Time Twist

by Jeanie R. Davis

  “And?”

  “They’ll call me with the results.”

  She frowned. “How long will that take?”

  He shrugged and shook his head. “Hopefully not too long.”

  “What about the missing file?”

  Christopher explained his theory about Officer Cratchen and the mysterious missing file.

  “So, you’re saying you think your father found Officer Cratchen and paid him to lose the file?”

  “Precisely.”

  Ari let go of a breath. That would explain why the detectives had run into so many dead-ends in their investigation. Cratchen stood between her and the truth. And the truth, if she and Christopher were correct, was terrifying. The very man she’d spent months working for might be responsible for her family’s deaths. A sharp pain shot through her heart. She’d help Christopher any way she could.

  “You said you have a note from Sarah?” Christopher’s eyebrows arched.

  “Oh, yes.” She tugged it from her purse and handed it to him. She thought he’d take it into another room to read, instead he flattened the small note and held it up for her to see, too. Christopher must be done with secrets, as well.

  My Dear Brother,

  Arianna has assured me you are doing everything within your power to help us. I thank you with all my heart. You give me hope, and hope is what I need. I fear I would find an escape from this existence without it. I love you, dear brother.

  Yours, Sarah

  Christopher stared at the paper as if he were reading and rereading it. Finally, he dipped his head.

  Ari, helpless to know what to do, gently took the note from his hand and intertwined her fingers with his. “It’s going to be okay. If the hit-and-run conviction falls through, you’ll figure out something else.”

  He tilted his head to face her. Her eyes burned, looking into the blue pools of his gaze. “I—” His voice hitched. He dropped his head again and lifted his hand linked to hers and pressed a kiss on her fingers. He cleared his throat. “I should go.”

  “No. Christopher, please stay.” She tightened her grip on his hand.

  He narrowed his eyes in question.

  “With my trust issues toward you, I know I’ve sent you mixed signals, but I have never doubted your sincerity to help your family. In fact, I admire you for it.”

  Christopher’s eyes widened.

  “Please allow me to help you. I don’t know how, but with all the demands from me and your family, you must feel hollow by now.”

  He released her hand and dropped his head, as if defeated.

  “You need someone in your corner.” She scooted closer and put an arm around his shoulders. “Let that be me,” she whispered.

  He turned his head toward her.

  She caressed his cheek. “I’m here for you, Chris.” She leaned forward and gave him a tentative kiss, then searched his eyes.

  He pulled her into an embrace. “Thank you, Ari.” He ran his fingers through her hair, sending sparks shimmering through her body. She peered up and locked eyes with him. He bent his head and their lips met. The kiss began slow and sweet, then turned passionate and deep. Weeks of pent-up emotions exploded between them. Ari’s heart thudded. She wanted more, but knew they were playing off each other’s wounds.

  He must have come to the same conclusion. He broke the kiss but stayed close. “I must go,” he whispered. His breath tickled her mouth. He kissed her once more, then stood to leave.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Monday finally arrived, and with it came torrential rains. “Just my luck,” Ari groaned. “My last full day on the job, and I’ll spend it cleaning up muddy footprints from workmen’s boots.” For the most part, the workers wore the footies Ari provided them, but inevitably, some of them managed to get by unnoticed.

  A flagstone walkway ran from the street to the house, but the road itself was dirt—being basically a country road. In addition, flower beds with barely-blooming buds clustered on each side of the walkway. Little streams of muddy water trickled across the walk. That the landscapers chose to end their work with the flower gardens in front irritated Ari as she made her way from her car to the house.

  Careful to wipe the muck from her own shoes, she entered the Somers’ home. “Tomorrow—after the inspection—I will never have to see this place again.” She blew out a breath, letting go of a portion of the burden which had increased daily over the months.

  Fortunately, there were no more deliveries, so the mud was held to a minimum. The house still buzzed with installers, however. Ari had kept a detailed checklist of her weeks of work. She carefully perused each room every couple of hours to ensure every “t” was crossed and every “i” dotted. She couldn’t leave anything to chance at this point. She just wanted to be done—finished with this job forever.

