Time Trap

by Danele J Rotharmel

  “Hello?” she said in a bleary voice.

  “Good morning,” Zeke replied cheerfully.

  Nicole sat up swiftly. She had no idea how Zeke always managed to catch her at a disadvantage. He had impeccably miserable timing.

  “I was just calling to see if you’d managed to get up,” he said.

  “Oh, I’ve been up for a while,” she lied in what she hoped was a brightly awake, chipper voice. She knew she was stretching the truth, but five seconds of being awake did count—or at least it did in “Nicole Time.”

  Zeke began to chuckle. “Oh? Then what’s all that beeping in the background?”

  Nicole threw her pillow at the alarm clock on the dresser. It fell to the floor along with a bottle of perfume. The clock stopped blaring, but the fragrant odor wafting toward the bed told her she had a mess on her hands. Getting up hastily to retrieve the bottle, she tripped over her comforter. With a loud thump, she fell to the floor in a tangle of downy bedding.

  “What was that?” Zeke asked, still chuckling. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just dandy. That was nothing.”

  Suddenly, the alarm clock on her nightstand went off again. Without missing a beat, the one on the floor began to blare. The cacophony of noise was overwhelming.

  Zeke’s chuckle became a belly laugh.

  Giving up her pretense, Nicole joined his laughter. “Okay, I’m up now…very up. Are you happy?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Then hang up the phone, you despicable man! I need to get dressed. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “After all this, you’d better be!”

  Zeke gave another chuckle and the phone went dead.

  Scrambling to her feet, Nicole retrieved the bottle of perfume. Looking at the aromatic puddle and the disarray of her bed, she leaned against the wall and groaned. Sometimes, life just wasn’t fair. A small smile tugged her lips as she remembered the delightful timbre of Zeke’s laughter. Maybe life wasn’t fair, but it was good.

  Feeling certain she was going to smell like a perfume factory for the next several days, she tackled the mess. When she was through, she inspected her swimsuit collection. She had suits ranging from an extremely modest one-piece, to an average pink tankini, to a simply sizzling electric blue bikini. She knew that whatever suit she chose, she’d be sending a nonverbal message to Zeke about where their relationship was headed. The one-piece screamed friend, the tankini screamed date, and the bikini…but then, she’d never had the guts to wear the bikini in public. Looking at the swimsuits, she hesitated.

  * * *

  Laura prayed beneath her breath as Peter tried to stuff the blanket into the tiny hole. He seemed to be making headway, but then his body lurched forward and fell. She watched in horror as his eyes rolled back and closed. Running to him, she grabbed his feet and dragged him to the other side of the room.

  Holding her breath, she sprinted back to the hole and frantically tried to block it with the blanket. She worked as long as she could and then she stumbled back to Peter’s side. When she thought she was clear, she took a cautious breath. As soon as she took it, she knew she was in trouble. Her vision darkened. She felt herself falling to the floor. Across the room, the blanket fell away from the hole. With full force, the hiss of gas shattered the silence, filling the air with an ominous sound.

  * * *

  On the hospital roof, Alex watched as a glow caressed the horizon. Above him, candy-fluff clouds were set on fire in a blaze of pink and amber. Humming softly, he pressed his lips to Phoebe’s forehead. The morning light embraced her face, making it beautiful despite her bruises. He ran his finger down Phoebe’s cheek as she began to stir in his arms. He watched with delight as her eyelashes fluttered, and for the first time, both of her eyes opened. His breath caught in his throat. Her hazel eyes were spectacular.

  “Good morning,” he said, clearing his throat. “I thought you might like to watch the sunrise.”

  Turning her face toward the light, Phoebe said slowly, “It’s a brand new day.”

  Understanding the subtle meaning behind her words, he nodded. “It’s a new beginning.”

  Phoebe reached for his hand as the clouds turned different shades of gold and the sun peeped up to greet the day. She nuzzled his chin. “Another happy memory. Thank you.”

  Alex smiled with his heart in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

  * * *

  On the third floor of the hospital, Jay began crying for his early morning feeding. Picking the baby up, Dan looked at his wife in concern. “Are you sure you’re up to nursing?”

