Time Risk: A Time Travel Novel, page 1
TIME RISK
A Time Travel Novel
Elyse Douglas
Broadback Books
Copyright © 2024 Elyse Douglas
Time Risk - A Time Travel Novel - All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
ISBN: 9798339566021
Cover design by: Ken Kenyon
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
For Maxine and the skylark
“The past is never dead. It’s not even past.”
~William Faulkner
“The past is a foreign country.
They do things differently there.”
~L. P. Hartley
TIME RISK
PROLOGUE
Think of flashbulbs going off—explosions of light that stab your eyes. You try to raise a hand to block the FLASH, FLASH, FLASH—but your hand won’t lift. It’s too heavy.
You want to run, but a big hulking monster is lumbering toward you. You’re struggling to go tearing off, but your thick, heavy legs are stuck in glue.
Now think of the darkest, coldest night you can remember. Teeth-rattling cold, and tall walls of night, as high as the endless sky. You’re lost, crying for help, searching with wide eyes in that enemy of night, praying to spot a lighted doorway so you can bolt off for freedom. Your pulse is high, and there’s a burning lick of panic rippling up your spine.
These nightmares—and others like them—have haunted Rachel Hunt ever since her eighteen-year-old sister, Sarah Hunt, disappeared while jogging in a park barely a mile from their home. Despite extensive efforts by the police, Sarah was never found and was presumed dead. Every potential suspect had a solid alibi, and no arrests were ever made. Rachel was sixteen when her sister disappeared.
Rachel’s mother, never a religious woman, immediately sought religion, throwing herself into prayer and performing good works. Six years later, her father, a Cleveland cop and a heavy drinker, put a gun to his head.
What Rachel remembers most about Sarah was that she was the best of them all. She was funny, and generous, and loving. She often recalls one incident that always warms her, helps to ease the pain and cool some of the rage.
When the sisters were twelve and fourteen, they’d stayed up late, watching a movie on their bedroom TV, eating popcorn, and flipping through fashion magazines.
All at once, as if she’d been pinched, Sarah sat up in bed and said, “Hey, let’s go outside and look at the stars.”
“Why?” Rachel asked, feeling sleepy, having lost interest in the silly romantic movie.
“Because my science teacher, Mr. Bates, said if we get lucky, we might see the flash of a meteor.”
She went bounding out of bed with a gleeful smile and seized Rachel’s hand. “Come on, Rae. The sky is beautiful at night.”
So they did, and they got lucky. It was a magical night. It was a night they later called “Magic Meteor Night.”
They stood barefoot in the driveway on that warm summer night, dressed in their PJs, searching the dome of glittering stars. The sisters arched their backs and gazed up in wonder as bright and fleeting streaks of light went shooting across the sky—a meteor shower performing its magic show just for them.
“I bet that meteor shower radiates from the constellation Perseus,” Sarah said.
Rachel glanced at her doubtfully. “Radiates? And, like, how would you know that?”
“Mr. Bates told us. I love his class.”
“You love him, you mean.”
Sarah giggled. “Maybe. He’s so cute, with his eyes all squinty in those horn-rimmed glasses.”
“What’s horn-rimmed?” Rachel asked.
Sarah just smiled and pointed up.
So, they watched and turned in a circle. Ecstatic, Sarah jumped up and down like a cheerleader, pointing and laughing. “See, Rae? Do you see it? Mr. Bates is right! The world is filled with so much magic.”
“Yeah, I see it. It’s like a Disney movie or something. Do you know what, Sarah? I want to be an astronaut and go to some planet where no one has ever gone before.”
“Like in Star Trek?”
“Yeah, sure. I love Star Trek. Why not boldly go where no woman has ever gone before?”
Sarah pointed to a bright star. “You’ll go there someday, Rae. I just know it. You’ll fly off to that big bright star, and I’ll be so proud.”
Rachel had just turned sixteen when Sarah disappeared in July 2007. Her father said that it was a cold case, unsolved, and it probably never would be solved.
But Rachel is not the forgiving or the forgetting type. It’s just not who she is. As soon as she turned 21, she became a cop and then, when she turned thirty, she was promoted, becoming one of sixteen homicide detectives with the Cleveland Division of Police (CDP).
Rachel opened Sarah’s file and studied it obsessively. She found no new evidence. The two detectives who had worked the case had been professional and thorough.
But Rachel knew she’d never give up searching for Sarah, no matter how long it took. As she told her mother, “I’ll keep looking, and someday I’ll find the truth, and if Sarah was murdered, I’ll find the murderer, and I’ll either kill him or bring him to justice.”
PHASE 1
CHAPTER 1
“Why me?” Rachel asked.
“Why not you?” Jonathan responded.
“Don’t play games. I don’t like games. I don’t even like cards or Uncle Wiggly.”
He spread his hands. “Okay. Fine. No games.”
Rachel waited.
