Rearview by Mike Dellosso Read Free Book Online

hours. Yesterday, or today, or whenever it was had been no dream at all. It was real. Constant was real, and so was his silver, ornate pocket watch with the number 7 engraved on the back.
    Constant said Dan would be given only seven hours and then Death would come calling. His time would be up. Now he only had six and half left.
    Six and half hours until he died.

8
    Dan Blakely sat on the edge of his bed in his empty bedroom, head in his hands, feeling like he’d just run a mile at top speed. Only this had been no run for pure enjoyment and not even for victory and bragging rights; it had been a run of urgency, a run not to any place special but from someone or something. Cold sweat dotted his forehead, his mouth was dry, and his pulse tapped a staccato rhythm in his ears. This couldn’t be happening. It was impossible, ridiculous, totally preposterous . . . and yet, there it was—the clock didn’t lie. The remaining minutes and hours of his life were ticking away, fading into eternity past like ebb tide water sifting through sand, receding into the vast ocean.
    He’d briefly entertained the idea that all this might be one complex, hilarious joke but dismissed it as unfeasible. While there might be a way to make a digital clock count backward, he expected neither Jack nor Murphy was aware of it, nor Sue. And no one he knew—not family, no colleague, not the pastor—possessed the power to plant dreams in someone’s head. Sue could be persuasive when she was determined to win an argument or steer Dan to see things her way but not that persuasive. She did not possess the power of mind manipulation and control.
    Just to be sure he was still planted in reality and hadn’t engaged in a brief layover in the land of Loco, Dan picked up the phone and dialed the number for his school voice mail account. It rang once before a woman’s automated voice asked for his ID. Though he hadn’t the faintest idea whose voice was used for the voice mail options, he’d named her Gretchen.
    â€œGood morning, Gretchen,” he said before punching in the numbers. She did not reciprocate his well-wishing but instead asked for his password. His thumb shook.
    â€œI’m sorry,” Gretchen said, “the number you entered is invalid. Please enter your password again.”
    â€œOh, Gretchen, c’mon. We do this every morning.” He tried again.
    Two rings signaled he’d entered the correct numbers. Gretchen notified him of one waiting message.
    Gary’s voice came on: “Dan, I need to see you in my office first thing in the morning. It’s urgent.” The pause was there again, the same pause Dan had heard before. It was the same message. “As soon as you get in, okay?”
    Without wasting another moment, another minute of his life, another backward tick of the clock, Dan quickly dressed and headed downstairs. In the kitchen, the sticky note from Sue was there. I love you, babe. You’re the best (husband, dad—you know!) Love, Sue. Like before, he folded it in half and stuffed it into his shirt pocket, but this time he skipped the bagel and coffee. Grabbing the car keys off the hook above the counter, he headed for the garage. When he pushed through the door from kitchen to garage, he half expected to find a twisted ball of mashed metal, broken plastic, and shattered glass, but the Volvo was in one piece, shiny from the washing he’d given it the other day, sitting quietly as if it had never known the violence inflicted upon it from the roll down the mountainside. Of course, it had never known that violence. As far as reality was concerned—this reality—it had never happened.
    The vehicle started without hesitation as the garage door lifted. Dan sat behind the wheel, gripping it with both hands, and settled his breathing. He had to think. Sue was in New York with the boys. New York was almost two hours away. He hit the wheel and cursed,