Chasing Time Read online

“Yeah, and what if they tell me I’m an alien or something? Haul me off to Area 51 for testing? No, thanks,” I joked. “I’m finally making peace with myself.”

  Grace snorted. “I doubt you’re an alien. Weird, sure. Alien, no. And we both know there’s no DNA for weird.”

  I quirked a corner of my mouth in a half smile and sipped from a bottle of water. The one thing I loved about Grace was she didn’t hide the truth. She was my only friend, one who had metaphorically smiled her way through my impenetrable walls to plop herself down next to my heart. I had been one weird, odd kid that no one had liked. But somehow, Grace saw something in me that few did. It gave me hope.

  We sat in companionable silence for a bit longer until the store phone rang, and she reached across me to answer it. I glanced out across the street again, my mind swirling with this odd energy I couldn’t name or place. It was familiar and had haunted me as long as I could remember. But this time, a peculiar heat laced the familiar undercurrent.

  Usually, I’d take a brisk walk to take that edge off, or I’d settle down with a pad of paper and channel that feeling into my art. With a few strokes of a pencil or charcoal, I could capture the fleeting images in my mind. I had turned to art as a young child, and my social worker had kept some of the drawings from when I was little and couldn’t communicate with English. I continued to use it to help purge my dreams and anxiety.

  I don’t know if the energy had bothered me back then, but the pictures were similar—lots of random vine patterns and watches, the dark shimmer of a night sky that danced with stars or lighting bugs. As I grew older, some of the scenes had morphed into sexy ones that belonged to someone older, more adult. Mature. Still not me.

  “Skye.”

  I jerked my head from the window. Todd Dexter, the boss’s son, stood at the end of the pine counter.

  “Hi, Todd,” I greeted.

  Todd was a year older and had gone to high school with Grace. The ultimate jock, he had played both baseball and football only to injure his knee and ruin his hopes of the first, full-ride sports scholarship ever offered to someone from our tiny town.

  “Something wrong?” He shrugged out of his jacket, brushing his blond, short-trimmed hair as if there might be one strand out of place.

  “No, just trying to plan something festive for the window display for Thanksgiving.” I gestured to the space that would soon need to be transitioned from the Halloween display. “Your dad was thinking of using vintage Thanksgiving photos and relics featuring Lofty Blue and some of his folklore since his birthday falls on Thanksgiving this year.”

  We had a lot of maps and a few old letters that mentioned Lofty’s birthday, along with books and some other treasures. Anything that featured Lofton Burke was a town favorite.

  “Sounds good.” Todd shifted his broad shoulders and smiled. “Marek Young is releasing a book right around Christmas that has to do with Lofty, so we should begin doing a spotlight on that as well. I’m sure Dad mentioned it.”

  “Right. Of course. That would work as the centerpiece of the display.” I didn’t know anything about this book release, but I wasn’t going to look stupid in front of the boss’s son.

  “Say…” Todd cleared his throat and leaned close enough for me to catch a whiff of his musky cologne. It made my nose tingle in a bad way. “I know you had mentioned to Grace that you wanted to see that old movie playing down at the Forrest Theatre. You want to go with me instead?”

  I don’t know what surprised me more—Todd asking me out or Todd asking me out to see a revival of a steampunk classic. I sat back on my stool, putting a little distance between us as I struggled for words that wouldn’t cut or burn. “I’m surprised you’d want to see it.”

  “Who doesn’t want to see 20 Thousand Leagues under the Sea?”

  I didn’t want to point out the obvious—him. “The Forrest is only open on Saturday, and I have plans. I’m sorry.” I didn’t, but I couldn’t say to my boss’s son what I would say to most people. I needed this job.

  Todd was okay. He did nothing for me on a romantic level, and he didn’t interest me enough on a friend level to spend time with him, even if we went to a movie I really wanted to see. I’d rather go alone and enjoy the experience.

  And just like that, the swirling energy that had bothered me all day increased and heated me in a way that made me wonder if I had suddenly spiked a fever. It couldn’t be anything aimed at Todd. I wasn’t interested.

