Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery (Out of Time #1)

by Monique Martin

His voice was mesmerizing—smooth with a touch of melancholy, like a French horn. How very Peter and the Wolf, she thought. She wanted to walk away, to get as far away from this man as possible, but his eyes held her captive. It was more than that though. There was something odd about them that she couldn’t quite place. Like looking into a reflection of a flame, a mirror image of something once removed, something that existed in the periphery, lying in wait.

  She knew he wanted her to submit, to show her deference somehow. Clearly, he was the predator, and she was the prey. As idiotic as it probably was, as dangerous as she knew it to be, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Men, modern or not, who expected blind obedience weren’t going to find it in her. She stood her ground with as much calm as she could muster. Turnabout being fair play, she stared back at him, meeting his challenge with one of her own.

  A ghost of a smile crossed his face—surprised and pleased. He took another drag from his cigarette and flicked the ash onto the floor. “You’re an intriguing one, aren’t you?”

  “Not really,” she said. “I’m really more intrigue adjacent.”

  “Somehow I doubt that,” he said, amused, and then turned to Charlie. “I like this one.”

  Charlie cleared his throat and frowned. “She’s a hard worker. Maybe you should get back to it, Lizzy?” He looked to King for permission. “Lotsa thirsty people.”

  King nodded and narrowed his eyes once more at Elizabeth. “Yes, of course. Charles and I have some business to attend to. We’ll talk again soon, I’m sure.”

  There was an implicit promise in the way he spoke. Or was it a threat? She nodded once in his direction and carried her tray over to Dix.

  “You okay, kid?”

  “Yeah. Fine,” Elizabeth said and cast a glance back over to the table. “I think his bark’s worse than his bite.”

  Dix started and dropped her tray. “Damn it,” she muttered.

  Elizabeth knelt down to help her pick up the broken cups and noticed that Dix’s hands were trembling. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Dix said. She was clearly anything but all right. She grasped Elizabeth’s wrist and looked at her with uncharacteristic seriousness.

  “About King…” She shook her head, her forehead furrowed with worry. “Just stay away from him. He’s…bad news, okay?”

  What was she holding back? Elizabeth wondered. It was clear she’d wanted to say more, but was afraid to for some reason. For someone who’d been around the block and back again, Dix was awfully jumpy about King.

  “Don’t worry,” Elizabeth assured her. “I’m not looking for any trouble. Believe me.”

  Dix nodded nervously and moved to dump the broken dishes in the trash. Elizabeth stood and took up her tray again. A pair of men at a nearby table called her over, and she went to take their orders. Grateful to be back at work, she tried to let the tension from her meeting with King fade away. But no matter where she went in the small room, she could feel his eyes on her.

  A few minutes later King’s henchman whispered something in his ear. He stood and said something to Charlie, who nodded vigorously. Finally, King left. The strangling energy that came with him began to lift, and the bar came to life again.

  Charlie hurried back behind the bar, mumbling to himself. “Damn Sully. Goin’ and gettin’ his fingers all busted. Now what am I supposed to do?”

  “Anything I can do?” Elizabeth asked.

  “Not unless you play piano.”

  “Sorry. All thumbs,” she said. Once again, her curiosity got the better of her. “What happened to Sully?”

  Charlie’s ruddy face crumpled as he sighed. “King said he had an accident. Broke his fingers. All of ’em.”

  Elizabeth’s stomach dropped as she realized what he meant. She remembered the man’s cries from the alley, the way he held his trembling hands.

  “I think I saw King and Sully the other night,” she said, thinking out loud.

  Charlie’s frown deepened. “No, ya didn’t.”

  “Yeah, in an alley. I was—”

  Charlie reached out with his big, meaty hand and clasped her wrist. “You didn’t see nothin’, ya hear me?” he whispered urgently. “You didn’t see nothin’.”

  The knuckles of his hand were gnarled and swollen. Silently, they spoke louder of pain than any words could, and she shivered.

  “Okay, Charlie.”

  His face softened and he patted her hand gently. “You stick to your own business. For my sake, all right? Stay away from King. Far away.”

