Glassford Girl: Part 3 (The Emily Heart Time Jumper)

by Jay J. Falconer

  She’d been in several altercations in her years on the street. She’d even been directly responsible for the deaths of a gang of West Side Locos in a restaurant altercation, and for the Locos and Glassford Gatos her friend Jim had shot and killed in another gun battle. But she’d never watched someone die—as she assumed the big biker just had—by her own hands, in real time.

  She felt a tinge of queasiness, but then Master Liu’s words came to her: “If someone attacks you, or if you know for certain someone has ill intent and they’re about to cause you harm, then they’ve forfeited their right to safe passage. Your responsibility is to yourself first, and use whatever is at your disposal to incapacitate them. Do not hesitate. Do it hard and do it fast. Be decisive. Be merciless.”

  Emily worried that she’d done a little more than incapacitate Big Mike—but she didn’t know what else to do. He was going to kill her, and she had a right to defend herself. Certainly anyone in her position would have done the same thing, right? The only other choice was a bloody death.

  Logic took control of her brain, reminding her that she had to get out of there, and fast. She took one last look from the window at the lifeless hunk of meat below, then turned and crept through the bedroom door and down the hallway. She wanted to exit through the living room, but she heard someone open the front door of the condo. She froze, plastering her back against the wall.

  “Big Mike! Where you at?”

  Emily dropped to the floor and crawled to the kitchen, hiding behind a center island with a giant wooden cutting board sitting on it. A double stainless steel sink was sitting in the middle of the island, and there was a chorus of pots and pans hanging on polished metal hooks directly above it. The developer had gone all out with this demo unit, Emily thought, as her mind wandered off topic for a moment. Behind her was a gas stove, several banks of drawers and cabinets, and a gleaming chrome refrigerator.

  “Mike! Bro!” the voice called out again.

  She stayed low and out of sight when she heard footsteps nearby, then peered around the corner of the island when she thought it was safe to do so. She saw the skinny hoodlum named Slick, as Big Mike had called him. He was heading down the hallway that led to the master bedroom where she had just been.

  This is my chance.

  She tiptoed through the kitchen, heading toward the spacious living room. Before she made it the couch, she heard Slick call out from the bedroom.

  “Mike! Mike!”

  Shit. The time for stealth has passed.

  She sped through the living room and had her hand on the doorknob when she heard Slick come running down the hallway. She didn’t know why, but she turned to look at the skinny man. Partly out of curiosity, she thought, or maybe she wanted to gloat about her victory over the fat slob they called Big Mike.

  Slick stopped short when he saw Emily. He was breathing heavily, with a look of astonishment on his face. He froze, acting like a deer caught in headlights, when they locked eyes on each other across the living space.

  Emily’s second sight kicked in and all she felt was fear from the man. But she wasn’t sure if he was fearful of her or something else. There wasn’t much else inside the scumbag, probably because he was a simple drone who took orders from others.

  She let a smile form on her lips, feeling damn good about herself. Her free hand moved up on its own and flipped Slick the bird before she tossed open the door and took off down the hall. She raced around two ninety-degree corners, waving her arms in the air to celebrate her escape. She found the stairs just past the twin elevators, and several minutes later she was on the bottom floor where an open breezeway welcomed her. She tore through it, admiring the condo’s pool area on her right.

  * * *

  Derek ran the two and a half miles from his group home to the condo high-rise near Jim Miller’s restaurant in what must have been Olympic record time. He passed the restaurant and turned down the side street that led to the alley that ran adjacent to the complex.

  When he made his way across the access drive and found the side of the building, he knew immediately that his instincts had been spot-on: something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. Lying still on the pavement in front of him was a huge man dressed like a biker. His body was twisted and bloody and he wasn’t moving. Derek knelt by the man and felt for a pulse along his neck; there was none. His chest wasn’t heaving, either. No doubt about it, the man was dead.

