Time Search (The Time Counselor Chronicles Book 3)

by Danele J Rotharmel

  Astonishment rippled through him. He blinked at her in surprise. Dimples were dancing in her cheeks, and her eyes were alight with fun. Feeling as if his world were inside out and upside down—and loving the feeling—Marc laughed. Getting up from his sprawled position, he tweaked an escaped ringlet that was dancing beside her ear. “You’re a menace.”

  “So I’ve been told. Now, get back to work.”

  Obediently, he returned to his desk. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She was working on another equation. Not willing to end their conversation, and curious to see if she’d know the answer, he asked, “Hey, Cris, what’s the square root of 8,679,523?”

  “It’s 2,946.103,” she replied without looking up.

  His lips twitched. Crystal spoke in a distant voice. She was obviously concentrating on her work rather than on what he was saying. He shook his head in amazement. She’d spit out the answer without even thinking about it.

  As she kicked the paper, sending it rolling behind her, he asked mischievously, “Hey, Cris, what’s the distance of Mars to the sun?”

  “Approximately 227,939,100 kilometers.”

  Pausing, he wondered how far he could press his luck. “Hey, Cris?”

  This time, she tossed a marker at him and ignored him. Laughing, Marc turned back to his computer. He was beginning to think that Crystal was the most fascinating woman he’d ever met.

  28

  Patiently, quietly, Drake picked the lock of Angelina’s back door. Suddenly, there was a feral growl. A black mass exploded from the bushes. Snapping teeth lunged for Drake’s throat.

  Pulling his knife from his pocket, he grabbed the dog’s neck and stabbed.

  Wild barks turned into yelps of pain.

  A door slammed at a neighboring townhouse.

  Cursing, Drake continued stabbing the dog until it quit moving.

  “Hey!” someone yelled. “What are you doing? I’m calling the police!”

  Still cursing, Drake plunged through the bushes and ran down the street.

  ~*~

  Angelina looked out her airplane window for a final glimpse of Rome. As the city faded into the misty distance, she sighed. Soon, she would be back in the states, and then what? She had no idea. Softly, she repeated the code word, “Squiggy.”

  Karl raised an eyebrow. “What’s a squiggy?”

  “Squiggy was my goldfish when I was growing up—my second goldfish, actually.”

  “Why do I feel there’s a story lurking somewhere in that statement?”

  “Probably because there is.” She turned in her seat to face him. “When we were kids, Alex bought me Squiggy with the money he’d saved up to buy a soccer ball.”

  “Why would a boy use his soccer money to buy his sister a second goldfish?”

  “Because he’d accidentally flushed my first fish, Thirsty, down the toilet.”

  Karl laughed. “How did that happen?”

  “Alex and I were six. There’s a month every year when we’re the same age. Anyway, we wanted to clean my fishbowl, and we needed a safe place to put Thirsty.”

  “Don’t tell me.”

  She nodded. “We thought the toilet was the perfect place.”

  Karl’s lips twitched. “I’ll bet your mom had a conniption fit.”

  “She wasn’t there. Danny was babysitting us. He and Peter were in the living room studying. Alex and I had been good as gold all day. Dan had no idea that we were just being good to pull the wool over his eyes.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Once we had Dan lured into a false sense of security, we were planning on doing everything we’d been forbidden to do.”

  “You little scamps.”

  “We didn’t get far along on our plan, though. Our first daring deed was cleaning my fishbowl. We were planning on showing Mom such a sparkling bowl that she’d have to admit we were all grown up.”

  “So you put your goldfish in the toilet.”

  “Just for safe keeping.”

  “What happened then?”

  “We started fighting over who got to wash the bowl, and in the tussle, Alex fell and accidentally flushed Thirsty down.”

  “It just had to happen.” Karl laughed.

  Angelina smiled. “It’s funny now, but at the time, it was awful. I was devastated. I was certain that we’d just killed my pet, and I felt like a murderer. I was crying, and so was Alex. When Dan and Peter came running into the bathroom, Dan assured us that Thirsty wasn’t dead. He was just swimming his way to the ocean through a long network of pipes.”

  “And you believed him?”