  Everything appeared to be coming together in perfect order. No small miracle. She couldn’t hide a satisfied grin. By tonight she’d be having dinner with Tasha. Her smile widened anticipating a friendly face far away from this horrible place. Two things to celebrate. Tasha would be driving in from Denver in preparation for the walk-through on Tuesday. Ari didn’t know where they’d eat. Abby’s was good. She shuddered at the memories of her and Tasha’s last visit there. No, too soon. Maybe she should ask some of the workers what they’d suggest.

  “Musso’s or Pass Key,” Jack said. “Or”—he scratched his head—“what was that other one? Oh yeah, Adolpho’s. They’re all unique to the area. And the food is great.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” Ari jotted the restaurants’ names down in her notebook.

  As afternoon turned to evening, the workers began to disappear. There were a few muddy footprints, but she dealt with them easily.

  Now, for her final stroll through the house to make sure everything was ready for tomorrow; then, she’d be off to her apartment, where she hoped Tasha would be hungry and waiting. Her stomach growled.

  Darkness had fallen. She turned on lights as she passed from one room to the next. First, she inspected the main level, taking her time to make every detail precise. Other than some packaging materials scattered on the floor in the theater room, so far everything looked good. “Theater room,” Ari snarled. “Four years ago, you didn’t even know what a television was, Mr. Somers.” She gathered the trash and took it out to the garage.

  When she entered the study, a dark foreboding sensation enshrouded her like a cloak. Shadows seemed to follow her as she moved. Taking a breath, she gave herself a mental shake.

  Of course she felt this way—this house was haunted—not by spirits that once were, but by the evil spirit of one moving in. She shivered.

  A door banged shut. Ari jumped a few inches off the ground and spun around. Everything appeared normal.

  She wished she had cell phone service. Deep breath. Deep breath.

  A creaking noise sounded like it came from above her. She stood frozen. This feels so familiar, she thought. However, this time I’m supposed to be here doing my job, so there’s no reason to be frightened. The realization gave her enough courage to press forward.

  Arianna headed up the stairs to inspect the game room and bedrooms. It was fully dark. She hadn’t been to the upper level since the sun had set. Her heart rattled in her chest as she flipped the first light-switch, tamping down a childish fear that someone might jump out at every turn. The house, so quiet, felt eerie. Even the rain had stopped, ending the gentle pitter-patter she’d listened to throughout the day.

  Clouds moved around the moon, generating ghost-like shadows in the activity room. Her flesh crawled with anxiety. She’d been pleased the Somers allowed for a game room in their Victorian mansion. At least there would be some entertainment for Joshua and Sarah. Guilt attempted once more to worm its way into her conscience. Helping them was imperative. She whispered a silent prayer for Christopher. Last she’d heard, he still waited for the analysis results. Everything hinged on those tests.

  Moving to the air-hockey table, she lifted
one of the pucks and twirled it in her hand, wondering if Josh or Sarah would know what do to with it. The disc slipped from her fingers, slamming onto the table. The noise made her jump, sending her nerves back to high alert.

  She hurried on to the master bedroom. Once more she thought she heard something, stopped, and held perfectly still, listening. “Hello, is anyone there?”

  Silence.

  Shivering, she moved on. The master bath and closets all looked good. Wait; there it was again, a rustling noise. She paused, anxiety working its way through her nerves. She wondered if a window could be open, then realized that with the rain and her stern warnings nobody would have dared open a window. She proceeded quickly through the spare rooms.

  Next came Joshua’s bedroom. The baseball and glove were the only things out of place. With trepidation, she put them away. Was it her imagination, or had the ball quivered in her fingers? She shook her head. I’m making myself crazy. Her eyes landed on the family picture by Joshua’s bed. Her thoughts nearly stole away with memories of her discussion with Christopher, when another noise pulled her from her ruminations.