It was June, and 33-year-old Rachel Hunt was seated across from 44-year-old Jonathan Dekker, in a sleek conference room, situated on the top floor of one of those towering glass buildings in Lower Manhattan that reached up into the clouds. Despite the impressive view of the cityscape, Rachel couldn’t relax. Heights made her queasy, and she’d just endured a dashboard-pounding, outta-my-way taxi ride through aggressive Manhattan streets.
Her stomach had done a little somersault when she’d first entered the room and taken in the panoramic views provided by that wide wall of windows: the sprawling sunny skyline, the glaring glass towers, and the distant hills of New Jersey across the wide Hudson River. It all made Rachel uneasy.
She’d asked Jonathan to close the electric vertical blinds—at least halfway. He’d done so with a smug grin, as if he was glad to see she had a weakness. Maybe Rachel didn’t like the smug grin. Maybe she’d search for one of his weaknesses.
Jonathan Dekker was about Rachel’s height, five-feet nine inches tall, but she’d worn one-inch heels. When they shook hands at the door, he seemed indifferent that Rachel was taller than he was. They sized each other up, and she sensed in him a terminal certainty—an unwavering confidence—as if life had always dealt him a good hand and he’d made the most of it, and then some, and he had no plans to stop projecting that confidence.
He was lean and fit, and from the cut of his clothes, muscled. Jonathan wore a spiffy stylish blue suit, with a white shirt and golden silk tie; black shoes that shined like mirrors.
The outfit Rachel had chosen was a brand-new, bluish-gray fitted business suit, found on sale online, and purchased with one of her ever-so-close-to-being maxed-out credit cards. She’d had no problem admitting that she was a walking wardrobe malfunction, so she’d asked two girlfriends for help.
Rachel and Jonathan were seated across from each other, a bottle of water before Rachel, the recessed ceiling lights casting a muted institutional glow.
Being impatient, a trait she was actively trying to work on, ever since being discharged from the Cleveland Division of Police, Rachel spoke up. “So, you said no games,” she repeated. “You’ve got my file, my application, my resume, my three prior interview responses, and you have my references. So, I’d appreciate knowing what the job is, and why I haven’t been told what the job is.”
Jonathan studied her face. “I like your voice, Rachel. It’s a bit husky and a bit velvet. You remind me a little of a young Lauren Bacall, and I think you’re not a gauzy romantic. All good.”
Rachel thought, What am I supposed to say to that? Is he flirting?
Jonathan flipped open Rachel’s folder and sifted through some pages before glancing up at her. His hair was receding at the crown, his lips were thin, his cheekbones sharp, his dark eyes lacking warmth.
He held up a piece of paper and began to read. “… Rachel Hunt, at thirty-three years old, has exceptional skills and leadership qualities. She has a near photographic mind, and she can recall the smallest of details. As a detective, Rachel tackled some of the most challenging cases, utilizing her sharp analytical mind and keen intuition to unravel mysteries and bring perpetrators to justice. Rachel has studied martial arts—Karate, Taekwondo, Judo—and received a brown belt. She has worked with the FBI and with narcotics detectives, and she has studied to be a hostage negotiator on a SWAT team.”
Jonathan grinned, just the right side of his mouth. His left side was a flat line. “Sounds impressive, doesn’t it? Maybe an A.I. wrote it?”
Rachel gave him what she hoped was a
“No, actually, it was Captain Fred Kazenas, who submitted this report, solicited by our company, ApexTech Innovations. I’m sure you’re familiar with him from your days working as a patrolwoman. Let me continue. You went to Pinewood High School and tragically lost your older sister in an alleged abduction when she was eighteen. Her disappearance remains unsolved. Following high school, you graduated from a junior college with top honors for, and I quote, ‘exceptional academic performance,’ end quote.”
“It wasn’t a very good junior college, so being exceptional was not a big thing.”
Jonathan ignored her, turned the page, and read on. “Soon after graduation, you joined the Cleveland Division of Police as a patrolwoman. At the age of thirty, your outstanding instincts and relentless determination caught the attention of your superiors, leading to your promotion to homicide detective.”
Rachel wanted to roll her eyes. “Yes, Mr. Dekker. I’m sure you’ve read all of this before, and have no doubt discussed it, ad nauseam, with your colleagues.”
He held up a hand for silence. “Indulge me, Ms. Hunt. Your face here in front of me helps me to match the facts on the page.”
She leaned back, breathing in impatience while he continued.
“As a detective, it is reported that your edgy demeanor and keen eye for detail served you well in solving complex cases. However, your relentless pursuit of, well, let’s say, justice, often put you at odds with your colleagues and the bureaucratic constraints of the department.”
He lifted his eyes from the page. “Would you say that was so, Ms. Hunt?”
“Yeah. I’m not good with bureaucrats who create work just so they can justify their jobs. I don’t like judges who don’t move on cases, or greedy lawyers who file motions and stall, and twist the law so that drug dealers and murderers return to the streets. I also don’t like cops who are sloppy and indifferent. So, maybe I have a big mouth, and I say too much sometimes.”
Jonathan nodded but didn’t respond. “Your father was a cop, wasn’t he?”