  “Hey, I was six. Give me a break.”

  Karl chuckled. “So, did your parents make Alex buy you a new fish?”

  She shook her head. “Alex felt so bad about Thirsty that when Dad got home, Alex grabbed his piggybank and asked to be driven to the pet store. By suppertime, I had a new fish. I also had a plastic diver for my fishbowl just to show me how much Alex cared.”

  “Why did you name the fish Squiggy?”

  “Actually, I let Alex name him. I figured if he gave up his soccer ball for me, the least I could do was let him name the fish. I think, at the time, he was referring to the squiggly way the fish was swimming.”

  “Your family’s pretty nice, aren’t they?”

  Angelina smiled. “They’re the best.”

  “Since Alex bought you a fish, will you let him off the hook for the Capuchin Crypt?”

  “Not on your life.” She snorted. “When I figure out how to get him back, the whole planet better run for cover.” Her eyes twinkled. “Alex would expect nothing less. In fact, that’s probably why he put the crypt on the list in the first place. Our family dearly loves practical jokes, and it’s about time for another declaration of war.”

  ~*~

  Drake pulled at his lower lip, trying to think. All of his leads had turned into dead-ends, and he desperately needed a new avenue to explore. Pressing his fists to his eyes, he tried to capture the split-second image of the elevator. He tried to recall every inch of the metal box.

  Gil, Dan, Jay, Laura, Peter, Zeke, Nicki, Nicole, Thomas, Sam, Sue. Was there anyone else?

  He squeezed his eyes tighter, willing the image to solidify in his mind. He was sure that someone had been standing by Sue. He could almost picture the person. He just couldn’t figure out who it was. He tried to grab the wispy memory and wrestle it into useable fact.

  He felt his frustration mounting with each breath. Finally, in a fit of impatience, he slammed his fist against the wall.

  “I’ll remember who it was,” he muttered, fingering his knife. “It’s just a matter of time.”

  ~*~

  Alex woke up with his throat and eyes burning. He sat on the couch feeling as if his whole world had been shaken. Eventually, he changed his wrinkled clothes and made himself presentable.

  On the way to the kitchen, he saw that Phoebe’s bedroom door was open. She wasn’t inside. A mound of tissues around her trashcan bore witness to the fact that she hadn’t had an easy night either. Suddenly, his breath caught painfully. Humphrey was upside down in her trashcan. Alex started to retrieve the stuffed giraffe, but he paused. If she felt his gift was trash, he didn’t have the right to deem it otherwise. He also didn’t have the right to enter her room without permission. Turning, he left the cabin.

  Out in the fresh air, he saw Phoebe in the pasture. She was petting Silverfire. Hoping for a miracle, he walked toward her, but she deliberately turned her back and walked the other way. Alex’s jaw tightened. Passing through his pain, he felt a flash of anger. As she flounced into the barn, he grabbed his Bible from the porch swing and walked in the opposite direction toward the brook.

  He knew he couldn’t force Phoebe to listen to reason, and he definitely couldn’t force her to love him. The only thing he could control was his response to how she was acting, and he was so upset that controlling his response was going to be a challenge.

  When he arrived at his favo
rite boulder by the stream, he sat down and opened his Bible to First Corinthians 13:4-7. Love is very patient and kind, never jealous or envious, never boastful or proud, never haughty or selfish or rude. Love does not demand its own way. It is not irritable or touchy. It does not hold grudges and will hardly even notice when others do it wrong… If you love someone you will be loyal to him no matter what the cost. You will always believe in him, always expect the best of him, and always stand your ground in defending him.

  Alex looked up from his Bible.

  Phoebe was not showing him love.

  “How should I react?” he murmured, tossing a rock in the river. “Should I call it quits?”

  As soon as the question left his lips, he winced. When he was growing up, his father told him that love was a choice.

  Gazing up at the blue sky, he searched his memory for his father’s exact words. After a moment, he whispered, “Dad said that in a relationship your romantic feelings might fade for a time. He said you must choose to show love even if you don’t necessarily feel like it. Feelings might change, but commitment remains the same. It’s commitment that keeps couples together until the romantic feelings can be rekindled.”

