Pearson Finch

Book Two

Me… Myself

Story by Charles Finley

When you can’t tell the difference

My newest client had no idea I was following him and his partner into the darkness, the bowels of the city. These shallow tunnels had become a maze, and my sight was weakening.

The moisture, the water, the smell and the metal walls were causing my sight to slowly fade yet again.

This has always been a drawback to my near infrared vision. These elements have always affected the abilities of my sight and if I don’t find my way out of this mess; I will lose my current client and myself within these walls.

My client’s name is Sir John Woodville: an English aristocrat who is a direct descendant of Jacquetta of Luxembourg and the mother of Queen Jacqueline Woodville from the fifteenth century.

John Woodville was recently knighted and received the title of Sir at an event at Buckingham palace hosted by King Charles the third. He wanted to celebrate the honor by purchasing the moment of a controversy that had darkened his family tree for centuries.

Proving or disproving the event was no longer an issue per say, it was more of a personal quest to understand what happened at that time.

The portrait in question was the controversial accusations of witchcraft against his fifteenth great grandmother Jacquetta of Luxembourg: By no means was this going to be an easy task but not quite impossible.

Shortly after Jacquetta’s husband’s execution by Jonathan Warwick in 1469, Thomas Wake, a follower of Warwick, accused her of witchcraft.

Thomas Wake brought to the Warwick Castle a led figurine made into the shape of a man-of-arms; broken in the middle and held together with a wire. Wake alleged that Jacquetta had fashioned it along with two other figurines to represent the king’s family and to use for witchcraft and sorcery against them.

I have learned to work off of many portraits dated around the same time and as long as I have a date, a picture of the person and a tangible location within the art; I can work my magic.

You may be asking; what did my painting reveal. Well they are private and I have artist client confidentiality. The only thing I will say is that: there were more than two people in the room.

As mentioned before, some people need proof to the legitimacy of my work. Verifying my art is just part of the process.

It is as simple as asking the buyer for a date, a place of residence along with a picture of themselves from that time period. I will then begin my Shift.

When I return, I will have with me a secret or a special moment that only they know; that is my verification. It is undeniable and very effective.  

My current predicament has me trying to catch up with my client without being seen; causing me to over think my options. The thought of Shifting inside of a Shift to get out of a dangerous situation has always made me nervous.

I have never attempted one and I will admit I am afraid of the unknown, the outcome and of course the worst case scenario that has always weighed heavily over me: The chances of never being able to return to the Real World.

My options are running low. It would definitely be a quick departure from this new adventure and catch up with them later, but I feel I mustn’t risk it. I feel that just waiting a little bit longer will bring this all to a resolve.

I have now been shifting for two days, and I am no closer to finding my proof. The eerie bellowing sounds echoing throughout these walls continued as I look for a secure place to rest. I am getting tired from the endless running and need a moment to myself.

Spending time in a cold damp place is not my idea of a fun time. My last turn within these odd catacombs revealed two teenagers struggling to climb a ladder; that was leaning against a wall. I finally caught up with my target.

Keeping my distance allowed me time to wait for the right moment to hopefully witness a little secret he held dear to him.

The ladder led to a curb grating and the street above, but it turns out, the other child was a young female around the same age. Just before they climbed their way out, John had engaged in his first kiss in of all places the gully’s beneath the streets of England.

Returning to my point of origin, I shifted back and relayed my findings to Sir John; though I was gone approximately two days, the Shift was instantaneous from his point of view. Shocked to hear my detailed encountered, the purchase of my art was easily finalized.

After 15 years of shifting I have learned many tricks and yet I believe there is still more I need to learn and understand. I usually just take small shifts to keep myself sharp, but occasionally there have been a few that have taken a little longer than I wanted and turned out to be a little tricky; maybe you read that story.

I don’t think I ever mentioned it; I suppose you are wondering if I am married or if I have a girlfriend. It’s actually kind of self-explanatory. Could you imagine being married or dating a shifter?

At the moment I only have my trusted friend as my agent and business partner; we have been together for almost 12 years, and she is all I need. Her name is Alicia Burke. A childhood friend since we were 11. You might ask yourself; is she the one?

Well! we never mix business with pleasure and that is how we maintain our friendship, but on occasion we have set each other up with a date and have gone out to dinners and shows, but we as friends never mingled as a couple.

We grew up together. She was the first and only one to believe my story about the reflecting mirror when it first happened and she promised me she would never tell a soul; to this day… she has kept her promise.

She lived in a different neighborhood, and the local park was our playground every weekend.

During our college years we both took art classes and studied history, she studied and became an Art major and received an associate’s degree in business. I received a graduate’s degree in history and Art. We knew what we wanted and we were able to work them in our favor.

We opened our first gallery in Groton Connecticut in 2022. Ever since then we have been doing quite well. She does the advertising, gets the clients. I create the art; mostly word of mouth, but for roaming eyes, a little advertising doesn’t hurt.

One piece of my artwork covers the store for a whole year, including expenses and salaries. Since I live above the gallery; rent for me is free but bills always have to be paid. 

Alicia lives a few miles down the road along the New London Harbor in a place called Gales ferry on a hill overlooking the Thames: just a beautiful place and a great location.

Though I can shift and be wherever I want to be, I choose to maintain a normal life. Remember this is not some superhero activity. This gift is just that, a gift, and I want to keep myself out of prying unwanted eyes and any unforeseen danger.

