TimeSlip , livre ebook

Diamond Crime Books Ltd - Phil Rowlands

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109 pages

English

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Description

Ian Chambers is in trouble and under pressure, guilt ridden and struggling to complete the first draft of his novel. On a stormy night on a Yorkshire beach, he experiences something so terrifying that he questions his sanity. In a desperate search for a rational explanation, he risks losing not only reality as he knows it... but his very existence.

Sujets

Thriller

Informations

Publié par	Diamond Crime Books Ltd
Date de parution	18 mars 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781915649058
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After many years as an actor in film and television Phil moved into writing and producing feature films, series and single dramas for TV, radio, documentary and animation.
He has written three psychological thrillers, Siena, Single Cell and Time Slip .
Through his company, Funky Medics, he produced, devised and wrote, animations and comic books for the UK, Europe and US on health education.
Originally from Pembrokeshire, West Wales, he now lives near Cardiff .
Visit: philrowlandswriter.com
Published in Great Britain in 2022
By Diamond Crime

ISBN 978-1-915649-05-8

Copyright © 2022 Phil Rowlands

The right of Phil Rowlands to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Diamond Crime is an imprint of Diamond Books Ltd.

Thanks to Steve, Greg, Jen and all at Diamond Crime

Book design: jacksonbone.co.uk
Cover photograph: iStock

Also by Phil Rowlands
Siena
Single Cell

For information about Diamond Crime authors and their books, visit:
www.diamondbooks.co.uk

Dedicated to:
Jen, my calm in the storm and my wonderful and growing family.

Time Slip
A story of time and place

PHIL ROWLANDS

CHAPTER ONE

March 1943
North Beach
Bridlington, Yorkshire

It was the worst night since the catastrophic storms over New Year.
Huge waves battered the shoreline, howling winds and icy rain whipped and twisted, and cracking thunder and jagged lightning echoed around the sides of the bay. It was not a night to brave the elements, but two policemen dressed in heavy capes and helmets, one shorter with a slight limp, were almost at the end of the deserted promenade, their bodies leaning into the ferocious gale, metal-toed-and-heeled boots clicking and sliding on the saturated surface.
They stopped at the top of the steep steps that led down to the beach, their heads coming together briefly, then the one with the limp moved carefully and slowly down onto the slippery wooden treads. He hesitated then, as the other turned and headed toward a hut that sat under an overhang leaning out from the high cliff behind it, shouted to him, his hands cupped around the sides of his mouth. It took a moment for the other to hear then he stopped, looked around, and, seeing the beckoning arm, went back. He listened, his ear close to the other’s mouth, then nodded and followed him down to the sand. They struggled against the wind and rain as the sea pounded the beach. In the distance ahead of them, at the far edge of the cove, the outline of a Lookout post was just visible.
Suddenly, the taller man caught a brief flickering beam of yellow light bouncing close to it. He shook the wet out of his eyes. The light flashed again and lit up shadows and stones in the wall. He grabbed the other’s arm, pointed towards the Lookout, and shouted “A light!” The two men stared, waiting for it to reappear, then, when it didn’t, they hurried towards the building. It was exhausting pushing through the buffeting and blasting of the storm and the one with the limp found it hard to keep up and almost fell as he tried to match the other’s speed.
When they got there, they paused for breath, then moved around, careful to keep below the long, narrow observation slit, until they reached a wooden door where the rock face behind gave some shelter. The one who’d stumbled reached inside his cape, took out a truncheon and held it at head height. He grasped the metal door handle, slippery in the wet, and with difficulty turned it and slowly pushed the door open. The other pulled out a torch and turned it on. The beam was dim, the batteries almost out, or damp. He shook his head and they stood there, listening for any sounds that weren’t their own.
The light from the torch died suddenly and the darkness was absolute then a sudden zigzag explosion of lightning directly above them reflected on the long blade of a knife as it slammed through cape, uniform, and deep into flesh.

