Century Traveler

Author's Notes:

Century Traveler is a tale I've been waiting for the right moment to publish.

It's a modern day fantasy story of vampires, werewolves, and more, but with a different spin.

I hope you find as much enjoyment reading it as much as I did writing it.

All characters engaging in sexual relationships or activities are 18 years old or older.

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Century Traveler

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Chapter 1

As John sailed over the expansive hood of the mint condition 1972 Cadillac Eldorado, time slipped into slow motion.

He'd been looking down at his bike's front wheel when the car lunged out in front of him, so as he passed over it, he was looking directly at its beautiful paint job, lit only by the late evening's streetlights. The owner had obviously paid top dollar for the deep clear coat. It was so lovingly hand-buffed and shiny that he got a good look at his reflection on the way by.

His expression wasn't one of surprise. There hadn't been time for that to register yet. He still had the grim, determined look he wore when he'd launched his bicycle across the intersection, out of the saddle and sprinting hard. The way was clear, the green was his with no sign of yellow, but he knew it would pop up momentarily.

Now here he was, airborne.

Well... shit.

He was a twenty-eight-year-old man with no girlfriend and no circle of close-knit life-long friends. The closest he came to that was his work friends... and his landlady. That's it. As an orphan, he had no family. So really, there wasn't a lot to leave behind. He wondered who would attend his funeral. Would there even be one? He hadn't made a will because... shit, he was only twenty-eight!

As he passed the far edge of the hood, he noticed that he was totally inverted, feet to the sky and head to the ground. Cartwheeling, he thought. Huh. He wondered which end was going to slap into the pavement first. He wondered if it would hurt before he died. He wondered--then nothing.

He woke to a steady beeping sound. He wished he was still asleep as he'd been having the nicest dream. He'd been floating up in the clouds, but the strange thing was, they were passing through him instead of the other way around. He had a faint memory of pain, a great deal of it, but that was lost now in the soothing waves of the clouds. Each time one traveled the length of his body from head to toe, he felt just a little bit better. He wasn't sure how long it had been, but the memory of the pain was so hazy now. He was sure he'd been in heaven and felt a pang of loss now that he woke up. The clouds were gone.

He cracked his eyes a little, and blurry shapes formed in his mind. Before him was a broad field of white with a dark object just beyond. His vision sharpened, and he was looking down at a bed, and someone was standing at the end, reading something. The face finally registered as his shaken grey matter finally came back online. It was Mr. Sass, the homeless guy he talked to outside of the bookstore. What was he doing reading his chart? Why did he look so serious?

"Mr. Sass?" he croaked out and immediately regretted it as his dry throat protested.

The man's expression froze in surprise, then a look of relief slipped over his features, and he quickly covered it up with his usual crooked smile. The old man put the chart back into the bed's holder.

"Hey! It's the man who thinks he can fly!" the old man snorted. He poured some water into a cup and helped John sip it from a bendy straw.

His parched throat immediately felt better. "Thank you," he sighed. He peered up at the old man again. Something was different about him. He saw Mr. Sass almost every morning outside the bookstore where he worked. He didn't know much about the black gentleman aside from the fact that his origin was likely Scotland based on the accent he sometimes let slip when excited. His mind was sharper than John could ever hope for. He wore a subtle cologne that smelled like spices which, for some odd reason, calmed John when he breathed it in.

Most mornings, the old man was sitting on the bench outside the store, and they always shared at least a greeting. Sometimes the man would spring a quiz on him, and John would have to answer correctly and quickly or face some good-natured ribbing delivered with the man's trademark smirk. Today that smirk was in place, but... he looked shaken. There was a tremble in his lips as though he was struggling with something.

"What's the prognosis, doc?" John asked with a slight smile, hoping to cheer him up.

The man looked at him, then away, and ran a hand through his short grey hair. "You'll live. You're good. Excuse me," he said, pushing open the curtain as he left.

