by Nick Jones
Mad Harry gasps. Frankie’s cheeks flush red. ‘What did you just call me?’
I fake some deep thought. ‘The Ginger Pimpernel, I asked if you were familiar with it.’
‘Joe, what are you doing?’ Vinny whimpers.
‘Just telling Frankie a little story, that’s all.’
And hoping I can hook him long enough to get us out of here.
Frankie’s eyes glow cool blue like a Bunsen burner, or perhaps more accurately a welder’s torch being tightened into a white flame. Any semblance of humanity in those eyes fades away. Time finally catches up with us and my plan collapses.
Harry goes to work on Vinny. I can feel it and hear it, which is maybe even worse. Vinny is hit over and over again. While that’s happening, Shaw takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.
I hear a terrible crack. Vinny howls. Two images fill my mind.
Hammer.
Knee.
This can’t be happening.
Chapter Sixty-Five
My breath arrives in short, sharp gasps. I struggle against the bonds around my wrists and ankles. The more I struggle, the more the panic consumes me. It’s a horrible feeling, being at the mercy of someone like Frankie Shaw, especially when your options have diminished to zero.
Frankie tilts his head from side to side. ‘Now, where were we?’
You were about to beat me to death, I think. My pocket watch does its buzzing thing and it might just be the best sound in the world.
Frankie grabs my collar and with a sharp tug rips open my shirt, sending buttons tumbling. He stares at me, mouth hanging open. ‘How… the hell did you get that bloody watch back?’ he asks. ‘I had it when we drove off and then I lost it... and now it’s back around your neck.’ He scratches his chin. ‘That’s impossible.’
Yes, it is.
I watch the cogs in Frankie’s brain desperately trying to figure out how the watch is back in my possession and wonder what he will make of us phasing out of existence.
The door at the far side of the room opens and another man enters. He has the unfortunate look of a toilet brush in human form. ‘Mr Shaw.’ He clears his throat, but his voice remains squeaky and high. ‘There’s a problem at the warehouse.’
‘It can wait,’ Frankie growls.
The man recoils, chewing his bottom lip aggressively. ‘I’m sorry,’ he murmurs. ‘Scottie says the Dickersons are involved, said you would want to know.’
Frankie’s shoulders drop. He fixes his gaze on me, hate pouring off him. ‘To be continued, pretty boy.’
He walks out, slamming the huge door behind him.
‘Vinny,’ I call out. ‘Vinny, are you alright?’
No reply. I notice the shimmering aura of our imminent departure and feel the pinch of brain freeze. Iridescent colours flicker over the scene like the scales of a huge fish.
‘What the hell?’ Harry mumbles, moving towards me. He’s half smiling, half frowning. He points at me. ‘Something’s happening to you,’ he announces. ‘You... you’re a funny colour.’
I’m sure this is the most amazing thing Harry’s eyes have ever offered his simple brain. He continues to inch closer, reaching out as though he wants to touch me. I don’t much fancy dragging knucklehead home with us; that would be a very bad idea.
‘Back away!’ I tell him. He doesn’t appear to hear me; he continues shuffling forward in a daze. ‘This is dangerous!’ I shout.
That seems to get through. He stops and stares at me, mouth falling open. Mad Harry, one of the scariest people I’ve ever met, transforms into a harmless kid. His mouth moves but no words come.
I struggle helplessly, stretching my fingers – which are so numb I can hardly feel them – trying to reach Vinny. As far as I know, physical touch is still important and I’m not going to risk travelling home without him. I squeeze his hand.
The room begins to spin. My stomach drops. It may be due to our combined weight, or perhaps it’s our back-to-back configuration, but we seem to have created an extra bit of centrifugal force.
‘Hold on, Vinny!’ I shout, which I appreciate is ironic, considering we are bound together. I close my eyes and pray.
There is a loud pop, followed by a horrible screeching: the feet of our chair, spinning and scraping over a different floor surface.
I look down and see my legs phasing back into solidity. It’s daylight. We’re back in Bridgeman Antiques.