“Yes… And he was a good cop, so don’t read me wrong. There are mostly good cops who have families and kids, and they stick their necks out every day and do good things, and most people never know it.”
Jonathan didn’t seem to hear Rachel’s last statement, or maybe he didn’t care. He scanned a page and went back to reading. “It also says that you were steadfast in your mission to bring closure to victims and their families. And then, two paragraphs later, it says your career took an unexpected turn when you became entangled in a high-profile case that shook the department to its core. The details are few and remain shrouded in mystery. It led to your abrupt departure from the police department. Is that true?”
Rachel jerked a nod. “Yep. All true.”
Jonathan straightened. “You didn’t tell the previous three interviewers what that mystery was. You refused to say what led to your abrupt departure.”
“That’s right. And I’m not going to tell you either because I signed a piece of paper that three lawyers shoved in my face that said I wouldn’t tell anyone what happened. Ever. I signed that paper so I wouldn’t go to jail for ten years.”
Jonathan folded his hands on the tabletop. “Ms. Hunt, why did you apply for this job?”
Rachel had already answered the question at least three times, but she was working on patience. “The money. I’m out of work, and I can’t find work, no surprise. My bank account is nearly empty. My savings are gone. What else can I say?”
Jonathan scratched the end of his nose. “Carolyn Tibbs told you to apply for this job. Is that right?”
“Yes.”
“You met her when you both worked on a missing person’s case about a year ago?”
“Yes.”
“And she’s an FBI agent?”
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you what the job was?”
“No, because she didn’t know for sure, but she thought it had something to do with security. She said it would pay a lot of money. She gave me the information, I applied, and here I am, on my fourth interview.”
Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. “It will be your last interview, Ms. Hunt, unless you tell me why you were fired from the Cleveland Police Department.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Rachel pushed back her chair and rose. “Then it was nice meeting you, Mr. Dekker.”
Rachel went striding across the thick royal blue carpet, toward the door.
“Wait!” Jonathan’s voice boomed. “Just wait a minute.”
Rachel stopped, keeping her back to him.
“The money is good, Ms. Hunt. The money is very good, and I think you may be perfect for the job, but only if you stop being a tight-assed combat soldier for a minute. Sit back down and let me finish this interview.”
Rachel slowly turned about, feeling like a gunslinger about to draw on the man. She didn’t like him, but then, as her mother used to say, “You’re too selective with your friends, Rachel, and you’re too hard on people.”
Back at the table, Rachel sat, and they stared at each other like two poker players, each with a good hand.
He talked first. “Ms. Hunt, you have a secret, and I have a secret. I’m going to tell you my secret first. After I tell you, and if you turn down the job, you must keep my secret just as well as you are keeping yours. Do you understand?”
She nodded, leaning a little forward, intrigued.
Jonathan slid Rachel’s file aside, reached for a bottle of water and took a sip, keeping his eyes on her. He swallowed. He sat the bottle down. He licked his lips.
“Time travel, Ms. Hunt. My secret is… Time travel.”
CHAPTER 2
Rachel stared at him for what seemed like a good minute, looking for a joke, searching for a cheeky grin in his unreadable mask of a face. Again, she had the impulse to jump to her feet and march out of there. But she didn’t. Her irritation melted a little, and her impatience turned to curiosity.
Rachel’s throat went dry. She reached for the bottled water, screwed off the cap and took a long drink. It was cool and went down easy. After replacing the bottle on the tabletop, she crossed her arms and waited for an explanation.
Jonathan asked, “No comment?”
“At my first interview, I was told I was applying for a possible executive protection job, protecting prominent families and ultra-high net-worth people.”
Jonathan shook his head. “Possible, but no. That’s not this job. We do have those jobs, but we’re interested in you for a different job.”
Rachel lowered her chin, keeping her steady gaze on him. “So, the job has something to do with time travel? Is this some kind of joke?”
“No joke.”
She glanced up at the ceiling and sighed.
He lifted an eyebrow. “Well, you haven’t stormed off. I suppose that’s a good sign.”
In the silence that followed, Rachel heard distant sirens from far below. She heard the whisper of the air-conditioning system, and she heard an inner voice—her sister Sarah’s voice—say, “The world is filled with so much magic.”
They were the same words Sarah had spoken on “Magic Meteor Night.”
The words “Time Travel” repeated in Rachel’s head, and she thought they had a low singing beat to them, like a chant, like a mantra—like a Taylor Swift video—the music seductive and silky, while a fog machine pumped out misty clouds of blue and gold.
Jonathan carefully studied Rachel. “What do you know about time travel, Ms. Hunt?”
“Call me Rachel,” she said, with some irritation. “Ms. Hunt was my high school history teacher.”
“All right, Rachel. I’ll be Jonathan and you’ll be Rachel. So… Time travel? What do you know about it?”
“Nothing. Never thought much about it. Never wanted to think about it much, or at all. I’ve seen some sci-fi movies, maybe read a novel or two about it, and I’ve watched old black-and-white Twilight Zone episodes. That’s my complete knowledge of anything about time travel.”
