Glassford Girl: Part 2 (The Emily Heart Time Jumper) Read online

  Jim let out the breath he’d been holding in his lungs; Emily was alive. It wasn’t great news that she was taken into custody, but at least she was unharmed. Naked, though? That didn’t make any sense.

  Another jolt of pain overwhelmed him when the paramedics pushed the gurney into the back of the ambulance. He winced and slipped back into darkness.

  ***

  Emily straightened herself on the bench in the police van, feeling like a complete spaz for throwing up on Derek.

  He must hate me by now, she figured, feeling a drip of vomit swaying from her chin. She ran a quick swipe across her face with her cuffed hands, hoping to get it all.

  “Sorry about your shoes,” she said, attempting another smile. Then another wave of nausea came. She couldn’t stop it. She leaned forward and heaved on Derek again, this time hitting his pants as well as his shoes.

  She looked up, trying to keep her stomach in check. It made a couple of summersaults, but finally settled down. No more nausea, no more puking.

  “You okay?” Derek asked, standing up and using his right forearm to wipe bile from her chin.

  His touch was electric. She felt it seep deep inside of her, almost like a jump precursor—but different. It was adrenaline mixed with something else that she couldn’t identify. Something that until recently, she’d never felt before.

  “Just getting a better look,” she said, trying to sound cool as she checked him out. “Classic low-cut 1461s. Six eyelets. Sweet. Subtle. Not really standard issue for a West Side Loco, though.”

  “Wow, you do remember me. Wasn’t sure there for a moment.”

  “Yep. How are your balls?” she answered, wondering where those words and her attitude were coming from.

  He pushed his legs together. “Better now, thank you.”

  “Too bad I can’t say the same for the rest of your gang of street urchins.”

  “There’re not my gang anymore. I quit the Locos.”

  “Really?”

  “Yup. A year ago. It wasn’t for me. I run solo now.”

  When Derek gave Emily a long, intense look that was followed by silence, her gift of second sight took her deep inside of him. She’d never felt such a powerful wave of emotion like that coming from another human being. What she felt made her soft and gooey inside. It was desire mixed with bliss, sending her mind to a place that it had never been before. To a place where the rest of the world no longer mattered. Her problems seemed to melt away.

  Derek looked at the blanket wrapped around her, then back into her eyes. “Listen. This is going to sound really corny—and believe me, I’m the least corny person you’re ever going to meet.” He cleared his throat. “The time we met in that basement—it affected me. There was something about you—your eyes, your hair, the way you moved, the way you looked at me—”

  “The way I kicked your ass?”

  “Well, that, too,” he said, as his cheeks turned a pinkish color.

  “Seriously, though. This is going to sound like complete bullshit, but . . . that moment when we first met, I felt an electric charge through my body. Somehow, it changed my whole way of thinking. I no longer wanted to be in the gang. I wasn’t sure why, just that I needed to walk out, right then and there. So I did, and never went back. I’m embarrassed to say it, but I’ve been thinking about you ever since. I can’t seem to get you out of my head. It’s like you put a spell on me or something, and I don’t even know your name.”

  She didn’t know how to respond to his unexpected, and frankly, unbelievable confession, so she kept quiet. She waited for him to continue explaining how he felt, but he didn’t.

  Instead, he leaned forward and kissed her full on the lips.

  She froze, partially due to his surprise advance, but mainly because she was waiting for him to taste the vomit and turn away in disgust. But he didn’t seem to notice. Gross.

  Then his tongue met hers and something in Emily clicked. Floodgates opened. Her entire body was on fire. Her spine was tingling, and her muscles felt supercharged—everything she’d ever felt before a jump was now happening all at once. She knew that the countdown clock had just started and was ticking at warp speed. It had already crawled up her back, and would soon call the blue fire.

  No! Why now? Not now! she thought. Please not now!

