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Nick of Time
Nick of Time
Nick of Time
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Nick of Time

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Two women separated by decades of time hold the future of mankind in their hands. Two men are tied to them by tangled threads of destiny that must be carefully unraveled. One of these men has the means to destroy the women along with most of the human race. The other has the power to unite them and save the world, but first he must find a way to traverse the barriers of time, death, and his own heart.

Dr. Rachel Mayton is a gifted researcher haunted by guilt because she was driving when a car accident took her husband's life and left their daughter, Megan, in a coma. After five years of trial and error, Rachel has finally developed a drug she hopes will awaken Megan and give her, and others like her, some semblance of a normal life. On the eve of launching a clinical trial for the drug, Rachel is shot and has a near-death experience in which she sees her dead husband, Doug, who delivers a cryptic warning Rachel doesn't understand. When she sees and hears his "ghost" several more times over the next few weeks, it leads her and some of her coworkers to question her sanity. She starts the trial nonetheless and two weeks into it, one of her patients, a brain-injured construction worker named Tim Nerad, briefly awakens from his coma. Rachel is the only one who witnesses this awakening and her colleagues are skeptical of her claim, even after Tim mysteriously disappears from the hospital. When he shows up at Rachel's house, she tries to talk him into returning to the hospital, but he refuses. He then weaves a tale so bizarre – one of time-traveling souls, ghostly visitations, and a future apocalypse – it leaves Rachel questioning his sanity as well as her own … until he shares information he couldn't possibly know unless his crazy tale is true. Before Rachel can puzzle out the facts, she and Tim are forced to flee: stalked by "zombies" who want Rachel dead and pursued by the law for a murder they didn't commit. When Rachel learns her miracle drug might one day lead to mankind's extinction, she is forced to unravel the complex threads of destiny that tie her and Tim to a crazed man and heroic woman who live thirty-six years in the future. In the process she must divine the meaning behind her dead husband's message, sacrifice everyone she holds most dear, and come to terms with her growing love for Tim, a man who possesses the body of one person and the soul of another.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherBeth Amos
Release dateApr 30, 2013
ISBN9781301034673
Nick of Time
Author

Beth Amos

Bestselling author, Beth Amos, had three prior published novels of suspense with HarperCollins (Cold White Fury, Eyes of Night, and Second Sight), and has two current mystery series through Kensington Books: the Mattie Winston series (Working Stiff, Scared Stiff, Frozen Stiff, Lucky Stiff, and soon Board Stiff) written under the pseudonym Annelise Ryan, and the Mack's Bar series (Murder on the Rocks and two more to come) written under the pseudonym Allyson K. Abbott. Beth is a working ER nurse who lives in Wisconsin.

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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I generally enjoy this author but this story was the exception. Okay, it was a decent story and a quick read, but the storyline seemed to be pulled straight from the blockbuster movie series "The Terminator."

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Nick of Time - Beth Amos

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

In addition to a freelance medical writing career that resulted in over 200 published articles, brochures, newsletters, and educational materials, Beth Amos also wrote three novels of suspense that were published by HarperCollins in the late nineties: COLD WHITE FURY, EYES OF NIGHT, and SECOND SIGHT. In addition, Beth authors the Mattie Winston mystery series published by Kensington Books under the pseudonym Annelise Ryan. The series, which features a small town nurse turned deputy coroner, includes the books WORKING STIFF, SCARED STIFF, FROZEN STIFF, LUCKY STIFF, and (coming in 2014) BOARD STIFF. Also for Kensington Books, Beth writes the Mack’s Bar mystery series under the pseudonym Allyson K. Abbott, featuring a protagonist bartender with the neurological disorder, synesthesia. The first book in the series, MURDER ON THE ROCKS, is scheduled for release in August 2013. Beth has also written two additional suspense novels: NICK OF TIME and THE FACE OF DEATH, which are both currently available as e-books. Beth is a working emergency room nurse who lives in Wisconsin.

