Borrowed Time

by Keith Hughes

  The first half of the trip terrified him, as he had to constantly fight a tendency to pitch forward. Keeping a tenuous grip on his balance, he tried not to contemplate the result of submitting to gravity’s call. The trip ascending the opposite slope presented its own perils, a steeper gauntlet, where he dared not stop for fear he would slide to the bottom. Once he arrived at the top, Ness collapsed and lay panting for long minutes until his lungs no longer complained of oxygen starvation. Only then did he lurch to his feet, his muscles protesting their overuse.

  “This has to be the right place.”

  A vast uncertainty undermined Ness’s affirmation. If he failed to find the doctor’s residence this way, he would have to brave the streets. Moving cautiously through the trees, he finally spotted the backyard of his friend’s house. After making sure none of the Things were within sight, Ness stepped out onto the lawn. He did his best to ignore the sense of utter exposure and of being in more danger than he had at any point in his life. He jogged to the back of the house, tensely anticipating a gunshot with every step.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Picture Show

  Wednesday, September 10, 2008 2:14 p.m.

  Ascending the wood stairs without making excessive noise turned out to be an impossible challenge, as Ness’s clomping footfalls reverberated against the house. He stopped at the top, listening for any reaction. His ears, which had heard only his own steps seconds ago, picked up nothing. Ness realized he might be adopting some paranoid tendencies. Glenn and the boys could not anticipate his every move, but still, the sense of impending doom persisted.

  Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you.

  Ness snorted softly at how well the old joke fit his current situation. He carefully pulled on the handle of the sliding door leading to the kitchen. Though he wasn’t surprised to find it locked, he’d considered it wise to check before attempting a more difficult method.

  Keeping his clomping to a minimum, Ness left the deck and moved around the side of the house. There were a couple of windows, and Ness noticed one that remained slightly ajar. Recalling the floor plan, Ness surmised it led to the bathroom. He had to jump and grab the windowsill before he could use one hand to slide the small pane fully open. It would be a tight fit, but Ness pulled himself to the sill and slithered through the opening.

  Ness landed heavily on the thankfully closed lid of the toilet and slid sideways, toppling the metal toilet paper holder. It clanged to the floor loudly as rolls bounced away. Ness found himself on his back with his legs over his head, and he flailed like an upended turtle before finally being able to turn over. It fell short of the controlled, slinky entrance Ness had envisioned.

  If anyone is in the house, they’ll come running to check out this ruckus.

  He paused to listen for the sounds of footsteps or anything else indicating someone in the residence, but he heard nothing. He quietly righted the holder and returned the rolls of toilet paper. He could do nothing for the plastic toilet lid, which had a fresh crack along the middle. He pulled the window mostly closed.

  Who knows? I might need to come back later.

  Creeping into the hall caused more gut clenching, as he half expected to discover Glenn or his thugs lying in wait, but no one leaped out to capture him. A quick check of the house confirmed his solitude, and no one appeared to be standing guard when he snuck a peek out the front door’s small window. The solemn rhythm of the grandfather clock in the foyer provided the only other sound as he moved through the rooms.

  Dr. Bertrand had said the second time machine was in his office, a room Ness had never visited, although he had passed it often. The small room had little in the way of features, only a single window on one wall. A desk made of dark wood with an aura of permanence held court in the center, as if the room had been built around it. A vast array of framed photographs populated the wall behind, as if frantic to cover as much of the otherwise-blank space as possible.

  Ness quickly went through the desk drawers, but the second device had not been stored in such an obvious location. He checked for false bottoms and even looked to confirm the PDA had not been taped to the underside.

  The other one is hidden in my house, safe in a place which should have meaning only to you, Ness remembered his friend saying.

  As he frowned over those words, his attention wandered to the wall of pictures. Taken as a whole, the wall contained a veritable Who’s Who of Michigan luminaries and political leaders. He saw film stars, county executives, senators, members of Congress, and business leaders, all smiling at the camera and shaking Dr. Bertrand’s hand.

