The Time Rip (15 page)

She studied the handcuffs; pulling at them automatically. Obviously, he was some kind of policeman, but she didn’t have a time device, had simply stumbled upon this place by accident, she hadn’t even believed what she was doing was possible. She wondered if Jeremy would hear out her explanations and decided she did not want to chance it.

If she could escape the cuffs, she could use the time doorway to go home. Jeremy would presume she could not get back to 2008 and would only look for her here. It was her original plan anyway. She just hadn’t anticipated the freaking handcuffs.

She wondered if she could pick the lock. After all, she reasoned, cuffs were designed for use with both hands behind the body so a complex lock should not be needed. She cast around her but saw nothing she could use.

He had even removed her shoes so she regretfully abandoned the idea of using her heels to smash the lock. She tried to squeeze her hand through the opening but, of course, the cuffs were designed not to allow this, and it only caused pain to shoot up her arm from the gash in her wrist.

She felt panic rising and gulped back tears. They would not help. Along with the pain in her wrist and scraped palms, her bra was digging uncomfortably into her skin and she tried to shift it a bit. Some of the under-wiring was poking through the stitching, leaving a small amount of sharp metal showing and she fiddled one-handed with it, trying to push it back in.

With blinding foresight, she realised she could use it to try to pick the lock. She tugged ineffectively at it with her free hand, but could not pull any more of it free and only managed to make her fingers sore. Finally, she decided the bra would have to come off if she was to make use of the small amount of wire.

Sweat coated her body in the fraught minutes she spent trying to pick the lock. It stung her scraped palms and her eyes so that she did not see the lock give, but there was a click and she felt the cuff spring open. Elation shot through her, laced with adrenaline.

She had some measure of comfort from putting her bra back on, and then rushed from the room to search for her clothes. She made a quick run through, but they were nowhere in sight and she did not know how much time had passed. The thought of Jeremy catching her here when she had so nearly escaped had her deciding to leave the clothes behind.

She darted across sun-drenched grass and stumbled through the time doorway into torrential rain. Her bra, stockings and skirt were soaked in seconds.

Great. Perfect. Just what she needed.

Freya sighed as she came to a halt in the downpour. The rain had lashed the grasses until they bowed over, and the tall weeds looked menacing as lightening lit the sky for a split second. The crash made her jump when it came almost at the same time.

She shivered and rubbed her arms. Trust her to stumble into this lot. Maybe it was bad karma for her lust for Jeremy and she had somehow ended up in Dante’s third circle of hell.

Something caught her eye and she looked down to see a bright blue swatch of wet fabric half buried in the long grass. A memory surfaced of her first day here, her sweater dropping to the ground to lie forgotten, only revealed by the rain half flattening the meadow.

She grinned at the memory of the fruitless hours she had spent searching for the thing when it had been here all along. The rain was useful for something at least; she doubted that she would have found it again otherwise.

She snatched it up, shaking it to try to get rid of grass seeds and mud. It was soaking wet and she wrung it out as best she could before putting it on. It might be cold, wet and dirty but it was infinitely better than walking around in her bra.

Going through the meadow was horrible without shoes on. The thought of what she might tread on had her cringing with every step. The grass was sharp in spite of being wet and it soon shredded her stockings. She peeled them off when she reached the other side, abandoning them at the outer edge of the field near the road.

Legs scratched up, feet bare, hands stinging and wrist throbbing again, Freya sighed as she realised she was also beginning a headache. She pulled the tie from her hair and massaged her scalp as she walked.

Her entire body was aching by the time she reached the M4. What had seemed a short distance by van was a long way in bare feet. The slip road alone was immense, and it felt like it took forever to reach one of the orange SOS phones. She sat down on the bank as cars whipped past, and finally allowed the tears she had been holding back to stream down her face, releasing some of the stress of the day.

It was early evening by the time Freya got back to Reading. She noticed her van parked outside her flat and had a bad moment thinking Jeremy might be there. She reminded herself that he would have gone back to 1908 shortly after she had left, and would spend at least the rest of the day searching there for her if not longer.

He obviously did not suspect at any point that she might be in the meadow in 2008 because, presumably, she would not have made it this far if he could go back in time to stop her, or could he. Perhaps her evening would alter at some point and she would find herself back in the field, facing him. The sheer tangle of possibilities this thought presented caused her to abandon it.

She let herself in using the spare key she kept buried in a flowerpot. Her flat seemed dull and quiet. She could tell that Jeremy had been here, obviously searching for the device. Freya limped to the bathroom and gratefully stripped off to take a hot shower. She could not seem to prevent the tears that rolled down her face the entire time.

She realised she had not eaten anything all day and heated up some soup; then ended up scoffing down microwave pizza and chips on top. She worried at the edge of the bandage on her wrist. It was still damp from the rain and her shower. Eventually, she curled up with a hot drink in her favourite armchair and tried to think over the events of the day.

