Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery

by Martin, Monique

  Charlie nodded slowly, once again resigned to his fate. “I woulda taken those two months over the nothin’ I got any day. I shoulda kept on tryin’. Never be another Mary. Not for me.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Eleven years ago. Coulda been yesterday.” He looked up from the tattered edges of the rag and made sure he caught Simon’s eye. “You’re a lucky man, Professor. You’ve got your Mary. Don’t let her go.”

  Simon nodded thoughtfully and drank the last of his Scotch. Elizabeth wasn’t his to lose. Or was she? The real question was, did he have the courage to find out?

  * * *

  Elizabeth gave Simon a wide berth all night. A few times he made tacit overtures; a gaze that lingered a moment too long, the beginnings of an unsure smile, and he even stuttered something about her hair. If she didn’t know better, she might let herself believe he was feeling contrite. But this was Simon Cross after all. The same man who’d just two nights before rejected and humiliated her. The same man who had nothing more to say than that he was sorry.

  She’d fooled herself into believing he was something he wasn’t and paid the price. Working at Charlie’s used to be fun, but now it was all she could do to keep a smile plastered on her face for the customers. It wasn’t bad enough that she had to work with him all night, but the walk home was unbearable. Once they were in the room, she could crawl into bed, hide in the darkness. But the silence and awkwardness of walking home on the deserted streets was strangely too intimate.

  Tonight she was lucky, it was bank night. Growing up around pool halls and race tracks, Elizabeth knew what that really meant. Banks, the kind Charlie and some of her father’s friends used, were no more than glorified bookies. A safe house to store your cash. The locations changed to keep the bad guys and the feds guessing. It was a risky way to handle money, but when you made your living under the table, it came with the territory.

  If she could make the run with Lester the bouncer, then he could walk her on to the apartment, and she could avoid the death march with Simon. It was a good plan. Of course, convincing Charlie wasn’t so easy. He rejected the idea at first. He wasn’t too crazy about letting her go to the safe house. Guns, money, and a pretty girl—nothing good ever came out of that mix. She promised to stay out of the way, but he wouldn’t budge. When she pushed out her lower lip in her patented pout, his resolve began to weaken. She knew it was dirty pool, using her feminine wiles, but what good were wiles unless you used them now and again? Finally, Charlie agreed, the old softie, but only if she did everything Lester told her.

  For his part, Simon accepted her announcement with resignation. She’d expected a lecture, or, at the very least a disapproving glare. He simply nodded and asked her to be careful. With one last significant look at Lester, he left to walk home alone. For a brief second, Elizabeth wanted to go after him, but thankfully the moment of madness passed.

  Once the money was bundled, she and Lester started out. The strain of the last few days was finally beginning to hit her, and she was more than grateful that Lester was a man of few words. They walked quietly along the empty streets. The sound of their footsteps and the occasional clatter of a milk horse cart were the only noises to disturb the night and her thoughts. Had it been her imagination or was Simon less Simony tonight? He seemed distracted and softer around the edges somehow.

  She shook her head and walked a little faster. No. She was not going to fall for it again. She’d take the little, shreddy remnants of her heart and move on. She was moving on. Definitely, moving on.

  If he wanted to apologize, really apologize, he’d had ample opportunity. Well, maybe not ample. She’d been gone each morning before he woke up, ignored him at the club, and didn’t talk to him at home. But if he really wanted to, he’d have found a way. So, clearly, he didn’t want to. He liked it the way it was. Her suffering and burning in the hell of abject despair was obviously the way he wanted things.

  And that was fine by her. Not the suffering, she could definitely do without that part, but she didn’t need him. She was a rock. She was an island. And channeling Simon and Garfunkel was never a good sign.

  She sighed so heavily, Lester actually spoke. “You okay, Lizzy?”

  “Yeah. Just thinking.”

  “Ah,” he said and nodded sagely. “Gotcha.”

  “We almost there?”

  “Yeah, it’s just—” Lester stopped walking and grabbed Elizabeth’s arm. He cocked his big, bald head to the side.

