A voice inside of him told him to hold position and see what would happen next. Oddly enough, it was Millsy’s voice. Miller was quoting himself, from back in the days when they were in the Corps and part of the same recon team.
“Let it play out. We’ll know when to move.” Those were the exact words Millsy would use when their unit found themselves in a sticky situation.
Alison had the tendency to rush into things with guns blazing; Miller, on the other hand, showed tremendous patience, thinking every situation through until it was time to act. When he did, Miller would punctuate the decision with a decisive act of intense violence.
Alison watched Morgan go through the front gate of Miller’s diner, up the path, and onto the porch.
That was Alison’s cue to move. He decided not to call for backup, just in case his read on the situation was off. He’d already suffered two embarrassments in one day, and couldn’t afford another one. Not if he wanted to keep his shield.
He got out of the car and drew his weapon. He moved closer to gain a better view, staying in the shadows while Morgan searched the area around the porch for something, picking up and moving the potted trees.
Looking for a note or a key. Possibly contraband.
Morgan pounded at the door and waited a few seconds before calling out for a girl named Emily.
Alison filed the name away, assuming it was the name of the Glassford Girl. He moved another ten feet closer.
The kid beat the door again and followed it with more yelling. After a long pause, Morgan smashed the glass with one of the potted trees and went inside the diner.
Let it play out. Make sure the girl is there, too. Then corner the suspects and take them down.
He spent the next several minutes working his way up the path. He made it to the smashed door and stood on its threshold. He listened for activity. There were two voices inside—one male and one female.
“Derek, you have to get away from me. It’s about to happen.”
“You mean—”
“Yes. I promise I’ll come find you.”
He smiled, knowing that the female’s voice was probably that of The Glassford Girl. The girl named Emily.
He felt like calling Millsy to yell at him for aiding and abetting wanted criminals, but instead, he eased through the front door, avoiding the glass to keep his presence unannounced.
Alison stopped for a moment to listen, making sure that every decision he made going forward would provide him with a tactical advantage. Too many unanswered questions surrounded these two kids, and he vowed not to underestimate them again.
He took another step forward, and then a powerful sensation hit him—his eyes went out of focus, and his feet felt like they were stuck in molasses.
A moment later, a wave of dizziness weakened his knees right as a charge of electricity crawled across his skin. He took a few seconds to gather his senses, then two beats later, everything returned to normal. He thought his blood pressure medicine might be the culprit again, though it hadn’t happened since the doc last adjusted the dosage.
He snuck across the dining room to the double swinging doors that led to the kitchen and went inside. He checked the room, but there were no signs of his suspects. He walked to the rear of the kitchen and leaned around the doorway. He checked the hallway. What he saw made his heart skip a beat: the Morgan kid standing over a man’s body with a bloody baseball bat in his hand.
***
Derek wanted to swing the bat and crush the head of the rapist lying at his feet in the hall, but didn’t. God knows he deserved it for what he had done to Emily. This sicko was the reason Emily had just vanished again.
He dropped the bat and returned to the storage room. He stood, looking at the black, smoking area. It looked just like what he had seen after Emily vanished from the back of the police van.
He flinched when he heard someone behind him clear his throat. Derek spun around with his fists at the ready, expecting to see that the slimy asshole had gotten up from his beating. But he didn’t. It was Miller’s cop friend, Detective Alison, with his gun drawn. It was aimed at Derek’s face. The cop was using a typical shooting stance—wide-legged with shoulders hunched.
“Don’t you fucking move, kid!”
Derek froze, working through the situation in his head. He’d already gotten away from this man once—no, twice that day. He wondered if he could do it again.
Before he could finish the thought, Alison pulled the trigger and sent a round that shattered a gallon-sized jug of pancake syrup sitting on the shelf next to Derek’s head. Derek bent over and covered his ears. The sonic blast from the round leaving the chamber made his ears ring. He cried out in pain.
“Hands up! On your knees!” Alison yelled.
“Okay, okay,” Derek said, dropping to the floor, hands above his head. He pointed at the bloody victim’s body with only his wrist and his finger, never moving his arm. “But I’m not the one you need to be arresting. It’s that guy.”
“And why’s that? Looks to me like you just committed aggravated assault while in the process of committing felony robbery. Add that to two counts of assaulting a police officer, one count of escaping custody and two counts of evading arrest, and it looks like you have a shitload to answer for. Where’s the Glassford Girl?”
“Who?”
“The girl named Emily.”
“I don’t know any Glassford Girl,” Derek answered, realizing how truly fucked he was. If he said anything about Emily, he’d get her in trouble. If he kept quiet, he certainly get popped for attempted murder.
He wasn’t sure what to do other than protect Emily. And the only way to do that—his only play—was to shut the hell up. His gang training kicked in and he knew what to say when the cops have you dead to rights.
“I don’t answer questions and I don’t consent to searches. I invoke my right to counsel.”
“Look, I’ve got her and you on video. The charges are mounting, my young friend. You’d better speak now while I can still help you. Keeping quiet will only make things worse for you.”
