Chapter 8

“Shitfuckhelldamncrap,” I cursed mentally, once again reminded of the excruciating pain associated with assuming another body. Somehow, I had conveniently forgotten about that part.

“RRRRRaaaaayyyyy,” I heard a woman’s voice shriek.

Ray’s memories quickly identified the voice as that of his mother, Cynthia Walker. Ray had been trudging in the pouring rain from the bus stop to the front door when something happened, throwing him several feet across the yard. Looking in the direction I’d come from, I saw the trunk of the tree he’d been walking beneath split and burned from a lightning strike.

Taking stock of myself, I learned I was Ray Walker, age 14, and it was April 7, 1978. Right then, my terrified mother skidded to a stop on the soggy lawn, falling, sobbing, to her knees in the wet, muddy grass next to me.

“We’re going to catch a cold if we don’t get out of the rain,” I chuckled.

“Ohmigod, you’re alive!” she shrieked.

“And deaf in one ear, now,” I added.

“Raymond Chester Walker, you scare the bejeezes out of me, and then tease me,” she huffed.

“I figured laughing would let you know I was still alive. Besides, laughing is making the headache go away,” I added, hoping to mollify her. Twenty minutes later, I was dragged into the emergency room by Mom and my grandmother Walker. The tops of my shoes were still on my feet, but the bottoms disappeared when I was literally blasted across the yard. Four hours later, we were on the way home--after stopping at the shoe store for socks and a new pair of shoes. The rest of my clothing was still singed, though. The doctor had been amazed that I only had a few minor burns. I knew that the lack of worse injury was due to the Methuselah complex.

This time around, I told my mom and grandmother about the ‘memories’ a week after arriving. Dad had died two years ago.

To make the money from his life insurance last longer, we had moved in with dad’s mother, a widow herself. Knowing that money was tight, I told them the story about having someone else’s memories when I woke up after the lightning strike. I proved it by correctly predicting the final scores of all four NBA playoff games that day. Mom even watched the games, the first sports I could find memories of her watching. Grandma Walker was an enthusiastic sports fan. “Just how much do you remember?” Grams asked eagerly after the last game.

“Right now, I seem to have near-photographic recall of most professional and Division I college sports up until early 2021 when Jim died,” I explained. I saw the dollar signs in her eyes. “I also know enough to be aware that suddenly winning huge sums of money on sporting events is likely to draw unwanted and possibly violent attention to us,” I warned.

Grams’ laughter surprised me. “I wasn’t born yesterday Ray,” she chuckled, “but thank you for your concern.”

We watched all three playoff games two days later. Grams bet with the bookie Gramps used to use, purposely losing one of her three bets. She still cleared two hundred dollars. After the games, she asked me about horseracing. Grateful for the photographic memory, I wrote down every horse and its finishing position for the next day’s race. The next day she came home with three different racing papers and studied them all day. When I got home from school, she informed Mom and me that we were going to Louisville in a couple of weeks.

She bet on three of the four basketball games today, once again winning two of the three, and had one winner in the horse races. “Okay, we’ve got travel money and our stake,” she announced after coming home with the payoff. I couldn’t believe it when Mom arranged for me to be out of school the Friday before the Kentucky Derby. The drive took us nine hours.

Eschewing the feature race, Grams made five ten-dollar superfecta bets on the third race--the one with the longest odds. The drive home Sunday seemed to go a lot faster knowing we had nearly $100,000 in the bank now. Two weeks later, I didn’t have to miss school on Friday because we flew into Baltimore rather than drive. The Preakness produced similar results, enough that we flew to New York three weeks later for the Belmont Stakes, watching Affirmed become the last horse in the twentieth century to win the Triple Crown.

On the way home, we stopped by Atlantic City and the newly remodeled Resorts International, the first casino in Atlantic City. Grams opened an account with the sports book, putting a thousand dollars on account. From there we flew to Vegas and did the same thing at four sports books. When we got home, Mom gave her notice at the restaurant where she worked. Grams had already made enough for her and Mom to live on comfortably for the rest of their lives. She added over half of her winnings to the brokerage account she and Gramps had opened together decades ago. Her stockbroker was quite pleased to see her sudden renewal of interest in investing.

She changed nearly every stock in the portfolio; placing stop orders to sell certain stocks I knew would only appreciate so much before their market value dropped. At that point, they were to be sold, and Grams was to be contacted for instructions as to how to reinvest the money. I introduced her to the intricacies of the stock market. She chose to let me make the decisions for her, and simply passed them on to her stockbroker.

Over the next couple years, I built a clean room and then managed to build a rudimentary version of the equipment necessary to manufacture a microprocessor that was 20 years ahead of its time and then manufactured the microprocessor. Within a year, I was a recognized computer prodigy--and a multi-millionaire. I also spent time every day working out, staying in shape for football each fall. Grams bought me an expensive weight lifting machine, and had a pool installed so I could swim.

I found Allison, although her name now was Mary Franken. She was 14 and would be starting high school with me in the fall. While I was out running my two miles one morning, I noted a girl my age coming out of the 7-11 with a Slurpee. Allison had lived for Slurpees, and Mary’s mannerisms caught my attention. I jogged up to her and asked if she knew Allison Ladner. She was so stunned that she dropped her Slurpee. After giving me a very undaughterly kiss, I took her inside and bought another Slurpee for her.

She walked home with me and met Mom and Grams. I fibbed a bit, telling them that her mannerisms were so much like those of Jim’s wife Allison that I risked asking if she knew Allison. That afternoon, Mary and I consummated our new relationship. We explained to her parents that I was a friend from elementary school, but had moved away for several years and just got back. Mary and I had been best friends for a year before I moved away. They bought the story, and Mary and I became boyfriend and girlfriend throughout high school, and even into college.

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For almost six years, we searched for the others, worrying more each year that trying to bring all of them had been too much for the Complex to accomplish. The only thing that helped alleviate my worry was the e-mail I remembered Jim had gotten from me saying Jacob, Melody, et al. I again skipped two grades in high school, finishing high school in two years. I again excelled at football, teaching new offensive and defensive ideas to my friends all summer before ‘real’ practice started, and again became the starting quarterback. This time, even though I was only 14, I was officially a Junior when the school year started. Mom had the School District do testing on me, claiming to be worried about possible damage the lightning might have done to me. The school was stunned when I easily proved that I knew everything they taught in high school. Still, I wanted to go there for two years so I could watch for the other girls.