John was stunned. He'd seen tears in the old man's eyes as he turned away. He wasn't sure what that meant, but he got a little worried. He finally looked down at himself, taking an inventory of all his extremities. He could see, feel, and gratefully move his fingers and toes, but his left hand was encased in plaster. Crap. He'd broken something. It didn't seem like something that would upset someone so greatly.

He looked to his right and saw the little button for summoning the nurse. He reached for it clumsily and managed to poke it sufficiently. A few moments later, the curtain opened, and a nurse entered.

"Ah! You're awake. Good. I'll let the doctor know. And how are we feeling today?" she asked.

"I feel good! I mean, aside from this," he responded, holding up his left hand. "Is... uh, my visitor still nearby?"

"What visitor would that be?" she asked.

"Uh, I actually don't know his real name. I've always called him Mr. Sass. He's an older black man with grey hair, tall and slim, wearing a black... trench coat..." he stopped when the nurse looked at him strangely. "What?"

"No one of that description has been in to see you, and it's well past visiting hours," she replied.

"But he was just here," John insisted.

"Let me contact the doctor," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She turned and left through the curtain.

John glanced to the table on his left, and there was the glass of water and bendy straw Mr. Sass had helped him drink from. Good! He wasn't hallucinating.

A few minutes later, a rather harried-looking doctor burst through the curtain, walked right up to John, and flashed a light in his eyes. He took his pulse and finally stopped to actually see his patient. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I told the nurse, I feel good. Not too comfortable with this cast, but..." John replied with a small shrug.

"You are incredibly lucky to be alive. It was your helmet that saved you from cracking your head wide open. The helmet was destroyed, and I understand your bicycle was too. You probably shouldn't be cycling for a while, so that's not an immediate concern. You've been here for a little under a week in a coma. As I said, you hit your head pretty hard, and you've broken your left wrist in three places. You've also got some general bruising and some--nasty scrapes... what?" he trailed off as he examined where the road rash had been.

John looked down and thought he saw a pink patch on his left hip but couldn't see more than that.

The doctor poked him in the side, and John yelped as it tickled. The man went to the end of the bed and picked up the chart. He scanned it with a frown, leaned out the curtain, and called for the nurse. John listened to the two having a terse conversation then the nurse came in to examine the spot the doctor had poked. "It must have originally looked worse than it was, doctor. The area looks like it's healing well. I see new skin coming in, and I don't see any scarring," she explained.

"I know what it looks like now, and I know what it looked like when he came in. I was the one who cleaned all the gravel from the shredded skin. That was only six days ago." He looked even more harried than he had when he arrived. Faint grey circles were forming under his eyes.

The doctor stared at John's cast and then turned to the nurse. "I want a new x-ray of that wrist." He spun and pushed his way through the curtain. She watched the doctor leave and raised her eyebrows at John.

"Never a please or thank you with that one," she grumped.

Two hours later, John was back in his bed and feeling antsy. He wanted out of the hospital. He felt fine.

The wait wasn't long until the doctor showed up again. He looked even worse than before. The grey under his eyes was much more pronounced. He didn't bother with any pleasantries this time. "The breaks we saw in the initial x-ray appear to be well on their way to healing in the new one. The two smaller fractures... seem almost completely healed. You're further along than I expected, but I'm going to ask you to keep the cast on for another week. Come back then, and we'll take another look. Quite frankly, you're healing everywhere faster than I was expecting. As you just came out of the coma, I'm going to keep you in tonight for observation, but if all goes well, I'm going to discharge you tomorrow morning."

"That's great!" John said with a smile, then looked closer at the doctor. "Are you okay? You really look like you could use some sleep!"

The doctor just stared at him, then flung back the curtain as he left. The nurse was right; he had an awful bedside manner. John wished he could go home right now as he felt fine, but better safe than sorry.

The next morning, the nurse arrived with some papers for him to sign, some slightly worn scrubs as his clothes had been cut away, and a large paper bag with his belongings. His small courier bag was in the paper bag, and it contained his cell phone with a dead battery, wallet, keys, and a paperback he'd been reading. His shoes were also in the paper bag, minus the laces, which had probably been cut off. He got dressed, and an orderly wheeled him to the door. It was nine AM Sunday morning, and he was free.