  Gil nodded. “The doctor said the drugs would be out of my system today. My milk’s fine.”

  “I’m not worried about Jay—I’m worried about you. Are you strong enough?”

  “Oh, Dan”—Gil laughed—“I’m strong as an ox. And, really, if I have to use that awful breast pump again, I think I’ll scream. When I hook it up, I feel like I should start chewing my cud and answering to Bessie.”

  “We can’t have that.” Dan chuckled, handing her their son. “I’ll get a burp cloth.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Driving into Hawking Hall’s parking lot at the unearthly hour of 5:00 a.m., Nicole spotted Zeke leaning against his car. Pulling up beside him, she rolled down her window and asked, “Ready to go?”

  “I think we should use my car today,” he said. “I don’t want yours to get dirty.”

  “What do you mean, dirty?”

  “Hey, you wanted to know what gave me calluses, and you’re going to find out.”

  “I’m in for it, huh?” she said as eloquently as possible considering the hour.

  “In a manner of speaking.” He grinned. “But I think you’ll enjoy it.”

  Nodding, Nicole climbed into Zeke’s eggbeater and they began cruising down deserted boulevards. She smiled when she spotted a jar of sun tea sloshing in the back window. As the day grew hotter, the tea would brew perfectly. She quirked a brow—the man was nothing if not ingenious.

  The sun began rising in the eastern sky. Slipping on her sunglasses, she yawned.

  “Hey, don’t fall asleep on me,” Zeke said, slightly nudging her shoulder. “How ’bout you find us some music in the glove box?”

  Nicole’s next groggy yawn was choked off by a laugh. Zeke’s glove box was being held shut by a Popsicle stick crammed in a crack.

  “Not pretty, but effective.” He chuckled. “Put the stick on the dash so we don’t lose it, will you?”

  “Sure thing.” Popping the stick loose, Nicole began sorting through his music. There were so many genres jumbled together that it was obvious he had diverse taste. When she found music by Eclectic Reverberation, her lips twitched. “I never would’ve pictured you as a fan of this band.”

  A smile tugged Zeke’s mouth. “Their music comes in handy when I need to keep awake.”

  “It’ll keep you awake all right. Eclectic Reverberation’s forbidden to hold concerts next to graveyards for fear they’ll wake the dead.”

  “Their music is rather jolting,” he agreed, merging onto the highway.

  “Brandon took me to one of their concerts. My hair stood on end for an entire week.”

  “That could come in handy.” Zeke laughed. “No need for mousse.”

  Smiling, Nicole continued thumbing through his music. When she found songs by her favorite singer, she raised her brows and glanced Zeke’s way.

  “You like it,” he said simply, “and I like you. Listening to someone’s favorite music helps me understand them better.”

  “Studying up on me?”

  “You’re a fascinating subject.”

  Trying not to blush, she said briskly, “How about if we listen to some Irish ballads?”

  Zeke nodded and started the music. As the sprightly tones of The Hills of Glenswilly filled the car, he smiled. “My mother believed listening to Irish music destined a day to be happy.”

>   “She’s Irish?”

  “Full blood Cherokee. But she always loved anything Irish—which is probably why she married my father.”

  “Oh,” Nicole murmured absently, turning slightly to peek in the backseat. Her nose was catching a whiff of dead fish, and the smell was growing stronger by the minute. She peeped at the back window, halfway expecting to see a decomposing cod resting next to the jug of tea. She glanced at Zeke—his eyes were twinkling. She wanted to ask about the smell, but she couldn’t find a tactful way to broach the subject.

  “Aye, me ma was a wee bonnie lass,” Zeke said in a thick Irish brogue.

  Nicole laughed. “That’s a Scottish saying, not Irish.”

  “An expert nigh ar’ ye?”

  “On the subject of Ireland, I am. You may be one fourth Irish, but I’m half.”

  “Aye, if yisser lucky enoof ter be Oirish—” he began.

  “—yisser lucky enoof,” she finished, shifting in her seat as the smell became more pungent.

  Trying not to breathe through her nose, Nicole crammed his music back in the glove box. When she came to Eclectic Reverberation, she asked with a twinkle. “What would your bonnie wee mother say about this music?”