‘Vinny?’
I can feel his pulse and hear the sound of his breathing, a deep throaty rattle. Perhaps it’s a mercy that the big man passed out. I struggle against my bindings, my own pulse being well and truly tested.
Then a sound like an air raid siren splits the air, building to a shrill, high-pitched scream. It sends waves of gooseflesh over my shoulders and down my arms. I crane my neck to see Barbara, the cleaner.
Her expression is utter shock, eyes like dark moons. She screams again. Vinny and I are beaten up and tied to chairs. She probably thinks she’s just walked in on a sex game gone terribly wrong.
‘Call an ambulance!’ I tell her, my first bit of quick thinking for quite some time.
She just stands there, frozen in shock.
I swallow down the fear. ‘Barbara, it’s okay,’ I tell her, desperately trying to steady my voice, ‘just stay calm and listen to me.’
She swallows, blinking rapidly and then nods.
‘Okay, that’s good, Barbara. We need help; can you please call an ambulance?’
She nods again and grabs a nearby cordless. She dials, fingers trembling.
That’s when it all catches up on me.
My vision blurs, I feel more tired than I have in my entire life. I hear Barbara crying and after a while feel her fingers working at the rope around my wrists and then my ankles, but everything is merging into one. Finally, my hands are free. My knees crack as I drop down in front of Vinny. He’s out cold, face a mess and there is so much blood. I check his pulse. It’s erratic, but at least he has one.
What have I done?
I tell Vinny he’s going to be okay. But I’m not convinced, because the guy telling him sounds like a liar to me.
‘The ambulance is on its way,’ Barbara tells me through shuddering breaths. ‘What happened? Did someone break in?’
I shake my head, willing the ambulance along. I keep telling Vinny I’m sorry.
My pocket watch buzzes. I stare at it, panic building. ‘Please, not yet,’ I whisper. ‘Don’t send me back yet!’
The fascia informs me that the watch is CALIBRATING. Beads of cold sweat pop from my brow as the three jump dials roll through their numbers like some kind of sick game show. They settle, informing me of my fate.
I go back to the sixties in…
1 Day 7 Hours 12 Minutes
A short reprieve, like a power cut on the night of an execution. Then I notice something I haven’t seen before. A single red dot appears at the base of the watch, a ruby crystal glowing like fire. It sparkles, and a line of text beneath it reads FINAL JUMP. I stare at the watch, consumed by a tsunami of dread.
I know two things for sure.
This will be my last chance to save Lucy and all I hold dear. I glance at Vinny, battered and broken.
And this time, I will be going alone.
Part VI
Don’t Let Me Down
Chapter Sixty-Six
I don’t know anyone who loves hospitals, but I particularly hate them. The last time I was in Cheltenham General, I had barbed wire through my abdomen. I don’t mean caught up or snagged, I mean right through, like the stuff had grown in me. It disappeared eventually, pinged back to where it belonged because those used to be the rules.
My elastic band years.
I stare up at the sign for Intensive Care. It might as well read “Intensive Guilt”.
It’s my fault Vinny is here. I shake my head. It seems that hospital visits and time travel go hand in hand.
When the ambulance arrived, Vinny was taken to resusc
itation, which scared the hell out of me. I just required a bit of clean-up. Since then, I’ve walked aimlessly, waiting.
In a place like this, waiting is the worst part.
At least I had the wherewithal to grab my phone before I left the house. There are lots of emails and texts and voicemail messages – must be over fifty. Unthinkable in my previous life, now I get that many each day. I skim a few; most fit under the general banner of ‘Where the “F” are you?”
I finish the dregs of my vending-machine hot chocolate, chewing on the powdery slop at the bottom. Then I draw in a deep breath and walk into the ward.
I pass the waiting room and the nurses’ desk, which is empty. The lighting is low. I pass numerous beds without daring to look at the occupants. Eventually I reach Vinny.
