It was Christmas Eve, although it wasn’t the eve of anything and I wondered, as usual, why the day, from early morning until the sun went down, was still referred to as the eve of Christmas when it was simply the day before. My thoughts turned to the single subject that continued to overwhelm almost all other thoughts that ran back and forth through my brain. The artifact. First, when Gularte accidentally dropped the box, the concrete had cracked when it struck, and then, when I’d taken the small object from its ‘nest’ the thing had penetrated inches into the hard concrete from a fall of only a few feet, if that. Instead of accelerating at thirty-two feet per second per second, which was the accelerating speed of any object’s fall inside earth’s gravity well, the thing had acted like it was shot out of a gun…but without seeming to have added anything to its speed of fall at all. It simply wasn’t possible for it to have gained what appeared to be tons of weight without dramatically increasing its speed, but there’d been no increase, of that I was pretty certain, at least not of the speed it would have to have been traveling to do the kind of damage it did.
The day was to be partially to be taken up by Mary’s visit with Paul, which Paul hadn’t bothered to cancel. My wife didn’t seem to mind having a good chunk of her Christmas Eve day eaten up in getting ready and then visiting with my therapist. We drove to Dana Point, Steve Bro, one of the Dwarfs working normally as a lifeguard, babysat with Julie. The big tough-looking physical specimen of a man, although possessed of a significant intellect for such a developed athlete was an amazingly gentle and entertaining babysitter. Julie, and even Bozo, seemed to love him.
The drive to Dana Point was made in silence. When I parked in my usual spot at the rehab center, I did so expecting to spend a good hour, or so, with Paul and Mary at the appointment but ended up standing out in front of Straight Ahead, minutes later, with time on my hands. Paul wanted to talk to my wife alone, for whatever reason I still couldn’t imagine, which was okay although inconvenient as there was no set time when he’d be done with her. The harbor project under construction was about the only place I had to go except the coffee shop across Pacific Coast Highway and, since I knew not a soul in Dana Point proper, there wasn’t much point in getting coffee and sitting alone to watch the traffic. Butch might be hard to find among all the smaller construction sites inside the mess of the larger torn-up area, but I could try to track him down. I’d wanted to continue our conversation, as discomforting as it’d been before but, outside of my wife, Gularte, and Paul almost no one back in the ‘world’ I’d returned to have any comprehension about what was going on inside my brain that was either explainable or I had enough trust in to talk to them about. Paul indicated that he needed about half an hour, so I’d have to make my search and then contact him quickly. Mary wouldn’t want to spend any more time inside, or just outside the rehab facility than she had to I knew.
I drove down and into the construction site, stopped the Volks in front of Butch’s trailer, and sat, letting the little air-cooled engine of the German ‘People’s wagon,’ idle. I looked contemplatively at my right hand, the one I’d handle the object with. My eyes instantly focused on the surface of my palm. Little parallel lines were traced across the surface of my hand. I rubbed the skin with my left hand, but the lines didn’t go away. I remembered the surface of the object. It’d had given the appearance of being composed of iron in texture and color but weighed in about the same as a small ball of aluminum. The surface of the artifact was covered in scuff marks like the marks had been put there by a grinder or wire wheel. Those marks were imprinted now on the palm m right hand. I eased up on the rubbing, instead running the surface of the fingers of my left hand lightly across the marks. They weren’t stains, I realized, with a feeling of fear. The marks were embedded into my hand like by pressure, but unlike such marks that might be put there by pressing an object to the skin, these seemed much more permanent.
Butch knocked on the top of my car just above the open window.
I jerked my head to look at him, dropping my right hand to my lap, in almost a self-protective gesture, while wondering in fear about whether I could look forward to the hand turning black and falling off, or worse.
“What do you want, my new friend,” Butch said, with a big smile.
“Do you have a Geiger Counter?’ I blurted out, realizing how stupid that request sounded, as opposed to simply responding to his opening question.
“Good morning to you too,” Butch shot back.
“I’m serious,” I replied.
“I caught that, but I don’t have one. One of the guys who worked at the nuclear plant has some of the old badges they wore there though.”
“Okay,” I said back, some relief in my voice. “How fast does a badge give results?”
“Ah, I don’t know,” Butch reflected, his smile having changed into a frown. “You’ve been exposed to some kind of radiation?”
“I didn’t know it came in kinds.”
“Oh yeah,” Butch laughed. “High intensity, low intensity, alpha, beta, and more. The guy with the badges runs on and on about it.”
“I don’t need no stinking badges,” I whispered to myself so silently Butch couldn’t hear what I said.
“Let’s go over to his truck, which he basically lives in, and see what we can find,” Butch said, going around the front of my Volks before jumping into the passenger seat.
The drive lasted only seconds, as we approached what looked more like a converted motor home rather than a work truck.
Butch jumped out and walked up to the passenger side of the shabby vehicle. There was a door with levered steps leading up to it. Butch climbed up and went through the door without knocking.
“He’s working, which is what he does best.”
