by Fae York
The Fabric of Time
Book One in the
Timeless Series
By
Fae York
Dedicated to my sister, who willing participated in my imaginary games as kids even through time travel confused her.
Table of Contents
Racing Against Time
The Forensic Department
Life as Usual
Forgotten
The Plume
Doe Cases
Troubled Times
Coffee for Two
Overtime
Slipping
Changes
A Date to Remember
Seeking Support
Allies
Lightning
A Surprise Visit
The Ring
DNA
Deadlines
Goodbyes and Gunfire
The Weapon
Sorrow
The Future
Don’t Miss the rest of Timeless
Acknowledgements
Author Bio
Prologue Racing Against Time
Aleph’s heart was racing, and his breath was as rapid as his terrified heartbeat. His polished loafers pounded a consistent, rushed cadence on the downtown sidewalk as he weaved through the crowd of oblivious, bustling people. All he could think about while he ran was his need to get to that bus stop as soon as possible before his time ran out. The precious seconds of Aleph’s life ticked away with every step he took. The distant thunder crashing through the sky reminded him of Father Time’s watch, keeping track of every minute that disappeared, narrowing his time for escape. It no longer mattered that his own mission had failed. Now, he had to find her.
Aleph glanced skyward, noticing the inky clouds that threatened to drown the earth in a moment’s notice. He felt a chill caress his bones—it was as if even the sky knew that he did not belong here, or rather he did not belong here now. Was he paranoid, or did the clouds resemble the claws of some shadowy beast? The first quarter-sized droplet of rain hit his cheekbone, pulling Aleph out of his reverie as he looked back at the sidewalk ahead of him. He rounded the corner and came to a skittering stop at the curb—just as the bus pulled away in a puff of stinking diesel exhaust.
He yelled a string of expletives that blended with the muffled thunder above him, causing the two unsuspecting grey-haired ladies nearby to jump in alarm.
“Oh, forgive me ladies,” Aleph said sincerely, trying to hide his embarrassment. The younger one nodded to acknowledge his apology while the older turned up her nose in a show of disapproval. He took a moment to catch his breath then continued, “I beg your pardon, but would either of you happen to know if that was the S2 that I just missed?”
“No dear,” the kinder, of the two replied. “That was the S4. You still have a few minutes until the S2 arrives.”
“Whew,” Aleph said, nodding and smiling weakly as he took his handkerchief out of his pocket and swiped it across his forehead. “Thank you.”
The young woman nodded again, studying him from head to toe in a way that made Aleph feel more than slightly uncomfortable. “You are obviously in a rush,” she said staring at him.
Oh lady if only you knew, he thought. Aleph smiled patiently and pushed his dark hair off of his forehead.
Gushing further, she stammered, “It-it-it must be very important for someone as . . . well, put together as you . . . to be rushing so.”
Aleph glanced at his black suit and laughed. “Well, ma’am, it is very important. I have an appointment at the National Gallery of Art in an hour and if I arrive even one minute late, I will very likely be strung up or drawn and quartered.” A half-truth. He was by no means on his way to an art gallery, but if he arrived late the consequences would, indeed, be deadly.
“Oh dear . . .” she giggled and blushed. Her friend nudged her, shaking her head, and tsk-tsked with a venomous look, clearly disgusted with her behavior.
“Come along,” the older woman said as she tugged her friend away from Aleph’s side. As she marched, she leaned toward the younger woman and said loudly enough for Aleph to hear, “You are much too old, Meredith Jane, to be embarrassing yourself by flirting with a man who is clearly young enough to be your grandson.”
Ashamed, Meredith nodded and left with her friend without looking back. He watched them walk as far away from him as they could without actually leaving the bus stop area. Their departure was met with the winds kicking up, howling and threatening to tear everything apart. Aleph glanced at his watch, immediately regretting the move as it reminded him of just how tenuous his situation was.
“Hurry up,” he muttered impatiently, “This is cutting it too close . . .” He nervously shifted from foot to foot, leaning out as far as he could to see down the road without tumbling from the curb and into oncoming traffic.
In a shop window across the street, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. A suited man with dark hair, striking blue eyes and a muscular build looked back at him. He looked a little out of place, but not too conspicuous. It was a wonder that Meredith hadn’t questioned his white lie about the art gallery. Craning his neck to pay attention to his surroundings, strips of black ink tattoos were revealed across his skin just above his collar. Every mark was a mission, and he desperately hoped this mission wouldn’t be his last. Aleph looked at his watch again and cursed between clenched teeth. “Come on! Where are you?” he yelled.
He began pacing, chewing on his bottom lip and grumbling expletives. He stepped down into the gutter to lean out further, in a hopeful attempt to catch a glimpse of the bus that was now two minutes late for pick up. Farther away than he had hoped, he saw the bus. Relief surged through his body as he turned around and checked his watch again, just in time.
With his back to the traffic Aleph didn’t see the taxi veering out of control toward him. The driver laid on his horn, the blaring sound startling everyone as they scattered out of the path of the oncoming vehicle. Everyone, that is, except Aleph.
