” Tim replied, “That’s how it started. It didn’t happen again until three months later. It was coming up spring then and I was being a reckless youngster, as my Poppop would say. I was riding my bike through a construction yard. See there was this great big pile of dirt and clay which I thought would make for a really cool jump. So thinking no-one was around I rode my bike really fast up one side, however when I landed I started to slide down the other side. Right into the path of an oncoming dump truck that happened to be carrying more dirt and clay. Once again I panicked, there was that feeling of falling, the world and sky changing color and boom. I ended up in the wood out the back of my Grandparents again. This time I had landed with my bike under me, so no massive call out and man hunt this time. I just rode home. I got one hell of a scolding from Mom that night. It was then I decided to try to work out how this thing works.”
Lynda finished up a thought in her notebook then looked back at Tim. “Did you ever tell anyone else about what happened?”
“Who do you tell?” he replied, “My friends though it was crazy, my Mom would never believe me and besides it was a fun little secret all for me.”
Lynda made another note, “So what did you do?” she asked.
“Well what does anyone do when they wake up with an extra limb, they see what they can do with it. Initially I started small, like climbing a tree and jumping off. That didn’t have a lot of success. I needed to find out what the trigger was. So I began jumping the fence into the scrap yard at the edge of town. There was a dog there that would attack anyone who got near it. That’s how I got this.” Tim kicked the hospital blankets off his left leg to reveal a largely scared calf muscle that had long healed. “Yeah, turns out that doing it doesn’t prevent injury.” Lynda stared at the leg finding it both fascinating and revolting. Seeing it was a distraction, Tim moved his leg back under the blanket.
“But,” continued Tim seemingly proud, “it was not in vain. After about six months of practice I was able to control the fall and the feeling. I was then able to explore the world in which I fell into. God I was naive back then. I didn’t understand the dangers.” Tim stared once again at the foot of the bed, regret filled his eyes, the pride that was building in his voice had vanished. “But we will get to that,” he said.
“One of the first things I did when I learned to control it was, of all things, try to find my father. I thought that if I could find him I could maybe understand this better. The only thing I had of his was a single old photograph I found one day when I was eight going through Moms stuff in her closet hunting Christmas presents. Over time in my attempt to learn how to use the ability, I found that I could locate objects and people in the world of shadow and then appear next to them in the real world when I came back. In my mind I could do the same thing with my father, except every time I did I would end up in front of a grave with the name ‘Cassius Graham’ on it. I asked Mom once if the name meant anything to her and she changed the subject pretty fast. It appeared to hurt her, so I didn’t push anymore.”
Lynda’s mind was a blur with an overload of information and questions, she was glad she was recording this as she was sure she would not be able to remember it all later. Lynda closed her eyes for a moment in an attempt to capture the first question that would sit still in her mind for a moment. “What’s it like?” she eventually asked.
“It’s like,” he began, snapping back to the now. “It’s like traveling through the world made of emotion. I eventually learned that if I had an emotional desire to be someplace then that is where I would end up. While for the world it was instantaneous and no time passes, for me it was like traveling through a dream. The world becomes a blur. I travelled over cities, lakes, forests in minutes. They appeared to me as shadows and patterns. I found that I could almost see people as physical emotions, from afar it was like a heat map, up close it was like looking at hundreds of lava lamps. And the sky. Have you ever seen pictures of a nebula taken from the Hubble space telescope? The sky is like that except constantly moving.”
He paused for a moment and Lynda made a move to grab his water for him. “No, its ok,” he said in a reassuring tone, “You just had a look on your face that reminded me of hers when I first told her.”
Lynda mentally checked herself, did she have a weird expression? She gave him a polite smile. “You told someone?”
“More than told,” he replied, “showed.” The statement hung in the air for moment, begging to be expanded upon. Tim sighed deeply before continuing.
“I was in my early twenties. I had the opportunity to go to London and around England as part of a volunteer youth outreach camping experience that my Mom had signed me up for. I had been ‘bamphing’ around for about six or seven years by that point. I had travelled all around the states, but I had not yet crossed any of the oceans. Anyway, over in England it turned out to be incredibly boring. It wasn’t that London was boring, just having to hang out with a bunch of thirteen and fourteen year olds when you are twenty two is not nearly as much fun as it sounds. So being a bit rebellious I would sneak away in the evenings when the kids were all settled in for the night. Naturally I wanted to see Europe a little, even if it was just at night to begin with.”
