Dream Tunnel Read online

  Very special thanks to

  Don and Nancy Neuman

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.

  DREAM TUNNEL

  First eBook Edition

  December 2012

  Copyright © 2012 by Arby Robbins

  Copy Editing by Always Write

  http://www.alwayswrite.us/

  Cover design by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

  http://www.gobookcoverdesign.com/

  Cave photo by Creative Coop

  istockphoto.com/leobold/

  Girl photo by Igor Balasanov

  istockphoto.com/_IB_/

  Cast of Characters

  Conroe Williamson

  17-year old girl who time travels to bring back her true love

  Crane Carmichael

  the 17-year old boy Conroe loves

  Geneva Station

  Conroe’s best friend

  Wilford “Will” Wincraft

  the boy chosen by the queen for her daughter to marry

  Queen Connie Williamson

  Conroe’s mother - Queen of Ampla

  Wally Williamson

  Queen Connie’s husband and Conroe’s father

  Opal Edelsburg

  Queen Connie’s evil twin sister

  Frederick Edelsburg

  Opal’s son and Conroe’s cousin

  Tonya Meloni

  girl trying to steal Crane from Conroe

  Nurse Olive “Old Cracker” Olgencracker

  administrator of Philanopian “Philly” Children’s Home

  Kelsey, Emily and Libby

  Tonya’s friends at Philly

  Dedicated to my wife,

  Lynda

  Your love inspires me

  "There is no difference between Time and any of the three dimensions of Space except that our consciousness moves along it."

  — H.G. Wells, The Time Machine

  1

  Conroe Williamson stepped into the shopping mall looking for trouble, wearing a black leather motorcycle jacket and pants with spike-toed combat boots that added two inches of height to her lean, muscular, six-foot frame. Lipstick color: Dead Black. The silver ring in her nose matched the ones in her ears. Her braid of dark brown hair hung at her back, curled up at the end, threatening onlookers like a venomous snake. The message tattooed across her forehead echoed her attitude: FLUSH IT.

  A young mother stared at her as she walked by—obviously wondering what kind of horrible parents raised such a freak. Conroe saw the disdain in her eyes and smirked at her. The woman clutched her two children close to her sides, as though Conroe might try to snatch them away and bite their heads off.

  A group of boys clowned around near the escalators. The leader of the pack shot Conroe a wink. Cocky and good-looking, he was probably the star quarterback. But she had no use for him or any of his teammates. She was looking for trouble, but not that kind of trouble.

  Conroe saw cliques of girls shopping for clothes, flirting with boys, and eating ice cream in the food court—doing all the things that girly girls do. Maybe she would walk up and punch one of their pretty little faces. She wondered if a broken and bloody nose would be enough to get her thrown in jail. It was an option.

  She stopped at a water fountain and overheard two girls talking. From what she could gather, they were planning some kind of mischief, and Conroe wanted to watch. It was a diversion, to be sure, and she had an agenda, a critical mission. Still, she couldn’t resist.

  She followed the two girls into Babes, a teen clothing boutique. They headed straight for the sixty percent-off table, which was stacked with hundreds of pairs of shorts in a dozen different pastel shades. One of the girls grabbed a couple of pairs, seemingly at random, and took them into a dressing room, while the other continued to rummage through the pile.

  Conroe stopped at a rack of costume jewelry nearby and pretended to study several of the items while waiting for the girls to put on their show.

  The girl walked out of the dressing room wearing a pair of pink shorts, with only a black bra on top. “Well, Tiff—what do you think?” She struck a sexy pose.

  Tiffany laughed. “That looks hot, Rachel.”

  A middle-aged clerk intervened. “Miss, you can’t walk out here dressed like that.”

  “Why? Oh—is it the bra? Is it the fact that it doesn’t match the shorts?”

  “No. I just need you to—”

  “Well, I like black, and I think it goes very well with pink. But if it’s against some stupid store policy to wear black with pink, I can solve that problem.” Rachel unhooked her bra, took it off, and slung it across the saleswoman’s shoulder. “How’s that?”

  “Young lady, get back in the dressing room!”

  Tiffany began laughing hysterically.

  Several customers turned to see what was happening. Two pre-teen girls giggled.

  “Please!” The saleswoman placed the bra cups over Rachel’s breasts and pushed her backward, toward the dressing rooms.

  “Get your hands off me,” Rachel said.

  Conroe had enjoyed watching the girls’ antics, but now it was time to get down to business. She stuffed dozens of the cheap jewelry items into her jacket pockets and walked out of the store.

  The security alarm sounded.

  Conroe froze.

  “I saw what you did,” said an unfamiliar female voice.

  The girl was two inches taller than Conroe, and twenty pounds heavier. She wore a denim jacket over a black T-shirt, with faded jeans and white sneakers. Her blond hair was cropped short enough to make her look like a boy—although the large breasts dispelled that possibility.

  “It’s none of your business,” Conroe said, turning away, wondering what was taking the mall cops so long to get there.

