The Key Read online

  THE KEY

  DREAM TRAVELER IN TIME

  EPISODE 2

  By

  Sarah May Palmer

  Copyright ©2012

  http://SarahMayPalmer.com

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Foreword

  Carly Moore was 35, lived alone, and led a very ordinary life working at her local radio station in Beacon Glade as a newsreader.

  Then she met a mysterious stranger, Ian Bradley, who gave her a gift that would change her life and the lives of others forever.

  What seemed like an ordinary CD disk would turn out to give Carly the power to change the past through her dreams.

  Carly Moore is the “Dream Traveler In Time”.

  ..ooOoo..

  Whilst it is not necessary to read the first book in the series before this book, you may wish to do so for background and completeness. You can catch up on the full story below:

  The Gift: Dream Traveler In Time (Episode 1)

  ONE

  “News just in; police have confirmed that they have found the remains of Tracey Dawn Jackson who went missing back in 1979. Tracey vanished after leaving her local library in Harvest Spring Junction and was never seen again. No witnesses came forward and the case has remained open ever since.”

  Carly stared at the screen, as she watched the newscaster fiddling with his earpiece. He continued. “I’ve just been told that the police are trying to trace the owner of a key found close to the body. Viewers can find an image of the key on the Crime Stoppers website. Police are also appealing for locksmith’s to contact them if they know where the key might have been used.”

  Carly was eager to learn everything she could about the girl she had just seen in the news broadcast.

  Tracey Dawn Jackson was dead; that was a fact that Carly could not change. Ian Bradley had told her, in no uncertain terms, that she could never prevent someone from dying when she time-traveled. However, she could perhaps find a way to bring Tracey’s killer to justice.

  Carly hurried into her bedroom and opened the closet door.

  Where did I put those old note pads, Carly puzzled as she rummaged through the large cardboard box on the floor of the closet. The box had been there for ages. She never had found the time to put things where they belonged, even though she had moved into her flat over 5 years ago.

  Lifting the sagging box onto her bed, she prized open the lid, blew the dust from the mounds of files and papers, then coughed and sneezed violently as the dust penetrated deeply into her mouth and nose.

  “I really must clean out this closet,” she berated herself out loud as she sneezed once again. Carly was the first to admit that she was no domestic goddess; it was her mess and thankfully no one got to see it except her. Nevertheless, she knew that a good clean out was long overdue, but for now there were more important things that needed to be done.

  Retrieving two thick note pads from the cardboard box, Carly headed back to the living room, curled up on to the sofa and began making notes.

  It was important to get down as many details as possible before anything could distract her. Then she could watch future bulletins for updates on the story. She also needed to work out a plan of action.

  “Name… Tracey Dawn Jackson. Place… Harvest Spring Junction.” Carly began recalling out loud everything she could remember from the broadcast as she jotted it down.

  Then she made a note about the key that had been found near the body.

  CHECK CRIME STOPPERS WEBSITE, she wrote in capital letters. She’d find a picture of the key there and probably a good deal more information too.

  There was a kind of excitement tinged with guilt building up in Carly as she began on her first real project of solving a crime. She’d always loved those fictional murder mysteries and here she was embarking on a real life murder case with a real victim.

  If I’m going to venture into this, she thought, I’m going to be meticulous and do the best that I can … as long as I don’t have to start wearing tweed twin-sets, brogues and a silly hat like Miss Marple of course.

  As she vividly pictured the elderly sleuth, an inane grin spread across Carly’s face. It didn’t last long, though. That vacuous look soon turned to one of a drooling child as she looked across the room and saw her favorite commercial on the TV. She never could resist the sight of bacon cooking in a hot frying pan. Sizzling fat and grease spraying everywhere. She could even smell it cooking!

  “That’s it! Can’t solve a crime on an empty stomach,” Carly told herself as she steered herself towards the refrigerator, salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Thirty five year old women shouldn’t act like this, she giggled to herself.

  Carly’s heart sank! The refrigerator yielded nothing but a past-its-sell-by-date tomato, an empty jar of mayonnaise and a small piece of moldy cheese. Damn! The meager contents served as proof that she was as conscientious about grocery shopping as she was about housework. Everything got assigned to the garbage bin.

  Well, toast it is then, Carly snarled as she let out a heavy sigh of disappointment.

  Soon she was back on the sofa; toast in one hand pen in the other. In no time at all the page was full of things to do, and she was turning over a new leaf.

  Carly wasn’t naive enough to think that she could just put on her CD, drop off to sleep, then catch a murderer red handed. She’d have to use the details she knew for certain and do her best to get to the right place, at the right time. If she did spot the murderer, she’d have to find a foolproof way to lead the police to him or her. “Hey Mr. Policeman, I just travelled back in time in a dream and solved a murder for you,” was clearly not a credible option.

  The rest of the day was spent on the internet, researching the case of Tracey Dawn Jackson’s disappearance. This sort of work came easy to Carly; after all, she researched news stories for a living. She had access to many sources of information that were not available to the average Joe or Jane Bloggs, and she therefore had the ability to wade through an abundance of useful information documented shortly after Tracey’s disappearance.