  She pushed him away and broke their kiss. “Look, I don’t have much time, so I need you to listen. Jim Miller. He’s a journalist. Remember those two things. Find him. He’s a former Marine who lives on Roosevelt Row. That’s on Glassford Street. Tell him everything. Tell him Emily Heart sent you.”

  “What’s wrong? Tell me, please!” he said, sliding forward on the bench seat.

  The next wave of pain hit her and she couldn’t speak. A moment later time stopped, as if she’d just pressed the pause button on the VCR.

  Derek’s mouth was open, capturing his gentle lips and glistening tongue in the middle of whatever word he was going to say next. But she knew she’d never hear it.

  She waited for her pre-jump strength to rise up. It did, allowing her to pull her hands apart, severing the chain linking the swivels of each cuff. She tore at the metal remaining on her wrists, pulling the teeth of the ratcheted clasp apart. She tossed the broken restraints in the corner, then moved next to Derek and reached behind his back. She tore the handcuffs apart and hurled them to the ground.

  She slid to the far end of the bench to protect him from what was about to happen. She removed the blanket and threw it into the corner next to the handcuff pieces, then flopped her nude body to the floor by the rear doors of the van. She curled into a ball and waited for the pain to come for her.

  She gave Derek one last look, wanting to hold the image of his sweet face in her memory forever.

  Two blinks later, the blue fire consumed her, sending her into a jump.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Derek gasped in surprise, watching the smoke trails rise from the red-hot edges of the metal bench near where Emily had been sitting just a moment before.

  One second she was there, the next second she was gone.

  He took a minute to replay the events that had just happened, trying to make sense of the insanity. The police van had stopped and was idling when it stalled and lost power. Then in an instant, no more Emily. Next, he heard the driver of the van curse, but when the cop turned the key in the ignition, it cranked back up—like nothing had happened.

  But something had happened. The cute little redhead had vanished. Now there was a black, smoldering shape on the floor and wall of the van. The area was charred black as if there’d been a powerful electrical discharge.

  He’d seen the same type of thing happen when energized circuits had blown, but never this big. This remnant was at least six feet around. Somehow, through it all, the cops in front hadn’t seemed to notice what happened in the back. They must have been preoccupied with something else, Derek figured.

  He brought his hands around to rub his eyes, trying to rid them of the faint blue specks that were dancing in his vision. Had there been a flash of light? A moment of electric blue?

  A second later, he realized his hands were no longer restrained. His handcuffs were missing. Then he saw Emily’s blanket sitting in the corner, crumpled in a wad. Next to it were bits and pieces of metal and chain—all the parts of a set of handcuffs. Check that. Two sets of handcuffs. She must have freed him. When?

  There was only one explanation: he’d missed something big. Time had been lost. He felt an odd disconnect, as if he’d just woken up sluggish from a deep, restful sleep aided by a heavy dose of pharmaceuticals.

  He leaned back against the wall of the van, cursing his luck. He’d spent the past thirteen months, twelve days, and twenty-three hours rehearsing what he’d say to the mysterious redheaded girl if he were ever fortunate enough to run into her again, but this particular scenario had never occurred to him. How could it? He shook his head after realizing that he’d laid it all out there for her—exposing his soul—like an em
otional preschooler, and then poof! She disappeared.

  “Smooth move, dickhead,” he grumbled.

  He examined the wall across from him. The edges looked brittle, and he could see patches of streetlight seeping in through the wall surrounding the charred circle.

  Just then, the brakes squealed and the van came to a stop.

  Derek was just given an opportunity, but it wouldn’t last long. He stood up and kicked at the blackened area with the raised sole of his Doc Marten. It took three whacks before his plan worked, sending an irregular-shaped chunk of metal flying from the van. It landed on the street with a clanking sound.

  Derek crawled through the opening and hit the ground running.

  He heard the side door of the van open and close behind him, then a pair of footsteps in hot pursuit.

