Revolution in Time (Out of Time #10)

by Monique Martin

  What was left of a wall engulfed in flames collapsed to his right and fell into a pile of embers and ash. It seemed to knock something loose inside him, and he looked around at the house, seeing it as it was for the first time.

  There was no life here. Only death.

  Jack caught his arm again, and this time, Simon didn’t fight. The truth had made him numb. He could barely think the words, but once he did they rang out in endless succession. Elizabeth was dead. Elizabeth was dead. Elizabeth was dead.

  Jack led him away from the flames as another small explosion destroyed what was left of the east wall.

  Simon let him. His legs weren’t his own. His mind and body weren’t his own. This wasn’t happening.

  They stood in front of the wreckage of the house, of his life, but Simon refused to accept it.

  He repeated over and over, no, no, no.

  Next to him he heard Wells speak in a hoarse voice. “I’m sorry.”

  Simon fell to his knees and cried out in anguish. It was a sound torn from his very soul.

  ~~~

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Simon looked up at the nurse, but like everyone else, everything else, he didn’t really see her. He was lost inside his own mind, unable to latch onto anything, unable to hold a coherent thought, unable to feel the needle or the stitches or anything at all.

  The bloody bit of wood that had struck him sat alone on a metal tray. He looked down at the gash in his forearm. His skin was now pulled tightly against itself, closing the wound. All of it held together with thin, black thread. Spiky bits of thread poked out like spider legs. Sewn up tight. But nothing was holding him together on the inside. His whole body was on fire and frozen cold at the same time.

  How could she be gone?

  It couldn’t be real. He’d had nightmares like this. Surely, this was just another nightmare, and he’d wake with a start and find her next to him.

  “The doctor will be in again in a few minutes.”

  Simon nodded slowly, some sort of reflex.

  The nurse touched his arm. “I’m so sorry.”

  She had said it again. They’d all said it. The firemen, the police. But the words didn’t make sense. He could feel something just beyond his reach, like a thought in his peripheral vision, but he couldn’t grasp it. Why couldn’t he hold it?

  “A few minutes,” he said to himself although he didn’t know why.

  He glanced up at the clock on the wall. Six thirty. Was it day or night? Did it matter? How could anything possibly matter again?

  He stared at the second hand as it slowly ticked forward. The world turning outside, time passing.

  And suddenly he saw. He saw the way to save her.

  His heart lurched in his chest and his breath caught in his throat. He could go back in time and save her.

  The room, everything, came into sharp focus. He was two hours from home. Two hours from the watch. Two hours from her.

  He pushed himself off the examination table and felt the stitches strain against his muscles as they flexed. He rolled his sleeve down to cover the bandage and started for the door.

  Someone called out to him to stop, but he ignored them. Nothing would stop him now. He strode past the nurse who tried to get in his way and then ran. He ran down the corridor and out the front door. Someone shuffled their way inside as he went out.

  He grabbed onto their arm. “A cab. Where can I find a cab?”

  The elderly man looked at him in surprise and then glanced to the right. “Over there, I think.”

  Simon let go and headed toward the corner of the emergency entrance and the street. A yellow cab sat waiting at the curb, its driver leaning against the hood, smoking a cigarette.

  “Santa Barbara!” Simon called out. “And fast.”

  “Simon!”

  He turned around to see Wells chasing after him.

  The driver frowned and shook his head. “Too far.”

  “Get in the damn car,” Simon said as he grabbed the man by the shirtfront.

  “Cross!”

  Wells pried him off the driver.

  “What the hell?” the man said, tugging his shirt back into place.

  “It’s all right,” Wells said. “Sorry.”

  Simon wrenched his arm out of Wells’ grasp. “Stay out of my way.”

  “Look, I know what you’re thinking.”

  “If you do, then you’ll damn well stay out of my way.”

  Wells looked at him with pity, and Simon wanted to put his fist through his face.

  “The watches don’t work,” Wells said. “The new Council leadership froze them all.”

  “I’ll make it work.”

  Wells looked ready to argue the point, to tell him it was madness, but Simon would not be swayed. He could save her. He would save her.

  Finally, Wells nodded. “All right. My car’s over there.”

  Simon held out his hands for the keys, but Wells shook his head. “I’ll drive.”

  Simon took the stairs two at a time and raced toward their bedroom. He grabbed the mahogany box off the shelf and pulled out the watch. If only he had the damn key.

  Knowing it was destined to fail, but trying anyway, he set the date and location, then pulled on the stem. For a split second, he hoped that somehow it would work, even without an eclipse, that somehow it would take him back to her. But there was no blue light. The world didn’t stop.

  He glared down at it then clenched it in his fist and turned to leave. Wells stood in the doorway to the bedroom. “They might not help us, you know.”

  Simon didn’t care. He knew the Council leadership had changed. But none of that mattered. Whoever they were, he would make them see. “They will.”

  He forced his way past security and down into Council headquarters. More security was waiting for him when the elevator doors opened. His watch clutched tightly in his hand, Simon started for Travers’ office. Two very large men stood in his way.

  “I need to see Travers,” Simon said, managing, barely, to control his rage. “Now.”