Chapter 1

Highland Park, September 7, 2013

The first time Rachel Mayton died, the gut instinct that had served her so well in medical school failed her completely. She was digging through her purse in search of change and it wasn’t until she went to hand her money to the young man behind the counter that she realized anything was wrong. The first thing she noticed was the pasty pallor of the clerk’s skin, which matched the color of the milk she was about to buy. Then she noticed the deer-in-the-headlights expression in his eyes, which were focused on the person to her left.

Curious as to what had so riveted the clerk’s attention, she turned to look. Based on physique she guessed the person beside her was a man but she couldn’t be sure because a gray ski mask covered his head and face, leaving his eyes – which appeared vaguely dark – the only thing visible. The other notable feature was the black pistol he held, its barrel aimed in the general direction of the clerk’s heart.

Empty the cash drawer. All of it, the gunman said, the deep timbre of his voice confirming his gender. Put it in a bag. And throw in a carton of Marlboro Lights.

Rachel’s eyes shifted back to the clerk, who stood statue still, apparently too terrified to move or speak. As the seconds ticked by, Rachel urged him with her thoughts: for God’s sake, do what he said! But the clerk remained motionless.

The gunman leaned over the counter and pushed the barrel of the gun against the kid’s chest. Move it, he snarled.

And the clerk did. But instead of complying with the robber’s demands, he reached across the counter, grabbed the ski mask, and whipped it off in one quick move.

The robber startled and the gun spat.

For several long, horrible seconds, it was as if the earth stopped spinning and time stood still. A dark red spot bloomed on the clerk’s crisp, white shirt as he shifted his gaze from the gunman to Rachel. She locked eyes with him for the briefest of moments before he collapsed behind the counter with a whispered little ahhhh that sounded disturbingly like a sigh of relief.

God dammit! the gunman yelled, making Rachel flinch. "Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that? He shoved his hair back from his forehead using the hand holding the gun and stepped back from the counter. He looked toward the clerk’s slumped body, his eyes wide and frantic. I wasn’t going to shoot anyone, he muttered. Why did he do that?"

Rachel’s physician instincts urged her to go to the wounded clerk and render whatever medical assistance she could. But a simpler, more basic instinct held her back. Something in the gunman’s voice made her believe him when he said he hadn’t meant to shoot anyone. She suspected her life would depend upon her ability to keep him calm and convince him she posed no threat. So though she sensed his gaze upon her, she didn’t return it, not wanting to appear confrontational. She kept her eyes focused on what she could see of the clerk’s slumped body, searching for signs of life. She saw none and a chilling frisson of fear traced down her spine. Calling upon her medical training to keep herself composed, she took in a slow breath and then spoke.

I’m a doctor. Let me try to help him. I’ll give you enough time to get away before calling for an ambulance. If I can save him –

She heard a sharp intake of breath and paused, recognizing her error immediately. The mere suggestion of the clerk’s death slammed reality home for the panicked gunman. Rachel knew it was only a matter of time before he realized two murders were not significantly worse than one in terms of any punishment he might face, and that killing both of them would leave no witnesses to identify him later.

Fuck, the gunman mumbled, and Rachel knew he had figured it out, reaching what would be, for her, a fatal conclusion. Knowing she was about to die, she threw all caution to the wind and turned to look at him: dark hair, dark eyes, dark soul.

She held his gaze, thinking he might back down if he looked into her eyes and viewed her as a human being rather than a complication. But when she saw a look of steely determination settle on his face, she knew her fate was sealed.

Her last thoughts were for her daughter. I’ve screwed it up again, Meggy. I’m so sorry.

As the bullet slammed into her chest she felt no pain or fear, just a hollow sense of emptiness. Then darkness came and she felt nothing at all.

Chapter 2

Highland Park, September 7, 2013

Rachel surfaced from the darkness, rising from a cold, black void like a deep-sea diver in search of air and sunlight. And there was a light, a vague and distant shimmer beckoning to her from above, filling her with warmth and contentment. She started moving toward it but something made her halt her ascent and look back the way she had come.