  The girl grabbed Conroe’s shoulder and spun her back around.

  Conroe saw the fist coming toward her face and ducked.

  The girl lost her balance and fell down. But she jumped right back up and cocked her fist.

  “Stop!” a man yelled.

  When the girls caught a glimpse of the skinny young man in uniform holding a shaking pistol, they threw their hands into the air.

  “Why are you pointing that gun at me?” asked the girl. “This ain’t no bank robbery, Junior.”

  “Both of you put your hands against the wall.” His voice cracked, as though he hadn’t quite made it through puberty.

  He handcuffed the girl. A second guard arrived to cuff Conroe.

  “You’re ridiculous,” said the girl to the skinny guard. “You wear that uniform like a skinny old lady.”

  “We’ll see who’s ridiculous,” he replied, “when you’re sitting in jail.”

  The girl snapped at Conroe, “What are you looking at, chicky? Wait until they put us in a cell together. I’m gonna tear your face off and stuff it down your throat.”

  Conroe smiled. The first step of her plan had worked—although not exactly as she had envisioned it.

  2

  Officer Johnson, a young black policewoman, sat between the two girls in the back seat of the cruiser. Her forty-something white male partner started the engine and drove out of the police station parking lot.

  Conroe peered over the top of the front seat to check the time on the dashboard. It was 9:45 p.m. They had been at the police station for three hours. “Where are you taking us—jail?”

  Officer Johnson answered, “Nope. You luck
ed out. The store manager agreed to drop the misdemeanor charges if we admitted you to Philanopian Children’s Home.”

  “A children’s home?” Conroe asked. “I don’t belong in a children’s home.”

  “Sure you do,” said the other girl, “because you’re a kid punk.”

  “You’re going there too,” reminded the male cop.

  “I’m a grown woman,” said the girl.

  “You’re both seventeen,” replied Officer Johnson, “and neither of you have got any living relatives—at least none that we could locate—so you’re both going to Philly.”

  “Philly?” the girl asked.

  “That’s what everybody calls it. It’s a good place. They help a lot of kids. So, when you get there, try to be civil. Otherwise, you may get shipped off to juvie.” She looked at one girl and then the other, studying them in the beam of headlights from oncoming cars. “I don’t know if you two have been formally introduced, so let me do the honors. Conroe Williamson, meet Tonya Meloni.”

  Both girls stared straight ahead.

  “Shake hands.” The female cop took each of their right hands and touched them together. “I said, shake hands.”

  Conroe took Tonya’s hand.

  Tonya squeezed it hard.

  Conroe squeezed back.

  It turned into a death match—each one trying to out-squeeze the other.

  Officer Johnson popped them in the foreheads with the back of her hands. “Cool it.”

  They let go.

  Tonya said, “Conroe? What kind of a name is that? Your parents named you after a city? If they were gonna do that, they should have gone big and named you Houston.” She laughed.

  “I think going big would have been more appropriate for your parents.”

  Tonya lurched at Conroe, but Officer Johnson elbowed her in the ribs, and she retreated.

  “Actually, I was named after my mother. She’s the one who was named after the city.”

  “Well, I’m just glad to know the name of the person I plan to kill.”

  Officer Johnson said, “Now, Tonya, let’s try to have a positive attitude. No more talk about killing anybody. I know you didn’t really mean that anyway.”

  “We’ll see,” Tonya replied, eying Conroe.

  3

  At 10:50 p.m. Nurse Olive escorted Conroe to her living quarters. “Conroe, this is your roommate, Martha.”

  Martha sat on her bed in pajamas, scribbling in a spiral notebook. She glared up at Nurse Olive. “I told you not to call me that. My name is M.” She eyed Conroe. “And I hate roommates.”

  “Nonsense,” Nurse Olive said. “I’ll bet you two will be the best of friends in no time.”

  “Right,” Martha said, going back to her writing.

  “Lights Out is at eleven, Conroe.” Nurse Olive checked her watch. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes to be in bed?” Conroe asked.

  Nurse Olive had already stepped out and closed the door.

  Conroe sat down on her bed. “What am I supposed to do—sleep in my clothes?”

  Martha closed her notebook and slapped it down on her bed, as though she were trying to swat a cockroach. “You’re not gonna have to worry about sleeping—you won’t be here for that long.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Martha leaped from her bed and ran at Conroe, knocking her down flat against the mattress, climbing on top of her, and straddling her at the stomach.

  “Get off me!”

  “I’m gonna mess up your face.”

  The door opened, and Nurse Olive walked in. “Conroe, I almost forgot to give you your—what are you doing, Martha? Get off of her!”

  “No problem—as soon as I break her perfect little nose.” Martha tightened her fist and contorted her face into something that looked like a Halloween mask.

  Nurse Olive yelled down the hall for orderlies.

  Conroe pulled her leg up and kicked Martha in the back with the heel of her boot.

  Martha’s eyes widened until her eyeballs looked like they were about to pop. She raised her hands like claws—ready to tear into Conroe’s face.