  Photographs of Tracey’s home, family, friends, college, and the library where she went missing, all helped to build up a picture in Carly’s mind. She needed to feel as though she knew the people and places she was going to visit, before she embarked on her journey.

  Carly noted that Tracey’s family had continued appealing for information over the years, and every year on the anniversary of her disappearance they would make a fresh appeal. Initially it was ‘hot news’ and everyone wanted a piece of it, so there were countless TV, radio, and magazine interviews. But as time passed by, Tracey became old news, and the family found the media had lost interest.

  By early evening she figured there was enough information to get started. With any luck, by morning she would be a step closer to finding the killer and helping bring closure to the Jackson family. Mister or Missus Murderer probably thought they had gotten away with it after all this time, but they are wrong, Carly nodded to herself. I’ll get ya.

  TWO

  It was quite late when Carly slipped the CD into the player and settled down into her bed. She closed her eyes and began to picture the place where Tracey was last seen.

  Soon Carly found herself on a quiet tree lined street that she recognized from a photograph. It was a sunny afternoon, the birds were singing, and it was hard to believe that for one girl in this town, this was possibly the last day of her life.

 
; Right, O.K., I need to find the perfect spot to see the library entrance. Then when Tracey comes out, in around 20 minute’s time, I can see if anyone’s watching her. I must try and get close enough to get a clear view, but not so close that anyone will notice me.

  Carly wasn’t quite sure what exactly she would do if she spotted the killer, but she would just have to take it one step at a time.

  Right then she saw the perfect spot. Set in the shade under two leafy trees was a small wooden bench. It provided an almost perfect vantage point to view the library entrance, and best of all, who would notice someone taking a rest on a sunny afternoon.

  If this were the present day, Carly could fill her time messing around on her cell phone; but this was 1979 and long before the dawn of the little miracle she had at home. It dawned on her how different life must be for the people of this era.

  The moments ticked by until Tracey Dawn Jackson walked casually out of the double doors of the library. She looked just like she had in the photograph, a pretty, happy, smiling young woman. She was with another young woman and they stopped on the pavement, chatting and laughing together.

  Carly inched forward on the wooden bench to get a better look at the girl. Then her eyes darted around, trying to catch a glimpse of the ‘would be killer’. Suddenly she spotted a young man further along the street, and he was also shaded by the trees. Rising slowly Carly wandered in his direction, hoping that he would turn around so that she could get a good look at him. As she got a little closer she missed her footing and let out a yelp as she twisted her ankle. The mystery man looked in her direction, turned and walked quickly away into the distance.

  Now I’ve done it, he’s seen me. I wish I’d got a better look at him. Oh well, maybe now he’s seen me he’ll panic and won’t come back. Maybe, Ian Bradley was wrong; maybe I can prevent Tracey dying. Maybe I should try and follow him, get a better look at him, see where he goes.

  Thoughts were buzzing in Carly’s head about what she should do next. Strike up a conversation with Tracey; maybe warn her that someone seemed to be watching her.

  Well, here it goes. I’m just going to walk right up to her and take it from there.

  Taking a few deep breaths to steady her nerves, Carly stepped quickly into the road. Before she knew it there was a screech of car tires combined with the high pitched sound of a car horn beeping constantly. As she whirled round she saw a large pickup come to an abrupt halt inches in front of her.

  It wasn’t the sound of a car horn that Carly heard next; it was the sound of that dreaded alarm clock. She was awake, and she wished that she wasn’t. Questions rattled through her head one after another. Had she saved Tracey or was Ian Bradley right after all? Would the murderer strike again, and would it be all her fault for interfering?

  She needed to pull herself together and get onto the computer; see if the story had changed; see if Tracey Dawn Jackson still disappeared that day.

  THREE

  It didn’t take Carly any time at all to find the story of Tracey Dawn Jackson’s disappearance on her laptop. She had still disappeared.

  Well, she still disappeared. But maybe I spooked the killer and made him more edgy. Maybe that would have made him more careless, and he’d leave another clue to his identity at the crime scene.

  Still shaking from the dream, she headed for the living room, turned on the TV, and began flicking through the news channels to determine whether the story about the discovery of Tracey’s body remained the same as yesterday and if there would be any further clues in the hunt for Tracey’s killer.

  “Damn it, I haven’t changed a thing. In fact, I scared the damn murderer away; so maybe it’s partly my fault that no one but me saw him. I have to put this right. I have to go back there and find out who that guy was. Maybe, if I can find out who that key belonged to I stand a chance.”

  Carly turned up the volume as she finally got the break she was looking for. A picture of Tracey Dawn Jackson flashed up on the screen, then a picture of the mystery key. The news item was already part way through, but she listened closely as the broadcaster continued.