  Zeke’s lips twitched as he replied in his brogue, “She wud ’av said, ‘Aw, dohs toons wud make yisser ears bleed an’ kill yer dead—if yer survived smellin’ me son’s car full av dead fish, dat tis. Why don’t yer rool down yisser window, lass, an’ stop tryin’ ter be polite?’”

  Nicole’s eyes widened. Laughing, she rolled down her window. “If your mother has a quirky sense of humor like yours, I think I’ll like her.”

  The smile in Zeke’s eyes died. “She would’ve liked you too,” he said in his normal voice.

  Nicole hesitated. “Would have?”

  He nodded. “She died several years ago.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He glanced at her. “So am I. Someday, I’ll tell you about her. In the meantime, you’d better replace the Popsicle stick. The road up ahead gets bumpy.”

  She nodded and complied, and soon, they were jostling over speed bumps and entering the parking lot of an early morning produce market. Workers were unloading crates from large trucks, and venders were out in abundance.

  “What’s this?” she asked curiously as he parked the car.

  “This is where you find fabulous food,” he replied, opening her door. “Let’s go shopping.”

  “You couldn’t have said anything that would’ve delighted me more!” she crowed.

  Taking Zeke’s arm, she entered the market, enjoying its novel atmosphere. All around her, organized chaos was flowing and ebbing like a mighty river. The bright colors of the produce thrilled her artist’s soul, and the call of the vendors delighted her.

  It seemed that everywhere they went, people shouted greetings to Zeke. He always took the time to introduce her and inquire about his friends’ lives. His ability to remember so many names amazed her. Whenever anyone asked for prayer, Zeke bowed his head and prayed aloud. Nicole wasn’t used to public prayer, but for some reason, his prayers didn’t make her feel uncomfortable—they filled her with pride.

  A few times, Zeke waved and kept walking when he was greeted. When she mentioned it, he said the person wasn’t someone he felt proper to introduce. Considering the company she kept in the art world, Zeke’s mantle of protection amused her—but oddly enough, it also touched her. Her forehead creased as she tried to make sense of her jumbled feelings.

  Zeke’s arms were full of produce by the time they wandered to the tropical fruit stands.

  “There you are!” a vender shouted. “I almost gave up on you, lad. What took you so long?”

  Zeke grinned and presented Nicole.

  “Ah,” the old man murmured, giving a broad wink.

  Returning the wink, Zeke bought five pomegranates and several bags of dates.

  When they left the fruit stand, Nicole whispered, “What’d he mean about giving up on you?”

  “The market opens at one a.m.,” Zeke replied, moving to a flower stand. “I’m usually here by two thirty.”

  Her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “I figured I’d better bend my routine if I wanted your company.”

  “I’m glad you did.” She groaned. “I couldn’t have gotten up any earlier.”

  “I thought as much,” Zeke said, purchasing five large bouquets. At his request, the vender sold him an additional rose. Tucking the blossom behind her ear, Zeke said in his fake Irish brogue, “’Ere yer go, lass.”

  “What’s that for?” she asked, fingering the blossom.

  “Why, ter keep yer sweet ter be sure! Oi couldn’t be buyin’ flowers for al’ me other weemen an’ not git yer a single rose, nigh cud oi?”

  “How many women do you have?” Nicole laughed, gathering the bouquets.

  “Countin’ yerself? Six weemen. Al av dem bonny an’ grand.”

  “Mercy, Casanova, you must be busy!”

  Picking up his purchases, Zeke grinned. “Lass, yer ’ave naw idea!”

  “Where to now?” she asked, noticing they were headed back to the car.

  “Why ter visit me weemen, t’be sure. Waaat ye expect?”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Glancing at his watch, Dr. Ember walked briskly to the nurses’ station. “Is Phoebe back in her room?”

  Katie nodded. “Alex brought her inside about twenty minutes ago.”

  “How did they seem?”

  Katie hesitated. “Phoebe had fresh color in her cheeks, but Alex still looked furious. Truthfully, I was afraid to talk to him.”

