Glassford Girl: Boxed Set (Complete Series) (Time Jumper Series)

by Jay J. Falconer

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve never had a job where there wasn’t plenty of drama and stress. Plus, with the new employment verification requirements of the Feds, I doubt anyone could legally hire her. As a business owner, I know. The paperwork is beyond ridiculous. She’s basically an undocumented worker.”

  “You mean, she’s an illegal alien?”

  “I thought we weren’t going there?”

  “We’re not. I just couldn’t resist. You just left it laying there.”

  “Clever.”

  “Hey, I try,” Jim said. “When you’re stuck in this bed day after day, you try to find humor in anything you can. Keeps you from strangling somebody. But you’re right about Em.”

  “I’m sure the last thing she wants is to be part of the system. Someone would notice that she was born in 1985 but hasn’t aged. Red flags would fly across the board.”

  “Plus, it’s hard to build a resume when you can’t stick around very long. How could she ever provide references or have her employment history checked?”

  “Good God. What a mess.”

  “Yes. The USS Emily leaves quite a wake.”

  ***

  December 1, 2014

  6:01 a.m.

  Derek opened his eyes in the darkness and knew one thing: he had to get out of this place as soon as possible. He loathed his detention cell, feeling the walls inching closer with each passing day. It was only eight feet wide, fourteen feet long, with a single window set high in the wall just below the twelve-foot-tall ceiling. He was lying under an olive-drab army surplus blanket on a thin foam mattress set on a platform built into one end of a rectangle; at the other end was a stainless steel toilet and sink unit, next to the cell door.

  There was a pair of worn, sci-fi paperbacks next to his bed, but other than that, nothing. No desk. No chair. No lamp.

  He’d forced himself to read through both of the novels in The Narrows of Time Series eleven times, and was tired of reading the same drivel over and over. Science fiction wasn’t his thing, but that’s all he had access to. Someday, he planned to track down the Arizona author and set him straight on some of the technobabble crap that made zero sense. Plus, who has a character with the name Kleezebee?

  The light bulb in the ceiling came on with a metallic clack, and from outside his cell door, out in the unit, he heard the corrections officers enter and start their morning routine.

  “Rise and shine, boys! All detainees on the unit in five minutes for headcount. Breakfast in ten. Points will be deducted for lateness or disturbance. You know the drill, gentlemen: follow the rules, and you’ll have a good day.”

  Derek had been following the rules for a little over eight weeks since he’d been inside, but he’d had enough. Sleep wasn’t a problem, but his dreams were: nonstop Emily. When your girl is missing and you can’t go in search of her, your mind turns in on itself, conjuring up an endless list of what-if scenarios. None of them were good. He’d learned the hard way that it’s impossible to erase the emptiness when you have nothing to do all day except think.

  The day before, on the yard, he’d heard two of his fellow juvenile delinquents talking about a new program that might lead to early release. He had to check it out; he was going crazy living inside a cinder-block tomb.

  His cell door clanked and rattled as it was unlocked remotely.

  “Detainees may leave their cells at this time,” said the same CO who’d made the good morning speech.

  Derek threw water on his face and hurried out to the unit, where he located the guard.

  “Officer Jameson, I need to see Director Chase after breakfast. Would you put in a request for me, please?”

  “Good morning to you, too, Morgan. I guess I can do that. I’m thinking you have a reason?”

  “Yes. It’s about the new Wilderness Program. I heard about it and wanna sign up.”

  “Never figured you for ‘Hoods in the Woods’.”

  “Anything to get out of here sooner.”

  “If you ask me, it’s all a bunch of hokum. Just a way for the state to save money. They’d rather throw you in the woods for a month and call you rehabilitated than feed you in here for a year. I don’t see what learning how to start a fire with only a stick and your pecker can do for a kid like you, but what do I know? I’m just a working man, stuck in here day after day with all you fine, upstanding citizens.”

  “Well?”

