Chasing Time: A Fictional Love Story

By Patricia Otto

College senior E.N. Harris didn't know about the family heirloom pocket watch until he found it in a box of stuff from before his parents died. Inside the lid of the watch box, is a note signed with just the letter N, piquing the genius' curiosity. When a false back falls off the watch revealing a cryptic clue, curiosity becomes obsession, and the hunt is on. The journey takes him to relatives he knew nothing about and a pedigree that answers many questions while asking many more.

Transfer college junior Calla Rose is trying to fit in. It's not going well. But when her Guiding Eyes for the Blind puppy runs across the quad and into the arms of E.N. Harris, the smartest and best-looking guy on campus, fitting in becomes essential.

E.N. has never met a woman as challenging and engaging as Calla, someone not intimidated by his intelligence. He invites her and her puppy to help him learn the identity of the mysterious N. and discover the meaning of the clue from the watch. As they get closer to the truth, rich man's minion and a government opportunist are nipping at their heels.

What E.N. and Calla find, will rewrite the history books and hurl science in a new direction, if they can stay ahead of danger.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patricia S. Otto
• Release date: Nov 15, 2018
• ISBN: 9781943860081

Patricia Otto

A few decades ago, I found out that most people don't make up stories about the people they watch while sipping ice tea at a cafe. They do not take a cast of characters from a book or movie and give them a whole new story. Who knew? I thought everyone did that. Then there were the out-of-the-blue-characters. The ones conjured up in my head, telling me their tales, pushing me to write their stories. Sharing them only seemed fair.

Book preview

Chapter 1

You are the most brilliant bastard on Earth!

E.N. Harris glimpsed from the computer screen to his friend Rob, fingers never slowing on the keyboard. I am not a bastard. I’m an orphan.

Did I mention you’re a dick? Rob flopped into one of the many vacant chairs. They were in the college computer lab. E.N. was making mischief, Rob was busy being the sidekick. Poor you, foster child of the filthy rich.

More like quite rich.

Again you’re a dick.

Besides, I’m more of a pet project.

Again, poor you. Rob gestured at the computer screen. How do you do this stuff?

E.N. kept typing. Hack into a mainframe? That’s the easy part. Creating content is what’s time-consuming.

Rob leaned back in the chair then crossed his legs on the desk. So, what is this brilliant content?

I’m just having a little fun.

No dude, a little fun is doing body shots. Maybe tossing around the football on the quad. Planting a virus in the university computer? Not what the rest of us call fun.

E.N. finished typing and clicked send. Not a virus. There is nothing malicious about this. At precisely nine AM tomorrow, every computer on campus is going to run my video showcasing the perils of climate change followed by my message detailing how easy it is to hack into the university computers. He pivoted his chair to face Rob, his roommate since their first day of college. Think of it as a public service announcement.

PSA, my ass. More like public nuisance.

Funny dude. E.N. stood, shouldering his backpack. I’m hungry.

Rob jumped to his feet. About damn time. Hungry was an hour ago. Now, I’m effing starving.

They headed for the door just as Elaine Cole walked past the doorway. E.N. drew in a long breath. On game day, that girl wore a cheerleader’s skirt like no one else. Her legs went on forever. Her chest did wonders for the letter H on the sweater. And that butt personified high and tight.

Rob stopped once he and E.N. cleared the doorjamb. Oh man.

Yup.

They fell into step behind her in silent reverence. She tossed her hair over her shoulder then smoothly slipped her phone into her back pocket of her jeans.

Lucky phone. Rob adjusted his backpack.

No shit. Her Facebook status went from ‘in a relationship’ to ‘single.’ Again.

Now could be your chance, bro.

They followed Elaine out of Clark Hall then watched her turn left into Brent Munsey's arms. E.N. shook his head. Guess she needs to update her status.

Yup. Rob shook his head. Table Rock or dining hall?

Dining hall. It’s pizza night.

They walked down the steps toward the quad amid a shower of gold and red leaves fluttering down from the trees onto the fading grass. This year was Rob and his senior year. The next time the leaves fell on Hartwick College, they would flutter by next year’s seniors and new freshmen.

E.N. held the door open for Rob and two girls. The girls gave him an indifferent thanks as they passed by then forgot he existed. Though E.N. thought he was far from bad looking, for some reason girls didn’t show him the love. Except when they needed a lab partner or someone for a group project, then he was at the head of the line. His four majors, biology, computer science, math, and physics, probably had a lot to do with that.

