The Timepiece and the Girl Who Went Astray: A thrilling new time travel adventure

by O. R. Simmonds

  The phone box’s weathered paint had faded, now more pink than red, and the door was heavy and stiff.

  As he heaved the door open, a large car rolled up to the kerb beside him. It was an elegant metallic-brown Rolls-Royce Silver Spirit. It had an elongated bonnet housing a powerful V8 engine, which rumbled away like a caged beast. The front end of the car was boxy and modern-looking. The windows at the rear of the car were darkened and Will could barely make out the figure sitting inside. He traced his eyes towards the driver, who was sitting calmly with one leather-gloved hand at twelve o’clock on the steering wheel. A small patch of hair-covered skin was visible between the glove and the distinctive tweed fabric of his jacket sleeve. His other hand slowly raised up from his lap and adjusted the flat cap on his head. He was dressed in almost identical, oddly old-fashioned clothing as the two gunmen. It was too much to believe that it was a coincidence – he must be with them. This time Will didn’t freeze or contemplate his next move and instead ran as if his life depended on it, wincing as each blistered foot pounded against the pavement.

  After putting some distance between himself and the tragic scene in the shop, he slowed his pace but kept checking over his shoulder to see if the car or the gunmen had followed. There was no sign of the men, but the car had pulled away from the kerb and followed him as he turned down Commercial Street and was there again as he made his way down Brick Lane. Eventually Will came across another narrow alleyway, far too small for a tank like the Rolls-Royce to follow. As he darted into it, he said a silent thank you to the Victorians, and those before them, for rebuilding London in the aftermath of the Great Fire using the same, impractically narrow streets set out by the Medievals.

  * * *

  Will had somehow managed to make his way to Abigayle’s flat without further incident, taking his time to ensure he wasn’t being followed. The last thing he wanted to do was to lead a group of murderers back to Abigayle. If she thought the Blockbuster incident was bad, he’d never hear the end of this.

  He hurried off the bus a few stops away from Holland Park and checked that the coast was still clear before resuming his steady but frantic walking pace, confident that he hadn’t seen the brown Rolls-Royce or any tweed jackets since he’d left Liverpool Street.

  Looks like I’m in the clear.

  Abigayle had a ground-floor flat on Elsham Road, just a few minutes’ walk from Holland Park Gate. It was a beautiful part of London, with long, sweeping curved streets and pockets of green parks sprinkled evenly among them. Abigayle’s building was at the middle of a row of fifty or so four-storey townhouses. The houses featured elegant white moulded stucco ground floors and pillared porches with steps leading up to each front door. Almost all of the houses were constructed from the famous yellow London stock bricks, which were exposed on the top three floors. One house in the middle of the row, however, stood apart from the others and was instead constructed with bold ebony bricks. Although the house was disliked by many of the local residents for the perceived negative aesthetic impact it had on the street, at that moment, the dark spot in a sea of yellow was a welcome beacon of hope for Will.

  The flat itself was modest but spacious enough for the two of them, divided in a simple two-up, two-down configuration. The downstairs featured a large, bright living room at the front and a kitchen diner to the rear, opening into a small courtyard. The stairs led to a narrow landing, with the bathroom and office on one side and the master bedroom on the other.

  Will had been staying with Abigayle rent-free for the past ten months. She had refused to accept any contribution from him until he managed to tie down regular work – something that he found incredibly emasculating – and he was certain that living in this area of London couldn’t have been cheap.

  Money, though, didn’t appear to be a problem for Abigayle. She had a well-paying government job, one important enough that she couldn’t talk about it. Will respected this and instead imagined her to be some kind of female James Bond. However, the sheer volume of paperwork she seemed to be constantly flooded with countered that idea.

  Despite her apparent professional success, she hadn’t been born into money. Her stepfather had driven a black cab for thirty years and her mother worked as a dinner lady at a local school. Between them they had scrimped and saved all the money they could to put her through university. She had exceeded all expectations when she was accepted to Cambridge University, where she studied history at Christ’s College. She was the first member of her family to go to university, graduating with first-class honours. She later returned to London, where she undertook a master’s degree in European history before securing a job as a historical researcher, eventually moving into her current position.

