A Matter of Time

by Brian Harmon

“What?” You people? What people? What the hell was this guy talking about?

  “Here. Take this.”

  Eric turned his head slightly to the left in time to see a large wire tie being shaken at him. “Oh come on!”

  “Take it!”

  “Fine.” He snatched it out of the stranger’s hand.

  “Tie your left hand to the top bar.”

  Eric grumbled and did as he was told, pulling the wire tie tight. This was quickly turning into a very embarrassing situation. How could he have let this happen?

  When he lowered his right hand, he heard the stranger fumbling with something next to him. He glanced over to see a second wire tie loosely fitted through the chain.

  “Put your other hand through here.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Do it!”

  Eric cursed, frustrated, and did as he was told. “You know I’m going to kick your ass for this, right?”

  If the stranger was concerned, he didn’t show it. He pulled the wire tie tight and then quickly backed away.

  Finally, Eric turned himself as much as his bindings would allow and looked at his captor for the first time.

  The man stood there for a moment, observing him, the gun still trained on him, making sure he was secure. Then, satisfied, he lowered it and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. Eric had concluded that he was young, and he was right. He only looked about twenty-one, which seemed a little too young to be stalking people into strange, underground tunnels, robbing them at gunpoint and leaving them tied to rusty gates.

  He was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a button-up shirt. The flashlight, a small Maglite, hung from one of his belt loops and shined straight down at the floor, illuminating him in a surprisingly eerie light that still didn’t succeed in making him look all that threatening. He was remarkably…well…unremarkable. But the collar of his shirt was exactly the same as he’d seen it through the window at Goss. He was almost certainly the same person. But except for that brief and mostly obscured glimpse, he was sure he’d never seen this man before in his life.

  “Who are you?”

  “I’ll ask the questions,” snapped the young stranger as he began riffling through the wallet.

  Eric rolled his eyes. This was definitely one of the stupider situations he’d found himself in.

  “‘Eric Fortrell,’” read the stranger. “‘One-Fifteen Brauker Street.’ ‘Creek Bend.’” He looked up at him, suspicious. “Right.”

  “What do you mean, ‘right’?”

  “Who are you really?”

  “Who the hell else would I be?”

  The man grumbled and continued riffling through his wallet. “Credit cards. Insurance cards. Savers club cards. Triple-A.” He pulled out a small card and looked at it. “Rewards card for ‘Freezy Freddie’s’?”

  “You put that back! I’m only one away from a free sundae.”

  The man looked bewildered. “Only forty dollars cash…” He glared up at him. “What’d you do? Steal some local’s identity?”

  “What? You’re the one stealing stuff.”

  He grunted. “Right,” he said again.

  “Just who the hell do you think I am?”

  He switched his attention to the cell phone and dropped the wallet and its contents onto the ground, letting them scatter.

  “Hey!”

  “Shut up.”

  Eric yanked at the wire ties, frustrated. The gate and chain rattled loudly. The noise echoed up and down the tunnels.

  This guy was really starting to piss him off.

  “What’s your passcode?”

  “None of your damn business.”

  He withdrew the gun and thrust it at him again. “Tell me.”

  “Yeah, because shooting me will help you get into that phone.”

  “But if I shoot you, I won’t need the phone anymore, will I?”

  He had to admit, that was a pretty good point.

  “Or maybe I should just start shooting off your fingers until you decide to share.”

  Eric glared at him. He was almost certain that was a bluff. Almost. “Fine,” he growled. What did it matter? There wasn’t anything of any value in that phone. He didn’t trust the stupid things enough to put any sensitive information in there. Besides, the guy already had his wallet. “Fives.”

  “What?”

  “It’s all fives.”

  The man looked utterly bemused. “What kind of passcode is that?”

  “An easy to remember one. Besides, you didn’t guess it, so shut up.”

  He grunted and entered the code. He swiped at the screen a few times and then frowned at it. He swiped at it again. Again, he frowned. He continued like this for a while.

  “Do you even know what you’re looking for?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “What are you looking for, then?”

  “Shut up!”

  Eric rolled his eyes again. “What are you doing here? What’s your relation to the man in the red coat?”

  The stranger looked up at him again. He seemed confused.

  “Is he your partner? You work for the same organization? Is that it?”

  “What organization? A man in a red coat? What are you talking about?”

  Eric couldn’t decide if this guy was sincerely ignorant or exceptionally good at playing dumb. “Who do you work for?”

  “I don’t—” he began, then stopped himself and shouted, “Shut up!”

  He was starting to look frazzled now.

  “Why did you set those monsters loose in the rec center?”

  This caught him off guard. “What?” he stammered.

  “Don’t act stupid. I saw you there, too. As I was driving off. It was obviously you.”

  “What are you talking about? What monsters?”

  He wasn’t sure which was more surprising, the fact that he believed the stranger when he said he didn’t know what he was talking about, or the fact that this guy was inside the building and didn’t see any monsters.

  “Never mind me!” he snapped. “Why were you there? And who was that woman with you?”

