Chasing Time

by Elena Lawson

  “Amy—” I started but stopped before I could even start to protest. We were at a pier. And out in the water at the edge of a tunnel-like ramp was a…a yacht? I’d never seen one up close before. But it was clear the thing was simply too big to be called a boat.

  A guy waved to Amy from the top part of it. The thing had at least two floors. Maybe a third underwater, but it was hard to tell. It was sleek and white with tinted windows running in a dark stripe down one side. I could hear the soft sound of music playing from it—a top forty song that I heard constantly on the radio back home before I came here was streaming through the high-tech speakers.

  “Eric, darling!” Amy said, nearly squealing as she released my hand and ran down the ramp. It was clear Eric wasn’t the only person aboard the vessel, though. I could just make out the back of a dark-haired head, the hair styled to stick up at the top, and the collar of a worn leather jacket. The guy brought his hand down to his mouth, taking a long, deep drag of a lit cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a shimmying silver snake.

  Danger, my mind screamed. But my feet—the traitors—kept on walking, curious as I followed Amy onto the yacht and through a beautiful mahogany, leather, and deep crimson living area, and then up a flight of stairs and passed what looked like a couple of bedrooms. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I was walking through a house, not a boat.

  This guy must be rich. Like, really rich.

  How the hell did crumpled-up-fives-and-tens-Amy know this guy? She stopped just short of what I assumed was the door that was going to lead us up and out to the top deck and turned to me. “My last name is Pennington,” she said.

  I scrunched up my face, confused. “No, it’s not. It’s Harkness.”

  She gave me a pointed look, and I noticed the tip of her black wing on one eye was smudged. “It’s. Pennington,” she repeated. “And I’m an heiress.”

  Wow. She was lying to this guy.

  Okay…

  This was going to get interesting. If there was anything I sucked at, it was keeping my big ass mouth shut. Telling me not to say something was tantamount to putting the words in my mouth and then forcing them out with a cattle prod.

  But Amy knew that about me already. Or had she forgotten?

  She didn’t wait for me to agree before she shoved open the door and walked out, chin high, with a swagger usually reserved only for royalty.

  Yes, this was going to get very interesting.

  I followed her out, painfully aware of how I must look beside my friend. Wondering to myself if I was staggering, or if the slight sway I felt was only in my head. I really hoped it was the latter.

  “Eric,” Amy said in a sing-song voice, and took his outstretched hands, kissing both of his cheeks. I didn’t miss how he rubbed a lazy circle in the back of her hand, or how his hungry eyes all but swallowed her whole when he pulled away.

  I knew on some level that it was wrong to criticize and crucify every man I met. Hell, it was probably the reason why I hadn’t dated in so damn long—preferring relations of the no-strings-attached sort. But I couldn’t help it.

  Every time I saw a man I didn’t know, especially in this type of setting, my mind shouted predator. In this case, rich predator.

  Too many years spent fortifying yourself against potential attackers didn’t just callous your palms—it calloused something inside you, too. I knew it, and I accepted it. It was better that way than the alternative.

  I didn’t realize I had clenched my fists until the other guy—the one sitting silently on the low couch to my right, loosed a deep chuckle. “A bit tense, isn’t she?” he asked, directing the question at Amy, and then looking back at me. “Or is that jealousy?” he challenged, seeming like he almost wished he was right.

  I scowled at him. Who did he think he was? With his gelled hair and devil-may-care grin? With his pale skin, and was that dimple in his chin? My heart jumped into my throat, and my cheeks flared.

  “This is Beck,” Amy said, ignoring his chide. “A friend from America. Been friends since we were but wee lasses.”

  “Careful, doll,” Eric said, still halfway holding onto her. “Your Scottish is showing.”

  She hit him playfully. “It’s the drink,” she said in mock defense. “I need something to level me out.”

  You’d never really know Amy’s family immigrated here from Scotland when she was a baby—except when she was drunk. I remembered it from the summer we turned sixteen, too, after we’d stolen two bottles of Aunt Deb’s wine from her cellar. By the time we finished the last drop, her accent was so strong, I had to make her repeat herself every time she spoke.