  I glanced away from Todd and out the bow window. In front of the store, a familiar form in a dark, woolen coat climbed from a vintage sports car parked at the curb. The wind had died down this morning, but a chill still hung in the air given the way he had the collar pulled up again. He rounded the front of the car, grasping a cardboard tube of some sort. Damn it, didn’t this man ever go home?

  “Oh, good, there’s Mr. Young now.” Todd grabbed his coat. “He said he only had a moment to drop off some ideas for his book tour.”

  Todd dashed out the door and met Mr. Young on the sidewalk, grasping the man’s hand and shaking it with way too much enthusiasm.

  I bent over the counter with way more interest than I wanted to have, leaning on my elbows to try to catch a glimpse of…what? I shouldn’t be engrossed with the way Mr. Young’s cheek dimpled as his mouth formed words I couldn’t hear. The way his jaw flexed in tempered annoyance at Todd’s continued handshake shouldn’t have earned him any sympathy from me…but it did.

  Mr. Young somehow untangled his hand from Todd’s and replaced it with the cardboard tube, pressing it firmly into the younger man’s palm. He turned his head toward the store, and his gaze clashed with mine, his blue eyes widening slightly. His lips parted, and he turned back to Todd with a curt nod. They exchanged a few more words, and Todd seemed to grow in height as he thrust his chest out in a display of testosterone.

  Mr. Young nodded again. Whirling on his toe, he rounded the car and slid into the driver’s seat. He cast one last glance at the store window before he drove off, leaving Todd alone on the sidewalk.

  I sat back down on the stool, unsure what to think about that exchange. I mean, there wasn’t anything odd about it. Mr. Young seemed hurried, and his body language had been polite despite how eager Todd had been. Todd was a kiss ass at heart.

  But Mr. Young had looked my way with interest.

  I was used to being stared at and then ignored. When I was little, I was considered a “peculiar child”—other people’s words, not mine. I had to learn to hide that peculiar child, to mask her from the cruel words of those people who didn’t understand.

  But during the last year, something had shifted. The girl I had hid resurfaced, her dreams still intact, that odd energy still pulsing inside me.

  I sighed. Perhaps it was time to do some soul-searching in the place that soothed me best, even if it was a little creepy.

  Marek

  I gripped the steering wheel with a lot more force than needed as I turned away from home, opting to drive out to the point instead. I needed a moment to cool off after meeting with Todd outside the bookstore.

  Todd. He was like a sly, young dog with balls and swagger bigger than his bite. Skye wouldn’t date him. She had never liked blonds, never liked someone who coveted status, and looks, and cars. And he was shorter than she was. She’d always liked that I was taller, that her head tucked under my chin, her cheek on my chest. Todd would end up with his face in her boobs. Well, maybe she’d like that, too.

  In the past year and a half since I’d been stuck here, I’d subtly worked Skye into my conversations with Todd, his father, and even her friend, Grace. That’s how she’d become my buyer, how I’d known her schedule to avoid her, how I knew she wasn’t dating anyone. How I knew she liked to hang out in the cemetery. That habit always upset the non-gifted but hearing that had made my heart soar.

  Sure, Skye would be pissed that I had stooped to a creepy stalker low, but I needed intel from somewhere.

  As I handed off some promotion
al items to Todd, he’d casually hinted that Skye was seeing a movie with him over the weekend. Seriously? Skye going with him?

  I slammed on the brakes to keep from blowing through a stop sign, cursing my shitty driving. As I waited for the other car to meander through the crossing, I pondered my options.

  I had to pick up the pace somehow in “courting” her. Today, I’d driven my book release promo to the bookstore instead of walking, hoping she’d remember this car. We’d learned to drive during our layovers, and this old sports car was a favorite for slow, Sunday cruises up Route 1, ending with viewing the sunset and hot sex when the sun faded. I shifted with discomfort on the leather seat, savoring the memory of her like a starved man.

