Keith Hughes [Hughes - Stolen Time

Table of Contents

Dedication

For Julayne,

without whom none of this would be possible

Copyright Notices

Timehunt: Stolen Time

Second Edition

Copyright 2019 by Keith Hughes

ISBN: 978-0-9799918-2-0

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including information storage and/or retrieval systems, or dissemination of any electronic version, without prior written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review, and except where permitted by law.

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people, or events, is purely coincidental.

Cover art by Starla Hutchton ( http://www.designedbystarla.com )

Editing services provided by Red Adept Editing ( http://redadeptediting.com )

In this fast-paced, action-packed sequel, Ness thought he was done with the power-hungry villains of Intellisys, but when his wife is murdered right in front of him, he is forced to use Dr. Bertrand's time machine again to bring her back, setting in motion a chase through time and a series of events that could bring disaster to his family and the world after all if he can't stop the leaders of Intellisys once more.

Susie D., Line Editor, Red Adept Editing

Keiths Books

For an up-to-date list of Keiths titles, visit Keiths Amazon Author Page .

The Timehunt Series

Timehunt: Borrowed Time Timehunt: Stolen Time Timehunt: Wayward Time (Coming 2020)

Do you want to get a monthly email from Keith with the latest news on his books, as well as early access to new content? Go to Penslinger.com/newsletter and sign up. You will never receive any spam, and your information will never be given to third parties.

CHAPTER ONE: Guilty

Tuesday, June 8, 2010, 4:15 p.m.

A corpse is always bad news, Ness mused as he trod the faded-green-carpeted stairs. The fabric was covered in so many stains that they seemed like part of the pattern. But from the little he had been told outside, he knew the condition of the carpet would seem pretty good after he got a glimpse of the deceased, yet another poor sod whose time had run out or more likely had it wrested from his grasp by violent means. Ness rarely got called out for people who had died peaceably in their beds.

A distinct smell grew to overpowering as he gained the second floor, a silent yet unmistakable harbinger of what he would find. The cadaver had clearly been lying around for some time, growing more rancid by the minute. He wrinkled his nose at the stench. Of course, a fresher body would be better.

People who created dead bodies were notoriously poor at cleaning up after themselves. Because of that, Ness had become familiar with the unfortunate smell of decomposing flesh.

A solitary police officer was standing guard at a door, a stoic figure in the miasma that enveloped the hallway. She was a long-time acquaintance from many crime scenes and had a formidable reputation as an unmitigated man-eater. Indeed, her eyes traveled along his nearly six-foot frame, taking in his muscular build, before finally finding their way to his face and sandy-brown hair.

Hiya, Trace, Ness said to the cop.

She gave him a rueful grin. Hey, Ness. Here for the fun, eh?

He could remember when she practically threw herself at him, a slice of time Tracy no longer remembered, but his wedding band made her much more pleasant to be around.

Guess so. Smells like a bad one.

Tracy laughed. Oh, you haven't had the full experience yet. It's much worse inside. She winked. No air conditioning.

Ness winced as Tracy opened the door with a knowing chuckle. He waded through a surge of heat and olfactory putrescence as she shut the door, trapping him inside. The effluvium intensified until it acquired nearly physical proportions. The smell combined with the sweltering temperature made the space almost unbearable. The small apartment could be compared to a kiln. It had been a hot week for early June, typical unpredictable Michigan weather serving a late-July heat wave a few weeks early. Someone had attempted to improve conditions in the apartment by opening the windows, but without any kind of breeze, the heat remained oppressive and the stench foul.

Ness got his bearings just inside the door. Even with the unfavorable conditions, he had a job to do. He had been inside too many apartments like that one to let the environment affect him overly much. Years spent as a freelance forensic photographer had hardened him to the results of death. His role was to document the scene in its untouched state, which exposed him to the grisly reality others left behind when they broke the sixth commandment.

He took his camera bag from his shoulder and set it on the carpeted floor then removed a pair of blue latex gloves and slid his hands into them, the tight material adhering to the sweat they instantly invoked. Retrieving his camera, Ness took stock of the apartment. The small living room was cluttered but otherwise unremarkable. The only out-of-place item looked to be the cordless phone with its battery removed on the coffee table. Ness lifted his camera and recorded the entire room.

The shutter click echoed loudly in the stillness, and it drew the attention of Detective Frank Sullivan. He appeared in the bedroom doorway, his puffy face red and sweaty, and raised a hand in greeting. Ness noted the sweat stains on the button-down shirt straining over the detective's Buddha-like belly.

Back here, Ness, Frank called.

As he made his way to the rear of the apartment, the odor thickened. It permeated his senses until he could taste it on the air. After a brief handshake, blue-clad digits grasping, Frank led him into the bedroom and the source of the smell. A large black man lay on his back atop the dated shag carpet, several days dead. His skin was stretched tightly over his puffy form due to decomposition. The front of the victim's shirt bore rust-colored stains from dried blood surrounding several stab wounds.

Nothing beats having a body cooking for three days during the hottest week of the summer, Frank growled.

Ness silently agreed and turned his attention to taking pictures of the body, the mussed bed, and the shards of pottery arrayed around the corpse's head.

Not a suicide, I'm guessing, Ness quipped as he took photo after photo. It drew a guffaw from the police officer.

Naw, I've pretty much ruled that out. Frank grinned.

The reflection from a scratched black knife handle on the rug caught Nesss attention from across the room. The blade had snapped off.

Broken knife, Ness commented as he documented the handle's position in the room, then he got close-ups of the broken blade.

I've got a good idea where the rest of it is. Frank looked at the body. No more tomorrows for this poor bastard, eh?

Ness paused and looked at his friend. Frank was still gnawing his nicotine gum in an attempt to stay off cigarettes, sadly regarding the deceased.

Getting philosophical in your old age?

Frank met his eyes and gave him a sheepish grin. Been thinking about retirement lately, he admitted. My mind's been on the future a lot.

Ness resumed his work for another minute until the camera emitted the steady whine of the film rewinding into its canister. That's understandable. He pulled a new roll of film from his pocket.

Do you think about it?

The future?

Frank nodded.

Ive already saved the future for everyone. Even as that notion flashed through Ness's mind, he pushed it aside. The camera stopped whirring, and he pressed the button to pop the back open, pulled out the metal canister containing the exposed film, and replaced it with the unexposed roll.

Next page