Rewriting Time

Prologue

A/N: Written for the Mystery Party
Prompt used: Prompt 2
Word Count: 1000

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Sebastian Chase slammed the door to the office of his publisher behind him in frustration. This was the third time this month that the annoying, old coot had denied his request for a deadline extension. Why couldn't the man understand that writing mysteries wasn't as easy as people thought? Especially not for someone like him. Sebastian wrote by inspiration, and lately, he hadn't had much luck in finding it.

Ironically, he should be more appreciative of Randall Night since Dark Night Publishing was the only publishing house brave enough to offer him a contract for his Shadowman Trilogy. Good thing that was still raking in money, otherwise even the plucky 70-year-old Randall would have kicked him out on his ass a long time ago.

Sebastian sighed and fished out his earbuds from the front pocket of his hoodie. Jamming them into his ears, he swiped through his phone's playlist and tapped on the 1920's selection. He didn't know why he always found those old songs comforting. Shadowman wouldn't have been written if not for the inspiring music of Paul Whiteman, Leo Reisman or Johnny Marvin. Perhaps his ex-girlfriend, Lizzie, was right in saying that he was born in the wrong era. Too bad. He would've been happy in the '20's. Lizzie would've been, too.

Shaking the funk that was threatening to overwhelm him again, Sebastian jogged down the steps of the subway, whistling along Chester Gaylord's 'Nobody but You'. He was turning the corner when a hard body crashed into him, almost knocking him over. If not for his quick reflexes, honed by years of baseball, the man would've fallen flat on his face. He clamped two hands on the man's shoulders to steady him.

"Are you alright, sir?" he asked, peering down at the man's dark eyes. Sebastian removed his earbuds and stashed them inside the hoodie's front pocket while he scrutinized the stranger before him. He appeared to be of Middle Eastern descent. The buff-colored trench coat, worn over a gray suit, was impeccable. A brown fedora sat atop his head, covering his wavy, raven hair. His weathered face was partially obscured by a thick, salt and pepper beard. All in all, he looked like a man from a bygone era. From the '20's, in fact.

"You have to go back," the man gasped in heavily accented English. "Please, Time's running out!"

Sebastian wondered if the man simply had him confused with someone else or was just plain nuts. He started to step away when the man grabbed the front of his hoodie.

"Sir, I think you've mistaken me for-"

"You don't belong here! They're going to kill you," the man rasped, his eyes flared in alarm.

"Everything will be destroyed if you don't go back-"

"Go back where?" Sebastian blurted before he could stop himself.

The man was about to reply when the sound of running feet echoed from the darkened part of the subway, startling him. He flashed a last terrified look at Sebastian before dashing up the stairs without looking back. Within seconds, three, burly men were running after the old man. Sebastian debated between chasing after them and dialing 911. Curiosity won over in the end. Taking the stairs two steps at a time, Sebastian was just clearing the top when he saw the pursuers of the old man step out of an alcove, looking around like they were searching for something. Or someone.

Instinctively, Sebastian darted behind the nearest pillar, hoping that the effort had not been in vain. Sweat broke out on his forehead as adrenaline pumped through his veins enabling him to hear the men's footsteps despite the usual subway noises. Still, he took a cautious peek before leaving the safety of his hiding place. Satisfied that the three men were truly gone, Sebastian dashed towards the alcove. He didn't have to be an experienced investigator to know that a crime had been committed.

Sprawled on the floor was the old man, two red spots blooming on his chest. Sebastian knelt down and pressed two fingers against the man's throat. There was no pulse. A cold chill trickled down Sebastian's back. The man was dead. Murdered! That wasn't surprising. Death wasn't a stranger here, what with all the muggings that had become characteristic of this place. But this was just so...surreal! He had just been talking to the man, for Pete's sake! Suddenly, the stranger's warnings rang inside Sebastian's brain.

Am I also in danger? What was the old man trying to tell me? And why did he keep on saying that I should go back? Go back where? Was he paranoid or delusional? Or was he telling the truth? Was that why he was killed? And who were those men? Actually, who was this old man and why did he seem to know me?

The rising stench of blood in the air pulled Sebastian from his thoughts.

Shit! I shouldn't be here!

Jumping to his feet, Sebastian ran out of the alcove and down the steps of the subway. He must get as far away from here as possible. He didn't want to get mixed up with whatever intrigue the old man had been involved in - imagined or not. Joining the throng hurrying onto the nearest available car, Sebastian squeezed his way in and took the seat farthest from the door. He slumped back with a sigh, nerves exhausted and frayed, wondering what else could go wrong before the day was through.

When he slipped a hand inside the hoodie's pocket to retrieve his earbuds, his fingers brushed against something small and square. That surely wasn't there before! Carefully, he took it out, afraid that it was a bomb. It wasn't. It was a clear crystal box with a silver lid, a very expensive-looking pocketwatch resting on the white cushion at its bottom.

And engraved on the lid were the words that almost stopped his heart:

"To Sebastian,
Happy 25th Birthday
Love, Elizabeth
7th October, 1923"

What the hell?