I followed him, wondering how Butch expected to find anything among the hoarder’s mess the guy who lived there existed among.
Butch took almost no time to lean over the space’s sink and pull what looked like a baseball card from a string hanging down in front of the closed window.
“Got it,” he said, “now what do we want to put it up against to gauge the radioactivity?”
I reached out my right hand and took the card from Butch. “I’ll let you know I replied, continuing to hold the card in my hand. “How long does it take to give a reading?
“No time at all, but there’s no reading,” Butch laughed back. “If it turns red you’re burned and if it turns black you’re dead.”
I stared down at the card, its center section cut out and replaced with a gray strip of some material. We both left the converted truck residence and moved back toward my car. The card’s strip remained gray.
“You drive out and I’ll stay with the crews here,” Butch said. “Let me know what you find.”
When I got back to Straight Ahead, I didn’t have to park again. My wife stood waiting outside the main entrance, looking like a million dollars in her halter top and mini skirt. The card still read gray, I was getting a new job with a significant cash advance, and we’d be living in a real house next week.
Mary got into the car, and we took off and headed for home. She didn’t say one word on the trip back, even though I attempted to engage her in conversation several times. The card, now in my right pocket, staying gray had given me a high I wasn’t used to. I was going to live. In thinking so I’d only then become aware that the artifact had induced such a deep-seated fear of my demise deep inside me.
My wife didn’t talk when we got home either, instead going immediately to work on cleaning up the Christmas mess. Something was wrong, really wrong, I suspected. Finally, I could take the silent tension no more. I got up and physically guided her over to the couch. Bro was gone and Julie was upstairs evaluating and toying with the rocket box which I hoped was still unopened.
“What is it?” I asked, but she said nothing.
I continued to ask the same question four more times before I got an answer, my thoughts going to what terrible things Paul might have related to her about me. After one more brief silence, I found out that the problem had nothing to do with me at all. Paul had vaguely and passingly invited her to have a threesome with him and his girlfriend.
I sat in shock. There was no question Mary was telling the truth. She was too deeply affected to be lying. I had no comeback. I literally didn’t know how to respond.
“I’m sorry,” I finally got out.
“Why are you sorry? She asked back. “You had nothing to do with it. Paul thinks you are some sort of God-like warrior from our early conversation. My only question is knowing what he has to know about you and your background why would he risk what you might do to him if I told you what happened?”
I again had no response.
“Julie and I are going to the beach,” Mary said, getting up. “I need to soak in the ocean for a bit.”
With that, she went upstairs to change and get Julie ready. It took only minutes. I never moved from the couch.
“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Mary said, as she and Julie went out the door.
I sat thinking for quite some time, my ‘high’ from only a short time before, having cratered into a broken mass of distorted problems once again. Paul’s potential to move on from treating me now is very likely, and even if he stayed how would I work around the question my wife had put to me and I hadn’t answered because I had no answer? I feared that an answer might come to me that I might have a hard time accommodating. I knew my wife and daughter would be gone for some time so I went upstairs to get down and prepare the recorder to listen to the last tape. I noticed that the heat engraved writing on the plastic of the reel read: “…careful” just after the descriptor. I wondered what that meant, but I knew deep down that the word wasn’t there to serve as anything other than a warning. I put the material back in the closet to wait for a more settled time to go back at them and finally listen to the no doubt troubling tape. Mary had a lot to think about and so did I, as I went to work on some odd jobs I’d overlooked for some time. When I was done I went back downstairs. When Mary and Julie came through the door they both headed straight for the upstairs bedroom to shower the sand off and get cleaned up. I was glad that I’d decided to wait on listening to the tape since they’d not spent the time on the beach I’d expected.
The real Christmas Eve began when the sun went down and people began to show up. The party that wasn’t supposed to be a party went on to a little past midnight. Mary and I were both surprised by the number of lifeguards, police officers and others we barely knew came by. By the time we got to bed the refrigerator was nearly empty and the mess in the kitchen would take at least an hour to clean up. Christmas morning was a different sort of bedlam, having coffee, cleaning the mess from the night before and then opening presents. Only the debris from opening presents remained when I took a break.
I was going to turn on the television when I was interrupted by the doorbell. The bell rang a second time and, getting over my surprise of it ringing at all, I moved to the door and opened it. Bob Elwell stood just back on the flat square pad of concrete that served as the final approach to our front door. It was the first time in a while that he’d used the doorbell to announce his presence outside. He’d come by for the festivities of the night before but we’d never had a chance to talk. Over our short time of knowing one another, he, Gularte, Manning, and Bro had taken it as their right and custom to simply open the door when they visited, step inside, and then announce their presence to whoever was inside. I noted that Bob didn’t look the same as he generally did. He wore the same San Clemente Lifeguard shirt and shorts but his whole comportment was not one of his normal casual and confident presence. His upper body was instead held stiffly upright and the expression on his face was one of nervousness and concern.
“Bob?” I asked, holding the door open. It was Christmas Day, but the morning was long gone, although the debris from the opening of presents with Mary and Julie, plus a new collar for Bozo was still strewn all around me.