* * *

The Present
North Beach
Bridlington, Yorkshire

It was a rough, miserable, and grey day: the wind howling and the rain pelting. Ian Chambers, tall, rumpled, forty-nine, writer, wrapped in heavy coat and drop-eared cap against the drenching wet and bitter cold, battled the storm from the end of the deserted promenade to a small shelter overlooking North Beach. Maybe the sight and sound of nature’s raw power would clear the shit out of his head and make space for a genius solution to gestate and grow. A solution that would give him an ending for his latest novel, an ending that made sense and would leave the reader, if not totally fulfilled, at least satisfied.
His mobile vibrated and rang. He turned his back to the sea and checked the caller id.
“Fuck!”

Chapter TWO

He hurtled out of South Kensington underground station and waited, jiggling with impatience and a sudden need to pee, for a red light to stop the mid-morning traffic, then dodged across the road, just missing a cyclist slinking on and off the pavement, and swerving around an old woman carrying a large box as she hesitated on the kerb. He looked at his watch. Shit! He was so late. He picked up speed and rounded a corner, then turned into a small mews between a flower shop and a coffee boutique. He reached the door of an elegant white town house and touched the video pad button for the Thane Literary Agency. A very young, very classy, but slightly sneering face looked out at him. “Yes?”
Two-way video. That was new since he’d been here last.
“It’s Ian, I’ve got a meeting with Janey at ten thirty.”
A pause as her eyes flicked away.
“It’s nearly quarter to.”
“I know. I’m late.”
“You are.” A condescending, tight-lipped little smile twitched and went.
He controlled himself. No point getting angry. He needed to get in now and antagonising her would get a negative reaction, make him even later and Janey even more tetchy. He smiled and hoped that calm and charm might work.
“Please, let me in, sweetheart.”
It didn’t!
“Is she expecting you?”
Of course she’s fucking expecting me!
He took a breath. “Yes.”
There was a pause as her eyes narrowed and she searched for something lost in the ‘no reason to remember’ bin.
“Er… Ian…?”
He felt a roar of response, the words bubbling behind his lips, ready to explode out and batter her into submission. Don’t! You need her to let you in. Stop it! Keep calm!
“Chambers.”
She looked blankly at him. For fuck’s sake!
“Ian Chambers, I’m one of her writers.” Jesus Christ. He’d been with Janey for nearly ten years; although this was his first trip down to London for months and he couldn’t remember if this was the same dim door ward as last time. None of them stayed long but, male or female, they were all the same: rude, posh, and not very bright.
Ian knew today would be tricky. Usually, he was admonished on Zoom or FaceTime but, because he’d missed another deadline, this was going to be a very sharp slap, probably alongside the threat of having to pay back his miserable advance for the months-late draft of his book. And all that would be much more painful and effective administered in person by the Dragon, hence the summons.
“Just a minute.”
He fought an urge to smash the video pad and splinter the face it held as the door opened and a woman came out.
He knew her. Jaz Stevens, a BAFTA-winning screenwriter, who also had Janey as her agent. She smiled at his obvious distress. “Did she forget you… again? Too old to be of interest!” She kissed him. “You’re a bit sticky, darlin’.”
“I know, I ran, I’m late…”
The face on the pad came into focus. “What was your last name again?”
Jaz moved quickly out of the way as Ian pounced towards the door. “Janey is in a foul mood. Best not to annoy her with your witty words.”
“Perfect.” He moved quickly past her. “Thanks, Jaz, let’s grab a drink soon.”
“I’ll be in the Bell for a bit. I’m meeting Phil Gethin for a bitch about our exes.”
Ian had just reached the stairs and turned his head towards her. “Can’t today. I’ll call you when I’m next coming down.”
“Make sure you do. Have fun with the Dragon.”
She went and the door shut, swift and silent. Ian, not looking where he was going, tripped on the third step and landed on his knee, avoiding a full body crash with his hand and elbow.
“Fuck!”
Janey Howell was scary at her worst but could be frivolous and flirty when one of her writers brought in a large wedge of bestseller or film rights cash. Today she was the former. Not a spark of fun or even empathy touched her cold green eyes. Her age was hard to judge but she was somewhere in her early forties. Her husband was an academic and she had four kids. She was one of the three directors of the Thane Literary Agency and knew every sensitive part of body and mind in those she was eviscerating.
She had rated Ian’s writing highly and championed him when she first took him on, having been a driving force through a couple of critically acclaimed books, one a standalone psychological crime thriller and the other a coming-of-middle age journey that had touched hearts and brought in enough cash to e