Below she saw herself, except she knew somehow that what she was looking at wasn’t really her, just the empty shell that had once housed her. A flurry of people surrounded her lifeless body – paramedics, cops, and onlookers – and there was so much blood, most of her wheat-colored hair was stained a dark red. She watched the activity with an odd sense of clinical detachment. The paramedics were good, she noted – efficient, fast, and thorough. They already had two large bore IV’s running in her arms and an ET tube placed to help her breathe.

She watched them work until they loaded her into an ambulance. Then she turned her attention back to the wonderful warm light emanating from above. It was much closer now and it shifted and shimmered with varying shades of golden light that seemed random at first, but then began to take on distinctive shapes. One of them seemed vaguely familiar but before she could figure out why, she again felt drawn to the activity below. When she looked down a second time, she realized the scene of the drama had shifted and her lifeless body was now being worked on in the trauma room of the ER, an area she remembered all too well.

Oh, God, Meggy.

With that thought, Rachel felt herself being pulled downward. The glorious warmth from the light above began to fade and the thought of losing it panicked and saddened her. She resisted the pull from below and focused hard on the light, desperate to reach it. She wanted nothing more than to be inside it, to bask and revel in the feeling of love and happiness it instilled in her. As she watched the shifting shapes they became identifiable as human forms, one of which Rachel recognized.

Doug!

Filled with an overwhelming sense of joy, she reached for him with both arms outstretched. Yet despite her efforts, Doug remained just beyond her grasp, tantalizingly close yet frustratingly far away. Rachel struggled to close the gap between them until she suddenly remembered and reeled back, gaping at him. You’re dead, she thought.

He smiled. Yes. But you are not. The words weren’t spoken – Doug’s lips never moved – yet Rachel heard his voice clearly. You must go back. There are things you must do, Rachel.

No! This light, this place, seeing Doug again … it all felt too good. She didn’t want to go back.

You must, Doug insisted. Now is not your time.

Rachel’s heart filled with an agonizing, aching loneliness that only made her more determined. She reached out to Doug, beckoning. I want to be with you.

Not now. You must watch out for our daughter. Watch out for Megan.

Doug’s words made her feel as if she were being pulled in two directions at once.

You are strong Rachel, but you can’t do it alone.

The golden light began to fade, receding with such rapidity that within seconds Rachel could no longer make out Doug’s image. She tried to yell out in protest but the only sound she heard was Doug’s voice, fainter now.

Listen carefully and heed these words. Beware of holy dragon. Embrace a tired man so you can deliver almighty one.

Rachel tried to grab at the fading remnants of the magical light but her hand snagged only empty darkness. Soon the light appeared no bigger than a distant star. Just before it disappeared altogether, Rachel heard Doug’s voice one last time, barely more than a whisper but still identifiable.

I love you.

Chapter 3

Chicago, April 12, 2049

Wind whipped down the dimly lit streets, howling as it made its way through the brick and concrete canyons. The night sky was barely visible above the monolithic towers of the city and the eerie yellow light of sodium vapor lamps reflecting off polluted air made it hard to tell if it was nighttime or day. Mason slipped among the shadows of the buildings, periodically glancing over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being followed and watching for anything that moved with more purpose or speed than the hordes of living dead who wandered the city’s once bustling streets. He briefly startled a trio of rats dining on a skeleton. Some of the bones were covered with layers of trash making it impossible for Mason to determine if they were animal or human. The rats spared him a moment’s wary glance, then just as quickly dismissed him and returned to their meal.

Mason’s nerves were taut and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that something had gone very wrong. He replayed the night’s meeting over and over in his mind, certain he had missed something significant but unable to put a finger on what it was. Despite his inability to identify the source of his discomfort, he’d learned long ago to trust his gut and, at the moment, it was screaming at him. Though he’d exercised his usual caution, he sensed they might be on to him. If so, he prayed they wouldn’t come after him yet. He needed to get this latest information to Leigh as quickly as possible. Their lives depended upon it; hell, the future of mankind depended upon it.