  “What is it?” she asked anxiously. His sausage-sized fingers dug into her arm.

  “We’re bein’—”

  The figures came out of the darkness too fast for either of them to react. A pair of iron hands clamped onto her arms, pulled her out of Lester’s grip and tossed her into the shadows of the alley.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The bright moon cast its silvery light through the thin curtains. Simon sat in his chair, his personal prison, and waited. The minutes dragged on and still Elizabeth wasn’t home. The streets below were empty and still. The only sound piercing the night was the clatter of an old-fashioned milk cart, the horse’s hooves beat out an unnatural cadence in the city night.

  Simon pulled back the curtain and looked down into the darkness, willing her slender silhouette to walk down the sidewalk. Not a soul was there. Slumping back into his chair, he absently felt for the gold watch in his pocket. The feel of the etched case under his fingers wasn’t as calming as it had been a few short days ago.

  He took a deep breath and tried to content himself with waiting. As the minutes grew into an hour, an uneasy sense of foreboding welled deep inside him. He should have protested her accompanying Lester on Charlie’s errand, but he knew it would have fallen on deaf ears, or worse yet, driven her further away.

  He’d been an absolute fool. He’d pushed her away and then idiotically wondered where she went. He should have gone after her tonight. The niggling voice in the back of his mind whispered his darkest fears. Was tonight the night his nightmares became reality?

  The room was empty without her. He was empty without her. He should have laid his heart out for her, but he’d run away. Simon pushed the chair back and stood. Time to bloody well stop running.

  He retraced the path he’d taken home—up Market Street and down Madison. He vaguely thought of calling Charlie at the bar, when he realized pay phones weren’t commonplace in the twenties. He rounded a corner when he heard a voice filtering up the street. He stopped for a moment and listened. There it was again. He crossed Madison and the sounds grew more distinct—a low guttural moan and a higher voice talking in hurried, anxious tones. His long legs quickened their stride and came to a sudden stop at the mouth of an alley.

  Lester lay on his back, and the small huddled form of Elizabeth bent over him.

  “Dear God,” Simon choked out.

  Elizabeth swung her head around at the sound. Her eyes were wide with fear and a trickle of blood on her forehead stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin.

  “Simon,” she gasped in relief. “How did you...” Her voice trailed off, and her expression changed. Her eyes hardened. “What are you doing here?” she asked and turned back to Lester, who moaned and tried to lift his head. “It’s all right, Les.”

  Simon managed to get his legs to move again. It was all he could do not to take her into his arms. He knelt down next to her and tried to slow his thundering heart. “You’re hurt. What happened?”

  Ignoring him, she gently touched the side of Lester’s face, below the growing knot on his forehead. “How do you feel?”

  “Like I went twenty with Sullivan,” he croaked.

  He reached for his breast pocket and his thick brow furrowed when he found it empty. “Damn. You okay, Lizzy?”

  “Of course, she’s not,” Simon barked. “Look at her.”

  She glared at Simon before smiling back down at Lester. “I’m okay.”

  “What happened?” Simon asked, as she raised a shaky hand to her
ashen face. She wasn’t all right, and he damn well wished she’d stop pretending she was. He helped Lester push himself into a sitting position, but his eyes never left Elizabeth.

  “Old-fashioned mugging,” she said in a tremulous voice that belied the flippancy of her words.

  Simon’s heart took another step into his throat as images of Elizabeth being thrown against the hard, brick wall flashed through his mind. “Mugged?”

  “Naw, they musta followed us,” Lester said.

  “Followed you?” Simon asked.

  “Musta known about the deposit,” Lester said as he tentatively felt the mouse growing on his forehead. “Charlie’s gonna skin me alive.”

  Elizabeth put a comforting hand on his arm. “Money can be replaced.”

  Lester laughed and then winced in regret. “Not this money, but I was talkin’ bout you. Charlie made me promise six days to Sunday I’d look out for ya.”

  Simon bit back the derisive comment that rolled on his tongue. He was in no position to cast stones; his glass house had shattered days ago.

