Read Beyond This Time: A Time-Travel Suspense Novel for Free Online Page A

seen those prune people in the museum, and he didn’t look one whole hell of a lot better right this minute.
    “James, old boy,” he told his twin, “you closely resemble a carcass my dog once dragged home.”
    Could his brief foray into 1963 have altered his biological clock? Going back and forth in time, no telling what might happen to your body.
    “That settles it,” he muttered. If a single jaunt screwed him up this much, it would take a whole army and then some to get him to try it again.
    Oh yeah, he knew exactly what Kat would propose the next time he saw her: Another trip back in time. She’d drag out that damn computer printout, point to another name on the Arson/Fatality list and play the sympathy card. “But Mitch,” she’d say, “if we can prevent so and so’s murder, then we are morally obligated as officer’s of the law.”
    Bull pucky. Any Tom, Dick or Harry who died that long ago should stay dead. What business did he have traipsing through the past stirring up Lord knows what kind of mischief?
    “I’ll tell you this, Kathleen Rayson Templeton,” Mitch shook a finger in his partner’s imaginary face. “We’ve got more than enough criminal activity on our plate in the here and now. There is no reason for us to look for more.”
    Mitch fished in his pocket for the car keys. He’d go see Kat and tell her exactly what was what. When he withdrew his hand, the crumpled computer sheet fell to the ground. He stooped to pick it up. Bent over, hands on knees, he froze, holding his breath. Laying there all balled up, it made him think of a coiled rattlesnake. If I touch it, the damn thing will bite me, he thought. Bite me so bad no one will be able to save me.
    Suddenly a puff of wind rolled the paper several inches closer to his feet; it began to unfold like a flower.
    Childishly, he began to bargain with the monster hidden within the paper. “Here’s the deal, if you open up any more I promise to take another shot at Park Street. On the other hand, if you stay wadded up, I’ll forget all this nonsense. What do you say?”
    The paper lay still, as though considering his offer, then it crinkled and another crease opened, revealing one name: Jane Doe.
    “Forget it. I’m staying right here. There’s too much voodoo shit in the air.”
    * * *
    The comforting aroma of chicory coffee filled the yellow shiplap house. Kat leaned her elbows on the counter and watched as the water completed its journey through the machine innards and into the glass decanter. Her sense of time was all screwed up. How could she have showered, and taken the weird trip to la-la land, before ten cups of water filtered through the pot? It made no sense. But then, the past few hours weren’t exactly stellar examples of the sane and normal.
    She removed the pot from beneath the drip spout, not caring as the final drops skittered and danced across the heated surface, she needed a jolt of reality. And nothing was more real than the bitter taste of chicory coffee.
    Icy fingers wrapped around the steaming mug, she pushed through the screened door and walked out to the back yard. She sat in a small patch of early sunlight, pulling the soft terry cloth robe tighter and tighter against her trembling body, hoping the warmth could drive the dark chill away.
    Like an excited child in a toy store, her mind raced from one thing to another as the sun climbed in the sky. Back and forth, between the disappearing Honda, to the man on Park Street, to the display window, to the phone call. On and on she raced, until an exhausted terry cloth bundle fell asleep in the bright morning light.
    As the sun dropped below the horizon, Kat retreated inside, carefully locking the door behind her. She traveled from room to room, turning on every light and closing the curtains at each window. Her nest secured, she curled up on the sofa and pulled her mother’s favorite blue afghan up to her chin. However, the old blanket, a cherished friend that had given