Time's Enemy: A Romantic Time Travel Adventure (Saturn Society Book 1) (22 page)

Fred chuckled. “I’d hire you if I could stick around.”

“Why can’t you?” Charlotte pressed, curious to hear his explanation.

“I’m just here temporarily. Business.”

“What sort of business?” Could she trip him up?

“Investing.”

They stopped at the corner of Tyler Street while a lone automobile passed. Charlotte glanced behind her. In Castle’s Fine Jewelry’s window, diamonds and silver twinkled in the streetlamp’s light. Fred turned and followed her gaze, then let his eyes travel up her. “Too bad they aren’t open. That pearl necklace would look great on you.” He drew a finger across the base of her neck.

“Oh, you’re too kind.” She leaned toward the street, and he took her hand, casting a backward glance as they walked away.

“Perhaps we can come back tomorrow.”

She brought her palm to the base of her throat. “Really, I couldn’t.”

“You’d do well to take it. Times won’t always be so good.”

She slowed as they stepped up the curb and continued toward Harrison Street. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Five years from now, the stock market’s going to tank. There’ll be a run on the banks. People’ll lose everything—”

“How would you know such a thing?”

He smiled sidewise at her.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d... I’d think you know the future,” she said. “But that’s impossible, of course.”

“What if I told you it wasn’t?”

“That’s preposterous! That’s something only for fantastic stories.” Charlotte tried to tamp down her growing unease.

“It’s true. I do know the future. Because I come from it.” He stopped and turned, as if trying to heighten the drama.

Charlotte regarded him through narrowed eyes, feigning what she hoped was a convincing look of disbelief. “All right, what year did you come here from?”

“1984.”

“Really. And what are things like then?”

They started to walk again. Fred regaled her with tales of television, space travel and computers. Charlotte did her best to look surprised, though she remembered hearing of such things from Tony like it had been yesterday.

Though Fred spoke of fascinating things like microwave ovens and nuclear bombs, his frequent asides to talk about himself and his attitude of superiority grew tiresome. Relief swept over Charlotte when they approached the Society House.

She was up the steps before she realized he was no longer beside her. She turned to see him staring up at the house, his mouth hanging open. “This... is where you work?”

“Is something wrong?” Drat it all, he recognized the House from his own time. It likely hadn’t changed a great deal.

He hesitated, still gaping at the House. She stepped down from the porch and joined him on the walk. “There’s no one here at this hour.” She tried to sound reassuring.

“There’s a light in that second floor window,” he said.

Charlotte took his hand in hers, and stroked it with the other. “My boss forgets to turn them off sometimes.” She lowered her voice, hoping to inject a suggestive tone. “We’ll be quite alone, I assure you.”

He met her eyes, and the corners of his mouth tipped up. “What are we waiting for, then?”

She felt his breath, hot on her neck as she unlocked the front door. This was too easy.

Fred glanced around nervously as he stepped into the foyer, but said nothing. She flipped on the entry light, so Theodore, hiding in the garage, would know she’d arrived with their quarry. “Shall we go sit in the parlor? Perhaps there’s a good program on the radio.”

Fred’s eyes gleamed. “Lead the way, babe.”

She let him grasp her fingers as she led him around the corner, giggling like an infatuated schoolgirl. Her laughter rang false to her own ears, but Fred made a playful swipe at her hand when she pulled it away to tune the radio.

She sat on the sofa, expecting him to take the chair, but he sat beside her.

Charlotte kept her gaze focused on the radio, the lacy wallpaper, the delicate doily on the back of Theodore’s overstuffed chair. She made idle chit-chat about the music, but Fred scooted close, and when he slid his arm over her shoulders, the words she’d planned to say flew out of her mind. “Did I tell you you’re a very attractive lady?” His mouth stretched into a leer.

She fought the urge to recoil from the smell of gin on his breath, relived she’d dumped her own into a laundry tub when no one was looking. She needed to keep her edge.

“Why, yes, you did.” She glanced at the door. What was keeping Theodore? She tittered, hoping Fred would mistake her nervousness for flirtation.