  Conroe caught Martha by the neck with her boot and flung her to the floor.

  Martha sat in a daze for a moment before getting to her feet. Two orderlies rushed into the room and grabbed her as she lunged at Conroe.

  “Take her to Solitary,” Nurse Olive ordered.

  “I don’t like her,” Conroe said.

  “Martha is somewhat high strung.”

  “Somewhat?”

  Nurse Olive handed Conroe a pill and a paper cup full of water. “This will help you sleep.”

  “I don’t think I’ll have any trouble sleeping.”

  “It’s not optional, my dear.”

  Conroe took the pill.

  “You’ll find a pair of pajamas in the dresser. Sweet dreams.” She smiled and walked out.

  Conroe wondered how fast the pill would take effect. She changed into the pajamas and switched off the light.

  The mattress was lumpy, but as she began to feel drowsy from the sleeping pill, she knew that the poor quality of the mattress was not going to be a problem. She didn’t like the sensation, though. Conroe wanted to be in control at all times. It had been a rough day: getting into two fights, spending three hours at the police station, and now being locked up in this place.

  However, she was exactly where she wanted to be.

  4

  The next morning, at 11:30 a.m., Nurse Olive opened Conroe’s door and stuck her head in. “Hey, sleepyhead, you already missed breakfast, and you’re about to miss lunch. Get up.” She slammed the door and then reopened it. “And this was your one day to sleep in. From now on, you’ll set your alarm clock and get up at six like everybody else.” She shut the door.

  Conroe opened her eyes. The sleeping pill had knocked her out cold. She forced herself to get out of bed and go into the bathroom to take a shower. The fake tattoo on her forehead washed off easily. The nose ring was fake too—a clip-on she had removed before falling asleep.

  When she walked out of the bathroom to get dressed, she realized that her clothes were gone, as well as her boots. She checked the dresser and found an ugly pair of navy pants and a matching shirt. It looked like prison garb. In the closet, she located a pair of canvas sneakers that weren’t quite big enough for her feet. She put them on anyway.

  Conroe was surprised to find her door unlocked. She walked out into the hallway, which was empty. She heard people talking or yelling—she wasn’t sure which. Following the noise, she was able to locate the cafeteria.

  She walked in and saw a roomful of teenagers and elementary school kids sitting around dozens of tables, eating and talking. Their voices ricocheted off the painted concrete block walls, melding them into what sounded like an angry mob.

  Passing through the serving line, she selected the least-disgusting-looking food items and picked up a glass of tea.

  She saw Tonya sitting at a table with three other girls.

  Conroe avoided their table, walking to the back corner of the room where a teenage boy was sitting by himself. “Mind if I join you?”

  He looked up from his tray and appeared to be speechless.

  “It’s not life or death,” she said.

  “Oh, sorry.” He stood up. “Sure, please. Have a seat.”

  “Thank you. My name is Conroe.”

  “Glad to meet you, Conroe. Funny name for a girl.”

  “What’s yours?”

  “Crane.”

  “And you think my name is funny?”

  “I was a long, skinny baby, so…”

  “Looks like you still are,” she joked. “How tall are you?”

  “Six foot four.”

  “Basketball player, huh?”

  “Yeah, but I’m no good,” he replied. “You’re tall too. Do you play?”

  “Nah. Never even tried. What is this stuff anyway?” She picked at her food with her fork.

  “T
hey call it spaghetti and meat. The spaghetti part I believe. Not so sure about the meat.”

  She smiled.

  “You just checked in, huh?”

  “Yep—last night. And then my roommate attacked me.”

  “Did she hurt you?”

  “No, I’m fine. And they sent her to Solitary.”

  “I don’t have a roommate right now,” he said, “but I’ll probably get another any day now. Sure is a lot nicer when you have the room to yourself.”

  “Yeah. I guess I’d better enjoy it while I can. I overslept this morning. The sleeping pill that nurse gave me was strong enough to knock out a horse.”

  Crane broke a smile. “Yeah, I don’t ever take them.”

  “I didn’t think I had a choice.”

  “You don’t. Just put it under your tongue until Old Cracker leaves. Then spit it out.”

  “Old Cracker?”

  “Nurse Olive,” he explained. “Her name is Olive Olgencracker. Everybody calls her Old Cracker.”

  “She must love that.”

  “We don’t say it to her face.”

  She sampled the meat. “Oh my, I see what you mean. This is horrid.”

  He looked surprised—probably because of her word choice. She shouldn’t have said horrid. The next time she would use the word…awful. Yes, that would be an acceptable alternative. It was important that she talk like everyone else if she hoped to pull this off. That was good, she told herself. Pull this off was a good phrase. That was the key, she realized—to think colloquially. Then she would be less likely to make a mistake.

  He studied her. “How did you end up in here?”

  Before she could answer, Tonya walked up to the table. “Hey, chicky, what are you doing over here? I thought we were gonna be friends. I saved a place for you at my table.” She nodded to it. “Why don’t you come over and join my posse? Or am I not good enough for you?”