Stolen Time Read online

  They would have a funeral and a period of mourning. Consolation would be given and received. He would be expected to rebuild his life without her, to “move on.”

  “I don't want a new life,” Ness said, emotion making his voice loud enough to echo in the empty room. “I want Angie back.”

  As he gave voice to his desire, he realized that he had the means at his disposal to adjust his current circumstance. On his feet in an instant, Ness reacted without deliberating potential ramifications. He strapped on his watch then grabbed his keys and wallet. Everything else he needed was in the car.

  This isn't over. Ness’s mind flooded with grim resolution as he left the apartment. Not by a long shot.

  CHAPTER FOUR: A Dish Best Served Cold

  Tuesday, June 8, 2010, 8:29 p.m.

  The waning evening light could have been a physical representation of Ness’s mood. Though he had reason to hope, his emotions had been sorely abused. He found it nearly impossible to release his grief and rage, resulting in difficulty focusing on each task.

  He pulled his blue Saturn into the apartment’s parking structure and maneuvered into his parking spot. He sat there briefly with the engine off, staring at the plain concrete wall his headlights were illuminating as he steeled himself for his next ordeal. When the lights flicked off automatically a minute later, he finally exited the vehicle.

  Ness descended the parking structure ramp and emerged on the sidewalk then stopped on the corner and fished in his pocket for Dr. Bertrand's modified PDA, the time machine. After his first encounter with the forces from Intellisys, he had found a safe place away from the apartment to hide the device. But since he had need of it again, he had revisited his hiding place to retrieve it. Ness had brought Angie into his life with the device, and he would use it to get her back.

  He crossed the street and stood against the building, out of the pedestrian traffic. Though it was a weeknight, many people were experiencing the Royal Oak nightlife. While it wasn’t as crazy as the typical weekend, the restaurants were busy nonetheless. Turning his attention away from the people around him, Ness turned on the PDA. The battery indicator showed only a quarter charge. It should be enough for this purpose.

  In the Borrowed Time application, he selected the current date at 5:10 in the afternoon. For a heartbeat, he considered just how much had changed over the last few hours. His entire life had been destroyed in less time than it took for dinner and a movie. Pushing those dark musings aside, he readied himself as much as he could for what came next. Pressing the launch button brought on the distortion of the time travel effect, but the physical discomfort was negligible compared to the turmoil of his soul.

  He blinked to adjust his eyes to the brighter light. Angie was standing at the curb, her back to him. He could not tear his eyes from her as the light changed and she stepped onto the road. The bullet passing through her caused blood and muscle to explode from her back again, almost in the same instant Ness heard the shot. He heard himself yell, unsure whether he had cried out or if it was the version of him on the balcony.

  “Damn it,” he muttered, “I'm supposed to be looking for the shooter.”

  He tapped the return button, back to his home time. He repositioned himself along the block, away from the intersection, and returned to the shooting. That time, he only glanced at Angie. The earlier version of him was standing against the building, staring at her. I look awful.

  As he scanned the area, he saw a copy of himself in the parking structure under his apartment, looking at the street from above. Another was standing on the corner, diagonal from Angie's location. He examined the crowd but saw no one with any sort of weapon. When the shot came, he tried to triangulate the sound, but it seemed to emanate from the intersection itself. His directional sense caused him to look at the kitty-corner location where a copy had stood seconds before, but the spot held no evidence of where that version of him had gone. The buildings provided enough of an echo to mask the shooter’s precise placement. Ness frowned and tapped the return button.

  A few minutes later, his vantage was from the parking garage above the crime scene. He watched the shooting again, but that time, he forced himself to closely observe the trajectory of her body. Based on her spinning movement, the bullet most likely came from the opposite corner of the intersection. After returning to his home time, Ness jogged back along the ramp and crossed the street to where Angie had lain. He ignored the reddish stain on the pavement and instead looked behind where she had been. A little to the left of where she fell, he found a gouge in the asphalt near the curb. The mark might have been caused by the bullet after it left her body. He crouched next to the gash and turned to look back through the area where Angie had stood. The shot must have come from the corner diagonal from where she crossed, but the building there was three stories high, with multiple windows on each floor. He needed to determine from which of those the shooter had done his work.

  Ness crossed the street to stand before the suspect building and used the PDA again. He saw Angie in the sunlight, the happiness on her face, then swallowed hard and turned away from her to scan the edifice. The shot rang out, louder that time, and his gaze jerked to the second-story window right above him. He saw the barrel of a rifle a second before it had been yanked back inside.

  I've got you now, you son of a bitch. He yanked open the door to the building's entrance and strode inside at an anger-driven pace. You're not getting away, damn you! Not this time.

  * * *

  Even the most enthusiastic Realtor could only describe the second-floor hallway as worn and dingy. The faded carpet was several decades out of date, and the wooden doors bore washed-out paint that was flaking around the edges in places. Brittle wallpaper curled along the edge of the ceiling. Doorknobs and other fixtures appeared to be from sometime in the 1940s. Undersized wall sconces gave only dim, sickly light.

