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

by O. R. Simmonds

  Will’s thoughts briefly returned to the day he’d spilt the wine on Abigayle’s carpet on only his second visit to her flat. He had felt awful, but Abigayle had been calm and gracious about the whole thing. When she walked back into the room and saw the stain, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head in mock annoyance before smiling warmly at Will and saying, ‘My god, you are so cute when you’re nervous!’

  ‘You’re not angry?’ Will said.

  ‘Pfft, I never liked this carpet. Who has a cream carpet anyway? We’ll go pick out a new one at the carpet shop in the morning. I’m thinking green.’

  A little under a year later, Will was on his hands and knees, destroying another carpet, this time cutting right through the underlay. He pulled a section of it free, revealing the wooden boards below. To his surprise, even the wood had been stained red by the wine.

  Unfortunately, the wood looked nothing like the polished parquet floor he had seen a moment ago, before Abigayle had vanished. He knew it was a long shot, but the hopelessness and despair of her absence was raging inside of him. He clenched his fist around the hilt of the blade, lifted it above his head and then thrust it downwards, letting out a guttural cry and jamming the end of the blade into the floor.

  He gritted his teeth and breathed deeply to try to regain some of his composure.

  I can’t do this alone. I need to get help.

  He rose and stepped away from the butchered floor and walked back to the sofa, retrieving the telephone that he had dropped there when Abigayle had arrived home. He held it firmly in his hand and pondered who he could call. His family back in the States would have no interest in helping him, even if any of them did have passports, and he was ashamed to admit that there really was no one else in the UK he could call a friend besides Abigayle. So, he did what he knew he should have done to begin with and called Emergency Services.

  There was a low thrumming ringtone before the voice of a politely spoken woman came on the line: ‘Emergency, which service please?’

  ‘I…I don’t know. Police, I guess,’ he said.

  ‘What exchange and number are you calling from?’

  ‘What? I don’t know. It’s my fiancée’s flat.’

  ‘Hold the line,’ the voice said, unperturbed. ‘I’ll connect you.’

  The line went quiet for a moment. The silence allowed Will to concentrate on his breathing, which he now became aware had quickened to short, sharp bursts. As he tried to contain his growing panic, another voice came over the line. It was a man’s voice this time and he immediately sounded jaded and irritable: ‘Police, what’s your emergency?’

  ‘Hi. Hello, it’s my fiancée, she’s…’

  ‘Has something happened to your fiancée, sir, is that correct?’

  ‘Yeah, something’s happened and I don’t know what –’

  ‘Are you still with her, sir? Has she been hurt?’

  ‘What? No, I’m not with her. That’s why I’m calling. She’s gone,’ Will said, his voice laced with growing anxiety.

  ‘Sir, can you confirm that your fiancée is unhurt?’

  ‘No, listen, I don’t know if she’s hurt. She’s gone. Disappeared.’

  ‘Did you do something to your fiancée, sir?’

  ‘What are you…no, I didn’t…listen, she’s gone and –’

  ‘Do you have any weapons on you or in the house, sir?’ the voice asked, becoming sterner and more suspicious with every passing second.

  ‘Weapons? Why would I…’ Will’s eyes now shot around the room. The curtains had been partially pulled from the rails when he frantically looked behind them, the sofa and pillows were scattered, a lamp was upturned and laying on the floor. Then there was the carpet, with a large section cut free and a knife jammed into the red-stained floor. All of this could be explained, he knew, but none of it looked good.

  The voice came back on the line now, firmer and more impatient: ‘Sir, are you still there? I need to send some officers to your address, and I need to know if you present a danger to yourself or others.’

  This was a mistake.

  How could he have possibly hoped to explain any of this? Abigayle had vanished into thin air and if he was going to find her, the last thing he needed was to get himself locked up. If that happened, sooner or later they’d know that he’d overstayed his welcome in this country and he’d be deported. And if that happened, Abigayle would be lost forever. He processed this information quickly and came to a decision, ‘Actually, my mistake, it’s fine. I’m sorry I wasted your time,’ Will said flatly and then placed the phone back in the receiver.

