Time Stranger Read online

  Table of Contents

  TIME STRANGER

  Time Travel Romance

  By

  Elyse Douglas

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Quotation

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1 London 1944

  CHAPTER 2 New York City 2008

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER 27 London 1944

  CHAPTER 28 London 1944

  CHAPTER 29 New York City 2008

  CHAPTER 30 England 2008

  CHAPTER 31 England 2008

  CHAPTER 32 England 2008

  CHAPTER 33 England 2008

  CHAPTER 34 New York City 2008

  EPILOGUE New York City 2008

  Thank You

  TIME STRANGER

  Time Travel Romance

  By

  Elyse Douglas

  Copyright

  Time Stranger

  Copyright © 2021 by Elyse Douglas

  All rights reserved.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The copying, reproduction and distribution of this e-book via any means, without permission of the author, is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and refuse to participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s intellectual property rights is greatly appreciated.

  Dedication

  For Kathy

  Quotation

  “People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

  —Albert Einstein

  PART ONE

  CHAPTER 1

  London 1944

  ANNE BILLINGS HEARD THE EERIE WHINE of air raid sirens and the deep-throated drone of German bombers approaching from the east. Her eyes turned skyward, seeing the barrage balloons floating lazily in the sky to discourage low-level attacks. But these bombers were not flying at a low level. They were flying high, above ten thousand feet.

  A sickening fear seized her stomach, and she grasped four-year-old Tommy’s little hand so tightly that he cried out, “Mummy, that hurts!”

  “Come on, Tommy, hurry, we have to run for it. We have to get to the shelter.”

  As she yanked him across the street, Tommy tilted his head back, his wide eyes viewing the mass of bombers filling the sky. He pointed, scared, on the verge of tears. “Are those airplanes going to drop bombs, Mummy?”

  The streets filled with panic as scattering crowds ran for the air raid shelter—struggling old men with canes; elderly women with stiff knees; mothers with babies cradled in their arms, their faces set in grim determination.

  An air raid warden blew his shrill whistle, frantically waving the streaming crowds toward the entrance of the shelter, only a block away.

  “Step lively, now! Step lively!”

  Above, the bombers burst through rusty clouds, visible now, the frightening drone of their engines filling Anne’s ears, the bombs already screaming earthward.

  Anne had been so close to seeing him. Just an underground ride away and they’d have met; she would have seen him and kissed him: First Lieutenant Kenneth Cassidy Taylor, her American sweetheart, Kenneth. They had planned to spend a wonderful day together, just the three of them—Tommy, Kenneth and her—a day she’d been looking forward to for so long.

  The sharp autumn wind scattered dry leaves and whipped up the red in Tommy’s cheeks as they hurried, breathless, almost at the shelter.

  Bombs whistled down, roaring, bursting, the deafening sound rolling like thunder, splitting earth and sky asunder as if it were the end of the world.

  A store to Anne’s right was struck by a bomb, and brick, wood and burning bodies were blown all over the street. A hot blast of wind whooshed in like a great fist, nearly knocking Anne off her feet. She screamed, tugging a terrified Tommy away.

  Wobbling on unsteady feet, she and Tommy stumbled on, as chaotic sparks rained down all around them.

  Out of control, a jeep roared by, plunged across the street and swerved, just missing them. It slammed into a lamppost, horn blaring, as a string of bombs blew out the side of a building. Bricks went flying, smoke billowed, and a wall collapsed, burying a young couple who’d been running for the shelter.

  A bright flash blinded Anne, and she threw up a hand to shade her eyes, squinting, disoriented and dizzy. She lost sight of the shelter. And then the horror seemed to unfold in slow motion. A bomb shattered a shop, glass flew, and in a whirlwind of heat and dust, Tommy was ripped from Anne’s hand. Another blast hurled her into the air, her body floating, weightless. She seemed to sail, her arms reaching, her legs kicking, her mouth stretched in shock.

  When she crashed to the pavement, the air burst from her lungs, and pain splintered her body. The stink of oil, blood and burning rubber assaulted her senses and, in her dazed stupor, she tried to reach, tried to speak—to call out for Tommy—but her diaphragm seized up in agonizing spasms. Her wild eyes searched, her mind a muddle, her body stunned by a knifing pain.

  Houses toppled, angry red flames shot up into the blackened sky, and bricks lay scattered about the street near tattered furniture, twisted overturned autos, and broken bodies. A few feet away, a smoking crater was all that remained of where the air raid warden had stood, waving them to the shelter.

  Someone staggered against a bombed-out building, face in their hands, the moaning sounds of death and destruction everywhere.

  A bomb came raining down and smashed into a row of houses; windows exploded, lampposts were blown high and whirling, bicycles flung, and bodies tossed. Anne felt herself flying, flailing and dying.

  In her head she screamed, “Tommy!”