The roommates stacked pizza slices on their trays then found an empty table. Oh shit, E.N. said, dropping his backpack on the floor. Damn Elaine Cole’s ass.

What?

I forgot to reboot the computer to get rid of the history. Be right back. Rushing out the door, he ran across the quad back to Clark Hall. He sprinted down the hallway, skidding into the computer lab.

Hello, Mr. Harris. Professor Adams sat at the computer E.N. had used for his prank. You forgot to log off the computer when you were finished using it. Perusing the screen, he clicked the mouse a few times then swiveled his chair to face E.N. Normally I wouldn’t think anything of it, but with you, Mr. Harris, I have to ask. Is our system about to undergo some changes? Are we going to see hamsters dancing across our midterm exams? Or perhaps all searches redirect the searcher to porn sites?

I wouldn’t subject our students to pornography, Mr. Adams. But I’ll have to find the hamsters dancing thing. That would be a good one.

Don’t be a smart ass. The professor stood. I’ll be keeping an eye on our system. He clicked the mouse a few more times. I rebooted for you. You have a nice evening. Clapping E.N. on the shoulder, Mr. Adams left the room.

E.N. plopped into a chair. Shit.

# # #

How many times does this make? Dean Margaret Worth crossed her arms before giving him a pinched look.

This makes three. I think.

I was being rhetorical. Dean Worth uncrossed her arms then pulled her chair into her desk as she lowered onto it. She leaned her forearms on the desk blotter with her fingers laced together and paused. You couldn’t have just informed us that our systems were vulnerable, you had to hack into it.

To be fair, no computer, even at the Pentagon, is one hundred percent safe.

Shut it, Mr. Harris. Do you have any idea what this security compromise costs? Not just dollars and cents. Now, every student can claim their records were altered. Professors are knocking down my door demanding better oversight, not to mention that the Tech department is embarrassed and looking for your head on a pike.

Sounds painful.

She clamped her fingers together gesturing for him to close his mouth. I’m not finished. I told you there would be consequences if you ever pulled a stunt like this again. She shook her head, her eyes rounding, pleading. It’s your last year here, Mr. Harris. Why do you want to mess this up? You are one of Hartwick’s most gifted students ever. Perhaps the most gifted in Hartwick history. You have an inordinate amount of talent in so many areas. Graduating with four majors? Maintaining a four-o. That is a first for this college. How can someone so intelligent pull such a stupid stunt?

He shrugged. Stretching my wings. Boredom maybe.

Dean Worth shot to her feet. I was being rhetorical. Being only five foot four in heels didn’t stop her from being a most imposing figure. You are the most infuriating student. You are so charming, so good-looking, so intelligent, you have so much potential, and yet you play games like a sixth grader.

E.N. suppressed a smile. You think I’m good looking?

Not handsome enough to weasel your way out of this. She leaned a hand on the desk and stabbed her finger at him. I’m suspending you for two weeks. Off campus, starting right now.

E.N. jumped up to meet her. Aw come on. It was a harmless prank.

It was not a prank. That was a violation of privacy.

More like a weakness that I pointed out to your I.T. department in a harmless way.

Two weeks. Her shoulders relaxed a little. I have no doubt that two weeks out of class is not going to affect your studies, or your grades, in the least. I hope you’ll use that time to reflect a bit. Maybe set up a few personal boundaries. A little impulse control. She paused giving him a compassionate half-smile. I’m hoping that you’ll do a little soul-searching. Maybe you can figure out what drives you to put on these displays. This is the last chance I’m giving you, Mr. Harris. I’ll see you in two weeks. When you get back, I want you to report to Mr. Faris in the Tech office. You’ll be working with him to secure our systems from now until you graduate. Considerate it an unpaid internship.

E.N. opened his mouth to protest, but Dean Worth put her hands up indicating the discussion was over. He shouldered his backpack and left her office. Dean Worth expected him to leave campus right away. That would put him at the mansion by dark where he was going to have to deal with what he called the foster parents’ disappointment lecture. Again. Not cool. He opted to take the long way back to his dorm.