  “Sure, Charlie.”

  He sighed again and picked up his dishrag. “Where the hell am I gonna find another piano player? Sully wasn’t much, but he was cheap. They don’t fall outta trees ya know.” He rubbed down the bar and a small smile lit his face. “Course, you did, didn’t ya, Lizzy? Fell right outta the sky.”

  Elizabeth smiled to herself. “Something like that.”

  Charlie winked and went back to work.

  By the time Charlie gave last call, it was almost three in the morning. He ushered out the last straggler, and she and Dix set about closing up for the night. It was a little past three-thirty by the time Elizabeth finished her chores, changed and said her goodnights.

  She stepped out of the smoky club and took a deep breath of the fresh night air. She was about to start down the street when she saw Simon. He was leaning against a lamppost, his shirt sleeves rolled up, jacket hanging loosely over one forearm. Waiting, and looking damn sexy doing it.

  Elizabeth fought a smile and took a step toward him. “What are you doing here?”

  Simon pushed himself upright and took a step toward her. “Waiting for you.”

  In the dim light, she couldn’t quite make out his expression, but his voice sent shivers up her spine. The good kind. She’d been anxious to tell him about King, but all thoughts of the gangster fled as Simon approached. Memories of how she’d felt when he came to apologize resurfaced: the racing of her pulse, the temptation to kiss him. The balmy night air seemed to grow that much warmer against her cheeks.

  “You’re flushed,” Simon said, as he drew nearer. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. I just…You waited for me?”

  He shifted his jacket unnecessarily from one arm to the next. “I don’t like the idea of you out alone at this time of night.”