  CHAPTER 2

  New York City 2008

  Anne swam up from the depths of dark dreams, swatting away fleeing images and faces, hearing terror screams, feeling pain shoot through her body. Her eyes seemed glued together, and she strained to open them. Bright light crashed in and she quickly squeezed them shut, her world spinning, her breathing labored.

  She shivered, heard voices and the wobbling cry of a siren. She felt hands touch her, and she struggled to push them away with arms that wouldn’t move, with hands that twitched, with a body that convulsed.

  Her mind screamed out panic and pain—such excruciating pain—that it finally engulfed her, and she dropped back into a dark ocean of sleep, where airplanes roared overhead, where bombs fell, and the smell of fear and death were all around her.

  She awoke, lost and searching. Her vision wouldn’t focus; every sound hurt, and she was strapped to the bed. There was the blur of movement and the echo of voices.

  What were those tubes, drips and beeping monitors? When her eyes opened fully, she saw orange, and she burned like fire. Something pricked her arm, and she faded away into blackness, the welcome cover of blackness.

  When she next awoke, she heard something odd and unfam
iliar—an IV pump alarm. She heard people whispering; the rasping sound of an airplane flying overhead; and a laundry cart rattling down the hospital corridor.

  Where was she? She was lying in a bed. Hospital? She was warm. Her head felt heavy and stuffed with cotton, her throat dry. Fatigue overwhelmed her again, and she dropped into a deep sleep.

  She awakened to the pungent smell of hospital disinfectant, the wheezing sound of her breath, and the persistent beep, beeping sound of something irritating. Why didn’t it stop?

  She floated up from the depths of sleep to consciousness, and her eyes fluttered open. Her head was bandaged to the tops of her eyes; her right shoulder was in an elaborate sling, and she had a long tube inserted into her wrist.

  An effort to move brought dull pain. Another try failed, as a drugged clumsiness kept her still and scared. She noticed that a privacy curtain was open just enough for her to see her room was dimly lit, with a window to her left revealing darkness beyond it.

  Her eyes lifted to see a blank monitor perched up high and angled down, and she saw her own vague reflection in it. What is that? she thought. As she gradually awakened to nearly full consciousness, a sudden sense of fear and danger struck her in the gut. Where was she and what had happened to her? Her mind reeled; her pulse raced; breath came in quick pants of alarm.

  When she heard whispers and muffled voices drawing close, she shut her eyes, hoping everything would vanish: the pain, the confusion and the stampeding fear.

  A soft, male voice startled her, and she kept her eyes tightly shut.

  “Are you awake?” the voice asked. “How are you feeling?”

  She slowly cleared her throat, her breath coming fast through her nose.

  “Just relax…” the soothing voice said. “You’re going to be fine. Just fine.”

  Slowly, reluctantly, Anne opened her eyes, blinking several times to focus on the face above her.

  “Hi there,” he said, smiling.

  She looked at him, squinting. It was a kind face; his smile was reassuring. His sandy hair was styled in an odd way, long in front, short on the sides, but the face was handsome and young; maybe he was in his late thirties.

  Anne cleared her throat and tried to speak, but her voice was low and raspy, and she was unable to produce any audible words.

  “You don’t have to talk. It’s okay. I’m your doctor, Dr. Miles, Dr. Jon Miles. I was making my rounds, and I wanted to see how you’re feeling.”

  Anne forced a word out. “Where?”

  “Do you mean, where are you?” Dr. Miles clarified.

  She nodded.

  “You’re at Lenox Hill Hospital.”

  Anne worked to understand. “Lenox…?”

  “Yes. You were found in Central Park a little over a week ago and brought here by ambulance.”

  Dr. Miles saw the terror in Anne’s eyes, and he sought to calm her. “You’re doing amazingly well, Miss, Mrs.? I’m afraid we don’t know your name. You had no identification on you when you were found by a jogger, and no one has come forward to identify you. What is your name?”

  She stared blankly. “Name?”

  “Yes… You were admitted anonymously. We will need to know who you are, where you live and what insurance you have. We also need to contact your next of kin.”

  “My name?” she repeated, a new fear surfacing.

  Dr. Miles removed his hands from the white lab coat. “Yes… May I know your name?”

  Anne blinked rapidly, her face pale. “Well… I … I’m… Well, I’m not sure.”

  Dr. Miles couldn’t hide his concern. “That’s fine. You’ve been through a lot and you need more rest.”

  Anne felt the rise of a towering panic that heated her cheeks. “But… My name… I… should know that… shouldn’t I?”

  Her voice trailed off and tears welled up.

  “It’s okay. Just relax now. Everything will come in time. You’ll be back to normal before you know it.”

  The doctor waved for someone, and an African American nurse appeared.

  “But I don’t know anything. I don’t know who I am.”

  “Are you in any pain?” Dr. Miles asked, in a soothing voice.

  “Pain?” she asked, blinking. “Some pain… Yes. But it’s not so bad now.”