Mason paused to rest, leaning his back against the cold brick of a nearby building. He felt exhausted and for a moment he fantasized about shrugging the mantle of responsibility from his shoulders and simply disappearing into the night. But he could not, not only because of his sense of duty and the incredibly high stakes at hand, but because of his love for Leigh. In fact, mostly because of his love for Leigh.

One of the walking dead – a woman – rounded the corner ahead of him and shuffled awkwardly down the alleyway. She appeared to be in better condition than most, lacking any moldering flesh or grievous injuries, but she smelled like all the rest – a peculiarly sour mix of staleness, rot, and death. Snarled strings of greasy black hair hung over her face, hiding it from view. Mason watched her warily, analyzing the shuffling gait and crumpled posture. She looked real enough, but as he passed her he turned and watched her stumbling progress for another minute or two because something about her nagged at him. He suspected she had once been pretty and as he tried to imagine what she had looked like alive, he paused, struck by a sense that he knew her. He flipped through the mental files in his mind but came up empty.

He waited until she reached the other end of the alleyway before turning his back on her and resuming his own trek. As he emerged from his end of the alley, he paused and looked down the street, spotting several other zombies among the stalled cars and abandoned doorways. At one time the sight of them had frightened him; now the only emotions they elicited from him were pity and sadness. Most of them were so far gone they would be permanently dead soon.

He hunkered down inside his jacket and turned onto the sidewalk, heading for the corner. He remembered how this street had once bustled with life and activity, the air filled with the sounds and smells of a busy urban existence. Now all that was gone and the silence unnerved him. The only signs of life left were the walking dead as they bumbled about in search of food, their shuffling gaits a cruel mockery of what had once been. Their skin appeared waxy and sallow in the queer yellow light and though they never spoke, they did make a soft, guttural, moaning sound like the low keen of a high wind.

Once a thriving metropolis, the city was now a giant tomb. The devastation might have been easier to bear had it been confined to Chicago alone, or even a few cities here and there. But the non-death was everywhere now; in less than two years it had spread worldwide. The only thing keeping Mason sane was a slim hope that the resistance might yet turn things around. Their efforts were beginning to make a difference and Mason knew his ability to infiltrate Malik’s group had been a key factor in that. Though he took pride in his role, the double life had definitely taken its toll. More and more of late, he found himself daydreaming of a life far away from all this horror and death, a place where he and Leigh could settle down, start a family, and anticipate a future with some semblance of normalcy.

Normalcy. The idea made him scoff. Fat chance of ever again seeing anything close to normal, he thought.

He moved on toward his rendezvous point, still feeling that vague twinge of anxiety and scanning his surroundings for any signs of trouble. When he reached the next intersection he stopped, glanced at his watch, and frowned. Despite the fact that he was a couple of minutes late, there was no sign of his contact.

Something was wrong. The vague sense of unease he’d felt segued into a cold wash of fear. He scanned the streets in every direction, searching the tangle of abandoned cars, hoping to catch sight of the man he was supposed to meet.

Relief flooded his veins a few seconds later when he saw the man emerge from a crowd of cars some thirty feet away. But as soon as he registered the man’s staggering gait and slack-jawed expression, the relief evaporated. Mason barely had time to process the sight when he sensed and smelled someone behind him. He whipped around, saw the greasy strands of black hair, and recognized the woman from the alley. His first thought was to run, but in the next instant several other figures stepped from the shadows around him, figures that moved with too much purpose and coordination to be anything but fully alive. The woman pulled a gun from beneath the folds of her smelly, ragged clothes – clothes Mason now realized must have come from one of the undead.

Mason froze, knowing both his luck and his time had just run out.

She spoke then, ending all pretense of being an undead. You betrayed us.

He knew now why she’d seemed familiar to him. She was a worker who had served him coffee or food or some such at one of the meetings, just one of the many unremarkable faces parading in and out of Malik’s camp every day. His dismissal of her then would now cost him his life. He’d known this moment might come and had, in fact, anticipated it several times. But deep down inside he’d always hoped it would never happen, that he and Leigh would somehow survive all the death and horror, and emerge unscathed to share a future together. He felt a hollow nudge of regret over the fact that he wouldn’t have a chance to see Leigh again, to hold her, or kiss her, or fill his nostrils with the fresh living scent of her. He’d imagined himself always at her side, watching out for her, protecting her, loving her ….