A few weeks have passed and I found myself yet again engulfed in my work. My last Shift was quite the experience. I have way too many images to recreate.

The moments are as vivid as if they happened yesterday; as I arch my wrist downward, a sudden knock on the door interrupts my brush stroke upon my canvas. a perfect mix of magenta, mixed with brilliant white and teal, as I tried to create my newest piece of art for the gallery; named Rushmore’s secret.

Upon opening the door, I was brought face to face with a young gentleman, a private courier holding a package addressed to me.  A quick signature and off he went, running between the raindrops of this dreary and windy day.

Most of the mail I receive is directed to the gallery, again I like to keep my name out of the mainstream as much as possible; this one however was different, it was addressed directly to me.

The return address was from an English based law office located here in the states by the name of Witherbys LLP, established in the year 1762.

The envelope was written in Eighteenth-century script; which featured a bold, neat and sloped round hand or a quick running hand for ease and elegance. It was clear someone with a talent for penmanship wrote this out.

As I opened it there was another envelope inside. My name was written on it to what looked like my own handwriting. It was a unique envelope made of thick paper and had an embossed face. It was naturally aged and very brittle. I must say quite the impressive piece.

I have seen this type before in my travels but not in this condition. On the back; a wax seal with the initials E C and a star along its outer edge.  No postage and no date on the exterior.

I decided to wear a pair of my thin cotton painter’s gloves that I use for my work to preserve the delicate piece; and a rounded edge palette knife was gentle enough to break the seal to the linen without damage.

Upon carefully opening the second envelope: a double folded linen letter revealed a date of January fifth Seventeen Fifty-three, a location of Manchester England and a hand drawn picture of a woman in pencil who looked like she was standing in some old wooden shack.

The writing was oddly familiar and the picture was as crisp as a photograph.

Yes. Of course it did, it was mine.  I just don’t remember this; I really, really don’t remember this at all.

You can now only imagine what was going through my mind; intrigued, dumbfounded and confused all at once followed by an explosive entourage of images in my mind.

Finding a chair, I sat and questioned myself: did I send this, did I write this or was this a joke being played upon me?

My first call was to my assistant Alicia, asking her if she had anything to do with it. Her reply was no and from there it just escalated to more unanswered questions.

A slow steady walk through the gallery allowed me to gaze upon the walls of my completed works of art. Nothing revealed itself and nothing jumped out at me as I searched for clues.

One thing I learned through the years with my studies is that: infrared light can reveal fingerprints, but I needed chemicals to do so. Fluorescent powders were the chemical of choice but not easily obtained.

Having my own jar of the powder at hand, I found my findings were undeniable… They were mine, but there was another set alongside them; crystal clear as if it was meant to be seen. Was it the fingerprint of the woman in the picture or someone else’s?

I pondered the thought of a Shift to find out the reason for this letter, but I decided to research the date and location first. I have learned to avoid unknown situations. That’s why I don’t shift in to water, or into outer space.

What was I looking for, what article or circumstance would catch my eye? Days of research did not reveal much, except one small phrase did stick out from the rest.

“Wrongfully accused”

On the first day of January 1753 maidservant Ms. Elizabeth Canning disappeared. She returned to her mother’s house some twenty-eight days later, emaciated and bedraggled, claiming that she had been held in a room against her will. As the case went to court, and her captors were arrested, many came to disbelieve Elizabeth Canning’s tale, resulting in Canning herself going on trial for perjury.

In 1754 the Manchester Mercury chronicle commented on the question of whether or not Ms. Elizabeth Canning is or is not an Imposter, which is still debated with great warmth by her advocates and opponents a year after her supposed disappearance. To this day it is not known what really happened to Ms. Elizabeth Canning for 28 days.

The article started a cascade of questions. The first and most important one was, why was I receiving this letter. Did I have something to do with this? I know I don’t shift to change history; I avoid it at every turn; I wouldn’t even attempt to try but there must have been a reason.

I placed the letter back in the envelopes, closed it and placed it on my desk and left it leaning up against my antique cigar box with the address facing outward, as if in hopes it would jar my memory. I thought a return to my work would relax me; but first a drink, and a stiff one at that.

I found myself staring at a partially completed piece on my easel; I felt the letter had left me speechless accompanied by a blank stare on my face.

            I had created a safe zone in the shift for the days I needed to let go. I call it my “Little Blue Heaven”: just to get away from the troubles of the day. I believe today was one of those days.

It is a place that currently exists in twenty-twenty-five; just in case something goes wrong I can get back home without shifting. I have never had to use it in that way; I hope to never have to use it at all.

I shift to a place on a hill overlooking the ocean with all its beauty. It’s a constant 72 degrees; I have a lounge chair with cushions, an umbrella and endless peace and quiet. I get to just be myself.

You might be wondering how I got all that stuff there. I drove it there in my Jeep Cherokee. I told you it was in the year 2025; I just didn’t tell you where.

I have spent days away to get the rest and free time I need. Some have questioned about my lack of sleep. Well! my little Blue Heaven allows me to get all the rest I need.

A walk through the tall grass lets me observe all its beauty; it relieves my tension, and I will admit… the occasional cool beverage doesn’t hurt either.

A returned back to reality with a fresh open mind only brought new thoughts to the envelope upon my desk.

Why would I send this letter to myself? Why can’t I remember it? Something is not adding up.