  Derek craned his neck at the condo tower before him, focusing his eyes on the top floor. He ran through the path in his mind—the path to the developer’s demo unit, calculating its distance and location from the front of the building and its bank of elevators. He was sure that the open window on the top floor belonged to the demo unit where he’d left Emily for the night.

  A dozen scenarios ran through his mind as he tried to come up with reasons for the corpse being where and how he’d found it. However, one answer kept coming to the top of the list, no matter how many times he ran through it in his head: The man had fallen to his death from the master bedroom window.

  Was Emily responsible?

  Did she tangle with this dude?

  Was she hurt? Or worse?

  Regardless of what he learned in the next few minutes, if she was involved, then all of this was his fault for leaving her alone—again. He never should have gone home. He should have stayed with her. Protected her. Stood watch as she slept, even if it meant being sent back to Durango for violating curfew.

  Just then he heard metal clanking, and male voices coming from the back of the building. He suddenly had a vision of Emily in his mind: she was tied up and gagged, being led away from the building by a gang of bikers beating garbage can lids with baseball bats like a drum procession.

  He took off running, and made it to the corner in under three seconds. He leaned around the wall and took a peek. A pair of men, both dressed like the dead man behind him, were loading appliances and TVs into the back of a paneled delivery truck.

  There was no sign of Emily.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Emily had a good jump on Big Mike’s friend, Slick, but she knew the skinny assailant or his pals would be coming after her to exact revenge for what she’d just done. She ran through the back door, across the unfinished courtyard, and into the alley through a hole in the orange construction fencing. She dodged two vehicles sitting on rims with no tires and flew past a stack of smelly garbage bags sitting next to a stand of blue milk crates.

  She gained both speed and confidence as she rounded the corner and hit the street, turning right. Then things happened almost too fast for her to process.

  Derek—Derek?—was suddenly there in front of her on the sidewalk; she clipped him as she flew by, which sent her off balance. She looked back at him as she started to spin and fall backward to the ground.

  Out of nowhere, her second sight kicked in and she flashed on him: Derek was frantically worried about her. He was coming to help her. He had sensed something was wrong and was as surprised to see her as she was to see him. All this filled Emily’s head and heart in an instant.

  But then her focus changed when she realized that time had slowed down, which was typical right before a time jump, but this was different. Time hadn’t stopped completely, like usual. Instead, it was playing one frame at a time, like a video projector stuck in super-slow-mo.

  She was in mid-spin, moving through the air an inch at a time, but her thoughts were operating at lightning speed. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, but there was no jump tingle in her spine. None of it made any sense. She decided it was due to The Derek Effect.

  Then, before she could process another thought, time resumed at regular speed, bringing with it the laws of physics. Gravity and momentum took over as she put her hands down behind her, hoping to soften the impact when her butt hit the pavement. It didn’t. Her landing was hard and out of control. Her head snapped backwards, smashing into the side of a blue mailbox bolted to the sidewalk, making a loud clang. He
r vision doubled and ran out of focus just as a stinging jolt of pain ripped through her brain. It took a handful of moments to see clearly again.

  Derek streaked across her field of vision and reappeared, kneeling next to her. His hand was tugging at her.

  “Em, Jesus. Are you okay?”

  “Sort of,” she said, rubbing the spot on her head where it crashed into the mailbox. “Damn, that hurt.” Her fingers found a lump that was starting to form and it was tender to the touch.

  “What the hell’s going on here? What about that body? Was he trying to hurt you? Did you push him out?”

  “We need to go! Now! He’ll be coming!”

  “Who?”

  “The skinny man, and maybe his friends. I’ll explain later. Let’s go!” she snapped at him while trying to climb to her feet. She used Derek’s shoulder as a brace to get started, then he helped her the rest of the way up.

  They took off running together.

  * * *

  January 6, 2015

  12:45 a.m.

