Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1)

by Jennette Marie Powell

  To get some answers, dammit!

  But he still wouldn’t—or couldn’t—move. No reason to be here. What am I doing?

  He took a step closer to the porch, but that other... presence inside his head—he could think of no other way to describe it—continued to balk. What the hell?

  He stopped trying to force himself to move and stared down at the pocked cement of the sidewalk. A line of ants trailed busily into a raised, dirt anthill in a crack. On the street, a big, black SUV approached. Slowly, as if the driver were looking for something,

  Or watching him.

  Tony glanced up. Wasn’t that Keith Lynch’s truck?

  The SUV trundled past, not slowly enough for Tony to get a glimpse of the driver.

  Don’t be ridiculous. What would Keith be doing in this neighborhood?

  This time travel stuff was weirding him out, making him paranoid. Go to the house. See what it’s all about.

  No reason to be here, he argued with himself. Go back to the office.

  It was as if two of him resided in his head at once. A past-self and a present-self? Or rather, a present-self and a future-self?

  Crazy.

  So is standing here like an idiot, his resistant self said.

  A white, lace curtain fluttered in one of the house’s first floor windows.

  Someone was watching him.

  Leave. Now. Before they think you’re casing the joint and call the cops.

  His legs obeyed the small voice, and he strode back down the sidewalk toward his car.

  As he stepped off the curb, the black SUV came careening around the corner.

  All Tony saw was the silver grille and a Cadillac emblem bearing down on him.

  As Tony emerged from the elevator on the parking garage’s fourth floor—after six again—a black SUV trundled down the spiral exit ramp from the floor above.

  Tony tensed. Had whoever it was come back for him, after his near miss in front of the Saturn Society house?

  He waited while the truck rolled down another loop, and as he glimpsed the Ford emblem on its tailgate, he let out his breath.

  On the way home, he picked up dinner at Happy Hunan. He could eat Chinese almost every day, but Dora...

  Depending on her mood, she’d complain or tell him to save it for tomorrow. Either way she’d say something if he brought Chinese takeout two days in a row. If he’d actually done so. Two years ago, he might not have. One way to find out.

  When he got home, a silver Lexus sat in the driveway, blocking him out of the garage. Charlie’s. What the hell? Lisa had choir practice at church every Tuesday night. And they never showed up at Tony’s house unannounced.

  Unless... He remembered the hospital in Mexico. Charlie sitting with Dora, his hand on her knee. But if he’d really gone back in time, that hadn’t happened yet. And he still wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. Maybe Lisa’s choir practice had been canceled.

  He parked beside Charlie’s car and walked to the front door, conscious of placing one foot in front of the other, unable to get the picture of Charlie and Dora out of his mind. His wife and Charlie. Oh, come on! He was still freaked out by all the weird, two-years-ago stuff, not to mention almost getting run down by that SUV on Harrison Street. Maybe Dora had made plans with Lisa and Charlie, and hadn’t mentioned it since Tony had expected to be out of town.

  His hand trembled as he placed it on the doorknob and slowly turned it. At a gentle push, the door swung open without its usual squeal.

  He took a hesitant step inside, then another. The carpet muffled his footsteps through the foyer. Before he turned the corner, a familiar giggle made him stop. It wasn’t his sister’s.

  Dread lanced through his middle like a giant fist strangling him. God, no. They had to be watching TV. Laughing at some stupid sitcom.

  More giggling. “That tickles,” Dora said.

  “A bad tickle, or a good one?” Charlie’s voice.

  “Mmm.... good. Very good.” Dora sighed.

  Tony put a hand to the wall and leaned on it. He could feel his heartbeat in his throat. No. He was imagining this. And the date on the paper. His email. Dora’s blue sweater. Everything.

  “Mm,” Dora said. “Oh, yes.” Louder. “Don’t stop, it feels so good.”

  It couldn’t be. No. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. Turn around, walk out. Then come back in.

  Tony’s feet didn’t obey. Instead, he continued to the living room, unable to take a breath, feeling like someone had punched him in the chest.

