TICK TOCK RUN (Romantic Mystery Suspense) (6 page)

He passed the lingerie store and turned the corner.  “Come on.  I don’t know when the cafe closes,” he said, speeding ahead as if he’d just cottoned on to the importance of time.

“Eh?  You want coffee?”

A row of shutters rattled on the approach to the main shopping area.  Lee stopped, whirled around and waited at the entrance to a building.

I jogged nearer.  When almost in reach, my phone rang.  Laura.  “Can’t talk.  Phone you later.”  I hung up, and jogged over to Lee.  Ahr, the internet café.  It was new and I’d never been here before.  “I get it.”

Lee held the door open. 

I ducked under his arm, stepped inside and stood under the bright spotlights at the entrance.  Numerous desks fenced in by bright, colourful wall dividers sectioned the room into booths.  The earthy smell of fresh coffee permeated the air.  I heard the grind of a printer in the background.

Lee pointed to a more private booth on the far wall.  “We’ll sit there.”  He walked over, sat down, then wheeled the other chair out and gestured for me to join him. 

I sat down. 
It will all turn out to be a misunderstanding, and then I can concentrate on cheering Laura up.

Lee swept his long fringe of hair away from his lashes and pointed to the computer screen in front of us.  “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

I was savvy enough to work out what he wanted, but his low-level grunt confused me.  It was like he already knew what was going to happen.  I went with it, swivelled my chair until my bent knees slid under the desk.  Dust motes swirled in a pocket of light, highlighting the keyboard from above.  I cupped my hand over the mouse, resting my wrist on the foam mat. 

A waitress approached our booth. 

“Give us a few minutes, please,” Lee said. 

Five new messages waited in my email inbox.  Most were junk, but, spotting one marked
‘urgent’
planted a seed of dread deep within me.

“Oh, God!  I think I’ve got another one here.”  While my heart tapped a tune of dread against my ribcage, I closed my eyes and wondered whether I wanted to open the message.  Emma’s attempt to put a stop to further emails must have failed. 

This was what I’d hankered for, to find out why it felt like a dead guy was stalking me all weekend.  However, I had a breathy moment of uncertainty that I didn’t want this to go any further.  I imagined the computer crashing, to give me pause to think.  No.  I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was wrong, and that Lee had sensed it, too. 
Face it
.  I opened my eyes and told myself,
it’s just an email, it’s not as though it’s going to bite me.

The cursor jumped around the screen.  I tried to keep my hand from shaking, but couldn’t. 

Lee stretched across my lap and placed his hand on top of mine.  “Let’s see what the message says, shall we? 

I met his eyes.  “Sure.”

We clicked on the link to open the mail.  Lee stared so intently at the screen, I could easily have mistaken him for someone who’d never seen an email before.

The speaker volume sounded low, but not low enough to mute the sharp notes.  Tick, tick, tick, repeated in the background as it had in the email I opened on Saturday, mirroring my mounting anxiety.

I nudged Lee’s hand away and scrolled up and down, then stopped. 

I stared at the title words on the screen:

‘Your number’s up!
’ 

Lee paled within a second.  “Oh, hell!” he choked out.  “I was afraid it would be the same.”

Lee’s reaction was larger than I’d expected.  It put me on edge.

The email design was near identical to the first one I’d received, but the clock it displayed was different.  Instead of digital, an hourglass timer was in view.  The black sand ran like treacle through the narrow gap, sliding into a heap in the bottom dome.  Half of the sand had already run through. 

I scrolled down a touch.  The words ‘number two,’ shifted up the screen.

Lee’s body twitched beside me, so I glanced at his face.  Confusion flickered in his wide-open eyes.  He looked worried. 

I faced the computer screen again, moved the mouse and centred the image.  There it was.  A second timer.

“What’s this for?” I asked.

Lee’s breath grew louder.  “Some sort of game.” 

A block of twelve black squares were positioned to the left of a digital clock.  Three squares high and four wide.  They reminded me of a large, scratchcard panel.  A question mark decorated the centre of each square.  I focused and read the small print beneath: 

‘Find two pairs of matching symbols to stop the clock, or pay for what you’ve done.’

The small timer had already begun counting down.

“Eh?  I didn’t notice this on the last email.  What’s going on?” I asked, trying to make sense of it.

Twenty seconds of playtime remained.  Not enough time to think about it logically or to wonder why the game existed. 

“You’d better do something, quick,” Lee said.  “Here, let me.”

“No.  I can do it.”  I clicked on two random squares on the panel.  They flipped over revealing the reverse side.  The symbols didn’t match so I clicked on another square, but, it didn’t flip round.  “It won’t work.”

Lee grunted. 

After trying and re-trying, I finally clicked on the previous two squares, which flipped back over to their original position.  I knew in this instant I’d wasted precious seconds. 

The timer ran to zero.

“It’s over,” Lee said.  “Oh, hell.”