  Ness counted his way along the doors, matching the interior layout to the configuration of the windows outside. He stopped before one such entrance midway along the hallway. The aging wooden portal was hiding the person who had callously ended his wife’s life. He pressed his ear to its surface but could hear nothing save the wail of a distant siren. Surprisingly, the door opened easily. He entered quickly and closed the door behind him. The room held nothing except for a single spent bullet casing. The window's lower casement was still open halfway.

  He took out the PDA and set a destination time of five minutes earlier. As he had expected, he arrived to find a figure crouched by the window with a rifle in his hands. The assassin's eye was focused through the weapon's scope, all concentration toward lining up his shot.

  “Not this time, you bastard,” Ness growled.

  The shooter looked back, eyes wide. Ness took two quick steps and pulled him away from the window by his shirt. His fist clenched tight in righteous retribution, Ness punched the assassin in the jaw, and he fell backward into a corner, a pile of dingy clothes and greasy hair. The murderer groaned as his head hit the wall, and the rifle clattered on the warped wooden floor as his hands lost purchase.

  Ness kicked the gun away and pulled the dusty, gauze-like curtain aside to see Angie safely crossing the street. She turned the corner toward the apartment entrance.

  “You failed,” Ness said coldly.

  His adversary slumped facedown in the corner. A strange sound, almost like crying, came from the would-be killer, but Ness simply did not care. He seized the pile of clothing and pulled his adversary up. Right fist by his ear, Ness intended to deliver his rage blow by blow.

  “Give me one good reason why I shouldn't beat you to a pulp.”

  The captive, hidden behind long, unwashed locks, only continued sobbing. The fist struck again, changing the tenor of the assassin’s cries to a wail. Ness's knuckles ached, but the pain only fueled his anger.

  “You... you don't understand.” The killer’s voice was hoarse.

  “Damn straight I don't! What do you have against my wife? Who are
you? Who do you work for?”

  Ness punctuated his questions with shakes of the failed killer. The motion parted the shooter's hair, and his face became visible for the first time. Shock paralyzing him, Ness could only stare at the impossible countenance before him.

  “No…” he whispered, horrified.

  He released his grip, and the killer crumpled to the floor. Ness staggered backward until his back hit the wall. Weak with shock, his legs no longer able to hold him up, Ness slid to the floor. His eyes, the only part of him functioning, remained locked on the collapsed form across from him.

  “Oh my God.” Ness stared at his copy, a doppelganger of doom. The hair had grown longer and dirtier, several days' worth of beard gave his familiar features a grungy look, and more lines crossed the face, but the eyes were the same as his, though older — sadder, perhaps. Ness could believe the copy had faced unspeakable horrors, and each had left physical and mental traces.

  The doppelganger returned Ness's gaze with tears in his eyes and shook his head at his younger self. “You fool.” He spoke with a croak of grief. “This was the only way. I had to kill her. I had to, and someday, you will too. Angie must die.”

  CHAPTER FIVE: Redux

  Tuesday, June 8, 2010, 5:07 p.m.

  The late-evening sun glimmered off Angie's hair, reddish highlights playing across her formerly white blouse. She inhaled quickly as she strode, and her heart beat in time with her footsteps as the heat radiating from the sidewalk brushed her face.

  On that perfect summer day, Angie was content as she walked along Main Street. She loved having her job down the road from their apartment. Even during the brutal winter months, she always went to and from work on foot. It seemed a waste to get the car out for her three-quarter-mile commute. The hotter-than-usual temperature for June was the only factor that marred her enjoyment, as she much preferred their normal milder weather for that time of year. Then it would be warm enough to be comfortable but not hot enough to generate the sweat she was experiencing. Even so, she lifted her face to the sun and reveled in the warmth. Even the high temperatures were better than those in the bitter winter months. Warmer days were fleeting in Michigan, where the weather was famous for changing every five minutes. Angie appreciated as much of it as she could.

  As she neared the busier downtown area, she glanced at the balcony of their apartment. Her smile grew as he recognized Ness peering at her through his camera. She knew the pictures he was shooting were of her, and she gave him the sign that meant so much to the two of them. His returning it confirmed that all remained right in her world.

  She thought back on their time together. They had been married for nearly twenty years, and like any other relationship, it had waxed and waned. After all, a couple could not keep such honeymoon intensity going forever. They were happy, though, and comfortable with each other. She had no major complaints other than how Ness folded the towels and tended to let the dishes pile up.

  Assuming he hasn't been having an affair. She frowned. Suzette and her suspicions were to blame for the persistent line of speculation.

  After her coworker placed the outrageous idea in her mind, Angie had watched him closely for a time, and she did notice some suspicious behaviors. The occasional flashes of guilt on his face remained unexplained. The increased ardor and attention he lavished upon her were welcome and extremely enjoyable, provided they were not the result of a guilty conscience.

  She had tried to ask Ness about it, and he made vague references to an especially ugly husband-and-wife murder-suicide scene he had visited. He claimed it had given him a new appreciation of their marriage. She shuddered at the notion of what he might have seen to change him so but did not delve for specifics. The things he had to witness at crime scenes were more than Angie wanted to deal with, so she never pressed for details. But even as a part of her accepted his story as plausible, Angie's intuition told her that he was keeping secrets from her.

