The Gabriel Chronicles

Dennis Flannery

Description

In this novel, the first in a series, an accident hurls the mind of an investment broker into his own eight-year-old body, allowing him to relive his life with all his adult knowledge intact.
All was as it should be. The ski conditions were textbook; the skies were deep blue, the wind was calm, it was twenty-four degrees and there were three inches of fresh powder sitting on top of a finely tuned base. There could not have been a more perfect day to begin altering the course of history.
This is the epic story of Alexander Gabriel, a brilliant 43-year old investment broker, who, following a skiing accident, finds himself inexplicably hurled back thirty-five years in time and forced to begin his life over as an eight year old.
Imagine the fantasy of returning to a younger age while retaining your hard-earned wisdom. Imagine the wonderful life you would lead, the mistakes you would easily avoid, the opportunities missed that you could now grab at will. However, these fantasies never include the terror and confusion of being cast back to one’s youth; but there would be a great deal of confusion and a great deal of terror.

Sujets

• Science-Fiction
• Toute la Science-Fiction
• Science Fiction
• Back in time
• World domination
• Fiction

Informations

• Publié par: AuthorHouse
• Date de parution: 11 octobre 2022
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781665573146
• Langue: English

Extrait

Also written by Dennis Flannery:
 
The GABRIEL CHRONICLES
Book – 1 – The Beginning
 
The GABRIEL CHRONICLES
Book – 2 – New Home
 
The GABRIEL CHRONICLES
Book – 3 – The Superiors
 
The GABRIEL CHRONICLES
Book – 4 – Sharkra
 
Lenny
THE GABRIEL CHRONICLES
Book 1—The Beginning
 
 
 
 
 
DENNIS FLANNERY
 
 
 

 
AuthorHouse™
1663 Liberty Drive
Bloomington, IN 47403
www.authorhouse.com
Phone: [phone]
 
 
 
 
© 2022 Dennis Flannery. All rights reserved.
 
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.
 
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
 
Published by AuthorHouse  10/10/2022
 
ISBN: 978-1-6655-7315-3 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-6655-7314-6 (e)
 
 
 
Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.
 
Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
CONTENTS
DEDICATION
Prologue
Part 1
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Part 2
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Part 3
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Part 4
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Epilogue
 
