Out of Time: A Time Travel Mystery

by Martin, Monique

  “Yeah, right back there,” she said, gesturing behind him.

  Simon hurried down the short, dark hall and threw open the door. It clanged against the building, shivering on impact. Bright sunlight streamed into the alley, burning his eyes, as he stepped out. His pulse galloped, refusing to be contained.

  “Elizabeth!”

  He looked quickly up and down the filthy alleyway, determined to find her standing there among the empty packing crates and battered trash bins. She simply had to be there. His mind couldn’t grasp any other thought. He ran to the mouth of the alley and stumbled into the crowd of pedestrians coursing down the busy street. Blaring horns and idle chatter receded like the tide. Blood roared in his ears, deafening everything but the pounding of his heart.

  Turning back to the doorway, a single discarded shoe caught his eye. No. Dear God. No. He knew, even before he held it, that is was hers. Frustrating hours spent buying it and precious minutes taking it off flashed in his mind. The leather strap at the back was torn. He clamped his eyes shut, but the images of her struggling, fighting for her life battered away at him. While he’d sat doing the damn crossword puzzle! His fist tightened over the shoe.

  Elizabeth was gone.

  * * *

  The wooden steps creaked under his weight as he took them two at a time, running up the stairs to their small apartment. He pulled open the door and called out her name. Cold silence answered him.

  He knew it would. Knew she wouldn’t go off without telling him, but in his panic he’d gone to the one place that still held hope she’d left of her of her own volition. It was far better to think she’d lost her senses than accept the truth staring him in the face. He’d pictured this moment in his mind so many times. Jagged shards of his nightmares cut into his thoughts. Each memory chipped away at his denial, a piece of flesh shorn away from his heart.

  He’d let his guard down, just for a moment, and it had cost him everything. His chest burned, the realization striking him like a blow to the solar plexus. Forcing air into his lungs, he swallowed his dread and tried to clear his mind.

  She was alive. He could almost feel her. Whether it was madness that told him so or a bond beyond the mortal world he didn’t know, and didn’t care. She was alive. Those three words would be his mantra until he found her, until he held her in his arms again.

  His hand clenched around the shoe he’d carried back. The sharp edge of the heel digging into his palm brought him back to the present. He would find her, or die trying. Muttering a string of curses for having wasted so much time already, he set her shoe down next to the armoire and went where he should have gone in the first place.

  * * *

  “Where is he?” Simon demanded.

  Charlie’s eyes widened behind the peek hole slot. “What’s wrong?”

  Simon pounded his fist against the heavy metal. He didn’t have time for this. “Open the bloody door!”

  Charlie quickly complied, and Simon grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Where’s King?”

  “Professor—”

  “Where?”

  Charlie’s big hand clamped around Simon’s wrist and tried to pull him off. “Take it easy. What’s happened?”

  “He’s taken Elizabeth, that’s what’s bloody happened. Now tell me where he is.”

  “You can’t—”

  Simon’s fist lashed out like a striking snake and hit Charlie flush on the jaw. The big man’s head jerked back, but his jaw must have been made of iron. The blow didn’t even stagger him. He grabbed Simon’s free hand and twisted him around, easily putting him in an armlock.

  “Let go of me,” Simon growled.

  “Not ‘till you talk sense.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I said? King has Elizabeth.”

  Charlie spun Simon around again and shoved him backwards. “I heard you. And you think you’re any match for him? He’s got ten men twice as strong as I am. You go in there half-cocked, and you’ll get yourself ten kinds of killed. That ain’t gonna help Lizzy.”

  A part of Simon’s mind knew Charlie was right, but the rest was drowning in desperation. He shook out his hand. The knuckles throbbed, and he perversely welcomed the pain. “If you won’t help me, I’ll find someone who will,” he said and started for the door.

  Charlie blocked his path and held up a hand. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.”

  “Then tell me where he is.”

  “Everything all right, Charlie?” Dix asked, appearing in the doorway to the storeroom.

  Charlie never took his eyes off Simon. “No,” he said. “Things ain’t.”