  Will stood upright and tried to shake some of the tiredness from his muscles before grabbing his keys from the side table and heading for the front door. When he was within two paces, there was a loud knock at the door.

  He froze for a moment, fearing that this was the gunmen. If he didn’t answer, they might just go away. That trick had always worked with Jehovah’s Witnesses – so long as you remained silent and didn’t move, they would slink away to someone else’s door.

  Wait a sec, murderers wouldn’t knock, would they? And the police couldn’t have gotten here that fast.

  There was another knock at the door, louder this time. Then a voice: ‘Abigayle? Will? I know you’re in there. Is everything okay?’

  It was Kevin, their upstairs neighbour. Abigayle thought him harmless enough, but he gave Will the creeps. He would often make these kinds of visits to their door, and it was clear to Will that Kevin had developed an unhealthy obsession with Abigayle. The very first time they met, he had said to Will: ‘I’ve known Abigayle for a long time and I’ve always looked out for her. Guys like you come and go, but not me.’

  ‘Well sure, you live upstairs,’ Will said.

  Kevin flinched, offended, and said, ‘Just understand that this thing between you and her is probably just a temporary thing. Okay?’

  The guy was strange, and the slightest excuse would result in him appearing at their door. He dropped off a newspaper for her every morning, even though she despised the Daily Mail. One evening there was a blackout and he scuttled down his stairs to check on her, as if she needed Kevin, and only Kevin, to rescue her. On the surface some might have considered him rather sweet, but Will had once spotted him intercepting their post so that he could bring it to the door. He wasn’t sure if that was even legal, but he had been wary of him ever since.

  Kevin banged on the door again, with a clenched fist this time. ‘Will! I saw both of you come home so you’re not getting rid of me that easily,’ Kevin said with a light snigger. He did that too. As a member of Neighbourhood Watch, he often sat at his second-floor window just watching the street. Will was sure he only watched for Abigayle, though. ‘I just want to make sure that everything is okay. Otherwise, I might have to call the police,’ Kevin bellowed in a sarcastic, chortling voice.

  Having already drawn suspicion from the police when he called them, the last thing Will needed was Kevin making things even worse, so he moved towards the door and pulled it open a crack. He placed himself in between the edge of the door and the doorframe, preventing Kevin from seeing inside.

  Kevin was a short man, at least a foot shorter than Will, who himself wasn’t particularly tall. He looked to be in his late thirties and had a round, puffy face, rotund belly and narrow shoulders. He was wearing a pastel blue polo shirt, collar turned up, with a thin gold chain around his neck and a large gold watch on his wrist. On his lower half, he was wearing tight-fitting, faded blue jeans and bright white high-tongued trainers. His skin was smooth and unnaturally tanned, matching his unnaturally dark head of hair, which was slicked back, gleaming with hair product. The look was completed with a thick black moustache that covered the whole of his top lip and spanned the length of his mouth. If he had to guess, Will would have said he was modelling himself on a Columbian drug dealer. Kevin was actually from Shropshire.

  ‘Hello, Kevin, what can I do for you?’ Will said as pleasantly as he cou
ld manage.

  ‘What took so long?’ Kevin snapped.

  ‘I was just cleaning something up. I, um…spilled a cup of coffee. Thanks for your concern, but it’s all under control. Bye-bye, Kevin.’ Will made a move to close the door, but Kevin jammed his foot inside it.

  ‘I’m just on my way to the Spar. Does Abigayle need anything? Milk, eggs?’

  ‘Thank you, Kevin, but I think we’re good,’ Will said, moving to block his view into the flat.

  ‘Good? Well, here’s the thing, Willy. I heard some really strange noises coming from in here. I heard Abigayle scream.’

  ‘Oh, that? I was just horsing around and made her jump. That’s all. Anyway, nice to see you, thanks for the offer – '

  ‘Where is Abigayle? I can’t hear her. Doesn’t she wonder who’s at the door?’

  ‘She’s…in the bath,’ Will said, unconvincingly.

