The Red White and Blue Candle, by Vern

Chapter 1
The Red White and Blue Candle, Part 1

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Chapter Description: by Vern. Spencer Transom was wealthy, famous and powerful -- but now he's being held against his will in a place where it's not only nothing unusual, but expected. And only one other person knows what's going on....

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Spencer Transom was wealthy, famous and powerful -- but now he’s being held against his will in a place where it’s not only nothing unusual, but expected. And only one other person knows what’s going on....

If only I’d left well enough alone. That’s the conclusion I’ve reached after days of retrospection. I should have quit while I was ahead. Normally, there would be no need for introductions, because everybody in the county knows Spencer M. Transom. In the late 90s, I was one of the "Bicentennial Babies" from Creighton U.’s MBA program, so called because we were successful young investors who had been born in the mid-70s. I’d been born in ’75, close enough to the bicentennial to be part of that group of Generation X dudes who got rich. Our secret was that we went from wealthy to wealthier. I had invested my inheritance wisely.

After college, I moved back here and controlled my investments from afar. I was the richest guy in my little kingdom of Roosevelt County, Nebraska. I owned majority interest in Transom Industrial, the largest employer here, and had some control over nearly everything else in the area.

But that’s not true now. I have control over nothing here. Save for two people, nobody is aware that I’ve vanished, or that I’m being held against my will. Only a handful of people even know the name of Spencer Transom. It’s my own damn fault, as I’ll explain.

I never met my dad, Jim Transom. He deserted Mom in early 1975, right before I was born, and never paid child support. When he died in 1992, we were surprised to learn that he had been fairly successful in the oil business-- and that he had never gotten around to making a will. As his only offspring, I got half of his fortune, and I wasn’t even out of high school.

Mom was resentful ever after, and looking back on it, I could have been more generous with my money. All that wealth was bad for both of us. She managed a trust for me until I reached 18, and I had to sue her to get my own cash. Nevertheless, I’ve provided her a monthly allowance for her needs. Our views on what she "needs" just happen to differ.

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From my perspective, the critical event took place five days ago, yet it’s in the distant future. Saturday, June 5, 2004, was Mom’s 50th birthday, and I visited her that morning at the rundown old homeplace, on what was left of the farm her parents had owned. All she had to her name was a hail damaged pickup, the furnishings, and her little beagle, Arrow. I nearly tripped over it when I walked in-- I hate that dog.

"Here’s five hundred dollars in cash, Mom," I had said, counting out five $100 bills. "Go shopping and get whatever you want."

"Oh how sentimental," she sneered.

"Come on Mom. When I was growing up, we never had as much as a hundred bucks saved."

"And ’we’ still don’t have it. You do."

"Because it’s not ’ours’, Mom. It’s mine. I’ve offered you plenty to make up for the support Dad should have paid you. I bought back Grandpa’s home so you could have a place to live as long as you want. I didn’t have to do that, you know."

"Spencer, it’s not the money. It’s how you treat me. All those years I was a single mom, I worked a lot of lousy jobs to support us. I never had a chance to go to college or pursue any dream. And now I’m fifty."

"Mom, you were 20 when I was born. You could have gone to college when you were 18, so don’t blame that one on me."

"If I hadn’t met Jim Transom, I might have. There are a lot of things I would have done differently if I could. Look at me. I’m an old lady, worked all my life, got nowhere. You woke up one day and you were a millionaire high school kid. I bet you spend more money on cocaine than I ever made in a year."

"Life isn’t fair. But I’ve been pretty fair to you."

"Yeah, ’pretty fair’ describes it just right."

"I can see where this is going. I picked you up a birthday cake at the supermarket. Of course, I couldn’t afford all the candles you would need on it."

"Har de har," Mom said, "I’ve got candles, you little cheapskate."

She went to the kitchen and pulled a red, white and blue birthday cake candle from a drawer.

"That looks familiar," I commented.

"It should. It’s been a feature on all the birthday cakes we had for as long as I can remember."

"It doesn’t look like it’s even been used."

"Funny thing. It never seems to burn down. It’s unbreakable. It never seems to get misplaced...."

"And at this rate, it never seems to get lighted. Let’s just get this done, Mom."

She lit the candle, then paused.

"Now what?" I asked.

"I’m making my birthday wish," she said.

She blew out the candle, and for a moment, it seemed like she was in a trance. Then she snapped back to attention.

"It worked," she said, "just like I remember it."

"I don’t have time to hear about it," I said. I pushed that dog out of the way with my foot.