  Eric jerked his head toward the guy in the leather jacket who was still staring at me—appraising me, it seemed. My skin bristled as though I could feel the touch of his gaze as it roved over me from tip to toe. “That’s what he’s here for,” Eric said. “Meet Matt.”

  Matt tipped his head, miming a tip of the brim of an imaginary hat. “A pleasure,” he said and tossed me a wink. “I haven’t got all night,” he added, speaking to Eric. “What’ll it be?”

  Amy bit her bottom lip, a hunger glossing her eyes as she drew nearer to Matt, sitting slowly down next to him on the low couch. “What’ve you got?” she asked, and my brain caught up to what my eyes were taking in.

  This was a drug deal.

  The infuriating guy with the dark eyes and leather jacket wasn’t just some friend of Eric’s who came to party with a couple girls on a big ass boat. He was Eric’s dealer.

  It wasn’t that I’d never done drugs before—I had. In my apartment, or at Kane’s. Safe places. No, it was that I was on a boat that belonged to someone I didn’t know, in a city known for digesting people, with a friend who was pretending to be someone I didn’t even recognize. This wasn’t exactly how I thought my escape would go…

  The dealer, Matt, dug into this pocket and pulled out six or seven different baggies filled with a myriad of different pills and powders. “Name it—I’ve got it,” he said.

  Amy tugged me down to sit next to her, and I almost fell from a lack of balance. She leaned into my side as Eric came to kneel in front of the little square table where Matt had deposited the drugs, the two of them starting to talk prices in bulk.

  “Stop. Thinking.” Amy rubbed the top part of my arm with her other hand, trying to help me relax. “I thought this would be fun,” she added, almost accusatory. “I thought you might enjoy some freedom.”

  We’d kept in touch enough that she knew my whole life was spent in class, studying, or in the gym. I had thrown myself into my studies to block out the pain and the questions. To forget what it was like being raised by an absent father—all the days and hours and minutes spent alone. Warming up leftover mac and cheese for dinner. Staying home to wash three loads of laundry on a Saturday night instead of going to the arcade with friends.

  Freedom was a concept I couldn’t quite wrap my head around. Did I ever have it? I couldn’t remember.

  The small taste of it I’d gotten when I finally moved out last year had been dulled by having a nagging roommate, a course load that would break even the strongest student, and a needy fuck buddy.

  Steeling myself, I leaned over, elbows on knees, and snatched up the first little baggy that caught my eye. It was filled with golden capsules. “What are these?”

  As I asked, I’d already started to pull apart the tabs, and reached inside to pull one out. I blinked, trying to clear my eyes. The…whatever it was inside the capsule seemed to writhe and twirl, as though it was filled with the finest powdered glitter and oil. But then I blinked again, and it was just a plain old capsule filled with a gold-toned powder. I shook it, and the strange effect happened again.

  I shook my head and set the baggy back down, my brows furrowed.

  “I’ve never seen that before,” Amy said, stealing the pill from my fingertips to examine it herself.

  “It’s new,” explained Matt. “He called it Drag—the guy I got it from.
Probably named for the epic hangover you’ll have in the morning. But I promise you: it’s well worth the ride. Tried some myself last night.”

  “Sold!” Eric said, and handed Matt a wad of cash. “And we’ll take some coke, too.”

  “You always do.”

  Eric laughed off Matt’s comment, handing him what looked to be an eightball’s worth, and then stood. “You know where to find me if you want more,” he said to Eric and then turned to scoop up his drugs, setting two of the golden pills down on the table before he stepped away.

  Amy had already popped hers in her mouth, downing it dry, while Eric went over to a small bar under a canopy near the front and busied himself fixing up a couple drinks.

  “’Till next time, America,” Matt whispered, a sly grin turning up one corner of his lips as he righted the collar of his jacket.

  “It’s Beck.”