  Sighing, Alex picked a daisy nodding by the boulder.

  Although he and Phoebe weren’t engaged, in his heart, he knew he’d made a commitment to her. His commitment hadn’t been spoken, but it was real all the same. When he was in school, he’d memorized some of Shakespeare’s sonnets, and as he mused about his love for Phoebe, he remembered lines from 116.

  Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds,

  Or bends with the remover to remove:

  O no! It is an ever-fixed mark

  That looks on tempests and is never shaken…

  If he truly loved Phoebe, nothing should be able to shake his commitment. Not her attitude. Not her anger. Not the way she was trying to shut him out of her life. Not even the way she was punishing him for the things other people had done.

  Fingering the daisy’s petals, he murmured, “She’s hurting. She needs love. But can my love stand up to the First Corinthians 13 litmus test? Can I be that selfless and forgiving?”

  As he pondered the question, he remembered the horrible things she had said. Her accusations struck right at the core of who he was. His heart twisted in pain.

  “Doesn’t she know me at all?” he muttered. “Hasn’t she been paying attention?”

  His lips tightened. Since he’d rescued her, his life had been totally focused on nursing her back to health. He’d put his own comfort, his own plans, his own safety on the line.

  “Maybe I’m being a fool,” he said, his hands tightening on the Bible. “Maybe it would be better to stop loving her before she breaks my heart completely.”

  Unable to bear his turmoil, he bowed his head. “Dear Lord, my love for Phoebe is tearing me apart, but I want to honor You. Even if we don’t get together as a couple, please help me to exhibit the type of selfless love that Jesus demonstrated on Calvary. Above all else, I want You to be proud of how I behave.”

  Alex felt peace washing over him. His breathing became more relaxed. After a moment, he said firmly, “Father, I promise to try and exhibit First Corinthians 13 love—regardless of how Phoebe acts—regardless of the hurt that I feel.”

  His decision made, Alex sighed deeply and studied the pine trees swaying in the breeze. It amazed him that an infinite, powerful God cared about his struggles—and he knew God cared. He could feel God’s presence in his heart, healing his tattered spirit. As wave of gratitude rose within him, he sang softly,

  Powerful, loving, holy are You.

  Your promises always hold true.

  God, You will give me the strength that I need,

  To honor You both by word and by deed.

  Powerful, loving, holy are You.

  I depend on You, Lord, all the day through.

  Though life may bring trials, sorrow, and woe.

  Peace, my dear Father, You’ll always bestow—

  A twig snapped.

  Alex stopped singing and swung around. Phoebe was standing underneath an aspen tree. She looked furious.

  “Do you actually believe that stupid song?” she spat. “Do you really think God is loving?”

  Alex closed his Bible slowly. “Yes, I do. And so do you.”

  “I used to, but not anymore. Twinkles could have stopped what happened to me, and God could have, too. Why should I love a God who didn’t help me when I needed Him the most?”

  Alex captured her gaze and held it. “I don’t know why Drake was allowed to hurt you, but I do know that God was with you. I know that He helped you even though you can’t see how right now. I know He’ll turn what happened into something good if you’ll let Him.”

  She gave a sharp crack of mirthless laughter. “You mean I can marry you and that will magically make up for all my pain. Like you’re some kind of prize.”

  Pain seared through Alex’s heart. He shook his head slowly. “I meant that God can take our biggest tragedies and do something wonderful if we let Him. I don’t know what God has in store for you, but I do know that—”

  “I hate God right now,” she snarled, cutting him off.

  “I know,” Alex replied. “God is strong enough to take it, and He’ll love you anyway.”

  Looking at him, she said cruelly, “I hate you right now, too.”

  Swallowing hard, Alex said softly, “I’ll try to be strong enough to take it, too.”

  Giving him a strange look, Phoebe disappeared in the trees.

  ~*~

  Sitting in his office, Agent Ruthford hung up the phone. Tossing a folder in a wire basket, he pushed back his chair and stood to his feet.

  “Who was calling?” Agent Grant asked, handing him a set of car keys.

  “Maria Ortega,” he replied, shoving the keys in his pocket. “Gerald Henrickson’s girlfriend.”

