Glimpse Beyond

Glimpse Beyond

BY

Sally J. Carpenter

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © Sally J. Carpenter 2013

Smashwords Edition

First Edition December 1, 2013

Smashwords Licensing Notes

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover: Karen Fuller

Editor: Maxine Bringenberg

Acknowledgments

Each time I write a novel or even a short story I realize that I am only a small part of the completed work. Without the help of others, known and unknown to me personally, this novel would be nothing more than a file in the computer that sets on my desk.

A novel written is nothing more than pages filled with words; deliberate and concise to introduce characters involved in a story line, made to capture the heart and maybe open the readers mind to an area unobserved before. That is why I’d like to give a heartfelt thank you, to those who worked as hard as I have to complete this novel.

To World Castle Publishing, Karen Fuller you are a great publisher. Thank you for the wonderful covers and for your vision and time spent on making this novel and the other two a reality for me. A special thank you to Maxine Bringenberg from World Castle Publishing for editing this book, A Glimpse Beyond, but as well; for the editing of Restless Soul and In Darkness A Shadow. Maxine, you are a marvel! You and I both know just how much editing needed to be done before each novel could be considered finished.

I always know that when I’m feeling down and the words aren’t flowing I can turn to three people who will lift me up, or slap me down, if that’s what I need but they are always there for me. Thank you to my wonderful husband, Jerome (Jerry) Carpenter and the best two friends we could ever have, Judith and Darrell Walkup. Without the three of you, I’d be lost. In addition, thank you to my children, children-in-law and grandchildren, all of you bring joy and insight into my life.

As you read A Glimpse Beyond, open yourself up the possibilities and keep the words of William Shakespeare in mind:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

Chapter One

Sixteen year old Dalton Saddler looked at his watch. It was after 10:00 P.M., there were still three more races to be run, and it was already past curfew.

Hey guys, if I’m not back by the time Mom gets home she’ll skin me alive.

We’ll be there, said Miller. Don’t sweat it!

Yeah, dude! Oldenburg socked him in the arm. Heck, she’ll never find out you were even here. Shit, relax Saddler, you’re spoiling all my fun!

Uneasy about the time, Dalton leaned back against the brick building and continued to watch the street race. They were right…she wouldn’t be home until

2:00 A.M. or later…she never was.

After the races were over, they grabbed some burgers on their way home. They had no more than pulled out of the drive-through and entered the street when Oldenburg said, Looks like we have company guys.

Dalton glanced over his shoulder. Damn it! Were you speeding? Red and blue lights flashed behind them, and there was a quick recommendation to pull over with the bleep of a siren.

I don’t think so, he said. Miller slowed the car and pulled to the curb. Just stay cool.

The officer sat behind them for a few minutes before approaching the car. He was a sizable man; Dalton guessed about his height, but his weight far surpassed his own. He noticed the glimmer of the officer’s badge when the streetlight reflected from it.

As the officer peered into the car he asked, Don’t you boys think it’s a little past your curfew?

Miller was the only one to speak. We were heading home when you pulled us over. Did I do something wrong?

In a deep baritone voice, the officer informed them, I pulled you over because none of you fellows look to be eighteen to me. Let me see your license, proof of insurance, and registration please.

Miller fumbled through his wallet. He pulled his license out and handed it to the officer. Reaching across the seat he opened the glove box, pulling out the other paper work requested. The car belongs to my dad.

I’ll need to see IDs for you other guys too.

Dalton felt a knot grow in the pit of his belly. The only ID he had on him was a student-body card. Dalton wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. He wasn’t concerned with what the cop, or the court, was going to do to him for breaking curfew; most likely, the cop would ticket them, and if the court got involved at all, he might have to spend a Saturday doing community service of some kind. It was his mom he was worried about.

However, this time his luck had run out. The officer took him into custody, his mom was called, and it was after 3:00 A.M. by the time he was released to her. He began to worry even more, since he was expecting a harsh tongue lashing from her, but it didn’t come. She simply sent him to his room and said they’d talk later.

He had reason to worry. The next day, Dalton sat with his arms folded across his chest, his head hung low, his blue eyes focused on the one-way bus ticket lying on the kitchen table in their California apartment. Without looking up, he spoke. I told you, I don’t want to go!

It really doesn’t matter what you want…you’re going to Montana to stay with your grandma, and that’s that!

But Mom, all my friends are here. I could get a job to help—

We don’t have all day. Now grab your things and let’s get going. She lightly whacked the back of his head with the palm of her hand. Get a move on!

But what about the ticket I got last night? I’ll have to be here to appear in court. Dalton figured there would be no way he’d be able to leave under those circumstances.

I’ve taken care of it. Now move your butt and get out to the car.

It didn’t appear promising to him, her packing him off again, this time to a grandmother he’d never seen before, to who knew where, for God only knew how long. Anger swept through him as he braced his palms against the edge of the table and pushed, forcing the chair back, allowing him to stand.