It sucked that his commuter bike was gone. It hadn't been anything fancy, but it had been a dependable means of transportation. Once he could afford to replace his helmet, he supposed he could ride his old beat-up mountain bike to work. It was heavy as an anchor, but it moved.

A quick look in his wallet confirmed that his funds were at an all-time low. If it hadn't been for his job's limited health plan, he would have been royally screwed by this recent visit to the hospital. This meant he was bussing it home wearing the drafty scrubs.

He walked down the lane towards the bus stop and was surprised to see a familiar face. Deron Clarke, his boss from the bookstore, was standing on the sidewalk, leaning against his minivan. The large man who obviously hit the gym frequently gave John an exasperated look as he shook his head, his mane of dreadlocks swinging gently.

"So, he's less dead than we all thought!" the big Jamaican growled with his thick accent as he took in the loose-fitting and insufficiently warm outfit that John was shivering in. He stepped aside and opened the passenger door of his ride.

"Deron, what are you doing here?" John said, surprised and pleased to see him. He hadn't realized just how cool the day was, and the warmth inside the van was truly welcome.

Deron got in his side and turned to glare at his employee. "Last night, Mr. Sass poked his head in the shop's door and told me where you were and when you'd be getting out. That's the first time he's ever spoken to me. You know, you're the only one he talks to? Now, can you explain why you disappeared for a week without a word, and I have to find out you're in a hospital from the old man who sleeps in the alley behind my shop?"

John blinked in surprise. Mr. Sass had gone above and beyond for him. He didn't know what to make of that. He didn't know what to make of the tears he'd seen either. He pulled his scattered thoughts together and addressed the man waiting for an answer.

"I'm really sorry about that. I was riding home from my shift last Saturday night when I was hit by a car. I went over the hood and, apparently, landed on my head. The doctor told me I was in a coma all week. I just woke up yesterday, and Mr. Sass was there. I have a broken wrist, but otherwise, I feel fine."

"Coma! Shit! Okay, that excuse just saved you from having your ass fired. Let's get you home," Deron said, starting the van.

"I really appreciate this! They cut my clothes off when they brought me in, including my leather jacket." He looked around the van and spotted the two baby seats in the back. "How are Jeannie and the twins?"

Deron burst into a wide smile as he always did when talking about the loves of his life. "They are wonderful! Jeannie made me my favorite breakfast this morning before I came to get you, and the girls gave me hugs and kisses on my way out the door. Family is everything! Oh, sorry." Deron's smile slipped away when he recalled John was an orphan.

"No, it's cool! I live vicariously through you, so please don't feel shy about telling me how blissful your life is," John grinned.

Deron smiled back. That was another reason he kept John on the payroll. The man could dish it out with the best of them. His frown came back. "You really had us worried this week. You never miss a shift, so we were all a little freaked out by the third day. You weren't answering your phone, your charming landlady said she hadn't seen you, and with your name, calling the police was a joke. You should seriously think about adding something to make it unique, like John Doe, Jr. Or John Doe, Esquire. And how did Mr. Sass find you? That hospital isn't exactly in the neighborhoods he typically haunts."

John smiled as he knew his name was an issue, but it was the only thing he had from his birth mother. There'd been a lovely hand-written note pinned to his baby blanket when he was left at the orphanage. "My son's name is John Doe. He is special. Protect him to the best of your abilities." He wasn't sure what the part about being special and needing protection was about. Likely just Mom stuff. He put that memory away and returned to the present.

"I'm not sure how he found me. I woke up, and he was just there. Past visiting hours too. Somehow, he got past the nurse's station without being seen. In and out. Strange old man but nice. Really nice of him to tell you where I was too. I'll have to thank him when I see him tomorrow."

"Did the doctor tell you it was okay to go back to work?" Deron asked.

"Yeah, I just have to go back in a week to get another wrist x-ray. Maybe they'll take the cast off then," he replied.

"Wishful thinking, my friend," Deron chuckled. He'd broken his arm in high school, and he knew how long he'd had to suffer with that damn itchy cast. He smiled to himself as he drove them into John's neighborhood.

