by Jill Cooper
So why am I so upset?
“Just be early if you can, Lara.”
The line goes dead and I’m quick to end the call as a cold shudder races up my back. I’m done with time travel and the adventures that come with it. I’m done with saving the world.
But that wormhole…sometimes it beckons. Sometimes it wants me back.
Chapter Two
It happens at the strangest of times, that beckoning—that pull to travel through time. Maybe it’s just a spilled cup of coffee ruining an outfit, but sometimes it’s more serious. Sometimes it’s because I had witnessed a car accident or I read in the paper about a little boy going missing. Sometimes the pull to time travel is so strong it blinds me with a headache.
Right or wrong, I haven’t tried to travel in time since the Rewind Agency was disbanded. Watching people suffer hurts, but I know messing around with time travel hurts more. Consequences can’t be predicted and even in those moments when I had wanted to end suffering, I had ended up causing more. The best thing I can do is turn a blind eye to it all. Even slowing things down, or speeding them up, affects things.
I’m not sure I even remember how to make it all happen again. I’m afraid to find out. Or even try.
Donovan makes life easier. His strong hands caress the small of my back as he slips my black dress up on my shoulders. Then, smooth as white chocolate, he zips me up. Standing in our penthouse suite that overlooks all of Boston, I gaze at my reflection. Our master bedroom is bigger than most apartments and the six-panel mirror reflects perfection back at me.
The dress fits like a glove. Donovan’s eyes linger on my curves as he wraps his arms tight around my waist. My hair is long, but pinned back with diamond barrettes, and my make-up is flawless. It’s every girl’s dream to live the life we do, but it is mostly Don’s, not mine. It’s given to me, borrowed. A few great investments along the way have treated him well. He’s on the cusp of amassing a small fortune and he’s not stingy with those he shares with.
His mouth hovers against my neck and I stroke my fingers through his short blond locks. When he blows against my skin, I shiver. Part of me wishes we didn’t have to go to the banquet, but Delilah’s call plays in the back of my mind, keeping my anxiety high. Donovan’s strong hand touches my chin and nudges my face close to his. As we kiss, Mr. Handsome in his tux caresses my waist. The heat between us knows no words—no bounds. My engagement ring sparkles in the mirror and reflects across his face as he spins me around.
“Let’s skip,” Donovan whispers and his lips engulf mine.
I want to give into him so badly that I nod, but then shake my head. “I can’t.” I’m breathless as I hug him and nuzzle his neck. Soon, we’ll have to go. Soon, he’ll look at me and I’ll see the displeasure on his face. There’re few things Don hates more than politicians and taxes; one of those is time travel.
“I have to speak to Delilah and I’m on the board,” I let out a long deep breath, “I have to show up at the fundraisers or else everyone might realize…I’m not as involved as I should be.”
As I had promised.
He nods, but with a faraway glint in his eye. Donovan takes my hand and squeezes it. “You do look gorgeous tonight, rock star. It’d be criminal to keep you all to myself.”
I’m still more comfortable in jeans and my converse running shoes. Donovan’s affection makes it easy as he takes my hand and leads me out of the bedroom. Out in the posh foyer, he drapes a black wrap around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “When it’s time to go, the secret word is ‘fruit dip’.”
I grin at the craziness of it all. “Afraid you’ll turn into a pumpkin if the clock strikes twelve?”
“You’re giving me too much credit. I’m afraid I’ll turn into a butternut squash.” Donovan’s joke is lame, but it makes me laugh and maybe that’s why he’d said it in the first place.
We head down to the first floor. In the elevator, he kisses me, pressing my back against the wall. I know what he wants and I want it too.
The door dings open and the doorman—in his quaint cap—gawks, and I wipe my fingers across my mouth. Sheepishly, Donovan laughs. My arm is hooked in his as he slips a few crisp bills into the man’s hand. “Sorry you had to see that.”
“No problem, Mr. James.” The doorman gets the door for us and outside a stretch limo is waiting. I scoot inside and see chilled strawberries and champagne awaiting us.
