Capturing Today (TimeShifters Book 2)

Capturing Today (TimeShifters, Book Two)

Copyright © 2015 by Jessica Keller

June 2015 Edition

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, scanning, recording, photocopying, or otherwise—without written permission from the publisher. For information visit:
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Cover by Steven Novak

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Edited by Charity Tinnin (ibleedbooks) and Amanda G. Stevens

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Interior Design by D. Robert Pease

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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

Summary

A year ago Gabby Creed discovered she’s a Shifter—a time traveler entrusted with saving human history and guarding people from creatures called Shades—and learned her mom may still be alive. But when the other Shifters prevent her from locating her mom, Gabby’s left wondering who she can trust.   

To anyone who has ever taken the wrong path, I have a four-letter word for you …

Hope.

“
My Pairing is a traitor.
” — Gabby Creed

I take the concrete steps up to the police department two at a time. Not because I’m excited or in a hurry—far from it. I want this to be over.

A cop opens the door for me, and as I pass he shakes his head once, slowly. “Sorry to make you come in again.”

“Well, I’m all he’s got.”

He follows me into the lobby. Right away bleach and a lemony pine smell of whatever they mop the floor with burns my throat, making me cough a little. My eyes sting. I blink back moisture. They definitely need to tone down their cleaning rituals.

A potted plant with leaves bigger than my hands decorates the corner. As if they want the place to feel homey. Don’t they know no one
wants
to be here?

The officer reaches for a stack of cups near the water fountain. “Can I get you water? Or maybe coffee? I think we have tea in back.”

I’m not a mouth-breather, but the smell is so strong I’m forcing myself to breathe that way. “No offense, but I don’t really want to resort here or anything.”

Seemingly against his better judgment, the cop half smirks. As if he appreciates my attempt at humor, but we both recognize there’s nothing funny about the situation. At all. His hint of a smile only lasts a second, and then his shoulders sag. The man is tired. For a split second his eyebrows lift a bit, almost as if he wants to say something encouraging. But he lets them fall back down. How many royal mess-ups of mankind does he deal with on a daily basis? More than I care to think about. He probably carries the stress from every situation around with him.

I never felt a kinship with policemen before. Not before I shifted. But I do now.

“Go ahead and have a seat. I’ll be back with him in a minute.” The cop waves his keys over a lock-pad near a door at the far end of the lobby and heads down the hallway into the secured portion of the building.

A television hangs from the ceiling, and some home improvement show is on. The overly stylish host sends a wink at the screen and then slams a hammer through the wall of the kitchen. Achieving the ever desirable open floor plan. I’ll never understand the fascination some people have with constantly trying to make their house better. Does everything need to be improved? Why can’t they be satisfied with what they have? With life as it is now?

I scrub my hand down my face.

Okay, I guess I really have no room to talk there.

Reaching into the pocket of my hoodie, I scrunch the money between my fingers and stare at the floor. It’s summer outside, but knowing how cold the air conditioning pumps into these public buildings, I grabbed a sweatshirt on my way out the door. At ten in the morning, the florescent lights still feel too bright. Nothing should be cheery right now. Not the blasted birds chirping outside. Not the woman smiling behind the front desk. Not the sunshine soaking onto the white tiles.

My phone vibrates, and I glance at the screen. It’s a text from Emma.

We need to talk.

I love Emma. I do. But I can’t deal with the drama that always comes with
we need to talk
at the moment. No one ever says that when they have good news. They just share it. Or they hint that they have something great to tell you. No.
We need to talk
is always bad.

I tuck my phone back into my pocket.

The door clicks, letting me know they’ve brought Dad out from the back.
Don’t look up.
He doesn’t deserve eye contact. Not right now.

I press my molars together so hard my jaw hurts.

The policeman clears his throat. “That’ll be three hundred dollars.”

As I stand the stench of alcohol smacks into me with enough force to make me rock backwards and hold my breath. It’s emanating from Dad like he’s been bathing in the stuff for a month. I square my shoulders, brush past my father, and toss the wad of money onto the counter. “All done then?”