  Grant’s forehead furrowed. “Gerald? The Jefko deliveryman who disappeared? How did his girlfriend obtain your number?”

  Ruthford slipped on his suit jacket. “It seems that Miss Ortega has been visiting the police station on a daily basis since her boyfriend disappeared. Since we’re taking part in the investigation, the police chief decided it was our turn to handle her.”

  “What did she say?” Grant asked, opening the office door and waving him through.

  “Just that she’s convinced her boyfriend is alive.”

  Grant winced. “Did you tell her the odds?”

  “She knows the odds,” Ruthford replied, walking down the hall. “She told me that God trumps odds every time.”

  Agent Grant gave him a sideways glance. “Are you a believer?”

  Ruthford hesitated. “I believe in God,” he finally replied. “But I’m also a realist. I think a man with a gun trumps prayer any day. After all, why would someone as powerful as God get involved in our lives?” He returned Grant’s glance. “What about you? Believer or realist?”

  “Optimist.” Grant grinned. “If a stubborn lady like Maria Ortega is praying, I wouldn’t want to bet against Gerald Henrickson.”

  29

  June 13, 10:24 AM

  C and O National Historic Park, Washington D.C.

  Darkness parted as Gerald fought his way back to consciousness. Immediately, he wished that he hadn’t. Pain was ripping him apart. He’d never felt such agony. A groan slipped past his lips. He attempted to open his eyes, but dirt and leaves fell into them. He shifted painfully onto his side. Branches pierced his cheek, ribs, and thigh.

  Gerald groaned again. Slowly, he untangled his hand and brushed the debris from his face. Looking around carefully, he realized that he was encased in a tomb of interlocking branches.

  ~*~

  At NSU, Crystal rose quickly to her feet as Zeke walked into headquarters. Marc jumped up, too, but Zeke glared at him and turned his back. Wincing, Marc sat back down.

  “Any portal activity?” Zeke asked Crystal.

&nb
sp; She shook her head. “It’s been quiet.”

  “It looks like you’ve been busy this morning,” Zeke said, looking down at her butcher-paper scribbling.

  She nodded. “The word drake means dragon, and knowing Drake’s love for literary clues, I’ve been looking for meaningful correlations to dragons in literature. I’ve explored dragon references in Beowulf, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, Argonautica, The Pilgrim’s Regress, The Faerie Queene… The list is extensive. I won’t elaborate further. I’ve also examined the dragons in Tolkien’s works—Smaug, Ancalagon, Glaurung, and Scatha. Nothing stands out. My dragon idea may end up being a dead-end, but I’m not ready to give up on it yet. I believe Drake chose his alias deliberately.”

  Nodding, Zeke studied her math. “Any progress on your other assignment?”

  Crystal pushed at her glasses. “This morning, I explored eight possible ways to eliminate the prototype’s design flaw, but none of them will work.”

  “Don’t give up,” Zeke said. “You’ll figure it out.”

  “I’ll do my best.” She hesitated. “Marc’s made progress, too.”

  Zeke’s eyes hardened. He turned toward Marc. “What have you found?”

  Marc took a deep breath. “I’ve been looking into Dan and Gil’s counseling cases. The only case Gil handled alone was when she counseled Dan as a boy.”

  “I know that,” Zeke snapped.

  Marc flinched, but he continued. “Dan counseled fifty-four individuals before he and Gil became field partners. Of those fifty-four, twenty-six were girls. After Dan and Gil teamed up, they counseled eighty-eight individuals of whom thirty-seven were girls. I decided that since Drake wanted to punish both Gil and Dan equally through the death of their baby, I’d look at the thirty-seven girls they counseled together. Twenty-one of the girls were counseled as teenagers. Sixteen of them were instructed to break up with their boyfriends. I’m currently looking through the high school yearbooks of each of the sixteen girls to see if I can find Drake. I’ve also sent a photo of Drake to all sixteen women to see if any of them recognize him.”

  Although narrowing their list from over two thousand girls to sixteen girls was a big accomplishment, Zeke barely nodded. Turning his back on Marc, Zeke said to Crystal, “May I see you in the hall for a moment?”