  Lester leaned against the wall and managed to stand up. “You sure you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said and ignored Simon’s offer of help as she got to her feet.

  Lester shook his head and sighed. “Guess I better go face the music.” He looked at Simon and his dull eyes glinted in the lamplight. “You take care of her?”

  Simon didn’t trust his voice and simply nodded.

  Elizabeth took a shaky step toward the street. “We’ll walk you back.”

  Simon was at her side in a moment and held her elbow for support. Whether she liked it or not, he was going to help her.

  “Hell no,” Lester said. “It’s gonna be bad enough without him seein’ ya like that. I really am sorry, Lizzy. They came outta nowhere.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “It ain’t, but thanks,” he said sheepishly. Lester shook his head once to clear it and started down the street mumbling to himself.

  “We should follow him,” she said, taking an unsteady step forward.

  Simon gripped her arm more tightly and shook his head. “He’ll be all right.”

  “He was out for too long,” she said. “I should—”

  “Would you stop! Just stop for one moment and let me take care of you!”

  She stared at him for a long moment in obvious shock. He saw a flicker of vulnerability cross her eyes, but she pushed it away. He’d seen it though, and it gave him hope. “Please,” he said softly. “Let me take you home.”

  “Home,” she said, and a near hysterical burst of laughter bubbled out of her throat. She glanced nervously around the darkened alley, and he felt her arm began to tremble. The trauma of the night finally caught up with her.

  “Elizabeth,” Simon said.

  She looked up at him, eyes bordering on tears.

  He slipped an arm around her back, and she nodded numbly.

  * * *

  Once they were safely back in the apartment, Simon maneuvered her to the bed and piled pillows behind her. “I’ll get a cloth,” he said and disappeared into the bathroom.

  His hands shook as he turned on the cold tap. He glanced into the bedroom to reassure himself she was still there. She was, but it didn’t calm his pounding heart. He wet a washcloth and hurried back into the bedroom.

  Elizabeth’s head was tilted back against the headboard, her eyes closed. His heart clenched again. He’d come so close to losing her. He dragged a chair to the bedside, the sodden rag dripping in his hand as he leaned forward. “Do you need to go to hospital?”

  Elizabeth opened her eyes and shook head slowly. “Not that bad,” she said and reached up to touch her forehead.

  “Let me,” he said, holding out the cloth. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

  “Mugged,” she said stonily. It was her turn to put up a wall. Was this what it felt like to be on the other side? Is this how she felt every time he shut her out?

  “They grabbed me,” she continued, closing her eyes briefly. “And I hit my head. I think I saw them. I’m not sure. It’s all a little fuzzy.”

  “It’s all right,” he said, then held up the washcloth. “May I?”

  She nodded and watched him warily, but he made sure to be gentle as he probed the wound. The cut was nestled below her hairline. It wasn’t very big, and the blood was already starting to congeal. He carefully wiped away the few dark, crimson lines that streaked her face. She hissed in a quick breath when he touched a particularly sore spot.

  He pulled his hands away quickly. “Sorry.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said.

  Simon rested his elbows on his knees and looked down at the soiled carpet at his feet. It did matter. If he could only find a way to tell her just how much. “I am sorry.”

  “You already said that.” Her voice was bitter and harsh. The tone, even more than the words, struck a cord in him. Wounded and lashing out. And it was all his doing.

  “I don’t mean...” he said and sighed in frustration. He simply couldn’t remain seated. He stood and walked to the far side of the room, tossing the bloody cloth onto the table. “I’m a fool.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “Go on.”

  “You have every reason in the world to hate me,” he said hoarsely. When she didn’t deny it, he felt his resolve weaken. There were so many things he wanted to say, needed to say, but he couldn’t find the words. He touched the back of his chair by the window and nearly fled into the safe confines of lonely misery it provided. The little, wooden chair had come to symbolize his retreat from life. Twice, he’d sought refuge there, hiding from his emotions, but it was a lost cause.