As I was re-examining it in more in-depth; I turned the envelope over. There was a faint note; barely legible. I was able to see it. It simply read.

“Please… Find him, I waited endless days…he never came back.”

It was short sweet and direct.

I am not sure what this meant, if it meant anything at all. I stared at her picture over and over. I was mesmerized and confused all at once. Why did she write this… was this even her message?

As much as I tried, I could not remember the letter or this picture but her story became more and more intriguing. I tried to make sense of it all. So I decided to re-read her court proceedings or should I say whatever I could find of them.

Now, just a recap; I have heard of her before but not in this detail. I have seen her before but only in passing, it could have been a brief glance in a magazine or a TV show; but now all this, a letter and a pencil drawn picture? Very confusing.

Missing; for almost a full twenty eight days, held against her will. Making it home alone completely drained of life and all her energy.

I started thinking to myself that maybe she was really lying… She made up a story for her family to cover up something else. A little farfetched but not out of reach.

Hey! I am still here, I guess anything is possible.

The letter, the picture, my handwriting… It all sounded plausible; I just couldn’t connect the dots. 

 My current canvas project had to wait. I began to clear my workstation; to try and focus on what this all meant. Papers, articles all consumed my desk.

My computer set to search for any words or phrases related to this incident. I even continued to search in the one place where I put things in my mind; to be left and to be forgotten. I started to become consumed with something I believe was not mine to recall. I could not remember.

So I guess today is the day I think this all through. I never really wrote down the ins and outs of shifting, but I guess you learn something new every day. Line after line I started writing them out.

• When I shift, my Real world presence does not move, but I can move in the Shift.
• I do not age on either side…while shifting
• No inanimate objects. No shifting into water or space. I cannot shift with another person.
• The more information I have; the closer I can get to the object or person in question.
• I can control a shift, but they can still happen when I least expect it.
• I have learned to avoid mirrors unless I am concentrating on not shifting. Shaving sucks
• It seems I always shift out of sight, allowing time to adapt to my new surroundings.
• During a shift, I can remember everything I see and hear, but emotions do not transfer.
• If I shifted within a shift, would I remember the previous shift and the Real world?
• Does the previous Shift become my new Real World for the second Shift, and so on?
• Can I only have more than one shift and one real world at the same time?
• Does multiple shifting erase the previous one?
• If so does time stop for each shift, as I continue on?
• What if I shifted multiple times at the same time? Is that even possible.

I think you would need multiple mirrors at the same time. I never did that, or at least I don’t think I did… purposely.

It seems I do have some answers, but I still have a lot of questions. If I don’t do anything stupid and think things through, I should be okay.

This whole scenario is really starting to weigh on me, but as I continued to examine all the evidence over and over between her accounts of the day and my possible involvement; I mean me, my personal involvement:

An unclear situation started to take shape. Something new, I needed to explore.

However! There was one thing that started to puzzle me. Why was this picture, that was dated, with a location never presented as part of her defense when she was in court; did she hide it from everyone purposely?

***

Again, out of nowhere the sudden jolt of random images seemed to overtake me again. I have experienced this once before; Vienna Austria 1778, the headaches; along with the overload in my vision.

Assorted random images were now in front of me as if I needed to Shift yet again. They had absolutely nothing to do with the current situation I was dealing with. These were completely random and arbitrary.

They soon subsided. I was now completely confused and disoriented, but I eventually got my bearings straight.

I saw her face; I saw the dates in front of me I realized that I shifted uncontrollably; this time there were flashes of light in all directions. People and places I haven’t thought about in years flashing in front of me, only to find myself nestled on the top of a hill with no one in sight for as far as I could see. Now where the hell was I?

The smell of fresh ocean-air surrounded me. I think I can actually see a rocky coastline in the distance. I guess I don’t have much choice. I need to find this woman. So away I go…

You can’t even imagine how much walking I do.  All the Shifts to you are instantaneous, but to me I was still traveling so this few tens of miles are but a walk in the park for me and something I am quite use too.

The passing of a few locals secured brief conversations and with that I learned that the Irish truly have a deeper accent the further north you go… Yes, that’s right. Brandon peak in the county of Kerry on the lovely little peninsula of Dingle: West of its mainland Ireland.

Why Ireland, Why here? After some deep thought I found my answer. I recognized the cliff arrangements from one of my favorite movies.

Star Wars: Episode Eight – The Last Jedi was filmed here. This time they chose to use 2 locations in Kerry as well as sites in Donegal, Clare & Cork. For the Kerry shoots they returned to Skellig Michael but also chose to use Ceann Sibeal on the Dingle Peninsula.

That’s all I have to say about that. It even sounds boring to me.

The details I had about the woman were sparse. I only had a date, a picture and in the corner the word Manchester; to me it only meant England. I had nothing else to go by.

Shifting into Ireland only meant that I was close but I had some work to do.

It turned out that the Dingle area was in a period of economic recovery and growth, Knight of Kerry, Robert Fitzgerald, started a linen industry to help build the local economy.

So as you could well imagine what happened next, I adjusted to my surroundings and got myself a job. 

Faking my way through using an English accent was the easy part, my Irish accent was terrible. I was able to fit in with the Irish folks and with my limited knowledge of the time I was able to fake my way through 1745. The next 6 years was typical and uneventful.