  Will, on the other hand, had dropped out of college when his mother had become unwell and was not even legally permitted to work in London. He’d had to get by on whatever scraps of labouring work he could get his hands on.

  By the time he stumbled through the front door of Abigayle’s flat, he was panting furiously. Even walking briskly had been taxing on his tender, blistered feet, but he cut himself a little slack given that he was also currently working his way through the early stages of shock.

  The front door opened directly into the living room, which was growing dark as the light outside faded. Will breezed into the room, running on autopilot, dropping his keys on the side table before slumping down on the sofa. He sat there motionless for a moment, breathing heavily, rivulets of sweat glistening on his forehead. He was still wearing his jacket and gloves and felt too numb to register his rising body temperature.

  He kept playing back the image in his head: the elderly owner slumped back in his chair, his clothes soaked in blood. The questions about what he had witnessed tumbled around in his head.

  What were the three of them talking about? And how could that have led to a defenceless man being gunned down in cold blood?

  He was sure that it couldn’t have been a robbery. No one he’d spoken to earlier that day had even heard of the shop or where it might be, so he couldn’t imagine it ever being busy or that the till was bursting with cash. No, something else was going on here.

  After the panic of the shooting, it was only now that he had even remembered the watch, which sat heavy in his pocket, causing his jacket to hang low at one side. Will removed one of his thick leather gloves, balling it up in his other pocket. His hand was warm and clammy. He retrieved the paper bag, unwrapped the watch and held it in his trembling hand.

  Will stared off into the middle distance, wild thoughts racing through his head. The phone call and the change in the shop owner’s manner afterwards had stood out to him at the time and seemed even more significant now. He had been oddly insistent that Will buy this watch right after that phone call. And the timing of his leaving as those men arrived hadn’t escaped him either. He blinked just then, his dry eyes watering as he looked down at the watch in his hand.

  They couldn’t have been looking for this, could they?

  The more he thought about it, the more this crazy idea seemed to fit. The shop owner did seem to go out of his way to put him off the rest of his stock. And this watch hadn’t even been in the display case, he was sure of that.

  Where had it come from? Did the shop owner have it on him the whole time?

  Will sat forwards, resting his elbows on his knees, and shook his head. He was overthinking all of this and tried to push the idea from his mind. He clamped his eyes shut tight and was flooded with images of what he’d just witnessed, as well as the inescapable thought that he’d run from it all.

  When he opened his eyes, he felt calmer and had a clear idea of what he needed to do next. The room had grown completely dark by now and he reached out blindly to his right, where he knew the telephone to be. He squinted to see the numbers on the inside of the handset. As he turned to his left to switch on a lamp, he heard a key in the door, and he stopped short. For a moment he panicked, sure that the two men from the thrift shop had foll
owed him home and were there to kill him. He sat in silence, every muscle in his body taut as he observed a figure silhouetted by the hallway light step through the door.

  He soon relaxed, however, immediately recognising her by the way she moved and her scent as it was carried into the room on the light breeze from outside.

  ‘Will, you home?’ she said into the darkness. ‘Sorry I’m so late. Crazy day at work.’ Will detected something in the way she spoke. She was off somehow, not her usual beaming self. ‘Oh, and my mother has a new boyfriend. She told me everything in gory detail. Let me get out of these shoes and I’ll tell you the whole sordid story.’

  For a second his worries seemed to evaporate, and the panic began to pass. All thoughts of calling the police momentarily left his head and suddenly things didn’t seem so bad now that Abigayle was here. She tended to have that effect on people, Will especially.

  As she struggled into the room carrying her bags and coat, she kicked the door shut and flicked on a light switch with her elbow. As the lights came on, she saw Will sitting motionless on the sofa and let out a high-pitched scream. After the initial fright, she saw that it was Will and said, ‘Fucking hell! Will, why are you sitting here in the dark? You scared the shit out of me!’