DEDICATION
T his novel is dedicated with love and gratitude to my three children. Vance, Jennifer and Sean. All three, throughout their lives, have displayed great strength of character and loving, compassionate personalities. All parents should have such wonderful children.
PROLOGUE
CENTRAL OREGON
APRIL 12, 1997
8:15 a.m.
T he two men and two women, all fashionably dressed in colorful ski gear, flew in single file over a small rise, propelling clouds of fresh powder into the crystalline air. As they headed down a wide-open untracked slope, they separated and skied four abreast, leaving in their wake, four snakelike grooves in the virgin snow. They were two hundred yards above the tree line, when they came to a stop. They smiled broadly while catching their breath and taking in the beautiful view of the Cascade Mountains. Within seconds, the shorter man gestured downhill.
“Last one to the lodge buys the Bloody Marys.” Without another word, he turned his skis around and sped off.
The two young ladies laughed as they quickly followed. The second man, a good three inches taller than the first, called after them. “I’ve been looking forward to that free drink all morning!” He smiled to himself and confidently waited another moment before starting down the slope.
Two hundred yards below, in the cover of trees, were three sloppily dressed young snowboarders, or shredders, as they called themselves. They weren’t shredding at the moment; they were passing around a small glass pipe. One of them, after taking a last pull off the pipe, dropped it in a pocket and bent over to attach his bindings.
“Okay, chicken shits, let’s get some air this time.” He flipped his board around and took off through the trees at a suicidal speed. The two others quickly followed.
A little farther up the hill, the lead skier was about fifty yards in front of his three companions as he raced down the groomed run between the small forests of trees. He was still smiling as he looked back to see if he was maintaining his lead. Without warning, a stoned shredder came flying out of the trees a good six feet in the air and clipped the skier on the side of his head, throwing him wildly off balance. The skier’s sunglasses shattered and flew off as he shot directly toward a large tree. Farther up the hill, his companions clearly heard a sickening thud.
“Alex!” the tall skier screamed in alarm.
PART 1
CHAPTER 1
INGLEWOOD, CALIFORNIA
APRIL 12, 1962
8:20 a.m.
P rairie Avenue was still damp from sporadic spring showers. The smell of wet pavement and exhaust fumes mixed to create a special freshness unique to such a day. Despite the seasonal rains, traffic moved at a normal pace, until just after 8:20 a.m., when an ancient pickup truck came to a screeching, side-sliding stop, effectively blocking the two southbound lanes and abruptly interrupting the routine flow on the active avenue.
Within a second, a frail old man in baggy, paint-stained white overalls threw open the dilapidated truck’s door and all but fell out of its cab. “He ran right out in front of me!” he cried out as he headed on wobbly legs back in the direction from which he had come, leaving his old truck where it had stopped.
Immediately, horns began honking, tentatively at first but gaining in urgency as the seconds passed. Gusting breezes were blowing what appeared to be school papers and crayon drawings from one side of the road to the other; a few stuck to the shallow puddles the rains had created on the asphalt.
On the far side of the road, about a hundred feet north of where the old pickup had come to its dramatic stop, a young boy maybe seven or eight years old was lying on his back a foot or two from the curb. He wasn’t moving. His clothes were wet, torn, and stained with small amounts of blood mixed with grime from the road. His right shoe was missing, and the sock was half off, exposing a small white heel and a nasty-looking road scrape on the anklebone. The only movement was an occasional twitch of the half-covered foot.
A girl maybe a year or so older than the boy, after precariously dodging four lanes of traffic in her effort to reach the stricken boy, quickly knelt beside him. “Alex!” she cried.
A crowd quickly gathered. “I called an ambulance!” a man yelled out the front door of his hardware store as a sudden gust of cold wind and a few drops of rain fell on the scene.
“What happened?” asked a short, slightly built teller as he rushed from a bank across the street to the back of the expanding crowd.
“Some little boy got run over, looks like!” a voice yelled back, trying to be heard over the noise of the crowd and the almost constant din of horns.
There was a slight stirring, along with an almost inaudible moan, from the prone youngster.
“Alex!” called the girl. She placed her face inches from her brother’s. “Alex, please wake up!”
The bystanders heard the wail of a siren some way off. The crowd turned to look north, nearly in unison, hoping to spot the ambulance heading toward them.
“Alex, can you hear me?” the girl said.
Alex groaned as he reached for the back of his head. What the hell’s happening here? This isn’t right! What’s everybody doing here? Something’s wrong! Like shouts in an echo chamber, his thoughts began reverberating in his mind . Something’s w rong!
“Alex, say something!”
Alex looked at the girl. Her nose was running, and she was crying as she stared down at him with an expression of near terror. Who? his mind questioned. He started to get up.
“Just lie still, young man,” ordered a heavyset woman as she knelt beside the girl. She placed her hands gently on Alex’s shoulders to hold him down. “The ambulance will be here soon.”
Ambulance? Nightmare. That’s what it is; it’s a weird frigging nightmare. He started to laugh quietly but stopped quickly when he saw the expression on the face of the behemoth who had him pinned to the street.
8:45 a.m.
Alex’s mind was a jumble of disconnected thoughts as the ambulance sped toward Centennial Hospital. His confusion mounted as he became more aware of his surroundings. Nothing was as it should have been. I was skiing. I was skiing with Jason—wasn’t I? His eyes became large as he came to a realization. I’ve managed to ski into a tree and have brain damage. I’m hallucinating. Oh shit! Will I wake up? Will I live?
Centennial Hospital
9:40 a.m.
Alex’s body was nearly rigid from fear as the doctor finished his examination. His eyes were shifting around like those of a trapped animal. His breathing was quick and erratic. He seemed unable or unwilling to talk.
“Well, young man,” the bespectacled middle-aged doctor said as he moved a light back and forth in front of Alex’s eyes, “you’re going to have a pretty sore noggin and ribs for a while. I’ll give you something that will ease the pain quite a bit. Don’t you worry.” He clipped the tiny flashlight back in his lab coat pocket. “You’re a lucky boy, all things considered. You have a couple of cracked rib