It wasn’t soon after that I was able to make my way to Dublin and then across the water towards Cardigan Bay; from there I headed north towards Manchester.

Reaching Manchester in the latter half of 1751 allowed me to get a job with a famous artist. His name was George Stubbs, a prominent artist of the time.

Being able to work as a painter’s assistant; allowed me to continue my search for an answer to this crazy shift that was completely unexpected, while having no idea why this image was so vivid in my mind.

The woman; her face planted right in front of me. I couldn’t get her out of my head since I shifted to Ireland.

I thought of Shifting back plenty of times, but as you can see my curiosity needed to find her first.

You have to remember; women are not just walking the streets and shopping aimlessly, it would have to be by chance and with a delicate approach. This era was unpredictable and the wrong move could be your last.

I have shifted through England multiple times. I kind of knew my way around and what to expect. You could say I have spent my share of time here and there.

After three years it seems I was where I was supposed to be, but my time was not complete.

Securing this particular job made it an easy transition since I knew what I was doing as a painter. I would prep canvases for the artists of the day and personally deliver them to the customer. I have visited many estates and met many influential people.

May of 1752 granted me a random visit to one particular estate that changed everything. I finally met the most amazing and the most beautiful woman in my image: Ms. Elizabeth Canning.

She was the maidservant to the wife of an overbearing employer who went by the name of Lord Edward Lyon. He was known for his aggressive and abusive personality and behavior. He was a very well-known carpenter, who built many estates during his life and most within this immediate area.

The estate I visited for this delivery was large and breathtaking. Ms. Canning was my main contact when I first arrived. Our first encounter was simple but touching, which included looks of desire, but not what you would think.

Our brief moments were extended more and more every time I stopped by. We were able to make a personal connection that seemed to hold us together in some strange way.

Again this wasn’t a sexual desire but one of mental attention we both needed. The company alone was more desirable than any act we could impose on each other.

Elizabeth was a very intelligent woman, and her mind became my desire. However short our time was together; it just seemed to overwhelm any other feelings we had for each other at that time.

Our attempts to see one another after that initial greeting outside the estate was limited and soon became restricted, not from any fault of our own but from  Lord Lyon himself.

Soon she was ordering blank canvases just so I would come to the house and drop them off. No one painted that much in such a short period of time so I knew her intentions became something else.

After months of casual encounters; Christmas Eve brought us time together. We were just happy to be at the same gathering for more than a few minutes.

Subtle glances and innuendoes from across the room made each other smile as we maintained our innocence from everyone.

I needed to know. We both needed to know if what we were feeling was real… was this the reason why I was here.

During a brief conversation; she had told me, that New Year’s Day was the day the Lords of the area gathered to praise each other of their riches and to boast of their good fortune. 

Elizabeth made it clear that she could get away for a very long time undetected.

The plan was to meet by horseback on her way home to her mother’s after an early afternoon visit to her aunt and uncles. We only planned for a short visit. We were to ride to a place far enough away where we could be alone and enjoy each other’s company without incident.

Elizabeth was to return to the estate after her visit to clean up after the celebration the night before.

I packed a small bag of food, wine and fruits to enjoy together. Upon my arrival; I saw that she was wearing a purple and yellow dress, a black petticoat, and a white bonnet. It was winter and I expected nothing less.

It was overwhelming. We both finally felt free.  She held on to me as if this was something we have done many times before; her head against my back and a secure grip around my waist as we galloped briskly.

The lack of snow this season made our tracks undetectable and our escape more exciting.

The ride through the hillsides and valleys led us to a beautiful spot in a small clearing with a utility house standing alone. A dismount along the edge of a cabin sealed our arrival. A peaceful retreat overlooking a river that ran through the valley between the hills.

We settled in and I started a fire. Upon the shelf almost little to nothing, a few bags of tea, some hard tack, cloth bags that held some writing material and some unusual odds and ends. Hanging behind the door were some old worn out coats and rags. Since I didn’t even expect that, we accepted and were satisfied with our situation.

A few quiet hours alone didn’t require many additional items as we talked most of the time away. We got settled in with our surroundings as we began to get a little more comfortable with each other.

Our conversation was slow at first. I think it was just a feeling of solitude that soothed us even more. The thought that nothing could hurt us at this moment was in the air.

As the cabin warmed up, we began to disrobe the extra heavy clothing that kept us warm during the ride.

Just a few clips were the last to be removed. The loss of her bonnet revealed a beautiful length of wavy auburn hair that had been kept hidden all this time. It fell and ran down just past her shoulders, Soft hazel eyes and high cheek bones that only finished and enhanced her beauty.

Yes. I was taken aback by her beauty. How could I not? We spent the first few hours just learning about each other.

She was eighteen and just had a birthday about a month earlier. She was employed by Lord Lyon three years earlier and became a maidservant. 

She told me how she felt enslaved most of the time. Her lord was not a good person and thought for some time on how she could get away and be free of him.

The stories she told were deep and tearful; only recently did she feel calm when I was in her presence. The pain I felt for her was projected through my responses and resonated within my soul.

Nothing to her mattered, at some point she decided to commission more canvases no matter the consequences just to see me and be closer to me. She felt I was different from all the others… 

Little did she know how different.

My initial story of where I was from and who I was didn’t really fool her. My accent changed so many times, I was shocked to have gotten as far as I did. She knew I wasn’t telling the truth but for some reason it didn’t matter to her.