  A little part of her thought that maybe, just maybe, after what almost happened tonight, that there was a little more to it.

  ~~~

  He’d had far too long to think about things, to think about her. Simon had tried to concentrate on creative ways to research time travel. The library, not surprisingly, was of little help. In his desperation, he’d even gone so far as considering tracking down H.G. Wells, who according to a recently published article was living somewhere in France. Perhaps his science fiction was as much thinly veiled truth as his grandfather’s work had been. But keeping the timeline intact forbade even that preposterous wild goose chase. Hours of work later, and with nothing to show for it, his mind drifted back to Elizabeth and the way she’d looked in the club, the way she’d looked at him. The way she was looking at him right now.

  He cleared his throat and attempted to clear his mind. “A respectable woman in this time would not be walking by herself. I’m only being practical.”

  “Of course.” The blush on her cheeks faded, and her eyes seemed dark and troubled.

  “You sure you’re all right?” he asked.

  “Just a long night.”

  “Understandable,” he said, his hand hovering behind her back, resisting the urge to touch her, if even only for a moment.

  The streets were deserted. It was the only time New York was still. A pause between the end and the beginning. The sounds of their footfalls echoed against the brick walls.

  “The rest of your shift went well?” Simon asked.

  When he wasn’t uselessly lost in the stacks, he found himself wondering what she was doing and trying to forget how she looked
doing it. He was loath to admit it, but even in such a short separation, he missed her. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Surely, it was unnatural to think about someone so much. But no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always came back to her.

  “Work was okay,” she said. “Charlie gave me an advance so we’re okay, in the money department at least.”

  “Thoughtful of him,” he said, unable to keep the slight sneer from his voice.

  “I thought so. I seem to remember asking another boss for an advance once. He wasn’t quite so generous.”

  Simon barked out a quick laugh. “If I remember correctly you needed the money to buy a pair of Italian shoes.”

  “They were on sale for a limited time,” she said. “Charlie’s a good man. He worries almost as much as you do.”

  “I don’t—” Simon started in protest. “What does Charlie have to worry about?”

  “Gangsters, piano players; it’s a regular Scorsese film fest.”

  “A what?”

  “Scorsese. Do you even go to the movies?”

  Simon ignored her jibe and took hold of her elbow. “Gangsters. You’re sure?”

  “Well, one anyway.” Elizabeth went on to tell him about her encounter with King, her realization about the attack in the alley and Charlie’s warning. Simon asked her detailed questions about each conversation. When she finished, he fell into a thoughtful silence.

  Barely three days into their journey and already she’d caught the eye of the most dangerous man in town. If his reservations about her taking this job hadn’t been justified before, they surely were now. Tomorrow, he’d find employment, no matter what it was. Perhaps, he’d found the lead he needed tonight.

  “All in all,” she said, “an interesting night. And can I just say my dogs are barking. If I’m going to make it through tomorrow night, I have got to get some better shoes. Wonder if I can find something Italian.”

  “Tomorrow? Surely you’re not thinking of going back there?”

  “Surely I am.”

  “Elizabeth—”

  “Simon,” she said and stopped walking. “We’ve already had this conversation, and I’m too tired for a repeat performance. I know you don’t like me having this job, but I have it. We need it. And besides, Charlie already paid me for the week. And I ain’t no welsher,” she added with a grin.

  Simon frowned, intent on not being swayed by her smile. “You are the most stubborn, pig-headed, obdurate woman I have ever met.”

  “You forgot bull-headed.”

  Simon shook his head. There was no use arguing with her tonight. She yawned, and he noticed for the first time how tired she looked. Her eyes were beginning to glass over, and her slim shoulders curled forward weighted with fatigue. She’d taken on all of the responsibility, and he’d done nothing but berate her for it.

  “I realize I haven’t been exactly supportive of your decisions the last few days, but I do…I wanted to…thank you.”

  Elizabeth smiled and touched his arm tentatively before pulling away. “You’re very welcome.” She stifled another yawn. “We better get me to bed before I turn into a pumpkin.”

  “To bed,” he agreed and then realized how that might have sounded. “Right. Well then.” He gestured nervously down the street, and they walked home in companionable silence.

  Exhausted, Elizabeth took a quick bath and then fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. Simon watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a quiet smile. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful. Only in the dim predawn light would he allow himself such thoughts. Well, that wasn’t quite true really.

  He remembered the way she looked at the club. Every curve of her figure leading his eyes to the next. He’d drunk them in greedily. He couldn’t help himself. Unassumingly seductive, she had no idea what she did to him. How his body reacted to her nearness. How when she’d moved so close, he could have closed his eyes and still felt her presence. Still felt the desire. He almost wished he had kissed her. Maybe if he could taste her once, he could get her out of his system. Be free from the endless thoughts of what might be. It was folly, of course. He knew there wouldn’t be just one kiss. Not that it mattered. She deserved a better man than he could ever be. He was carved from an old stone. Rough hewn edges and a cold, hard center.

  Elizabeth’s gentle snoring interrupted his thoughts. She rolled onto her side, moving closer to him. Her arm snaked out from under the covers and fell onto his chest. His breath caught at the intimate touch, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She wiggled closer still, and snuggled her head into the crick of his shoulder, her warm breath fluttering against his neck.

  Even a stone can feel heat.