“Good that you came,” I said, smiling and gesturing for him to come inside.
“Your presents under the tree,” I went on, trying to ignore the emotional state he was obviously in.
“I don’t want a present, and you know that,” he murmured, stepping inside so I could close the door behind him. “You know I don’t believe in that stuff. I hate Christmas.”
Bob had shared a short version of his upbringing, wherein his parents had been harsh disbelievers in the gift-giving side of the Christmas holiday, when we were standing at the end of the pier one afternoon, waiting for the other Dwarfs to gather. I’d not realized at the time just how deeply that period of his life had affected him when it came to celebrating Christmas after he left the confines of his nuclear family.
I reached under the tree to pull out a sizeable box, brightly wrapped by both my wife and Julie. I pushed it at him, stepping close so I could whisper since both Mary and Jules were doing something together in the kitchen. Bozo sat on one of the side tables next to the couch, occasionally pawing at his new collar. I wasn’t sure whether he liked it or hated it, although he had allowed Julie to get it properly adjusted very painstakingly around his neck.
“Don’t say a word,” I whispered. “They don’t know how you feel about Christmas, and I don’t want them to. You’re not expected to return a gift in kind, just make believe you like the one they’re giving you.” I knew I had a much better chance of not having Bob cause a scene if he knew it would affect Mary or Julie, two people he adored. I was certain his feelings about me were much more complex and probably not quite as favorable.
Bob moved to the couch, holding the gift box under one arm. He seemed more relaxed when he finally sat down, some of the tension he was under seeming to drain down from his shoulders.
Julie came running into the room, tossing Mrs. Beasley onto the couch before pushing the doll aside so she could sit right next to Bob.
“Let’s unwrap it,” she exclaimed, holding out both arms as if Bob had been with a gift meant for her instead of him.
Bob handed over the box, which Julie took all of ten seconds to strip off its gaudy paper, nearly shredding it all in the process.
“Save the paper,” my wife yelled from the kitchen, “it’s expensive stuff we can use next year.”
“What is it?” Julie exclaimed, holding the box while trying to figure out what the photo imprinted on it was.
“Coffeemaker,” Bob replied.
“Oh,” Julie said, grabbing Mrs. Beasley and heading back to the kitchen.
“Not just any coffeemaker,” I said, with a laugh. “That’s a Subito by Moulinex.”
“I don’t have anything for you,” Bob restated what he said when he walked in the door.
“Okay, Bob, what’s going on,” I asked, my tone befitting the seriousness of his whole expression. “You didn’t ring the doorbell for no reason at all and you are not here on Christmas Day to join in the celebration. What is it?”
Bob looked toward the kitchen for a moment before turning his eyes back toward my own. His facial expression was as serious as I’d ever seen it so I inhaled silently and braced myself for bad news.
“Gularte told me,” Bob said as if those three words would mean something of import to me.
I waited, but he didn’t go on.
“Told you what?” I asked, trying to keep the frustration I was feeling out of my tone.
“About the UFO thing,” Bob replied, surprising me.
I kept my face from allowing any emotion through, as best I could.
“What UFO thing?’ I asked back, allowing a frown to crease my brown.
“You know damned well, that thing that came out of a UFO,” Bob went on, I don’t know what it is, and neither does Gularte, but he’s scared of it. He says that almost everything you touch or get involved with scares him to death. That Claymore incident. Screwing around with the train. Sinking Mardian’s Porsche, and then there’s the tapes and the recovery. But the UFO thing takes the cake.”
There was silence, as Bob ran down in getting his pent-up message out to me and I tried to think of how to respond to him. I trusted Bob as much as I trusted Gularte, Bartok, Thorkelson, and Manning. That I might be trusting too many with too much had already occurred to me, but in every situation, I was involved with regarding each of them I wasn’t in almost any position to doubt. I realized that I trusted their actions but that didn’t necessarily extend to their ability to remain silent. I knew I should have realized the depth of emotion that witnessing the effects of the artifact had reached inside me also would extend to anyone who was physically accosted by a physical proof of its very existence. I was, however, mildly relieved that the letters UFO had somehow been inserted into whatever revelations had been made.
“You never talk about anything,” I began and waited for his response to a comment that was anything but an answer to questions he hadn’t as of yet asked and I didn’t want him to ask.
I clenched my right hand although I could only feel the indentations the artifact had made in my palm. Those marks weren’t pressure marks or they’d have quickly disappeared, and they weren’t some sort of traumatic injury no matter how minor, not that I could feel anyway. The marks were like some sort of special series of concentric parallel scars, or maybe a ‘scent mark,’ the thing that was made for anyone, any sentient being, who dared to handle it.
“No, I guess I don’t, but this one bothers me because if what Gularte says is true at all then somebody or some people are going to be coming for it at some time and those kinds of people might be scary.”
“I can’t thank you enough, Bob,” I replied, again surprised that his concern was not about knowing more of the object or its behavior or the reality of its existence but about being concerned for my safety and the likely safety of my family.