  “I’ll put in the request, Morgan. Now get in line. Headcount, then breakfast.”

  ***

  After his meeting with the director, Derek was escorted to the detention center’s schoolroom. He was almost happy, if it was possible to be happy behind bars. He’d been admitted to the Wilderness and Remediation Program, called WARP by the state, and Hoods in the Woods by everyone else.

  There was one spot open on the next rotation, and Director Chase told Derek he could have it if he kept his nose clean for two more days. Once enrolled, all he needed to do was make it through twenty-seven days of Wilderness Therapy in the Superstition Mountains east of Phoenix, and he’d have his sentence reduced to time served. He ran the date calculation in his head: his new tentative release would be Monday, January 5, 2015.

  Yup, Derek thought. It is possible to be happy behind bars—but only when you know you’re getting out. He started to whistle. He didn’t know why, his lips just puckered and let ‘er rip.

  The guard gave him a sidelong stare, but Derek didn’t care: in less than a month, he was going to be out.

  Then he’d go find his Emily.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Emily heard a bell ringing, but she ignored it. She rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t, even though she wanted to return to the wonderful dream about her high school: Dysart High in the western section of the Phoenix metro area.

  She tossed side to side, trying to get comfortable, but it eluded her. Her bed no longer felt soft. In fact, it no longer felt like a bed at all. It was more like she was lying on dusty, moldy carpet instead of in a bed in her mother’s house.

  The pinging bell rang again, smashing through the layers of her consciousness. Emily’s mind and body paid more attention to the unique but familiar sound. She connected to reality. It was a school bell. A school bell?

  She brought herself out of dreamland and her conscious self took over. Her head felt like there was an angry herd of elephants stomping around inside her skull. And now the pain was spreading to the rest of her body.

  Then in a flash, it all came back to her.

  Rob the Rapist. A bat. A punch. The knife. Torture. Blood. Derek’s rescue. The jump. Shit, she’d jumped. That meant she was nude. But this time, for some reason, she hadn’t woken up immediately. She’d slept. She knew she’d slept, because she’d dreamed—about her mom, about home, about high school.

  She heard a key in a lock, a door opening, and a woman’s shrilly voice talking to someone.

  Emily opened her eyes. She didn’t know where she was. Her surroundings didn’t register.

  Then the fluorescent lights along the ceiling flickered on, showering the area with light. Her mind began to process the scene. She was lying in a spacious room, with a wall of dirty windows on one side, and school-themed posters on the other. Rows of wooden desks filled the space in front of her, and a clock on the front wall told her it was 7:15.

  An older woman wearing a pleated skirt and a peach-colored blouse entered the room, followed by a bubbly blonde girl in a cute little cheerleader’s outfit. The uniform was black with red trim. There were red and white letters on the front that read DEMONS.

  No way, Emily thought. It can’t be. The Dysart Demons? My high school?

  Apparently, her jump had taken her from being a captive in Jim’s diner to her high school on the west side of town. She screamed in silence at her body to get up and run, but it refused. She was too weak. She couldn’t move. Not yet.

  Neither the woman nor the girl had made eye contact with Emily, probably bec
ause they were too busy chatting with each other to notice there was a naked teenager twenty feet away.

  The older woman stood by the chalkboard with her hands on her hips.

  “No, Mandy, I’ve already told you. You need to give me this week to set the fundraiser schedule. We’ll probably have a bake sale soon, but it’s only the first day of the semester. You need to let me settle in and get organized.”

  “But Mrs. Thompson, my mom needs to know. She wants to put in for time off at work but can’t do that until she knows when she’s supposed to help,” the girl said.

  Emily had a teacher by the name of Mrs. Thompson for homeroom some thirty years earlier in calendar time. She tried to remember what the woman looked like, but her brain wasn’t functioning correctly. All she found in her memories was a smell—lavender. Her teacher’s face was a silhouette, blank and featureless.