Her comfort and peace of mind was all she wanted and it kept her at ease; with me, it came almost natural.

It had been some time, and our subtle innuendoes started to bring us closer together. Our personal connection started to take hold. The first kiss was almost an accident but was not refused. Without having to say a word, her embrace told me she didn’t want to let go and for me to stay with her for as long as I could.

The playfulness between us escalated as we started to play out scenes from our favorite play writes:  Shakespeare, Rowe, Hayward and Tyler. The music we hummed out-loud allowed us to dance to the music of our favorite scenes.

After what seemed like an endless romantic date of the minds, I felt I needed to come clean and tell the truth.

I began to talk about a time she would never know. Cities: grander than she could ever have imagined.  I even described Manchester England as a place of beauty she could only dream about.

I told her I was born in America and lived in the “New England Area” as I began to speak more normally and accent free.

Transportation was no longer by horse, women had real jobs, free to do as they wished, having families and even living and owning a house of their own.

The look in her eyes was of disbelief and curiosity all at once. I looked right at her and told her the truth about who I really was. Her response was comical.

“Is this something you’re making up?”

That was the moment between us that made me display, my artistic side. I reached for the Linen paper and the pencils left in the cloth bag. I asked her to stand against the wall as I began to draw her silhouette and fill in the missing points of her attraction, with incredible detail.

Upon completion of the picture, her eyes gazed upon what had become a crystal-clear image just as I told her it would. I dated it and wrote the location next to it as well, so she would always remember our time together.

As I folded it in half, I wrote my name on the front… Pearson Finch

As I looked up and handed it to her the atmosphere became thick with lust. We continued to dance and sing our favorite tunes of the day as the Innuendoes flew around the room. We stood closer than before. Our eyes locked, our hands sweating from the heat of our lust.

I watched a slow motion version of her as she performed multiple pirouettes. I was falling deeply for her, but I knew it would not work. The day slowly turned into night as we sat and reminisced about the day’s activities along with our time together.

It was time to head back, but she didn’t want to go. She asked me to explain more about my so called abilities and how I could use them in our favor. I told her, I could show you if I had a mirror.

The cloth bag contained a few other items and one of them happened to be a small piece of broken mirror someone might have used to shave with.

It was just big enough to use for that sole purpose and for what I was about to show her.

Taking a mental picture of the outside of the cabin allowed me to have a closer shift point than most. I asked her to stand along the wall and watch. Since I didn’t have anything else available I used the picture of her with the date and location I had drawn.

I told her that when you see me next, I will be outside knocking on the door.

She stood there breathless with anticipation with her hand over her heart. A magical experience was going to take place and she was going to be one of the first to witness it outside my little circle.

I grabbed the mirror and projected my image.

***

I stood perfectly still, and I held that letter firmly in my grasps, deciding whether or not to shift again and find the truth.

A call to Alicia was now a standard between us. A pre-shift call between the two of us kept things real, just in case.

Furthering my research revealed an article about her arrival to the states, as I read more, this reporter caught up within a month or so after her arrival to recap her story to the American public and to help understand her sentencing and the possibility of clearing her name.

Her story remained the same throughout the interview. Though the outcome was considered perjury, she was glad to be free of the misconduct and sentencing she endured in England. Elizabeth was hoping to start over when she arrived here in the states. I believe she wanted to be free of it all.

That was the point I needed to shift to. I needed to catch her at the right time so her story would not be influenced either way.

I decided to wait till after the interview, this way there would be no changes in her story accept for what she may reveal to me.

I prepared my shift with as much information as I could about that exact time and location of her interview. I decided her arrival and departure from the boat was the safest time. I felt spending a month here to find the truth would not be that terrible.

            I watched as the boat arrived outside of port, the slow push to the docks made me question my intentions. Was I doing the right thing?

I stared at everyone who debarked; waiting for a glance at a woman I never met, wondering about a moment I knew nothing about. It was at that moment a familiar face appeared at the top of the ramp.

Dressed as you would imagine; after an eight week voyage across the Atlantic Ocean, but she walked upright and with dignity.

I maintained my distance. I watched as she tried to fit in; while finding a place to stay, and possibly acquire employment.

A local shelter and business were established to help new arrivals with just that. A few questions and some papers to fill out would help you relocate here; for a price, I am sure.

Over the course of a few days; she had made some new friends in the area. It seems her upscale demeanor helped her to adapt more quickly, while securing her image and lodging.

A few weeks had passed when she visited a friend from England. A man who was looking to start a company here in the states for newcomers; A law office of sorts but he hadn’t finished his schooling yet. Finishing his schooling here would for sure secure an international business alliance with his future company.

I was able to meet up with this gentleman a day or two later. I came up with a story that I was getting information for a work program for Ms. Canning. I just needed a few references.

I asked him his business with her when he stated that all she wanted was to find the person on the envelope and give him this letter no matter what it took or how long. As a favor to our friendship, I agreed.

I continued my story to hide my true reason for asking such questions; I proceeded with a few basic ones and off I went.

I was glad I waited, and within a week her interview took place without a hitch.

It was now time to approach her. I couldn’t be abrupt. I had to do this right and not scare her off. I thought the best way for this to happen was for her to see me.

As she entered a café of sorts, I took a seat on the other side of the room and waited for her to notice me.

Short glances across the room made little to no contact with each other, when just at that moment I heard a few words of curiosity.