  As turned on as that memory made me, I’d gotten nothing new from Skye. Oh, she’d stared out the window, but I wanted more. My expectations of her reaction could be overblown. I wanted her to run out that door and into my arms, covering my face with kisses while Todd stared in disappointment and envy. Instead, I got a dark brow cocked with cool interest and no recognition.

  At least, there was interest.

  If she had any romantic regard for Todd, that could screw up my timeline. My energy faded each day, and from the gauge on my watch that monitored these things, I had about a month left. Well, less than that. Maybe two weeks. Who knew what mess I’d be in at the end? And I didn’t plan on staying here to die. I’d rather retire to the space between times, where the darkness was lit by the brilliant energy paths from all the other time travelers. That was the way to die. Not in a bed, alone.

  But I had a much deeper bag of tricks than a cheesy movie. Being thirty this coming birthday, I would have loved Skye for almost half my life. Unless this version of Skye was a lot different, I should have no issue meeting my deadline.

  Challenge accepted, Todd.

  Chapter two

  Skye

  After work, I bundled up and headed out for a short walk to the place that soothed me best. I don’t know why the cemetery next to my apartment offered the peace and solace I couldn’t find among the living. The energy there was soothing, calming. In good weather, I’d sit and listen to music in the evening. Sometimes, I’d sit and draw during the day. I always felt recharged, even if I only indulged in a brisk walk through the headstones in winter.

  I hopped the short picket fence and headed toward the back corner farthest from my apartment and on the same side as the old meetinghouse. My favorite spot was sheltered by some overgrown shrubs and an old cedar tree, and it was almost impossible to see from the road. The streetlight and porch lights didn’t reach that far, settling the back corner into a peaceful darkness lit by the boring, mid-October constellations.

  I sank onto the black granite gravestone that also served as a bench—Ike Benson, died 2005. His wife was still alive. Here, the newer graves mingled with a few older ones, like the one for M.S. Storm from 1892, which was my favorite.

  The weather had warmed some, and I wasn’t uncomfortable in a hoodie and light jacket. I slid one earbud into my ear, leaving the other free to hear whatever, just in case. I called up a list of songs and hit play on my phone. Now, I wouldn’t have to deal with Todd, or Mr. Young, or anyone else I didn’t want to. I would listen to music and plot out the rest of my research paper, which featured nonconforming gravestones in our area. We had a few with bogus dates, odd epitaphs, and made from unique stones.

  As a history major for both my bachelor’s and my master’s degrees, I found I loved the Victorian era the most, and it wasn’t just a Steampunk thing. It was an era of great change and innovation—the beginning of the first Industrial Revolution. There was also a boom in exploration and trade…and Jack the Ripper. Yes, I was intrigued by that gory man just as much as Darwinism.

  Just as the song changed, the hair on the back of my neck rose, the skin prickling. An uneasy tingle that slid down my arms and into the pit of my stomach melded with that odd heat. I wasn’t alone.

  A few brave souls would sometimes cut through the break in the fence closest to my apartment to avoid the big hill on Main Street, but no one used the trail on this side that led away from the village proper and down to the cove. I took the earbud out of my ear and strained to hear and see.

  The deep shadows around me rippled with the slight breeze that tinkled the wind chimes on my landlady’s back porch. Usually, dry leaves crunched and shuffled under worried feet as if the walker hoped to scatter captured spirits. I believed in ghosts and ghouls and had felt them before in haunted houses. I was sensitive to all energy. The afterlife had a frantic, uneasy energy that wanted to settle. Most graveyards had little to no activity, the spirits long departed from their rotting bodies.

  But a few graveyards had an energy that matched my dreams about the color paths, that joyous vibrancy that sang to my nerves and sank deep in my bones.

  People and animals also had energy. Some had a more intense dynamic while others were quiet, less vibrant. Pets tended to mimic their owners while wild animals had a feral feel to them, the energy untamed, unfettered.

  As a child, I’d learned the hard way that the dark was scary, not because it was dark but because of what lurked there. I learned to separate those incoming sensations into their categories, naming them in the blackness. It had saved my life, knowing the difference between a cat on the stairs or an intruder. This approaching energy felt far off still, advancing on my peaceful haven in slow, even steps.