“You ever get tired of pampering me?”
Donovan clinks his glass against mine, and as I sip, the bubbles tickle my nose. “Nothing’s too good for you. Is it wrong that I want to treat my girl to life’s finest pleasures?”
“No, I just want to make sure you’re not spending too much.”
“Don’t worry,” Donovan’s dimples appear as he smiles, “with the way the investments are going, I can handle it and much more. You just have to trust me. You do trust me, don’t you, Montgomery?”
Soon, I’d be a James like him. I smile as I pop a ripe strawberry into my mouth. “With my life.”
As if there was ever any doubt.
****
The banquet is at the Hilton Warf. The harbor glistens through the windows as we stroll into the entryway. The gleaming black floor mirrors our reflections and along the ceiling, three identical chandeliers cast prisms against the wall. It’s elegance at its finest. Waitresses in professional aprons carry trays of food amongst the hordes of businessmen and police officials.
In a sea of calm, I stand on the edge of a knife. Groups of people still make me uneasy and my breathing is labored as I fight the urge to retreat into myself.
It intensifies as if my brain wants to be somewhere else.
Skipping like a faulty CD track, my heartbeat calms and regulates as Donovan takes my hand. “It’s been awhile since we’ve been here. I don’t doubt this is hard for you.”
The last time we’d been here, we’d changed time and Donovan’s mother had been arrested. Not before I’d been shot at, mind you. The entire city of Boston was one big time-travel memory. I haven’t fled the city for one simple reason—family.
“Lara Montgomery.” Marcus O’Reily, the former senator, greets me with a warm smile. When he takes my hand, he doesn’t shake it but instead, gives it a tender kiss. Donovan might have tensed up if he knew about my time travel adventures with Marcus—we had shared a passionate kiss when I time-traveled back to meet him while he was still in college. I had to make sure he’d remember me enough to wait fifteen years and do what I had asked.
And boy had he. He hadn’t just remembered me. He’d pined for me for twenty years—never marrying, never having children—changing the course of his life forever. It was just one of the many reasons why I had decided time travel was too dangerous. Once, before I’d interfered, Marcus had had children, and now he didn’t. Those people, individual humans, no longer existed because of something I had done.
“Marcus,” I gave him a tepid smile, “It’s nice to see you again.”
“You sure know how to throw a great party.” Donovan shakes his hand in greeting as I lean against him. Part of me must make Marcus understand where my future lies. Marcus might be thirty years my senior, but I know what his heart craves. I can’t afford any misunderstandings.
“Delilah spares no expense. As chairman, I just show up where I’m told. If you’ll excuse me. Lara, beautiful as ever. I’ll catch up with you at the shrimp bowl.” Marcus winks as he makes his way across the room. He’s a smooth talker, weaving away across the floor like a pro. Greasing palms, knocking elbows, all the while making it so I don’t need to do those things. I can have a normal life without the stresses of time travel regulation.
“Well,” Donovan raises his eyebrows, “Marcus never changes.”
I grin in appreciation. “He could sell ice to an Eskimo.”
Donovan and I move into the next room. The dance floor is nearly empty. Surrounded by round tables draped in white tablecloths, the floor sparkles, thanks to the disco ball ov
erhead. I place my hand in Donovan’s as he takes my hip and we move in time. My head falls to his shoulder and I gaze at his strong jaw. His face relaxes into a casual smile and it’s a profile I love. One I’ll grow old with. No woman could be happier than I am.
After a quick dance, I lock my wrists behind his head and we fall into a tender kiss. “Soon we’ll head for some fruit dip, but I’m going to go search for Delilah.”
He keeps me close and kisses my nose. Warmth spreads through me as I hurry out the service entrance. At the stairs, I climb up to the second floor. It smells like fresh carpet as I saunter down the hall. There’s a maid with a cart outside one of the rooms and she bids me a good day.
“Good evening, miss.”