John turned his head to look out the window, feeling the sun's warmth soaking into his skin. He watched the familiar houses and streets passing by, and with that recognition came the contentment of knowing he was going home. This feeling was particularly special to him.

When they stopped in front of the quaint bungalow, its main occupant, his landlady Anna Harrison, could be seen watching them from inside the big living room window. She stepped out onto the porch and gestured for them to come inside. John would have preferred to go straight into his basement apartment and put on some real clothes, but he knew better than refusing the woman's request.

Reading the hesitation in John's body, Deron grinned and, with a hand resting gently on his shoulder, guided him up the steps and followed him inside. They settled side by side on the couch in the immaculately decorated living room as she went off to the kitchen to get the tea service. The men shared a glance and a smile. Moments later, the tray was on the coffee table before them, and the delicious aroma of the tea and warm tea biscuits wafted up to their delighted noses.

John had been living in the basement apartment of Anna's bungalow for around four years, and the two of them had clicked right from the start. They'd learned some details of each other's lives during that time. She'd been married to a wonderful man for thirty-six years and spent each of them living in this house. They had no kids, so they took trips together and traveled to exotic places. Their love for each other had been deep, complete, and unshakable. Then cancer suddenly took her husband, and she was left alone with only his pension and the house.

At fifty-four years of age, she took her passion for yoga and landed her first job at a studio where she taught classes. She used some of that money to build an apartment in the basement of her house to help augment her income, and John was her first and only tenant.

She was a stickler for punctuality, order, and good manners, which fit him as he suffered from the same obsessions. From her years of study in Yoga, she was a deeply spiritual person, in tune with her place in the cosmos and open to things for which John's pragmatic attitude made his eyes roll. They'd had many friendly battles over his willful blindness and her naïve gullibility. This difference wasn't something that pushed them apart, however. Instead, it brought them closer together as each felt a need to protect the other from their weakness.

She wasn't one of those touchy-feely spiritualists. Hers was more of an intellectual openness. She wasn't a casual toucher, which matched John's attitude perfectly.

He knew the tea ritual his landlady preferred, so he carefully poured the hot beverage into the delicate cups and presented one to her and one to Deron before taking his own. They all took a few civilized sips then the statuesque, white-haired woman settled herself more comfortably in her overstuffed chair and addressed him.

"Mr. Clarke graciously called me last night to tell me he'd be bringing you home today. You've given us all a fright. What happened?" Her voice was warm and clear, but John heard a slight tremor. She normally kept her emotions to herself, but it was obvious to him that she was upset.

"I'm very sorry to have caused any distress. Last Saturday night, on my way home, I was hit by a car that ran a red light, and I landed on my head. My helmet took the brunt of the landing, but I was in a coma all week. I just woke up last night." Seeing the color drain from her face, he concluded quickly. "But the only damage I have now is this broken wrist, and it's really not too bad."

"You were hit by a car?" she gasped. Her pale blue eyes got a little glassy which prompted John to rush ahead to head off the tears.

"Actually, it was more that I ran into the car when it suddenly got in front of me. I flew over the hood and had a bit of a bumpy landing, but I'm fine now. The doctor said all is good, and he just wants me back in a week to check my wrist," he smiled at the woman reassuringly.

Visibly shaken and struggling to regain her composure, Mrs. Harrison picked up a biscuit, and the men followed suit. They were delicious, and they enjoyed the warm, softness of the baked treats. She made the best tea biscuits John had ever tasted. He complimented her baking prowess once more, and Deron agreed, taking the opportunity to boast of his wife's delicious meals. Once their cups were empty and the small talk was done, Deron thanked the woman for the tea and snack and indicated he had to head home as he'd promised to take his family to the park.

After Deron left, John carried the tea service into the kitchen and hand washed the delicate cups.

"Anna, I'm so sorry for causing you any worry. Thank you again for the tea and biscuit. I think I'm going to head downstairs and take a nap. I guess I'm still a little worn out from the past week."