  Mandy shifted her feet to the left, giving her a direct line of sight to Emily’s position on the floor. “Oh my God!” the girl screamed, before covering her mouth with her hands.

  Mrs. Thompson froze for a moment, clutching a stack of papers to her chest. Then she turned to the student. “Mandy, go to the office and get Nurse Betty and Officer Rodriguez. Tell them I have a student who’s been assaulted and needs immediate medical attention.”

  Moments later, students began to stream into the classroom behind Mandy and Mrs. Thompson. As each one saw Emily, their face registered various degrees of shock and confusion.

  Emily forced herself to get up and cover herself with her arms.

  She looked at her body and understood what the teacher meant. There were runny patches of blood on her arms, legs, and torso from the cuts Rob the Rapist had made with the knife. She figured the side of her neck had a nasty bruise on it from the bat, and her cheek looked swollen from the punch.

  She felt like hell, and certainly must have looked like hell. No wonder this woman thought she needed medical help. She did. But she wasn’t going to hang around Dysart High to get it.

  Mrs. Thompson threw the stack of papers on her desk, grabbed an oversized wool coat from the rack by the door and crossed the room in a flash. She opened the garment and wrapped it around Emily.

  “Thank you, but I can’t stay,” Emily said, brushing her away. She ran between two rows of desks, heading for the door. She shoved several gawking teenage boys out of the way and bolted into the crowded hallway.

  Emily had yearned for her old life countless times over the past two years of chaotic time jumping. There were days when all she wanted was to be a normal teenage girl and go back to high school. She wanted to hear the bells ring and go to class—but this wasn’t what she had in mind.

  She saw a plump redheaded girl in the hallway carrying a musical instrument case and a book bag.

  Emily grabbed her by the arm. “What’s the date today?”

  “What? The girl asked, pulling away with a look of shock on her face.

  “The date!”

  “January 5th.”

  “What year?”

  “2015. Who are you?”

  Emily tore down the hallway past the stunned students, ignoring the lewd comments from the boys and the screams of the girls. She pushed open a heavy metal door and ran into a stairwell. She knew she could get clear of the school without any problem—she’d come out in much worse places before. Her post-jump checklist was the only thing on her mind: clothes, food, place to stay.

  First up: clothes.

  She hoped the basketball gym and locker rooms were still in the same place as they were when she attended this school.

  ***

  January 5, 2015

  9:47 a.m.

  Derek twisted in his seat while his long-winded probation supervisor, Officer Eric Gritchens, droned on and on. Derek wanted to remain alert and listen to the conditions of his early release, but his focus drifted elsewhere. He studied the ancient clock on the wall behind Gritchens, watching the second hand advance one tick at a time. It seemed to be moving slower with every glance, as if it were a fading metronome winding down.

  He brought his eyes back to Gritchens and nodded, pretending he was taking in every word the man was slinging. He let his eyes run out of focus when his mind drifted to thoughts of Emily. He couldn’t help but worry about her, and wonder where she was. Was she safe? Healthy? In trouble somewhere? Had she been looking for him, or had she moved on? The questions were endless, and so was Gritchens’ speech. It was pure torture.

  It took every ounce of self-control in Derek’s reserve not to leap across the desk, wrap his fingers around the man’s throat and crush his windpipe. He wanted the soapboxing to stop. He needed it to stop. He couldn’t take much more of this drivel. It was worse than having to suffer through the long-winded soliloquies in the two cheesy science fiction novels that he was forced to read in his cell.

  Gritchens’ diatribe was about the duties and responsibilities of rehabilitated juveniles, as if Derek gave a shit.

  Finally, the man was done. “You’ve been assigned to the group home at 27 Monte Vista Avenue up in Encanto Park. You’ll be going to school at Arizona State Preparatory Academy.”

  Derek raised his eyebrows. “They let kids like me in there?”

  “Kids like you who score extremely high on state aptitude tests, yes.”