"Don’t hurt him!" Mom said.

"I didn’t hurt it. Okay? See you later."

As I walked out the door, I noticed that the pickup truck was gone. But over in the garage--- when did she build a garage?-- was a Hummer. "Whose SUV is that?" I called, but she didn’t respond. Rich boyfriend, perhaps? That seemed unlikely at her age. Whoever it was, I’d find out and run him off.

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But as the rest of Saturday progressed, it was clear that the Humvee wasn’t the only thing that was different. In Sharpsburg, at the corner of Main and Canton, there had been a burned out shell of a building. Now there was a two story structure, with an awning that said "Transom Investment Services"-- and stenciled on the window was Mom’s name. "Betty Wheeler Transom, Investment Counselor". At my office, when I picked up the Roosevelt County Herald, the "interesting bits of news" column had an item about a charity fundraiser that Betty Wheeler Transom was planning in Omaha.

My surroundings were the same as always-- again, I should have left well enough alone-- but hers were a lot different. The kicker was when I was greeted by Pete Wheeler, my mom’s brother. "What’s wrong, Spence?" he asked me. "Pete?" I asked. "Sure. You going to your mom’s party?" he said, nonchalantly. "I’m...I need to go pay her a visit right now," I said. That encounter unnerved me more than the building or the Hummer. Uncle Pete had been killed in a car accident in 1991, right after I turned 16.

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So I drove on back out there. Mom met me at the door and said, "I had a feeling you’d be back. That makes sense, because you were the only other person here when I blew out the candle. Nobody else would have remembered how things used to be."

"How things used to be? I don’t know how you did it, but you didn’t have a Hummer or an office building yesterday. Somehow, you’ve become independently wealthy without my knowledge." I paused. "You’ve been stealing from me."

She laughed out loud. "How much did I steal to bring back your Uncle Pete?"

"You hired an actor. That was a good resemblance, by the way, but that’s sick."

"And the building downtown? That went up quick, didn’t it? You know, I made sure never to do anything to change your circumstances, just mine. You still have all your money. More, probably. You just don’t have control over me anymore."

"I didn’t notice anything different until after I left here, and saw that Hummer. And the garage. Those weren’t here when I first came in the door."

"It’s pretty nice isn’t it. The Hummer, I mean."

"You made a birthday wish, and you used that little red white and blue candle."

"That’s pretty nice too."

"Damn it! Stop playing around. What did you do, wish to be rich? Where’s that candle anyway?"

"It doesn’t work that way..."

I pushed right past her and into the kitchen. "Just what I figured. You left it right on the cake, here in plain sight." I picked the thing up and said, "I wish I had one billion dollars... tax free."

"You’re being silly, Spencer..."

"I guess I have to light it." I lit the candle, made my wish, and blew it out.

"You still won’t have your billion dollars, honey," Mom started.

"Quiet. Maybe if I put it on the cake."

"Spencer, it’s not Aladdin’s lamp. If it granted wishes like that, you would have had a dirtbike every birthday."

"Then tell me, what’s the deal with it?"

"You won’t believe me."

"I don’t believe you can afford a Hummer either."

"It’s a way to travel through time. Seriously. Nobody ever wished that before on that candle, but..."

"And you went back in time before I inherited the money-- 1991, probably-- save Pete, gave your past self some tips on what was going to happen, then came back to the present."

"Not quite like you imagine, but close..."

"Then you’re going to unarrange things, Mom."

"What’s it to you? You have just as much money as you ever did, Spencer."

"Yeah? And you have more. The hell of it is, if I hadn’t been here, you’d have gotten away with it. Now tell me how to use this thing, and we’ll be fine."

"I’m pretty sure it has to be your birthday for you to make a wish. The reason I know that..."

"My birthday was in April, so I guess I can’t use it."

"I guess not."

"Wrong! It’s still YOUR birthday."

"I’ve had enough of time travel. And even if I wanted to, I sure wouldn’t undo this stuff that I’ve worked for," she began.

I went to the kitchen as she chattered on, and brought back a steak knife. "I’m starting to get annoyed," I said, "and you are not cooperating with me. We won’t undo your stuff, OK? But I want the same advantage you had. Wherever you went, I’m going there too. And you’re coming with me."

"Spencer, you aren’t seriously going to stab me in my own house. Don’t try to bluff me."

