The Triple T Truck Stop

Never fall asleep with the radio on. Even if it’s just a portable next to the bunk in your big rig, tuned to a talk station way out at the edge of the dial. Still, I was unable to fight overwhelming exhaustion, despite the attentive voice of Art Bell—late night companion of I-10 truckers with stories of the strange or supernatural. So, after parking safely in the Triple T truck stop lot, I lay back and drifted into a lucid dream in which I was being pursued cross-country by a blue UFO which disappeared and reappeared as a triangle in the sky behind my Kenworth. This was not surprisingly the same way Art Bell’s last guest had described it, if not what I’d seen myself.

 When I woke the radio was static in the first light of day. Opening my door, I could almost smell the eggs and sausages coming from the direction of the truck stop diner. In the windows on my approach, I eyed other truckers doing what I craved—drinking coffee—and then, while waiting for my own morning eggs, I soon read the headline of a newspaper the trucker in the booth nearest me was holding: WILLIAM SHATNER WINS NOMINATION FOR PRESIDENT.

 When my waitress circled back, I read her name tag and wriggled one finger at the paper. “Mavis? I thought Shatner died. Or at least he was doing Star Trek conventions. Not running for some office or other, certainly.”

 “What’s a Star Trek convention?” she asked. 

 I was stunned, and nearly dropped my coffee cup. Not because of Star Trek, but for the realization that the Shatner reference did mean President of the United States.  

 “Oh, you must mean the show he started out with,” Mavis added. 

 “Started out with?” 

 “Kinda like Trump. You know. The Apprentice?”

 Overhearing us, the newspaper man put down his copy, and joined our conversation, insisting Shatner rejected making any Star Trek movies, and so the franchise died in 1969. Shatner had taken to running for president, he suggested, because he did develop the Star Trek communicator into a cell phone, which made him and his engineering partner a billion or three. “And all billionaires wonder at one point or another if they should run for office.”

 I laughed, despite myself. “Right. . . But you’re serious.” I was aghast, but then thought about Wozniak. 

 “What about Apple Computer?” I asked.

 “Apple what?” the trucker said.

 “Come on—the maker of the iPhone.” I reached into my pocket for mine, and came out with a flip phone Android that clicked when opened. I stared in shock. “What the—“ 

 “Something wrong?”

 I tried asking Google about Apple, Steve Jobs and Woz. And it worked, to my chagrin. Seems Apple didn’t exist, although Google did. It just couldn’t find Jobs. And Wozniak had teamed with Bill Shatner, not Bill Gates. 

 Mavis got my eggs and sausage plate, left it in front of me, and went to service other customers. The trucker got back to finishing his steak. Their brief glance at each other had seemed to confirm that I was either a nut or just a pretend one, putting them on.

 I thought about my dream, which had been beyond strange, but what was happening now beat it all to hell. I’d often thought about such things. Just not happening to me, though. Me, I was nothing special, just a science nerd paying off my college loans by being a trucker. Until I found another job. I’ve always been interested in physics, though, and so I’ve read many books on the subject of the multiverse. The “many worlds” theory in cosmology occupies the attention of academics who often try to wrangle a niche for themselves in the flux of popular science. According the string theory, it is said, there are eleven or so dimensions besides the ones we see, but they are curled up so tiny you’d need a microscope more powerful than any yet invented. Also, something called a electron slit experiment has proved to some that there exists infinite alternate universes in which decisions we made or didn’t make play out in real time. Not one among the scientists really knows what dark matter or dark energy is, either. Still, I don’t always listen to Art Bell as a alternative. More often it’s Mindscape with Sean Carroll, and the Origins podcast with Lawrence Krauss. Although Bell has some interesting theories of his own. 

 “Do you mind if I read your paper?” I asked the trucker, when he put it aside. “My name is John, by the way.”

 “Be my guest,” he replied. “I’m Corey.”

 “Just the front page, if you don’t mind, Corey.”

 “Take the whole thing. Seems like you need it.”