“His court date is on the paperwork. Make sure he shows.” Handing over the tickets and forms, the cop coughs. Maybe the mix of bleach, lemon, and alcohol is getting the better of him too. Maybe he feels badly for me. Or maybe he’s fighting a cold and wants me to leave with my dad as quickly as I can. “He needs to hire an attorney. A good one. The court doesn’t look well on two offenses so close together.”

I fold the papers in half and stuff them into my pocket. “Yeah, well, I don’t consider it a great thing either.”

My dad jams his baseball hat onto his head. “You know, I’m standing right here. You can speak directly to me like I’m an adult instead of talking to my child.”

Then act like one.

 “You want me to speak to you like an adult, Mr. Creed?” The cop loops his hands on his duty belt and straightens his spine. The tired man from before is gone. He’s morphed into a strong man who isn’t going to let my dad off easy. “Stop driving. You’re not allowed to drive at all until things are settled in court. Got that? Even more, stop drinking. If you don’t, you’re going to wind up dead or responsible for killing someone. You’ve got this young lady to live for. So do it.”

My dad glares at him. “Not like she’s going to be around for long.”

The cop grabs the door and holds it open for us. “With the way you’re acting, I don’t really blame her.”

I grab my dad’s arm and propel him toward the exit. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Words lodge in my throat as I nod at the cop on the way out. Honestly, I want to thank him and tell him that what he does matters, because I wish someone would say the same thing to me.

I’ve spent the last eight months holed up in the library researching history. Not really knowing what to look at, but pulling out books each day and taking notes all the same. Twice a month at the nearby shooting range, I’ve worked with different guns, learning to shoot from the instructor. When the weather is behaving, I search for Portals. And I even signed up for a fencing class offered by the park district. I failed miserably at it, but I did try. Promise.

Lark would say that wasn’t enough. Is it strange I miss her?

Not that any of it matters. Eight months without shifting. Which probably means I’m up for the grand ‘Least Wanted by Nicholas’ award or something. I should have known he couldn’t be trusted. People hiding behind curtains pulling strings can never be trusted. Any help I thought Nicholas gave me when I first shifted was in my head. He doesn’t care. I would have shifted again by now if he did.

I lead Dad toward Porter’s small SUV. They towed my dad’s car and put a twenty-four hour hold on it, and we don’t own another vehicle. The police department’s not that far, so I could have ridden my bike, but my dad wouldn’t have made it home walking. As it is, he looks like he’s going to fall asleep while standing. I help him into the passenger seat and buckle his seatbelt. Choke down the queasy feeling in my stomach whenever I get close to him.

 Without a word I start the vehicle and pull out onto the main road. About a minute later, I realize my arms are shaking, and I can’t rein in my words any longer. I always have when it comes to him but not this time. I’ll explode if I don’t let them out.

“What’s
wrong
with you?” There’s a growl in my voice I didn’t know I was capable of. “When we said good night yesterday, you were sober. We had a good night. We even had fun.” I made steaks with a butter sauce for dinner—a dinner he declared was perfection—we watched a movie and played a card game. We laughed. We hugged before going to our rooms.

What did I do wrong to set him off again?

Dad slumps into his seat a little and stares out the window. “What do you care? You’re just going to leave. Just like her.”

It will always come back to my mom, won’t it?

We come to a stoplight, and I jam on the brakes so much harder than needed. My dad lurches forward in his seat, the seatbelt snapping him back. He winces and rubs his forehead.

He’s had me for the past eight months but has been in mourning the whole time. In a sense, I get it. The situation is harder for him. When I was shifting and spent time at Keleusma, what felt like a couple weeks to me was five months in my father’s time. Five months of him not knowing if he’d ever see me again. Wondering where I was and if I would be okay. Fearing that he’d set me up to die since he hadn’t trained me for my shifting duties. Telling anyone who asked about me that I’d taken off to explore the world and find myself after graduating high school.

So, yes, I get that he had a really, really rough five months.

But it’s not like I’ve up and disappeared again. I’ve been here, next to him, every day since returning. I turned down a chance to go away to college with my friends, sticking with community college for now. In order to stay with him.