  “Beck,” he repeated with a nod, and the way he said my name gave me shivers—but not the good kind. I was used to hearing my name in an accented voice. I barely noticed the British lilt anymore, no matter who was speaking. After so many summers spent here, my ears grew accustomed to it.

  Something about the way he said it, though, felt like he was tasting it. Like he was confirming a statement he already knew. It made a pit yawn open in the bottom of my stomach, and I could feel something icy and filled with dread lurking in the abyss below.

  He spun on his booted heel and left through the door we came in, and I watched him go, my fingers curling over the edge of the couch cushion. The nails bit down.

  “Here we go!” Eric said and set down three drinks atop the table. The tell-tale orange peel resting, drowned, in the bottom of the glasses of amber liquid told me they were old fashioned’s. I should have expected no less from a guy as swanky as this dude.

  Lucky for me, they were my favorite. I’d been making them for Dad and his business associates when he had them come by the house since I was fifteen. Been pouring myself one since then, too. Not that he had the time to notice.

  I reached for the glass, halting for an instant as my body rebelled against the idea of drinking something made by a stranger on a dimly lit yacht in the middle of the night. Sealing my lips, I reached a bit further and grabbed the glass he had in front of him instead.

  His gaze narrowed.

  “Yours looked better than mine,” I said offhandedly and took a slow sip.

  “Cheers!” Amy said, breaking the tepid silence as she lifted her glass into the air.

  Eric lifted both golden pills from the table and handed me one. I took it.

  He tapped the smart watch on his wrist and spoke into it, his tawny hair falling forward to cover part of his square-jawed face. “We’re ready to head out,” he told the watch, and a faint voice replied aye aye.

  Of course, he’d have a driver for this beast. My stomach lurched as I felt the yacht separate from the ramp and move into the open water of the Thames, effectively trapping me aboard.

  A sinking feeling gripped me from the inside.

  “Cheers,” Eric said, clinking his glass against Amy’s, who giggled, hungrily gulping down her drink, making sour faces as she did.

  “Cheers,” he said again, this time lifting his pill and pointing his glass in my direction.

  A chill went through me and my heart raced in my chest. Before I could change my mind, I popped the pill in my mouth. Eric did the same.

  I was on a boat with only three people. A guy who I could tell without more than a glance that I could take on even on my worst day. Amy, who was harmless. And a driver I was sure was just some hired hand. Paid to do his job and nothing else. What could possibly happen?

  We clinked glasses. I drank. Swallowed the strange golden pill.

  Eric smiled and lifted a remote to turn up the music. Amy grinned and jumped up from her seat, throwing herself at Eric—wanting to dance. I took another sip of my drink, leaning back to stare at the moon—wondering if the strange tingling in my toes was my imagination or a byproduct of Drag entering my bloodstream.

  I blew out a long breath—forcing the anxiety out with it.

  No turning back now.

  Chapter 3

  BECK

  I couldn’t be sure how long we were out on the yacht, moving swiftly through the black water. Or how long it took before Drag did its work on my mind and body.

  Before I knew it, I was dancing with Eric and Amy. Singing along to songs I only knew the chorus of. Top forty music wasn’t exactly my go-to, but the shit was everywhere. It was hard not to pick some of it up.

  My body was a live wire, shooting sparks into my blood. The boost of energy was unfathomable—intoxicating. I couldn’t explain the rush of it even if I tried. It was as though my blood was alive. Like it was singing in my veins—belting along to the quick tempo of my heartbeat. If I stopped moving… well, I couldn’t stop moving.

  I was afraid my heart would burst if I did.

  The Drag forced me onwards, upwards. Higher and higher. Making me spin and twirl. Turning my mind from the neat files and sharp angles I was used to into a gnarled forest, coated in a thick layer of shimmering fog. It was like a veil over my thoughts. A beautiful veil that could make even the ugliest thought shine like an opalescent pearl in the summer sun.

  Amy took my hands, and the feel of her skin was like silk against my calloused palms. She spun me around, and I giggled, stopped only for a second, unsteady on my feet as I bent down to take a long swallow of my drink. It was the only thing evening out the buzz of the drug running rampant through me.

