Losing Time

By DW Brown

After receiving a letter from the executor of his grandfather's estate, inviting him to the mansion where he grew up, Bryan Fleming leaves the small town of Pikeville, Kentucky and heads up north to Watertown, New York. En-route, he loses 90 minutes of time and upon pulling over to gather his wits, discovers a mysterious bag with money, a bloody knife, and gloves. He fears he has harmed someone, even murdered. Still, the pull of the much needed money forces him to hide the evidence and move on.

When he arrives in New York, he meets two other people set to receive a portion of the inheritance: Jonathan (who seems to greatly dislike him) and Sonya (a beautiful red head that he can't take his eyes off of). During the reading, they learn that they must stay together in the mansion for a year in order to receive their millions. Frustrated, but seeing no other option, they all agree. Bryan begins losing more and more time over the course of the next few weeks.

• Language: English
• Publisher: DW Brown
• Release date: Aug 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310273568

DW Brown

DW Brown was born in East Kentucky in the Appalachia foothills and joined the military right after graduating high school. He went to Austin Peay State University and received a Bachelor’s Degree in Sociology. After retiring from the Army after 20 years, he decided to pursue his dream of writing. He currently has four novels out at Amazon and Barnes and Noble: Lost Time (October 2012), Barter for Life (February 2013), Unconscious Lies (April 2013), and To Know Death (March 2014). He resides in Alabama with my wife and three girls.

Book preview

Chapter 1.

I’d been driving for about five hours headed for upstate New York, when realization set in that I’d somehow missed my planned exit for the Walmart Supercenter. Glancing down at the time on the stereo of my old truck, I also noticed that ninety minutes had elapsed.

Having been on a couple of smaller trips before where I’d somehow gotten caught up in my thoughts and lost some time, this was no huge surprise, but ninety minutes unaccounted for definitely was a big deal.

Pulling off to the side of the interstate, I struggled to recall what had happened to those ninety minutes. How could I have driven that long a distance, and not remember anything about it? What if I’d hit another car, or worse yet, ran over someone? Realizing my imagination was getting away from me, I decided to put it aside for now, and concentrate on the task at hand: food and gas.

Seeing the I-81 marker told me that I was still going in the right direction, but I desperately needed to pick up some snacks for the last three hours of my trip and gas up, again. If my old Chevy pickup truck got better gas mileage than twelve miles to the gallon, my wallet wouldn’t be taking such a big hit for the unexpected trip.

I took the next exit and doubled back along I-81 south, knowing I’d have to drive an additional twenty minutes out of my way, just to get back to the Walmart exit. But at this point my options were pretty much limited.

The trip from my small hometown of Pikeville, Kentucky to Watertown, New York was unexpected to say the least. After graduating from Mullins High School about four years ago, I took a dead end job working in the coal mines for Southeast Coal Company. The job paid well, but all around me people were calling in sick for knee and back injuries, and I’d already been involved in over three different cave-ins during my short time there. I knew right away there was no longevity in the field.

After putting in a long day at work, I opened the mailbox to a letter from the executor of my grandfather’s estate. The correspondence stated that the old man had passed and the reading of his will was in two months; it also said that I stood to inherit quite a substantial amount of the departed’ s estate.

My hopes soared at the thought of finding something a little less taxing on the body, and never having to work again would definitely fit the bill. Since the letter said nothing about how much might be coming my way, my thoughts ranged from new homes to luxurious sports cars, to thousands of dollars in the bank. Hey, if you’re going to dream, dream big, right?

From what I’d overheard from my mom, my grandfather had spent thirty years in the military, retired from that job and had spent another twenty-five years working on the same military base as a civilian, and retired from there as well.

Why the man would leave anything to me was a mystery, because I hadn’t seen him in forever. My mom had written him out of our lives when I was eight years old. According to my mom, Rose, my grandfather, William Johnson, was a rather eccentric old man, who only cared about himself and his money.

Mom told me that my grandmother, June, had died about fifteen years ago from the flu, cutting off the only communication we had with my grandparents. From what I’d gleaned from their phone conversations, June was the only reason my mom and my grandfather even had a relationship in the first place; when she passed, so did any bond between them. I often wondered what transpired between them to cause such a riff in their relationship.

Driving the extra distance with a less than enthusiastic disposition, I finally saw the big blue building off to my right and headed that way. I was behind schedule, and the gas gauge told me that I’d drifted way beyond that comfortable zone where you could still squeeze out a few extra miles. I’m not sure what was left in the tank after the fumes expired, but it was obvious that I was somewhere in that realm.