  Mentally weighing her words, Dr. Ember stroked his chin. “If Alex is still angry, we’ll need to tread lightly, but it’s time for Phoebe’s medication. Alex is sensible—he’ll come around.”

  Rising from her chair, Katie grimaced. “I hope so…just be careful, will you?”

  He wrapped a stethoscope around his neck. “Concern for me or concern for Alex?”

  “Concern for me.” She groaned. “I don’t want to break up a fistfight. I haven’t had my coffee yet, and I feel pretty puny.”

  “Point noted.” He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure there isn’t any trouble.”

  As he entered Phoebe’s room, Dr. Ember saw Alex springing to his feet and blocking access to Phoebe’s bed. Alex’s hands were clenched into fists, and his eyes were blazing.

  Before he could speak, Alex said in a menacing voice, “These are the rules. They are nonnegotiable. No one enters this room except for you two. No one touches Phoebe unless I am present. Before you touch her, you’ll tell me what you are doing and why. You’ll think of her comfort before your own. You’ll respect her modesty. You won’t run unnecessary tests or take photographs.” Alex’s voice became a rough growl. “I’ll watch every move you make, and if anythingstrikes me wrong, I will intervene. Do I make myself clear?”

  Dr. Ember felt a chill running down his back. Wrath was oozing out of every pore of Alex’s body. The air was crackling with his pent-up hostility. A bead of perspiration appeared on the doctor’s forehead. “I understand your rules. And now, if Phoebe will permit it, I’d like to examine her.”

  Glaring at him, Alex moved slightly to the left and enveloped Phoebe’s hand with his.

  “You may examine me now,” Phoebe said in a dignified voice.

  Putting his stethoscope in his ears, Dr. Ember glanced uneasily at Alex—he looked like a tornado bottled in a fragile glass jar.

  “Over here,” Alex barked. “You’ll stand beside me at all times.”

  Dr. Ember nodded. He could feel anger billowing off Alex in hot waves. Taking a steadying breath, he embarked on the most agonizing physical examination of his life. By the time it was finished, sweat was rolling down his back.

  He looked at Alex—the anger hadn’t faded from his face, and he looked like he wanted nothing more than to take someone outside and pound the life out of them. Backing away, Dr. Embe
r glanced at Phoebe. There was a decided twinkle in her eye. He blinked and did a double take. He’d seen Phoebe scared, despondent, and even catatonic. He’d never seen her looking like she wanted to burst out laughing.

  “If you don’t have any questions,” he said, backing toward the door, “we’ll leave you now.”

  Dimming the lights, he scuttled from the room. When he reached the hallway, he looked expressively at Katie.

  “Wow!”she exclaimed.

  Leaning against the wall, he nodded. “I wouldn’t want to test him an inch. He’s ready to explode.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Follow his rules.” Dr. Ember chuckled. “They happen to be working. Did you look at Phoebe before we left?”

  “I sure did.” She smiled. “Alex’s anger is sure tickling her and making her feel safe.”

  “As it should,” he replied. “No one’s getting within an inch of that girl without her watchdog tearing him to pieces.” Looking at his shaking hands, he laughed. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need a stiff cup of coffee and a new shirt. I seem to have sweated through this one.”

  * * *

  Peter woke up with a thudding headache. He tried to rub his temples but couldn’t move his hands. He blinked against the inky darkness.

  Where’s Laura?

  Shaking his pounding head, he realized he was sitting with his back against an icy wall. His arms were stretched parallel to the floor, and his wrists were cuffed to the cement in a pose of crucifixion. Movement was nearly impossible.

  Where’s Laura?

  Tugging against his restraints, the elusive thought that had been battering his foggy brain finally registered. A wave of dread washed over him.

  Where is Laura!

  In a panic so tangible he could taste it, he shouted her name.

  Silence met his ears. Darkness pressed close.

  In a nightmarish frenzy, he thrashed desperately, trying to pull his restraints from the wall. Naked fear grabbed him. A feeling of horror engulfed him. He knew. He absolutely knew. Spider had Laura. Bile rose in his throat. He pulled harder against his cuffs, shredding the skin around his wrists. Blood began flowing down the wall.