  “We must have more!” Amy declared. “Get that friend of yours—Matt, was it? Yes, get him back here. He can bring more, can’t he?”

  I knew without having to ask that she was talking about Drag and not the cocaine she’d already snorted a couple lines of.

  “It’s nearly dawn,” Eric said, out of breath as he fell backwards onto the couch. “He won’t come now—too late.”

  “Awe,” Amy whined. “That’s no fun.”

  At the mention of the hour, I looked out over the murky waters of the Thames, leaning over the edge of the railing. Eric was right. The edge of the horizon—or what could be seen of it over all the buildings blocking my view—was lightening. The rising sun threw splotches of red and orange and yellow over the sky, eating away at the dark.

  Had we truly been out all night?

  Shit.

  Aunt Deb was going to kill me.

  I looked around, trying to get my bearings. Trying to calm the raucous beating of my heart in my chest and blink away the substance coating my eyes to figure out where we were. The Thames ran right through Gravesend. Maybe Eric could have the driver drop me off at one of the docks near town? Yes. That could work.

  “Hey, Eric” I said, moving to push off the railing when a loud metallic chink sent a tremor through me with the force of a lightning strike. The breath whooshed from my lungs and my stomach dropped as the round bar of metal under my fingertips gave way. My body hurtled forward and I screamed. My eyes went wide as I fell over the edge like a stone. Dropping. Dropping.

  The water rushed to greet me like a wall of shifting, squirming darkness. The impact knocked any air I had left inside of me out. A heavy, biting cold enveloped me. Swallowed me.

  Glacial hands pressed down on my windpipe. I kicked off my boots and began pushing up through the water. Or was I going down? I couldn’t tell. My body spun, and I opened my eyes to see nothing. No light. Nothing that would indicate which way was up and which way was down. My body convulsed, forcing the last dregs of oxygen from me.

  I contracted again, and this time the water came in—unbidden. I couldn’t stop it. It burned. It burned with the heat of a thousand candles—of a red-hot poker being plunged down my esophagus. I choked. Sputtered.

  The thought came swiftly, in a moment of absolute clarity… I’m drowning.

  I’m going to die.

  I flailed uselessly as the icy water dragged me down with insistent cla
ws. It’s horrific voice a deafening roar in my ears.

  Was there any sense in fighting it anymore?

  My limbs grew heavy, and I numbly watched as they floated up, hovering around me as though wooden—useless.

  My heart exploded in my chest, and I began to spin. Or was I just fading? I spun—faster and faster. My stomach threatened to heave. Why wasn’t this agony over yet? I should be dead by now.

  I wanted to be. To make the burning, the aching, the horrible spinning stop. Flashes of golden light lit the water—illuminating the specks of dirt and debris in the roiling waves.

  The sun?

  Up. That way must be up!

  But I was beyond moving. Already my eyes were shutting. A shadow closed in around the edges of my vision like spilled ink. Like when mom knocked over her inkpot and I watched the glittering black liquid seep into the parchment, covering more and more of it, spreading like the blanket of death that now tried to cover me. No one used ink and parchment anymore. No one I knew except for her. And still the smell of old paper brought with it her memory.

  I could smell it now.

  Maybe I would see her. In another place. A better place.

  The spinning stopped.

  The lights went out.

  Goodbye, world. It’s been real.

  Chapter 4

  JASPER

  I stayed in the shadows, stealthily moving over the cobbled streets. The sun crested the tips of roofs painting everything in palest pink and orange.

  Everett would be furious if he discovered I was out so close to morning. Already, the streets were cluttered with impeccably dressed merchants hurrying to start their day and scantily clad women preying on such men.

  A few of them stared at me, at my face, common courtesy seemingly no longer applying. I barely resisted the urge to fidget, to touch my cheek. Self-consciousness and something akin to fear pushed me faster, my body sticking to the shadows as I rounded the bend.

  My reflection in a store front mirror, illuminated by flickering candle flames, ensnared me. Froze me.