  Finally a big gulp of air rushed into his lungs. He forced his feet to move until he rounded the corner.

  Dora lay on the couch, facing him, but Charlie hovered over her, blocking her from view. Lisa was nowhere in sight. His brother-in-law wore nothing but his underwear and socks. Dora’s bra, blouse and skirt lay in a heap on the floor, mingled with the rest of Charlie’s clothing. Tony’s mouth slid open as the other man bent over his wife to suckle on her breast. The bag of food fell from his hand and struck the floor with a muted crash.

  Dora jerked upright, pushing Charlie back. Her eyes met Tony’s. The color drained from her face. “Oh my God.”

  Charlie turned around. “Oh fuck.” His face fell slack.

  Tony’s mouth moved but nothing came out.

  “It’s not what it looks like!” Charlie leaped off the couch and faced Tony, raising his hands, palms out.

  Tony found his voice. “Then what is it? You’re telling me you’re not fucking my wife?”

  “Wh- what are you doing here?” Dora whimpered. A ball of fire formed in Tony’s chest, one he didn’t know if he wanted to hurl at her or at his brother-in-law. You fucking bastard. Unable to speak, he clenched his fist. Wanted to deck Charlie, send him flying across the room. Dora huddled in a ball at the far end of the couch. Tony lowered his hand. The bastard wasn’t worth it.

  Charlie mumbled something. Tony spied a wallet and keys on the coffee table. He strode over and picked them up, then threw them at Charlie. They hit his chest and slid to his feet. Tony spoke quietly. “Get the hell out of my house.”

  Charlie scooped them up along with his clothes and bolted out the door.

  Tony stared at the door. Dora moved off the couch and crouched on the floor, picking up her blouse. “I can’t believe this!” Tony watched her with his mouth open, more words to say but none came out for several seconds. “I can not. Fucking. Believe this,” he finally repeated.

  “I- I can explain.” She struggled to slip her arm into the blouse.

  “You’re fucking your Goddamn boss—my sister’s husband!—while I’m conveniently out of town and she’s at church, for God’s sake. What’s to explain?” His fists curled and uncurled.

  “Tony, I...” Her arm finally found the sleeve. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I was just... always alone, and he stopped by—”

  “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

  She stopped fumbling at the buttons and looked down. “No,” she whimpered. A choked sniffle came from her.

  Tony muttered a few more choice words then whirled around. Vegetable lo mein squished beneath his foot as he walked out the door, which Charlie had failed to shut.

  “Tony! Wait!” Dora yelled. He opened his car door. She ran into the driveway, clutching her blouse shut. “Please... we can talk—”

  He stopped. “I can’t.” She should’ve talked a long time ago. Who knew, maybe there’d been others besides Charlie.

  Tony got in the car and slammed the door. He couldn’t deal with her now. Talk could come later.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. The sound crept into Tony’s dream. He was firing a gun; although he couldn’t see the target, didn’t even know what he was firing at. The gun fired again (Bang! Bang!) and again—

  He jerked awake. Squinting, he peered around the room. The setting sun speared splashes of light on cream-colored walls with kids’ pictures. His parents’ house, where he’d gone to sleep off his night spent with a bottle of Crown Royal in a mote
l, having forgotten that his folks were in Vegas. They went every year in March for their birthdays, which were a week apart.

  Bang. Bang. It was someone knocking on the door. “Tony!”

  His sister.

  He heaved himself off the couch. As soon as he yanked the door open, Lisa stumbled inside and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “Charlie told me everything.” Her shoulders shook, and Tony patted her back, unsure of what else to do or what to say. “He... he stayed with a friend last night, but I know he’ll come home after work, and I.... I just needed to be away.” She pulled back. “Where’ve you been? I tried to call...”

  Tony’s mouth tightened. “I left my phone in the car.” Because if Dora had tried to call him, he didn’t want to talk to her. Although when he’d gotten into his car at the motel that morning, there had been no need to worry—the only missed calls were Lisa’s. Which he’d planned to return after he got some sleep.