“Excuse me, have we met before?”

It seems it worked. She made her way over to me, because she felt I looked familiar. I responded carefully,

I don’t know, have we?

She insisted I reminded her of an old friend and then she asked my name. I stood up quickly and walked out; I told myself that this was not the place to have the conversation I wanted to have.

She followed me with a vengeance, she insisted for me to stop, but I continued to avoid her. I wanted to get her in a more private area to talk, and this was working out perfectly until she called out my name.

“Mr. Finch… Mr. Pearson Finch. Would you please stop?”

I stopped dead in my tracks; hesitated then slowly turned around.

She stared at me with wide open eyes; in shock, while at the same time dropping everything she was carrying. She then opened her mouth and spoke just a few direct words.

“Is it really you?”

It was hard for me to answer that. So I thought of another way to turn this conversation around.

I received your letter.

“How could that be, I just gave it to a friend of mine the other day.”

Let’s just say, that he is very good at what he does.

“Pearson. Why?… Why did you leave me?”

I picked up her belongings and carried them while we found a quiet place to talk. She was still in shock but agreed.

Ms. Canning… I am not the Pearson Finch you know. I have never met you before, but I need to know why I received this letter with your picture and the note on the back.

“Pearson, you drew that picture in the shed that day, don’t you remember, Manchester England or the picnic?”

No. I am sorry, I don’t.

 I didn’t understand what she was talking about, until she began to describe her encounter with myself and what had happened.

            “Mr. Finch, I don’t know where to start. It’s been almost two and a half years. We met in Manchester and kept our emotions secret. We saw each other whenever and how ever we could. Was it love? I don’t know, but we did enjoy each other’s company very much.

At a Christmas party, I told you, I mean… him; about a chance we might be able to get away for a while.

You… I mean Pearson… This is crazy… Mr. Finch this is too confusing…”

I know it is; just please continue, Just take it slowly.

“Pearson set up a picnic basket and we rode off to a place far enough away, so we could be alone.

We spent a lovely time together. We talked, we danced, we sang, we hummed our favorite music. Our first kiss was in that shed, it was gentle and memorable.

He talked about drawing and that he was an artist. He drew a beautiful picture of me, it was flawless. You saw it. He then wrote a few words on it.

He folded it up and wrote his name on the front. We then engaged in more laughter and conversation. Consisting of just fruits, cheeses, bread and wine. Our lunch was simple and tasteful. We enjoyed ourselves as we felt the hours drift away.

I told Pearson that I didn’t want that day to end. I didn’t want to go home. I was comfortable right where I was. I asked him if any of his so-called abilities could work for us and get us out of there.

He really didn’t have much of an answer other than he was going to show me something and when he returned we would discuss our possible future.

I stood there breathless with anticipation. I felt a magical experience was going to take place. He then told me that when I saw him next, he would be outside knocking on the door.

In a flash; as if he was never there. The mirror he was holding fell to the floor and shattered before my eyes.

He was no longer within my sight. I turned to the door in hopes to hear a knock; I would then open it and see a familiar face on the other side.

I waited motionless but the knock never came. The night soon approached and I was left waiting alone for him to return.

I fell asleep and woke the next day, alone and helpless. I thought for a time that I was dreaming, but everything around me was very real. The broken mirror remained on the floor.

I truly wanted to believe he would return, so I waited and waited. The horse we rode on that day had disappeared into the night; most likely scared off by an unknown sound.

The days grew colder and shorter as time slipped by. The food was now almost completely gone. I had to get home. My companion and my friend Pearson was to never return.

After a week or so by myself I finally made the decision to start the long trek back home through the hills and valleys covered by winter’s white blanket.

The bed of snow got thicker and thicker. It started to deepen making every step harder and harder. I had turned my dress into cloth boot covers and the decrepit jacket on the door became my break from the cold wind. It just became treacherous.

It seems I got lost on the way home and found myself night after night; sleeping in make shift huts I made from fallen trees and brush.

I was able to make a fire with the matches left in the barn and used kindling I found along the way.

I was scared and spent days in the same location hoping to be found, but no one ever came. I needed to move forward. I knew what would happen if I didn’t.

I lost count as daytime and nighttime slipped by. I began to question my sanity. The cold was numbing and the wind was harsh. Food was scarce. I found myself chewing on small tree branches from the evergreens that covered me. I would remove the bark and suckle on the bare branches.

I made tea from pine needles, old chestnuts husks and made water from melted snow.

I admit at first those hard tack biscuits left in the shed were horrible, but I took them just in case. I learned to let them soak in the tea and that made them soft enough to eat.

During my sleepless nights I started thinking about what I was going to say to the people when I returned. They were never going to believe a word I said. I believe they would have hung me for witchcraft if I told them a story about a man who disappeared.

Mr. Finch. I am telling you I had to lie; I had to make up something more realistic. Kidnapped and held against my will by two women I never liked in the first place was a better choice than that of a disappearing man.

If I got caught lying, I would have just gotten a slap on the wrist…Well, Mr. Finch. That turned out to be a questionable decision for me, and yet, look who now stands before me.”

Ms. Canning, being me makes it very hard to recall meeting you. I know this must seem very strange, but I do not have the answer you seek.

“Pearson, I mean Mr. Finch… I don’t understand…. We spent the whole day together, we danced arm and arm and we fell into each other’s spell, how can you expect me to stand here and listen to this dribble?”