  Dix rubbed a chill from her arms. “What happened?”

  Simon grunted and rolled his shoulders. All this talk wasn’t getting him any closer to Elizabeth. Didn’t they understand?

  “Professor says King’s kidnapped Lizzy.”

  Simon barely heard her gasp. Charlie’s words rang in his ears. The truth of it spoken aloud made his gut wrench.

  Charlie frowned, his thick brow wrinkled in thought. “You didn’t tell anybody you were leavin’, did you?”

  Simon shook his head. “Just you.” As soon as the words left his lips, the thought took root. “Just you,” he repeated his voice sharp with accusation.

  Charlie shoved out his barrel chest and met Simon’s glare. “I’d cut my own throat before I’d put Lizzy in danger. We didn’t say nothin’ to nobody. Right Dix?”

  When she didn’t answer, both men turned to look at her.

  A patina of sweat had broken out on her forehead. She shuffled her feet nervously, her painted fingernails digging into the soft flesh of her arm.

  “Dix?”

  She swallowed and finally lifted her chin. Tears puddled in her eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Charlie shook his head. “What are you sayin’, Dix? You didn’t tell nobody, did you?”

  Her eyes closed and black, mascara tears streaked down her face. “I’m sorry,” she said, choking back a sob. “I—”

  Simon snapped out of his shock and lunged toward her. He grabbed her arms in a fierce grip. “What did you do? Who did you tell? Talk or so help me God—”

  She blubbered insensibly, and Simon shook her violently. It was all he could do not to put his hands around her neck and strangle the truth out of her. He’d never wanted to strike a woman before, but he could feel the rage burning inside to a fever pitch. With one final shake, he shoved her away before the final tether on his control broke.

  Dix staggered back, loose strands of hair, matted down by tears, clung over her face. She trembled and wiped a shaky hand under her nose. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any choice.”

  Charlie took a few steps closer, but stopped when she cowered back. “It’s all right,” he said with a quick glance at Simon. “Tell us what happened.”

  She sniffled and took a few, hiccupping breaths. “I didn’t want to tell him. You gotta believe me,” she said. Her eyes darted to Simon before looking back pleadingly at Charlie. “I didn’t have any choice. King made me do it.”

  Charlie inched forward and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Did he hurt ya?”

  “No,” she said and wriggled out of his touch. She looked over at Simon. “I didn’t do it to save my own hide, if that’s what you’re thinkin’. I know you don’t think much of me, but I’m better than that.”

  Simon forced himself to look at her, but didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “Then why, Dix?” Charlie asked. “Why’d you do it?”

  “For you,” she whispered.

  Charlie blinked in surprise. “Me?”

  “After work, he’d come by. Sometimes here, sometimes on my way home, and he’d ask me things. About them. I didn’t say nothin’ at first, but then he said there’d be a price to pay if I didn’t. I couldn’t let nothin’ happen to you, Charlie.”

  “You should’ve told me,” Charlie growled. “Wasn’t your choice to make. Don’t ya see what you’ve done?”<
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  “I did it cause I love you, Charlie.”

  Charlie looked thunderstruck, and took a step backward.

  “And so Elizabeth pays with her life?” Simon spat.

  Dix patched together what little pride she had left and set her jaw. “You woulda done the same thing. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t.”

  Even the truth in what she said couldn’t salve the sting of betrayal. He’d been a fool to trust them, to trust anyone.

  Charlie leaned against the bar, stunned. Whether it was from what she’d done or why she’d done it, Simon didn’t care. They were wasting time. “Where’s he taken her?”

  “I don’t know,” Dix said. “Really. I don’t know.”

  “Charlie?” Simon said. “Tell me where he lives, or I’ll walk out that door and question everyone I see until I get an answer.”

  The barkeep heaved his big chest and seemed to come to a decision. He walked around to the back of the bar and reached under the counter. “You ever shoot before?”

  Simon looked at the pistols in Charlie’s hands. “Only rifles.”