Keenly aware of the gun’s barrel aimed at his chest, Mason felt a brief sense of relief that his death would at least be swift. The woman’s lips twisted into a smile that made Mason’s insides go cold. Rough hands grabbed him from behind, pinning his arms and holding him tight. He struggled, knowing his efforts were futile but refusing to go down without some kind of fight. He eyed the woman defiantly and vowed he would not let them win, even if it meant finding a way to fight them from the grave. And with Leigh’s help, he might be able to do just that.

The distant sound of a motorcycle diverted the woman’s attention for a second and Mason allowed himself a brief surge of hope. But it was not to be. The motorcycle was too far away.

His final thought came in the same instant as the bullet.

I love you, Leigh.

Chapter 4

Highland Park, November 5, 2013

Rachel winced as she twisted her hair up in a loose chignon and clipped it in place. Though the scar on her chest was eight weeks old now, it remained surprisingly tender in spots, feeling nearly as raw and vulnerable as the day it was created.

It’s damned ugly, too, she thought, studying the angry red puckers of skin. As she slipped into her blouse and buttoned it up over the offending scar, a shift in the shadows over by the shower curtain caught her eye. At almost the same instant, the hairs along the back of her neck rose and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. She squeezed her eyes closed and muttered, Damn it, not again.

She prayed the shadow would go away but when she dared to look a few seconds later, it was still there. Her heart hiccupped, her hands trembled, and a shiver shook her from head to toe. She wrapped her arms around herself as much for security as for warmth, though the action provided neither. Unable to look away, she watched as the shadow darkened and thickened, taking on a distinctly human shape.

Play my game, Rachel. The voice, which she recognized immediately, filled the room, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once.

No, Rachel said. She shook her head and hugged herself tighter. No, no, no. She squeezed her eyes closed again and began to chant. Go away, Doug. Go away, go away, go away, go away.

Play my game.

Go away, go away, go away …. She repeated the mantra over and over in an effort to drown out Doug’s voice, her heart galloping feverishly, her body shaking. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand it any longer, that she would have to scream and cry and collapse in fear, she felt a marked rise in the room’s temperature. She stopped chanting and warily opened her eyes.

The shifting shadows were gone. Morning sunlight from the window behind her cast her own shadow along the floor and onto the tub and curtain, making it ridiculously easy to convince herself it was her own shadow she’d seen in the first place. She quickly scanned the rest of the room: nothing. Either she’d imagined the whole thing, or whatever had been there was now gone.

Still shaken, she closed the lid on the toilet and sat down, her head in her hands. She focused on her breathing in an effort to slow her racing heart and made a concerted effort to dismiss what had just happened. It didn’t work. No matter how hard she tried to rationalize things, the effect these visions – or hallucinations, or whatever the hell they were – had on her was frightening. Each incident left her more paranoid than the one before and she feared that if they continued, she’d end up batshit crazy sooner rather than later.

She didn’t bother trying to explain them anymore. Last week, when it had happened for the first time, she tried attributing the weird shadows to a defect in her contact lenses and the voice to her own overactive imagination. But then it happened again when she wasn’t wearing her contacts and she was left trying to come up with another logical explanation. This led her down several trails of thought, all of which ended in the same philosophical quagmire. Forced to question either her sanity or everything she believed in, she eventually deemed neither one acceptable and opted instead to keep pushing the issue aside, hoping the strange hallucinations would simply go away.

So far the ostrich approach hadn’t worked.

Perhaps it was just that she’d been alone with her own thoughts too much lately. Thank goodness she was finally returning to work; these last few weeks at home had taken their toll. Her position as a researcher for the Coleman Neuroscience Center was more than just a job; it had been her life’s focus ever since Megan became a patient there five years ago. And right now Rachel desperately needed that focus. As did Megan.

