Peter, the Professor and the Blue Orb Time Machine

I was working in my home office when the front door bell rang. The only people who come to my door without calling first are delivery people, and people collecting for some charity. Since I wasn't expecting any packages I thought it must be the latter, and grabbed my billfold. Standing at the door was a young man. Well, young to me as I'm 84. He was neatly dressed and well mannered. I didn't want to appear rude or inhospitable, but I am cautious about admitting strangers into my home.
"Hello, can I help you?" I ask.
"Are you Mr. Leach?" he asked.
I said I was - the sign on the porch gave that away.
"Mr. Leach, my name is Peter. I'm here because I was told to come. I was told that you would listen to my story. May I come in and tell it to you?"
He appeared to be an honest young man. He was obviously alone. I could see no harm in inviting him in. We settled into easy chairs and he began. His story had me hooked from the first sentence. Time quickly passed. Without realizing it the afternoon had passed. I invited him to stay for supper, and continue his story afterwards. He talked through the night and into the next morning. When he finished I sat still, spellbound by what he'd told me. It was an amazing, fantastic story.
"Why did you tell me your story?" I asked.
"The Professor told me to ask you to write it down for me. He said you'd never met. But he seemed to know a lot about you and was convinced you would listen, that you would believe me, and I could trust you to write it all down accurately."
"Peter," I said, "I'm not an author! You need to tell your story to a known author. If I write your story it may never be read or published."
"The Professor wants you to write it."
"I'll do my best if you're sure that's what you want."
"That's all I could ask," Peter answered.
I invited Peter to stay with us a few days while he retold the story and I recorded it. This gave me a chance to ask questions, fill in details, and see if the story changed in any way in the retelling. I hoped it didn't change because it was the kind of story you want to be true. The story didn't change. All Peter did was add more details. Peter's adventure was written indelibly in his mind. Even as to what he thought and felt. He was adamant that the many conversations he had with the Professor about prayer and spiritual truths be included. Those teachings, he said, are integral to the story, as were all the references to Glenn Clark. The Professor liked Glenn Clark because he taught how to connect up with God and release his power into our lives and world.
*****
Once again resisting the temptation to throw his alarm clock against the wall, Peter turns it off. Struggling, he forces his body out of bed and into the shower. The blast of cold water just before it turns warm wakes him up. He dresses and heads to the dining hall. It's all but deserted. He eats a quick breakfast by himself and heads for class.
You wouldn't believe it was a perfect day from the look on Peter's face. But it was. It was warm, the sun was shining, and all over the campus the trees and flowers were putting on a show of spring time beauty. But this is lost on Peter as he grumbles his way to class.
"There ought to be a law against Saturday morning classes," he complains to the air. "Juniors shouldn't have to take Saturday morning classes. All the Juniors agree. But do the professors listen to us? No! 'It's the only time we could schedule the class,' they laugh."
Arriving at the Liberal Arts building he enters, finds the class room and sits with all the other sleepy students. Only the professor is wide awake. The class finally ends, after a herculean struggle on Peter's part to stay awake. He steps outside. The fresh air revives him just enough to make it to the Student Union for a quick cup of coffee, black and strong. He sips his coffee and looks around for any of his friends. They're not there. Probably in class or sleeping in. With nothing else to do he reluctantly heads back to his room.
"Might as well get started on my homework," he complains sadly to the empty sidewalk. "I'm too wide awake to go back to sleep and there's no one to talk to."
Back in his room he tosses his books on the bed and checks for any new phone messages. The light is blinking: four new messages. "Hey!" he says hopefully. "Maybe Mr. Johnson wants me to come in early. I could sure use the extra money!" He hits the play button and listens while he changes into jeans and his favorite faded blue plaid shirt. George wants to borrow his tennis racket. Jim got the book that Peter wanted. Ed needs help with his physics assignment. Then, the final message: "Urgent! Come quickly. Don't tell anyone. Hurry!" Click!
As abruptly as it started the message ends. Just as abruptly, out of the blue and totally out of place with the message, an overwhelming sense of terror and foreboding envelopes Peter. The hair on his head stands up, his stomach goes into a knot. At the same time he is compelled to grab his coat and car keys and rush out the door to his car.