Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

go.”
    His fingers dug painfully into her arms, as if he could control his demon by controlling her. “Let me go,” she repeated, her voice barely a whisper.
    The strong line of his jaw clenched and unclenched. Finally, he lowered his gaze and released her arms. Hope flared in her chest. She held her breath, only aware of the pounding of her own heart and the incessant tapping of raindrops on the windows.
    He stared down at the small bit of carpet between them. “You will love me,” he said quietly, then raised his eyes. “It’s fate.”
    * * *
    The rain was as unrelenting as the man. Simon prowled the streets of Manhattan hour after hour. Sometimes swept along in the crowd and at others shouldering against them, but always searching. He’d even gone back to Mulberry Street and pounded on Rosella’s door. He should have tried the psychic earlier. Now, it was too late and there was no answer. Everywhere he went there was no answer. Every straw he grasped slipped between his fingers until he was raw with the effort. Every minute that passed hollowed him out that much more, until the hope he’d clung to was frayed to a single, gossamer strand.
    Saturday night bled into Sunday morning. Hours slipped by as Simon scoured the city. Torrential rains pounded down from above. People scurried past, dashing from cover to cover, as Simon walked on. Block after block. Dead end after dead end. Exhausted, but unable to stop moving, Simon kept searching.
    Sunday afternoon disappeared into night.
    Oblivious to everything but finding Elizabeth, Simon ignored the chill that soaked through his clothes and the muscles in his legs that threatened to give way. His vision blurred and he leaned against a brick wall, pausing for a moment. Where in God’s name was she?
    “Here,” came a woman’s voice in the distance.
    His head snapped up, and he saw her through the driving rain. A slim figure in a green dress barely discernable through the striated landscape. She waved happily in his direction before turning to knock on a door. The wall opened and she stepped inside.
    “Elizabeth.”
    He ran down the almost desolate street and skidded to a halt, nearly falling on the slick pavement. It was only a wall. Brick and mortar.
    He fought the urge to laugh. Was he going mad already?
    Footfalls echoed to his right and a man rapped smartly on an indistinct door. The peephole slid open and the man muttered, “Bee’s knees.” The mysterious door slid open and the man stepped inside.
    He must have misjudged the distance. Elizabeth was inside that door. Simon pounded his fist against it until the slot opened and a pair of hooded eyes gazed back.
    “Let me in,” Simon rasped.
    “Password?”
    He’d just heard it and already it was fading from his mind. He heard Elizabeth’s voice in his head, “Oh, Simon. Find something and grip it.”
    “Bee’s knees,” he said and bounded into the dark, smoky room as soon as the door opened.
    He wiped the rain from his face and scanned the room. She was at the bar, but even before she turned around, he knew it wasn’t her. Maybe he’d known all along. She didn’t look anything like Elizabeth. It was a frightening testament to his desperation, and he felt his grip on that single thread slip. He leaned against the bar and rested his head in his hands.
    “You want somethin’?”
    “What?”
    The stocky bartender slammed a bottle of bourbon onto the bar and scowled. “I said, you want somethin’?”
    “No.”
    “This ain’t a flophouse. You drink or you get the hell out.”
    The rich amber of the alcohol sloshed against the side of the bottle, inviting him into oblivion. He took out a dollar and laid it on the bar. The bartender grinned. He must have known he had a live one. He poured the first drink and shoved it to the edge.
    The bourbon burned all the way down, but Simon scarcely felt it. He wondered if he’d ever feel anything again. He knew following the woman into the club was delusional at best. Glancing around the bar, the people were no more than shadows, vague images of life blurring around him.
    He drank two more shots in quick succession, throwing them back without thought. Tired, hungry and soaked to the skin, the alcohol blind-sided him. His elbow slid off the bar and he barely caught his head before it smashed into the hard wood.
    “Watch it buddy,” a man groused to his left.
    Simon lifted his wobbly head and glared as best he could with double vision. “Piss