  Miller was out in his yard, tacking heavy plastic sheeting over the holes in the back of his house. The doors and windows had been obliterated by the blast, along with the BBQ island and sections of his roof. His hands were working on autopilot as his mind stayed focused on Emily Heart, the Orange Man with the exploding briefcase, and how he was going to handle his old Marine buddy, Detective Alison.

  Two faint pops echoed through the still, night air, spaced over a couple of seconds, coming from a few blocks south. His military training kicked in automatically, trying to assess the situation.

  Weapon: .22 caliber pistol. Range: five thousand feet. Threat level: zero.

  “Fuckin’ gangstas,” Miller said to the darkness, speaking with the same street-thug accent he assumed they’d use. “I hope they shoot their balls off.”

  He lifted and peeled a purposely loose section of the sheeting away, allowing him to walk into his house through the makeshift plastic door. His cell phone buzzed on the kitchen table. He picked it up and checked the display: Alison. He swiped his thumb across the screen.

  “Alice, this better be good. I’m trying to get my beauty rest.”

  “Yeah, bullshit, Millsy. I know you’re always up past midnight. Just calling to give you the heads-up. You’ve been cleared in the Fourth Street shootings. Investigation just wrapped up this afternoon.”

  “Oh yeah? Good to hear.”

  Miller was dubious. Not about the investigation—he knew he was going to be cleared for the incident, partially because he agreed not to sue the department over being shot himself, since the insurance company’s compensation check for personal pain and suffering was going to be substantial—but also because the shootings were one hundred percent clean.

  He was questioning why Alice was calling him in the middle of the night when they had a meeting already planned for the next day.

  “Couldn’t it wait ‘til tomorrow, Alice? You still comin’ by the restaurant?”

  “Yes, it could have. But I just found out and knew you’d be up. Wanted you to rest easy about it, my friend. And yeah, I’m still coming by, but it can’t be in the morning. We have to push it back to tomorrow night. Late. That work?”

  “Sure. I’ll already be there helping the new manager close up for the night. Come around back around eleven. The door will be unlocked. I’ll be in the dining room, probably taking a nap since you’re keeping me up all night,” Jim said with a sharp tongue, hearing a faint buzzing coming through the receiver.

  “Listen, bud. I got another call coming in. It’s the chief. Gotta go. See ya mañana.”

  Alison disconnected and Miller put his phone on the kitchen table. Alice was trying to tell him something with the unnecessary late-night call. There was something behind his words, but Jim couldn’t put his finger on it. If the investigation wrapped up this afternoon, why did Alison wait to call him so late?

  Miller couldn’t decide whether the call was about reassurance, or some type of warning. He pondered the two options as he got ready to hit the sack.

  * * *

  With Derek’s help, Emily ran several blocks north, then they turned west, putting plenty of distance between themselves and the incident with Big Mike. Emily stopped and leaned against the brick wall of an alley to catch her breath. Sirens wailed to the south, heading away from them, toward the east. She assumed they were responding to a call about a body lying dead next to a high-rise.

  “Derek, I just remembered something. I promised my friend Junie I’d come see her at the shelter tonight. I totally forgot about it. Will you walk me there before you head back? She’d be really disappointed if I didn’t show up.”

  “Sure. I think we’re okay. Probably don’t need to sneak around the alleys anymore since it appears we lost them. That’s assuming they were even chasing us. Plus, the cops will be busy for a while trying to figure out the flab on the slab.”

  She laughed, then turned serious. “They were chasing us. You can’t fling their boss from a twenty-story building and not expect to be hunted down like a dog.”

  “Woof!” he barked, trying to sound like a canine.

  “You’re cute, but that’s not funny. I almost died tonight, and all you wanna do is make jokes?”

  “Sorry,” he said with sad, puppy dog eyes. “You know I’m just messing around. Trying to lighten the mood a bit. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

  She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for coming to rescue me.”

  “Except, I was a few minutes late.”

  “You were right on time, sweetie. Right when I needed you most. Except for the tripping me part.”