Derek knew that cops are allowed to lie to you in order to trick you into incriminating yourself. His training kept him calm and focused. “I don’t answer questions and I don’t consent to searches. I invoke my right to counsel.”
“Okay, Morgan, if that’s the way you want to do this. It works for me. Either way, I’m taking you in. Now, face down on the floor and put your hands behind your head. Nice and slow. Don’t test me, kid.”
Derek believed him. He got to the ground slowly and carefully, as ordered.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
November 30, 2014
4:38 p.m.
Two months later, Duane walked into Jim Miller’s hospital room and put down the blue vinyl gym bag that he carried in over his shoulder. The afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of the hospital room window, throwing a zebra stripe pattern on the thin white blanket covering Jim’s body. He was still recuperating from his gunshot wounds, though infections had slowed his progress.
“I hope it was worth it,” Duane told his friend, thankful his favor was now complete.
“Me, too, but those files couldn’t fall into the wrong hands.”
“I understand. Just didn’t like having them in my house. Especially after my arrest.”
“Sorry about that.”
“Not your fault. Besides, they really didn’t have anything on me. The city-paid vacation did me some good.”
“Vacation?”
Duane nodded. “The food wasn’t bad and I got plenty of sleep. Nora was a wreck, though, but I knew it would all work out. As long as the kids still had their mother and my security staff stepped up, I wasn’t worried.”
“Regardless, thanks for keeping the files safe for me. And Emily.”
“Can you imagine what would have happened if Derek hadn’t gotten there in time?”
“I shudder when I think about it. That poor girl. She tried to warn me about Rob.
I should have listened. In the end, what happened was my fault. For sending her there, and for not listening when she told me he was a sick, twisted fuck. How the hell did I miss it?”
“Don’t beat yourself up over it, bud. Rob is obviously very skilled at keeping his true nature concealed. Predators like him have years to perfect their skill set.”
“I’m not letting myself off that easy. She trusted me, and I led her right to him. When I think back, I knew he was an odd duck. Something was off. I should have sensed it. Trust me, it won’t happen again.”
“Good thing the evidence corroborated Derek’s story. Otherwise, his life would be very different right now. Have you heard anything from Em?”
“Nothing,” Jim answered, leaning against the hospital pillow.
“Me either.”
“I just hope she’s healthy and happy, wherever she is.”
“I’m sure she is. She’s a tough little thing.”
“She’s pretty damn amazing when you think about it. After all she’s been through, somehow she manages to keep it all together. She’s resilient.”
“I don’t think I could handle a tenth of what she’s had to deal with. I’m sure my spoiled kids couldn’t either. Nora, maybe. She’s another one that won’t take crap from anyone. Especially me. Emily was cut from the same cloth, I think.”
“She’s one special young lady, that’s for sure. I can see why Derek is fond of her.”
“He’s not the only one. I think we all have a soft spot for little Red. How many markers did you have to call in to get Derek a reduced sentence?”
“All of them. Plus, I gave out a couple.”
“He’s lucky.”
“Even so, a year in Durango Juvenile DC ain’t exactly a cake walk. But it was the best I could pull off.”
“I’m sure he’s appreciative.”
“Deep down, I think he’s a good kid. Emily sure likes him and I know now that she’s a damn good judge of character.”
“At first glance, he’s not exactly the kind of young man you want your daughter bringing home for dinner. But we all know looks can be deceiving. There’s a lot more there, I think. But regardless, not many men would have stepped up for Derek like you did.”
“Least I could do. For her and for him. Since I dropped the ball for her, she needs Derek around to help protect her. He’s certainly capable. So far, he’s done a far better job than this old broken-down Marine.”
Duane sat in the visitor’s chair, wanting to shift the conversation away from the sympathy party Jim was starting. “What time is dinner around here?”
“It started ten minutes ago, but it’s wicked meatloaf night. Last time I ate it, I spent the next two days on the shitter.”
“You want me to run down to the cafeteria and get you something without mystery meat?”
“Actually, I could go for a double-double from In-N-Out. Something hot and greasy sounds good right about now. You just need to wait a half-hour until Nurse Ball-buster goes home for the night. Hate that bitch, but the blond that relieves her is damn fine.”
“A little hottie?”
Jim nodded. “And then some.”
“I’ll bet she makes sponge baths interesting.”
“I wish. The drugs they have me on for the sepsis have made me useless and bloated, like a body just pulled from the river.”
Duane laughed. “Damn shame, brother.”
“You should probably know that Alison was in here earlier. I know how much you hate that man.”
“Still sniffin’ around about Emily?”
“Yep. He’s never going to let it go. I’ve tried to throw him off the scent a couple of times, but he’s like a hungry tick on a dog. Once he’s locked on, he never lets go. I cringe every time he shows up here.”
“Then you might want to open the bag I brought. There’s more than just a stack of files in there. Might help take the edge off.”
“Oh, Really?” Jim said, unzipping the tote. He pulled out a pint bottle with a label that read Arizona Iced Tea.