  ‘Oh, really? Well, your water tank is directly beneath my Corby trouser press in the kitchen and I can hear it when Abby runs a bath. And guess what, Willy? I can’t hear anything, so try again.’

  ‘Look, Kevin, now isn’t a good time. Like I said, I spilled some coffee and need to clean it up. So, if you’d kindly take your foot out of my door…’

  ‘Your door? Did you really just say this was your door? This is Abby’s flat. You’re just a temporary cheapskate Yank! I’m Neighbourhood Watch, you know,’ he said, plucking a small, laminated membership card from his pocket that Will was sure he had made himself. ‘And something is going on here and I’m not leaving until I find out what!’

  With that Kevin pushed his way into the flat. He surprised Will with how strong he was for such a little guy. Kevin paced through the living room, charging up the stairs, calling Abigayle’s name. Will called up after him: ‘Kevin, what the hell do you think you’re doing?!’

  Kevin hadn’t yet seen the state of the floor so Will hurried to cover up his handiwork before he came back down. He knelt and pulled on the paring knife, which was still wedged firmly in the floor. The blade protested but finally came free as Kevin came storming down the stairs.

  ‘Okay, Will, where is she? I saw her come home and she didn’t go back out so…’ Kevin stopped halfway down the stairs and his words trailed off when he saw Will standing in the living room. His gaze was roving from Will’s face, to the large paring knife in his hand, to the torn-up carpet, to the red-stained floor and back to Will’s face. He seemed to be on a constant loop as the gears were turning in his head, processing what he was seeing.

  Kevin pressed his back up against the wall and slid down the stairs as if he were on an invisible stairlift. ‘You know what, Will, I can see you’re in the middle of something here. So, I’ll just see myself out.’

  Will was unsure what to make of Kevin’s slightly odder-than-usual behaviour at first. He then traced his neighbour’s gaze down to the knife in his hand, to the torn-up carpet and finally to the red-stained floor. Kevin was visibly shaken and when he reached the bottom of the stairs he raced through the front door, pulling it closed behind him before Will had a chance to explain. A series of rapid thudding sounds trailed away as Kevin sprinted up the two flights of stairs to his apartment, followed by the dull sound of a door being opened and slammed shut and various locks and bolts sliding home.

  Will closed his eyes, exhaled deeply and said, ‘Shit.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  May 14th, 1984, 19:42

  Will had to move quickly.

  A buck gets ten he’s upstairs right now calling the police.

  He was sure that Kevin was telling them all about the crazy American stranger who had just murdered his downstairs neighbour with a paring knife.

  He would also give them his name, and it wouldn’t take them long to find out why he was really in London and why he wasn’t keen to go back to the US.

  Will had almost reached the door before he stopped short, turning back towards the strange watch sitting in the copper frying pan. He approached it cautiously, tapping its metal case with the end of his finger to see if it had cooled down. Thankfully, it had, but it was still warm to the touch, so he slid it inside his charred but functional glove and put both in his jacket pocket.

  Will was convinced that this watch was somehow responsible for what had been happening. The shop owner’s strange behaviour, his subsequent shooting and now the disappearance of Abigayle had all happened since he came into possession of this thing, whatever it really was. He was also sure that sooner or later the police were going to catch up with him; and when they did, what could he say to possibly explain any of this? They’d never believe his story. Will didn’t even believe it himself. If he was ever going to find Abigayle, he needed answers and there was only one place he could think of that he might find them.

  * * *

  It had been almost three hours since the shooting at the thrift shop. To Will’s surprise – and relief – it appeared as if nothing had been reported to the police. Frying Pan Alley was quiet and deserted. The sun had set, and this once charming part of London was completely shrouded in darkness, looking more like the kind of place Jack the Ripper might have stalked his prey than a trendy shopping destination. There were a series of cast-iron lamps, wall-mounted and spread evenly along the length of the alley. Only one of them appeared to be working, however. It was inadequate for illuminating the whole of the alleyway and instead it created a single small pool of light a few buildings down from the thrift shop.