The reason myself never came back is because he couldn’t.

“What do you mean, why are you talking to me like you are another?”

Pearson looked for you because of an article and a picture I must have seen. It sounds very awkward for me to talk to you in this way, but believe me, it’s the only way. The only way it will make sense.

“Then don’t… don’t speak to me like a child and assume just because I am a woman I would not understand.”

It can’t be helped… the best way for you to understand it is to think of us as two different people; me and myself. Sorry that it has to sound so crazy and awkward…  but this meeting between you two was never supposed to happen.

“I don’t understand, why would you say that?”

Please listen very carefully: It is hard to explain but I will try again.

Have you ever heard the phrase: Me. myself and I?

“I think so; they are an odd choice of words to use. Why?

You… must have met myself: As confusing as it sounds, that has to; be what happened.

You are making absolutely no sense Mr. Finch or whoever you are… You’re going to have to be more specific.”

I am a shifter; I also have a photographic memory; with the ability to visit another time and place. It seems that “me and myself” got caught in a shift at the same time, which should have never happened, I still don’t even know how it happened: believe me it is still confusing to me as well. The Pearson you met was not me… it was myself.

“Are you saying that the man I came to know is not real?”

No. Absolutely not, He is definitely real, he just wasn’t me. He is the exact version of me in every way you could think of. “myself” accidentally shifted to your time and place.

Simply put: The man you met and know is “myself” …  not me.

“So, you are saying that there are two of you?”

Yes… that seems to be the case, but not at the same time. Please try to accept it; try to make sense of it, don’t try to analyze it.

“I will try. So what now, what happened to him?”

Me as the original shifter believes he shifted from a shift causing him to lose the ability to shift back, he just didn’t know if he could or couldn’t. Myself; did not know. That was his first mistake.

The real interesting part is I don’t remember doing it.

“Now you see Mr. Finch, you are contradicting yourself and making this very confusing. If it wasn’t you, then who was it?

It was, myself

If what you told me is accurate, then it would seem; that if you shift from one to another you lose abilities. Me as the original shifter should have known this, but it never came up, not even as a possibility.

Mr. Finch. Right at this moment I have no reason to doubt you. When Pearson and I met it was something special. I feel at a loss that you, who claims to be the same person; does not feel for me as he did. It seems to me that lying to protect myself was the right thing to do and I am sure you know by now that I am a lady of my word…Who would believe me anyway… Your secret is safe with me.”

Elizabeth… I mean Ms. Canning; it seems that I have learned a dear lesson from you at your expense.

“What might that be Mr. Finch?”

Multiple shifters of the same person have different personalities. It seems to me that I hold all the abilities he needed to return.  So please forgive me and what has happened to you, if you need someone to blame, you can blame me: Not myself, I mean Pearson.

“Will he ever return?”

To be truthful; after what you just told me, it seems almost impossible. We cannot multi-shift or be in the same time line at the same time.

“Mr. Finch, I appreciate your honesty. Though I still question this whole situation I would like to ask you to do me a favor?”

Of course Ms. Canning… anything; It is the least I can do.

“If you should ever see my Pearson again or figure a way to communicate with each other, please let him know I asked about him.”

Yes, absolutely?

“Oh, one more thing…You can call me Elizabeth.”

You have my word as a gentleman… Good day Elizabeth.

My shift back was uneventful. It seems I was able to satisfy my curiosity of the mystery letter and put it to rest.

Many more of my unanswered questions have finally been satisfied; the ones I had no answer for; can now be put on a shelf. I am sure that many more will show their face to me at the wrong time.

It turned out my alter ego had good taste in women. The pictures I saw were not projecting her good side; but in person… quite the lady.

I read that Elizabeth did marry a man from the states and had two kids. I never saw or heard from her again except in pictures. I wonder if she ever thought she could send me a letter if she wanted too, well to my surprise, one never arrived.

Being home brought me to the realization that I cannot control everything. I didn’t even know if I had the ability to control what, I myself don’t fully understand. It would be foolish to believe I ever could.

Cleaning up the mess I made researching this last shift made me think a little deeper than normal.

I am not sure how I feel about it. I think I feel a little subdued to the whole situation; did I just lose a brother, are there any more of me out there?

I can’t dwell on it and I must move on. Nothing has changed. I believe history is still running its course as it did before.

While reaching the bottom of the mess that I created on my desk; I ran across a few old pictures from that time period and just found myself staring at the families in them. Nothing special just being together was the main focus as shown in their smiles. Aiyanna, Todd and Marybeth will remain an image that I will never forget.

Alicia had been hard at work in the gallery as I was straightening up in my office. She has never questioned any of my shifts, but today I feel she had something on her mind. I think the look on my face started the conversation.

“Hey, are you okay?”

Yeah, I think so…Why?

“You have that look on your face.”

I didn’t know I had a look….

“Oh Yeah; I can see it… It’s the look of emptiness”

A look into her eyes brought up my next question.

Alicia, do you miss your family?

“That’s hard to say; I would imagine so, though I haven’t spoken to them in a very long time… years actually. Why?”

No reason, just asking.

I released the pictures from my hands. I watched them as they floated to the table and landed on top of a pile of old newspaper clippings.

I grabbed my coat. I told her that I would be back in a few hours. Heading out the door left me questioning why she said I looked so empty.