  He looked back through the night air and realized that he had a lead of twenty yards and it was growing. Good thing he was sprinter-fast—faster than an out-of-shape, belly-hanging, forty-something cop. There was no way the officer would catch him on foot; not without help, or a change in tactics, as long as he kept running; so that’s what he did.

  He checked his pursuers again.

  The second officer was opening the back doors to the van. “They’re both gone!” he yelled to his partner. “Burned a hole in the metal somehow.”

  “Stop right there!” the cop chasing Derek yelled. “Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  No matter how fast he was, Derek knew he couldn’t outrun a bullet, not if the officer decided to ignore regulations and shoot at an unarmed suspect.

  He changed his running style to use a zigzag pattern as he sprinted for the sidewalk across the street. It only took a few seconds to make it to the alley next to the AT&T cell phone store on the corner.

  He ducked into the alley, looking for something, anything, to give him an advantage against an armed member of the carb-lovers crew. He could still hear the cops talking to each other.

  “Then drive around and cut him off on the other end!”

  “What about the girl?”

  “She must be ahead of him. Grab ’em both.”

  Derek snatched the lid of a trashcan and plastered himself against the wall of the alley, waiting for the fat cop to appear. When he did, Derek swung the metal lid and hit him in the jaw, making a loud pinging sound.

  The cop staggered backwards and went down hard, smacking the back of his head against the pavement. The man’s chest was heaving but his eyes were closed.

  Derek heard the roar of an engine, then tires squealing behind him. He turned and looked. The police van and its high beams were rolling to a stop at the far end of the alley.

  A second later, the voice of the second cop rang out. “You there! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

  Derek took off before the second cop could fire, heading around the corner and back out onto the street he’d come from. He heard sirens chirping and blaring in the distance, coming his way.

  Shit, they must have radioed for backup.

  He saw a new building under construction in the corner lot across the street. It was next to a red-bricked, two-spired church that had been boarded up and fenced off. Derek figured if he went now, he could make it to the construction site before the second cop tore down the alley and found him on the street.

  He ran and jumped, catching the top edge of the makeshift plywood fence surrounding the construction site. He pulled himself up and tossed his body over it, landing on a pile of rubble sitting just inside. His feet landed at awkward angles and out of instinct, he let his knees buckle and tucked into a commando roll to lessen the impact stress.

  His momentum took him skidding down the far side of the mound, coming to a stop with his face a quarter-inch from a two-by-four stud armed with six rusty nails sticking out of it. He could just see the tips with the limited ambient light provided by the area’s streetlights and advertising signs. He rolled to the side, moving his face out of harm’s way.

  He lay on his back, still and silent, letting his lungs recharge while listening for signs that he’d been followed.

  He heard several police cars come skidding to a stop on the street, multiple doors opening and slamming shut, then voices.

  Jesus, that was fast! Must have been less than a block away.

  “What do you have?” a commanding male voice asked.

  “Two suspects, Sergeant. One male and one female. Mid to late teens. We believe the female is the redheaded Glassford Girl.”

  “Glassford Girl?”

  “She escaped before we were able to determine her direction. Male subject ran east from here. He’s gotta be close.”

  “Spread out in teams of two. Check everything, and report back in five-minute increments.”

  “Somebody needs to go check on Dunham. He’s still down.”

  “Henderson, tend to Dunham. The rest of you, fan out. I want them found! Now! Damn it! Now!”

  Derek knew he had to get moving. It wouldn’t be long before they figured out that he was hiding on the construction site.

  He crawled along the ground, staying close to the fence. He made it to the corner of the construction lot and took a peek ahead.

  Two squad cars with their lights flashing and headlights burning were sitting to the right near a black SUV patrol unit.

  The general darkness of the scene didn’t allow him to see any of the officers from his position, but he could hear their voices originating from multiple locations. Some of them were getting louder.

  “You got anything over there?”

  “No! You?”

  “Nothing here.”

  “He’s gone.”