“What’s happening?  I didn’t do it right, did I?”  I asked, perfectly aware of the answer. 

I squinted against a flash of light on the screen - bright, blinding and totally unexpected.  The panel of squares blew up in animation, like fragments of a popped balloon, but slower. 

The speakers boomed out a crashing sound, and ‘Game over’ flashed onto the screen. 

I scrolled up the page.  “The hourglass timer’s still running.” 

Lee faced me, grabbed my shoulders and stared into my eyes.  “Did you notice the time on your other email?” Lee seemed to have an insight that I didn’t.  “Was it clearer?  Digital?  Show me the other email.”

“Digital, but my friend deleted it, figured it for a virus or something.”

Lee’s lips pressed into a straight line and he made a throaty grumble.  He removed his hands from me.  “Can you retrieve it?” he asked. 

With my thoughts in a jumble, I clicked on the ‘recently deleted’ folder and found it empty.

“No.  Emma wiped everything.  But hold on, what was that game thing about?”

He spoke in a rush, “We need to know how much time.”

How much time until what?
  “What’s going on here?  Why am
I
getting these emails?  Do you know, or not?”

“How much time you have
left
.”  His voice, frighteningly soft, sent a line of prickles down my spine. 

I didn’t like where this was leading.  “I don’t think I want to know any more.  I wish I’d never—”

“The timer on your other email, do you remember when it runs out?”  His voice implied I was naive.  I wasn’t, but right now, naivety felt like the most sheltered place to be. 

Steeling myself for what I no longer wanted to learn, I tried to picture the numbers on the first timer, but failed.

His disturbing gaze left me, turned back to the screen. 

“I don’t remember.  A few days, perhaps more.”  I scratched my head.  “So, I was right?  This really is something to worry about, isn’t it?”

“I wish it wasn’t.”

Rather than answer my questions properly, Lee leaned over, grabbed the mouse and logged out.  “Move over a second.”  He pushed my chair to the side, and typed into the search bar.  The patter and bashing on the keyboard sounded like he was playing a short allegro on a muted piano. 

“What are you doing, Lee?”

“I’m sorry, Chelsea.”
“Why are
you
sorry?”

“This is my brother’s email account.  You need to see this.”  He pointed at the screen as if the answers to my questions waited there. 

A familiar black background opened.  The title on the screen came into focus. 

‘Tick, tock.
  Y
our number’s up first, Daryl.’
 

I squirmed in my seat and nearly lost balance while trying to focus on the second line:

‘People have to pay for what they’ve done.’ 

Lee scrolled down the page and a clock came into view.  It was digital.  The numbers glowed golden like the first one I’d received, but with one exception; the digits weren’t counting down.  I stared at a row of fixed zeros.  This was a replica of my email, and it belonged to a dead man.

Lee let out a heavy breath.  “I’m so sorry.  Your emails are identical.  And look what happened to my brother.”

“So, these are threats?  Someone’s trying to scare me?  Make me worry that...”  I don’t know why I needed to hear an answer from him.  Evidently, the emails were threats.

Lee nodded while pointing at the big fat zero numbers on the screen.  “His timer ran out.  He’s dead.”

I tried to think of an alternative conclusion.  “The email and Daryl’s death aren’t necessarily linked.  It could be a coincidence.”

“If I hadn’t read your note I’d never have checked Daryl’s emails, because on Saturday night I assumed you’d made it up, were drunk, or after a story,” Lee said.  “But, I did check.  And I realise now that he
wanted
me to find this message.  That’s why he texted me that phrase before he died.” 

“Okay.  So someone wants to scare me.  Well done.  They’ve succeeded.  But, you can’t be sure this is linked to—”

Lee drew a frustrated breath.  “I’m sure.  I’m sorry, Chelsea.  There’s no way of breaking this delicately.  I think someone’s out to kill you.”

No.  The whole thing seemed crazy and a big part of me refused to believe it.  I looked sideways at him.  “You have it wrong.  I didn’t even know your brother.  Someone’s trying to scare me, yes, but kill me?”

Lee set his hand on my shoulder and unnerved me with his serious glare.  “Yes.  Kill you.”

My heart banged faster. 

“Daryl was first.  You’re number two.  It’s all here in the emails.”

“I need a minute,” I said, my mind moving in circles.  I’d expected my week off work to be for helping Laura organise her wedding, not for going on the run.

Lee spun my seat until we came face to face. 

I saw enough to notice his pained expression.  I’d seen sufficient faces of customers leaving the dental surgery to recognise pain; extraction, fillings.  But this look struck me as different.  It was deep, an inner pain. 

Only one question stood between knowing and not knowing how seriously to take the threat.

My cheeks must have been glowing scarlet by now.  “Phillip told me Daryl’s death was an accident, but that you’re not convinced.  Did your brother jump, slip or what?” 

“The coroner ruled it as an accident.”