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there's no light. If she's at
Katherine's, she's somewhere else in the house.
    Slowly, being careful of my aching head, I slide to the
floor and reach under the bed, prying up the loose floorboard. Maybe she left a
note in the diary? I'm grasping at straws now; she's never left a note there
before and sure enough, there's nothing new. The buzzing noise peaks again and
I feel this odd tingle, almost like an electrical charge running through my
body. And then, as quick as it came, the sensation is gone and the buzzing
levels off.
    I toss the diary onto the bed next to the Conan Doyle book.
Then, I reach back under the floorboards. I move the little box that holds the
rest of my cash from the Marvin Hart bet and grab another bandage and a small
plastic bag, pushing the dozen or so pills inside the bag around with my finger
until I locate two of the round red tablets Kate takes when she has a headache.
I dry swallow them, wishing I had some water to wash away the slightly sweet
aftertaste, but there's none in the room and I'm not up for a trek down the
hall. I reach for the open tin of mints, not even looking, and my fingers hit
the top of the container. I stare at the box for long time. It was open when I
arrived. Wasn't it?
    The odd tingle hits me again, disconcerting, almost painful,
but fleeting. My peripheral vision catches a movement to the right of me. When
I turn everything is in the same place. Even though there's no one in the room,
I still can't shake the feeling I'm not alone.
    Is paranoia a side effect of concussion?
    The medallion is still in the palm of my hand and I pull up
today at 12:20, ten minutes before the alarm on the cell phone went off. It's
no longer a matter of idly wondering what time Kate left. I need to see her,
even if I can't reach her.
    The room is so dark that I can barely make out our shapes in
the bed. Kate's head is near my shoulder, her left hand on my chest. I pull in a
shaky breath, relieved, and then the image distorts, and I can't see her. I'm
there, but she's not.
    I scan a few minutes back and stare at the display,
unwilling to look away until she appears. Finally, I see her body next to mine
in the bed, a few strands of her hair crisscrossing my arm. I snap my eyes shut
instantly, silently praying that I can make the jump. But it's wasted effort.
I'm rooted to this time and whatever is going on, I can't change it. I can't
warn her.
    For the next twenty minutes, I can barely move, barely
breathe. Although I hear the buzz occasionally and look toward the sound, I
don't see anything unusual. Then I catch a movement out of the corner of my
eye. It's Kate, standing by the window. At least I think it's her, until I turn
my head and nothing is there.
    All I can do is wait for the time
shift. And hope against hope that I'm wrong, that wherever and whenever Kate
may be at nine-twenty seven tonight, she's under the protection of a CHRONOS
medallion.
    That reminds me that we're down one key now, thanks to the
muggers in the alley. Except…they weren't muggers. That fact hits me all at
once, with total certainty. The timing is much too close to be coincidence.
Someone wanted me to have no memory of the previous timeline.
    But why?
    The buzzing picks up again, the sound moving first toward
the door, then back toward the bed. For a moment, it looks like the door jumps
out at me. And it's not a single buzz now. I hear three or four separate
noises, each a slightly different pitch.
    There's a momentary ripple of shadow and color at the room's
center and for the tiniest second, I think I see a hand. Kate's
hand, reaching toward me. But before that thought even registers, I see
that nothing's there.
    The noise soars until it's nearly a roar. I pull my arms up
to my ears to shield myself from the deafening whine. I crouch, eyes closed,
head down, until the sound tapers off and the room is totally, eerily silent.
    I look up, and as I do, I realize something isn't right with
the door. It's pulled shut, but