  He laughed. “You totally missed that landing, babe. The Russian judge awards a score of 3.4 for failure to dismount.”

  “Shut up,” she said, slapping him playfully on the arm. “You’re lucky I’m tough.”

  “You’re no girly girl, that’s for sure. Though I should probably steal you a hairbrush.”

  She let out a short squeal, realizing what he was talking about. Her fingers became a comb, frantically trying to style the mop on her head. “Oh my God. My hair. It must look awful. How embarrassing. Don’t even look at me. I’m a mess.”

  “Honestly, it’s not that bad. I still think you’re hot.”

  “More like a hot mess.”

  “A wicked, hot mess. Just the way I like ‘em.”

  “Then you’re totally blind.”

  He didn’t respond, and that made her feel even more self-conscious than she already was, but she let it go. There was nothing she could do about it, for now anyway.

  They walked the rest of the way to the shelter, then stood on the sidewalk across the street, staring at each other.

  “I don’t want to say goodnight,” Derek said in a crisp tone. “Last time I did that, a blob bought the farm.”

  “Me either. But you need to honor your commitment for early release. One of us needs to try to act normal, and we both know that’s not me.”

  He nodded, wrapping his arms around her, pulling her in for a hug.

  “I’ll be okay tonight. I mean, how many times does a girl have to face a life-or-death crisis on the same day? I think I’m over my limit, don’t you?”

  “No doubt.”

  She gave him a short kiss then pulled back, knowing he wanted more. She took his hand and led him to a bench sitting in front of a rock retaining wall bordering the children’s play park across the street from the shelter.

  “Please don’t be mad at me,” she said, feeling awful for denying him.

  “About what?”

  “When I push you away, it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because I do want to. Very much. Does that make sense?”

  “I’m okay with slow, Em. I do want to figure this out. How to like . . . be with you without the other stuff happening. But with me in school and chained to a curfew, and you . . . with your . . . situation, how are we going to make this work?

  “I have no
idea. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve always wanted to say this: shut up and kiss me!”

  He did as she asked, but kept it short. Emily stared into his beautiful eyes, wondering how they could ever have a future together, given the crazy circumstances of her life. How can someone who jumps through time have a boyfriend or ever be in love? Why would that same boy want to be with a homeless girl like her? He could have any girl he wanted, so why her? Why take on all the drama and grief? He didn’t have to. He should just run away. Get as far away from her as possible. She was nothing but trouble.

  “What’s wrong?” Derek asked.

  Her lips were trembling and pressure was squeezing her heart. “I hate my life. I hate all of it. I hate what they did to me. Someday, somehow, I will find them and make them pay for what they’ve done to me. And to my mom. And to you. For all of it.”

  He gave her a tender smile, leaned in, and put his forehead against hers. She wanted more. So much more, but she held back. She didn’t have a choice. She started to cry.

  “It’ll be okay, Em. We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

  She had more to say to him but her voice became a stuttering, emotional mess. “It’s . . . just . . . not . . . fair. I want to . . . kiss you so bad, but I really can’t . . . This totally sucks,” she said, as the tears turned into a flash flood, flowing out of her like a dam breaking. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

  “Yes, you can. You’re strong. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met. Way stronger than me, or Jim, or anyone else on this planet. What you’re going through is way more than anyone should ever have to deal with, ever.”

  Derek wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly, not saying another word. He just let her cry into his chest, and cry she did. She cried for her. For her mom. For everyone she’d ever hurt, and for everyone whom she was going to hurt in the future. This wasn’t over. She knew that. There was more coming. She could sense it when she was alone—curious eyes focused on her, like someone was evaluating, stalking. planning. It was only the hint of a feeling, but it was always there. Hiding in the darkest shadows, just beyond her reach. She couldn’t lock onto it or identify its source or intent, but somehow she knew. It was real. Someone was there, waiting for her.