  One face in the collection of the distinguished and noteworthy came as a complete surprise: his own. Nonetheless, an image of the doctor shaking Ness’s hand after his graduation lay at the center of this spiderweb of photographs. In the photo, he clutched a fake diploma rolled like a scroll in one hand, grinning absurdly.

  Ness remembered that day. The ceremony had taken place in the fieldhouse, from which everything athletic had been removed to be replaced by bleachers and folding chairs. He had not been in the building since his disastrous episode with Angie. The occasion of graduating had been a happy one, but a seed of bitter frustration in his soul tempered his celebratory mood.

  The doctor’s wife had taken the shot after the ceremony, and she already exhibited the effects of the cancer that would claim her life not long after. At the time, Ness could see her hands had a slight shake as she held the camera, contributing to the photo’s slightly out-of-focus nature, on par with the awkward framing. Frankly, Ness was surprised by the doctor’s choice, because several other photographs they had taken over the years had come out much better.

  Ness couldn’t suppress a smirk at the doctor’s machinations. Anyone else who looked over this wall would question the inclusion of the skinny college kid among all these important people. Undoubtedly that had been Dr. Bertrand’s intention, outwardly the eccentric action of a lonely old man. Ness inspected the frame and noticed the glint of metal underneath one side of the wooden border. He gripped the opposite side of the picture and pulled. He briefly met some resistance, but with a little effort, he swung the hinged frame open. With the picture out of the way, Ness could see the doctor had created a hidden space within the wall.

  Ness looked eagerly into the opening, then his heart plummeted. The hidey-hole held absolutely nothing. Dr. Bertrand’s second time machine had already been taken.

  Dammit!

  Ness glared inside the bare cubbyhole, restraining a desire to punch the wall. After climbing the valley walls, he felt cheated. He placed his hands on either side of the hole as he tried to process his aggravation. It took him a few seconds to notice something irregular under his right palm where his hand pressed against the back of the picture frame. He saw only the cardboard backing of the frame, but it concealed something between it and the picture.

  He removed the back and found a small brass key taped to the inside. He probed inside the secret compartment, searching with his fingertips for a keyhole. All the surfaces were solid metal with no indication of any kind of slot. But when he pressed on the underside of the top panel, it gave slightly.

  Kneeling, Ness peered at the top of the cubby and tried to make out details with the small amount of light making its way inside. He could barely see the keyhole set into the top. He probed again, but his fingertips only felt an unbroken surface. It had a different texture, though, more like plastic.

  There must be some sort of cover.

  He grabbed a butter knife from the kitchen then slid it along the side of the hole. The blade slipped into a gap along the edge. Its tip stopped with a metallic click when it encountered another hard surface. Using the knife as a lever, he pried loose the edge of a clear plastic plate then pulled it free. Exploring along the top with his fingertips, he quickly found the opening for the lock and slid the key into the hidden slot and turned it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Unin
vited Guests

  Wednesday, September 10, 2008 3:49 p.m.

  When the lock disengaged, Ness could sense the weight of the door pressing against his hand. As he pulled it out of the cubby, the unlocked panel at the top swung free, and several items fell to the bottom with a metallic clatter. The gun, its black metal gleaming with restrained violence, came as a surprise to Ness, but he took the weapon out of the cubby first.

  It seemed like a dire intruder in the benign environment of the doctor’s house. He ejected the clip and verified it was full. Ness pulled the slide back, and a bullet soared from the ejection port. Apparently, his mentor had loaded a round in the chamber for immediate use, and with the two full spare clips lying in the cubby, it provided a surprising amount of firepower.

  “Wow, Doc,” Ness muttered.

