The sound of a blaring horn and squealing tires dragged Conal from his stupor. He heard a car door slam and the shout of nearby voices.
“Hey! What the hell are you doing? Are you all right, man?”
A burly, middle-aged man in a plaid shirt and denim jacket ran toward him.
“Was there an accident?”
Conal turned to him, still kneeling in the street.
“I-I’m not sure. I thought I saw—I must have hit the tree.”
“Yeah, man, can’t see anything out here. You’re lucky you’re all right. Anyone else in the car with you?”
“No, no just me.” Conal could feel his throat tightening and knew there were tears in his eyes. He was grateful that the rain hid them. “Thanks for stopping. I’m all right. I’ve got it from here.”
“Hey man, you’re bleeding. You shouldn’t be driving like that.”
Conal looked down at his hands. The headlights from the man’s vehicle shining through the rain lit them up, they were smeared with the rainwater and blood. “Shit,” Conal muttered. “I must have hit my head.”
“It’s all right, I’m fine. It’s just a cut, nothing major. I live close by and this truck is a tank, it’ll get me home. Nothing a hot shower and some aspirin won’t fix!”
The man rubbed his brow, looking down at the ground for a second, then he looked around as if to see if anybody was watching. “If you’re sure…I-I can go call for help,” the man shouted. Eager to return to his car, he had backed away from Conal and kept one hand on his door.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m all right. Thanks, though. I appreciate you stopping.”
A sigh of relief passed across the other driver’s rain-spattered face. “Sure. Take care of yourself.”
Conal managed his way back into the driver’s seat and stared at the tree a few feet from his face. A crack ran down the windshield in front of the passenger’s seat and he had already glimpsed the damage to the hood and the fender. He didn’t care about any of it.
Nausea settled in his belly and his head began to swim. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel, closing his eyes and letting blackness slide over his consciousness. He stayed there for a minute.
He had about five seconds before Abby’s horrified face appeared before him again, her body writhing as she struggled futilely to pull herself out of the man’s grip. But this time she wasn’t gone. This time the scene played over and over again.
Conal gasped, shaking himself, coming to. His hands pulled the door handle, shoved the car door open. At some point, he leaned out of the car. His stomach heaved and he vomited on the pavement. He saw it happening, but none of it registered.
Conal Benjamin never let the love of his life Abigail Bradley know of his romantic feelings for her. Years of living with that regret haunted Conals life and left him with an emptiness in his heart. In one serendipitous moment they are reunited at an alumni science exhibit giving Conal a second chance but in a cruel twist of fate Conal’s triggers an unexpected chain of events sending Abby and himself through a wormhole to 1888 Whitechapel, London, the time and place of one of the most horrifying serial killers in history, Jack the Ripper. With the time machine lost and Conal and Abby separated, the fate of both of their lives hang in the balance. Nothing is what it appears to be and it’s up to Conal to unravel the mysteries that await him, before it’s too late.
“I could not put this cleverly crafted paranormal fiction novel down. I can’t wait to go on the next time travel journey with Benjamin! It would make for a great TV Series/Feature Film. Out of 5 stars I give it 6!” - Kelly V. Dolan, NBC News Radio
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Genre - Paranormal Fiction
Rating – NC17
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