A hushed silence pervaded the room as she recounted tale after tale, incident after incident.
“In 1949, the Chicago police investigated the death of a 50-year old gentlemen who was struck and killed by a train. Witnesses said he was looking up, gawking at the buildings when he walked out on the tracks, completely ignoring the warning signs. In the pockets of his clothing was money that was no longer in circulation.”
“I have money like that. Remember the gold coins I just mentioned?” Reno spoke up in an excited tone.
Lou nodded, noting his comment. “And in his pocket, they found a bill from a livery stable, a letter postmarked in 1872, and a business card bearing the name of Ronald Foster with a Sixth Avenue, New York City address. Upon further investigation they found no current listing existed for a Ronald Foster at the New York address and his fingerprints matched none on file. Even more disconcerting, his apparel appeared to be from the previous century.”
Reno chuckled. “After seeing my apparel, a store clerk asked me if I worked for a movie company.”
“He thought you were in costume,” Lou observed with a smile. “There was also a tag in this man’s hat from a store that had been out of business for decades. Intrigued, the police kept searching until they located an old phone directory with a listing for a Ronald Foster, Jr. After trying to contact him, they discovered that this Mr. Foster, Jr. was a man in his seventies who’d passed some three years earlier. Upon tracking down his wife, who’d moved to Georgia, they learned her husband’s father, the original Ronald Foster, went missing when he took a walk one evening and never returned. When the officer located the missing person’s report from 1872, all of the details corresponded to the man who’d been killed by the train some seventy-seven years later.”
Reno blew out a ragged breath. “These stories are making me feel funny.”
Journey sat up. “Do you want to stop? Do you want to do something else?”
“No.” Reno shook his head. “I just feel like something’s about to happen.”
Lou grinned. “I feel like that too.”
“Tell me more,” Reno urged.
“Okay.”
Journey noticed Lou didn’t need much encouragement. She was happy to oblige.
“A more recent case happened in 2003. An Arnold Carlisle was arrested for SEC violations for making over a hundred high-risk stock trades, each one an unmitigated success. Carlisle turned eight hundred dollars into three-hundred and fifty million, thus drawing the unwanted attention of the SEC. When questioned, he confessed to be a time-traveler from two hundred years in the future. In exchange for his release and permission to return to his craft, Carlisle offered to reveal to officers the cure for AIDS and the location of Osama Bin Laden. When questioned about the location of his craft and how it worked, he refused to cooperate. An unknown individual posted the time traveler’s bail, but when the time came for his scheduled hearing, he was nowhere to be found. There were no records he’d ever existed.”
Reno looked amused. “I wish I could carry back some important information to get rich.”
Lou grinned. “Well, as soon as you get back, buy stock in John Deere, Drexel Morgan, Great North, and Durham Tobacco. Just be sure you get out of the market before the 1929 crash. And leave a note somewhere to your descendants to invest heavily in Apple, Amazon, and Microsoft.”
Journey shook her head. She felt tears pricking her lashes. At the moment, she wasn’t capable of lighthearted banter.
“How did you get interested in all of this, Lou?” Reno asked, truly intrigued.
“The topic first caught my eye when I read a book written by a former police detective. He’d received a tip from a park ranger concerning all of the people who’d vanished in rural areas, particularly state and national parks.”
This revelation caused Reno to sit up a little straighter. “Enchanted Rock is a state park.”
Lou nodded. “Yes, it is, but that’s not the key. Stay with me now.” She held up one finger. “Through-out history, there have been some strange, unexplainable disappearances. When the researchers began making a list of people who’d gone missing in these parks and rural areas, the ones who left no trace and defied explanation, it was discovered this wasn’t a new phenomenon at all. And this isn’t just a handful of people, Reno. Literally thousands fall into this unfortunate category. I’m not talking about people getting lost and falling off a cliff or getting eaten by a bear. I’m also not talking about folks who are depressed and want to hurt themselves or even people who fall victim to a serial killer. No, these cases are inexplicable, and the disappearances go as far back as we have records. They also share some commonalities. First, as we discussed earlier, is their proximity to large quantities of stone, particularly granite and quartz. Second, is the unusual behavior by search and rescue canines. As you two probably know, a dog, especially a bloodhound, can track a person’s scent for a hundred and thirty miles, even after that scent is three hundred hours old.”
“Dang,” Reno expressed his surprise.
“Yes. And in these particular cases when the search and rescue dogs were taken to the last known location of the victim, the animals would not track. They walked in circles or they just laid down. This is not normal behavior for these canines. They live for the opportunity to track and can do so with uncanny skill. Except in these odd situations.”
“So, what you’re saying is that if a bloodhound had been put on my scent when I started down the box