What a load of crap, he thought to himself. All this, simply because he was out past curfew. She wouldn’t even let him call his friends to say good-bye.

Bending slightly, he grabbed the over-filled back-pack and slung it over his shoulders, almost hitting her in the face. If he had accidentally hit her it wouldn’t have upset him one little bit, given what she was doing to him.

Don’t forget your ticket, she said, opening the door. And by the way, give me your cell phone…you won’t need it.

He swung his long slender arm, reached out in a swiping manner, and seized the ticket with his large hand. Clutching the ticket tightly in his fist, he felt betrayed once more as he handed her his only life line, his phone.

She’d broken another promise; she’d said it would be different this time, but it was identical to all the other times, filling him with uncertainty. It made his heart run cold, and again unlocked the wounds of years gone by.

Standing on the first step of the large Greyhound, Dalton heard her call out, I’ll call in a few days to make sure you got there all right. Looking back over his shoulder, he nodded, but it swept through him; he really didn’t care if she called or not since she was the one set on ruining his life.

The smells infiltrated his nose, stinging it slightly, as he made his way down the narrow isle of the bus, reminding him of a whiff of sweaty gym socks or perhaps a wet dog on a hot sultry day. He all but gagged.

Nearing the rear of the bus, he found a window seat. He glanced out the window looking for her, but she had already left without so much as a wave good-bye. As the bus began to move, he slid into the seat. He tipped his head back and allowed himself to recall their other good-byes.

It didn’t seem to matter whether it was by car, train, bus, or plane, it was always the same…shoving him into his mode of transportation and disappearing like the coins of a magician. The words, I love you, this is for the best, we’ll be together soon, always rolled across her tongue so lightly, never giving heed to his feelings. Dalton remembered pressing his face against the window of a car when he was only three years old and watching as she walked away, leaving him with Uncle Tad and his wife Karen. He recalled being terrified, and wanting nothing more than for her to turn, run back, and take him into her arms, but she didn’t; she walked away and the car pulled from the curb into traffic. Dalton was past five years old when she returned; he could barely remember her by that time. He was hardly adjusted to being with her again when on his seventh birthday, he thought they were going to a special place for a party. Instead, he was pushed onto a train with Aunt Casey and didn’t see his mother again until he was nine. She’d come for a three day visit and then was gone again for nearly two years. It was then that she’d told him they would be together from now on. Now he was being uprooted once more, having to reconcile himself to her behavior and learn to fit in elsewhere.

The thought had crossed his mind that maybe he should get off the bus at the next stop and disappear into the bowels of America, cutting her out of his life altogether. How hard could it be? He was always starting over anyway. Checking his funds, he quickly changed his mind, knowing his meager fluid assets would not sustain him for more than a week.

The bus traveled the highway at a swift speed, slowing and stopping only to allow riders to get on or off at the routine stops. The midday sun beat against the windows. The bus grew stuffier and the small air-flow above the seat blew warm air instead of cool. As the miles passed Dalton boiled over with rage inside for the way he was being treated. Every time he’d settled into a place where he felt secure, she disrupted it by falling back into her old routine of dropping him on someone else’s door-step or yanking him away, always saying it was for his welfare. It sure seemed odd to him…it always worked out in her favor, not his. She never seemed to understand or care that maybe what he wanted was as important to his well-being as were her ideas of his welfare.

As the Greyhound pulled into the downtown terminal in Portland, Oregon, Dalton pulled his backpack from the overhead rack. A three hour layover would refresh him, and changing busses would be good. As he stepped from the bus, he could smell the heavy aroma of diesel fuel from the busses and the row of cabs lining the curb-sides. Rain bounced off the littered pavement and sidewalks.

A man, maybe thirty, approached him, dressed in an exceedingly grubby jacket and hole-filled blue jeans. He extended his filthy unwashed hand. Spare change?

Dalton smelled the musty wine, mixed with tobacco on the man's foul breath, and noticed the yellow tartar-covered broken teeth through his dirty, matted facial hair. Reaching into his pocket, Dalton pulled out a fistful of coins, dropping them into the stranger’s widespread hand, saying, There should be enough to buy you coffee or a bowl of soup. There was little doubt in Dalton’s mind the money would be spent on a cheap bottle of wine within the hour.

***

As time grew near for Dalton to board the bus to Boise, Idaho, he decided to stock up on snacks to eat along the way. The vending machines offered little to appease him. Settling for a soggy tuna sandwich, packages of cookies, three candy bars, and three cans of soda, Dalton stuffed his pockets with supplies. He knew his next layover would be ten hours or more away.

Boarding the bus, he made his way toward the back. Stuffing his backpack into the overhead shelf, he slid into the seat next to the window. Unexpectedly, a slender girl dropped into the seat next to him.

Mind if I sit here? she asked, settling into the seat and making it her own. I was watching you; you know, giving money to those panhandlers. Didn’t anyone ever tell you, you shouldn’t do that? By the way, she said, extending her hand toward him. My name is Jessica Emerson, but everyone calls me Jessie. What’s your name?

