Time Twist

by Jeanie R. Davis

  “You call them the Somers as if they’re strangers to you. You can stop the act now.”

  “They practically are strangers, Ari. Up until our trip to Denver, I had not seen them in four years.”

  “Our trip to Denver? You saw them there?” This just got better and better. Bitterness infected her glare.

  “Please let me start from the beginning. But understand that what I am about to tell you will be hard to accept as truth, and that is why I felt I could never share it.”

  “Christopher, I am so beyond the ‘hard-to-believe’ stage it’s ridiculous. I dare you to shock me!” Anger rose in her voice.

  He put his fingers on hers, clearly hoping to calm her, but she yanked her hand away as if his touch repelled her. He held his hands palms up. “Okay. You win.”

  He picked up the picture of himself torn away from his family portrait. “Ironic, is it not?” Arianna realized he meant he’d been severed from his family, just as he had been in the picture. She allowed her glare to soften, but not disappear. “Where did you find this?”

  “In Joshua’s room. I was cleaning up and his drawer was open. But that’s not important.”

  Christopher’s eyes misted. “Joshua struggled when I left home for Cambridge. It makes sense he kept my picture this whole time. I had become the closest thing he had to a father—after our real father, the notorious Mr. Somers, as you know him, went mad. Mother said he cried for weeks after I’d gone.” His voice, wistfully sad, yanked at Ari’s heartstrings, but she had to know everything.

  “The beginning, Christopher.”

  “Very well. I suppose I’ve nothing left to lose in reciting my history.” He didn’t wait for a reply, but looked down at the picture and letter and began telling about childhood memories in his once happy home. He told her about attending Cambridge only to be summoned back because of lack of funds due to his father’s botched inventions. “I would have forgiven him that. What I couldn’t forgive was the man he’d become because of his failures.”

  He shifted uncomfortably, clearly agitated by the memories.

  “Mr. Somers—I mean your father—he’s an inventor?”

  “A scientist who dabbled in inventions—certain he would create something spectacular, making us wealthy. Hmm, perhaps one would say he’d succeeded. But that’s beside the point. When I returned from school, I found he had truly transformed. He’d been a loving father when I was young. But at some point, he must have snapped due to so many dreams shattering about him. His demeanor had markedly darkened. He cared for nothing and no one, and he spent his evenings in pubs, returning home besotted and violent. Then he approached me to help him execute a jewelry heist. That is when I realized just how low he’d descended.”

  Ari’s eyes widened. “How did you get here?”

  “Here?” He looked confused.

  “Yes, here. In the twenty-first century. In Colorado. U.S.A. Did you come on a magic carpet? Did an evil witch cast a spell sending you here? How did you get here!” She knew he didn’t deserve the sarcasm, but her frustration had picked a hole through her patience.

  He raised both hands as if to say, I get your meaning. “That I cannot answer. Ironically, Father invented something that worked—a sort of device that catapulted us two hundred years forward through time. Four years later, I still don’t understand it. Nor can I find the device.”

  Ari shivered as each of her suspicions was validated, one by one. She pressed him with narrowed eyes. “How could you forget a machine transporting you through time? Could there be any other explanation? It’s just too hard to believe.” Her voice rose.

  “And this is precisely why I did not wish to tell you.” Christopher looked into the distance, as if he wanted to escape.

  She cleared her throat and lowered her tone. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ve vowed to myself to be open-minded. Please, go on.”

  His eyes met hers once more, then dropped to the picture. He expelled a breath. “I was twenty-five years old and taller than my father when it happened—strong enough to overtake him if necessary. Sadly, I did not get the opportunity.” He explained the events of his final night in London. “My own father attacked me, knocking me unconscious. When I awoke, I was in a bed in Denver, two hundred years in the future. I confronted him then, only to have him pull a handgun on me, sending me on my way to battle it out on the streets of Denver. I’m certain he thought I would perish. I might have, save for the group of indigents who took me under their tattered wings.” He paused and brushed a finger over the picture before continuing. “I believe my father thought being in a foreign time and place would make me cower into submission to him—even perhaps entice me to participate in his crimes. Otherwise, why would he have gone to such lengths to include me in the transport? He could have left me in London, and even allowed me to take the blame for the heist.”