  Will loved Abigayle’s perfectly accented English and imagined that if the Queen of England ever cursed, this was how it would sound. And if she’d had a hard day at work, you wouldn’t know it to look at her. Her olive skin was unblemished and even-coloured, aside from a slight blush in her cheeks. There was no sign of tiredness in her eyes and her shoulder-length auburn hair was glossy and immaculate.

  Will stood from the sofa and said, ‘Abby, I’m sorry. I’ve had a bit of a day as well. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’

  Abigayle chuckled uneasily as she set her bag down and hung up her coat. ‘Sitting in the dark like that is the kind of thing dangerous people do in movies. You’re not dangerous, are you, Will?’ she said, winking at him.

  Will forced a smile and stared at her, his mind still in too much of a fog to explain what had happened. Abigayle was headed for the stairs but paused, frowned slightly and walked up to him. ‘Hey, everything okay?’

  Will swallowed hard and opened his mouth but no words came out.

  ‘Will, what is it?’ she said, placing a hand on his arm, caressing it lightly.

  He cleared his throat. ‘No, nothing. Nothing. I’m fine, it’s just…’

  She leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, gave him a warm hug and said, ‘Sounds like we both could do with a cup of tea.’ As she withdrew, she caught sight of what was in his hand. It stopped her in her tracks, ‘Holy fuck! Where did you get that?’ Abigayle said, breaking Will out of his trance-like state.

  ‘Huh? Where did I get what?’

  ‘That timepiece you’re holding!’ Before he could respond, Abigayle had taken the watch from his hand and was examining it excitedly. Absentmindedly, Will said, ‘I bought it. For you, actually.’

  ‘Will, this is amazing, I’ve never seen a timepiece like it.’

  ‘Well, surprise, I guess,’ Will said, doing his best to hide the worry in his voice.

  Abigayle shot him a sideways look and said, ‘William Wells, you shouldn’t spoil me like this. Especially when you owe me rent for the past ten months.’ Abigayle poked her tongue out at him playfully, although he hated when she teased him about money. ‘Looks like it needs winding, although this isn’t a standard mechanism…’ Abigayle’s words trailed off as she turned away from him and began to fumble with the inputs on the watch.

  ‘Abby, there’s something you need to know about this watch.’ Will reached out and touched her arm as she began to turn the outer bevel, spinning it clockwise. At that moment, a peculiar thing happened.

  At first, they just felt warmth, like stepping under a hot shower in winter. It spread through their fingers, their hands, up their arms and proliferated through their entire bodies. It was exhilarating. What followed was even more so but was accompanied with the unmistakable tinge of fear. Will could taste a distinctive bitter metallic taste in his mouth as a pulse of invisible energy rippled outwards from the two of them in an ever-growing sphere.

  Before their eyes, the living room was transformed. At their feet, the pea-green floral carpet started to strip away, replaced with a smooth oak parquet floor. Their mahogany-effect coffee table vanished too, along with Abigayle’s favourite cup, a green tinted sheet of glass with a metal frame appearing in its place. Before long, all the furniture had gone, exchanged with strange and wonderful objects. Finally, the magnolia woodchip wallpaper seemed to peel away, revealing perfectly smooth white walls in its wake. Abigayle and Will were standing in the same room of the same building, and yet everything was different.

  They both looked around, wide-eyed, conflicting emotions fighting for prominence: excitement, fear, wonderment, disbelief, intrigue, confusion. The sheet of glass where their coffee table once stood was bare, all apart from a small gloss-black rectangular object. It caught Abigayle’s eye and she leaned towards it for closer inspection. Without warning, the black object erupted with light and began making a terrible rattling sound, like a venomous insect about to attack. The sudden flurry of activity startled Abigayle and she fell backwards, throwing her arms behind her.