  Charlie nodded grimly and shoved the revolver across the bar. “Good enough. I got these after the break in. Figured they might come in handy,” he said and tucked a Colt into the waistband of his pants.

  Dix jumped forward and gripped his arm as he tried to walk past. “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  Charlie took her by the shoulders. “You go to your sister’s in Hoboken. I’ll call ya when the coast is clear.”

  “Charlie,” she pleaded, but he shook his head and walked around to Simon.

  Simon picked up the revolver and wrapped his fingers around the heavy metal. “This won’t stop King.”

  “We’re gonna have to get through a lot before we even get close to Kashian.”

  Charlie stood at the ready and Simon shook his head. “I can’t ask you to—”

  “You ain’t askin’, but I’m goin’,” Charlie said. “Come on, I got a car round back. You’re gonna need all the help you can get, Professor.”

  Simon felt a quick rush of denial, but Charlie was right. He did need help, and for once he had to be man enough to admit it. He nodded sharply and started for the door. The sooner they got to King’s, the better. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie turn once more back to Dix. “You get to your sister’s,” he said, then gently touched her cheek. “You shoulda told me.”

  With one last look, he joined Simon in the doorway, and the two men headed off to face King Kashian.

  * * *

  Charlie’s Studebaker swerved through the late, afternoon traffic, snaking its way uptown. The oppressive heat wave was back, and Simon felt a trickle of sweat run down his cheek. Through the dirty car window, he could see a storm brewing in the distance as it crawled its way down the coast from the north. Both men sat forward in the car, shoulders hunched, muscles corded, minds racing.

  The cars around them belched thick, black exhaust that coated Simon’s throat. He swallowed down the oily taste that clung to his tongue and burned his lungs. Gray buildings and black trucks passed by in a blur as Charlie maneuvered them through the jammed street. The once frenzied city now seemed to be moving at a snail’s pace, and Simon leaned forward, silently urging them to move faster.

  “We’ll park it around back,” Charlie said, as he ducked the car into an alley off Park Avenue. “I know the desk clerk. He runs a book out of the back room, so you let me do the talkin’.”

  Simon nodded and checked the gun in his jacket pocket. He tested the heavy weight of it, resting the grip in his palm. He flipped open the cylinder and ran his fingers over the back of the shells. Six bullets. There wasn’t time to wonder if that would be enough. Flicking his wrist, the cylinder snapped back into place, and he slipped the gun back into his pocket.

  They entered the upscale residence hotel through the back door. Charlie waved a hand, signaling for Simon to wait, and then peered around the corner and into the lobby. The gray marble floor was studded with elaborate columns, an echo of a Roman coliseum. Oddly appropriate, Simon thought, as they prepared to step onto the floor. A well-dressed couple left their key with the clerk on their way out through the revolving door. The room was empty. It was time. Charlie nodded once, and with frightening ease shed the urgency that had surrounded him and casually walked to the desk.

  The clerk was a hard looking man with thinning hair, slicked back with too much brilliantine. There was an upturned scar at the corner of his mouth that made him look like he was perpetually smirking.

  “How’s it, Mack?” Charlie said.

  The man’s scarred lip twitched. “What you doin’ here, Blue?”

  Charlie wasn’t phased by the cold welcome and grinned. “Got a hot tip on the seventh at Pimlico. We do a little business?”

  Mack’s eyes landed on Simon and narrowed.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Charlie said. “He’s all right.”

  Mack didn’t seem convinced but nodded and shoved away from the desk. Simon and Charlie followed him into a little room.

  The dim light from a large radio dial glowed in the corner, as the always incongruous “Yes, We Have No Bananas” crackled through the static.

  Making sure the door was closed behind them, Mack took a small pad from the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. “How much?”

  Charlie casually walked past him. “It’s a good one. You might wanna lay down a little something. Dexter here,” he said, nodding his head toward Simon, “He knows the track doctor.”

  Mack’s face lit up and he took a step toward Simon. “You do? That’s—”

  Once Mack’s attention was turned, Charlie took out his gun and hit him hard on the back of the head. Mack slumped to the floor, unconscious before he hit the ground. The radio played on softly in the background.

