Edge of Time

by Susan M. MacDonald

  Alec’s cheeks burned. His mother could wound him so easily. He dropped his eyes to the pile of bills that got bigger every month.

  “Nothing I ever do is right,” Alec muttered.

  “Look. You know as well as I do that your father’s not coping with being unemployed. The new medication hasn’t started to work yet, either. He feels like he’s failing us. So cut him some slack, Alec.”

  “He should cut me some. Nothing I do ever makes him happy. He wants me to be Peter, and I’m not.” Alec pushed the plate away.

  “He wants you to be yourself. The man he knows you can be. That we know you can be. You’re better than this, Alec. You’re smarter and kinder and have too much going for you to throw it all away with lousy grades and petty crimes. Neither of us wants you working in a fast food joint for the rest of your life.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Alec got up and scraped his plate into the garbage. He dumped the cutlery and the plate into the dishwasher and shoved the door closed with his hip. He eased past his mother’s chair. As almost an afterthought, he bent down and dropped a quick kiss on the top of her head.

  There wasn’t anyplace he could go except the living room or back to his bedroom. The apartment was far smaller than their house had been, but that, like his father’s good mood, had disappeared a long time ago.

  His father was clicking his way through television channels and shaking his head at the repeated scenes of police and fighting. Peter was sprawled on the couch, a paperback between his hands, ignoring his father’s repeated “will you look at that” remarks.

  It was too late to go out and hang with the guys. His dad would have a fit if he tried to leave, even though it wasn’t a school night or anything. Hanging out on the street corner was apparently the first step to a life of illicit drugs and organized crime. There was nothing else to do but go to bed. Alec headed to the bathroom to brush his teeth. In a couple of minutes he was back in his room and tossing his tee shirt into the laundry bin in the corner. The door opened.

  “I’m going to bed. Keep the light off,” he barked.

  “I’m just getting another book.” Peter walked past him to the desk by the window and pulled his bulging knapsack towards him.

  Alec tossed his jeans on top of the shirt. He swung himself onto the upper bunk. Peter still had his back to him.

  “Heard you went to the mall today.” Peter shuffled through the pile of paperbacks.

  “So?” Alec stared at the ceiling.

  “Heard there was a bit of excitement,” Peter continued.

  “What if?”

  “Heard you were right in the middle of it.”

  Alec sat bolt upright, remembering to crouch at the last minute so he wouldn’t hit his head on the ceiling. “Who said?”

  “Mrs. Lee and Chin. Met them at the bus stop. Chin couldn’t keep a secret if you gagged him.”

  Damn. Alec flopped back down on the bed. If Peter said anything to their father …

  “Keep your mouth shut,” Alec hissed. “You owe me.”

  “Chin said you saw a guy get shot. It was on the news tonight.”

  Alec ground his teeth together.

  “Well.” Peter turned around. “Did you?”

  “Bite yourself.”

  “When Dad finds out, you are gonna be in such trouble. Honestly, don’t you ever think?”

  “Stop bossing me around.”

  “Stop being such an idiot and I won’t have to.”

  Alec vaulted over the side of the bed and landed at Peter’s feet. He straightened up. Peter might have eleven months on him, might have a straight A average, might never cause his parents a moment of worry, but Alec had a good inch of height. Ever since Christmas. He leaned forward, breathing heavily. “I mean it. Leave. Me. Alone.”

  “Or what?” Peter answered. His brown eyes were narrowed with dislike.

  “Take a guess.”

  “You wouldn’t. You promised.” Peter deliberately turned his back and continued to search. Pulling out a paperback, he laid it on the desk and zippered up the knapsack. The edge of the curtain caught in the zipper and the movement pulled the curtain open. The outside street lamp, only two stories below, flooded the room with its eerie hue.

  “Yeah, well, if keeping your secrets gets me into any more trouble, you can just kiss my promise goodbye.” Alec crossed his arms. “Think about that before you go running to Dad. Or the next time you get surrounded and can’t fight back.”

