Collection of Dreams

13 - Timekeeper Secrets

            Locking the door behind her, Whitney dashed down the steps of the building. The office had closed over an hour ago and she had been holed up in there, filing away some more paperwork. Secretary work was not any fun—do not try unless desperate, says the Warning sign. Especially when working over time, it could be deadly.

It was already eight something at night and the dim streetlights cast eerie shadows on the wall, dancing around Whitney. A small smile crept up on Whitney. The night was her friend, as well as her foe. For the longest time, she had been scared to death by darkness and being alone in the night. Now, she was only scared of needles—those sharp pointy things were huge!—and falling asleep and never waking up. Two things. Darkness had nothing on her—or so she told herself every time she was outside alone at night.

            Man, I do wish I had brought my car though.

            Not even a second after she began walking, she heard light, barely audible footsteps behind her. Her back grew tense and gradually, she slowed down. The footsteps didn't. In fact, they seemed to be getting closer.

            With a quick flick of her long hair, she turned her head slightly to peek over her shoulder. A form covered in black charged.

            With a shriek of surprise, she leaped to the side, clutching her purse to her side as she stumbled into the vine covered fence. As the stalker caught their balance, Whitney scrambled to find the pepper spray in her canvas bag. She bit her cheek hard as she remembered that she had switched bags. Having spilled marinara sauce on her normal bag during lunch the day before, she had forgotten to transfer everything over to this bag. Which means, no mace. Man, why'd I have to be such a klutz sometimes? She thought, mentally hitting herself over the head with a baseball bat.

            Panic started settling in. Having been the peacemaker for friends and family for as long as she could remember, she was used to being in stressful, negative situations that some other people probably wouldn't have been able to handle. This also meant that when there was negativity in the air, she would get anxious.

            Without ceremony, the attacker's forearm struck Whitney, locking her between the fence and her attacker. Whitney couldn't see the face of the attacker because of the hood covering their face.

            "Who are you?" Whitney gasped, her heart pounding in her chest as loud as the bass from a car's subwoofer amped to the max.

            "Who are you talking to? I am not here." A deep, deep voice reverberated through the air.

            Her mind slowly tried untangling the words around in her head.

            "You're just trying to confuse me. Don't." All that was seen of the attacker was a curving lip as he grinned.

            "They didn't remind me that you were the bossy type."

            "Who's 'they'?" Whitney demanded, her voice shaking. She cleared her throat once before clenching her teeth, "Who are you?"

            "The Timekeepers. You don't belong here, Whitney Preston."

            Whitney's face heated up. Now she was getting angry. First this guy attacked her and now he's telling her that she doesn't belong here. He was already beyond that line, so far past actually that the line was a tiny dot to him. She shoved him with her shoulders, bucking so he would release her. He did, out of surprise, but then his hand grasped her around the arm. Whitney's fist swung and clubbed him in the chin. She yelped as the pain radiated through her fist. I have time to get away, she thought. Just as she was about to make a run for it, another thought pierced her mind. Then I'll never know. Never know. With a snort of derision toward her evident curiosity, she spun back around and kneed the man in the gut, making him fall back down to his knees.

            "Who are you?"

            No response.

            She crouched down beside him, just out of arm's reach. With a flick of his wrist, the hood fell off. The man's hair stuck up in random places, in an array of golds and browns on top of his head. The gasp that tried to escape choked Whitney, preventing her from speaking. This can't be happening.

            "Honestly, Whit, do you not recognize your own brother?"