I do a double take because her voice sounds familiar somehow, but there’s nothing about her that looks familiar. Funny, I knock on Delilah’s suite. When I do so, the door falls open—it wasn’t latched.
“Del?” I grip the doorframe and peer inside. I can barely hear myself think because the television is blaring so loud. That’s when I notice the blood smeared into the grain of the wood. My heart flutters as I push the door open and step inside into the compact kitchen. Hurrying along, I’m in a seating area with a sofa where a television flickers with commercials.
The volume is so loud, I squint and grab the remote to mute the television. It had been turned all the way up. Who does that?
“Delilah?” I call out urgently. I hurry into the bedroom and that’s when I see her.
My heart is in my chest at the sight of my friend crumpled on the ground. Her dress is only half-zipped and there’s a puddle of blood beneath her head as vibrant as the color of her hair. Her hands clenched tightly around the rope tied tight around her neck.
Her open, unblinking eyes are fixed on the ceiling.
She’s dead. My confidant and lifeline is dead.
Chapter Three
Check for a pulse.
“Delilah?” my voice cracks as I bend over the woman who had become my friend. My fingers tremble against her neck, but there’s no pounding, no beating. There’s only an uncomfortable stillness. Her hand is warm to the touch, and that’s when it dawns on me that whoever had done this might still be in the building.
I grab the phone by the bed and dial the front desk. “Send the police up to Delilah Chase’s room. She’s been…murdered. Seal the building.” I cringe as I say it. Who is going to listen to me? I’m not time-traveler Lara Crane anymore. I’m just a college girl, trying to live a normal life.
So why does life keep trying to push me into something I don’t want to do?
“Miss?” The receptionist sounds breathless under my orders.
“Just get the manager. Tell him there’s a murderer in his building and get the chief of police,” I huff with impatience, “He’s in your ballroom with the other attendees.”
An old feeling returns, one I had suppressed so long ago. It tells me I can do their job better than they can. I’m faster. If I can travel through time to just a few minutes earlier, to the moment before Delilah was murdered, I’ll see their face. I can stop them.
Just the mere thought of time travel puts me back into that familiar headspace. I begin to float away, pulling further into myself. My consciousness detaches from my body and I struggle to regulate my breathing. Picturing a door, I sigh. I’m coming towards it. Floating right into it.
Then nothing. It’s as if I’ve hit a damn wall. There isn’t even a headache.
I can’t do it, can I? I’m so out of practice, I’m not even sure what I’m trying to do.
“Delilah,” I whisper and stroke her hair. My eyes widen as I notice something.
Something was left in her mouth.
I glance around to make sure the police haven’t arrived. When I’m sure the coast is clear, I grab a pen from the bedside table and reach it into Delilah’s mouth. I try not to look as I fish out the golden card pressed against her tongue. A name is etched in white marker across the front in swooping cursive.
Lara.
This card was left for me. The thought that Delilah was killed to get to me…. It’s the kind of grief you gag on, but I press forward. I have to, don’t I? My fingers tremble and a tears pool in my eye as I unfold the card and I read a message.
The clock continues to tick. You can’t stop it.
Clock? Tick?
Time travel. The door I had opened and now can’t close. The bell that can’t be un-rung. I started this and I can’t stop it. No matter how hard I try. Except now, my dormant powers might not even exist anymore, and whoever killed Delilah knows it.
Wants to be sure I know it, too.
****
Police come and forensics is called. I answer endless questions and the realization that I’m powerless to stop what’s happened hits me hard. I sway on my feet for a moment and Police Chief Lance grabs my arm. “You all right, Ms. Montgomery?”
“Fine.” I try a nod, but it doesn’t feel right. He escorts me out of the bedroom and signals to another cop. “Get her a glass of water. She’s been hit with a bad blow,” he turns his attention back to me, “I’ve seen you weather a lot of storms, Lara. You’ll be all right.”
But will I be? If someone out there is using time travel that can’t be detected by the TTPA…
When a pristine glass of water is offered to me, I take it and drink it fast. The water rushes down my throat and I struggle to swallow it all down. I just hope it’ll stay there. “Have you pulled surveillance footage? Are all the exits on lock down?”