  “I was totally outnumbered. You know it. And I’m not saying anything. Yet,” Peter said as he leaned forward to tug the drape closed. “What the hell …”

  “What is it?”

  “Stand back. Turn off the overhead light.”

  “Turn it off yourself,” Alec snapped.

  “Do it. Before he sees us.”

  Something in Peter’s voice galvanized Alec and before he could argue he had crossed the few feet to the light switch and flipped the toggle. The room became dark again, except for the street lamp.

  “What?” Alec returned to Peter’s side.

  “See that guy? Standing under the light? He’s been following me for weeks.”

  Alec peered downward. In the cold pool of lamplight, a young man leaned against the lamp pole. He was wearing a light summer jacket and jeans. He had short, dark blond hair. Alec couldn’t see his face but a creepy feeling started to ooze around his stomach.

  “What does he want?” Alec asked quietly. Turn around, he thought towards the man, look up for a second.

  “I dunno. But he’s everywhere I go. He was at school before the end of the year. I saw him a couple of times in the cafeteria. And he comes into the bookstore all the time. He never says anything.”

  “How do you know he’s following you?”

  “Look, I just do.” Peter yanked the curtain shut. “Leave it alone. And stay away from him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I said so.” Peter grabbed his book and stalked to the door. “He’s weird. So stay away from him.” The door slammed shut behind him.

  Alec stood by the desk. He couldn’t remember seeing Peter so angry or so off balance. It was just one guy, not the crowd from school again. Alec pulled back the curtain just enough to see through and looked down. The man hadn’t moved. Maybe the guy had a crush on Peter and was working up the nerve to ask him out?

  He was about to drop the curtain when the man turned around. He raised his head and stared straight up. Alec felt himself go cold. His stomach hit the floor. He stepped quickly back into the darkness, out of sight.

  It was the guy from the music store. The one who’d saved his life.

  3

  Riley Cohen stepped down from the VIA train onto the crowded platform at Toronto’s Union station. Heaving her heavy backpack more firmly onto her thin shoulders, she followed the streaming crowd. She ignored the jostling, self- absorbed passengers, intent on keeping the exit sign in sight.

  The crowd bottlenecked through the exit hallway and emptied into the larger terminal where a milling throng stared intently at the constantly updating information boards. Unable to see over those ahead, Riley squeezed her way to the front and craned her neck upward. Her eyes scanned the schedule. There it was. Her next train wasn’t leaving for another four hours. Track seven.

  Great. Was nothing on time?

  Riley let the knapsack fall to the ground with relief while she considered what to do. She pulled a battered map and guidebook from the back pocket of her black jeans, and thumbed through the creased pages until she found what she was looking for. The tourist highlights were listed in italic font. Four hours wasn’t long enough to really go anywhere interesting or see anything major. The CN tower wasn’t too far away, at least looking at the map, but was out of the question with the heavy bag.

  She shoved a lock of black hair off her forehead and looked around for a sign indicating facilities for checking luggage. Unfortunately, all she could see were other passengers. With an impatient grunt, she grabbed
the straps of the knapsack and swung it back over her shoulders and headed away from the throng.

  “May I help you?”

  Riley stopped abruptly as a young man stepped in front of her and blocked her path. He was of medium height and slim build. His jeans and windbreaker had seen better days but he wore them with a certain style. He was gorgeous, like something out of her sister Deborah’s Italian Vogue, all lips and carved cheekbones. Dirty blond hair and eyes the colour of the Tahitian sea. Wow.

  “Nope. I don’t think so.” Riley directed her comment to the young man’s throat and began to walk around him. They were probably contact lenses.

  “Are you sure?” The man sidestepped to block her path. “That bag is far too heavy.”

  “I’m able to carry my own stuff.” Maybe some women couldn’t think their way out of a paper bag and needed some guy to open their doors and carry their luggage, like her sister, but she certainly didn’t.