For a moment everything was silent, as if the world had come to a standstill.
Tick . . . tock . . .
He heard a woman cry out.
Tick . . . tock . . .
He heard men hollering.
Tick . . . tock . . .
Aleph heard the squealing of brakes, a long drawn out sound of several locked tires dragging against asphalt. He heard the crunching of metal as cars crashed into one another, creating a deafening chain reaction on the street behind him. He felt the rain on his face, a numbness in his legs, and the violent winds against his skin.
Tick . . . tock . . .
To the astonishment of everyone watching, he vanished.
1 The Forensic Department
Emelia sat back in her office chair and stretched her arms above her head. She sighed with relief; the resounding pops an auditory reminder of the awkward position maintained for most of the morning. Sitting up straight, she glanced down at her notepad to double check that nothing important had been missed concerning her current case.
Covered in scribbles one could generously describe as “writing,” the notepad was her preferred method of note-taking. Other than some jokes from her senior coworkers, the ones who had been around for decades and also took notes by hand, no one complained about the idiosyncrasy. Even if she sometimes dreaded the late nights spent turning those notes into the typed documents her boss preferred.
Emelia still wasn’t quite sure how those “seasoned veterans” managed to go home before her, but… maybe, just maybe, they managed because they had a reason to leave before eight p.m.
The thought made her sigh as she stood and entered the central laboratory space. Immediately forgetting her commitment to good posture, Emelia hunched over a microscop
e to check the evidence again before finalizing her findings. If the FBI ever made a mistake with forensic analysis, she was determined to not be the reason why.
As Emelia stared into the microscope, studying the strands of hair on the glass slide, she was oblivious to the world around her. After a decent amount of time, her concentration was broken by the snickering of a man’s voice.
“What the hell are you laughing about, Gav?”
“Ah, nothing. Myself,” came the voice of Gavin Gint, a fairly recent arrival to the forensics department.
Emelia scowled, looked up from the microscope, and spun her chair around. Predictably, she was greeted by the image of Gavin himself. He was only half-pretending to look at the bags of evidence he was bringing to his station.
Before Emelia could say anything, Janean, the lab tech, sighed and popped her head above the divider. “Generally, it helps to talk to the person instead of creepily hovering behind them, Gav, not that Emelia is interested in talking to you.” Janean winked toward Emelia.
Unable to help himself, Gavin’s smirk became a full-on grin. Deciding she wasn’t going to give him the benefit of verbal communication, Emelia looked at her watch pointedly and tapped it with her finger, indicating he was still on the clock and should not be wasting time socializing.
He held up his hands, surrendering and duly chastised. Gav nodded at Emelia, before making finger guns and mouthing the word, “drinks?”
After her expression did not change, he continued on over to his desk, barely stifling a chuckle and mumbling something to himself.
Janean chuckled, enjoying the exchange despite its almost routine familiarity. Emelia had proven she didn’t find Gavin at all charming months ago, and swiveled her chair around to face the lab tech.
“Are you encouraging him?”
“I’m honestly not, Emelia,” Janean responded, somewhat defensively. “I think you could probably scare him off by going out with us for drinks tonight. Hell, you should see him when he’s tipsy; he’s even worse at picking up girls at the bar than he is here with you.”
Emelia briefly mused over Janean’s suggestion. Gavin was mostly harmless. Annoying, awkward, unprofessional, and sometimes creepy, but he had never done anything seriously harmful. Ugh, but to get drinks with him. The guy with the Pickle Rick pin proudly displayed on his tie. The guy with the shamelessness (or cluelessness) to put anime figurines on his work desk at the Federal Bureau of Investigation?
Gavin aside, did she want to get drinks with everyone else? Emelia didn’t mind Janean, but she got along far better with her seniors than she did with most of the people in her generation. The younger group were the ones going out for drinks on Friday evening.
“Thank you for the offer, but I’ll have to pass this week,” she said with a polite smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I have to visit my grandpa, and it’s kind of a whole day thing.”
Janean, unsure if the excuse was valid, responded with a shrug and dipped her head back below the divider.
With that, Emelia turned back to her microscope and it was as if Gavin—or Janean, for that matter—had never existed. It was exactly how she liked it. By the time Emelia was finished, the entire workstation was organized and ready for the next day. She headed out of the laboratory with her arms full of files and paperwork, paying no heed to the round of razzing Gavin endured from his neighbors after she left the room. Wait, were they the ones who kept encouraging him? Emelia worked for the goddamn FBI and somehow still had encounters that reminded her of high school. Ugh, she didn’t want to think about it.
Several minutes later, Emelia stopped in front of an unremarkable door and held her security card out toward the scanner beneath the sign reading:
W529
Emelia M. Plater, Ph.D.
Forensics Technician
The in/out boxes beside the scanner was empty and Emelia felt relieved. She was feeling rather tired that night and wanted to go home and drop her current projects for the day. She was glad for the privacy her office afforded her and swiped her ID to open it and disappear as quickly as possible, on the off-chance anyone in the hallway tried to make conversation.