A ball of sadness constricts my throat as I stare at my friend. When they discharged me, they called my wounds superficial. They were wrong; seeing Vinny like this hurts like hell. He is connected up to various machines, all doing that monotonous beeping thing. He looks like he’s asleep. For that, I am glad. They’ve cleaned him up, but that just makes him look worse. His face is horribly swollen and there is a deep gash on his right cheek. His top lip is distended like a burst tyre and his leg is heavily bandaged. I can still hear the hammer.
At the end of the ward is a clock, its relentless ticking deafening. Oh, mate, what the hell have I done?
‘Excuse me, sir,’ a nurse asks. ‘Are you family?’
‘I brought him in,’ I tell her. ‘I’m a friend.’
That sinks into my guts like a blow. Some friend. I have no idea about Vinny’s family. He had a daughter once, on a different timeline. Who does he have now?
The nurse picks up his chart and makes a note. ‘I’m afraid you shouldn’t really be in here.’
I nod. ‘Is he going to be okay?’
She assesses me. ‘He’s stable. His consultant, Mr Donohue, will be along shortly.’ Her voice is a little more forceful now. ‘There’s a waiting area near the main desk.’
I thank her and walk slowly from the ward back out into the waiting room. There is still no nurse at the desk, but there’s someone else.
It’s the girl from the shop.
Solanine.
She looks doubly weird in such a clinical environment. She’s dressed like a gothic Sonic the Hedgehog of the Gestapo in a long black-leather coat, her hair a purple spike-fest. I look down and continue to walk, but she blocks my path.
‘We need to talk,’ she says, her voice toneless, ‘but not here.’ She stares at me for a long while, her facial piercings glinting under the bright fluorescent lights. She turns and walks out into the corridor. Reluctantly, I follow her.
The corridor looks out over one of those awful, peaceful gardens.
Solanine grinds her teeth. ‘They’ve put him into a medically induced coma.’
‘Oh, God.’ The word ‘coma’ sinks into me like a poisoned dart. ‘Is he going to be okay?’
Her nostrils flare. ‘Maybe, maybe not. All I know is that since you came along, his life turned to crap.’ She stares at me, dark eyes hollow.
I open my mouth, but I can’t think of a single way in which I could argue that point. She takes a step towards me. ‘I’m the closest thing Vinny has to family.’ She scowls at me. ‘Whatever it is you’re doing, leave him out of it.’ She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. ‘You’re all the same, people like you.’
I want to ask what she means by that, explain that she knows nothing about me. But, of course, I don’t. She’s judging me, and I deserve it, might even want it; to be told how shit I am, have some help twisting the knife.
I don’t speak, I just look at the floor and nod occasionally as Solanine assassinates every nook and cranny of my character.
When she’s done, she looks up and stares out of one of the windows. ‘The best thing you could do is walk away.’ Her gaze snaps back to me and her words become venom. ‘Just leave and don’t come back!’
‘What?’
I’m beginning to wonder if goth girl might have a little crush on her boss.
‘You heard me,’ she says, eyes welling up. Crying clearly annoys her, isn’t her style. ‘Vinny is good and decent, and you are bad news. Everything you touch, you ruin.’
Again, I want to go back at her, but instead, I keep quiet, because she’s right.
Solanine shakes her head and walks back into the waiting room, back to the place where decent people who care are welcome to wait for their loved ones.
I stand for a while, unsure what to do. Eventually I turn and head for the exit.
If you want to study people, see the full spectrum of life, then a hospital is the place to do it. All around me I see love, amplified and contrasted with hope and fear and loss.
And what do I feel?
I feel numb.
As I reach the entrance, I feel a flicker of anger. I was trying. Trying to secure my sister’s timeline and then – against all my expectations – found myself wanting to save Lucy as well, an innocent woman murdered. How did it go so wrong? I mope towards the exit. It looks cold outside; bare trees sway in the wind. I have no idea what I’m planning to do. Maybe Solanine is right. Maybe I should just walk out of here and keep going. Unexpectedly, I see the reason I’ve been doing all of this.
Amy.