Lance smiles and an amused twinkle is present in his eye. “You gunning for my job? Here I thought you wanted to be a social worker.”
My fingernails grate against the glass. “She was my friend. We worked together. Whoever is out there…”
“We’ll find him. I know how to do my job. Look,” Lance glances around, “I know it’s hard for you…everything you used to be able to do…but the world’s changed now. You have to learn to let it go. Trust that other people can get the job done.”
Six years ago, that idea would have been laughable and maybe it still was. Maybe I had been lying to myself that I could simply walk away. Maybe the world was never safe. All of that weighs heavy on me, but I can’t tell Lance. He doesn’t know about the note I found in Delilah’s mouth and I won’t tell him.
The last thing my family needs is another police detail following me around. I won’t be reduced to a babysitting operation.
Lance snaps his fingers. “Escort Ms. Montgomery down to the ballroom with the other guests. And, Lara, don’t worry. We’ll catch the son-of-a-bitch.”
I don’t know if I can believe it. Trust it. Whatever is happening has just started.
The clock has just begun to tick.
Chapter Four
Back in the ballroom, I find comfort in Donovan’s arms. His tie is draped around his neck and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. All signs he’s been worried and stressed since our separation.
“Thank God you didn’t get there any sooner,” he breathes against my hair and the longing in his voice warms my soul, “I wanted to check on you, but they wouldn’t let us leave the ballroom.”
My arms tuck beneath his and I gaze up into his concerned eyes. There’s a worry crease along his forehead that I want to smooth away. “Are you okay?”
“That’s what I should be asking you. I know she was more than just director of the TTPA to you…your mom. Everyone,” Donovan sighs and raises his eyebrows, “For your loss, I’m sorry.”
Donovan and Delilah were never able to get on the same page, but his condolences mean the world to me. I chew on the inside of my cheek. If I tell Donovan about the note I found in Delilah’s mouth, he won’t let me out of his sight. He’ll make me turn it over to the cops and then I won’t be able to move freely—not until whatever has started is done.
Have I really decided not to trust the cops? Am I falling back on past behavior so readily, even though I had promised Donova
n and myself that I wanted a normal life?
“I just wish I knew what she wanted to tell me. What if it was something that got her killed?”
The corner of Donovan’s eye twitches with compassion. He puts his hand through my hair and pulls me in for a comforting embrace. I take a deep breath and smell his aftershave mingling with his sweat. “You need a shower.”
He laughs. “These monkey suits are hot and I’ve been waiting for you a long time.”
Behind us, a throat clears. When I turn, I see the deepening scowl on Marcus O’Reily’s face. His disheveled suit and hair make Donovan look neat and tidy. “I wish I could say I’m here just to express my sympathies.”
I take his hand and give it a squeeze.
“A new director must be chosen. Right away. We won’t have time, I’m afraid, to wait until Delilah’s service is completed. The police could hold that up for weeks with tests,” Marcus’s voice drops and his eyes shift to the floor, “Autopsy.”
My grief rushes to the surface, ready to spill over. “Just tell me what you want to tell me, Marcus.”
“The board will convene tomorrow,” his eyes slide up to mine, “Are you ready for that?”
Taking a deep breath, I nod. So much for my psyche final. “Yeah,” my stomach rumbles and spins as I answer, “I can be there. Nine AM?”
“Make it eight-thirty. You’ll want to center yourself before the rest of the board arrives. I know the TTPA isn’t something either of you is comfortable with,” Marcus gazes at Donovan and then back at me, “but if we’re to find a suitable replacement—someone who will keep your interests in mind—your presence will be needed.”
He leaves us and I turn to Donovan. I’m desperate to know what he’s feeling. What he’s thinking. With a deep sigh, his eyes sweep up at the ceiling; I see his disappointment. My heart plummets at the look on his face. “It’ll just be a few meetings. I’m on the board. I need to do this.”