After three years at Hartwick College, he barely noticed the incline as he walked past the Binder Center. A two-hundred-year-old college built on the side of a hill, at Hartwick you were either going uphill or down. Staircases were plentiful, and the ‘freshmen fifteen’ were not a problem.

The view across the valley was a spectacular quilt of red, burgundy and orange splotches with the brick buildings and church spires of Oneonta tucked into the folds. The buildings on campus were a pleasant mix of ivy-covered brick, soft-curved, vintage architecture and not yet ivy-covered, stark-angled new structures. With only about fifteen hundred students, if you didn’t know a student by name, you knew they belonged here.

For E.N., Hartwick College was home. Or as close to a home as he was likely to feel. If he even remembered what home felt like. Since losing his parents to a drunk driver when he was nine, E.N. had been the philanthropic endeavor of Woodson and Elizabeth Crewson. Woody and Liz weren’t able to have children of their own, so E.N. became their project. They were nice enough, gave him three hots along with a very comfortable cot as his dad would call three meals and a bed when E.N. was a kid. Every Christmas his dad would tease him saying we give you three hots and a cot, should you really get presents too?

Liz and Woody made sure he kept his grades up all through private school and sent their driver to pick him up after soccer practice. He was sincerely grateful. But he could never shake the feeling that everything about living with them was staged like a Broadway play. Christmas with two trees and a catered holiday cocktail party, birthday pool-parties, even prom night, taking the daughter of a couple in their social circle, all were staged for the benefit of the Crewson’s appearance in the newspaper social happenings section. Maybe it was that when they introduced him, the prefix our foster child came before his name. Not son, not a foster son, always our foster child. Perhaps it was their frequent references to their status and their increasing excitement as their social calendar filled. Or maybe he was over-thinking the situation and overly critical of Woody and Liz.

Stop that dog!

The desperate shout wrenched E.N. from his thoughts. A girl he didn’t recognize was running his way. Barreling at a full run away from her, and toward him, a chocolate lab puppy with ears flapping and his mouth open in the doggy smile of freedom was dragging a bright blue leash. He crouched. Come here, boy, he said, clapping his hands. Come on. The puppy ran up to him like he had t-bones in his pockets. E.N. grabbed the leash. The puppy climbed halfway onto his lap to begin licking his face.

The girl got close to them then bent forward to put her hands on her knees. Thanks. She panted a few breaths. Sneaker has been running, and I’ve been yelling since the other side of the quad. She paused to breathe again.

E.N. tried to avoid the happy tongue and enthusiastic tail. Sneaker, huh?

Yeah. The puppy mentoring program names them before they get placed. She knelt beside him to take the dog’s face in her hands. You, young lady, are going to learn to come when I call before the week is out.

How old is she?

Ten weeks.

E.N. picked up the wiggly bundle as he straightened. Sneaker continued the tongue washing of his face. You just got her then.

We’re still getting to know each other.

E.N. put Sneaker back on the ground keeping a firm grip on the leash loop. He held out the loop. Now that I’ve been introduced to Sneaker, I’m E.N. Harris, and you are…?

You’re the guy who put that video on all the computers this morning.

He slipped his hands into his jean pockets. News travels fast.

Rumor has it you’re getting suspended for it.

Bad news travels even faster.

I’m Calla Rose. She held out her hand.

He took the offered handshake. I’m going to be the one person who doesn’t ask if your middle name is Lilly.

That’s refreshing.

Which way were you heading before Sneaker’s escape?

We were going for a walk. Where are you going?

Suspended, remember? I’m on my way out of town.

What’s your sentence?

Two weeks.

Ouu, right before midterms. Harsh.

E.N. shrugged. It’s not a big deal. I’ll catch up. He smiled. Want to walk together?

You might not want to be seen with me.

Why not?

My work-study is with campus security. I’m like a cop, and you’re a cyber-crook.

One little prank and I’m a felon.

I guess filing papers and issuing parking permits doesn’t actually make me a cop.

Ya think?

She laughed a musical happy sound. He liked the way her smile made her eyes sparkle, the way the light bounced off the cinnamon shades in her brown hair. She was tiny. Probably didn’t come up to his chin or break one ten soaking wet and wearing steel-toed boots.

They walked up the steps to the sidewalk by the soccer field. Sneaker did the puppy swagger, tail wiggling his whole body as he frolicked around them. In his puppy world, every leaf was a toy, every ray of sunshine a playmate.