  Sometimes, the combination of outside energy sources was too strong and had overwhelmed me. I had learned to block them out, shielding myself away so I could feel nothing. But now, I needed to know what lurked in the darkness—friend or foe. Evil had its own dark vibrancy.

  Heart pounding, I closed my eyes and lowered the invisible shield that protected me from outside “noise.” The positive, upbeat vitality from the nearby grave intensified, and I embraced that for a breath before venturing outward to find my intruder.

  A mole or mouse scurried along the fence, trying to remain hidden from the owl hunting it from the big oak across the cemetery. The energy on the far side was quiet, though the undercurrent at the Young Mausoleum often matched the graves on this side with cheerful yet duller currents.

  I mentally reached down the dark path toward Main Street and felt it. Human energy. A familiar, male vibrancy that had bothered me all week at the bookstore.

  Marek Young.

  Unshielded, his vitality beckoned, skating over my skin with heated promises that would remain empty if I had my way. I shuddered, mentally retreating as fast as I could. I had nothing to fear from him, so I raised my internal protection and sheltered in place on Ike’s headstone, hoping he was just cutting through like most people out after dark.

  I sensed when he crossed into the cemetery, twisting and turning through the narrow slit in the fence, though I still couldn’t see or hear movement. He wandered to his family’s mausoleum, a simple, granite structure that held a few vaults. There, the streetlight tagged the road between sections, and most people walked within the safety of that yellowed light.

  Mr. Young did not. The shadows flickered as he stalked along the side of the road with a deadly precision that made me uneasy. He had training others didn’t that kept him concealed and safe until he wanted to be revealed.

  The wrought iron gate rattled, and I jumped, startled. Tense, I sat as still as the stone under me, watching. Waiting. My heart finally calmed a bit as his shadow draped into the narrow dirt road, the only proof that I wasn’t crazy and making things up.

  A light flared, bathing his chiseled jaw in hues of yellow as he lit something. A cigarette? The flame faded, leaving behind a spark of orange to bob along in the dark as he turned and headed my way.

  My heart pounded when the glow flared as he took a drag. I rose and stepped into the shadows, my back pressing against the rough bark of the cedar tree. I could flee down the lane if I wanted, but why? I had nothing to fear. He was a customer. I also had a knife strapped to my leg, just in case.
Old habits die hard.

  He paused at the break in the fence, and the glow fell from his hand to the ground. With the toe of his shoe, he snuffed the ember, the leaves crackling with each twist of his foot.

  Leave. Leave already. I drew a shaky breath just as the phone in my hand lit up with an incoming text. I slammed it into my pocket, praying he hadn’t seen.

  But instead of heading down that path, he turned and strode toward me.

  “Skye, I presume,” he said as he approached, his voice slightly accented but warm as if we weren’t strangers but a little time had passed since our last meeting.

  How does he know me? The back of my neck tingled as my shaking hand flew to my throat, my tongue held motionless.

  “I’m sorry. That’s stalkerish of me. I’m Marek. Marek Young.” He paused next to the marble bench I had just vacated. “I’m assuming you’re Skye, because Mr. Dexter had said you have a paper due on historic headstones, and that sometimes, you like to hang out here.”

  Thanks, Mr. Dexter.

  My eyes had adjusted enough in the darkness to distinguish the angular planes of his pale face, the slash of his darker lips curving in a smile.

  “He knows I have a few books that would help with your research. I saw your light, and figured you were gaining some insight.” He gestured to the bench. “May I?”

  I shrugged. My tongue remained numb, my breathing erratic since I was trying to hide my trepidation.

  He sat, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. He took a long breath as if savoring the night air, his head tilted to gaze at the sky. “The mid-October constellations are boring. If it were early morning, we might catch a glimpse of Orion or the Orionid meteors. It’s too late for the Draconids.”

  I nodded, and my shoulders relaxed a little with the motion of my head. Damn him for liking astronomy. I loved the constellation of Orion and the history that surrounded him. Not just the myths, but how his constellation linked into other cultures, such as early Egyptian lore.