  “Good. That’s very good. I’m going to give you something to help you sleep,” Dr. Miles said, nodding with encouragement. “Don’t be frightened. When you awake, I’m sure your memory will have returned, and all will be well.”

  Anne couldn’t have stopped the nurse from giving her the shot, even if she had wanted to—and she didn’t want to. She wanted to sleep and never wake up. She was trapped in a nightmare and she couldn’t shake it off.

  After the nurse drifted away, Dr. Miles clasped his hands before him. “You’ll rest well now, and I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow.”

  “What happened to me?” Anne asked abruptly, her head pounding.

  Dr. Miles’ expression turned serious. “As I said, you were found by a jogger in Central Park, lying in the grass. The jogger called 911.”

  Anne managed to lift her head a few inches from the pillow. Her eyes were vague and large. “What? 911? What is that? Central Park?”

  “… Central Park in New York City.”

  Anne sank back into the pillow, closing her eyes, and her mind twisted and turned. “I don’t know what month or year it is. I don’t seem to know. I keep trying to remember, but I can’t.”

  Dr. Miles gently touched her arm. “You’ve had some traumatic brain injury. Thankfully, it’s not severe, so you should get your memory back soon.”

  Anne glanced down at her arm.

  “You also have a dislocated shoulder,” Dr. Miles said. “And other injuries, but we’ll go over all that later, when you’re feeling better.”

  With her eyes staring up at the ceiling, Anne made fists under the sheet. “What’s the month and year?”

  “It’s October 2008.”

  As she strained to process his answer, Anne’s suffering eyes leveled on his. “You see… I don’t know who I am. I should know that, but I don’t… I don’t know who I am or where I am. I don’t know whether I’m a good person or a bad one.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Four days later, Anne sat in a chair by the window, dispirited, gazing out into a gray day, watching snow flurries fly and dance; watching traffic below. She wore a blue hospital gown with a snowflake print, a cotton robe and comfortable fuzzy slippers. Much of her head bandage had been removed and her large shoulder sling had been replaced by a simpler, adjustable sling.

  Although she felt better physically, mentally and emotionally she remained bruised, confused and scared. That morning she’d spoken to a psychiatrist, Dr. Helena Weiss, a serious, middle-aged woman with a sturdy build, steady dark eyes and measured speech.

  “I want to help you remember,” the doctor said. “We will gently look into your past and slowly allow things to be revealed to you in their own time.”

  Anne stared at the woman, feeling as though she were underwater and trying to come up for air. Nothing looked familiar; nothing seemed right; nothing was being revealed. It was obvious that she was insane. She had completely lost her mind.

  Anne was stirred from her troubled thoughts by Dr. Miles, who entered the room and gently cleared his throat. Anne pulled her gaze from the window and looked at him.

  “How do you feel today?” Dr. Miles asked.

  Anne felt lonely and depressed, but she forced a smile. “I’m much better, thank you.”

  His smile was again professionally reassuring. He clasped his hands together as he approached. “Well now, I’m very happy to hear it. Your color is good, and your latest tests all show improvement. How was your session with Dr. Weiss this morning?”

  “Fine… I just don’t remember anything. My mind is a blank.”

  Dr. Miles nodded, holding his smile. “Not to worry. You did have some swelling on the brain, but there has been improvement. Y
ou’ll regain your memory soon enough. And the police are actively involved, trying to locate friends or family members.”

  Anne raised her chin, her eyes hopeful. “And?”

  “Nothing so far, but something will turn up. Just give it a little more time.”

  Anne faced the window with a frown. “Yes, time. But how much longer will it take? I’m lost.”

  “Things will soon fall into place.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  “Don’t give up. Don’t push so hard to remember. Relax and let things come as they may.”

  Anne was lost in her own stare. “The snow is lovely. When I watch it drift by, I get strong feelings and I nearly remember things, but then they flit away so swiftly, before I can grab hold of them, like a dream that fades.”

  Dr. Miles took a step forward. “One thing we know for sure is that you have a British accent. The police are reaching out to various agencies in the United Kingdom.”

  Anne seized on that. “Yes, I have noticed the accent. It feels so strange to hear oneself and yet not to know who it is who’s speaking. It’s quite disconcerting. I must have been coshed on the head.”

  “Don’t worry, something will turn up soon. Meanwhile, I have some good news.”

  Anne turned to him, waiting.

  “I believe I mentioned to you yesterday that there is someone who is paying your hospital bills, including this private room.”

  “Yes… You told me that she wants to remain anonymous. It is yet another mystery, isn’t it, just one more bloody thing I can’t solve. That sounds harsh, doesn’t it? Sorry.”

  Dr. Miles clasped his hands together. “Well, this one you can solve. She now wants to meet you.”

  Anne adjusted herself in the chair, her eyes widening. “Does she know me? Does she know who I am?”

  “No… I wish I could say she did.”

  Anne’s shoulders drooped. “Then I don’t understand. Why? Why would she do this for me if she doesn’t know me?”