 “It does, doesn’t it.”  I leaned forward and took his copy. The date was correct. It was today’s date. I scanned the cover article as I talked. “You seem quite sure that Star Trek is ancient history,” I said. “But this isn’t real.” I tapped the article. “It can’t be.”

 “Why do you say that?”

 “What about Joe Biden and Donald Trump?” I asked.

 “What about them? Biden retired from Congress, and Trump has his Apprentice show in Vegas. For the past year he hasn’t tired of reminding contestants to gamble everything on black or end up like Steve Wynn.”

 “Who is Shatner running against, then?”

 “Are you kidding? Elon Musk, of course.”

 “Of course. . .” I nodded slowly, digesting that.  Then I thought to ask about other names. “And Stephen King? Does he ring a bell?”

 “Died after being hit by a trucker while walking. James Patterson bought his typewriter at auction. Don’t you remember?”

 “No, I don’t. Taylor Swift?”

 “You mean that American Idol winner? She’s written hundreds of songs, still hoping to make the big time with one.”

 “Kim Kardashian?”

 “Who?”

 I consulted Google again, this time about the Kardashians. Not a word. Maybe they didn’t even exist. The thought thrilled and distressed me at the same time. “You’re not going to believe this, but I must come from another dimension or universe.” I looked out the window at the gravel parking lot with its hulking trucks. My gaze swept the road out front. “A UFO or something followed me here, and now this is the diner at the end of the world. A parallel place where the decisions made outside by people in the past has created a different reality. As trucks parallel park.” I looked back at Corey. “This diner exists between worlds. But I’m not sure if I drive out of here whether my world will come back down the road, or not.”

 A truck fired up in the lot, on cue, and pulled out as we both watched. 

 Corey got up and then sat in the seat opposite me. “A UFO followed you here?” he asked.

 I nodded, munching my eggs. “I’ve seen one before, and Art Bell was talking about it, too.”

 “I saw one once myself,” the trucker declared. “Who’s Art Bell?”

 “Late night talk show host. I’m surprised you—”

 “Oh. Well, I listen to Rush Limbaugh mostly, myself. Where you headed?”

 “Away from here,” I said. “Phoenix. Rush Limbaugh is alive?”

 “Of course. And I’m headed to Vegas, out of Texas with Rodeway. Plan to see Elvis.”

 “Do you? Elvis has a show there too?”

 “Yup.”

 “Like Trump.”

 “Yeah, he’s older than Trump, though. He’s eighty-nine.” 

 I stood to leave. “I have to know,” I declared. “I’ll call my sister from the road, see what she has to say about all this.”

 Corey suddenly reached over and gripped my forearm with one hand. “You better not go,” he whispered, “until you’re sure.”

 I sank slowly back down into my seat. “Sure of what. . . that Shatner might be President? That Trump is a Vegas side show?” I looked into his eyes. “That my sister is still alive.”

 “You probably won’t know that until you call. Either way, you might not like what you hear.”

 “You ever heard of OJ Simpson?” I asked.

 He shook his head, no. That did it. I threw up both hands, in surrender. Which is when we both ordered a slice of deep dish apple pie and ice cream from Mavis.

 

“What did your UFO look like?” Corey asked, after a long pause. I noticed he looked around before asking, and kept his voice down.

 I thought about it. What I’d seen a week before was small, a blue triangle in my rear view mirror. But I remembered what Art Bell’s guest had said. “A big blue triangle with sharp edges,” I concluded, sipping my coffee.

 Corey winced. “My God, really? That’s not unlike what I saw! Only mine wasn’t too big, maybe about the size of a car. And nobody believed me, either.”

 I thought of calling the home office in Atlanta next, to ask more questions. But I thought better of it. And shivered. “More coffee,” I said when Mavis passed. 

 “Me too,” said Corey, nodding once.

 “So nobody believed you,” I repeated. “Friends, family, or co-workers.”

 “Nobody,” Corey confided.

 “Was there any effect to your sighting at all?”