  I know that wasn’t my imagination. Her heart beat too loudly now to hear anything else. Mentally retracing her steps, she was certain she’d locked up after the last of the workers had left the house. “Hello?” She tried to make her voice firm, but it faltered.

  No response.

  Only Sarah’s room remained unchecked. She’d been turning the upstairs lights on as she’d inspected each room and off again when she’d left it. Sarah’s light was on. Besides a few beams illuminating the main level, only Sarah’s room remained lit. As Ari cautiously crept down the hall, the light cast a moving shadow on the wall, which chafed at her already tattered nerves. The extra adrenaline urged her to pick up the pace forward. She nearly sprinted the final feet to Sarah’s room.

  Before her foot connected with the wood flooring in that room, however, a beefy hand yanked her by the arm and tossed her to the floor. “M—Mr. Somers?!” she shrieked, barely recognizing her own voice. His beady, black eyes pierced holes right through her. She’d never seen eyes so full of venom. While he pinned her down with one hand across her neck, she recognized Sarah’s journal in the other. A groan rippled through her.

  “What gives you the right to come into my home and meddle, you sniveling upstart?” he roared. “You have no reason to communicate with my daughter.” He threw the journal onto the bed and backhanded her hard across the face. His large, onyx ring dug into her flesh. “Speak up!”

  “I—I was only trying to be her fr—friend.” She could barely speak through her shock and terror—not to mention the fingers restricting her air passageway. Her cheek stung, and she felt blood trickling down her face. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering.

  “Be her friend.” He let out a grunt. “Sarah doesn’t need you. Sarah doesn’t need a friend. You should not have intruded in our affairs. Did your mother teach you no manners?”

  Ari, still pinned between the floor and Mr. Somers’ hand, winced at the mention of her mother. “She did. She—she did teach me manners.”

  He shook his head, his sneer deepened. “And yet you don’t respect her memory enough to stay out of matters that do not concern you. You disgust me.”

  “I—I never told you she died.”

  His eyes flashed, and he darted a glance at the journal. “You didn’t have to.”

  Tears escaped and slid down the sides of her face.

  His features hardened, and he slapped her again. She recognized the demonic glint in his eye—the same glint he’d tortured her with in her nightmare. Her mother’s, father’s and Seth’s warnings echoed through her mind now. Too late.

  “It says in there”—he pointed to the journal—“that my dear son, Christopher, told you everything.” He spat the venom-filled words at her. His bushy eyebrows arched as if waiting for her to deny it, his fingers tightening around her throat. She desperately clawed at his hand, trying to pry his fist from her neck. His fingers didn’t budge.

  “He—he doesn’t know everything. He was un—unconscious,” she finally managed to choke out.

  “And why should I believe a solitary word that escapes from your deceitful tongue?”

  Arianna coughed and attempted to draw in a breath. He loosened his grip just enough for her to gasp and think straight. She lifted a leg and kicked him hard. Her foot met its target—a direct hit to his groin. Momentarily dazed, he lost his grasp on her. She sprang to her feet and took flight, sprinting as fast as her legs would go. Mr. Somers, who’d recovered remarkably fast, clipped at her heels. Groping in the dim corridor, she found the banister to the staircase and all but flung herself down the steps. She tripped at the bottom and nearly toppled headfirst, but somehow righted herself and managed to get to the front door. He wasn’t far off. Swinging the door open, she ran outside, stumbled down the steps and into the flowerbed of mud—the very mud she’d been avoiding all day. She heard him grunting behind her. So close. Too close. He grabbed her hair; then she felt his icy grip around her neck again. “I should kill you right here,” he huffed.

  “No!” she screamed. “What do you want from me? I’ll do anything!” The cool outside air cleared her head enough to at least get a coherent sentence out. “I’m leaving tomorrow; you’ll never see me again. I won’t tell anyone about the machine…” She gulped hard against the pressure from his thick hand.

  “You know about the machine?” his voice boomed. He kept hold of her neck as he dragged her back into the house. “If you know about the machine, then you know I don’t have to kill you here. I can kill you anywhere!” He dragged her—arms and legs flailing—to the study.

