WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (4 page)

T
he shutters were
down on the shops.  The streets quiet bar distant traffic sounds.  I
parked my scratched Corsa then walked to the meet point near the main shopping
area.  A crowd of young people strolled ahead along my side of the path,
revealing Lee outside a small lingerie store. 

I
waved, then lowered my arm when he spotted me. 

He
was hovering by the display window, had stiff shoulders and was tapping his
foot.  The wind lifted his floaty fringe of hair off his face.

I
strolled over.

“Hey. 
Thanks for coming,” he said politely, but bewilderment was etched across his
face.  “I’ll get straight to the point.”

“Suits
me.”

“Why
did you ask me to check my brother’s emails?”

“Someone
sent me the phrase ‘Tick, tock.  Your number’s up,’ in an email the other
day.  I tried to tell you on Saturday night.”

Lee’s
eyes snapped wide open.  They were chestnut brown and had a luminous
warmth which reminded me of glossy chocolate sauce.  “In an email, you
say?  What else do you know?”

I
slipped my hands in my jean pockets.  “I hoped you might be able to tell
me
what it’s about.”

“You
mentioned a computer virus on Saturday.  Why?”

“I
thought my email might contain a virus.”  I lowered my gaze.  “But
something—”

“Go
on.  Spit it out.”  He motioned with his hand.

I
met his eyes again.  “Something just feels wrong.  I wondered if your
brother first read that phrase in a similar—”

His
posture became ruler-straight.  “Email?”

“I’m
sure I sound silly, but yes.  Finding out that your brother is dead, and
that phrase sounding like his dying words, ending up in my inbox, well, it kind
of freaked me out.”

He
leaned against the brick wall.  “So, you’re wondering whether there’s a
link between you and Daryl?”

I
nodded.  “I guess so.”

“And
between the email, his text, and death?”

I
folded my arms and stifled a laugh at myself.  “I know it sounds
ridiculous.  But, basically, yes.”

Lee’s
face hardened.  The fact that he didn’t mock me came as a relief, but it
also worried me.  I narrowed my eyes.  Was he just humouring me?

“I
don’t think it sounds ridiculous at all,” he said, searching my face with his
eyes.  “Something’s not right about my brother’s death, so you’ve got my
attention.”

I
traded a suspicious stare with Lee, eyes burning into each other for what
seemed like forever. 

He
took a deep breath.  “Let’s find out what’s going on, shall we?” 

Lee
turned his back and walked ahead of me along the street.  I wanted to
discover if my email was connected to his dead brother.

Or
did I?

I
gnawed the inside of my lip, then moved and followed him. 

He
passed the lingerie store and turned the corner.  “Come on.  I don’t
know when the cafe closes,” he said, speeding ahead as if he’d just cottoned on
to the importance of time.

“Eh? 
You want coffee?”

A
row of shutters rattled on the approach to the main shopping area.  Lee
stopped, whirled around and waited at the entrance to a building.

I
jogged nearer.  When almost in reach, my phone rang.  Laura. 
“Can’t talk.  Phone you later.”  I hung up, and jogged over to
Lee.  Ahr, the internet café.  It was new and I’d never been here
before.  “I get it.”

Lee
held the door open. 

I ducked
under his arm, stepped inside and stood under the bright spotlights at the
entrance.  Numerous desks fenced in by bright, colourful wall dividers
sectioned the room into booths.  The earthy smell of fresh coffee
permeated the air.  I heard the grind of a printer in the background.

Lee
pointed to a more private booth on the far wall.  “We’ll sit there.” 
He walked over, sat down, then wheeled the other chair out and gestured for me
to join him. 

I
sat down. 
It will all turn out to be a misunderstanding, and then I
can concentrate on cheering Laura up.

Lee
swept his long fringe of hair away from his lashes and pointed to the computer
screen in front of us.  “Let’s get to the bottom of this.”

I
was savvy enough to work out what he wanted, but his low-level grunt confused
me.  It was like he already knew what was going to happen.  I went
with it, swivelled my chair until my bent knees slid under the desk.  Dust
motes swirled in a pocket of light, highlighting the keyboard from above. 
I cupped my hand over the mouse, resting my wrist on the foam mat. 

A
waitress approached our booth. 

“Give
us a few minutes, please,” Lee said. 

Five
new messages waited in my email inbox.  Most were junk, but, spotting one
marked
‘urgent’
planted a seed of dread deep within me.

“Oh,
God!  I think I’ve got another one here.”  While my heart tapped a
tune of dread against my ribcage, I closed my eyes and wondered whether I
wanted to open the message.  Emma’s attempt to put a stop to further
emails must have failed. 

This
was what I’d hankered for, to find out why it felt like a dead guy was stalking
me all weekend.  However, I had a breathy moment of uncertainty that I
didn’t want this to go any further.  I imagined the computer crashing, to
give me pause to think.  No.  I couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling
that something was wrong, and that Lee had sensed it, too. 
Face it
. 
I opened my eyes and told myself,
it’s just an email, it’s not as though
it’s going to bite me.

The
cursor jumped around the screen.  I tried to keep my hand from shaking,
but couldn’t. 

Lee
stretched across my lap and placed his hand on top of mine.  “Let’s see
what the message says, shall we? 

I
met his eyes.  “Sure.”

We
clicked on the link to open the mail.  Lee stared so intently at the
screen, I could easily have mistaken him for someone who’d never seen an email
before.

The
speaker volume sounded low, but not low enough to mute the sharp notes. 
Tick, tick, tick, repeated in the background as it had in the email I opened on
Saturday, mirroring my mounting anxiety.

I
nudged Lee’s hand away and scrolled up and down, then stopped. 