  The man’s lips began to curl into a grin. “I was just trying to be polite.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks but no thanks.” The smile she returned was patently false. She heaved at the knapsack strap, which was slipping down one shoulder, and walked around him with a brisk stride.

  With a frustrated sigh, she battled against the tide of humanity, figuring that an information booth was likely to be closer to the entrance of the station than her present location. She had almost completely forgotten the handsome man, until he spoke again a few minutes later directly behind her.

  “If you’re looking for something, maybe I can help.”

  Man, this guy was persistent. Fifteen minutes off the train that was going to take her to Vancouver and her sister’s apartment, and some loser was attaching himself to her like a leech. Riley stopped so abruptly the young man bumped into her. She nearly fell over. He grabbed her arm just in time.

  “That bag is far too heavy. You nearly fell.”

  “Hate to burst your bubble, pal, but the bag isn’t the problem. It’s you. You nearly knocked me over,” Riley snorted.

  The man smiled. He almost glowed with pleasure.

  Riley barely stopped the twitch of her own lips. If she’d ever seen a more attractive male, she couldn’t remember it, and the smile seemed infectious, despite her annoyance. Which was quickly draining away, and why, she didn’t know.

  “Look,” the man said, squaring his shoulders and letting go of her arm. “I didn’t mean to make you angry. I just want to help. See, I have this assignment for my philosophy course and I really have to get it done today. And I thought you looked like a friendly girl who might help me out.”

  Friendly? How on earth had he interpreted her new Goth-styled makeup, black clothing and several piercings as friendly? He must be a bit stunned. No, she didn’t want to encourage any guy right now; she was leaving town in a couple of hours. And, no, she also couldn’t be bothered to help with some stupid assignment. She had enough on her mind. But he was very attractive and the longer she stood there the more she felt her resolve slipping. She bit her lip. Walk away, she thought.

  “What assignment?” she heard herself say.

  The man pulled out a battered roll of foolscap papers from his back pocket and waved it vaguely. “It takes about six minutes to answer,” he said with a pleading look. He glanced around quickly then back to her. “I’ll loan you the pen. I’ll even buy the coffee.”

  Riley sighed. Why did she allow herself to do these things? Helping anyone always bit you in the bum later. Ignore him and walk away.

  “I take cream and sugar,” she said.

  “There’s a snack bar just down in the commuter rail section. I’ll carry your bag.”

  Riley didn’t refuse. The words were on her lips but wouldn’t come out. He pulled the strap deftly off her shoulder and hoisted it over his own. She didn’t even want to stop him. “Wow, you must be strong,” he said, before turning quickly and heading off.

  Riley stifled down the little flip of pleasure and followed as he wove his way through the crowd. She tried to generate a measure of annoyance and focused on the highhanded manner in which he’d pried her backpack from her. Her purse was in that satchel. If he chose to run off with all her worldly possessions, she’d never be able to stop him. The last month would seem like a day in the park compared to being stranded in Toronto without any money, identification or change of clothes. Why wasn’t she more concerned? She reached out and snatched one of the straps.

  “Here we are,” the young man said as he veered into a cluster of plastic tables and chairs of a small café next to an emergency exit. He dropped her bag on an empty chair and called over his shoulder. “Want anything to eat?”

  Riley shook her head and sat down slowly. She pulled her knapsack onto her lap. What on earth was she doing?

  The man was back in a moment carrying two Styrofoam cups. He placed one in front of her, sat down and pried the lid off his own. His eyes closed with pleasure as he took a long sip. “I love this stuff,” he said unnecessarily.

  Riley left the lid on hers. Women got drugged and kidnapped all the time in big cities. He didn’t look like the type but one could never be too careful.

  “My name is Darius Finn.” The young man stretched his hand out to shake hers.

  She swallowed the sigh as she clasped his hand briefly. “So what’s this questionnaire you want me to answer?”

  Darius smoothed the pages out on the stained table, seemingly oblivious to the crumbs and coffee stains. He took another mouthful of coffee before giving her a look that made her toes curl. “I’ll read them out to you. Okay? Ready? Number one: Have you ever been the victim of attempted murder?”