  Eric clenched his teeth. Shit. Karen. He’d almost forgotten that she was there, too. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  The stranger growled. “I know what I saw. There was a woman with you. I’m not stupid!”

  He shook his head. “Nope. No woman. I was alone.”

  “You were not!”

  “All I saw were monsters. Two of them.”

  “There were no monsters!”

  “Wow,” said Eric. “You’ve got some serious issues, you know that?”

  “What do you know about Rossetter?” he screamed. His voice had gone shrill.

  He stared back at him, confused. “Who?”

  “Don’t play stupid!”

  “I don’t play stupid. Just ask my wife.”

  “Tell me about Rossetter!”

  Eric spoke slowly and deliberately: “I. Don’t. Know. What. You’re. Talking about.”

  The stranger was furious now. He thrust the gun at him again. “Tell me the truth! You’re working for them, aren’t you?”

  “Them?”

  “You and that fucking woman! You’re working for them! Just like those men in Detroit!” He paced across the room, fuming. Then he wheeled around and pointed the gun at him again. “I should just kill you right now. That’s what you deserve. All of you.”

  Eric stared down the barrel of the gun. This conversation just went to hell fast. “I don’t work for anybody.”

  “Liar!”

  “I’m not lying! I’m a high school teacher! You can see my picture on the staff page at the CBHS website! Whoever you think I am, you’re wrong!”

  The stranger lowered the gun. “You know what? Forget it. Just stay down here and rot, then.”

  Eric blinked. “Huh?”

  “You had your chance.” He dropped the cell phone. It clattered onto the floor.

  “Hey! Careful
with that!”

  But the young stranger ignored him. “Maybe you’ll feel more like cooperating tomorrow. Or the next day. Or whenever I feel like coming back. If I feel like coming back.”

  “You’ve got some serious problems, buddy.”

  “Well I’ve got one less now, don’t I?” He showed Eric his middle finger and then turned and walked away.

  “Oh yeah! That’s mature!” Eric yanked at the wire ties. “Let me out of this!”

  But he didn’t answer. He didn’t come back. The light receded until it disappeared completely. And then Eric was alone in the dark, his wrists tied to the rusty gate, unable to reach his phone and too far underground for anyone to hear him yelling.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Well this was a sorry situation he’d gotten himself into.

  He struggled with the wire ties until he was exhausted, but it was no use. All he was doing was hurting his wrists. He was trapped down here. At least for a while.

  Finally, he gave up and cursed. “This sucks.”

  Across the room, his cell phone buzzed softly and the screen lit up. That would be Isabelle agreeing with him.

  The light didn’t even offer any relief from the oppressive darkness. The phone had landed face down when it was dropped, so that the only light it gave off was a faint line in the dirt.

  “I’m going to assume you’ve already called for help.”

  The phone buzzed and lit up again. Of course she’d already called for help. By now Karen knew where he was and what kind of trouble he was in. But that didn’t make the waiting any more bearable. He was bound to a rusty gate, in an underground room at the end of a long tunnel. He could probably scream his head off and never be heard. There was a very faint light coming from the tunnel that led back out to the river path, but it wasn’t enough to even allow him to make out the shape of his own hand tied to the bar in front of his face.

  Minutes ticked by, he was sure, but each one felt more like an hour. The wire ties were cutting painfully into his wrists and the position in which he’d been tied made it impossible to get comfortable. His body quickly began to ache.

  But there was nothing he could do about that. He was stuck here until someone came to cut him loose, so he ignored the discomfort and focused on what he’d gained from his bizarre conversation with the young stranger.

  Maybe he was being fooled, but he really didn’t think the guy was an agent. It sounded like he thought Eric was the agent. It seemed ridiculous, but it wasn’t the first time he’d been mistaken for one.

  It was also possible that this had nothing to do with the agents. After all, he genuinely didn’t seem to know anything about a man in a red coat or even an “organization” for which such a man might work.

  And what was he, if not an agent? He was too young to be any other kind of agent. He wasn’t disciplined enough to work for the government. And he was too hot under the collar to be some kind of journalist. In fact, the whole ordeal seemed personal to him.

  What was it he said about men in Detroit?

  He supposed the most important thing was that the young stranger knew about Karen. He knew they were together. He knew he was protecting her. And he knew their home address.

  He had to find him again.

  But how? He could be headed anywhere right now.

  He’d been slowly twisting his hands back and forth, trying to loosen his bindings. The motion was making the gate creak on its hinges and the chain scrape the bars. Now, suddenly, he stopped moving and went silent. Had he heard something moving in the dark? Or was it only his god-awful imagination messing with him again?

  Seconds ticked by. He could actually hear them. Thanks to his awkward bindings, his watch was right next to his head. But he heard nothing more.

  Then, just before he gave up and let go of the breath he was holding, it came again. Footsteps in the dark.

  The hair on the back of his neck stood up. His stomach clenched. Careful not to rattle the gate or the chain, he turned his head and looked around, eyes wide in the blackness, trying to use what little daylight reached this end of the tunnel.

  But the footsteps weren’t coming from the room around him. They were coming from one of the tunnels. Specifically, they were coming from the tunnel behind the gate to which he was currently tied.