  They had never discussed owning guns, but Ness imagined the doctor as more of a pacifist than a gun-toting Buckaroo Banzai. Perhaps Ness had projected his own preferences upon his friend. He defined “shooting” as something he did with his camera, but the doctor apparently did not share the same predisposition. With a resigned grimace, he replaced the ejected bullet in the clip before reinserting it and chambering another round. After making sure he had the safety engaged, he tucked the gun into his waistband. The spare clip he placed in his hoodie pocket.

  One more item lay in the hole. Ness’s heart raced. A PDA lay facedown. Turning it over brought more disappointment—a yellow sticky note attached to the front read Decoy. He turned it on and confirmed the accuracy of the label. It held nothing of the doctor’s genius, but thinking it might come in handy, he slipped it into his pocket. He searched inside the space the locked door had protected and found it empty.

  Only as he prepared to leave did Ness notice the muffled beeping from his PDA, the true time machine. He pulled it out to see a notification that another device was approaching, only about a half mile away.

  There’s my confirmation Glenn or Paul has the second device. But where and when did they get it?

  The front door suddenly closed, startling Ness. Someone had been outside watching, after all, and whoever had the other PDA must have alerted the guard. Ness stood to one side of the office entrance, gripping the gun in his sweaty palm. He had the barrel pointed right where one of the Things would undoubtedly appear any second.

  Could I pull the trigger on another human being? The idea gave him a queasy sensation. Ness reversed his grip to hold the weapon by the barrel.

  The tip of another firearm entering the room provided the only warning before the bulk of Thing One entered, his weapon and attention trained on the space behind the desk. Ness swung his weapon in a descending arc, and the hard handle of the gun impacted the thug’s head. He fell to his knees, his gun dropping with a thunk to the hardwood floor.

  “Wha…” Thing One moaned, but Ness delivered a second blow with his gun-turned-club. The goon collapsed heavily to the floor. His gun skittered away.

  It looks so easy when they do it on TV. He shook out his hand to relieve the ache from his tight grip on the gun.

  Only as he returned his weapon to his waistband did Ness remember he had not even released the safety. Regardless of this newbie faux pas, Ness could not help imagining himself as an action hero when he retrieved Thing One’s gun from where it had fallen.

  “Yippie kai yay!” He grinned. The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway cut short his amusement.

  Glenn.

  Ness knew his life would be measured in seconds if he didn’t get out of the house. The front door would obviously be suicide, so he left the office and headed toward the back. He unlocked the sliding door, all too aware how visible he would be to anyone who came in the front door. Pulling it aside, he stepped out and quickly shut it again. It made far too much noise, but maybe Glenn would assume he’d gone out the bathroom window. He vaulted over the deck railing and ran toward the woods lining the back of Dr. Bertrand’s property. He clung to the illusion that he had reached safety as he went deeper into the concealment provided by trunks and branches.

  * * *

  The complete absence of activity at Bertrand’s house made Glenn scowl. Granted, Mays might have still been searching inside for Relevont, but his gut knew something had gone awry. He tried to call again, but it went unanswered. Williams parked the car near the front door and regarded Glenn with a raised eyebrow.

  Glenn responded with a shake of his head. “Wait here.”

  Getting out of the car, Glenn listened to the ordinary sounds of birds and distant traffic before quietly shutting his door and ascending the porch stairs. He tried the front door and found it unlocked. Pausing to get his gun in his hand, Glenn cautiously stepped inside. He closed the door behind him and stood still for a few seconds. The sliding door at the far end appeared closed, and the persistent ticking of the monstrously large clock masked any other sounds. But two legs protruded from the doorway to the scientist’s office.

  Glenn stepped along the hall, muting his steps in case Relevont was waiting in ambush. He entered the space cautiously but found only Mays, lying unconscious on the floor. He paused long enough to see the gentle movement of Mays’s chest then stepped over him to investigate the open hole in the wall. A clear plastic plate lay on the floor, and he looked into the cubbyhole to see the trapdoor hanging open.

  What did the old fool have concealed in there?