“It’s the Dwarfs, you know,” he said when I didn’t go on. “You started all this kind of thinking by making us all detectives.”
I laughed out loud, once again comparing my near accidental creation of the Dwarfs with the conversion of my Marine company from what it had been into what it had become under my haphazard and mostly accidental leadership, driven more by terror than by cold analytical thought. I was also realizing that the object could attract the kind of attention Bob was worried about, and I should be more worried about. The astronaut knew about it, as well as some members of NASA, no doubt, and then there was Mardian himself. At my level, at the level of the artifact’s actual possession, there was only Gularte, Bob, and quite possibly Richard. I had no control or remaining contact with any of the other men, but Gularte and Bob had to be sworn to a silence that neither of them might be able to keep.
Richard was another matter entirely. I would have to depend upon his membership in the CIA to be strong enough to hold him in silence. The reality of the object’s existence, once physically demonstrated, was life-changing and almost anyone, even someone as capable of holding secrets as Gularte, would need to have someone to talk about it with, as I’d just discovered. The object needed to be moved to a more secure location known only to me if security was to be recovered and then maintained. I couldn’t give it back to anyone because I had not even the smallest of hope in reaching anyone who might be able to receive it, and then only if they chose to.
There was only one emotion that might provide the security of silence I needed, and that emotion was fear.
“Bob, you bring up a good point,” I said. “You’re correct. They will come for it but my possession of it will only be their final stop. They’ll have to have somewhere to start and they will be with anyone they think knows. Such people might also have to use draconian methods to assure that the information they got from someone like you was valid and real.”
Bob looked into the empty fireplace across the room, for a few seconds, until it hit him. “You mean torture?” he breathed out.
I squeezed my right hand, closing it into a fist, and then re-opening it. I repeated the action, waiting to get more of Bob’s reaction to what I’d said.
“What’s wrong with your hand?’ Bob asked.
“Nothing,” I replied, sticking it into my pocket.
Despite the unnatural marks on my hand and what the artifact’s characteristics that had been revealed so far, I had to know more about its capabilities. I knew that was dangerous, but I also knew I couldn’t stop myself. I needed a place for the box that was completely private but also accessible to me, which meant I’d need to hide it in plain sight, but not in its current form of presentation.
It was Monday and Christmas which meant that Tuesday would be almost a regular business day. I had the down payment for the house on Lobos Marinos, I’d go in early and rent the place hoping to get in as quickly as possible, before transporting the box all by myself. The garage next to the house, thankfully separated by a significantly sized patio, was huge and would work well for my purpose. The explosives and rebreathers could remain in storage.
The object gave up information in being handled, but it gave no conclusions at all, none that I was capable of coming to, anyway. The second Christmas gift that wasn’t a gift at all, of course, was whatever was on the last tape. Later in the day, I knew I’d have to listen to it, if for no other reason than the be done with it, in which case all the tapes needed to go into the same kind of secure hiding place as the artifact.
Bob left and I sat once again on the couch among all the unwrapped presents, their boxes and wrappings still strewn all over the living and dining rooms, Mary, in light of her visit with Paul, having quit without finishing the cleanup. Julie’s gift, an Estes rocket, Saturn V, provided by Gularte, had been the hit of all the Christmas presents. Julie had taken the box, bigger than her, to bed with her on Christmas night, wedging it under the covers just on the other side of Mrs. Beasley.
Before the day had so abruptly changed, I’d been looking toward listening to the last tape but now, with plenty of time and alone, I just couldn’t do it. I looked at the new Seiko my wife had given me for Christmas, no doubt with cash purloined from the shoeshine box…the cash I never counted. I didn’t care, only smiling ruefully. I needed a break and Galloway’s was open for another hour. I’d go there, rest up, recover, get myself right, and then listen to the tape. Paul had issues, there was now no question, but dealing with him would have to wait, both for his safety as well as that of myself and my family.
Mr. Strauss, Sir,
I love this stuff –
“Badges? We don’t need no stinking badges . . .”
“Mistakes, I’ve made a few . . .”
And I’m sure there is stuff from the Marines that others enjoy that I don’t understand. I like all of the inside jokes and song titles. They make me smile on a different level than that of your life story and they help me to appreciate your writing and all of the comments and replies even more. Please keep it up.
The comments that you like, include your very own! Thank you for that. I remember when I was a college professor for a while
at the university in Hawaii, the students were among the first to be allowed to critique a professor when the course of instruction was over.
I got called in and told that the handing out and returning of the forms would be proctored. When I complained I was told that no students
would ever say such comments about me and that therefore the critiques were ‘suspect.’I loved my students and they loved me but I had to endure the. When the next semester came in the same I was not informed, instead told that school management had changed and that there would not be.a place for me in the coming semester. So my college professor years ended.Thanks for being like one of those students, as so many readers are who come on her and write truth. I never reject or trash any comments, by the way. The few bad ones I’ve gotten, well, the readers who write here went after them and that was that.
Semper fi, and thanks for speaking from the heart.