I
stared at the title words on the screen:

‘Your
number’s up!
’ 

Lee
paled within a second.  “Oh, hell!” he choked out.  “I was afraid it
would be the same.”

Lee’s
reaction was larger than I’d expected.  It put me on edge.

The
email design was near identical to the first one I’d received, but the clock it
displayed was different.  Instead of digital, an hourglass timer was in
view.  The black sand ran like treacle through the narrow gap, sliding
into a heap in the bottom dome.  Half of the sand had already run
through. 

I
scrolled down a touch.  The words ‘number two,’ shifted up the screen.

Lee’s
body twitched beside me, so I glanced at his face.  Confusion flickered in
his wide-open eyes.  He looked worried. 

I
faced the computer screen again, moved the mouse and centred the image. 
There it was.  A second timer.

“What’s
this for?” I asked.

Lee’s
breath grew louder.  “Some sort of game.” 

A
block of twelve black squares were positioned to the left of a digital
clock.  Three squares high and four wide.  They reminded me of a
large, scratchcard panel.  A question mark decorated the centre of each
square.  I focused and read the small print beneath: 

‘Find
two pairs of matching symbols to stop the clock, or pay for what you’ve done.’

The
small timer had already begun counting down.

“Eh? 
I didn’t notice this on the last email.  What’s going on?” I asked, trying
to make sense of it.

Twenty
seconds of playtime remained.  Not enough time to think about it logically
or to wonder why the game existed. 

“You’d
better do something, quick,” Lee said.  “Here, let me.”

“No. 
I can do it.”  I clicked on two random squares on the panel.  They
flipped over revealing the reverse side.  The symbols didn’t match so I
clicked on another square, but, it didn’t flip round.  “It won’t work.”

Lee
grunted. 

After
trying and re-trying, I finally clicked on the previous two squares, which
flipped back over to their original position.  I knew in this instant I’d
wasted precious seconds. 

The
timer ran to zero.

“It’s
over,” Lee said.  “Oh, hell.”

“What’s
happening?  I didn’t do it right, did I?”  I asked, perfectly aware
of the answer. 

I
squinted against a flash of light on the screen - bright, blinding and totally
unexpected.  The panel of squares blew up in animation, like fragments of
a popped balloon, but slower. 

The
speakers boomed out a crashing sound, and ‘Game over’ flashed onto the
screen. 

I
scrolled up the page.  “The hourglass timer’s still running.” 

Lee
faced me, grabbed my shoulders and stared into my eyes.  “Did you notice
the time on your other email?” Lee seemed to have an insight that I
didn’t.  “Was it clearer?  Digital?  Show me the other email.”

“Digital,
but my friend deleted it, figured it for a virus or something.”

Lee’s
lips pressed into a straight line and he made a throaty grumble.  He
removed his hands from me.  “Can you retrieve it?” he asked. 

With
my thoughts in a jumble, I clicked on the ‘recently deleted’ folder and found
it empty.

“No. 
Emma wiped everything.  But hold on, what was that game thing about?”

He
spoke in a rush, “We need to know how much time.”

How
much time until what?
 
“What’s going on here?  Why am
I
getting these emails?  Do you
know, or not?”

“How
much time you have
left
.”  His voice, frighteningly soft, sent a
line of prickles down my spine. 

I
didn’t like where this was leading.  “I don’t think I want to know any
more.  I wish I’d never—”

“The
timer on your other email, do you remember when it runs out?”  His voice
implied I was naive.  I wasn’t, but right now, naivety felt like the most
sheltered place to be. 

Steeling
myself for what I no longer wanted to learn, I tried to picture the numbers on
the first timer, but failed.

His
disturbing gaze left me, turned back to the screen. 

“I
don’t remember.  A few days, perhaps more.”  I scratched my
head.  “So, I was right?  This really is something to worry about,
isn’t it?”

“I
wish it wasn’t.”

Rather
than answer my questions properly, Lee leaned over, grabbed the mouse and
logged out.  “Move over a second.”  He pushed my chair to the side,
and typed into the search bar.  The patter and bashing on the keyboard
sounded like he was playing a short allegro on a muted piano. 

“What
are you doing, Lee?”

“I’m
sorry, Chelsea.”
“Why are
you
sorry?”

“This
is my brother’s email account.  You need to see this.”  He pointed at
the screen as if the answers to my questions waited there. 

A
familiar black background opened.  The title on the screen came into
focus. 

‘Tick,
tock.
 
Y
our number’s up first, Daryl.’
 

I
squirmed in my seat and nearly lost balance while trying to focus on the second
line:

‘People
have to pay for what they’ve done.’ 

Lee
scrolled down the page and a clock came into view.  It was digital. 
The numbers glowed golden like the first one I’d received, but with one
exception; the digits weren’t counting down.  I stared at a row of fixed
zeros.  This was a replica of my email, and it belonged to a dead man.

Lee
let out a heavy breath.  “I’m so sorry.  Your emails are
identical.  And look what happened to my brother.”

“So,
these are threats?  Someone’s trying to scare me?  Make me worry
that...”  I don’t know why I needed to hear an answer from him. 
Evidently, the emails were threats.

Lee
nodded while pointing at the big fat zero numbers on the screen.  “His
timer ran out.  He’s dead.”

I
tried to think of an alternative conclusion.  “The email and Daryl’s death
aren’t necessarily linked.  It could be a coincidence.”

“If
I hadn’t read your note I’d never have checked Daryl’s emails, because on
Saturday night I assumed you’d made it up, were drunk, or after a story,” Lee
said.  “But, I did check.  And I realise now that he
wanted
me
to find this message.  That’s why he texted me that phrase before he
died.”