  “In a further development, police have been inundated with calls about the key found close to the body, including some calls from Tracey’s former college friends. It has emerged that the same type of keys were used on the lockers at the Harvest Spring Junction College, where Tracey was studying.”

  Turning off the TV Carly decided it was time for a rethink.

  Looks like I’ll have to get into that college to find out who the key belongs to; don’t think I’ll pass for a teenager though, Carly thought after catching a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror, en route to the kitchen.

  This is going to take longer than I thought. Just as well I decided to take a week’s vacation from work. I need to find some cover story for when I’m snooping around in the college. I need to find the connection between Tracey and the owner of that locker key. First of all though, I need to find something to eat, I’m starving.

  Carly needed to replenish her supplies, especially seeing as the coming week was going to be extra busy. No need for a shopping list, she’d just pick up whatever took her fancy.

  An extended shopping trip got her enough essentials to keep her going for a while. Of course she’d taken care of getting a healthy breakfast while she was shopping too; pretzels and a strawberry smoothie, to be precise!

  FOUR

  Having spent most of the day shopping, eating, and researching what Harvest Spring Junction was like in the 70’s, Carly decided that the time had come to get down to the business of the locker key.

  She’d done as much she could to familiarize herself with the college and surrounding area, with the help of old photographs found on various social networking and reunion sites. She checked the Crime Stoppers website again, and made out the number on the locker key, 198.

  After a long hot bath, the only thing left to do was to climb into bed and play the CD.

  It was a strange feeling going to sleep in 2012 then suddenly being transported back in time to 1979. Seeing what things were like for her mother’s generation gave her a new appreciation of what she had left behind at home.

  It was coming to the end of the college day, when Carly made her way into the building. She was surprised how few security measures were taken back then. No metal detectors or security staff on the doors, no intercom entry systems, no security cameras, nothing. There was just a solitary janitor, wandering around not doing very much at all. The lack of security was an advantage, as there was less chance of having to answer any awkward questions about her reasons for being there.

  Surprisingly, the building smelled of a mixture of pine disinfectant and floor wax; so perhaps the janitor wasn’t work-shy after all, but was just having a break.

  The wide school corridor with its wooden lockers either side, made it easy for Carly to slowly walk by, checking out the numbers as she went. The clatter of her heels echoed along to empty corridor, thwarting her attempt to remain totally unnoticed by the janitor.

  Right come on; where are you locker 198. I just hope I find it before classes finish.

  Having finally located the locker, Carly positioned herself where she would get the clearest view of the owner when they opened up the locker. It was a close call, as just then what seemed like hoards of young people began to emerge from the many classroom doorways up and down the corridor. The silence was broken by the loud and excited voices of the young crowd, happy that they were free from the confinements of their classrooms.

  Young men and women came and went, but no one arrived to open 198. The bulk of the crowd gathered their belongings and left the building, laughing and chattering as they went.

  The corridor was silent again, and Carly was just about to give up when she heard the sound of several voices approaching. From a door at the very end of the corridor, two young men and two young women headed in her direction. As they got closer she recognized one of them; Tracey Dawn Jackson.

&n
bsp; “Are you coming over to our place tonight,” a slim dark haired young man said to the two girls that were walking directly in front of him. He nudged the shy looking man next to him and smirked as he continued, “Our parents are going away for a few days so we’ll have the house to ourselves.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s such a good thing Vince. I mean we trust Scott; he’s a sweetie, but you. Well, you’re a bit crazy sometimes. Can we really trust you?” replied the pretty auburn haired girl.

  “Oh Pamela, I’m deeply offended,” Vince mocked as he held his hand to his mouth, feigning shock; “You and Tracey have my word I’ll behave myself, cross my heart.”

  “Hey. Don’t call me Pamela. You know I hate it. It’s Pam. O.K?” replied the girl in an irritated way, her face reddening as she continued, “and you’ve never been offended in your life, Vincent Halliday!”

  “Touché. I’m sorry I won’t call you Pamela again, Pamela. Oops. Only joking. I promise not to call you Pamela so long as you don’t call me Vincent; it makes me sound like a proper nerd.”

  As the group reached the lockers, Carly tried to pay close attention without looking conspicuous.

  Pamela looked vaguely familiar, but right now Carly didn’t have time to work out why. She appeared to be much more outgoing than her friend Tracey. Her shiny long hair and fashionable clothes showed that she knew how to look good, and she was certainly an independent young woman; she had put Vincent firmly in his place.

  Tracey looked just as expected; a smartly dressed, quiet but cheerful young woman. There was a tenderness that showed in her face when she smiled, and it was sad to know that her life was almost at an end.

  Vincent Halliday was a tall, slim, quite handsome young man, and boy did he know it. Smartly dressed and perfectly groomed, he looked like one of those guys who didn’t have to try hard to get female attention.

  Scott was clearly closely related to Vincent, and he could almost be Vincent’s smaller twin brother. But the similarity ended with their looks. Scott appeared to be a more reserved young man, and although he was smiling and laughing with the others, he had clearly blushed when Pamela had said he was a sweetie.