  Arianna listened intently, taking in every detail. She could tell he needed to puzzle the events out in his own mind, just as she had in hers, even though he had the clear advantage of having been there. Her emotions ping-ponged. One moment she hurt with Christopher; the next, frustration made her want to slap him and walk away. If her heart hadn’t become involved, this would be much easier. She gave herself a mental shake.

  “Ari,” his voice sounded strangled. “I’ve tried to help my mother and siblings, but before Father kicked me out of the house in Denver, he forbade me to see any of them.” He swallowed hard. “Once I was able to negotiate the twenty-first century in a foreign land, I focused on watching out for them. However, I encountered a problem—I never saw anyone other than my father exit or enter the house. It was not until our trip to Denver—when Father came here—that I was able to break in and actually see and speak with my family.”

  He paused, looking directly at her as if to see if there was doubt in her eyes.

  “Please, go on,” she whispered.

  “I had been working as a police officer in Denver and was granted a transfer to Pueblo. You see, by following Father’s movements, I knew he’d been building a house here and I needed to stay close by. I’d anticipated them moving here in May, not September, and I was ready. Of course, that is where you came in.”

  “And I was your avenue into the house.” Arianna narrowed her eyes at him. Anger, which had cooled to a simmer, bubbled to the surface again.

  He blanched. His mouth turned down and his forehead creased. “Is that what you believe?”

  Ari sat motionless. She didn’t want to believe it, but after mentally boiling down the facts, that was all she had left. Forgiving his behavior might be possible someday. However, allowing her heart to be trampled—again and again—was just plain foolish.

  “You think I am so unfeeling and deceitful that I would pretend feelings for you only to use you?” His eyes flashed with anger. “My feelings for you are genuine. I have never been dishonest with you—not in that way.”

  Ari tilted her head, keeping a pessimistic expression on her face. Not willing to concede, she continued to push. “What I believe is our whole relationship has been a lie. You did what you needed to do to help your family.” She wanted to hide from the hurt in his eyes.

  He threw his hands in the air. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

  Giving a slight shake of her head, she swallowed back her rising emotion.

  “If that’s how you see it, I won’t try to convince you otherwise.” His face turned stony. “How can I blame you?”

  She wanted to believe she was wrong but could tell he’d reached his limit and would not beg her to see things his way. Disappointment settled in her heart.

  She pressed on. “And what about this ‘device’ you’ve been searching for? What will you do if you find it?”

  “I need to destroy it. My father must be stopped. He has ruined enough lives.”

  “And if you destroy it, how will that prevent him from creating a new one? The machine is not the problem, Christopher. Your father is the problem.�
�

  His face contorted, as if he’d never thought of that possibility. “What else can I do? It is impossible to catch him in the act when he commits his crimes in an entirely different dimension.” His voice was steeped in bitterness. “Besides killing the man myself, and believe me when I say I have contemplated such a thing, I don’t know how to stop him. I promised them. I promised my family I would stop him. They are depending on me.”

  Ari dropped her gaze and studied the bench between them, then let out a breath. “My family was murdered,” she whispered.

  “As you have said.” He sounded confused.

  Ari raised her eyes to meet his. “I know it’s a long shot, but the drunk that killed my parents and brother drove a red Cadillac. Sarah mentioned that your dad once owned a car like that. Their murders have gone unsolved.”

  Christopher blanched. “You think—”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know, but it’s worth a try. That is, if you have time to investigate it. If he is found guilty, it might be enough to lock him away from your family.” She shrugged.

  His brows arched.

  “Don’t overthink it, Christopher. Like I said, it’s a long shot.”

