the 13th Hour (7 page)

You've been given a gift, Nick. A gift to live twelve hours of
your life over again.

You must pay very close attention as time is short:

Every hour, as the minute hand of the gold watch sweeps to
and arrives at twelve, you will slip back in time one hundred
and twenty minutes to relive one hour of your life again.

One step forward, two steps back.

This will occur exactly twelve times, no more, no less,
taking you back by the hour to ten o'clock this morning.

With your actions now, stepping back into each prior hour
of the day, you have the chance to find and save your wife.

I will not bore you with explanations and technicalities,
suffice it to say that as the hour strikes you will be whisked back
to the exact location where you were two hours earlier to live
that hour anew.

But be aware, each choice, just as in normal life, has
consequences that we may not realize in the moment of their
choosing. You have the ability to save Julia, the ability to put
your world back in balance but be warned, it is a precarious
route you now venture on, and your choices must be well
thought out so as not to unbalance the rest of your or anyone
else's existence.

As to why you are being granted this gift, as to who I am,
and how this all happens, those are not of import in this
moment, but rest assured, all will be made known in time.

God speed, Tempus Fugit,

Z.

PS: Hold tight to this letter and the timepiece, and be
warned, this watch you carry on your person can never leave
you, for if it does, or if it is destroyed, you will be lost to the
moment you are tied to, reintroduced to the forward-flowing
existence of the rest of man, and saving Julia's life will be
become a lost cause.

O
FTEN WHEN FACED
with impossible odds, when the future is darkest, a man discards logic and turns to faith, to prayer, to the mystical, convincing himself that a higher power will intervene in his favor. It happens in matters of a desperate heart, in business, even in war, when he is up against an enemy. A soldier will pray to God for victory, often not realizing that his adversary is also praying for deliverance, and in all likelihood to the same God. A man will wish on a star for love, throw a penny into a well with confidence that it will deliver the winning lottery ticket, or rub rabbits' feet so his favorite team will win the Super Bowl.

And so in that manner, Nick began to believe in the watch in his hand, in the written words of the stranger--though he was at a loss to know what language appeared at the bottom of the note. He believed that somehow, if he fought hard enough, he could stop Julia's killer, he could save her. If he could just hold out until 9:00, he would be able to confirm whether that hope was hollow, whether his faith was misplaced and he was doomed to relive his harrowing experience in the interrogation room all over again. As silly, as impossible as it sounded, it was all that he had to hold on to.

With a sudden focus, he raced out of the library and across the marble two story foyer to the front door. Throwing the dead bolt, he hurried to the French doors in the living and dining rooms that led to the rear slate terrace, locking them in succession. He locked the side and garage doors and hurried back into the library, closing the heavy mahogany door, locking it tight. He was thankful that Marcus had put a dead bolt on the library door, odd for an interior door, but not odd for a room that contained a Gerome and two Norman Rockwells.

Nick looked again at the watch: 8:58.

And he heard them arrive, pounding on the locked front door.

Nick went to the bay window and closed the slatted wood shutters, flipping them down, sealing any point of vision into the room.

He heard the front door being kicked open with an earthquake-like rumble, and Marcus's enraged voice suddenly filling the cavernous marble foyer, no doubt angered at the damage and the situation.

A knock sounded on the library door.

"Nick," Marcus's muffled voice came from the other side. "It's me. I put a call in to Mitch, he'll meet us down at the station. But these guys, they want you to go with them . . . and they say now."

Nick remained silent, staring at the room, staring at the watch in the palm of his hand: 8:59.

"Listen, I'll be right behind you," Marcus said, enormous compassion in his voice. "You've got my word, we'll get this all sorted out."

Nick remained focused on the watch.

"Nick," Marcus said through the door, "I don't know what's going on, but I believe you, I believe you--"

"Enough is enough," Shannon's voice interrupted. "Open this door now, Quinn."

Nick sat there, staring at the pocket watch, the second hand sweeping at a pace that seemed impossibly slow. Thirty seconds gone, thirty to go.

"Nick, please, I don't have my keys, and these assholes already destroyed my front door."

Nick continued to stare at the watch as if it would somehow deliver him from the moment, as if it were sacred and would reveal the truths of the hereafter.

"Get out of the way," Shannon yelled at Marcus. "You've got five seconds, Quinn."

And as Nick remained focused on the ticking watch, the door exploded open, splintered into toothpicks as Shannon's foot destroyed both lock and mahogany with an explosive kick. His gun was drawn and held before him as he burst into the room. Dance, also armed, came right behind him.

"On the ground," the overzealous detective screamed.