It was a brisk departure. Something was pulling me apart and I needed to find an answer.

My father always comes to mind, or should I say the lack of one. Oh, don’t get me wrong my mother and grandparents did a fantastic job of raising me. The images of my father have always been far and few. I live through only the stories that I have been told. When I look deep down and try to put them together, I can’t tell if they are mine or stories that I have always been taught to believe.

I don’t even know if that made sense, at least I understood it.

I soon headed back to the shop to finish cleaning up and reorganizing my workspace. Alicia greeted me with a smile and asked if the walk did me any good.

“So, how are we feeling?”

I needed that; fresh air does wonders, thanks for asking

“Anytime boss.”

Alicia, who are the two gentlemen in the galley?

“Oh…geeez I almost forgot. That is Trevor and Walsh. They have been here for a few hours, pretty much since right after you left.”

Do you know what they want?

“If I had to guess, it might have something to do with the upcoming comic-con conventions. To be honest I think they are interested in your completed work. They are not our typical collectors.”

I started to feel in a playful good mood as if I had a revelation and it needed to be shared with all around me.

As my head poked through the doorway, our potential customers continued to leer at my wall of art. As I turned back around, she deserved the stink-eye and a Pirates cry.

Alrighty then… let’s sell some art!

It has been awhile since comic-con attendees have entered my store. My work is a little pricey and once they hear the value, they tend to walk.

I did however find it very interesting that they are still here. Alicia most likely told them the average price of the art. So my question still stands.

Good afternoon gentleman, do you find anything to your liking?

“Mr. Finch, is it?”

Yes. Yes it is and you are?

“My name is Walsh and this is my good friend Trevor. Trevor is from Europe and visiting the states for the conventions. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. I have been a big admirer of your work for the last few years.”

Really, how so?

“Well I do a lot of window shopping. This is one place Trevor needed to see.”

            Mr. Finch.” Trevor talks about this place all the time. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you as well. He tried to send pictures, but the windows prevent him from taking any.”

Trevor had a soft accent, nothing to deep, and I asked him where he was from. He told me he was from Italy.

I comically jumped out at him with a quick response. Let me guess… Naples?

Nope, not even close. The Tuscany region.

Damn, I never get that right.

You know Trevor. I might have something you might be interested in. It’s been sitting for quite some time and you might actually find it quite personal.

“Really”

Give me a few minutes, I will be right back.

I found myself going through the archives in the basement. I have more paintings then you could possibly imagine, just tucked away waiting for the right owner. I don’t think they would ever know the significance of my work. Ah heck I need the space anyway.

Hey guys come and grab these; I got something for the both of you. Just put them over there.

“What are these?”

You guys are big Alien buffs, Right?

“You know it…”

 Good. Walsh, go ahead and open that one.

“Are you sure?”

Absolutely… enjoy

“What the hell is this?”

It’s a depiction of the Roswell incident, I heard you guys were heading over to the convention soon; I thought you might like to have it to show off to your friends there.

“Where do you come up with these pictures? I mean I have never seen anything like this before.”

I occasionally get inspired. I just close my eyes and poof! It’s right in front of me.

“Are you sure”

It was just collecting dust, it needed a good home. Since you both are fans, you deserve an autographed picture. Just a heads up, I will be charging you for the autograph.

“NO WAY! Thank you so much… Wait how much? I know what these go for, your assistant told us. I could never afford this.”

Let’s not discuss price…. That’s really not good decorum.

Trevor; go ahead, open yours.

            Alicia decided to stroll in just as Trevor was unwrapping his art. She knew what I was doing. She saw it in my eyes. Then Trevor spoke.

“It’s the Lombardi UFO crash from 1933. I would know this anywhere! Where did you get this?

I just read an article from the library it was dated 1934, about a year after the incident.

“My great grandfather wrote an article about this; His name was Roberto Pinotti his father my 2^nd great grandfather was actually there! He took pictures of that night but never told or showed anyone. They have since been passed on to me. There in a safe at home.”

Are you sure?

“Are you kidding? This is almost an exact replica of his picture. This is really messed up. Are you sure you weren’t there?”

Do I look that old?”

“Well the beard gives you….. Just kidding …

no”

Are you saying you don’t want it?

“Are you crazy, of course I want it…. Thank you very much Mr. Finch.”

Well, now that you two have insulted me by picking on my beard, I will have to charge you full price for the autograph.

Alicia, stood back and watched as these two young men, stood patiently waiting for me to finalize the deal.

A swift flow of a “Round 4” brush, a little dark paint and the right amount of heat completed the art.

Gentlemen, There is a time when giving is better than receiving. I ask just a few things from the both of you. Pay it forward, mums the word and Walsh, if I ever need a favor will you be there if I call upon you…

“Mr. Finch. I was told you were the eccentric type. These people around here, this town, they don’t know you like this. These are gifts we can’t repay. Whatever you need, it will be my pleasure.”

Are we good?

“Were good”

There is always some enjoyment to being a pirate, when you can get to say some fun things.

Alicia. Off with their heads! I love saying that line. Gentlemen it has been my pleasure. Now get out of here and enjoy yourselves.

Knowing how I can make people smile while making a difference only reinforces me; that I did my good deed for the day.

Alicia, what do we have next on our list?

WORK YOUR WAY OUT WITH A TRIP TO BLUE HEAVEN