  “So that’s what those were for. I thought Director Chase was just torturing us.”

  “Unfortunately, no. That’s how you ended up with me. You’re the second graduate to go from WARP to what we call ACE—Accelerated College Entry. It’s a new remediation and rehabilitation pathway that the Department of Corrections has developed for at-risk youth. Our shiny new governor feels that it’s in the community’s best interest, which really means it’s in his best political interest, that you become a productive member of society. To that end, he’s launched this pilot program to mark the start of his new administration. According to your test scores, the best way for you to do that is to finish high school and get accepted into college. You’re above average in math, but you’re off the charts in all your verbal and reading skills. That’s where you need to focus your effort. English, literature, and whatever else the school counselors recommend. But you’d better stay on the straight and narrow. Don’t fuck this up, Morgan. You only get one crack at this. If you come through the system again, there won’t be a second chance. You know what they say: fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice . . .”

  “Got it,” Derek said, praying the preaching would stop soon.

  “Good. Now, do you understand the terms and conditions of your early-release probation?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me hear you recite them so I know you understood each and every topic that I’ve covered here today.”

  Derek’s heart sank. He should have been paying attention. Shit.

  Then it all came to him. He didn’t know from where, maybe his subconscious, but the words streamed out of his mouth.

  “From the time I leave here, I have twelve hours to show up at my group home and check in. I have to attend school for at least thirty-five hours a week, starting tomorrow morning at 8:20 a.m. I have to attend mandatory homework sessions at my group home at least ten hours a week. The sessions run from three thirty in the afternoon until six thirty in the evening, Monday through Friday. I have to be in the house by 9:30 p.m. every night until the end of this school year, and follow any other rules of the house not otherwise specified by you. I have to check in with you every Monday at 1:15 p.m. for forty-five minutes. If I break any rules, I go back to Durango and serve another six months, minimum.”

  “Not perfect, but close enough. If you have any questions, call me. Here’s my card.” Gritchens gave him a black and white business card. “That’s my cell number. Call me day or night.”

  “I shouldn’t have to, but thanks.”

  “Now, let me be one hundred and fifty percent clear. Do everything you just told me, and your life will be back on track. Step out of line, and y
ou won’t like the consequences. Do you feel me?”

  “Roger that. Straight and narrow. Yes, sir.”

  “Here are your release papers and personal effects,” he said, handing Derek an oversized manila folder with a bulge in the middle.

  “Thank you, Officer Gritchens. Durango won’t be seeing my ass again, that I can promise you. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep me out of that shithole,” Derek said, opening the pouch and pulling his wallet out. “May I go now?”

  Gritchens pushed a clipboard across his desk. It was holding a form with a carbon copy sheet underneath. “Just sign at the bottom stating that you understand the terms of your early release, and yes, Morgan. You may leave.”

  Derek stood up, leaned over the dented and scratched surface of the metal desk, and signed the release form. He looked at Gritchens. “Thank you, sir. I’ll see you next Monday at one fifteen.”

  “Yes, you will. Or you’ll see a patrol car coming to take you back to Durango.”

  Derek left the room without looking back. He had things to do. First, he had to check in at the group home. Next, he had to find Emily. And to do that, he decided to go visit Jim Miller at 333 North Glassford Street to see if he knew her location.

  ***

  Emily fastened the buttons on the coat that Ms. Thompson had wrapped around her, making sure her body was properly covered, then ran from the parking lot by the administration building of her old high school. She crossed a patch of spotty brown grass and hid in the shadows of a two-story building that she did not recognize.

  The school’s property had changed since she’d been a freshman all those years ago. There were a few new buildings mixed in with the old, and it was disorienting. However, fifty yards from her was a building she did recognize—the gym. It looked ready for a new paint job, but she still found its rundown exterior comforting.

  She watched from her hiding place as two school security guards came out of the gym and ran toward the building that she’d just exited. Now was her chance.