After gathering up my supplies and purchasing a fifty dollar gas card, I headed out to give my thirsty old truck a drink of the cheap stuff. I know some people swear by the higher octane fuel, but I’d watched my mom put in the 87 octane stuff for the past thirteen years and it worked just fine.

As I leaned against my old pickup truck, I noticed a small gym bag of sorts in my back seat. I wasn’t sure where it had come from, but I knew it hadn’t been there when I’d walked into the store.

I wracked my brain trying to figure out how the bag could’ve gotten inside my truck. Had someone dropped it off while I was in the store? Had someone mistakenly think they were putting it inside of their vehicle, and place it in mine, instead? I looked around the parking lot, but failed to see any other vehicles that looked like mine.

The previous owner of my old Chevy pickup had broken a key off inside the driver’s side door, so I hadn’t been able to lock them for the four years I’d owned the thing. It would’ve been easy for someone to place the bag in the back, but I hadn’t a clue as to who, or why.

Once the pumps clicked off, my curiosity got the better of me, so I opened the third door on the passenger side of my old truck, and hopped into the backseat. With a less than confident hand, I grabbed the zipper, pulled it back and peered inside.

What the…?

Inside the bag was a long knife which appeared to be covered in blood, a pair of rubber gloves, and over five thousand dollars, all in fifty dollar bills. The sight of all that blood caused me to spill out onto the ground like an upended ashtray.

The questions immediately assaulted my brain. Where did the bag come from? What was it doing in the back of my truck? Whose blood was all over everything?

Feeling a little silly, as everyone else fueling up alongside me turned to look in my direction, I decided it would be best to get back into my vehicle and make a hasty retreat.

As I turned back onto the I-81N ramp, the mystery overwhelmed my brain. I kept sneaking a peek into the rearview mirror, hoping the bag would magically disappear, or its real owner would appear. Either way, the thing consumed my thoughts.

The thing that scared me the most was, Did that knife and those gloves belong to me? Had I done something so terrible during those ninety minutes I couldn’t account for, and my conscience blocked it out?

Paranoia began to set in for the remainder of my trip. I started breaking out in cold sweats, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching me. My eyes searched all of my mirrors repeatedly, to verify that I wasn’t being followed, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary.

After battling with myself for the next two hours, I finally got up the nerve to stop at the next rest stop. Navigating the old truck into a secluded space on the backside of the joint, I sat with my head leaning against the steering wheel, trying to decide my next move. What are you going to do, Bryan? If you go the police, they will think you harmed someone? What if you did?

My heart jumped into double time as I opened the side door and peered in at that bag of death. That was the name my brain had already given it, after seeing the blood and obvious evidence of a recent crime.

Seated next to the bag again, making sure no part of my body actually came in contact with it, I reached for the zipper flap. My hand was shaking like a cat thrown into a tub of cold water. Grasping the end, I pulled it open, exposing the bloody contents.

I’m not sure why I did what I did next, but things hadn’t exactly been going my way lately, and I thought the money might be the answer to turn things around for me. I had no way of knowing what I might actually get from my grandfather’s will, so this opportunity was too good to pass up.

With the sleeve of my shirt covering my hand—for some reason I was already thinking like a guilty person, not wanting my prints to be found on the bag—I reached inside, took out the money, and dumped it into my lap.

With everything but the cash itself stuffed back into the duffle bag, I drove to the closest exit and headed out into the country, in search of a place to discard it all. My conscience warred with me for the entire fifteen minute ride, but in the end, the money won out. After all, I couldn’t have caused that mess, because I’d been driving for the past five hours, right?

I eventually talked myself into believing the evidence inside my truck had nothing to do with me, and settled the matter inside my head for good; maybe.

After siphoning out a small cup of gasoline from my tank, and dousing the bag with it, I set fire to everything. Forty-five minutes later, it all had finally burned out. I quickly drug the knife blade over to the wood-line, dug a small hole with my hands and buried it. This was by no means an easy feat, due to the cold temperatures. At least the small fire had warmed my bones, but my hands were now ice blocks.

Meticulously, I took the side of my old tennis shoes and swept away my tracks, retracing the path to my truck. For the next fifteen minutes, I sat behind the wheel fretting over what I’d done.

****

Warming to the belief that someone else’s sin was covered and five grand richer, I took off. I must’ve checked the rearview mirror about ten times just to make sure no one was following me, not content with the fact that I was the only vehicle on the dirt road tonight. It wasn’t until I hit the interstate on-ramp that I finally breathed a little easier.

