A Rip in Time (Out of Time #7) (18 page)

He reached out to her, to pull her back into the shadows, but she stepped away from him. Her eyes were wide with fear and confusion. She looked at him like he’d grown another head and, suddenly, he realized what had happened.

“Elizabeth,” he whispered.

She seemed shocked that he knew her name and inched farther away. His heart clenched with the realization that she didn’t even recognize him.

“Come here,” he said, stepping slowly toward her.

“No,” she said, edging even farther away, and then they both turned toward the sound of someone growing closer.

Simon’s heart raced as he spun back to grab Elizabeth. But just as he did, a man stumbled out of a doorway and right into her. He grabbed her, to try to stop her from falling, but she shoved him away.

The man was falling down drunk and the force of her push sent him to tumbling into Simon. In that split second before she ran, he could see her face clearly, he could see the absolute confusion and terror. Simon struggled against the drunk man and before he could do anything, she turned and ran up the street.

“Dammit,” he said softly, as he disentangled himself from the man and took off after her.

She wasn’t far ahead, but when she turned right and disappeared around a corner, Simon’s heart lurched. Seconds later, he rounded the same corner, expecting to see her running straight ahead, but there was no sign of her. The street was empty.

If he lost her and she didn’t recover her memory…

He hurried forward and saw several alleyways branching off the street. With a force of will, he stopped moving and listened. Over the sound of his own thrumming heart, he heard footfalls to the left, and he raced after them.

He sprinted through the alley and emerged onto another, larger street. Elizabeth ran down the center of it, her dress billowing out, slowing her down. She grabbed fistfuls of the fabric and hiked it up to give her legs more room to run.

“Elizabeth!” he called after her.

She looked back at him over her shoulder, but kept on running.

Simon had nearly caught up to her when she made another sharp right and just as Simon was about to follow her, a man called out to him.

“Oi! You!”

It was a policeman. Simon thought about just running, but then the officer would blow his whistle and others would come and he’d lose Elizabeth completely. Simon slowed and let the policeman approach, cursing silently every moment that ticked by.

“Why such a hurry?” the constable asked, shining a light from his lantern into Simon’s face.

Simon shielded his eyes. For a split second, he considered just clocking the man with the pistol in his pocket and making a run for it, but hoped he would just let him go quickly. If he didn’t…

“Late for work,” Simon said, breathlessly. “Please, gov,” he added, “the boss’ll sack me if I’m late again.”

The constable looked him up and down for a few seconds that dragged painfully on. With each one that passed, Elizabeth was farther and farther away, and deeper and deeper in danger.

The constable studied him a moment further, but flicked his head down the street. “Right. Go on with ya.”

Simon nodded quickly and ran in the direction Elizabeth had gone. He ran to another intersection and had to stop again. He paused, but didn’t hear anything.

He shouldn’t have stopped. He should have done whatever he had to do to keep going. If he lost her…

The thought made him physically ill and he clenched his jaw to control the churning in his stomach. He forced himself to take a deep calming breath. She couldn’t be far. It had felt like hours, but it had been less than a minute.

He slowed his breathing, watching the cloud of condensed vapor billow out into the cold night air as he breathed, again and again. And listened.

Please, let me hear her.

His prayer was followed by a long, protracted silence, but finally he heard another sound—something being knocked to the ground and he raced toward it.

Skidding around a corner, he saw her kneeling down between two piles of crates. For a moment, he thought she’d been hurt, but she stood up to face him, terrified, but defiant.
 

The alley she’d taken this time was a dead end. A lone weak gas lamp danced over her head and she looked every bit the cornered animal she must have felt.

Simon’s heart slid out of his throat. She was terrified, but unharmed.

“Elizabeth,” he said, feeling his body sag with relief.

She looked around in a panic and picked up a wooden board from one of the discarded crates. She held it up like a club. “Stay away from me.”

“Elizabeth,” he said, taking a tentative step forward.

She readied her plank to swing. “How do you know my name?”
 