“Now we’re talking,” Jim said, unscrewing the cap. He took a two-second swig. “Damn, that’s good. Been a while.”
“It’ll help kill all those bugs inside of you. And probably take out your stomach lining, too.”
Jim took another swig, then held the booze out for Duane. “There’s plenty to go around.”
“No thanks. Nora would have my ass if I came home smelling like alcohol. She’d think I stopped off at a bar on my way home.”
“I hear ya. So tell me, what’s it like being married to a woman who can kick your ass and then stitch it up afterward?”
“It’s never dull. Though I try to sleep with one eye open.”
Jim laughed. “I can imagine.” He put the cap on the bottle and twisted it, then tucked it inside the bag and zipped it shut. “Okay, buddy. I trust your take on things, so give it to me straight. Tell me what you really think.”
“About what?”
“Emily.”
“You mean when she disappears?”
“Yeah. Big picture. You’ve seen the files. The evidence is compelling, even if it doesn’t make sense.”
Duane thought it over for a few seconds, trying to find the proper words. He didn’t want to sound insane. “My best guess? I think she travels through time.”
“Whoa, not what I expected to hear.”
“What? Were you expecting me to say ‘alien abduction’ or other such nonsense?”
“No. Though Emily did mention that to me once, along with vampires who eat cheeseburgers.”
“I’ll bet that was an interesting conversation.”
“That’s one way to put it. So, time travel? How did you come up with that?”
“Look at the facts. You have pictures of her from 1985. Ninth grade. I met her in 1987 in the middle of a parking lot at Metro. Like I told you before, she just appeared out of nowhere.”
“But you didn’t see it, so how do you really know?”
“Nah, man, I didn’t see it. But I’d just driven by that spot a couple of minutes before. I went by there on the way to scoop up a few traffic cones from where they were painting lines, then on my way back, there she was. Her eyes were closed and she was out cold. There’s no way she could have walked there and fallen asleep in the time it took me to get those cones and cruise back. And, the pavement was boiling hot; her feet would have been blistered.”
“Could somebody have dumped her?”
“I guess so, yeah, but I should’ve seen a car driving away. Plus, if that did happen, why wouldn’t she have wanted me to call the police? She did the opposite. One of the first things out of her mouth was No cops.”
“Good point.”
“Uh-huh. Then there’s that ninth grade picture from 1985. There’s no doubt in my mind that’s the same girl I found in the parking lot. The same girl I had in the front seat of my car just two months ago. Put that all together with the missing persons report from ’85, all your other pictures, from what—’92, ’97, ’02, ’05—all the way up ‘til now, and we’re talking about twenty-nine years, my man. Twenty-nine years and she hasn’t changed. So you tell me, given everything that’s happened and all the evidence you’ve collected, what makes more sense?”
“At this juncture, nothing does.”
Duane threw his hands in the air. “My point exactly.”
“Other than Emily has a rare genetic disorder that keeps her cells from breaking down and aging. That was the original theory I was working on. If that were true, then I thought a government research lab was snatching her and performing experiments, which is why she disappeared for a while.”
“And what? They returned her naked?”
“Yeah, it was stretch, I know. But it made sense on some level. Yet, it couldn’t explain the charred areas left behind after she disappears.”
“Or how they managed to get to her while she was in custody.”
“Then there’s what Derek told us he saw her do—vanish
twice, in the blink of an eye.”
“That, too.”
“Like I said, it made sense on some level. I thought Derek might have been hallucinating. Drugs can play tricks with your mind, trust me. When I first woke up in ICU, the painkillers they were pumping into me were making me see devils everywhere.” Jim put his hands on the sides of his head with index fingers pointing up. “You know, red faces and horns on everyone.”
“Must have been some good shit.”
“You have no idea. But I hadn’t considered that she might be a time jumper. It does seem to fit the evidence better. You have to admit though, your idea is even crazier than mine.”
“Hey, crazy is my middle name.”
“I’m sure Nora would agree.”
Duane nodded. “Especially after she found the files and read through them. I had to calm her down at first, then we talked through it. We both came to the same conclusion: Emily only moves forward through time, never backward, otherwise, she’d be able to go back and fix things that were going to happen. Keep herself out of all these bad situations.”
“I can’t believe what we are considering here.”
“I know. It’s completely nuts,” Duane said.
“But it does seem to fit.”
“Yeah, if you use a hammer to make it fit.”
Jim laughed. “Now, if we continue with your assumption, then I suppose the charring could be from whatever is powering her jumps. Some type of electrical discharge, which might also explain what happens to her clothes. They get cooked off in the process. Do you think her jumping is technological, or biological?”
“Bio. Because if she were using tech, she’d be able to control it better. The facts indicate that she can’t.”
“So what triggers it?”
“Stress . . . pain . . . emotions . . . Could be any or all three. Can you imagine?”
Jim rolled his eyes. “A teenage girl with her already out-of-control hormones and emotions. And she’s living on the street? You’d think she’d just get a minimum-wage job somewhere and keep it simple.”
Glassford Girl: Boxed Set (Complete Series) (Time Jumper Series) Page 20