Jeremy re-appeared in the farmhouse bedroom to see the open handcuffs dangling from the bed frame. He strode forwards and snatched them up. She had picked the lock; he could see the scratches around it. What had she used, a hairpin? Please. He pocketed the cuffs and then made a search of the house, beginning under the bed.

Her clothes and boots were where he had left them, hanging over a chair in the lounge. She had obviously missed them in her haste. She had had twenty minutes to get away and it must have taken a fair amount of that to pick the lock.

Without the transport of the 21
^st
century, she would find it difficult to go far, especially on foot with no shoes and practically no clothes. He hissed out a breath between his teeth.

Rather than racing out to search the countryside for her, he put in a call to his colleague, Matt. With the call completed, he took a blanket from the airing cupboard and filled a flask with water before setting out to saddle Shorter.

He visited all the local people in the area, passing the time and gleaning what information he could. At around five in the afternoon, Matt arrived and they continued the search together.

Ten o’clock and the last of the daylight faded from the sky. Jeremy and Matt sat at the kitchen table over coffee.

“I should never have left her, Matt. What was I thinking?”

“You cuffed her to the bed and took her clothes. I have never heard of anyone being able to pick a lock on a pair of handcuffs. I thought they were supposed to be unpick-able.”

Jeremy sighed, and rubbed a hand tiredly across his face. “Jones gave me them,” he tossed the cuffs across the table, “Must be pre 2050.”

Matt shook his head as he studied the cuffs. “It happens to the best of us, and it’s not as though she can get very far in this century without clothes.”

“I never should have made that crack about letting the courts have her. I intended to frighten her a little, not terrify her.”

“You think she’s innocent then.”

“I went through everything she had, searched every inch of that flat of hers. Spent a good half hour chatting to her stall-holder friend. She’s from 2008. I’d stake my life on it.”

“Where would she have a device from?”

“She was running away from someone when I found her today.”

Matt blew out a sigh and let the cuffs drop back to the table. “All right. We need Jones in on this; 2008 is his responsibility and if she is there with a time device, he needs to know about it. You’re sure she couldn’t have the device on her without you finding it.”

“I stripped her of practically everything but her underwear, and there wasn’t room under that to hide anything. Besides, if she had a device she would not have needed to pick the lock. There’s no way she had a device on her, Matt, no way.”

“So. She is here somewhere. We just haven’t found her yet.”

Jeremy took another sip of his drink, looking calm, yet something betrayed him to his colleague.

“We’ll find her. I’m sure she’s fine; just hiding from us. The only way she would have escaped our notice is if she was moving around. We covered every inch out there. We can start again at first light.”

There was silence between them for a moment then Matt asked, “Did you take DNA?” He met Jeremy’s steady gaze and sighed. “You said she might have nicked an artery. Bring me the sample and I’ll take it across to Greg. He can check her for criminal, and anything else we should know about.”

Jeremy nodded tightly, rose and went to collect the discarded bandage. Coming back to the kitchen, he wordlessly passed the bloodied lint to Matt, who fished out a plastic sandwich bag from his pocket.

Jeremy stood, hands on hips, “I’m going back out there. She has to sleep at some point and I am betting that is when I will find her.”

Matt nodded his assent, “I’ll stay put for now in case she comes back here. We can take turns to sleep if you want to search through the night.”

Jeremy put a hand on Matt’s shoulder, squeezing his thanks for a moment before heading out the door.

For Jeremy, the next few hours were a sharp lesson in humility. He questioned his actions and the reasons behind them over and again.

Not wanting to terrify her, he had not bothered with the usual procedure for safeguarding his quarry. Now the irony was, in not securing her properly, he had put her in possible danger. It would be his fault if she were hurt running away from him. It did not help his peace of mind to know she would certainly be cold and tired, scared and hungry.

He was a Field Operative. In the farmhouse he had the means to contain her. In his arrogance, he had decided it was not necessary. Now she would suffer for it. It was not lost on him that she had already spent one night sleeping rough in this century.

On a grey morning, Gregory Jones sat in his office trying to get to grips with a fault on his laptop computer, while tuned to some rowdy station the radio played rock anthems against a background of relentless rain.

He was a tall man, built well enough to show subtle lines of muscle under his tee shirt. A mop of brown hair and two days worth of stubble completed the picture. He looked up as a knock sounded on the door.

“Matt. Hey, good to see you. What gives?”

“Jones.” Matt strode forward to shake hands. Greg half stood and leaned across the table before collapsing back ungracefully into his seat. He shoved the laptop to one side and swivelled round to grab a telephone off a nearby shelf. The action caused a heap of paperwork to drop to the floor.

He dialled and spoke, “Grace, can we get some coffee please? You’re a pal.” He slung the phone carelessly to join the heap of paper on the floor and turned to grin at Matt. “Thought I might be seeing you. How’s life in 1908?”

“Very well, thank you. Even after all this time, it is still something of a culture shock. I am not sure I will ever get used to it. There is so much space. London is this little city, filled with carriage horses, all green countryside around it.”

“Jesus, a world without cars, I can’t imagine it.”