He stroked her arm. “You were the hottest babe at that party.”

“Is that how they say one’s attractive in 1984?”

He laughed, and before she knew what was happening, he grabbed her and pulled her against him, pressing his lips to hers in a wet, sloppy kiss.

Bile rose in Charlotte’s throat.
Theodore! Where are you?

Fred drew back. “What’s wrong? I thought you wanted...”

Whatever it takes.
She had to keep Mr. Cheltenham here until Theodore could trap him. She swallowed. “I was just... surprised, that’s all.” She slid her hand onto his knee, closed her eyes, and leaned close, bracing herself for his slobbery mouth.
Pretend he’s Louie.

It helped, enabling her to feign enjoyment. Until she realized the face in her imagination wasn’t Louie’s.

It was Tony’s.

She almost drew back in surprise, but Fred’s arms crushed her against him. She tried to conjure Louie’s face in her mind but could only see Tony.
Why on earth?

The Black Book, of course. She was simply overwrought at having seen him in it again, for the fourth year in a row. Come to think of it, Louie bore him more than a passing resemblance. How had she not noticed before?

Fred pulled away, his brows lowered. “Are you okay?”

She forced a smile. “Of course. Why—”

“You seem a little... preoccupied.”

She fanned herself. “It’s not every day I meet someone like you.” How much longer would she have to keep up this charade?

Fred opened his mouth to respond when the front door flew open. “What the— You said—” He started to rise, but his chance of escape disappeared when Theodore appeared in the entrance to the parlor, flanked by... Dr. Caruthers?

“Sit down, Mr. Cheltenham,” Theodore said. “You’ll be here a while.” They advanced on Fred. “Excellent work, Charlotte.”

Caruthers pushed Fred down on the sofa. “Yes, terrific job.” He smirked at Charlotte, his eyes glittering.

Charlotte’s insides turned in on themselves, and she fled to the other side of the room. Fred’s head whipped around, from Theodore, to Caruthers, and back. “Who are you? What do you want?” To Charlotte, “You! You sold me out! You bi—”

“You have broken the Society Code, Mr. Cheltenham,” Theodore said. “You’ve been warned not to tamper with the past to suit your own purposes, and you’ve willfully disregarded those warnings—”

“That’s a crock!” He rose and tried to push them aside. “I haven’t done a thing—” Caruthers shoved him back down and sat on him. Fred’s limbs flailed, his fingers clawed at empty air, but his efforts were as ineffectual as his muffled shouts. Theodore drew a flask and a handkerchief out of his pocket, uncorked the flask and held the handkerchief to it as he upended it. As he pressed the cloth over Fred’s nose and mouth, Fred’s motions became slow and feeble, then he went still.

Caruthers slowly rose. “Time to take him downstairs?” A grin spread across his face like a joker in a deck of cards.

A chill rushed down Charlotte. What had she done?

Theodore walked around Cheltenham’s inert form, poking and prodding the captive. “Yes. We must get him taken care of before he revives.”

Charlotte shrank into a corner as the two men lifted Fred’s arms and dragged him toward the parlor doorway. Caruthers paused as he passed her. “You’ve done well, Charlotte. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded.” He moved on, but as he yanked the unconscious Fred around the corner, he gave her a long look, one of those that made her feel raw and exposed, like he could see through her clothes.

“Serving the Society is reward enough,” she forced out.

“Well said, Charlotte,” Theodore grunted.

She pressed her back against the wall, anxious to be out of Caruthers’ sight. When the sounds of Fred’s shoes dragging the floor receded, she peeled herself off the wall. She stumbled twice as she made her way to the sofa.

She sat, clasping one hand with the other, then switching them. She couldn’t stop shaking, though the room was warm. Something sweet-smelling lingered in the air. The anesthetic, though she doubted it was the cause of her sudden malaise. It hadn’t affected Theodore or Caruthers.