  “That you’re giving me a shot at all—something I can work on in this century—is a step in the right direction.”

  His phone buzzed. “Officer Flemming.” He stood and turned his back to take the call.

  Ari let a puff of air escape her lungs. She hoped she’d done the right thing. Overcoming the tower of trust issues she’d erected between them would be a challenge. Potential justice for her family came at a price but would be worth it.

  “I need to get back to the station.” Christopher extended a hand to Ari.

  She looked at it for a moment, swallowed, then allowed him to help her to her feet. She watched his tense shoulders relax a fraction.

  “Oh. I nearly forgot.” Ari pulled an envelope from her purse and handed it to him. “It’s half of what I owe you for my car repairs. You’ll get the rest when I get my next paycheck.”

  “That isn’t necessary.”

  “For me it is.”

  He tilted his head to meet her gaze. “Arianna, forgive me for the secrets. I never meant to hurt you. I tried unsuccessfully to call you and tell you the truth. I should have tried harder.”

  Ari flinched, then dipped her head, unable to face the intense honesty in his eyes.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  So many thoughts and emotions left Ari frustrated. Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she drove. Christopher wasn’t the criminal—his father was. His father was Mr. Somers. She trembled, but continued driving south to the exquisite, terrible mansion.

  When she let herself in, without the flurry of activity which had become commonplace, she was once again struck by the beauty and peacefulness of the home. The colors and furnishings were soothing, yet subtly striking. The mood was short-lived, however, and bitterness replaced the serenity when she thought of all the secrets, mysteries and lies the house now held.

  One more week to help Sarah. One more week; then she’d never have to come to this haunted house again.

  With no deliveries expected, she decided, if she could summon enough courage, she would venture through the trapdoor and see this “device,” as Christopher referred to it, for herself. She wondered why he hadn’t asked her if she knew where it was hidden. She was convinced he’d been reading the journal correspondence she shared with Sarah.

  She entered the study. One thing was certain—She’d take pictures. This was something nobody would ever believe. After digging out her phone, she slung her purse over her shoulder and cautiously pulled up the Persian rug, exposing the trapdoor. It creaked as she lifted it open. Lowering herself down the ladder, she found the rungs ended before she reached the floor. She jumped the last few feet. Immediately, a heavy chemical smell assaulted her, making her want to gag. She covered her nose with one hand and activated the flashlight app on her cell phone with the other.

  There had to be a light-switch somewhere. Within seconds, with the aid of her phone, she spotted the switch, made her way over to the wall and flipped it on, illuminating the room.

  “Wow. Just wow.” She scanned the room, realizing it was much bigger than she had imagined. Next to the wall opposite where she stood sat a very large, disc-shaped plate made from some sort of metal alloy. In the center of the plate was a wooden podium-type device. On it rested what looked like vials. A wire was attached to each vial and snaked down the wood meeting the metal disc at the bottom. The apparatus looked positively rustic, fashioned from wood and crude steel. There were two knobs next to the vials. Creeping in for a closer view, she thought this must be the original machine. It was large enough for a family of five to stand or sit, or in Christopher’s case, lie down.

  Her curiosity piqued. How in the world could a device that traveled through time be invented in the 1800s? If she were going to guess, she’d probably say that Mr. Somers mixed chemicals for the vials, then used the wires to conduct extreme power to move through time. And those two knobs—she peered closer, observing the hash marks on them—they must represent years, or rather centuries, as there were only three marks with numbers and arrows on them. One knob for forward, one knob for back. But what about location? There wasn’t a knob for that. Maybe that was how they ended up in Denver, Colorado. Mr. Somers didn’t know how to get to a specific location, just a time. She exhaled, proud of her deductions.

  The phone in her hand reminded her she hadn’t taken any pictures yet. She started snapping, being as thorough as possible. As she moved to her right, she discovered another machine.