“It’s me,” he said, hoping somehow she’d remember. “Simon.”

In the dim light, he could just make out a hint of recognition in her eyes.
 

“Simon Cross,” he continued, hope flaring in his chest.

She shook her head. “You’re not him.”

He started to protest and realized—it was the disguise. To her, he wouldn’t look like the man she knew. He tore off his cap and took out his false teeth, tossing them aside and held out his arms to the sides in supplication.
 

“It’s me. Simon.”

She looked at him warily and then her eyes filled with cautious remembrance. “Professor?”

Simon’s heart leapt. “Yes. It’s all right.”

She didn’t lower her weapon, but he could see she was almost ready to.
 

“What’s happening?” she asked, fear and uncertainty making her voice tremble in a way that made him want to do nothing more than take her in his arms, but he resisted the urge.

“It’s all right,” he said. “It’s confusing, I know, but you’re all right.”

She was still unconvinced.

He took another small step toward her and this time she didn’t step back. He took another and another, until he was right in front of her. He held out his hand to her and she looked at it nervously.

“Trust me,” he said.

She looked around the filthy alley, still afraid and confused, but when she looked back at him and met his eyes, he saw her defenses come down. She nodded, and took his hand.

The knowledge that he had her now, that she was safe and with him, was overwhelming. He couldn’t stop himself and pulled her into his arms.
 

After a moment, she spoke softly, her voice muffled against his chest. “Professor?”
 

He eased her back and gave a short embarrassed laugh. “I’m sorry.”

“Is this a dream?”
 

He shook his head. “Not a dream.”

He squeezed her hand tightly in his. “I’m afraid it will take a little explaining.”
 

She looked around the alley uncertainly and then back to him. “And a lot of booze.”

Simon gave a short laugh. It was good to see a bit of his Elizabeth again.

She looked up at him. “Why are we dressed like Little Dorrit?”
 

He smiled down at her and started them down the alley and back to the main street. “It’s a long story.”

Glancing to the left, back toward the crime scene, he knew that there was no going back now. Elizabeth was in no condition to try to do what needed to be done. He would take care of her and hope Victor or Graham had had better luck. Or any luck at all.

T
HE
FIRST
THING
HE
heard was someone laughing. It was far away at first, but as he rose to the surface of consciousness it grew louder and more annoying. Victor knew from experience to remain motionless, to listen and learn what he could while his captors still thought him incapacitated.

He kept his eyes closed and tried not to move, although his arms ached. They were tied behind his back, and from the numbness in his hands, they had been for some time.
 

He heard men’s voices mostly, a few women. Loud and boisterous. They were talking about the latest murder, Annie Chapman’s murder. His heart sank. He’d failed again. This was becoming a bad habit.
 

Then he heard the tell-tale sound of glassware and smelled the unmistakable odor of stale beer. He knew before he opened his eyes that he was in a pub. Captured by a bunch of amateurs, he thought with disgust.
 

The last thing he’d remembered was following Chapman and then he’d been ambushed. He’d been foolish to underestimate them. Not the men themselves, he could have easily dispatched them both, but their number. It was a beginner’s mistake. One he would not make again.

He rolled his shoulders to bring some life back into his arms and groaned. They hadn’t just knocked him out, he realized. They’d taken a little of their frustration out on him. His ribs ached and now that he opened his eyes, he realized one was swollen, not shut, but it was thick and blood had dried at the corners, making his eyelid stick.

He opened his good eye, pushed himself back against the wall and took stock of his surroundings. It was the Ten Bells. He was tied up and tossed in the far corner, a sad little makeshift jail like a children’s fort made out of chairs surrounding him. And he was not alone.
 

Next to him, another man leaned into the corner of the wall, his head wedged uncomfortably there. His chest rose and fell slowly. Either asleep, passed out or unconscious, but alive.

“Finally got ‘em to listen me. Stupid coppers.”

That was Pizer’s voice.

“I told ‘em I was down at Shadwell’s, watchin’ the fire that night,” he continued and then laughed. “They didn’t believe me. Till one of their own said he saw me with his own two eyes. Berks.”