Tim’s tone once again saddened, he seemed to wince as if the memory physically pained him. “I when to Paris first. I mean who wouldn’t right? It was the closest European city that I could comfortably get to. I spent several evenings experiencing the Parisian student night life and that’s when I met Claire. Claire Devereux. Claire was the first, and last, person I shared my secret with,” he paused for a moment. “That is until now.”
“What made her special?” the words quietly slipping from Lynda’s mind. She instantly regretted it, feeling like the words themselves stole something away from Tims’ memory.
Tim gave her a sad smile. “Everything,” he answered. “She was full of life, her smile lit my world, her hair was a golden blond, her eyes a deep blue. We instantly connected. I have never had that with anyone else in my life, but I felt with her, I could share everything. Naturally I spent as much time with her as I could. I would always appear in the Square des Arenes de Lutece up the road from her apartment at the Crous student accommodation. For her I gave up my planned time going around the other parts of Europe, initially anyway.
“By that time I had learned to be able to take various sized objects with me when I travelled through the other place. I know it sounds bad but in the early days I had even experimented with the family cat, until I could no longer explain to my Mom why the cat was scratching me so much. But her I wanted to show her everything. So at the end of my time in England, I decided that I wanted to stay on for a holiday for a while. I had made enough money to make it look like I could afford to stay, where in reality I decided to take Claire traveling around Europe, Tim style. And we did. I made Claire close her eyes when we travelled as I did not want her to panic and get separated from me. But no matter, she took it all in stride. We became so close as we travelled to Prague, Venice, Berlin, Amsterdam and even Saint Petersburg in Russia. Every couple of days we would travel back to her place in Paris, it really was something special.”
A tear escaped his eye and rolled down his face. Lynda wanted to reach out and hug him but restrained herself. Tim let it fall onto the blanket and continued his story.
“That was when the trouble started.” Anger creeping into his voice now. “Or at least that’s when I took notice. I guess I took for granted this ability to slip between the fabric of reality and enter a world of pure emotion. Up until that point I clearly did not respect the nature of that world, what my being there did to it. I did not respect the denizens.” Again Tim paused. He closed his eyes, trying to find the words to describe what it was he was trying to say. “They are, for the lack of better words, creatures made of the shadows of emotions. In a world of color and splendour akin to magic, they are its inhabitants. Maybe I ignored the warning signs, maybe I had seen them and not known what they were. Humans can barely understand their emotions let alone creatures born from their shadows.” It came on like a wave and anger took him. Lynda, having leaning in to hang on his every word, found herself jumping back and the sudden movement. The fear from earlier griping her as she watched Tim in frustration fight against his bonds. He trashed about the bed and Lynda moved the chair back, fearing that he might kick out and hit her. As he trashed his body became tense, veins and muscles popped and bulged. His neck became rigid and he was breathing through clenched teeth in short sharp breaths. Lynda stood, paralyzed with fear at the sight before her. In that fear she swore to herself that black smoke, only just visible to the naked eye, was rising from his form, drifting slowly toward the ceiling. Glancing around room for something, anything that would help, Lynda spied the emergency nurse call button. She made a move to push it. “No!” he exclaimed, teeth still clenched, spittle which had formed at the edge of his mouth flying everywhere, “Don’t.”
As quickly as it began, whatever had taken Tim stopped. He did not move, the only indication that he was alive was the shallow movement of his chest as be breathed, panting. He opened his mouth and inhaled a deep, dragging breath, holding it for a moment only to slowly release it. Tim repeated the process several times before his body began to calm down. Lynda returned to the chair, clutching her satchel in front of her as if to protect herself. Tim opened his eyes to look at her again. His once deep blue eyes, now blood shot and tear filled. Taking a few more deep breaths he finally spoke, “sorry about that, it’s getting worse.”
“What the hell was that?” Lynda stammered, the adrenaline was still running through her system and her hands were shaking.
“Sorry,” he repeated still focusing in his breathing, “That’s the result of the trouble.”
Lynda retrieved the pad and pen which she had inadvertently dropped in the confusion and checked to ensure that the recording device was still active. “So that trouble,” she began.
“Emotion triggers it,” Tim interrupting before she finished her question. His voice once again calm and quiet, “its why I’m talking to you now, as I fear I do not have long for this world.”
“OK,” Lynda did not want to press the man more than he was able to be, “Do you want to continue?”
“Yes,” Tim replied. “What I have seen and done, that is, I want my story to be heard.”
“Right then,” Lynda again tried no to push, “continue when you are ready.”
Lynda’s change in tone caused a smile to creep across Tims face. “OK then,” he began again, “right, the trouble.”