  As she did so, the watch slipped from her grasp, falling towards the hard wooden floor. Will reacted instinctively and with impressively quick reflexes he reached out his still-gloved hand, catching the watch just centimetres from the floor. The moment his hand closed firmly around the watch, the sphere of energy receded inwards, and everything seemed to become cold and dark. Will’s eyes refocused and gone were the wooden floors, which had returned to their familiar pea-green floral carpet. The walls were no longer smooth and white but were magnolia-woodchip-textured once more. The glass coffee table and all the other fascinating objects had vanished.

  He turned to where Abigayle had been standing before she dropped the watch, but she too had vanished.

  CHAPTER THREE

  May 14th, 1984, 19:37

  Will stood from his crouched position with the mysterious timepiece clasped in his hand. His head pivoted left and right, scanning the room for a sign of Abigayle. He was in utter disbelief, panting with panic.

  What the hell just happened?

  His skin began to prickle with heat, and he felt his face redden. His heart was beating so loud in his chest that he could feel it pulsing in his ears.

  ‘Abby, quit screwing around. This isn’t funny, okay?’ He hurried around the room, glancing under the coffee table, behind the sofa and lurching the low-hanging curtains to one side. He sprinted up the stairs, calling out her name over and over, his own voice echoing back at him from each of the empty rooms. But she wasn’t there. She was really gone.

  He was in a daze, unsure of what was happening or what he should do next.

  A sharp odour of burning plastic stung his nose and eyes, bringing his attention back to the watch. He’d been so preoccupied with finding Abigayle that he’d somehow overlooked the burning sensation and the dark smoke curling upwards from his gloved hand. Apparently, the watch had become quite hot and was beginning to burn through the leather. Will used his free hand to take hold of the thick leather strap that the watch was attached to and peeled it from his melted glove. The leather strap seemed to be unaffected by the heat, unlike the molten disaster that was obviously a pair of faux-leather gloves. He stripped the destroyed glove from his hand and pocketed it, returning his attention to the watch.

  He then held the strap between his thumb and index finger, regarding the peculiar timepiece as it swung loosely in the air. The heat aside, he felt something else emanating from it that he couldn’t quite place. He began to move his hand slowly towards it; the heat was easily perceptible even at arm’s length. Something was radiating through the air around it that seemed to draw his hand in. His fingers edged closer and closer, despite the heat, and were almost touching when
a creaking sound cut through the silence. His nerves were still frayed, and the sound startled him enough to make him drop the watch and duck out of sight.

  Someone was moving on the landing outside the front door. He kept low and listened intently. He waited for a few moments but heard nothing more.

  Will remained motionless for no more than a minute when he caught something from the corner of his eye. Smoke was beginning to rise steadily from the pea-green carpet. A small circular burn mark was growing around the watch as it lay face down on the floor.

  Still on edge about the sound he’d heard at the door, he kept low and scurried towards the kitchen, returning with a well-used copper frying pan. He delicately lifted the watch from the floor by the leather strap and placed it inside the pan. He lifted the pan to the coffee table and examined the damage to the carpet. There was a brown circular indentation in the carpet where the long-pile fabric had burnt and melted away.

  He looked around the living room with a furrowed brow when the thought occurred to him. The room had transformed before Abigayle had gone missing so maybe the room might somehow hold the answer to bringing her back. Perhaps if he pulled up the carpet or stripped the wallpaper from the walls, the room would transform once more, and Abigayle would return as miraculously as she had disappeared. He convinced himself that this bizarre logic would somehow help. If the past few hours had taught him anything, it was to not be limited by what he’d previously thought possible.

  Will returned to the kitchen and came back to the living room with a paring knife in his hand. He knelt next to the charred mark on the carpet, where Abigayle had been standing, and jabbed the knife into the floor. With both hands he raked it this way and that, cutting a large one-metre-square section of carpet free. He ripped the section of carpet away, discarding it on the coffee table. This revealed the pink rubbery underlay beneath. It was an unseemly sight: stained with browns, yellows and reds from years of abuse. Will didn’t want to think what might have caused the brown and yellow stains, but the large red splattered stain still bore the unmistakable whiff of red wine.