So, Pizer had an alibi for the murder. Wonderful, Victor thought. His suspect list was non-existent again. He turned and looked around the bar. He started to speak, but his throat was dry and he coughed and tried to swallow.

“Look who’s awake,” a man said as he tapped a friend on the shoulder.
 

The friend, the larger man from last night, turned around and grinned down at Victor. “Sleep well?”

Victor tried to sit up straighter, but his ribs protested. He looked up at the big man evenly. “Like a baby.”

Both men laughed.
 

Victor shifted his position to start working on the ropes that bound his hands. They were tied tightly, but the rope was thick and the job poorly done.

“Well,” the taller one said. “You should. Old Frank here hit ya pretty hard. I thought you might not wake up again.”

“Frank will have to try harder next time,” Victor said casually.

The little man, apparently Frank, glared down at him. “We can take of that right now, if ya like.”
 

Victor ignored him and looked up at the big man. “Would it be too much to ask what the hell is going on?”

The big man chuckled and pulled up a chair. He spun it around to sit backwards on it. “We don’t like outsiders. And we don’t like ones that follow our women around at night.”

 
“Hmm,” Victor said in agreement. “And did it help?”

Both men’s faces colored with anger and embarrassment.
 

“No,” the taller one said. “Another murder last night.”

“I did not think so,” Victor said with a sigh. “But I suppose I should thank you.”

“Yeah?”

“You have proven my innocence.”

“How’d we do that? Frank said.

“I could hardly commit the crime while I was tied up here all night under your ever watchful eye.”

The little one looked surprised at the realization, but neither man was quite ready to give in.

“That don’t mean—”

“Victor?”

All three men turned to see Marie.
 

“Never you mind—” the little one said, stepping in front of her.

But she would have none of it. “Ye two lump heads. If ye don’t beat all.”

“You just leave it to—” the little one tried again, but Marie interrupted again.

“Cause you two is doin’ such a fine job? Annie’s dead. Did you stop it? No, ye were out there playin’ copper and tyin’ up the good ones.”

“You know ‘im?”

“Name’s Victor, and he’s twice the man the both of you are put together.”

Victor appreciated the help, but she was gilding the lily a bit much. “I am no saint.”

“I saw what you did the other day,” Marie said, her eyes filling with admiration. “Helped that old woman.”

Victor felt a wave of embarrassment. It was an unusual and unwelcome feeling.

The tall one stepped forward. “You’ll vouch for him?”

Marie nodded and that seemed to turn the tide in Victor’s favor. The big one nodded for the other to help Victor up.

After he did, Victor handed him the ropes, enjoying the look of shock on the man’s face.
 

“Next time use a better rope,” he said. “Or a better man,” he added to the big one, who did little to hide his amusement.

Marie looped her arm through his and started to escort him to a table. “Are ye all right?”

“I am,” he said.

“A pint here, Charlie,” she said to the barkeep.

Victor shook his head. “I’m afraid I cannot stay.”

“Oh,” Marie said, self-conscious now.

The bar was abuzz with the night’s events. One murder was something to talk about, but two…

“I’ll be back later,” Victor said. “And I will buy you that drink.”

Marie smiled and Victor tried not to care. This was all part of the game, he told himself. She was an ally here now, that was all.

“All right,” she said, needlessly smoothing her hair. “Later, then.”

Victor grunted in acknowledgment and, with one final look back at the men who had ambushed him, left the Ten Bells.

He walked to the crime scene, but it was crowded with people. The police were finally doing a better job of keeping people away from the evidence. Of course, he noted, the policemen themselves still trampled over every inch anyway.
 

Through the open gate, Victor saw the blood smears on the fence above where Annie Chapman had been found. Her body had already been taken to the coroner’s office. Judging from the sun, at least an hour ago. Not that it mattered. Even if he had been able to see her, it would have told him nothing he did not already know. She was butchered, and he had failed to be there. Jack the Ripper was as free and as unknown as he had always been.