  Looking around the room, he noticed Mays’s weapon was missing, the second he’d lost in as many days. Two large lumps were obvious on the back of his scalp. Glenn shook his head in disgust and rolled Mays over roughly. A sharp slap to the face brought the idiot slowly back to consciousness.

  “Who hit you? Was it Relevont?”

  Clearly still befuddled from this latest blow, the thug shook his head. “Dunno. I never saw him.”

  Glenn growled and aimed his weapon at Mays. “I’m tired of dealing with your failure.”

  Raising one hand in supplication, Mays pleaded, “Wait—” The impact of a bullet in his brain prevented him from finishing.

  Holstering his weapon, Glenn shook his head in disgust.

  “Boss?” Williams called from the front door.

  Glenn stepped into the hallway, and the black man lowered his weapon. Slipping the PDA out of his pocket, he looked at the tracking display. Relevont was still less than a half mile away. Based on the direction indicated by the tracker, he had run out the back of the house. Striding to the back of the house, Glenn inspected the sliding door. It was unlocked.

  “Get the car out of here in case the gunshot draws the police. On second thought, ditch the car and get a new one. I’ll call you for pickup in a few minutes.”

  “Where will you be?”

  “Hunting.” Glenn followed his prey into the back yard.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Catching a Train

  Wednesday, September 10, 2008 4:22 p.m.

  Ness swore he could hear gravity chuckling with evil delight as he descended the steep hill far faster than prudence suggested. One wrong step or inopportune shift in weight, and the primal force would drag him gleefully to the bottom in a tangle of broken limbs and other injuries. He had no doubt, though, that if Glenn caught him, the result would be just as deadly.

  The repetitive beeping from his jeans pocket provided an unwanted distraction that threatened to pull his attention away from the perilous slope. His PDA was still tracking Glenn’s, which meant the killer’s device could do the same. He wondered if just turning off the PDA would be enough to disable the tracking, but he didn’t want to risk dropping the device should he take it out of his pocket. Also, he didn’t know for certain that taking the time to turn it off would disable the other PDA’s ability to track him. Getting out of range as fast as possible remained his best hope for survival. Given that he was approaching a flat area lined with railroad tracks without easy access to other forms of transportation, Ness lacked any idea of how he could accomplish this feat.

  T
he gunshot he heard from the top of the hill disturbed him, and Ness tried to ignore its implications. Instead, he concentrated on his descent, carefully looking for stable places to put his next step as he avoided vines and roots poised to snag his toes.

  Ness had been so focused on making it to the bottom of the hill safely that he was surprised when the slope leveled out. Finally able to actually run instead of the barely controlled fall he used on the steeper portion, he hoped he could put some distance between them. Now on firm footing, he looked over his shoulder, and his hopes were quashed by the sight of a man in a gray suit about a quarter of the way down the incline. Sunlight glinted off the gun in his right hand.

  “Damn,” Ness swore quietly, even though the service road allowed him to gain some speed. Another bridge lay about a mile ahead, spanning another of Bloomfield Hills’s trendy streets. If he could make it back to street level, he might be able to get away. He would be close to Woodward Avenue again, so if his luck held, a bus might be an option.

  Another glance over his shoulder showed Glenn had successfully navigated the hazardous incline and was running along the rutted service road.

  Why couldn’t my enemy have terrible balance? Ness grumbled to himself.

  He could have used the extra time such a fall would have provided him. Ness wasn’t out of shape by most any measure, but his legs were complaining, while his lungs strained as if they’d shrunk to half their normal size. Glenn, on the other hand, looked as if he could run all day. The hunter shortened Ness’s lead with every step.

  The deep rumble presaging the approach of a locomotive reverberated through his body, more felt than heard. Looking over his other shoulder, he saw three lights of an engine still far behind him but coming quickly. In the space of a couple heartbeats, an idea came to him. Ness inwardly admitted it was a crazy, awful idea, but it also might be his best chance at surviving the chase with Glenn.