Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

frowning to astonished. “You like the Marx Brothers? What else haven’t you told me?”
    He grinned and went back to his paper. “Many things. Many, many things.”
    Elizabeth laughed. “No doubt. I’m gonna use the restroom. Try not to flirt too much with Helen while I’m gone.”
    “I would never do any such thing,” he said, pleased she couldn’t see his amusement behind the paper.
    The headlines were much the same as they were back home—murder, corruption in the government and an unhealthy obsession with sports. The more things change, the more they stay the same.
    “Here ya go,” Helen said, as she returned and poured their first cups of coffee. “Order’s comin’ right up.”
    Simon put down the paper and thanked her with a smile. She winked and moved on to her next table. The coffee was dark and thick. Definitely one thing he wouldn’t miss. He leafed through the paper, searching for the crossword puzzle. Doing it together had become something of a daily ritual, but he could never remember what section it was hidden in. Finally, he found it buried in the back with the obituaries.
    He quickly scanned the puzzle, looking for cornerstone clues, when Helen returned with their breakfast plates.
    “You need anything else?” she asked.
    “No, thank you.”
    “Just give a whistle.”
    He nodded, but his thoughts had strayed. Elizabeth was certainly taking her time. Shrugging it off, he took another sip of the bitter coffee.
    When half the cup was gone and Elizabeth still wasn’t back, he began to worry. He tried to concentrate on the puzzle, but with every passing second he grew more anxious. The words on the page blurred under his scrutiny.
    Giving in to the apprehension, he slipped out of the booth and walked toward the counter. Helen was there picking up an order. “Have you seen my wife?”
    The waitress shrugged. “She went in the ladies’ last I saw.”
    He was probably over-reacting, but the seed of doubt had been sown. Simon wouldn’t be able to relax until he was sure. He walked through the storeroom toward the back. The passage was dimly lit by a single exposed bulb hanging too low from the ceiling. It swung back and forth in a slow arc, casting an alternating wave of shadow and light on the door.
    Simon knocked and waited for an answer. When none came, he tested the lock. It was open, and he pulled it slightly ajar. “Elizabeth?”
    Again, there was no answer, and he opened the door the rest of the way. The tiny room was empty, the faucet left running. His heart tripped and stuttered, before he reined it in. She’d gone out for some air. That’s all, he told himself. “Is there a back door?” he called out to Helen who’d been lingering in the hall.
    “Yeah, right back there,” she said, gesturing behind him.
    Simon hurried down the short, dark hall and threw open the door. It clanged against the building, shivering on impact. Bright sunlight streamed into the alley, burning his eyes, as he stepped out. His pulse galloped, refusing to be contained.
    “Elizabeth!”
    He looked quickly up and down the filthy alleyway, determined to find her standing there among the empty packing crates and battered trash bins. She simply had to be there. His mind couldn’t grasp any other thought. He ran to the mouth of the alley and stumbled into the crowd of pedestrians coursing down the busy street. Blaring horns and idle chatter receded like the tide. Blood roared in his ears, deafening everything but the pounding of his heart.
    Turning back to the doorway, a single discarded shoe caught his eye. No. Dear God. No. He knew, even before he held it, that is was hers. Frustrating hours spent buying it and precious minutes taking it off flashed in his mind. The leather strap at the back was torn. He clamped his eyes shut, but the images of her struggling, fighting for her life battered away at him. While he’d sat doing the damn crossword puzzle! His fist tightened over the shoe.
    Elizabeth was gone.
    * * *
    The wooden steps creaked under his weight as he took them two at a time, running up the stairs to their small apartment. He pulled open the door and called out her name. Cold silence answered him.
    He knew it would. Knew she wouldn’t go off without telling him, but in his panic he’d gone to the one place that still held hope she’d left of her of her own volition. It was far better to think she’d lost her senses than accept the truth staring him in the face. He’d pictured this