For the rest of the trip, I thought about all the ways I’d spend my five grand and hopefully many thousands more from my grandfather’s will. The bright light coming from the full moon on that late November night, also managed to grab a small portion of my attention. Something about that big light bulb, illuminating my way, had always fascinated me.

With my window down, the moon appeared to be traveling alongside me. I’d always wondered whose face it actually was framed inside of that round ball, and why the people at NASA never took the time to answer such a life altering question. With so many people wondering, you’d think some of the billions of dollars spent on space exploration would’ve gone towards answering the great mystery.

Beep! Beep! The blare of the horn from the car coming directly at me jarred me out of my moon gazing, as I whipped the steering wheel back into my lane just before the newer model Ford Taurus slammed into me. Initially unaware that I’d even drifted into the oncoming traffic lane, my weak knees made me painfully aware, once I regained control.

It wouldn’t have been a problem on normal interstate driving, but the road work had turned the four lane road into two lanes for the last ten miles, and I was distracted by an enticing moon.

I’m positive that narrowly missing four of the orange barrels blocking off the third and fourth lanes of the interstate, had just taken a year or two off of my overall life span on earth.

My over-attentiveness for the remainder of the trip, allowed me to make it into Watertown around ten o’clock that night, without further incident. I was thankful that my deceased grandfather had included hotel accommodations for anyone having to drive in for the reading, because I didn’t want to break into my newfound stash just yet.

When I had first gotten the news that hotel accommodations would be provided, it made me wonder how much money the old man really had. I just wish he would’ve sprung for round trip airfare also. Maybe then I wouldn’t have found that awful bag and its contents, I thought.

If the interior of the Martin Hotel was anything like the exterior, I began to wonder if I could milk out a few extra nights on grandpa’s dime. The place was entirely covered in a beautiful stone, each of the eight floors were separated by massive square columns, and the soft glow of the blue outdoor lights around the pond provided a romantic ambiance that made me wish things would’ve worked out better with Rebecca.

My mind drifted back to last month when Rebecca had called to tell me that things weren’t progressing like she’d hoped in our relationship, and she felt it best to part ways. I knew she was pushing me into a marriage proposal, but I just wasn’t ready. I liked Rebecca, but I wasn’t sure I was ready to spend the rest of my life with her.

Snapping out of my thoughts, I grabbed my overnight bag and made my way to the entrance. I was admiring the glass covering the front, thinking that it alone probably cost a few million dollars, when the heavy, glass double-doors opened automatically, surprising me and beckoning me inside.

When the medium built middle-aged man walked up to me, dressed in what appeared to be an off color looking suit, I assumed that he worked for the hotel. One of his hands reached for my bag, and the other reached out to shake my hand.

Good evening, Mr. Fleming. I would like to welcome you to the Martin Hotel. We’ve been expecting you.

What? You have?

Yes, Mr. McKinley told us you’d be arriving before midnight tonight, so we’ve been on the lookout.

Mr. McKinley? Oh, the executor of grandfather’s estate. How did he know that I’d be in before midnight? I’ve never even met the guy.

The way the bellhop quickly changed the subject wasn’t lost on me, as he said, Well, we really should get you settled into your room for the night, Mr. Fleming. If you’ll just follow me, I’ll take you there now.

Shouldn’t I at least check in first?

"No need. Mr. McKinley already took care of everything. My orders were to ensure you made it to your room, and then carry you to the reading tomorrow morning, at ten sharp.

It sounds like everything’s already taken care of then. Does the hotel serve breakfast?

I will be dropping breakfast by your room at eight-thirty sharp. If you could, please check the menu card in your room for the items that you want to eat, and leave it in the box mounted on the outside of your door. I’ll make sure the chef gets your request.

My hopes of receiving some big money were high before the bellhop mentioned room service, but I have to tell you, after hearing that, I began envisioning myself having tea with Warren Buffett. This hillbilly was about to purchase a mansion in Beverly Hills.

Chapter 2.

It wasn’t until later that I remembered the money inside my console, and the memory brought back the gym bag and the guilt of burning the evidence.

Out by my truck, I worriedly looked into the console. It was times like these that I wished the locks worked on the old truck, but then again, if they’d worked I probably wouldn’t have found the money in the first place.

Luckily, the money was still there, so I let out the breath I’d unknowingly held, since first opening the door of my truck. Tucking the money inside the pocket of my jacket, I went back inside the hotel for some rest and relaxation. It was time to enjoy what I hoped would be one of many comfortable nights of staying in luxurious hotels.

Unfortunately, the Jacuzzi bath would be the extent of my relaxation. As I laid my head down on the fluffy down-filled pillow on the king size bed, all I could see was the bloody knife and gloves. It seemed that my conscious had decided to wait until I was over two hours north of the location where I’d destroyed the evidence to throw my guilt back in my face.