The green light on the pad flashed, indicating her entrance was approved. She stepped inside and briefly admired the pristine condition of her personal space.
Emelia had always preferred minimalistic decorating styles and her office reflected that. The room sported just a couple of comfortable chairs, a small couch, a well-organized bookcase, several filing cabinets, a Ficus tree, and a few perfectly green, potted plants atop a tall, narrow buffet. Upon the walls were the bare minimum of art chosen with the utmost care, and her immaculate desk held an unmarked blotter, a phone, a container of neatly-arranged writing utensils, and a large flat screen computer that had just been upgraded last month.
Moving to her seat to place her paperwork in the proper files, Emelia heard footsteps in the hallway and voices that she couldn’t identify—not that that was unusual. Emelia wasn’t much for interaction, so she didn’t really know anyone outside of the Forensics Department and definitely didn’t know anyone well enough to recognize them by voice alone. Regardless, Emelia froze when she heard them, feeling as though her fingers had been caught in the cookie jar.
“. . . on that Jane Doe case that came in later yesterday . . .” a man’s voice said.
“You’re on a Jane Doe?” a woman asked.
“Yes,” he replied, “it’s really weird. The woman was in top-notch shape physically, but was found dead in an alley with no visible wounds. Tox reports found no poison in her system. She seems to be old, but it doesn’t feel right . . .”
“Hmm, that’s bizarre,” the woman pondered aloud. “Gavin mentioned that someone else was on a weird Jane Doe case, too. Do you think it’s the same case?”
“No, but there is a possibility that they’re related. I’ve heard that there are two Janes here right now—the one that came in yesterday and another one that came in a couple days ago. Then there’s that John Doe that came in four days ago. From what I hear, they are all weird cases.”
“Three Doe cases in less than a week? That is odd. I’d be willing to bet that’s throwing up some red flags. Let’s just hope this doesn’t become a media frenzy.”
The footsteps stopped and the woman from outside peeked her head into Emelia’s office.
“Oh, you’re still here, Emelia?”
“Hi, Sandra,” Emelia called, with just a hint of enthusiasm creeping into her voice. A dark haired man hovered in the hall.
Sandra had been at the bureau only slightly longer than Emelia and was one of the few people close to her own age whom Emelia genuinely liked. Although she didn’t know her well enough, apparently, to recognize her voice, Emelia considered her to be someone she knew well enough to call a friend.
“A bunch of us are going down to grab dinner and drinks at that pub. You remember the one we went to a couple weeks ago? Wanna come?”
Emelia hesitated. If it were only Sandra going, she’d say yes in a heartbeat. But, given that it was a group function—probably the same group function Gavin and Janean had invited her to—her enthusiasm dropped.
She smiled politely and lied. “Thank you, but I was just heading out to meet some friends for dinner and a movie. Maybe next time?”
“Sure,” Sandra smiled in a friendly manner and waved as she backed out of the door. “Enjoy your night, Emelia.”
“Thanks,” Emelia called after them as the sound of their footsteps retreated down the hall away from her office, their conversation taking up where it had left off before they had stopped at her door.
“Have we ever had that many Does here at once?” Sandra asked, her tone turning graver as she focused on the mystery once more.
“The case file is still gathering dust. But, now that you mention it, those people in the van and these people we have now all have similar—”
They entered the elevator, cutting off their words, but Emelia’s curios
ity was piqued. She stared ahead, ignoring the open drawer and the final file suspended above. Emelia absorbed what had been overheard. She was really interested to know what that similarity between the Does was and vaguely remembered something about the “van case,” as it was called. Emelia hadn’t been assigned to it and didn’t remember the details all that clearly. She also wasn’t assigned to any of the Doe cases currently happening in the lab, a minor blow to her pride, but maybe she could talk to Jay about it.
Emelia was, in her own estimation, pretty damn good at her job. You didn’t get a Ph.D. in forensic science and a mid-level position at the FBI in your early thirties by being just okay.
Yet, Something about not getting a Doe case grated at her, and she briefly wondered if there were any departmental politics at play. Jay always had her back, but there were a couple of men higher up the chain who didn’t think as much of the thirty-two-year-old wunderkind who already had her own office. Why was it bothering her so much? Emelia was being unprofessional thinking this way, but it was late, and she wasn’t having the greatest day.
“They probably have Gavin or some other idiot on the case, too,” she muttered to herself and dropped the file into its place and closed the drawer.
Irritated, Emelia grabbed her bag and moved toward the elevator. Any report on her current case could wait until Monday morning, and she was looking forward, perhaps too eagerly, to sitting alone at home with a glass of wine and probably an entire pizza. The elevator door slid open and Emelia stepped inside. She hastily pushed the button that would take her to the underground parking garage, desperately hoping the doors would close before anyone else could join her.
Just then, Gavin rounded the corner and hollered, “Hold the elevator, please,” before the doors shut.
He had seen her. She had seen him, and knew that he had seen her see him. It would be profoundly rude of her to not hold those doors. Emelia nodded, putting her hand out so the doors bounced back open.
