Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

disappeared, his natural aloofness re-established itself. He indicated the large stack of graded papers on his desk. “I think that’s enough for one night.”
    Elizabeth shook her head. ”I’m okay.”
    “You can finish the rest tomorrow and drop them off at my house.”
    A yawn squelched any protest she was going to make. “All right. I could use some good sleep for a change. I’ve been having this dream. Very David Lynch. Totally and completely unnerving.”
    Simon dropped his pen and quickly retrieved it. “I see.”
    Elizabeth shrugged and packed her bag. “I’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”
    She turned back to say goodnight and found him staring at her again with the oddest expression on his face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
    He seemed to come back to himself. “Yes, of course. Goodnight, Miss West.”
    “Good night, Professor,” she said and left the office, her footfalls echoing down the empty hallway.
    Simon gripped his pen so tightly his knuckles were white with the strain. The mention of her dream brought back the memory of his nightmare from the last few nights. He’d wanted desperately to ask her about her dream, to tell her about his, but felt too foolish. What could he say? I dreamt about you last night. Don’t know any details, but you died a horrible death. Have a good night. Pillock.
    He forced himself to put down his pen and pushed away the fresh wave of anxiety that threatened to pull him under. He’d managed for most of the day to forget, to feel safe in having her by his side. He couldn’t say anything, but he couldn’t let her walk away either. Before he knew it, he was on his feet and hurrying out into the hall. She was nearly at the corner when he caught her. May I walk you to your car?”
    Elizabeth started and then blinked at him in surprise. “I’m right outside,” she said pointing to the doorway around the bend. “It’s not really far enough for a walking to.”
    He hadn’t expected her to refuse and felt like a schoolboy who’d been turned down for a date. “Yes, well then. Good night, Miss West,” he said and turned back toward his office before he could make a bigger fool of himself. He walked into his office and closed the door. The main door to the building closed with a thud, and he put his hand to his forehead. Gibbering dolt. Tongue-tied over a woman half his age.
    Moments later, he heard voices outside and looked out his office window. Elizabeth waved goodbye to someone then walked alone into the parking lot.
    He watched her through the slats of the louvered blinds. He was used to being on the inside looking out. It was how he lived. The loneliness had become a welcome companion, reinforcing old memories and keeping him safe from new ones.
    He scanned the darkness for unseen dangers, but the night was quiet and still. Elizabeth made her way to her decrepit VW Bug and unlocked it. She opened the door, but didn’t get in. She paused and lifted her head as if she’d heard something. Simon felt his heart lurch. He strained to see the threat, ready to go to her. After a painfully long moment, she shook her head and got into the car.
    Simon let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and watched her pull out of the lot. He stood at the window long after the red of her tail lights had been swallowed by the night. What was it about that woman that left him feeling so undone? He was a solitary man, by choice and by circumstance. He’d grown used to living according to his own whim and no one else’s. Then Elizabeth West had come into his life. She was curious, honest, unafraid and completely maddening. He had managed perfectly well without her and yet, he couldn’t quite remember how.

Chapter Two
    T he fall evening air was crisp, as crisp as it got in Southern California. A cool breeze swept over the finely manicured lawn in front of Professor Cross’ house. Elizabeth tugged her T-shirt down more securely over her navel and thought about grabbing a sweater from the backseat. She shifted the stack of papers in her arms and peered through the dirty car window. There was a sweater in there somewhere, buried under the piles of books. Wasn’t worth the effort, she decided. After all, this was a hit and run. Drop the papers off and then back to the library. Again. Her tiny matchbox apartment was not conducive to studying. Neighbors who thought they were on a daytime talk show and pipes that liked to sing off-key were just a few of the