She made herself stop wringing her hands.
You’re being silly!
She’d done something good, something necessary. Theodore was proud of her. Caruthers, too, though she doubted she’d want his promised reward.

What would they do to Fred? Curiosity finished off her misgivings. This was the first time she’d been present when Theodore made an apprehension. What was the Treatment that rendered the enemies of time harmless?

Her shakes gone, she got up and walked to the parlor entrance. The hallway was deserted, though scuff marks from Fred’s shoes marred the hardwood floors. She followed their trail to the stairwell leading into the basement.

She tiptoed down the steps, hoping none creaked. She flinched when one did, then scanned the dim cellar. Her ears pricked at a faint snap coming from the storage area at the other end of the basement. She clutched the handrail, the wood cool in her grip, then continued down the stairs.

The damp, chill air raised goose bumps on her arms. The still silence amplified her footsteps, then someone shouted from behind a closed door. The storage area.

It had been locked as long as she could remember. Theodore had told her there was nothing inside except extra coal, which he’d taken to keeping since the shortage in ‘18.

She crept to the big wooden door and stopped, her back to the wall beside the jamb. She could make out Theodore’s and Caruthers’ voices, but not their words. Slowly, she leaned around the doorframe.

Not one lump of coal lay inside. Her breath caught.

Their backs to her, Theodore and Dr. Caruthers stood before a long, metal table. Both men had donned white surgical gowns. Theodore applied more of whatever was in the flask—chloroform, probably—to the handkerchief, then pressed it back over Fred’s nose and mouth. At the table’s other end, thick leather straps bound Fred’s ankles. When Theodore shifted to the side, Charlotte saw more restraints around Fred’s wrists.

“Ready?” Caruthers asked. “Scalpel, then.” Theodore handed him an instrument from a tray of tools on a stand beside him.

Charlotte clutched her quarter through her dress, its edges biting into her palm. She should leave.

Caruthers brought the scalpel to Fred’s forehead. Her curiosity warring with apprehension, Charlotte leaned to the side, trying to see around Caruthers, when an inhuman shriek issued from the table.

She cringed. Caruthers barked a command at Theodore, who grabbed the flask off the side table and tipped it over the handkerchief covering Fred’s nose.

The screaming died down. Charlotte relaxed, then let go of her quarter and leaned close to the doorframe again.

Caruthers lifted the scalpel again. “No more time travel for you,” he said in a haughty voice, ending in a chuckle. Not an ordinary laugh, as one might at comical motion picture show or a joke, but more of a cackle.

Her skin felt like ice crystals were forming on it. What on earth were they doing to the man?
This must be what demons sound like.
She stood, transfixed. She couldn’t see around the two Society men, but from Dr. Caruthers’ motions, it looked like he was sawing Fred’s head open.

He held a bloody hand out to Theodore, but his request drowned in another wail from Fred.

Charlotte bolted for the stairs and didn’t stop until she reached the front door. More shrieks drifted up from the basement.

She threw open the door and burst outside. She couldn’t listen to that horrible noise and know she’d been part of the cause. She ran down the sidewalk until she reached a trolley stop several houses down.

Trying to catch her breath, she sat on the bench. Wetness soaked through her skirt. She’d forgotten it rained earlier.

The world was wet and black, the streetlights making distorted reflections on the pavement. She could see nothing but the afterimage of Fred’s face, could hear nothing but his cries and Caruthers’ voice echoing in her head.

She wasn’t sure which was worse.

Someone was watching him. Tony couldn’t see them, but he could feel it. Rain smacked his face as he exited the parking garage and scanned the street. Earlier when he’d gone to visit Dewey Henderson, the sun had been shining in a cloudless blue sky, typical of Ohio’s capricious, spring weather.

But no one lurked in the shadows, and no one peered over the concrete half-walls of the parking garage. Tony plodded down Seventh Street toward Bernie’s, though the deli was dark and closed. He’d brought an umbrella, but it was in his authentic, vintage suitcase. It would look strange if he jumped with it open, only to arrive to a beautiful, sunny evening in 1933.