Jim
Jim,
I forgot to mention my utter surprise at being flabbergasted by Paul’s untoward ‘advance’ on your wife.
Perhaps you may have a use for those explosives in your storage unit to send him a message?
LOL.
THE WALTER DUKE. Life comes at us and it is generally filled with surprises of all different magnitudes. Paul shocked me, no
question and you will read my response in the coming chapter. The explosives in storage…well, they could best be served as
sort of security blanket in case needed. Did Paul’s offense rise to that kind of response?
Read on.
Thanks my friend, a shorter comment but just as deep as usual.
Semper fi,
JIm
Another barn burner LT, thanks for your devotion to your craft, you complete it superbly! I await the next episode with bated breath, wondering about “The Artifact”, and if Paul survives your next meeting! Semper Fi
Thanks Joe, I do so hope that your expectations will be met with the coming chapter which should make it up on the site by next Wednesday
if Chuck’s winds are blowing him in the right direction. He lost his wife recently of many years and is now considering moving…so great flux
is in his life. Thanks for the compliment, as well.
Semper fi,
Jim
“I don’t need no stinking badges,” !!!! OMG I love it as we often used that same line while working for the FAA !! 🙂 ( But we did have real badges )
OK, methinks those lines on your hand need to be embedded across Pauls face !!
So lets set aside for a moment the interest in the “oddball” probably of otherworldly fabrication, and go to the last tape as I can’t wait to see what’s on it 😉
Great chapter with confidences perhaps shaken with others..
Semper Fi
Good of you to catch the ‘lack of confidence’ thing inherent as the work develops. When I got out of the hospital I was in a rush to
rejoin humanity and therefore took to adding people to my life that time my force me to re-evaluate. Giving trust when trust has not been earned
through evaluating experiences over time is dangerous… in combat as well as back here. I wasn’t really losing people so much as I was losing
the idea that I was being way too open and accepting. Many of those people, however, were true blue then and over the years so I had the hand of of a smiling
God on my shoulder as I worked on through.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, I can’t ever thank you enough for taking all of us on this ride. Much like 30 Days, each chapter brings another twist, turn, surprise or more. Oh, and Paul better be glad that you can’t get the FDC at Cunningham on the horn. Semper Fi Sir.
Since coming back to the land of the round eyes I have so missed the circumstance and ability to call in a battery of six every once and awhile.
Funny that you should mention that. Flights of fancy ae sometimes not only enjoyable but curative in their way. Thanks for making me think of that. Much appreciate the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Jim,
Thank you!
My daily search for a new chapter is reaps rewards!
Another great chapter!
Pulling every reader in deeper and deeper.
Seems the circle of people who know about the “object” is expanding.
Good move on the radiation detector.
[But I would still want to rent a Geiger counter to analyze the “thing.”]
Good move on relocating the “thing”, but personally, I would want it a big distance further from my house.
And maybe find some electronic gadgets to measure electrical output or whatever to measure if it emits anything to help detect its purpose?
I would be fearful of doing something to the “thing” that might make it mad or upset or otherwise go off the rails and do something “unwanted”.
Will the guy with nuclear expertise in the last chapter reappear to help provide some insight? How does “it” react to various stimuli? Who else, with expertise, might you trust to provide assistance (even maybe an x-ray person) in trying to understand the “thing” that you could trust to keep confidence?
The “thing” could be something of either great value or great risk to humankind.
I’m sure the Rickover people have done serious scientific analysis…but how can YOU get a hold of that data? (though I refuse to put anything past you and outside of your ability to achieve).
So many unanswered questions still linger…
So many anticipations await…
In the next chapter, will we learn what was on the yet to be listened to last tape?
Stay well, my friend.
We readers need you…
THE WALTER DUKE. Coming across with a veritable plethora of questions, most of why cannot be answered although I will do my best.
The object was of a such a nature, I very quickly, but not quickly enough to suit me, was not the kind of thing that normal people
could keep secret. It ate at anyone who knew…very deep down, maybe even at the genetic foundational depth. The ‘value’ to humanity really only comes into play or thought after one is assured somehow of one’s own survival. The item could not be shared without likely dire consequences for the others who might have handled it or even known about it. Joe Beard had lied to me about everything and I came to understand over time the CIA only allows for that and in fact requires it for all its participants. I was not going to trust him, certainly not after finding out that both Gularte and Elwell were terribly leaky boats when it came to the artifact. Rickover’s terribly reputation only made me fearful of him. I was back in the USA and out of the hospital with near full capacity once more. I wasn’t about to surrender that to the whims of other people by giving them something that was so emotional to even know about that its hard even now to describe that. It’s a life changing event, just the knowing and the depth of that just probes ever deeper the more physical that knowledge becomes. There was also an Army Colonel working with Bell labs that got wind of the thing, or so he wrote about later on his death bed. Why would he have lied? Bob Lazar was another but I don’t think either of those men had ‘hands on’ knowledge. Thanks for the great exploratory comment.