 “Like, did I wander into another dimension or something?” He chuckled, huskily. “Not hardly. Didn’t tell the newspapers about it, either. Not like Trump did.”

 “Like Trump did what?” I inquired.

 “Saw a UFO. For him it was a big red triangle, pulsating. You don’t remember that news, either?”

 “Must have escaped the NBC Nightly News.”

 “No, just about everybody covered that one. Because he dropped out of the race soon after. Faced with the Musk/Bezos ticket, and all. He shouldn’t have done that laxative commercial, either.” 

I’m on my final cup of coffee, staring out the window at the road fronting the lot when I think of it. “Corey, do you remember the old Twilight Zone show?”

 “Sure.”

 “Great. Do you recall an episode where a couple are arguing in a cafe about putting more pennies into a small machine that gives fortunes? One of the actors was—“

 “—William Shatner. Yes, I do remember that one. They got really involved with getting his fortune, didn’t they, being as it’s a crossroads moment in their lives?”

 “Right. When this feels like a crossroads moment to me, I’ll go.”

 “Don’t do it, though,” Corey admonishes me, “until you’re sure.”

Another fifteen minutes passes as we sip coffee and watch other truckers come and go. “Unfortunately,

I have to be going now,” Corey announces, suddenly. I’d been telling him about the verbal battle between Stephen King and Elon Musk on Twitter. I’d been dropping names of many famous people, but none of them seem to have an effect on Corey’s decision.  

 Not to be put off, Corey leaves me sitting there, at last. He just walks out, gets into his 18 wheeler, and pulls away. He can’t go, can he? I’m wondering. It’s started raining, after all. He should wait.

 “Wait!” I start to shout.

 “Another cup of coffee, love?” Mavis asks.

 I am a jittery mess. “No thanks,” I say. “Time for me too, I guess. I mean it’s my turn.”

 “All rightee, then,” she says, grinning. “Good luck.” 

 I leave her a good tip.  “Have you got a tip for me?” I ask.

 “Excuse me?”

 “A driving tip or tourist tip. Whatever.”

 “Vote for Shatner,” she suggests. “You’ll sleep better.”

 I make it to my Kenworth without looking back. Then I strap in and hit the ignition. Checking my gas gauge, I decide I’d better gas up. To the back of the truck stop, then, and the pumps. Cut off.

 Talk about alternative fuel, I am thinking as I fill. Alternative reality fuel.

 I crank up again, one last time. Then, in first gear, I roll my way back to I-10, somehow. One glance back in the sideview shows the Triple T glowing in the drizzle. That sign is like a big blue triangle. 

 Soon I’m moving faster, gearing my way back to the world I know. The truck stop fades in the drizzle. Did I choose the right moment to leave? No way to tell if Elvis has left the building.

 I reach into my pocket and pull out my cell phone. My iPhone.

 Then I remembered what Corey said, don’t do it until you’re sure. I look forward into the traffic ahead, wondering what Nancy will have to say.  Still, I figured I’d better wait until there’s a rest stop on I-10. That would be the right moment. And not a moment before. 

-0-

(Stories by Jonathan Lowe: CAT ON A COLD TIN ROOF, and JUDGE JURY, both at Amazon.)

Awakening Storm

 

PROLOGUE opening to Awakening Stor

The spider that crawled from its hiding place inside the hanging bull’s skull above Michael’s bed was not a tarantula.  It possessed no large, slow-moving, hairy arms.  It was small, by comparison.  But it was faster.  Its venom, too, was significantlymore deadly.  As the brown recluse hesitated on the edge of crossing under the skull, it suddenly slipped from the base of a bony projection of nasal cartilage on the skull.  And it fell.  

It landed on Michael’s forehead.  