Nick tucked the watch into his pocket just as Shannon grabbed him by the shoulder and threw him to the Persian rug on the floor.

"Dammit all," Marcus shouted as he grabbed Shannon by the shoulder, pulling him off Nick. "Leave him alone."

Shannon spun about and snapped a punch, catching Marcus in the jaw. Without even flinching, Marcus poured his 220 pounds into his fist as it landed square on Shannon's nose, exploding it into a crimson mess.

But Nick had tuned them out, he tuned them all out. His mind was closed off, focused on the watch in his pocket as he counted down the seconds until 9:00 in his head.

And as the mayhem continued around him, as Marcus screamed and pile-drived Shannon, Nick continued counting.

Three . . .

Two . . .

One . . .

CHAPTER
10

7:02
P.M.

N
ICK FOUND HIS BEARINGS
much more quickly this time. He knew it was because he was accepting the impossibility of the phenomenon. The metallic taste was there but less pronounced; the bitter cold was still rising off his skin but all in all, he was in pretty good shape.

He sat on the front steps of Marcus's house. The front door was in one piece and hung wide open on the warm summer evening. Marcus stepped through it, walked across the slate front terrace, and sat down beside him. The color was drained from his face; his hands trembled in shock.

"The cops are coming, but with the plane wreck and all . . ." Marcus could hardly get the words out. "They can only spare two guys with everyone so involved with the crash site. They said to not touch anything and thought it best you stay with me."

Nick nodded. His eyes were fixed on his house, where Julia's body lay.

Nick reached into his pocket and withdrew the gold watch. He flipped it open, and while he expected what he saw, he was still shocked to see the time was 7:02, two hours earlier than the moments when he had counted down the seconds until 9:00. The cops were not at the house; they had not even arrived at the scene yet. Marcus had just seen Julia's body, his emotional core rocked with the sight of her gruesome death.

And Nick realized that while he remembered what just happened, that was all in the future. Marcus didn't know of Nick's eventual arrest, the names of the cops, or the damage that would be wrought upon his doors. All of which crystallized the rules of the game for Nick.

He was the only one with continuity throughout this ordeal. He was on his own and would have to achieve his goal every hour before being whisked back to where he had been two hours before, while losing the assistance of whoever was helping him in the present hour.

He was thankful it was a Friday, he always worked from home on Fridays and had remained at the house all day, working to complete an analysis related to his week's travels before the weekend arrived. He hadn't even ventured out for lunch, which was lucky as each time jump would bring him back home, allowing him the opportunity to stay focused during his investigation and the rescuing of his wife.

Nick closed the watch, shook himself out of his thoughts, and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Marcus asked.

Nick stared at his house. "I need to go in there."

"Back in there?" Marcus said in shock. "No, I think that is a bad idea."

"I agree," Nick said. "But I need to figure out what the hell is going on and I need to do it before the cops start poking around."

"They said not to touch anything--"

"My wife is dead, Marcus," Nick said, more to the situation than to Marcus. "I need answers, I need to know who did this. It's my house, I'm going back in."

"All right." Marcus reluctantly nodded. "But I'm coming with you."

Nick began walking, shaking his head. "I need to do this alone."

It had taken Nick the better part of the prior hour--future hour now that he thought of it--to convince Marcus of his situation, sending him to see Dance for proof of his clairvoyance. If Nick was going to get the help of Marcus, or of anyone, for that matter, he was going to have to find a way to convince him of the time slip in five minutes or less, otherwise too much time would be wasted, stolen from the limited twelve hours he had to save Julia.

Marcus remained seated on the his front porch. "Please, whatever you do, don't look at her. It's not her anymore."

Marcus's voice faded as Nick walked across the wide expanse of lawn, battling his mixed emotions. He had been given a gift, a gift he didn't understand and was not going to waste time pondering. The internal debate on how it was happening, why it was happening, could last a lifetime, and he had less than twelve hours.

But despite the elation that he was being given a second chance, that Julia was being given a second chance, he still feared what he was about to walk into.

Now, despite what he knew he would see, as devastating to his mind as her image would be, he would have to willingly look upon her, if he was to have any hope of saving her, of figuring out who killed her. In order to stop that person, he would have to gather every bit of information, every clue, including exactly how she died.

Nick forced himself to push Julia's death from his mind; his anxiety, his pain and grieving were selfish acts that would only impede him from getting to the truth. As difficult as the task ahead would be, he clung to the fact that it was all in an effort to save her from fate, to twist the past in order to save her future.

Nick walked across the driveway to the front of his white farmhouse and entered through the 110-year-old front door.