Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

moved in liquid time.
    A bright, sparking flash of fire spewed from the muzzle of the gun like a roman candle caught on slow motion film. Elizabeth could have sworn she saw the dark streak of the bullet flying toward her. It was a mutated version of reality, both sluggish and swift, blurring her senses. Before the scream could escape her lips, she felt herself being shoved out of the way.
    She had a vague sense of something rough and bleached rushing toward her. Too late she realized it was one of the wooden crates as she crashed shoulder first into the hard planked box and fell to the floor.
    The thundering crack of the gun’s report filled the small room. A dull thump was quickly followed by a deep grunt from King, and she heard him stagger backwards, his shoes scraping against the floor. Partially obscured by the boxes, King’s broad back hunched slightly as he faced the robber.
    “Sweet Jesus,” the man whispered.
    She could only see a hint of King’s profile, the smooth contours of his face distorted by excruciating pain. She heard the gun slip from the robber’s fingers and clatter to the floor. Peering around the edge of the whiskey crate, she saw the intruder’s face. He was ghostly white now, his eyes bulged out of their sockets, bright with a primal fear, and locked onto King. A low guttural sound, deeper and more feral than any animal, rumbled from King. The robber gasped and ran out the back door. King stood motionless for a moment, then he rolled his shoulders and bowed his head.
    Elizabeth pushed herself up on shaky legs. “Are you okay?”
    King flinched at the sound of her voice, as though he’d forgotten she was there. He took a lurching step away from her and leaned heavily on the small desk.
    She rose to her feet and hurried to his side. “Were you hit?”
    He kept his face turned away from hers and merely shook his head. She started to reach out to him when the door to the club banged open.
    “Nobody move!”
    Elizabeth spun to see Charlie, shotgun at the ready. “What happened?”
    “I think King was shot,” she said, trying to keep her heart from hammering its way out of her chest.
    Charlie took a step forward, but stopped short when King spoke, “I’m fine.”
    He kept his face turned away and judging from the way he was hunched over, he was anything but all right. “King—”
    “Leave it,” he barked.
    She turned back to Charlie, but he merely shook his head. He scanned the room quickly until his eyes fell back on King and narrowed with suspicion and tempered fear. Charlie’s ruddy face finally slackened as he lowered the huge, double-barreled shotgun. “You all right, Lizzy?”
    She let out a quick breath and nodded. “There was a man. A burglar. He ran out there,” she said and pointed toward the alley door.
    Charlie looked gravely at King and then back to Elizabeth. “You sure you’re okay?”
    “Yeah.”
    Charlie puffed out his cheeks and ran a hand over his sweaty brow. “Good.”
    She managed a weak smile. “We’re okay. King scared him off, I think.”
    Charlie seemed about to say something, but must have thought better of it. “Long as you’re okay.” He put the shotgun in the crook of his arm and headed back into the bar. “S’okay, Dix. You can get out from under the table now.”
    Elizabeth waited till she was sure Charlie was gone before turning back to King. She could have sworn he’d been shot. There was no way he could have gotten out of the path of the bullet in time.
    Steeling herself against the bloody wound she imagined she’d find, she tentatively touched his shoulder. He flinched again, but didn’t pull away. “King?”
    Slowly, he straightened and tugged at the edge of his waistcoat as he turned around. His face was implacable, but the strange fire in his eyes burned even brighter.
    “Disgusting,” he muttered. “Drug addicts. Barely worth their own skin.”
    He ran his gloved hand over his vest again and Elizabeth saw a small, scorched hole about the size of a dime next to the bottom button. It didn’t make any sense. If he had been shot, where was the blood? And he certainly wasn’t acting as if he had a bullet in his stomach.
    He must have known what she was looking for and quickly buttoned his coat, smoothing out the material. “Are you all right?” he asked placidly.
    She wasn’t about to be put off and leaned in closer to try to see the hole. “You’re hurt.”
    He smiled, but it came off as more of a grimace. “You