  “No!” was all Ari got out before he yanked her into the room. Tears began to make their way down her swollen face. Mud was getting everywhere from her shoes.

  Coughing and sputtering, she stomped hard on the beautiful Persian rug she had always taken such care to protect. Mr. Somers didn’t let up. He yanked her out of the way like a ragdoll and flung the rug back with his free hand. As he jerked up the trapdoor, he adjusted his grip around her waist and pulled her down the ladder. The trapdoor slammed down behind them.

  Once on the floor, he tugged a chain Ari hadn’t noticed on her first trip down, which turned on the light. He pulled her to a chair by the desk and sat her down hard, always keeping an arm securely around her, then glanced to his right. She followed his gaze, which landed on a cord connected to his desk lamp. He gave it a yank and it broke free in his hand. Using the cord to tie Ari to the chair, he took care to make the knot unbreakable.

  He’d take his time. No reason to hurry when no one knew about this room. The realization settled heavily in her heart. Wait. She’d told Christopher. Her memory was still fuzzy about their late-night conversation. Yes, she was sure she did. A small glimmer of hope sparked. She wiggled to try to loosen the cord, but it was fastened so tightly around her ribs she could barely breathe.

  He opened one of his many books and thumbed through the pages. “Where would you like to die?” He said it casually, as if he were asking her favorite ice cream.

  Ari didn’t move or speak.

  “Very well, then, I’ll choose,” he said. Consulting the book, he began mixing and measuring chemicals in beakers, then poured them into the vials on the machine—not the huge, rustic machine—rather, the one with a bin built for transporting large items, such as art. When he seemed satisfied with the amount of fluid in each vial, he said, “You’re going to like the New York City of fifty years ago. And believe it or not, even back then nobody noticed a dead body on the pavement.” He smirked, and his eyes blazed like a wild animal’s.

  Ari watched a crimson droplet splatter onto her leg and realized her face was still bleeding. She saw that it had mixed with her tears and had trickled onto Mr. Somers’ fingers when he’d gripped her neck, rubbing off on the book and vials.

  If Christopher—or anyone—found the room, she needed them to
know where the madman had taken her off to. She leaned forward, letting the trickle of blood drop to the floor. Once enough had pooled, she dragged her shoe through it. She managed a mostly legible NYC and 50. Then she hid the letters and numbers by resting her legs above them.

  The device apparently ready, she thought he would untie her and she could try to make a break for it. She eyed the ladder and took a breath in preparation to bolt. But instead of loosening the cord, he picked up the entire chair and hoisted it and her onto the machine.

  “You’ll never get away with this.” She rocked the chair back—anything to stop him.

  He caught it. “Oh, I think you know I will.”

  He turned the dials, then pushed the knobs. As the machine began to warm up, he made quick work of untying the cord around the chair, then shoved her off and into the bin—large enough to transport art, but too small for most people. Her head hit hard, and pain surged through her. She shrieked and grabbed the sides of the bin to lift herself out, but he slammed the lid shut, nearly taking off her fingers. “Let me out! You can’t do this! Please!” A sob escaped her throat. Her body, forced to bend pretzel-like, spasmed.

  The machine began to pulse, causing a hum; low at first, then gaining in volume as the vibrations increased. She pounded on the lid of the bin, but it didn’t give. Pain seared her head, back and neck. She screamed again, even though there was no one to hear. Her voice echoed in the pitch-black box, overwhelming her senses. She gulped back sobs and pulled her knees to her chest. Hopeless tears rolled down the sides of her face, wetting her hair.

  Either from the force of hitting her head on the bin, or from sheer panic, Arianna began to lose consciousness. The last thing she remembered was the loud hum as the odious machine buzzed and shook around her.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  A number he didn’t recognize lit Christopher’s cell phone. His thumb hovered over the “ignore” button, then reconsidering, he answered. “This is Flemming.”

  “Thank goodness. I’ve made a dozen calls to find you. My name is Natasha Tate. Arianna Miller works for me.”