Semper fi, my friend,
Jim
James, It’s good that the community makes editing suggestions. Joel caught the day transition issue and you crafted a segue before I could post a comment.
Bozo must have a strong bond with Julie to allow her to put a collar on him.
The fact that the marks from the artifact still persist makes for a unique chain of custody history (at least for those who handled it with bare hands.)
Some minor editing suggestions follow:
The day was to be partially to be taken up by Mary’s visit with Paul
Extra “to be”
The day was to be partially taken up by Mary’s visit with Paul
We drove to Dana Point, Steve Bro
Period after “Point” “Steve” begins new sentence
We drove to Dana Point. Steve Bro
discomforting as it’d been before but, outside of my wife
Seems a natural pause after “before” and “but” Add semicolon
discomforting as it’d been before; but, outside of my wife
my right hand, the one I’d handle the object with.
“handled” instead of “handle”
my right hand, the one I’d handled the object with.
It’d had given the appearance
Both contraction of “It had = I’d” plus “had” Suggest drop the “‘d”
It had given the appearance
marks were imprinted now on the palm m right hand
extra “m” Replace with “of my”
marks were imprinted now on the palm of my right hand
There was a door with levered steps leading up to it.
“levered”? Maybe “cantilevered” or “leveled”
There was a door with cantilevered steps leading up to it.
“How long does it take to give a reading?
close quotes
“How long does it take to give a reading?”
The card still read gray, I was getting a new job with a significant cash advance, and we’d be living in a real house next week.
This sentence is sort of a list. Better to use semicolons instead of commas to separate
The card still read gray; I was getting a new job with a significant cash advance; and we’d be living in a real house next week.
“Why are you sorry? She asked back.
Close quotes after ?
“Why are you sorry?” She asked back.
Paul’s potential to move on from treating me now is very likely
Maybe “was” instead of “is”
Paul’s potential to move on from treating me now was very likely
more settled time to go back at them
Maybe reword to
more settled time to get back to them
listen to the no doubt troubling tape
Extra space between “the” and “no” Backspace
listen to the no doubt troubling tape
/Aha you fixed the day transition issue/
announce their presence to whoever was inside
“whomever” rather than “whoever”
announce their presence to whomever was inside
Your presents under the tree
Assume meaning is – present is under tree
Could use apostrophe “present’s”
Your present’s under the tree
as if Bob had been with a gift meant for her
Maybe “holding” rather than “with”
as if Bob had been holding a gift meant for her
I asked back, allowing a frown to crease my brown.
“brow” rather than “brown”
I asked back, allowing a frown to crease my brow.
Bob went on, I don’t know what it is
Open quotes before “I”
Bob went on, “I don’t know what it is
They’ll have to have somewhere to start and they will be with anyone they think knows.
Maybe “that” instead of “they” before “will”
They’ll have to have somewhere to start and that will be with anyone they think knows.
marks on my hand and what the artifact’s characteristics that had been revealed
“what” seems extra. Drop
marks on my hand and the artifact’s characteristics that had been revealed
to listen to it, if for no other reason than the be done with it
“to” rather than “the” before “be done”
to listen to it, if for no other reason than to be done with it
Blessings & Be Well
The word “good” doesn’t do the proper service to all those who help along the way on this adventurous project, although I know, knowing you as I have come to Dan, that the depth of your feelings is often significantly deeper than you portray. Thanks for another great edit and also for giving credit to those others who help so much. Sometimes, like with this segue, I can’t believe in rereading and concentrating, how I could have just swept on over some areas that need and needed better illustration or detail. Why you are so important, and the other discerning and questioning readers. I end up going not the Internet after having stuff called into question rather than before…but I am usually on deep into the next chapter right away. Like today. Like now. Thanks so much and it is so great to have you back.
Semper fi, my. friend,
Jim
The intrigue grows deeper. I was thinking about what Paul suggested to Mary. Was this some sort of “trick” by Paul? Possibly to gauge her reaction and yours after she tells you? Maybe you show up to confront him, pistol in hand? Can’t wait for next segment!
One of the problems I had with the situation is the communication. I did not have Paul’s office bugged so I was totally dependent upon my wife’s interpretation of whatever comments were made that made her feel the way she most obviously did. She had no ax to grind with Paul up to that point, and in fact was happy with the results I got in seeing him. But still, when terminal actin comes to the forefront of one’s mind, and one with great capability, training, experience, equipment and the rest…well, a lot of thought has to go into whatever action is to take place.
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
I thought, although apparently not correctly that you where climbing out of the rabbit hole. I guess not, as it seems to be getting deeper, and your rope shorter. Don’t stop now, we are all locked in!!! Semper fi LT
There is no ‘stop’ in me at this point. The story drives the writing, not the other way around, and almost all this simply pours out like from a pitcher of KoolAid. The flavor of that ‘drink’ is, of course, always up for consideration. Thanks for the thoughts laid down on this site.