  The two guards looked at each other. One stepped forward and Simon raised his hands ready to fight. Next to him, Wells did the same.

  “There’s no need for that.”

  A tall, balding man in his early fifties stepped out into the foyer behind the guards. His voice, his bearing, everything about him was British. Surely, Simon could make him understand.

  “It’s all right,” he told the two large men, who took a pace backward. He stepped toward Simon, buttoning the middle button of his pinstripe suit jacket as he did. He held out his hand to shake. “Mr. Cross, I’m George Hawkins.”

  “I need the watches turned back on. Where’s Travers?”

  Hawkins nodded toward one of the guards who set off, presumably to find Travers; then he held his hands in front of him in a placating gesture. “I understand you’re upset.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m the new director.”

  “The new …?” Simon should have paid more attention to what Wells had said, but it hardly mattered now. “Then you can turn them on.”

  Without an eclipse, Simon would have to use the Council’s chamber to leave, but he’d have the watch to return with. He started toward the hall that housed the chamber, but the remaining guard stepped into his path.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Hawkins said.

  Simon turned back and glared at him. “I don’t think you understand. My wife—”

  “Is dead.”

  The words, the flat way he said them, made them truer than they’d seemed before, and Simon flinched. Next to him, he felt Wells move a little closer.

  It had only been a few hours. “How do you know that?”

  Hawkins clasped his hands in front him. “It’s our job to know, isn’t it? Past, present, future. It’s a tragedy, but—”

  Simon strode toward him, but the big meaty hand of the guard on his chest stopped him in mid-step. The tethers to Si
mon’s emotions frayed by the second. He struggled to keep control of them. As much as he hated the Council, as much as he wanted to wipe that sanctimonious expression off Hawkins’ face, he needed them both.

  Simon took a breath. “This can be fixed. Isn’t that what the Council does?”

  Hawkins bowed his head in agreement. “It is.” He arched an eyebrow. “This, however unfortunate, was meant to be, I’m afraid.”

  Simon shook his head and refused to even consider the possibility. “No. You’re lying.”

  “I wish I were. Sincerely.”

  Suddenly, a horrible thought occurred to Simon, and he wondered why he hadn’t considered it before. “Did you do this?”

  Hawkins frowned and Simon took a small step closer.

  He’d never trusted the Council. “Did you kill her?”

  “No.”

  Simon turned to see Travers and the other guard. His face was white and drawn as he approached.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  Simon felt off-balance, his head swam with anger and fear.

  “It was a horrible, horrible accident,” Travers said. “Gas, they said.”

  “Then turn on the watches, let me go back. Let me undo this.” It was half plea, half demand.

  Travers looked at him sadly, his eyes bright with emotion. His voice broke some as he spoke. “Some things cannot be undone.”

  Simon shook his head. “No.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  He reached out to put a comforting hand on Simon’s arm, but Simon shrugged him off. “Stop being sorry and turn on the damn watch.”

  Travers looked to Wells for help, understanding. “If I could …”

  Simon shook his head. They were not going to stop him. He had a way to save her in the palm of his hand. He was going to use it.

  He started toward the chamber, but the guard blocked his path.

  “Get out. Of. My way.”

  “Mr. Cross, please,” Hawkins said.

  “Get out. Of my way.”

  The guard didn’t budge, and Simon threw a quick punch that landed squarely on his jaw. He stumbled back and Simon rushed forward. The other guard grabbed him from behind.

  “Simon!” Jack called out as the two struggled.

  “Let go of me!”

  Simon spun around and hit the second guard, but he didn’t go down. He grabbed onto Simon’s other arm, knocking the watch out of his hand. It fell to the floor.

  Simon shoved the guard out of the way and tried to escape down the hall. He would use the chamber without it. He would stay back in time forever if he could be with her.

  He’d barely gone two steps when they grabbed him. One of them wrapped their arm around his neck. Simon clawed at his arm as it pressed against his windpipe. He had to get to her.

  He pulled at the guard’s arm with all of his might, but it wasn’t enough. The darkness came slowly and then, finally, it swallowed him whole.

  Chapter Nine

  HER BRAIN HURT. AS she slowly came awake, Elizabeth realized her whole body hurt a little. It felt stiff and tired. What had happened?

  Was she hurt? She pressed her hand to her stomach and tried to clear her mind, to think of nothing but the baby. Her heart raced then slowed as she realized she was okay and Charlotte was all right.

  She pushed out a relieved breath and opened her eyes. Her head swam as she tried to make sense of things.

  Where was she?

  The last thing she remembered was being in the cabin waiting for Jack and Simon to get back from the market. There’d been a noise upstairs and she’d gone to investigate. Something had fallen off a small bookcase near the window. The wind must have blown the curtain against it and knocked it off. She hadn’t remembered opening the window, but maybe Simon had.

  Simon. She sat up, looking around the room for him as she tried to sort everything out. He wasn’t there. Her head throbbed mercilessly.

  She remembered seeing him walking up the drive and then … and then someone touched her arm and she’d turned. She could almost remember the person’s face, but the memory kept slipping away.

  She couldn’t remember anything after that. And she’d woken up here. Wherever here was.