Dalton gave her a blank stare, wondering what planet she had come from. He thought maybe she’d move to another seat if he ignored her. No such luck. He soon realized she was planning to stay put as the bus began to move away from the bus depot.

So, I guess if I want to get your attention I’ll have to say something like, ‘hey you.’

He knew if he didn’t speak to her she’d only keep talking, not giving him any control over the conversation at any point; it was apparent she wasn’t going to leave him alone. The flip side of this wasn’t an improvement, knowing in his heart she’d wind up telling him her whole life’s story. Why me, he wondered, shifting uneasily in the seat. He thought briefly about moving to another seat himself, but recognized it would be considered rude, and not only that, he’d have to give up his window seat.

By now she had withdrawn her hand and was digging through a leather bag sitting on her lap.

He cleared his throat. My name is Dalton.

Wow! she said. It has a voice and speaks. For a while there I thought you might be both deaf and dumb. Jessie laughed. I’m only kidding! She tossed her long flaxen hair away from her face and smiled.

Dalton tried without success to keep from smiling. Not giving thought to his words he said, You’re a real smart ass.

So I’ve been told, she said, offering him a stick of gum. Where are you headed?

Some place outside of Whitefish, Montana called Bear Creek or something.

I’m headed back home to Boise, Idaho. I went to McMinnville, Oregon to help my sister Ashley settle in the dorm at school. Can you call it heading back home if you have only lived there a month? Mom always says home is where the heart is. What do you think?

Dalton was perplexed by how she hardly give him a moment to answer before she either asked another question or took off on a long story about her family and her life.

The miles passed quickly, and Dalton had figured right. By the time, they arrived in Boise, Idaho; he knew almost everything there was to know about Jessie and her family. He knew why she was on the bus and the weird things she had encountered a few years ago when she was on vacation—and she knew almost everything about him. In all, he wasn’t irritated by her inquisitive questions concerning his existence. They were his sincere thoughts; she actually understood his plight, and in an enchanting way bolstered him in a way he especially liked.

Good luck to you, Jessie said. Hugging him, she stuffed a piece of paper into his jacket pocket. It’s my address. Write and let me know how you’re doing. I put my cell number down and my e-mail too, so don’t let me down Dalton; I really do want to hear from you. I hope you get a cell phone soon.

Dalton swore he’d write as soon as he got settled in, and she drifted out of his life as quickly as she’d entered it. As he boarded the next bus at Boise, heading to Lewiston, he was alone a second time. Jessie had been a breath of fresh air. Although older than he by a year and a few months, it appeared to him that, in those few hours, they had made a connection, a lasting one.

Changing buses once more after another two hour layover in Lewiston, Idaho, Dalton grew fatigued from not having any sleep the last two nights. The only sounds now were quiet whispers and slight snores as the others on the bus seemed to settle in for the night ride.

Dalton, lost in thought, was unable to sleep as the bus continued the journey to Montana. He wondered why his mom had chosen now for him to meet his dead father’s family. She’d always told him they didn’t like her and would never accept him since he was a product of a summer fling, and they weren’t even sure Dalton was part of their family. She showed him a letter she’d gotten when she had written Jim to inform him he had a son. It was from his father’s family, opposing the very idea that Jim Saddler was his dad. According to them he'd never mentioned her. Since Jim had been killed six months before Dalton was born, his mother had no proof the baby was Jim’s, and he was no longer able to defend himself in the matter. The family further accused her of trying to bilk the family out of money, and informed her that, should she contact them again, their attorney would deal with her.

Dalton had wondered why he carried his father’s last name instead of hers, and she simply told him that no matter what his family thought, he was a Saddler. She’d always kept him away from them in the past. He felt his stomach tighten, wondering if anyone would be there to meet him when he reached his destination, or even if they knew he was arriving. He questioned, too, if he truly was the son of this Jim fellow. There were no pictures of him, no evidence he’d been in his mother’s life aside from her word. Dalton thought he had good reason to question her word about things.

Chapter Two

Stepping from the bus onto the cracked sidewalk of Whitefish, Montana, Dalton drew a deep breath. The early morning air was brisk and shivery. Small knolls of snow edged parking lots and the roadsides. He could see his own breath, and longed for the mildness of a March morning in California. He was the only one disembarking from the bus except for the driver, who was opening the cargo-hold to retrieve his small battered suitcase. Dalton looked around, not seeing another living soul except for a golden lab rooting about a garbage can a half block away.

You take care now, son, the driver said, handing him the suitcase. Before Dalton could acknowledge him, the driver made a quick retreat onto the bus and closed the heavy doors.

The bus pulled away from the curb, leaving a cloud of black smoke trailing behind. Dalton felt completely alone; no one was there. He stood in the quiet of the morning with backpack in place and suitcase in hand. Given the situation, Dalton was unsure as to