  Riley shot to her feet. Her heart zoomed up into her throat. She backed away, knocking over the chair with a clatter. Several patrons turned to stare.

  “How did you know?” she breathed. She looked around quickly. She hadn’t told anyone. “How did you–”

  “I know who you are, Riley.” Darius’ voice dropped. The aquamarine eyes bore into her like lasers. “I know what happened. I’m here to warn you. They won’t miss again.”

  “No, no …” Riley turned. The world was closing in on her. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. She backed away another few steps, then turned, grabbed her bag and ran.

  Darius shouted. Riley didn’t hear the exact words but she felt an inexplicable mental tug. She ignored the compulsion to go back. All that was important now was getting away. Again.

  Holding her bag tightly in her arms, she ran through the commuters, dodging and darting, without once looking behind. Forget the CN tower. Where the hell was Track seven?

  He was behind her, catching up quickly with his much longer legs. She heard him call her name.

  Run, she admonished herself. A stitch caught in her side. She gasped with pain but didn’t slow down. There were too many people and she couldn’t see the signs for the track she wanted. She’d have to disappear instead.

  As if her prayers were answered, the crowd around her parted for a second and revealed the subway entrance. Decision instantaneously made, she turned and dove through the doors, across the outside corridor and down the stairs. She nearly collapsed at the tollbooth. Panting, she struggled to balance her knapsack on the turnstile while she rummaged in the front pocket of her jeans for a couple of toonies. Never had she cursed the tightness of her jeans, as she did now.

  The coins slipped into her shaking fingers. She dumped them on the little tray. “Keep the change,” she directed the clerk before shoving the turnstile forward and entering the subway.

  She permitted herself a glance behind.

  Darius Finn was taking the steps two at a time. He was staring right at her. He nearly knocked over a teenage boy who was shuffling up the steps. The boy turned and shouted “Hey!” before a look of incredulity crossed his face. Then the crowd swallowed him up and he was lost to Riley’s view.

  She didn’t bother to hang around. She ran down the escalator, pushing past people with no regard
for their disgruntled comments, and entered the platform. There was no train.

  Crap.

  There weren’t many people and all of them seemed to be intently reading the newspaper and frowning. The wide platform stretched ahead, but other than a couple of graffiti-covered pillars, there was nothing to hide behind. She knew that running down the tracks was a very stupid idea. There didn’t seem to be another exit.

  A tall, well-dressed woman stepped out from the cluster of commuters facing the open track. She turned and stared at Riley with dead eyes. The hair rose on Riley’s arms and on the back of her neck as if an icy breeze had sprung up all around her. Oh no. Not again.

  The woman began to walk towards her, the high heels clicking hollowly on the tiled floor. Time seemed to slow down.

  It was just like at home. The woman, the concert, the panic. All over again. Riley shook her head and backed away. Her damp palms clutched the knapsack to her chest like a talisman.

  The woman opened her designer purse and pulled out a tiny gun.

  Riley’s breath caught in her chest. She couldn’t wrench her eyes away from the silver weapon.

  Darius grabbed her from behind. She screamed.

  Riley struggled but Darius’ arms were like steel bands around her. “Stop fighting me, you fool. I’m here to help you,” he muttered as he practically lifted her off her feet. He yelled at the woman. “Give it up. She’s mine.”

  No one else on the platform seemed to notice what was going on. It was like one of those weird dreams, where everyone goes about their business while something terrible is happening.

  “Ow! Riley, cut it out.” Darius twisted her to the side so that he could face the woman unobstructed as Riley’s heel connected sharply with his shin. He was trying to reach something in his pocket but Riley’s hip was in the way. “Keep your distance,” he shouted at the advancing assailant.

  “I don’t fear you, Guardian.” The woman spoke in a heavy, low voice that didn’t suit her. “The Potential is mine.” She didn’t stop walking. There were only a few metres between them.