Every day for the past five years Rachel had dreamed of the day she would see Megan skip across the yard again, or dance around the kitchen, or wrap her arms around Rachel’s neck in a big hug. Her heart ached with the need to see Megan smile again, to hear her giggly little laugh, and the way she said I love you. And now, finally, it looked as if all these hopes might come true.

Rachel knew that if the human trial of her new drug went half as well as the animal trials had, it would likely make medical history, its potential impact on health care ranking up there with Roentgen’s discovery of x-rays and Jonas Salk’s vaccine for polio. She couldn’t care less about the fame and glory, however; she just wanted Megan back. Too much valuable time had been lost already because of the shooting and Rachel knew she couldn’t afford to lose anymore by giving in to insanity, ghosts, or any other such foolishness. Megan was depending on her and she wasn’t about to let her down again.

Strengthened by a renewed sense of determination, she got up from the toilet, quickly finished her morning ablutions, and headed for work. Bright sunlight streamed from the sky, casting the world in a golden glow that warmed her face as she drove. It seemed a good omen and she felt a twinge of excitement as she pulled into the parking lot of the Neuroscience Center. She was in control again and eager to return to her old routine. Whatever these weird visions were, she felt certain she could beat them now that she was back on track.

Hang in there, Meggy. Mommy will make it all better. You’ll see.

Chapter 5

Highland Park, November 5, 2013

Though he was fifty-five years old, Harold Hal Goyne looked at least ten years younger thanks to good genetics and a lean runner’s build. As both a neurophysicist and a once-practicing neurologist, his knowledge, training, and experience made him the perfect leader for the Neuroscience Center’s research team. He also served as chief advisor to the Neuro Recovery Unit, or NRU, which housed the Center’s critically brain-damaged patients.

His easy-going personality meshed seamlessly with Rachel’s. She considered him a friend as well as her boss, and though there were times when she suspected he might be interested in a more involved relationship with her, he had never acted on it beyond the occasional, seemingly innocent bit of flirtation. Consequently, when she saw him waiting for her in her office – tipped back in her chair with his feet on her desk – it brought a smile to her face.

Welcome back, stranger, he said, letting his feet drop to the floor. He pushed out of the chair and motioned for her to take it.

Thank you. Rachel moved behind the desk but didn’t sit down. Instead she scanned over the neatly stacked folders and papers piled atop both the desk and a nearby credenza.

I know it looks like a lot but none of it is urgent. I took care of the important, day-to-day stuff so there’s no need to rush into anything.

Thanks for picking up my slack, Rachel said, fingering through some papers. I hope my absence wasn’t too much of a burden on you.

Don’t be ridiculous. You know I’m happy to help out. He paused and studied her more closely. And I’ll continue to do so, if you need me to.

Rachel didn’t miss his implication. I’m fine, Hal. I’m ready to jump back in. She began sorting the files on her desk into new piles.

Are you sure?

Yes, of course, she shot back a bit irritably. She bit her lip then, as if trying to bite back her words.

After an awkward moment of silence, Hal said, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that you look … well … tired. You have dark circles under your eyes and you don’t seem to be your usual perky self.

Rachel started to dismiss his concerns but as soon as her eyes met his, she clamped her mouth closed and sighed heavily. She abandoned the papers she was sorting and sank into her chair. "I am a little tired, she admitted with a weak smile. I haven’t been sleeping well recently."

Want to talk about it?

She shrugged and gave him a cynical smile. You’ll think I’m crazy.

Try me. He grabbed a nearby chair, pulled it up close to the desk, and settled in, looking as if he had all the time in the world.

Rachel raked her teeth over her lower lip and said, I’ve been having this odd … She hesitated, not sure how to describe the strange disturbances in a way that didn’t make her sound totally bonkers. I’ve been having this dream for the past week or so. The same dream, over and over again.

Reliving the shooting?

Not exactly. She paused, debating how much to tell him. She realized how good it would feel to share her experience with someone she trusted. And Hal, with his open mind and his dedication to the basic scientific process, was as objective a listener as anyone she knew.

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