Semper fi,
Jim
James
I have reading your books with great interest, How did you get involved in all this and how much is true and how much is fiction
Just the facts ma’am. Hmmm. All true except for some of the segues in the telling as I am almost totally dependent upon my memory and
also some help from the people still alive who had places in all of it. Bob Elwell, Tom Thorkelson, Chuck Bartok and some of the others
who’ve passed while this is being written. Thanks for asking about that point.
Semper fi,
Jim
So far you have been existing with few confidants in experiences that there is no reference! 2Lt with a Marine Company in the Ashau; 0800 war survival in the Ashau; recovery from near death; return to world (SoCal); Nixon San Clemente, 3KIA Marines, tapes, artifact & Paul….CIA will appear structured & normal….
Suggest Paul purchase huge whole life policy..
Col Homan…and why you flew your A6 so ridiculously low in order to cover certain damaged Marines down in that valley, I must caution you from
leaping to conclusions here or about back then. The next chapter will give you a better understanding of how I was learning to play the game
that such a vital part of success in dealing with being afloat on top of foundation of deception. To have honor is to have developed it internally using external
experience. Honor is not bestowed, only rewarded when this rare commodity is found. How to deal with Paul honorably was a great challenge.
Semper fi, my great friend and protector,
Jim
Thank you for another intriguing chapter in a very intriguing book my friend! My opinion of the sphere continues to change. I first thought it was radioactive and may have even played a part in the death of the 3 marines. That doesn’t seem to be the case now. It seems likely that it has some practical applications but if the material cannot be duplicated, maybe not! The fact that the lines remain on your right hand, and you experienced no pain is simply baffling! Also Paul definitely betrayed your trust and should be dealt with. Even if you just dump him. Thanks Jim and Semper Fi!
What is betrayal of trust never truly given? Indeed, I counted on Paul and indeed Paul delivered. Was I to hold him to violent accountability
simply because he found my wife to be as attractive as I did? Or because he conjectured about doing more than simply admiring from a distance.
We shall see in the coming chapter. My hand is marked by the object to this day and although I was to handle it again, I would never do so with bare
hands again. Thanks for the inspection and analysis on your part. I like the way your mind works, and always have…
Semper fi,
Jim
Hello Jame
I think that I have read about this device somewhere else
Can’t remember where
It might have Bob Lazar who supposedly was involved with research at Area 51
This new twist to your story sure does keep the interest high
Waiting patiently to find out what is on that last tape
Your memory serves you well. It was Bob Lazar who made reference to it, although never directly enough for me to figure out whether
he did more than talk to those around him that had actual contact with it. Bob rose up to be an enigma in the system. Real but not
real in strange ways, but there was and remains little question to me that a lot of what he had to relate was relevant and real
about a number of things. The reason I don’t think he handled the artifact is that he never described it in physical detail, merely
some of its strange other worldly characteristics.
Thanks for the interesting and bright comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
LT, Bob was correct. You do attract questionable bad things like a magnet but somehow it all slides off your back. Does make for good story. Like the old saying “fell into a pile of shit, came out smelling like a rose”. Keep it rolling as it become more intriguing every chapter.
Thanks JT. I don’t always come away without damage of one sort or another, some of it deserved I might add. I’ve made mistakes…more than a few,
but I’ve also worked to come back, time and again, to continue on with whatever this grand sdventurous voyage is that se all life. Thanks for the
neat comment and the compliment.
Semper fi,
Jim
Been doing some research on Mitchell. His life was seemingly turned upside down after that flight. He insisted he was being watched by the CIA. He had several marriages & divorces. In Several of John Podesta’s leaked emails Michell discussed with him the possibility of alien life & technology. Started a company called Quantrek which was focused on what he called zero point energy which could be civilization’s savior. Before reading the Cowardly Lion I would have dismissed all this as nonsense. I can’t now. Looks like what’s in that box deeply affected him.
Waiting to hear that last tape!
Mitchell and Young were the only two early astronauts that were truly gifted in spatial orientation and computer understanding and implementation.
Why Young was chosen to be the first pilot to land a shuttle solo, and the only one who ever would. Mitchell was sidelined after his flight
and no doubt partially because of what he brought back, all against orders and procedure. PTSD of the real combat kind of nature isn’t like
other forms of it. It’s there inside the genetic strure of those who have it. Mitchell had it. The warmth and care of the man personally was
a wonder and hard to describe. Several of the astronauts of the early era were that way. Grissom, Lovell and Mitchell were three of them.
Thanks for the great comment.
Semper fi,
Jim
32 feet per second per second is the rate at which gravity accelerates an object, not 33.
You are absolutely correct Steve. I should have looked it up. Thanks. In looking it up I did note that the
formulas used to calculate such things are pretty damned arcane. I don’t feel so bad.
Semper fi,
Jim
I can’t imagine you going back to see that quack, Lt Strauss. I’m sure you weren’t expecting that and certainly not your wife. Can’t wait to see how you deal with him and the object. To quote Artie Shaw on Laugh In, “Verrrry Einteresting!!”
Ah, I think this was a repeat of a previous comment but still cogent!