  He turned his face forward and peered through the bars.

  He could see nothing, but there was something there. Something moved in the dark. Slow. Purposeful.

  He could almost follow it with his eyes. But it was too dark to make anything out.

  It was getting closer.

  Eric’s heart was pounding.

  To hell with being quiet. He pried at the wire ties, rattling the gate, but he couldn’t get loose.

  It was right there. Only a few feet away. Only a few inches.

  The footsteps stopped.

  A presence loomed before him. Whatever it was, he was certain it was staring him right in the face. And he was equally certain that it wasn’t human.

  His betraying imagination offered him a possible outcome. Powerful, inhuman hands would reach through the bars and seize him. Then he would be pulled through the gate and to the other side, his limbs ripped from their sockets, his bones shattered. His organs ruptured.

  When help arrived, there’d be nothing but a puddle of blood beneath these dripping bars. Maybe a dangling arm or two.

  No. That was only his imagination. He usually loved having a great imagination. It could take written words in any good book and create beautiful worlds. It had helped him to cultivate his love for all manner of literature. But at times like these, it was horrible.

  There was nothing there.

  And yet he stared into that darkness between those bars, the hair still prickling at the back of his neck, his skin still crawling, his heart still pounding. Somehow, deep down, he knew it wasn’t just his imagination.

  Something was there.

  Very faintly, there came a sound, like a low, menacing growl, and at the same moment a hot, rancid breath blew into his face. He was no stranger to terror, but this seemed like a whole new level. He felt it deep down in his soul. It was primal. He was face to face with something more terrible than he could have ever imagined.

  His knees went weak. Stars danced in front of his face.

  Then, suddenly, there was light. It washed across him, illuminating the bars. Flashlights from behind him. Someone had come. Karen? Or was it the young stranger, back to try and force more answers from him? Or maybe it was the steampunk monk? It didn’t really matter. He’d be thrilled to see almost anybody at this point.

  Anything was better than what stood on the other side of this gate.

  For the briefest of instances, he saw it there, an awful shape looming in front of him, staring him in the face. It was death. It was doom. It was pure, primordial evil.

  Then it was just gone.

  The light grew brighter and cast shadows through the gate.

  No one was there. No thing was there.

  His heart still thundering, he turned and squinted into the brilliant shine of two flashlights.

  “Well you got yourself into a mess, didn’t you?”

  “Thank God! Get me out of this!” He turned and looked back down the locked tunnel, but there was nothing there. Was it only his imagination after all? He desperately wanted to believe that it was, but deep down, he was convinced that it wasn’t. “And get that light out my eyes.”

  Paul lowered the flashlight and pulled a pair of wire cutters from his back pocket. “All right. Just hold on.”

  “Wait,” said Kevin. He pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of Eric. “Karen’s going to want to see this.”

  “Are you serious right now?”

  “Quit clowning around,” said Paul. “But first, get one with me.” He stopped and posed beside Eric, like a hunter showing off his trophy.”

  “Knock it off and get me loose!”

  “All right,” sighed Paul. �
�Don’t bust a vessel.”

  Paul was Eric’s brother. Seven years his senior, almost a full head taller, and considerably hairier, most people didn’t guess they were related at all. They looked almost nothing alike.

  Kevin was Paul’s twenty-one-year-old son and Eric’s nephew. He was far stouter than either of them, built more like a football player than either a carpenter or an English teacher, which suited him perfectly well since that was precisely what earned him his college scholarship.

  Both of them knew all about Eric’s past adventures.

  With just two quick snips of the wire cutters, Eric was free. He promptly stepped away from the gate.

  “What happened?” asked Paul. “Karen called me and said you were up to weirdness again and to drop everything and get my butt over here.” It was easy enough to imagine Karen saying just that. “Then, once I got all my tools loaded up and climbed into my truck, Isabelle called me and said somebody’d tied you up and left you in the dark.”

  Eric rubbed at his wrists and stretched his back. “Yep. That pretty well sums it up.”

  Kevin had gathered up his wallet, its spilled contents and his phone for him. Now he handed it back.

  “Thank you.”

  “Sure.”

  THANKS KEVIN, said Isabelle.

  Eric showed him the screen.

  “Oh.” He leaned forward and talked into the phone. “You’re welcome, Izzy.” For some reason, he couldn’t grasp the concept that Isabelle was inside Eric’s head. He seemed to think that it was the phone, as if she literally existed within it, like a ghost inside the technology.

  “Why would you even come down here?” asked Paul.

  “A voice in my head told me to.”

  “Oh.” It was a testament to just how much strangeness he’d witnessed that he simply let it go at that.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” reasoned Eric. “But then, I was tripping on some kind of mutant LSD at the time, too.”

  “Why do you always have the most fun without us?” asked Kevin as he peered down the tunnel that led back to the river path.

  “You’re a very selfish man,” agreed Paul.

  Eric stuffed his cards and identification back into his wallet and returned it to his pocket. “I know. I’m a dick. And there’s nothing here anyway. I don’t even know what this place is.”