  She slid her feet off the bed and stood. Her legs were a little wobbly at first, but the dead feeling in them went away quickly. Her head began to clear.

  A single oil lamp burning on the dresser next to the bed illuminated the dark room. Nestled at its base was a small nosegay of familiar deep blue flowers.

  She glanced around the room. She’d seen this room. She’d been in this room before.

  She hurried to the window to look out, knowing what she’d see before she saw it. Lit by a large half-moon, she saw the expanse of sloping lawn, shade trees and garden, and Teddy’s enormous barn. She saw a glimmer of light coming from one of its windows.

  None of this made sense. She wasn’t even sure if she was dreaming or not. But if there were answers to be had, she’d lay even money that she’d find them in that barn.

  Moving cautiously because her world was still one giant box of what the hell, she made her way downstairs. The house was quiet and the floorboards creaked, but no one came to investigate and no one answered when she worked up the nerve and managed a quiet ‘hello.’

  She went outside and started across the lawn. It was wet with evening dew that glistened in the moonlight. Little fairy-like lights flashed on and off at the edge of the woods, and a great horned owl hooted softly above.

  She reached the edge of the barn. The “danger” sign made her think of Simon again. Where was he?

  Swallowing down her fear, she eased open the inset barn door. The hinges squeaked loudly and she winced, but she kept on.

  There was a single overhead light burning at the far side of the barn. Teddy’s machine was still there. Carefully, she made her way around it. Both doors to the cellar were open, inviting her in. She walked over to them and saw the edge of the wooden steps leading down into darkness. She could hear Simon’s voice in her head telling her not to be silly; there was uranium stored there.

  But there were answers down there as well, and she needed them.

  She held onto the edges of the doorway and slowly made her way down the steps. She reached out into the darkness and felt a wooden handrail. She clutched it as she walked down further into the cellar.

  She reached the bottom of the stairs and her eyes adjusted. There was a short hallway then another door. This one was cold and metal. She opened it slowly and stepped inside.

  “What the …?”

  She’d been here before, too. Except it hadn’t been here then, it had been in San Francisco. Teddy’s laboratory. Somehow, beneath the barn, he’d built a replica of his enormous mad scientist laboratory, complete with Tesla coils and Faraday cage.

  A small man sat on a stool at a tall drafting table.

  “Teddy?”

  He turned and grinned up at her. “You’re awake.”

  He jumped off the stool and came toward the bottom of the stairs. “I know your head hurts. Feel achy? It’ll pass. The machine affects different people differently. Which makes sense since they’re different people.”

  Elizabeth continued down the stairs, still confused.

  “Do you want some water? I could get you some water?”

  She shook her head, still confused, still trying to process. She looked around the room, taking it all in, searching for anything that would tell her … something.

  The lab wasn’t exactly the same as it had been in San Francisco. The Faraday cage was considerably bigger, and there were large cables attached to it now. But Teddy was the same. He hadn’t aged a day since she’d last seen him.

  “What happened?” she asked. “Where’s Simon?”

  Before Teddy could answer, a loud voice bellowed from the top of the stairs. “She is gone. I told you, we should lock the—”

  “Victor?”

  He glared down at her with an expression of both relief and
disgust that was so very French. “I should have known.”

  She saw it now, as clear as it had happened. Victor had been the one who’d grabbed her by the window. It was all still a little blurry. She hadn’t seen Victor since they’d been sent together on that mission to save Jack the Ripper. Now, he was here?

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  He came down the stairs and glared at Teddy, who merely shrugged. Elizabeth looked from one to the other.

  “Someone better tell me what’s going on. Where’s Simon?”

  Victor’s expression darkened.

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Is he all right? What’s going on?”

  Victor frowned. “He is unharmed, but I can assure you, he is far from all right.”

  ~~~

  Jack leaned against the doorway and watched Simon. He’d woken up shortly after they’d been escorted out of Council headquarters and hadn’t said a word since. That was over six hours ago.

  Jack had managed to bring him home, but Simon was little more than a shell of a man. He walked; he sat; he stared.

  “You should try to get some sleep.”

  No response.

  Jack could only imagine the anguish Simon was feeling. And he was the cause of it. It took everything in him not to tell Cross the truth, but then it all would have been for nothing. Just a few more days, he told himself. Just a few more days of watching his best friend wish he was dead.

  When Travers had told him the plan, Jack had balked. Simon lived and breathed for Elizabeth. Losing her would kill him. It would be worse than killing him.

  But in the end, Jack had relented and agreed to the plan. It seemed the only way to save Elizabeth and Charlotte.

  It was an incredibly complex execution of events; they had to kill Elizabeth before the Council did. And the only way to convince them that she was really dead was sitting lost in an endless mire of grief on the sofa in front of him. No one could pretend that level of grief. It appeared real to the Council because it was. And so far, they seemed to believe Elizabeth was truly gone. They’d be watching, though. And so the play had to continue. And Simon had to suffer.