  Will stood at the far end of the lane with his feet planted firmly and his hands balled into fists. He was trying to summon enough courage to step into the darkness, acutely aware of the gruesome scene that it led to. He couldn’t quite make out the shop from where he was standing; all that was visible was the shallow pool of light. He decided to tackle this in stages: the first thing he needed to do was reach the pool of light.

  Easy, he thought, no dead bodies there. No big deal.

  He gritted his teeth and scurried into the lane, almost at a running pace. With his focus on finding Abigayle, the tenderness in his battered feet seemed completely insignificant now. In no time at all he had completed stage one. He had expected the light to be some kind of sanctuary from the oppressive darkness of the rest of the alleyway, but somehow the light proved to be worse. As his eyes adjusted, everything beyond the light had become so completely dark that Will could barely make out anything beyond the dimly lit main streets at either end. The space in between was unexplored wilderness as far as he was concerned. He’d never considered himself as being scared of the dark, but when there really was a chance that monsters were lurking there – monsters in tweed, carrying guns – then it suddenly took on a whole new dimension.

  His body was full of nervous energy, so he started shifting his weight from one foot to the other in quick, anxious movements. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, and the temptation to turn back was compelling. The feeling of trepidation he had towards the shop was in stark contrast to the way he was drawn towards it earlier that day.

  Will forced himself to slow his breathing, which helped to calm his nervous movements. He reminded himself what he was faced with if he didn’t do what needed to be done. A life without Abigayle.

  Don’t worry, Abby, I’ll find you, no matter what.

  With newfound resolve, he stepped out of the light and marched purposefully into the darkness.

  His eyes took a few moments to readjust to the gloom, but he reached the shop front unscathed. This next stage was going to be harder. This stage, he knew, would definitely involve a dead body. He was dreading it, but he took a deep breath, stepped closer to the window and peered in through the small pane of glass he’d wiped clean hours earlier. Most of the inside of the shop was a dark moonlit shade of blue, but he could just about make out the figure of the shop owner, hunched over his desk at the far end of the room in the light of a flickering banker’s lamp. He sidestepped towards the door, turned the handle and gave it a firm shove. The door gave way more easi
ly this time, swinging inwards.

  Will took care as he descended the steps and ducked back into the multi-levelled interior of the shop. Earlier today he would have described the place as organised chaos; now, though, it was just chaos. The gunmen, after shooting the owner, had clearly turned the place upside down. They must have been looking for something – Will instinctively slid his hand over his jacket, feeling for the shape of the watch in his pocket. The stacks of tables and chairs had collapsed, the sofas had been slashed open and their foam torn out. The fireplaces had been tipped over and the wooden bird cages had been shattered. Even the wooden canoe had been pulled from the wall and hacked to pieces.

  The commotion must have stirred up the dust, which was now even thicker in the air than it had been earlier. The shop interior had once been spread across three distinct levels, but as Will looked across the space, the degree of destruction here had made those levels no longer discernible. He very carefully approached the counter at the back of the room, taking care not to trip over any of the objects strewn across the floor.

  Will had only seen a dead body once before; his mother had died two years earlier after a prolonged battle with cancer. He had been at her bedside when she passed, and he didn’t relish the idea of being reminded of that moment.

  Trying his best to avert his eyes from the lifeless form behind the counter, a faint tapping sound piqued his interest. At first, he thought it was coming from the side room with the clocks covering the walls. They had been ticking away furiously on his last visit, but they all seemed to have fallen silent.

  When he rounded the counter, standing to the left of the shop owner’s body, he forced himself to take in the scene before him. The shop owner was sitting in his seat with his chest resting at a slight angle on the countertop, his head turned to the right, thankfully looking away from Will. His left arm was hanging down over the near side of the counter. It was at this point that Will found the source of the sound. A slow, regular drip of blood was running down the shop owner’s arm, along his fingers, and pitter-pattering in a gleaming red pool on the shop floor. Will held the back of his hand to his mouth, the whiff of iron in the air almost making him gag.