Michael opened his eyes, although he wasn’t sure why.  Then he felt something twitch on the sensitive skin of his forehead, and he froze in terror.  The sudden springy impact and a slight spasm in his forehead had animated the spider into a defensive mode.  Now, as he slowly raised his hand, the thing darted onto his eyelid, poised and ready.  When his eyelid twitched as well, the insect atop it sent a barb of nerve venom deep enough into the fleshy lid to penetrate and mingle its minuscule cargo of toxin with the eye’s surface liquid.  Its offensive reaction complete, the spider now jumped into Michael’s hair.  

Michael thrashed wildly, hands butterflying across his sweaty scalp.  He screamed as he twisted, locking himself into his bed sheet as effectively and as tightly as if into a straight jacket.  The spider jumped onto the wall just in time to avoid being crushed, and now it waited there, on the hard, unmoving surface, tense and ready for what was next.  

The skull’s eye sockets stared down at Michael in the moonlit bedroom as a silent transformation began.  He began to go blind.  

He screamed louder and tossed his pillow away from his head, thinking the pillow had obstructed his view of the twilit room, but it had not.  He rubbed his left eye at finding a soreness there--a shooting pain that was almost electrical in nature.  He blinked rapidly, rising up in bed, thrashing against his mummy-like wrappings.  Once free, he stumbled into the bathroom, and turned on the light.

He stared into his reflection.  His left eye was open, but he could only see it with his right.  A welt appeared on the surface of the eye.  It was a milky white color, as if bulging with puss.  He splashed water into the eye, braying out in pain.  It was no use.  

The eye was dead.  He had a dead man’s eye.  

His face, too, looked dead in the mirror.  His clammy skin was ashen, his curly black hair awry.  The wrinkles he’d always tried not to notice were deeper than usual, giving a sunken death mask pallor to his normally well groomed and handsome appearance.  He screamed again, then rushed to dial 911.  But the phone was dead now.  

The line had been cut.  

He turned to see a figure behind him, now, in the shadows.  The glint of a blade. . .   He screamed as loudly as he could, and this time it worked.

This time the scream woke him.

Only a dream, only a dream, only a--

Breathing heavily, his heart thumping abnormally in his chest, Michael was staring up at the motionless bull’s skull above him.  The dark sockets stared down at him like the eyes of a demon.  

He turned to switch on his night lamp, and saw his alarm clock.  It was 2:18 A.M..  He got up, wrestled the skull off the wall, and took it into the other room, where he laid it on his desk.  Then he returned to bed, and cut the light.  Now it was 2:20 A.M..  Still hours to dawn.  

What would be next? he wondered.  What nightmare was coming next?  And how bad would it be?

Troubled by dreams of hell and the Rapture, Michael Rivers fights to overcome his visions by keeping a diary and staying awake with coffee. But his nightmares can only be dispelled by facing the mesmerizing preacher who terrorized his childhood. The psychologist treating Michael, Veronica McCord, is an atheist fighting for custody of her son, while her ex-husband - a federal judge - has begun taking their child to the same preacher affecting Michael.

Now, Michael and Veronica both have a reason to confront this controlling televangelist, but the twists will be even more surprising than they imagined. Confronting the rich Rev. Stillman at his beach house during a hurricane party, they will both certainly learn the truth over coffee cake, but with the freak hurricane clocking record winds and a tidal wave coming, only one of them will survive to tell it.  At Amazon  and Audible.com.

Guessing the Future with Physicist Lawrence Krauss

Lawrence Krauss explores the greatest unanswered questions at the forefront of science today, and likely for the coming century and beyond. Internationally known theoretical physicist and bestselling author Lawrence Krauss explores science’s greatest unanswered questions. Three of the most important words in science are “I don't know.” Not knowing implies a Universe of opportunities—the possibility of discovery and surprise. Our understanding of science has advanced immeasurably over the last five hundred years, yet many fundamental mysteries of existence persist: How did our Universe begin? How big is the Universe? Is time travel possible? What’s at the center of a black hole? How did life on Earth arise? Are we alone? What is consciousness, and can we create it? These mysteries define the scientific forefront—the threshold of the unknown. To explore that threshold is to gain a deeper understanding of just how far science has progressed. Covering time, space, matter, life, and consciousness, Krauss introduces readers to topics that will shape the state of science for the next century, providing us all passport to our own journeys of exploration and discovery. 