  Regardless of that uncertainty, she eventually convinced herself that he had not been unfaithful. Although she did not comprehend the change in her husband, its primary effects appeared to be a profound sense of gratitude and happiness. Though the cause of Ness's reaction remained unexplained, Angie remained confident in his fidelity. But Suzette did not share Angie's certainty.

  The light changed, pulling her attention back to the street. When the walk sign flashed at her, she continued her trek across the street, toward her home and her mate who made it so.

  * * *

  Ness stared at the older version of him. The copy seemed unstable, and Ness contemplated what could have driven him to such extremes. His captive’s eyes were restless, darting around the room as if he were looking for something only he could see.

  “Why do you need to kill her?” Ness’s need to understand was greater than his fear of the answer.

  “To save her from what she will become.” The older doppelganger nearly moaned. “To save her from her future.”

  “To save her? A bit drastic, don't you think?”

  “If you'd seen what I have, if you'd experienced what becomes of her as I have, you would make the same decision.”

  Ness peered sharply at the deranged man. Comprehending what had led his older self to kill his true love became an imperative if he wished to avoid making the same choice in the future.

  “Why? What drove you to this? Why did she have to die?”

  “Intellisys,” older Ness whispered, as if speaking the name aloud had some terrible power. “John Fletcher's plan is coming to fruition.”

  The sound of those names rocked Ness. With the deaths of Glenn and Paul two years ago, it had been his hope that his role in the drama had escaped the notice of Intellisys. For months after the event, he had kept a sharp eye on the research firm and its CEO, John Fletcher. Except for the eventual identification of the body from the pool as Paul Robbins, no other allusion to the incident had appeared in the media. Some discreet inquiries at the sheriff's station revealed that the murder investigation remained open with no leads. The detective told him in confidence that it was destined for the cold case files.

  Ness had also been on the lookout for any surveillance and a reappearance of Glenn's muscle men, but he never saw a single sign of his being watched or followed. After a couple years of looking over his shoulder and peering into shadows, he had hidden the PDA in a secure place and considered the matter closed. Apparently, he had critically misjudged Intellisys’s intentions.

  The sound of squealing tires drew his attention. Looking out the window again, Ness saw Angie walking toward the apartment entrance. She turned as a rusty white van screeched to a sudden stop beside her.

  “No,” Ness whispered.

  The van's door slid open, and two men with dark clothing and covered faces leaped out, grabbed Angie, and pulled her inside.

  “No!” Ness pounded on the glass with his fist, cracking the pane. He heard a faint echo of his shout from his earlier self from the apartment balcony. The van's door slid closed, and it pulled away in a final shriek of abused rubber.

  “You fool,” his doppelganger said ruefully. “It was the only way. Her death is better than what is in store for her now.”

  Ness turned to face his copy, who was still sitting on the floor.

  “What she becomes will break your heart.” His copy began crying again, wetting his stubbled cheeks. “It broke mine. My bullet would have been better. She wouldn't have suffered. She wouldn't have... changed.”

  The doppelganger covered his face with his hands as his sobs increased. Ness stood numb with shock.

  “You fool, they have her now. Intellisys. Fletcher.”

  Ness swallowed. He barely had time to register the fact that she had been saved from the bullet before Fletcher’s men abducted her. Maybe his other self was right, and it would have been better to let her die.

  “No.” Ness shook his head. “No.” He could only repeat the denial, as if saying it enough might make it true.

 
“You don't believe me? See for yourself. Go to 3865 Piquand Street in Bloomfield Hills five years from now. It's John Fletcher's base of operations, in the basement of his house. Find her there, and you'll see.”

  The old man pointed at the far side of the room, where the gun lay abandoned, prevented from fulfilling its purpose by Ness’s intervention.

  “They used her as leverage, forced me to use Bertrand's machine to fulfill Fletcher's plan. I've done it all: sabotage, intelligence gathering, assassinations.” The older man met Ness's eyes. “I watched the world around me descend into madness, and Angie bore the cost of my ever touching that damned thing.”

  His accusatory finger pointed again, that time at Ness’s PDA. It lay where he had dropped it when he rushed in to stop the shooting.

  “I rue the day I received the device from Bertrand. The cost... the cost was too high. This would have been a mercy.” The roughness in the older man’s voice revealed his pain. “I had to do it, for her sake.” The copy's gaze drew inward as fresh tears again filled his eyes. “And mine.” His quiet voice echoed with despair. “I've seen enough, done enough. I'm through doing John Fletcher's bidding. I can't take any more. Can't see her suffer anymore.”

  He looked at Ness, and the toll his actions had taken shone with the light of madness. “Angie must die.”

  With surprising speed, the doppelganger pulled his PDA out of a shirt pocket, tapped the screen, and disappeared into time. He faded from sight before the weight of his final words left the room.

  Ness picked up his device, retrieved the gun, and found his double’s coat crumpled in a corner, a dull-green parka that looked like military issue. He plucked it from the floor before tapping the return button on his PDA. He could not shake the certainty in his gut that he had made matters worse, and he had no idea if he could ever set things right again.