  “No way! He was right in front of me. The kid’s fast, but not that fast. He’s got to be here somewhere.”

  “Maybe you should try a Stairmaster, Gibbons, you pudgy bastard. My grandmother could outrun you and she’s been dead for ten years.”

  “Fuck you, Stan. I caught your wife, didn’t I?”

  “Yeah, you wish. She wouldn’t give you the time of day.”

  “That’s not what I hear.”

  “Anybody check in there? Plenty of places to hide.”

  “Not yet. Workin’ my way there.”

  “So, what’s this Glassford Girl look like? Pretty?”

  “Oh yeah. Strawberry-blond type. Got a nice figure on her, too.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  Another police cruiser hit the scene, skidding to a stop like the others. A car door opened and then slammed shut.

  “Report?” a new voice asked.

  “I’ve deployed four teams, Captain. We’re searching the area for a male and a female.”

  “How did this happen, Sergeant?”

  “Probably best if Gibbons fills you in, sir. He was riding with Dunham when the suspects escaped.”

  “Patrolman Gaylon Gibbons, Captain.”

  “Get on with it, Gibbons.”

  “We had the male in custody after we detained him for petty shoplifting, but other than that we didn’t have much on him. Dunham knew the kid and was planning to release him, but wanted to take him on a little ride first. Said he used to run with the West Side Locos and wanted to send a message. Then the call came in about the shootout and the Glassford Girl. We arrived on the scene and took her into custody, then headed to booking. Somehow they managed to get a chemical accelerant of some kind past us and used it to escape.”

  “Escape? How?”

  “Cut a hole in the wagon. Must have been the kid, because the girl was naked when we found her, unless she had it stuffed up her twat. I’m guessing that’s how they managed to escape from the restraints. I know we had them secure, so it’s the only explanation.”

  “If that’s all you had on him, why escalate to felony assault?”

  “Nobody ever said criminals were smart.”

  “Then he must be into something bigger to pull moves like that. He was obviously well prepared.”

  “Had we known, sir, we’d obviously have handled things differen
tly, sir. Damn, Dunham got jacked.”

  Derek decided that the only way he was going to escape was by creating a diversion. He stayed low, crawling through the debris of the construction site.

  He made it to a stack of decorative cement pavers, where he picked up a brick in each hand. He picked a target across the street: a cherry-red Kia Sportage parked along the street in the opposite direction.

  He took aim and hurled the pavers over the fence, one right after another. The first brick missed its target, but the second one was spot on, smashing the windshield of the Kia. The vehicle’s lights flashed and its alarm started blaring.

  The cops reacted, yelling and running to the vehicle with flashlights in hand, sending an array of battery-powered beams bouncing off buildings along the way.

  Derek ran in the opposite direction, using the chirping alarm and the resulting confusion as cover for his movements.

  He passed a series of half-built walls, a concrete mixer, sheetrock piled on wooden pallets, three columns of metal scaffolding, and an assortment of other construction materials. He made it to the other corner of the lot, then stopped for a moment to listen. Their voices were faint, but he could hear them, thanks to the echoes glancing off the buildings lining the street.

  “No sign of them, sir.”

  “Must have been a diversion.”

  “That paver could’ve only come from one place.”

  “Shit, we were about to sweep that area next.”

  “Everyone, move out! And where the hell is air support? I needed them down here ten minutes ago!”

  “Sorry, Captain. Dispatch says ETA seven minutes.”

  “Damn it. That’s just not good enough!”

  Derek smiled, then slipped between a gap in the fence and ran two hundred feet to the next street. He turned right and sprinted until he found the welcoming darkness of the alley behind Glassford Street. He didn’t stop to look over his shoulder; he just kept going.

  He finally stopped running near a set of old mattresses leaning against the wall in the alley. He figured he’d put at least two miles between himself and law enforcement. He plopped down in a recessed doorway near an electrical service panel. His lungs burned from the cool night air pumping in and out.