  Here was the modern version of the original. This device looked similar in its disc-like shape and came complete with a podium, but much smaller. However, it still appeared large enough to carry items such as art and small sculptures. In fact, it had some sort of bin filled with foam padding to contain the valuables while being transported, she guessed.

  I’m sure it isn’t the smoothest ride through time, she mused, recalling the vibrations she’d felt while standing just above the machine. This device had the same basic equipment attached, except the knobs were different. They looked very modern, of tempered steel and aluminum. There were three. The first two, she guessed, were for the time. It looked as if he’d broadened his time-travel to enable moving forward or backward in increments all the way down to one year. I think that means he can travel in real time—go somewhere and return—or he must travel by the year. Hmm. I guess I’m relieved to know he can’t pop into my life a week ago and threaten me.

  She continued perusing the device. The third knob on this vastly advanced machine had specific locations: major cities around the world, such as London, Tokyo, New York City, Beijing, and Moscow, just to name a few. “I guess the twenty-first century has served you well, Mr. Somers.” She snapped more pictures.

  Turning away from disc number two, she smacked into a steel rack. It wobbled, making a clanking noise. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew she was alone in the house, but still. A shiver ran down her spine. From the rack hung a large vest made from the same metal alloy—much finer in weight and more pliable—with oversized pockets covering its entirety. One pocket contained a miniature version of the second podium—but very modern. She was certain the other pockets served as storage for stolen goods, and perhaps weapons. She took more pictures, trying not to miss any details.

  Next, she came upon a huge cabinet. She opened the doors, surprised they weren’t locked. It contained an arsenal. There were weapons of every kind—guns of various sizes and calibers, a crossbow, knives, and even grenades. Her pulse quickened. She could only imagine what blood had been shed from their use. Her eyes scanned each piece, landing on one far different than the rest. It had to be from the nineteenth century. She picked up the antique pistol to study it, then replaced it next to a small container of gunpowder. She never figured Mr. Somers to be the sentimental type, hanging onto his old gun. I
guess he likes to measure his progress. She took more pictures, then carefully closed the cabinet.

  Coming full circle, she strode toward a desk with a huge bookshelf abutting it. The chemical odor intensified. She coughed down the gagging reflex. Labeled beakers filled with colorful fluids sat in neat slots on the left side of the desk, writing tablets and tools on the right. Atop the shelves stood volumes of both ancient and modern science as well as chemistry books. There was one which had been written in similar elegant script to what she’d read in Sarah’s journal—and in Christopher’s letter. She picked it up and thumbed through it. It was as if she were reading a foreign language. Page after page of numbers and ingredients were followed by instructions for their use.

  What a waste of such an intelligent mind. She frowned. “I guess it has been anything but a waste for Mr. Somers.” After taking one more look around, she decided she’d covered it all.

  Crossing the room to turn off the light, she heard the floor above her creak. She froze, and her heart thudded. She switched off the light, but didn’t dare make any big movements, for fear of knocking into one of the devices. Silently shuffling backward, she moved until her elbow found the wall, then slid down to the floor. She waited and listened. The ceiling above her continued to creak. Someone was up there. Her heart pounded so hard, she feared it could be heard through the walls. She groped in the direction of the desk to the side of her and crept beneath it. If Mr. Somers found her, he’d probably kill her and bury her body behind the house. Her whole being shook, but she remained curled up as tightly as possible, listening to the noises above.

  Ari mentally walked through her movements before coming down the ladder, squeezing her eyes shut to picture the room. She was sure she’d closed the trapdoor, but she couldn’t know if the rug came down with it.

  Straining to listen, she heard a soft thud, silence, then the bang of a door—maybe a drawer or a safe. It sounded like metal. Silence again, then more creaking. A sliver of light pierced the darkness as the trapdoor opened. She put her hand against her mouth to quiet her chattering teeth. Her flesh crawled with a prickling sensation. The light grew, then just as quickly disappeared as the door closed. Ari let out a huge breath.