 Q) Your book THE EDGE OF KNOWLEDGE is a look at where science is at the forefront of discoveries, and what the future may hold for physics. Another one of your books is about the fear of physics. How afraid should the average reader or listener be to understand all the terms and concepts, like “closed timelike curves,” and how much of your job is to insert lay language or definitions into a complex discussion that might otherwise be more technical? 

 A) There is no cause for fear.. Rather excitement. While mastery of these concepts requires significant mathematical knowledge, understanding their general perspectives and how they originate doesn’t. That is what I convey. It requires some thinking, but so does trying to understand anything worthwhile. 

 Q) You narrate the book as well. Of course you have vast experience in hosting discussions with colleagues, along with your longtime Origins podcast. Do you find producing and narrating fun, and what guests have made your endeavor most pleasurable? 

A) I love narrating the books. It is a tremendous challenge and rather daunting at the beginning, but working to create just the right level of excitement, and the right pace is very satisfying. I wouldn’t have anyone else narrative my books. As far as guests in my discussions, I have enjoyed almost all of them. I enjoy when guests confront me with questions, like Ricky Gervais did, or sometimes disagree with my reflections, as Woody Allen did. I love when they teach me things, as almost all of them do. 

 Q) The concept of the multiverse may be verified by examining data from gravitational waves related to eternal inflation. Are you hopeful that evidence will be found indirectly to suggest the multiverse is a reality? Or does that evidence already exist? 

A) It is more a matter of luck than anything else. If Inflation occurred at the right scale, we should see the waves, and be able to probe inflation, and indirectly prove the existence of multiverses. If not, alas, that might elude us forever. 

 Q) Dark matter and dark energy consist of most of the universe, but we have only clues as to what they are. So what do you think are the best avenues to reveal them? 

A) New observational techniques to begin with. Dark matter will, I think, be directly detected in my lifetime. Dark Energy is a much more difficult challenge, and I think it will probably require new theoretical ideas rather than new observations in order to understand it. 

 Q) Which series had the most believable physics—Star Trek, Star Wars, or The X Files? 

A) Hmm… Well, Star Wars really had no science, more fantasy. The X files was generally about violating the laws of physics. So I would have to say Star Trek. But I may be biased. 

Q) Are you more string theory or loop quantum gravity in focus? 

A) I think string theory is better motivated. 

 Q) What do you like to read for fun? 

A) I enjoy reading non-fiction, usually in areas outside my own expertise. I enjoy history and biographies, and I enjoy mystery stories. 

 Q) How far are we from having quantum computers with general intelligence? 

A) Pretty far, but things are changing fast. 

 Q) What’s next for you? 

A) Who knows? That is what makes life interesting. Have a few ideas for a new book. We will see.

Judge Jury Suspense stories

The audiobook version of this is CAT ON A COLD TIN ROOF, at Audible iTunes. Revenge can be sweet, or surprising. Here are tales of mystery and fantasy, science fiction and romance. The theme is revenge, but the twists are unexpected. First up, a hybrid that is both story and script, including artificial intelligence, beliefs, and fears. It begins with a drug unlike any other: a shocking disruption of the market. Next, a prequel to the Tom Cruise movie Collateral. Who was Vincent? Where did he come from? The Key to Vincent lies in the Florida Keys. Bonus tales will beguile and amuse, from the author of The Methuselah Gene and Lottery Island. ... Jonathan Lowe is author of Posrmarked for Death, which Clive Cussler called "powerful and accomplished...mystery at its best."