She enters the hospital. I freeze. She spots me, shakes her head and strides in my direction. I batten down my emotional hatches, ready for another storm.
Perhaps all the people who hate me could form an orderly queue?
Chapter Sixty-Seven
Amy is wearing a thick denim jacket over a long flowing dress with printed flowers of purple and dark green. Around her neck is a striped scarf. My breath catches in my throat and for a moment, no more than half a second, I see Amy aged seven. Pigtails and huge eyes. The image fades as she approaches.
Her expression shifts from anger to concern. ‘Are you okay?’ she asks. ‘You look terrible.’
I feel lightheaded and stumble. Amy takes my arm and guides me to a nearby seating area. Who the hell decided bright purple was a relaxing, soothing colour? We sit next to each other, like passengers on a train. I look straight ahead of me, avoiding her gaze. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Barbara called,’ she replies. ‘The police came into the shop. They were after a statement about the suspected assault and burglary.’ Amy lets that hang in the air for a while. ‘Is Vinny okay?’
‘I don’t know,’ I mumble as I stare at my hands. ‘He’s in pretty bad shape.’
Amy nods and we sit quietly for a while, just the sound of distant phones and footfalls. I glance at her; she’s in deep thought. I keep thinking she’s about to say something, but then she thinks better of it.
‘Are you okay?’ I ask.
She clenches her jaw, expression pensive. ‘You lied to me,’ she says, voice painfully flat.
‘Amy, I…’
‘And you know what’s weird?’ she says as she stares into the distance. ‘You and I didn’t really get along that well… before, I mean. We weren’t that close.’ She works her hands on her lap, occasionally glancing at me. ‘I loved him and I know he loved me, but I never really felt like I knew him… always felt like I was scratching the surface.’ She shakes her head. ‘In a way, that made it easier, I suppose.’
‘Easier?’ I ask.
Amy looks up at me. ‘I was scared to get to know him too well.’ She shrugs with a sad smile. ‘Because I knew he was going to be replaced.’
I nod.
‘The thing is,’ Amy says, ‘you’re so different.’
‘I’m disappointing to you.’
‘No,’ Amy says firmly, eyes glistening. ‘The fact we get on better than before? That was such a surprise. I feel like we have a deeper connection.’ She sighs. ‘It’s hard to explain.’
She doesn’t need to. I understand. Life shapes us, the hardships and experiences make us who we are. At age fourteen, Previous Joe and I sepa
rated, and he became someone else, completely. His connection to everything and everyone changed. He lived a life without any of my pain.
I smile at her. ‘I feel the same, feel like we’re starting something from scratch, something good.’
Amy nervously makes eye contact and looks apologetic. ‘You saved me and I will always love you for that, but when I lost the brother I knew? Well, part of me hated you for that.’ She frowns, shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, that’s a horrible thing to say.’
‘No,’ I tell her, ‘I want you to be honest.’
She sighs. ‘I was willing to try, to start again, Joe.’
‘We can.’ I lay my hand on her arm. ‘We are…’
‘Not if you’re going to time travel and end up…’ She pauses, clenching her jaw.
‘End up what?’
She sniffs. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you this bit.’
‘Well, you have to, now you’ve started.’
‘Yeah, I guess I do.’ She turns to me. ‘Have you ever wondered how I coped so well with the brother I grew up with being replaced?’
I nod. ‘I suppose I did wonder.’
Amy exhales, a sad bitter gesture. ‘Well, I had years to plan for it.’ She blinks hard, fighting back tears. ‘It was a massive burden, Joe, something I held on to for years. I had to live with the knowledge… but that’s not all. You’re not the only one who gets visions.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You see the past,’ she says patiently, ‘and I see the future.’
The pieces fall into place.
‘Are you saying you saw my return?’ I ask. ‘You’ve seen this?’
‘In my early twenties, I saw you come back, the version of you who saved me at the fair. The visions kept coming for years. It all got pretty confusing.’ She swallows, shaking her head, then looks up at me, eyes welling. ‘Do you understand?’