“So like I said, I had ignored the very possibility that there were denizens that did dwell in that place. I was young and stupid and in love. Well not always in love. Initially I was just young and naive, but at Twenty two I was definitely young, stupid and in love. I thought I was invincible with Claire at my side. So to impress her I push my ability further and further. Then one day we were lying on the bed in her apartment together and she asked ‘Do you think we could go somewhere new today?’ and being the guy I was I said ‘sure, you name the place and we can go there.’ I was thinking she meant somewhere like Euro Disney or Switzerland or something, but no. She wanted to go to Hawaii. I tried to explain to her that I had never travelled that far, but I could not say no to her. She had this way about her that made any and all trouble seem to disappear. Nothing was ever a problem for her, and any doubts I had were soon over ridden by my desire to impress her.”
Whatever had taken Tim before, there was no sign of it now as he continued his story.
“So we went to the other place, she was in my arms as always, and as we are traveling along the world seems to be getting darker and darker. I look for a place to return to the real world but we are over the ocean approaching the eastern seaboard. There is a sound I have never heard before, and continues to haunt me to this day. Its like a screech that resonates you to your very soul. Claire hears this and panics. Before we know it I can feel my flesh being carved away. Like a nightmare, there is no pain, only the ‘feeling’ that it is happening. Claire start screaming. In that place its like talking under water. Its muffled. Then she is gone from my grasp. There is more of the feeling of the removal of flesh and I start seeing these images, faces in the darkness. A wave of horror washes over me and I panic. I am suddenly falling and I hit something hard the wind gets knocked out of me and I am lying on solid ground. My senses return all I can hear is the sound of night insects, the feel of leaves under my head, the smell of damp wood.”
Tim pauses there. He lets out a sigh of resignation before he continues.
“I am back in the woods behind my Grandparents old house. My arms ache and looking down I can see these long claw marks, razor thin over my arms and legs. What is worse is I cannot find Claire. I had no idea where she was. I hunted around in the dark for hours, crying out into the night for her but there was no reply. The creatures took her from me.”
Looking at Tim, Lynda could not help but feel a sadness for him. Tears were welling up behind her eyes, she tried to blink the feeling away and they escaped down her cheeks.
“Over the years since then I have tried to find her. At least find out what happened to her. I have tried to fight them as well. How do you fight shadows? Everything I have tried has cost me a little more and now,” Tim lifted his bindings causing them to rattle against the side of the bed. “Now I am left with little time. At first that place was like a dream. Every time I go there now, every time I come across them, with their every touch, it’s beginning to feel like this is the dream.”
A heavy silence filled the room. It hung in the air before Lynda realized neither of them had said anything for the last ten minutes. Each dwelling on their own thoughts.
“Was there anything else you wanted to tell me?” Lynda asked, her voice seemed to echo, even though it was but a whisper.
“No I think I have covered it all.” As Tim replied he rested his head on his pillow and began to stare at the ceiling. “Thank you for your time Ms Hansen. I fear that we may never meet again.”
The shift in Tim’s mood since his episode worried Lynda as she gathered her recording device and moved to leave. She offered her goodbye but received nothing in response. Gathering that her time was done, Lynda left feeling as though she should have asked more questions, however there was a story here and Lynda was not going to let Tim down.

It was a couple of days later and Lynda Hansen was staring at her computer screen. Beside her a second cup of coffee for the evening was going cold. Since her time with Tim she had listened to the tape over and over again, in an attempt to find a way of making the story believable. To her the events of that visit were a dream. She did not remember much of the bus ride home, nor the time following. Staring at the blinking cursor that awaited her words, she was startled to attention when her phone rang. It was a private number, she answered hesitantly, “Hello?”
It was the hospital that she had met Tim. The lady on the end of the phone had a calming voice which seemed experienced in breaking bad news to people. “I am sad to say that Timothy Gallagher is no longer with us.”
Lynda did not know what to say, a numbness washed over her. “Thank you,” is all she could come up with before she simply hung up the call. Assuming the lady might call back, she put the phone on mute as she went to her kitchenette to fish out something stronger than coffee from above the fridge. Pouring herself a large glass of the brown liquor she returned to the seat in front of her computer. Lynda took a long sip from her glass, the liquid burning her throat slightly as it went down. She sighed and closed her eyes, she thought about Tims’ words, trying to imagine what a world of emotion would look like. As the liquid did its best to warm her from within she felt a shiver pass over her. Unseen by Lynda, behind her chair a small waft of smoke appears in her room before an entity wearing Tim’s’ face emerges from the other place.

Again hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to leave feedback.

Later days!