  He could smell the clean fragrance of her soap and feel the silk of her hair as it brushed against his neck. She felt so wonderful against him, the gentle pressure of her along his side. It was far too tempting to slip his arm around her, to give himself over to the feeling of her in his arms. But it was a pleasure that wasn’t his to take. If his performance at the club were any indication, he desperately needed to keep her at a distance. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. His brain was muddled enough as it was. His heart couldn’t take one more blow. And he knew it would happen. He could never forget that. Time was his enemy, slowly inching toward the inevitable, the culmination of his nightmares. A week? A month? A year? The end would come.

  Elizabeth shifted again in her sleep. He rolled away from her onto his side and closed his eyes.

  Tennyson was wrong. Sometimes, it would be better never to have loved at all.

  Chapter Eleven

  BARELY A RIPPLE DISTURBED the surface of the water. The sun shone brightly and soft puffs of clouds drifted lazily across a cerulean sky. Simon sat alone in a small rowboat. Only thirty feet away, Elizabeth drifted in her own. She smiled gently and waved to him. He loved the ease of the day, the mild rolling motion of his boat as it bobbed slowly in the water. Elizabeth leaned back and raised her face to the warm sun. She looked like an art deco goddess, her lithe figure in a pose of supplication to the sky above. He wanted to be with her, by her side, and started to row his boat closer. His boat cut easily through the water. The small wake it created pushed gentle swells toward the distant shore.

  A billowing cloud slipped in front of the sun and cast a dark shadow over the water. Simon felt the beginnings of a cold wind sweep across the bow of his boat. It sent chills across his skin. His desire to be with her blossomed into need. He dug his oars into the water and watched as they sliced into the murky depths.

  The wind grew colder, stronger. He looked for Elizabeth, but she was further away, not nearer. Her boat had turned away from his, as if pulled on an invisible string toward the horizon. He should have been getting closer, but with each moment that passed, she was further and further away.

  The icy wind bit into his cheeks. He gripped the oars more tightly and deepened his stroke, plunging them into the water. The harder he struggled, the rougher the water became. Another cloud, larger than the last, darkened the sky. Whitecaps broke over the growing swells like angry mouths searching for something to sink into.

  Simon fought against the roiling sea and called out to Elizabeth. But the wind was fierce and threw the sound back at him. Her tiny boat rocked back and forth, drifting further and further away. She gripped the gunwales as a large wave nearly capsized her. Simon called out again as he struggled to reach her. She must have heard him this time, because she turned and cried out, but any sound was lost in the wind.

  Rowing desperately, Simon’s muscles burned. The cold wind sliced into his face, and his fingers ached with the effort. But none of it mattered; he had to reach her. She called out again and held up her hand, urging him to stop. But it was too late. He looked down into the water and saw the small wave he’d created growing larger and larger until it became a huge wave, heading straight for her boat.

  The cresting water was too powerful and crashed into her, flipping
the boat over. Simon called out again and strained to see her. His boat was finally making progress. He rowed with all his heart and when he saw a glimpse of color his heart soared. But as he drew closer, the color grew brighter. A scarlet red, blossoming like a stain.

  Blood.

  Her body bobbed to the surface. A wave rolled her onto her back. Her bloody, lifeless face stared back at him.

  “No!” he cried and lunged forward. The covers fell off his body, as he sat up with a start.

  “Wha? What? Simon?” Elizabeth said breathlessly.

  He panted furiously and twisted around to see Elizabeth awake and alive by his side. He gripped her tightly by the shoulders.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, trying to blink herself awake.

  He searched her face, desperate to reassure himself she was all right. The horrible gash and lifeless eyes he envisioned in his dream overlaid her worried face. For a moment, the two images existed together in grotesque harmony. He clamped his eyes shut and when he opened them again, the nightmare was gone.

  “Nothing,” he said. “Just a nightmare.” He released his iron grip on her and tried to calm his thundering heart.

  “Mmmm,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “What happened?”

  Simon looked down at his shaking hands and wound them into the sheet. “I don’t remember,” he lied. In fact, he remembered every horrifying detail. That unnerved him more than anything else. All his other nightmares had been vague at best, disturbing images that faded quickly. This dream was still vivid in his mind. Too vivid. “I’m sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep.”

  “You’re okay?”

  “Fine. Go back to sleep.”

  Elizabeth yawned and lay back down. “Just think good thoughts. You’re in a field of wildflowers,” she mumbled into her pillow. “Lots of…”

  He glanced over at her, still amazed at her ability to fall asleep so effortlessly. He watched her burrow under the covers and curl up on her side of the bed.

  Letting out a long breath, he lay back. The damn nightmares were getting worse. At first, he’d tried to write them off as nothing more than subconscious manifestations of his inner turmoil. But the frequency and power of them foretold something much more sinister. He’d studied the occult far too long to overlook the significance. Portents and harbingers of death were part of his stock and trade. But objective, intellectual discovery and personal experience were far different things. And it wasn’t as if this were the first time either. His grandfather had died days after his first night terror. He’d been too young and traumatized to see the correlation. And now, he felt like that frightened boy he had been thirty years ago. He simply couldn’t bear that sort of loss again. Elizabeth was alive, but the nightmares still came. Try as he might to rationalize and deny it, there was a truth in the dreams he couldn’t escape.