  Lisa followed him into the living room, where he sank back into the sofa. She perched on the edge of their dad’s leather recliner. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Right now, all I know is I feel like hell.” Tony covered his eyes with his arm.

  “You look like it too.” She sniffed, and her upper lip twitched. Tony rolled over, facing the sofa back, but the lecture never came. The leather rustled as she stood. “Why don’t I see what they’ve got to eat around here.”

  Ten minutes later he woke to the scent of hamburger and the clink of Lisa setting two plates on his mom’s glass-top coffee table. His head throbbed in protest as he heaved himself upright and mumbled his thanks to his sister. As he ate, his headache abated.

  Lisa sat in the recliner, elbows braced on her knees. “Charlie called me from work today,” she said as Tony took the last bite of his burger. She’d only taken two bites of hers. “He wants to go to counseling.”

  Tony lifted an eyebrow. “Do you?”

  “I don’t know.” She picked at a hangnail. “But it’s not about me.”

  Tony managed a nod. Lisa’s sons were fifteen and seventeen; Bethany was right between them... or had been.

  “I never had a clue. He said he was working late, and...” Lisa rested her forehead on her hand. “I believed him.” She looked up. “Did you? Have any idea, I mean?”

  Tony popped a potato chip into his mouth, never taking his gaze off his plate. “Yeah, but I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

  “When?”

  “When I—” A chunk of potato chip he thought he’d swallowed lodged in his throat. He took a swig of Coke, and the chip washed down. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “They came to—” He started coughing, unable to stop.

  Lisa jumped up and slapped him on the back. “Are you okay?”

  He took a deep breath. “I saw them...” In the hospital. In Mexico, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out, as if some unseen force were preventing it.

  Like at the Saturn Society. The other presence—his past self, or rather, the Tony that belonged in this time, who hadn’t yet time-traveled, and wouldn’t let him—

  “You saw them...” Lisa made a rolling motion with her hand.

  “Together. I can’t remember where.” The lie stung his throat, even though the truth wouldn’t come out. Didn’t make sense, and wouldn’t for another two years. “Charlie... he had his hand on Dora’s knee, thought I wasn’t looking.” Tony let out a breath. At least he’d been able to say that much. He studied his shoes. “In a way, I can’t blame her. I mean, ever since Bethany... Dora said I was never there. And she was right.”

  “Maybe. But what’s my husband’s excuse?” She went on about how she knew she’d probably be better off without Charlie if it weren’t for the boys. Tony listened and nodded, then his jaw went slack.

  The walls had changed. Instead of the cream color they’d been before, they now gleamed reddish-brown in the setting sun slanting through the window. And where did Lisa go?

  Tony leaned on the armrest to get up, and his hand met with woven cloth. He looked down. An old-fashioned floral print. Not the brown leather he’d been sitting in before—

  Lisa rose from the recliner—where she hadn’t been a second ago—and collected the dishes. “I’m sorry, I’m sitting here blathering. You’ve got to be tired.”

  Tony’s mouth snapped shut. The walls were once again cream-colored, and the furniture, back to the old leather stuff.

  And his headache was back.

  Lisa disappeared into the kitchen. Water ran and dishes clinked. Hoping to dull the pounding of his head, Tony lay back down on the sofa, facing out. The walls remained cream-colored.

  He hadn’t imagined the change. That maroon color was what his mom had painted them—or would paint them, after she retired a year from now, and bought the new furniture with the floral print—

  Vertigo displaced his headache, and when the room stopped spinning, the maroon walls and floral furniture were back.

  Tony blinked. The colors didn’t change.

  His headache was gone. So were the sounds of his sister loading the dishwasher. “Lisa?”

  The house was silent except for the whir of the furnace. “Lisa?” He stood, and caught a glimpse of his slacks—

  What the hell? They were tan, but he’d been wearing navy, the same clothes he wore to work yesterday.

  He ran into the kitchen. “Lisa?”

