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

by Jay J. Falconer

The checklist items appeared in her mind: clothes, food, and a safe place to stay.

  Time to get up and moving, she decided.

  She tried to open her eyes again. This time her eyelids worked, probably because her tears had softened the caked-on gunk covering them.

  Darkness came at her eyes first, then the dull flicker of light from a string of low-voltage yard lights on the left. From what she could see and feel, there was grass all around her. It was thick with dew and at least three inches tall.

  Less than a foot in front of her was a long row of yellow petals, belonging to a ground-hugging flower filling the area with a strong scent of pollen. Beyond the flower bed was a mound of dirt, a loose stack of brick pavers, a long-handed shovel, and a partially constructed wood fence.

  Emily rolled to her stomach, freeing her numb arm from underneath. As soon as she was on her front side, the nausea in her belly roared to record levels. She’d expected the post-jump queasiness to get worse when she moved; however, this increase was much worse than normal.

  She turned her head and sent a stream of foul-smelling bile into the grass next to her. Normally, a couple of vomits would be all it’d take to rid herself of the sickness, but she could feel more of it coming. Lots of it.

  She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, turning away from the initial spray of vomit in the grass. Six more rounds of puke erupted, each one more violent than the last. When she was finally done, she collapsed on her back, looking up at the star-filled sky with her chest heaving.

  A few minutes went by before her strength returned and she stood up. Her sudden, full-height motion triggered a pair of sensor lights on the patio. The white light shot across the lush, dew-laden lawn and landed on her naked physique.

  Emily pushed her thighs together and crossed her arms, hoping to cover as much of her privates as possible. She studied the back door and the windows across the house, but no one appeared. No lights came on in the house, either.

  She must’ve been alone. Emily was thankful nobody saw her, but she still hated this part—always coming out of a jump without any clothes.

  Sure, she’d done it countless times before and knew it was coming, but it didn’t make her total embarrassment any easier. She never knew who’d be watching when she arrived. No matter where she came out from a jump, it seemed like someone would always be staring at her. Whether it was some creepy old guy with a drooling problem, or a mall full of women and children, she still had to deal with it.

  She hated her body—every inch of it. Her hair was always a mess and her hips were too thin. And let’s not forget her bony knees and chicken legs. They both made her look anorexic. Plus, even though she was a C cup, her breasts were still way too small.

  Her best friend Stacy had the perfect body—a body Emily wished she had. The boys were all over her curves whenever they used to go to the mall. All the while ignoring anyone else in the area—like Emily.

  Then there were her freckles and pale complexion. You’d think after living on the streets of Phoenix all these years, she’d have a decent tan by now. But that wasn’t the case. You can’t tan when you’re forced to live in the shadows most of the time.

  And now a baby was coming. She was going to get big. Really big. She couldn’t imagine what that was going to be like when she came out of jump stark naked. Oh my God! She just wanted to scream.

  Her lungs took in the air and her face tightened, but her logic quashed the idea. One of the neighbors might hear the scream and call the cops.

  Time to get moving, she decided.

  The flagstone patio in front of her was at least thirty feet long, with three posts and an array of outdoor furniture sitting about. Behind the wicker chairs and the wrought iron table was a stucco two-story house with red shutters and a steeply sloping roofline topped with orange-colored tiles.

  Before she could take a step, she heard a click, followed by a whoosh. Suddenly her nakedness was being sprayed with pulses of water from a popup sprinkler head

  Swoosh—swoosh—swoosh.

  Emily put her hands up to block the water jets and looked around, but didn’t see anyone. No lights were on in the house either, so she assumed it was an automatic system. Good thing, too, since she was in her birthday suit and wet from head to toe.

  She ignored the pain and nausea still welling inside as she went to the side of the house in a flash. A second later, she was through the side gate and heading for the driveway. Emily stopped and bent down in front of a volcanic orange MINI Cooper parked in the single car carport. The hood on the two-door coupe was still warm to the touch and there was a distinct aroma of coffee hanging in the air.

  Someone had driven the vehicle home recently. Probably the same person who was on the other side of the stucco wall behind her, operating what sounded like a treadmill. The rhythmic thump of its circular tread being pounded on by a pair of heavy feet was unmistakable, something she’d heard before—back when she was inside a busy LA Fitness club after one of her earlier time jumps.

  She turned her eyes to the neighborhood street out front, needing to come up with a plan to tackle her post-jump checklist: clothes, food, and shelter.

  The house across the street was outlined with at least thirty low-voltage colorful accent lights and carried a red and blue yard sign that read ‘For Sale: New Listing!’ She didn’t see any cars in the house’s twin carport, and it didn’t appear any of the lights were on inside, though it was hard to know for sure with all of the window shades pulled down.

  The bushes along its front walkway were growing wild and in need of a good trimming. Plus, she could see a loose stack of newspapers sitting near the base of a red mailbox that was leaning a few degrees to one side. The white yard light at its base gave her a good look at the papers—one of them was still the usual white color, but the rest were yellow from what she assumed was sun damage.

  Might be vacant, she thought, needing a place to hide. Maybe there’re some clothes in one of the closets, or a box of stuff I can wear in the garage. Need to check the attic, too.