Cozy Up to Terror

The Lone Star Family Fun Time is an amusement park where the plot of COZY UP TO TERROR, (book seven of the Cozy Up Series), plays out. The Texas attraction hosts a Witness Protectioner in a smelly mascot costume being chased by gangsters out for revenge. Doyle Flanders works as a custodian sometimes wearing a Yeti costume to entertain the kiddies—who can be demanding for photographs. This eccentric cozy mystery by Colin Conway is ably narrated by Damon Abdallah in this new Books in Motion release. Abdallah has a mouthful of characters to interpret, from naughty eight year olds to jaded criminals and clueless staff. It’s difficult to wrangle one’s mind and mouth around such a distracting coterie of people, but Damon is up to the task of keeping the accents and mannerisms in line. He keeps the attention fixed on the circus atmosphere the story creates, and propels the narrative, such as it is, with offbeat but appropriate audio renderings. 

If you can imagine a theme park far enough out of the way that such antics can occur, join Doyle and crew in a golf cart ride into thrilling improbability. And keep your ears open for more in the series, which began with Cozy Up to Death.

Interview with Mary Kubica

1. In Just the Nicest Couple a surgeon goes missing, and a friend of his wife holds a secret about the disappearance. What idea inspired the book, and why did the story of two couples (one happy, one not) resonate with you? 

As with most of my books, it starts with a tiny seed of an idea that grows during the writing process. With Just the Nicest Couple, I was first drawn to the concept of writing about a missing man, because we hear so often on the news and in the media about women who go missing. I wanted to flip the script and see what would happen if the roles were reversed. My books are always domestic in nature, which was the draw for having two couples involved in this book. Not only was I diving into the lives of one couple, but the lives of friends and co-workers as well, asking that all important question: How well do we really know the people closest to us? 

2. You began writing as a young girl, but what led you to the suspense genre? Why do you like it so much, and what authors influenced you?

My debut novel, The Good Girl, was the first manuscript I wrote that was in the suspense genre, though as a child, mysteries and suspense (such as books by Christopher Pike and Nancy Drew) were my favorites to read. Before The Good Girl, I wrote women’s fiction, though my manuscripts were only ever works-in-progress because I would get partway into the manuscript and then lose interest. With The Good Girl, I started adding suspense elements by accident and soon discovered how much I enjoyed writing in the genre. I knew I’d found my niche. I love watching a mystery develop over time and including things like unreliable narrators and red herrings. One of my favorite parts about the genre is slipping subtle clues into the text once I’ve discovered my twist. There are many talented authors in this genre, but a few who have set the bar incredibly high are Ruth Ware, Alice Feeney and Stacy Willingham.     

3. I’ve heard you don’t work from an outline, but prefer to be surprised by character interactions. What are the best and worst parts about working this way?

Yes, I am definitely a panster, or the type of writer who prefers to fly by the seat of her pants, than a plotter. The best part for me is the spontaneity of it and not knowing on any given day when I sit down to write what will happen in the lives of my characters. I always learn something new about them and am just as surprised by the twist as I hope my readers will be. The worst part is that there are many times I write myself into a dead end and discover that an idea I was excited about simply doesn’t have legs and I have to delete pages. That can be frustrating, but it’s still an important part of my process!

4. Of the two narrators in Just the Nicest Couple, which do you identify with, and why?

In Just the Nicest Couple, we hear from Christian, a man whose wife was the last to see Jake Hayes before he went missing, and Nina, Jake’s wife. Though Nina and I have quite a bit in common (she is a woman, like me, and is a teacher; I was a high school teacher before I turned to writing full time), I identified more with Christian. He’s a man deeply devoted to his wife and unborn child, who will do anything to protect his family. I appreciated that about him and found it easy to understand his motivations even when his actions were sometimes questionable. 

 

5. What is the most suspenseful thing that has happened to you? 

For someone who writes suspense novels, very few suspenseful things have happened to me, which is a good thing because I’m actually a scaredy cat in real life! That said, I’m always on the lookout for strange things that can work their way into my novels, like the time I stayed in a hotel, only to discover that mine was one of two rooms with the same room number, or when I stayed at a bed and breakfast with a crawl space door in the corner of the room, and spent the entire night wondering where it led and who might be on the other side of the door.