  The room was empty, and table and counters were clean. More telling, the room no longer smelled of Lisa’s cooking.

  Could he have—? Feeling like he’d swallowed a balloon, Tony hurried back to the living room, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. The cable news station was already on, and a quick glance at the ticker scrolling across the bottom of the screen confirmed his suspicion.

  He’d returned to the present. Thank God.

  But why was he at his parents’ house then, too?

  As soon as he thought the question, the answer ticked into place. He’d stopped by on his way home from the office to water the plants, and started to lie down for a nap.

  Which was starting to sound really good, come to think of it. Almost like the other night, when he’d slept in his clothes, then woke to find it was two years ago.

  Damn, he’d better get home, get to bed before he did that again. Maybe, just maybe, the whole thing with Dora and Charlie was just a bad dream.

  He could hope.

  By the time Tony pulled into his driveway all he could think of was bed. He reached up to hit the garage door opener button. His thumb pressed into the felt surface of the sun visor. He felt around, but nothing was clipped there.

  He mumbled a curse as he stopped the car in front of the garage door, then opened the car door so the dome light would come on. Damn thing must have fallen down somehow.

  He groped on the floor, then bent down to check under the seat. No garage door remote. He turned off the ignition and thought about searching some more, but all he wanted to do was go to bed. He stared down at the concrete driveway. He could almost lie down there. He forced himself to walk to the front door, fighting back images of the last time (two years ago?) he’d done the same thing.

  The door was locked, but Dora had left the porch light on. He dug his keys out of his pocket and thumbed through them.

  The house key wasn’t there. He must have missed it. He leaned against the wall, almost too tired to stand, and flipped through them a second time, then a third.

  No house key. What the hell was going on?

  Too tired to ponder it further, he pressed the doorbell.

  Dora opened the door. “Tony?” Her head tilted to one side, her nose wrinkled. “What are you doing here?”

  “I live here, remember?”

  Dora’s upper lip curled, her brows pressed down. “What are you talking about? Look, if you’re—”

  “Dora, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but it’s not funny. Come on, let me by.” He pushed past her and
started to take his coat off.

  Dora’s gaze followed him, her eyes narrowed. “Tony, what are you doing? Look, if something’s wrong, I’ll call your sister to come get you, but you’ve got to leave. I’m expecting company.”

  He froze with his arm halfway out of his coat sleeve. “I’ve got to leave? I don’t think so. And don’t go calling Lisa, I’m fine, just tired.” Too tired to care what “company” she referred to. Plans in which he obviously hadn’t been included.

  “Then get out of my house.”

  “Your house?”

  She stepped back toward the still-ajar door. “Yes, my house. As you agreed to in the divorce, remember?”

  TONY SAT IN THE DRIVEWAY—her driveway. What the hell was he going to do now?

  He looked down at his left hand. No wedding band. He hadn’t even noticed.

  He was divorced. Had been for over a year, he realized. Was Dora’s affair the cause? As soon as his mind formed the question, he knew it had been part, but not all. They’d tried to work things out like Charlie and Lisa had, but all a month of counseling did was prove Tony and Dora were never right for each other. Then another revelation struck him: being divorced disturbed him much less than the fact that Dora had told him to go home—and he had no idea where home was.

  His driver’s license. Of course. The fatigue must be clouding his mind. He pulled out his wallet and hoped he’d updated his license after moving out.

  1531 Rambling Ivy Trail, wherever that was. With a Patterson Hills address. He shoved the wallet back into his pocket and started the car, hoping he found it before he fell asleep at the wheel.

  He'd pulled out of his—or rather, Dora’s—street before he realized he did know where Rambling Ivy Trail was. Luckily, it wasn’t far.

  By the time he reached the Glenhaven Forest Apartment complex ten minutes later, he remembered he had a two-bedroom apartment on the ground level, and that he always parked in the end slot in the carport. He spent little time there other than to sleep. Most evenings he worked late, or hung out at Mulroney’s Pub in the shopping center on the other side of the woods behind the complex.