  Emily considered all the facts: the dew-covered lawn when she first arrived, the sprinklers kicking on, the person working out on the treadmill after driving to get coffee, and the freshly delivered newspaper across the street told her it was early morning. If she was right, then the speck of sunlight now peeking above the horizon to her right meant she was facing north and sunrise was only minutes away.

  She needed to get moving and find a place to hide before the entire neighborhood was out and about for the day. Someone would certainly notice a naked, wet teenage girl running around and call the cops.

  The last thing she needed was cops. Her history with them was usually less than cordial. In fact, most of the time, they were part of the throng of people who’d been hunting for her. Them, and the Orange Men who carried their metallic briefcases everywhere they went.

  There weren’t any alarm company stickers on the windows of the vacant house across the street. Nor was there an alarm company yard sign, so she decided to slink past the MINI Cooper and made her way across the street in a dash.

  She covered her bare breasts as she ran, tiptoeing across the asphalt with her bare feet, until she made it to the side gate. She pulled the string to release its latch and went inside, heading to the neighbor’s backyard.

  The landscaping behind the house was also covered in yard lights, allowing her to see some of its detail. There was a kidney-shaped swimming pool ahead of her with a twisting play slide on one side of the water. A portable basketball net sat unused on the other side, resting on a pair of wooden skids near the water’s edge.

  She went left and found herself standing in front of a raised, screened-in porch. Her feet took her up the three steps, where she pulled at the screen door’s handle. It was locked and wouldn’t spin. She tried again, applying more force. But again, it didn’t open.

  She went back down the steps, turned around and plopped her butt down on the top step, needing to figure
out what to do next. Up until now, she’d always managed to find a place to hide when she came out of her jumps. Once that was in the books, she’d make a plan to tackle her ‘post-jump to do list.’ But this time her instinct had led her to make the wrong decision on where to run.

  “Figures,” she mumbled, thinking of her baby. Just when she needed it most, her logic and her luck had failed her. Plus, the post-jump pain in her body was still there and bordering on becoming unbearable. It had never been this bad before, nor had it lasted this long. It was obvious she needed time to recover, and that meant she needed sleep. Lots of it. For herself and her unborn son.

  “Cold. Me,” the baby’s voice called out in her mind.

  “I know, sweetie. Me too. Mommy’s working on it,” she said, feeling the nausea rise up her throat. She leaned forward to puke again, and again, and again, each time wrenching her gut.

  When the vomiting finally ended, she paused to catch her breath, then wiped her mouth off with the back of her hand.

  She went to stand, but a wave of dizziness found her. Her head spun wildly, sending her backward into the stairs. The bottom step caught her heels, sending her off balance with her elbows leading the way. Her elbows and backside smashed into the screen door, tearing the material away from the aluminum frame.

  Time slowed down to frame-by-frame motion as gravity took over. Eventually time resumed at normal speed when her back hit first along the floor inside. She cried out in pain when the sudden thump knocked the wind out of her. She turned onto her side and tucked into a ball while her lungs gasped desperately for air.

  Despite the pain across her body, all of her thoughts were focused on one thing—the health and safety of the life force growing inside her.

  “Mommy? Okay?” the baby asked her before she could do the same.

  “Yes. How about you, honey?” she sent back, worrying the painful tumble might have harmed her son.

  “Cold. Me,” her son said again, seemingly ignoring her most recent question. Then again, maybe the baby didn’t understand her question.

  She’d already gotten comfortable with the communications and had forgotten her child was still learning. It would take time for the baby’s mental abilities to mature, and she’d need to be patient. She needed to teach her son everything she could before he arrived in the world—her world—the crazy, inexplicable world of a time jumping, telepathic mother.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Emily stood up and followed the string of nightlights, hoping they’d lead her to the kitchen of the vacant house she’d just broken into. As soon as she turned the next corner, a bank of overhead lights beamed on.

  Then a female’s voice came out of nowhere and said, “Hello, valued client. Welcome to the lovely kitchen of this fine home!”

  Emily lurched, ducking her head before bringing up her hands in a defensive position. She was ready to fight, but when she looked for the person speaking to her, she found no one.

  The recessed canister lights weren’t the only thing that activated when she walked into the kitchen. So, too, did a sleek LCD television monitor mounted to the underside of the kitchen cabinet closest to the refrigerator. That’s where the voice was coming from—some kind of recorded welcoming system.

  Emily covered her breasts with her arms and began checking the other rooms to see if anyone was home. As she went, she double-checked to make sure all the window blinds were pulled down—they were.

  After confirming she was alone, Emily returned to the kitchen. The lights and the TV must’ve been on some kind of motion sensor, she decided, just like the patio lights outside.

  The pretty blonde woman on the screen wore heavy makeup and glossy purple lipstick, and continued speaking with a lively bounce in her words. She broke into her recorded sales pitch about the home’s bedrooms and bathrooms, but Emily stopped listening when her eyes found the bottom of the display where the date was being shown: March 9, 2017.

  “Shit!” she snapped, seeing the date.

  “Mommy?” the baby asked.

