This sample chapter is from Parallel Lines, available on Amazon.com as of November 28, 2023.
Thomas had been to the lake house many times over the years: savored gin and tonics on the waterfront decks, eaten barbecue in the sunny dining room, spent summer nights spooned against Carter in more than one of the guest beds.
Tonight, a smaller group of after-party guests still lingered the home’s generous spaces. In the kitchen, Carter and others were putting away leftovers and washing dishes. In the game room, a knot of people giggled about a grandiose oil painting of young Warren and Ed: Warren, with a head full of glossy obsidian hair, and Ed, sporting a loud and proud afro that defied gravity.
In the study, guests lounged in wingback chairs, chatting about the mementos on the shelves: the model rocket boosters from Ed’s days with NASA, Ed’s Doctor of Ministry degree from Emory University, and the bits and bobs he’d received as gifts from families he’d known during a decade as a Methodist Minister—before an ugly stir about his relationship with Warren encouraged an early retirement.
Ed led Thomas past all this to a door beyond the back pantry. Ed bent forward, peered at the tiny keypad set into the wall, grunted, whipped out his reading glasses, and then punched in a code. A click. A whir. The door popped open.
Ed, with a flourish: “After you.”
Thomas hesitated. “This isn’t going to get all Silence of the Lambs, is it?”
Ed swatted at him. “You’re too stringy to eat. Now go on.”
Down a set of stairs into chilly darkness. A sensor triggered banks of overhead lights, and gentle illumination gradually increased until Thomas could see an expanse filled with row after row of storage racks and a tidy workspace.
Ed went straight for the racks, browsing a printed index on the end of one shelf before choosing that aisle and disappearing into the shadows. Thomas heard him rummaging through a series of boxes, muttering under his breath: “Not that one … Not that one … Okay, I’ll need this. Huh! Still charged! Amazing. Built things right back then.”
Thomas lingered in the workspace. “This is all from when you were a preacher?”
Ed emerged, carrying a box of odds and ends, labeled with three bold letters: TRG. “Ed Williams, Ph.D, formerly of NASA’s Stennis Spaceflight Center in southern Mississippi, at your service.”
“There’s a NASA center in Mississippi?”
Ed snickered. “More people should ask that. Why would NASA put a rocket testing center way the hell down in an unnamed town on the Pearl River between Mississippi and Louisiana? Folks just read what’s on the label and believe it.” He placed the box on the pristine metal workbench, and, like a magician performing a trick, produced a sphere of mirrored chrome about the size of a softball.
He held it out. “Go on, love. Take it.”
“Is this going to hurt?”
“Only if I hit you with it, which becomes more likely with every question.”
The sphere’s weight and warmth surprised Thomas. A thin seam, no wider than a human hair, ran around its equator. Otherwise, it was perfectly smooth. In its polished surface, Thomas could see himself reflected: his eyes and head bulging, his wiry body stretched like taffy.
“Hold on tight,” Ed said. “Use both hands.”
Thomas complied.
“Now, think about your roads not taken. Close your eyes, and picture them in as much detail as you can.”
“Just think about … what, exactly?”
“An opportunity you had before Carter, love. Not a fantasy, but someone you lie awake remembering at night. The one you’ve still got photos of on your phone. Someone you think about when you get out the lotion and –“
“Okay, got it,” Thomas blurted. Feeling self-conscious, he closed his eyes, cleared his thoughts, and summoned a memory.
From inside the sphere: a distant whine, like a dentist’s drill heard from several miles away, followed by a jarring mechanical click.
Thomas jumped. “What’s inside this thing?”
“Stay focused, love. Is there another road not taken?”
“Yes, but–“
Ed shushed him. “Just picture it in your mind, as clearly as you can.”
Thomas closed his eyes and summoned another memory. Again: the mosquito whine. Again, the mechanical click. The sphere grew noticeably warmer.
“Now this is important,” Ed said. “Don’t leave anything out. Don’t skip any options. Any more roads not taken? Any more ghosts? Any more people that flit around in your dreams?”
Thomas looked guilty. “At least one more.”
“You know the drill.”
From inside the sphere: the whine, the click. The sphere was now almost too hot to hold.
“That it, love?
Thomas nodded.
“Then think these exact words: ‘That’s it.’ Say ’em out loud, if you need to.”
“That’s it.”
The device—whatever it was—grew suddenly cold, its entire surface covered by delicate, fern-like patterns of frost.
Ed grinned. “I love that part. Now hand it over.”
Thomas did so. “Is that … really it?”
A curt nod. “And not a word to anyone, remember?”
“I wouldn’t know what to tell them,” Thomas said. “To be honest, I was expecting a little counseling.”
Ed carefully lowered the sphere into its box, then headed back to the aisle he’d rummaged in earlier. “Some things can’t be learned by talking.”
Thomas looked down at his hands. For a moment, he could see faint remains of the fractal frost patterns lingering on his skin, but, even as he watched, they faded away. “How did a rocket scientist end up being a Methodist minister?”
“Science and faith agree on one thing: there’s more to the universe than we can ever explain.” Ed fished around in his pocket, produced a silver vial, popped the top, and dumped a small blue gelcap into Thomas’s hand. “Swallow this.”
Thomas looked skeptical. “Why?”
Ed pointed a finger in Thomas’s face. “You remember that night at Backstreet? When you were scarfing down practically any pill some fool on the dance floor gave you?”
Thomas blushed. “Yes.”
“Then stop being all prissy. Trust me, pop it, and swallow.”
Without another word, Thomas obeyed.
Ed patted him on the back. “Now listen. You’re going to feel a little sleepy soon. And when you wake up, things may seem a little … strange. Just go on with your day.” Ed frowned. “Oh — one more thing. Carter called earlier and asked us to put you two in separate bedrooms tonight.”
The news stung. “Separate rooms? He didn’t — we didn’t—“
“Considering what’s about to happen, it’s probably best you sleep alone, anyway. Just give the man his space. Now you get your skinny butt upstairs to the blue guest room—the one with the twin bed. No lollygagging. You got a big day coming.”
* * *
Upstairs, Thomas kept to the hallways, avoiding the clusters of friends still laughing and chatting. As he passed the kitchen door, he spotted Carter talking with Tevin. Carter stood with his butt propped against the counter top, arms folded with his fists under his biceps, one foot casually crossed over the opposite ankle. Tevin said something Thomas couldn’t hear, then reached over to squeeze Carter’s muscles, prompting a big laugh from them both.
Thomas’ heart skipped a beat. But even as he started to interrupt the two, he felt a fuzziness creeping in. Lights were too bright, sounds too muffled. He felt weary, and the thought of a soft bed in a dark room was suddenly the most appealing thing in the world.
Up the back stairs. Down a hall. Into the blue bedroom: the one with the dormer window facing the woods, the one with the single bed wedged so tightly beneath that window that no space remained on either side.
Thomas barely had enough time to peel off his clothes and dive in before sleep overtook him.
* * *
He awoke to the shrill bleeping of an alarm clock. He was still on his back, in exactly the same position he’d assumed when falling asleep.
To his left, the ugly red display of a cheap bedside alarm clock flashed 5:15 a.m. Thomas sat up, still groggy, and whacked the thing as hard as he could, silencing it.
And then, without warning, the woman in bed beside him threw back the blankets and turned on a bedside lamp.
If you loved this sample … imagine how much you’ll love the entire novel! Parallel Lines is now available on Amazon.com for Kindle pre-orders, with all formats available as of November 28th, 2023.
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