I must’ve tossed and turned, not to mention said about twenty extreme curse words in my futile attempt to find sleep, before I finally gave up and flipped on the television in search of something to take my mind off it all.

After finding nothing that caught my attention, I settled on the local news. The announcer, a chubby looking, middle-aged man wearing a plaid sweater and a bow tie went over the weather for the area: snow was expected for later in the week, and would continue for a couple of days.

Following the weather, the pudgy guy went on to talk about a string of burglaries around the area. Before the station headed off for a break, they called in another announcer reporting from the city of Syracuse, and that was when things got a little fuzzy for me.

"Ron, I know you’ve been tracking a story down there in Syracuse about a robbery that occurred earlier this afternoon. Can you fill us in on the details?

Well Jim, from what the police and some of the locals around the area are saying, someone barged into a local bar in the downtown area here, killed the bartender, the bodyguard and the owner.

"Ron, do the police know how these three men were killed, and do they have any suspects in line for this crime?

Well Jim, since the investigation is still on-going, all they would divulge was that the murder weapon was a large knife, which they have yet to locate.

Were there any cameras around the area to identify the assailant? Did the assailant take anything of value?

Jim, the police don’t know what to make of it. Evidently, this one could remain a mystery for quite some time, because nothing was taken from the bar, and these stabbings appear to be hate related. Police are still going through the cameras; hopefully, this will yield something.

I fumbled around with the remote before I finally managed to hit the off button, and then I just sat at the end of the bed with my head in his hands. None of it made any sense; yes, I’d driven through Syracuse during my trip northward along I-81, and yes, I’d found the bag shortly after I’d seen the exit for the downtown area, but I did not do that to those people. Heck, I didn’t even know them, or the area for that matter.

I continued wracking my brain for answers that seemed too far out of reach. Could I really have done such a horrible crime? Was that the reason why I couldn’t remember what happened to those ninety minutes?

Struggling to keep it together, I got up off the bed and went to the bathroom to look at myself in the mirror. The blue eyed, dark haired man staring back at me looked like he’d seen his share of hard times, and I had indeed. But I was still young, had many good years ahead of me. Not if you end up in prison first.

My mind kept jumping back and forth between my grandfather’s will, and the murders back at the bar. The two made for a very rough night.

****

Switching back to the money and the burnt evidence, I spent the next hour or so convincing myself that someone else had put it inside my truck. Satisfied that it couldn’t have been my doing, I forced myself to get some rest.

After another hour of tossing and turning, sleep finally found me. When the door to my room burst open, I found myself being chased by the mob, demanding their money back. Once I turned the money over to them, the two overweight grease heads took turns using me as their punching bag. Satisfied that I wasn’t moving, they walked over to their grease head boss, and started talking back and forth amongst themselves.

I took the opportunity to crawl out of the room, and painfully made my way to the stairs. I struggled to nurse my wounds and stop the flow of blood from dripping out of my mouth over the railing below. There was no doubt that I’d deal with internal bleeding, if I made it out of there alive, but at the time, just holding myself up was a chore.

When I heard grease ball number 1 yell to number 2 that I’d escaped, I summoned up my last bit of strength and hurried down the stairs, out onto the dark streets of an unfamiliar place. I looked from left to right, but neither direction pulled me. Hearing the round of expletives from 1 & 2, forced my feet into motion, as I turned left and made my way into the flow of pedestrians.

Once I was a good, safe distance away, I started looking for a late night cabbie. It took what seemed like an eternity before I happened upon one of those blue colored cabs, and hobbled my way over to it. Plopping blindly into the back seat, I told the driver to get me as far away from the area as possible. My heart stopped mid-beat when both grease balls turned around at the same time, and gave me a smile that stopped my heart.

I awoke with a start, and took the next few minutes to recover from the nightmare. My heart was thumping right out of my chest, and my hands were shaking uncontrollably when I finally removed them from my face. Once again the money and that mysterious gym bag were at the forefront of my mind. Oh, how I wish I’d never found either of them.

My mind was suddenly pulled away from it all, as the smell of sausage, eggs, and toast drifted over from the room service tray near the front door. It felt like I hadn’t eaten in months as the smell of breakfast lifted me up off the end of the bed and propelled me in front of that tray.

Hovering there, I thought it a little weird that I hadn’t even heard anyone enter my room. After I wheeled the tray over to my bed, I quickly forgot about how they had gotten the food inside the room without my knowledge, and focused on the task at hand. I tore into breakfast like a POW just released from prison, while my mind