  “I’m okay,” she answered, realizing she needed to watch her tongue—and her thoughts. Impressionable young ears and all that. Even when they belonged to a microscopic human being. A child who was probably growing faster than any human in all of recorded history.

  The date told her she’d traveled over two years into the future, sending a powerful sting into her heart. It skipped a few beats, as she thought of Derek. Junie. Jim. Duane.

  Two years? Are you kidding me?

  They must’ve all been worried sick about her. Derek most of all.

  “Two years?” the baby mimicked back.

  She didn’t know if the child understood the meaning of the words, so she sent back a string of thoughts and images to explain the concept of time as best she could. The imagery included a circled date on a calendar, a birthday cake with layers of thick white frosting, a single balloon, and a visual of a dark-haired boy sitting at a table in front them.

  She flashed the sequence again, this time showing the boy a bit older and with two balloons instead of one. Right then, her senses roared with the taste of the creamy frosting, making her lick her lips and moan with pleasure.

  “Yum,” the baby answered, obviously understanding some of what she’d just taught him.

  She smiled, realizing the pain and nausea inside her stomach was gone. She didn’t know if the pleasant birthday thoughts had sent the discomfort packing, or if the baby’s newfound sense of pleasure might’ve had something to do with its disappearance. Not that it mattered. It was gone and she was thankful.

  Emily looked around, taking in the rest of her surroundings. The kitchen wasn’t like any kitchen she’d ever seen, nor did the stunning accoutrements match the rundown appearance of the front yard’s overgrown landscaping.

  The black marble countertops were offset by sleek chrome appliances, including an enormous refrigerator standing against the wall to her right. Its transparent, all-glass door let her see inside and take inventory: an assortment of soda cans, two shelves filled with bottled water, and a gallon-sized plastic ZipLoc storage bag on the top-most shelf. Inside it was a plate of Oreo cookies—her favorite. She licked her lips again and right on cue, the baby chimed in mentally with “Food.”

  The bubbly blond woman on the video system spoke again. “My name is Associate Amber, your virtual agent. We at West USA Realty hope you’re enjoying this convenient, self-guided tour of 212 North Canyon View Drive. The kitchen you’re standing in was recently remodeled with all new, state of the art, energy-saving appliances from top-end manufacturers like B.K. Fisher, Greenways, and EverPure. Please refer to the various pamphlets on the counter for details. If you have questions at any point in your tour, just pick up the phone and give us a call. It’s our policy to have a working phone in every home we show—for that special moment when you decide you’re ready to make this fine property your new home. The phone is conveniently located on the wall next to the pantry. You’ll also find chilled drinks and tasty snacks in the refrigerator, so please help yourself. Our goal is to make you feel right at home while you’re searching for your new home. At West USA Realty, an agent is always on call for you!”

  Emily stared at the monitor, still dripping water from the sprinkler blast. She grabbed a folded dishtowel from the counter next to the sink and dried her face and the rest of her body, then tossed the towel aside.

  Amber’s smiling face was now frozen in time on the screen, caught in the last frame of the recording. The girl’s wide grin threatened to overwhelm her petite face, revealing large, perfect teeth that were beyond white. Emily thought the image must have been doctored.

  A moment later, the presentation flickered and went dark for a full second before the screen saver kicked in, showing a spinning red, white, and blue real estate logo floating from one side of the display to the other.

  Emily looked to the left and found that the Amber was correct. A phone was hanging on the wall by the clear glass pantry
door, but it was an old fashioned, beige, éclair-shaped, wall-mounted phone. It looked just like the phone she’d grown up with, complete with a curly tangled cord dangling from the bottom. The whole scene was surreal: the ultra-modern kitchen, the automatic video message delivered by a woman with a fake smile, and a phone right out of her bedroom, back in the 1980s.

  No matter how strange this place is, Emily thought, that phone is my first piece of good luck. Wait, scratch that. It’s the second piece, counting the fridge full of stuff to eat and drink.

  She reached for the phone, but stopped when something occurred to her.

  Damn. The lights.

  She needed to turn them off before someone in the neighborhood noticed the early morning activity. Even with the window coverings closed, light was probably still leaking out around the edges. She figured most of the neighbors were probably still asleep, except for the early bird on the treadmill across the street. But she didn’t want to take the risk. All it would take was one phone call to 911 and she would be totally screwed.

  A square plastic panel with several buttons on it was recessed in the wall next to the phone. It looked like the kind of control panel one might find in an airplane or a fancy research laboratory. She’d seen something like it on television when she was housesitting for Duane and his wife a few nights before. Well, a few nights in Emily time. Over two years for everyone else.

  It was the same night when she’d lost her virginity to Derek and gotten pregnant. But that wasn’t the only unexpected event that night. She’d also blacked out while standing at the front door waiting for Derek to arrive, losing almost a half hour of her memory in the process.

  She scanned the fancy panel, noticing a dot-sized light bulb indicator under one of the buttons. She pushed the button above it and lights quickly faded out, leaving only the glow from screen saver image. It was just enough ambient light to see around the kitchen without having to turn the lights back on.

  She picked up the phone and dialed the only number she knew.