  Closing his eyes, the images from his nightmare flashed before him. He remembered the desolation he’d felt at the end of each dream, the unspeakable torment of watching her die. He’d never been more frightened in his life. Until tonight.

  “I understand if you choose not to forgive me,” he said slowly, unable to look at her. “I behaved abominably. It was a mistake.”

  “You said that too.”

  Simon turned to look at her, letting her rebuke find its mark. He nodded in acceptance and started to pace. Words drifted just beyond his reach, and he moved more quickly in a futile attempt to capture them.

  “I’ve never been good at expressing my feelings and, bloody hell, why should it be different now?” he said with exasperation. “No matter what I do, I can’t get a moment’s rest from thinking about you. You’re always there. Did you know that?” he said, accusing her. He put his fists on his hips and sighed. “Of course you didn’t. How would you? I could barely admit it to myself. Deny and rationalize. I’m a master at that, you know. Finding ways to mine misery out of pleasure.”

  She moved to sit on the edge of the bed, her hand fleetingly going to her forehead. “What is it you want, Simon? You want me to feel sorry for you? Doesn’t sound like you need my help for that.”

  “That isn’t what I want.”

  “Then you better start saying what you want because I don’t have any idea. You’re scared. Who isn’t? You think I’m not? You think I wasn’t terrified tonight when...” Her voice trailed off and she clasped her hands in her lap. “If all this is about asking my forgiveness, we can cut to the chase. Consider yourself forgiven, and we can forget this ever happened.”

  “I can’t forget. And I don’t want to.”

  “So far this week is pretty high on my things to forget list. It’s not exactly filled with picture postcard memories.”

  “I take full responsibility for—”

  “Would you stop that,” she said, jumping to her feet and fighting for balance. “Not everything is about you. It’s so convenient to take too much on your shoulders, isn’t it? So when you collapse under the weight no one can blame you.”

  He whirled around to face her. “Do you think I wanted this? Do you think I wanted to hurt you?”

  “The results speak for them
selves.”

  “No they don’t. The last thing in the world I wanted to do was hurt you. When you kissed me, I...I panicked. I’m not proud of it and I’m not trying to make excuses. You said that I’m a selfish man. Perhaps I am. For wanting things I can’t have,” he said and let out a deep breath, “for wanting you.”

  He stood there, raw and vulnerable for the longest moment of his life, before he turned away.

  “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” she said, her voice trembling.

  “I’ve never meant anything more in my life,” he said. “I don’t expect you to understand. God knows, I don’t. I’ve spent the better part of my life avoiding any sort of personal entanglement. But you, you’re...unavoidable. I tried. You have no idea the hours I spent trying not to think about you. Trying not to imagine what it would be like to hold you in my arms.”

  He forced himself to look into her eyes. “You absolutely terrify me. Whenever I’m with you it’s as though someone has reached inside my chest, until the pain is almost more than I can bear. And when I’m not with you, I’d give anything to feel that way again.”

  He heaved a deep sigh and continued. “Tonight when I saw you in the alley... I...No, it was before that. I know it doesn’t matter. I know you can’t possibly return my feelings after the way I’ve treated you,” he said and felt his courage failing. He turned away, unable to bear the rejection he knew he’d see in her face. “But I...I couldn’t go another day as I was.”

  The silence was oppressive. Slowly, he eased back around to face her. Her small hands were clenched tightly at her sides, eyes pleading. She was trying so hard to be strong, defying him to hurt her again.

  “And who are you now?” she asked.

  “A man hopelessly in love with you.”

  She closed the space between them, and his heart raced with each step. She stopped a few feet away and then slowly, beautifully, a smile came to her face. “Nice to meet you.”

  If he could only stop time, he would lock this moment away for eternity. Tentatively, he lifted his hand to her cheek, barely a caress, and gently pushed a stray lock of hair away from her face. He searched her eyes for any sign of resistance, but she leaned into his touch. Emboldened, he loosely cupped her face with the palm of his hand. He moved slowly, giving her every chance to pull away.