Twisted Time

11 - Police

La Rose rest area, 00:41

"Damn." Dan slams her hand onto the steering wheel and blinks a few times to adjust her eyes to the gloom. After the brightness of the lab, she shivers in the cold interior of her car. The rain has subsided, and the yellow light from the street lamps breaks in the droplets on the windscreen, the golden sparks of reflections dancing in her vision.

Caught in the nausea of the time shift, she stares at the surreal surroundings. The branches of the trees at the parking's edge sway in a soft breeze, their shadows dancing on the wet tarmac. Puddles reflect the sheen of rows and rows of street lamps meant to ensure the safety of the empty lot: What a place to be stranded at the witching hour.

Then she remembers her last stay on the lot and the whining that sent her into panic mode. She stares at the trees, but can't make out anything. Probably it was an animal that spooked her, a fox searching the rubbish bins—or a rabbit. Dan pushes the thought away and rubs grit out of her eyes. She has had her dose of surprises, including uncontrolled time switches, for one night.

She knows she was hooked to Ric's cause the moment she learned he investigates illegal time traffic. The collaboration with him promises to be far more interesting than doing presentations for sponsors. She craves for the adventure, and if it helps her to get on top of the strange time shifts, she is keen to play along, whatever the game. Unfortunately, she's once more stuck in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere. This is worse than a commercial break in an action movie. And most advertisements have a higher entertainment value. What if he loses his patience and decides to move on? The time switches make me an unreliable partner at best, a burden at worst.

Condemned to inactivity, Dan stifles a yawn. Should she try to catch some sleep? Or prepare herself for the oncoming spy mission? Determined to be as ready as possible, she empties her handbag onto the passenger seat. Amazed, she stares at the collection of bits and bobs tumbling from her purse. Next time Claire insists I'm the most orderly and well-organised person she met, I will show her my handbag.

With clammy fingers, Dan sifts through the tidbits of her life on the road of sponsor hunting. From her collection of freshening towels, lipsticks, cough drops, her reading glasses, a few tampons, and promotional pens, she pulls a small flashlight. Firm pressure on the rubber-covered switch and the silver torch paints a bright spot onto her dashboard. Perfect, this is the first part of her spy equipment. Far from Mister Q's whacky and ingenious inventions, but useful for a beginner in the trade.

She stows the light together with the tiny folding knife in one back pocket, her mobile phone in the other. Dan doubts her provider offers connections to the future, but the camera might be useful. On the search for further items of practical value, she reopens the glove compartment and sifts through its contents. A bottle of sparkling water, a Mars bar, and the leftover sandwich from lunch catch her attention. Her stomach acknowledges the sight of the food with a low grumble.

While bent over to pick up the chocolate bar, the eerie whining raises goosebumps on her arms. Dan jolts up and scans the surroundings, her fingers clamped hard around the candy.
This time she sees the movement beneath the trees at once. It's too fast to be a human and too big for a rabbit, but definitely too solid and real for a dust eddy—or a ghost. Dan turns the ignition and operates the swipers to get a better view, cursing herself when the headlights lit up. Stupid, that's the way to betray my presence here.

She holds her breath, ready to start the car and flee. Another whine lets her hesitate. Now she associates it with a living being, it sounds forlorn, almost sad or wounded. The dark shadow leaving the cover of the trees and loping towards her is not a person nor a rabbit.
Dan's heartbeat slows to an almost regular frequency while she watches the shaggy animal approach. A dog?