"No. I won’t hurt you, Mom," I said. I picked up the dog. "But I see you still have little ’Arrow’ with you. Unless you came up with a better name for it while you were travelling in time. I never really cared for this dog, ya know?" I held the knife to the dog’s throat. That got Mom’s attention.

"Spencer, please..."

"Just put the candle on the cake, light it, and this time, we’re going to travel through time together. Don’t try to send me anywhere you wouldn’t go yourself."

She did as she was told, and made one final plea. "The whole thing was an accident," she said. "I didn’t have a choice about where I went. I can only go one place-- or time. You just don’t understand, Spencer...."

"Wherever you go, I go. Now do it."

"All right then. I wish that Spencer and I could both go back in the past," she recited.

I let go of the dog, but not the knife. "You made your wish. Now blow out the candle."

She blew it out.

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The next thing I knew, I heard clapping. I was looking up toward my Mom, who was sitting in a chair in front of a birthday cake. She looked so young now, and the other people in the room did too. My grandparents were still alive, and they looked like they were in their 50s. Uncle Pete and Aunt Emily were just kids. I realized that I was a child too, barefoot in my grandpa’s house.

At first, I thought I was wearing shorts, like a little kid might. My second thought was that I was in my underwear. But as I felt the slick plastic, I realized that I was wearing diapers. I ran from the kitchen to the nearest mirror, and found it in the bathroom. Climbing on the sink, I got a shock when I saw my reflection. I was a baby, with very blonde hair and a chubby face. I did some math in my head-- I had been born on April 14, 1975, so that made me two months more than a year old.

"Come down from there before you get hurt!" It was Aunt Emily, and before I could turn around, she dragged me off the sink. Kicking did no good. She tightened her grip and carried me back into the kitchen, where all eyes turned to me.

"Where did he go?" Grandpa asked.

"He was in the bathroom," said Emily.

"You kids can’t leave that door open. Spencer’s not old enough to be in there," Grandma advised.

Emily continued to hold me as she sat back at the table, and I saw the Omaha World-Herald there. Here too, it was Saturday, June 12-- but it was the year 1976.

"Did you get your wish?" Pete-- who was 13 years old here-- asked my Mom.

"I think I did," she replied. "Let me test. Oh Spencer? Do you need a dry diaper, honey?" I recoiled, and she laughed. "Yes, baby Spencer and I both got our wish. He wanted to go wherever Mommy went, and here he is!"

"What did you do to me?!!" I shouted-- but to my horror, it came out as "Whaayadanamaa!!"

"What did he say?" Emily asked.

"I think he wanted to tell me he hates wearing a wet diaper," said Mom. Emily handed me off to my mother, who carried me to her bedroom-- which now housed a crib and other stuff. On the dresser was a package of "Kimbies"-- I hadn’t ever heard of that brand. She dumped me into the crib while she got out a clean diaper.

"I tried to warn you, but you wouldn’t listen. This is the one place where I have control over you. I ended up here the first time I blew out the candle, so this is my third time in 1976. It’s been awhile since you’ve seen it."

"Iwahngobatt!!" I shouted.

"You want to go back? Is that what you said? I’m about the only one who can understand you. To everybody else, it sounds like a baby jabbering. You’ll go back when I’m ready for you to go back. As I recall, you were preparing to kill my pet dog in 2004."

"Iwondoitmom!!" I shouted.

"Won’t do it, huh? No, I don’t suppose you will. In case you’re wondering, it’s my 22nd birthday today. On the other hand," she said, touching my nose, "You’re only 14 months old. That being the case, you will refer to me as ’Mommy’. Now lay down, Spencer, so Mommy can change you."

She lowered the crib railing, and I tried to climb out the rest of the way. "Iwahngobatt!!" I shouted angrily, pushing her away.

"Spencer Michael Transom, lay down and hold still! Your diaper’s wet!"

"Lemme go!!"

She didn’t let me go. Instead, she sat down at the nearest chair, turned me over her knee, and administered three hits to my backside. The spanking didn’t hurt that much, since a diaper was cushioning the blows, but I was horrified that I had gone from a 29 year old entrepreneur to a baby getting a spanking. In spite of myself, I burst into tears. Mom changed the diaper, and then set me to my feet, the better to get a lecture.

"You will find that it’s a lot different here in 1976, young man. Now run along and get reacquainted with your surroundings. And don’t smart off to me anymore, or Mommy will show you what a real spanking feels like."

I walked out of the room, boo-hooing, and found myself being comforted by Grandma Wheeler. How was I going to get back to 2004 if I couldn’t even light a candle?

 

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