  Simon stared down at the crumpled form and felt a sick sort of satisfaction. One less obstacle in his way.

  “He’s got a head like a brick. He’ll wake up soon enough,” Charlie said and eased open the door. “We gotta move, Professor.”

  Simon clenched his jaw and nodded. He was ready to do whatever it took to get Elizabeth back. His hand strayed to the gun in his pocket, as they hurried down the short hall to the elevators.

  The doors were already open as the car sat on the ground floor waiting. The operator nearly fell off his stool when Charlie and Simon stepped inside.

  “Penthouse,” Charlie said.

  The man righted his red felt bellboy cap and stood up looking like a defiant organ grinder’s monkey. “Who’re you?”

  Simon pushed him against the paneled wall. “Never mind that. Get this thing moving.”

  The little man shook his head and was about to protest, when he felt the cold barrel of Charlie’s gun press against his neck.

  Simon let go of his lapel. “Now.”

  The man nodded quickly and worked the levers to close the door and start the car. The lift dropped abruptly with a grinding sound and then began its ascent. Simon stepped back from the operator, never taking his eyes off him. When they reached the top floor, he dug down into his pocket and pulled out his gun. As the doors opened, they moved forward in tandem, guns at the ready.

  The opulent foyer was dark and empty. The light from the elevator spilled onto the marble floor.

  Charlie turned back to the operator. “Don’t do nothin’ stupid.” The little man nodded and took shelter in the corner of the lift. Simon moved stealthily across the floor into the foyer. He and Charlie exchanged quick glances. Simon slowly turned the handle and threw open the heavy double doors.

  Ready for anything, it was a shock to find absolutely nothing. The long entry hall was deserted, lit only by a single wall sconce. Slowly, shoulder to shoulder, they inched their way down the dark, empty passageway.

  The apartment was exactly as Elizabeth had described. Simon could almost hear her voice and he paused, nearly causing Charlie to run over the back of him. He shook off Charlie’s questioni
ng look and kept moving. He couldn’t afford to think about how much he missed the sound of her voice, the feel of her. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself again and edged past where Elizabeth had said the Rubens drawing should have been. Nothing but a scratch and a bent hook remained. Outlines of picture frames stood out in pristine white, ghostly images surrounded by the stains of age. Slowly, they made their way down the hall, checking each room as they went. Each one was empty. Finally, they reached the end of the hall and Simon saw the door he knew must lead to the room with the Egyptian artifacts.

  Fully expecting it to be locked, Simon was surprised when he tried the handle and found no resistance. This room was empty too. No people, no artifacts. Nothing. It had been stripped bare, and judging from the scraps of brown paper on the floor and the hooks hanging askance on the walls, they’d left in a hurry.

  “Damn it,” Simon growled. If they weren’t here, where the hell were they?

  Charlie laid a comforting hand on Simon’s shoulder. “We’ll find her.”

  Simon kicked a leftover box and watched it skitter across the floor.

  “Come on,” Charlie said, and stepped back into the hall.

  A shot rang out like the crack of a bullwhip. Charlie was thrown back by the impact and landed with a thunderous bang against the door jamb. He clutched his shoulder and staggered to the floor, falling into the middle of the hallway.

  Simon sprang forward and tried to grab Charlie. Another shot rang out and ricocheted off the marble floor just inches away. Simon jerked his hand back inside. That damned elevator operator must have gone for help. They should have tied him up.

  “Jesus,” Charlie moaned, holding his shoulder.

  Simon took a deep breath and stepped out into the hall, firing before his feet were set. The recoil from the gun was stronger than he’d expected, so his shot strayed into the ceiling. He recovered quickly and fired again, aiming blindly. The report of the gun was thunderous and echoed down the long hall.

  Simon saw a hulking figure at the end of the corridor. He was no more than a shadow backlit by the light of the elevator. The thug tried to lunge out of the way, and Simon fired again. This time, he hit his mark. The bullet tore into the man’s thigh. He lurched, but didn’t fall.