Thanks Mr. Very Interesting…
Semper fi,
Jim
I am riveted by these stories… fascinating stuff! And having personally seen Nixon make’s it even more incredible!
Amazing with all the spy vs. spy
Going on!
But, I still have this what happened to the rest of your marines Junior?
President Nixon had the most dour expression that would settle across his features when he was perfectly at rest. He seemed to come instantly alive when anyone approached and then would fall back into the bleak dark expression. Isn’t all of life a Mad Magazine version of Spy Versus Spy?
I don’t know, maybe that’s simply been the way has been for most of my life.
Thanks for the comment and waiting. The Marine part of the story isn’t over…along with a lot more.
Semper fi,
Jim
What a twisted tale you weave, James. You have taken an inaminate object and infused it with properties that defy classical mechanics and have changed the focus and direction of the story, or not?
I haven’t infused anything into the object but merely revealed as best I have been able. the innate qualities, if that’s what anyone reading might want to call them, of the thing itself. The word alien is more an affectation description coming out of science fiction rather than the reality that hits anyone who experiences something like that. Over the years I’ve never heard of anything like it but then the periodic chart is a whole lot bigger than 105 elements of the time, even thought back then it was concluded that that was all the elements there were in the universe. Not.
Semper fi, and thanks for a very interesting comment here.
Jim
I can’t imagine you going back to see that quack, Lt Strauss. I’m sure you weren’t expecting that and certainly not your wife. Can’t wait to see how you deal with him and the object. To quote Artie Shaw on Laugh In, “Verrrry Einteresting!!”
The chapter coming out will detail my response to the Paul situation, another shocking change in life’s direction at the time,
although no one anyone reading might be able to predict. Thanks for the comment and putting it up on here…verrrry interesting….
Semper fi,
Jim
James, for some reason, your writings today evoke memories of the funnel-web spider, drawing its victim in deeper and deeper into an unknown fate.
Are we ever to know more of the mystical orb? If dropped into the sea, would it cause a hole that drained all the water into the center of the globe, causing us to become a dry, sere ball of dirt forever circling the sun, sans known life?
You are bringing more life to your spouse and daughter, adding a bit more humanism to the plot.
Still recovering from the neck-bones surgery. Would almost give my store-bought teeth to be able to shave, as the beard itchiness is driving me round the bend. Cervical collars were invented by the Devil himself!
Well, Wilcox, I prayed…and you lived to this point so I am taking full credit inside myself for your survival…maybe tossing a small bone to God Almighty. The beard thing. Was there once. The itching. Super hot water compresses applied for four to five minutes at a time will give your relief for a few hours after soaking. Got to be really hot water though. A solution of hot water and oatmeal, yes the Quaker Oats you buy at the store, will also give you relief for even longer, but it is messy to wash off. You are going to know more about the artifact, as I found out more, as it happened. I was extremely trepidation to work or handle it at all after my hand was ‘scarred’ by it, but I could not quit. I probably write more about my family in my works than anyone I have ever read, but then I was given a family that was and remains composed of some pretty wonderfully brilliant and solid human beings. God made his face to shine down upon me when I laid on that gurney in that surgical room at Yokosuka and the doctors, like me here with you and my praying, took full credit for my survival. They went away but God apparently stayed.
So, God bless you some more my friend,
Simper fi,
Jim
How much of this is fiction and how much is true? It’s riveting
Steve, it is all true as best as I can reassemble it and recall. Please pay attention to the attention being given and
again hidden about UFO material today, as well as renewed interest in the Kennedy assassinations. I didn’t really know what to believe way
back then but the physical reality of the tapes, voices I knew personally, the artifact that left its marks in my palm that are still there, and more. It’s hard stuff belie4ve and can only be told through fiction as some of it is bound to really irritate those left alive.
Thanks for the question though and I no longer hope for believers. I’m too old to go much of anywhere else in life and this writing is giving me a relief I never expected in life…and a purpose under heave.
Semper fi,
Jim
One comment, Bob Elwell rang the bell on Christmas Eve, and suddenly it became Christmas Day…. That needs to be revised.
The timeline went wonky. Probably something to do with the alien device in your possession, maybe it makes time disappear as well !! LOL
Good grief, Charlie Brown. You are so accurately correct, as I reread that part of the chapter. It seems, as I wrote the chapter in three segments, that the first two segments were never put together with a rational segue. But it’s in there now thanks to you! It can be damned hard to read the material myself and then catch stuff like that. Thanks so much for helping us all….the changes are made now.
Semper fi,
Jim
I knew I’d have to listen to it, if for no other reason than the be done with it,
*to be done
Thanks for the help in editing here Don!
Semper fi,
Jim
Enjoying the heck out of Cowardly Lion just as I did Thirty Days. First thing when I pop open the iPad and last thing before shutting it for the day is check for new installments. Gotta admit…still wondering whatever happened to Jurgens and Gunny
The compliment in what you wrote reaches deep. Any author anywhere and any when would love to have the said about the reading of the works.
Thanks so much. What a smiling start for my writing day.
Semper fi, and thanks from my heart.
Jim