I don’t recall seeing you around before. Are you a freshman?

Junior, I transferred from SUCO this year.

Nice.

Sneaker ran between them. Calla turned around and walked backward. Ian, that’s an Irish name, isn’t it?

It’s not Ian. It’s Edward Nikolas. Family names. My parents didn’t think I looked like an Ed or Eddy. My mother wasn’t fond of the name Nickolas in all its forms. So you get E. N. What about Calla?

She turned to walk forward when Sneaker zipped between them. My mother loves lilies. She loves all flowers really. I have three sisters. All of us are named for flowers. Fern, Rosalee, and Heather.

One of your sisters is Rosalee Rose?

Yeah, I know. She really hates that. I also have two brothers.

Don’t tell me, Ash and Birch.

Haha. Blaze and Essex. Before you ask-they are names of roses.

Wow, your mom’s pretty clever.

She has a…let's call it, a unique sense of humor. They walked a few steps in silence before Calla said, So where are you from?

Downstate. A couple of hours outside of the city. You?

I’m from Cooperstown.

Home of the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Not to mention the Farmer’s Museum. And most important of all, the Ommegong Brewery.

I know. I have visited the tasting room many times. They stopped at the Hilltop dorm. Here’s where my walk ends. He crouched down. Sneaker joyously met him, her tail wagging her whole backside. It was very nice sharing a walk with you. He straightened to catch Calla’s gaze. And you. I hope I’ll see you around after I get back?

She grinned. That probably wouldn’t be wise.

His heart sank.

She pursed her lips and took a few steps backward from him. You’re a known criminal, and I work in law enforcement. She turned back around. See you around Edward Nickolas.

Not cool, Calla Lilly. He watched her cross the parking lot appreciating the swing of her hips, the roundness of her ass cheeks. He stood there enjoying the view until she disappeared down the hill.

The sound of running footsteps coming from behind him heralded a smack in the back of the head.

Dude, you almost screwed us both. Rob put on the brakes a few steps past him then spun around. "Fortunately, only your ass got bounced. He shook his finger at E.N. So I don’t have to kick your ass."

You, kick my ass? Hilarious. E.N. jammed his hands into his pockets. Dean Worth told me I had to leave immediately, so I guess I better get off campus before I’m thrown off.

Rob put his arm around E.N.’s shoulder. I promise not to rent out your half of the room while you’re gone.

# # #

Woodson and I are not amused. Liz Crewson paced, digging her spiky heels into the Persian rug with each step. Woody sat in a chair at the dining room table, shaking his head. The white sweatbands on his wrists and the tennis sweater draped around his neck screamed cliché.

E.N. was eternally grateful that his foster parents never insisted that he call them mom and dad. It amused him that they begrudgingly let him call them Woody and Liz when everyone else only addressed them using their formal names.

Can you imagine how surprised we were to find out that you had sabotaged the university computers? Liz shook her head. She was a tall, too-thin woman with dyed blond hair and overly blue contact lenses. Her clothes were always the best, her nails always professionally manicured.

I didn’t sabotage, I disrupted by uploading a video about climate change.

Woody shot to his feet. Don’t split hairs. We are at the end of our ropes.

Liz stopped pacing. You’ve only got seven months before graduation. Is it asking too much that you graduate on time and spare us any further embarrassment?

I’ll try.

I want to see more than try. Woody sat again. You were sent home for two weeks.

Liz crossed her arms. You do realize that we are leaving for the villa tomorrow?

The villa was their house in the Caymans. Most likely they were checking on their tax shelters. E.N. nodded. You can still go.

And leave you here by yourself? Liz asked.

I’ll be fine. Besides I’m never alone. Etta lives here, and Daniel comes every day.

Brazen and forthright, Etta, their housekeeper and cook, was E.N.’s favorite person in the world since his parents died. Wise beyond her years and wisecracking beyond her station, Etta had the brains to get to the heart of any situation then tell you about it with sass. Daniel was the head groundskeeper and driver. He was a man of few words, a quiet cornerstone to Etta’s audacity.

She can’t be expected to watch you.

Liz, I do not need a babysitter.

Woody stood again. Since you’ve been sent home by Dean Worth, it seems you do require supervision.

Can’t argue with that. E.N. stood. Please, don’t let me upset your plans.

Liz shook her head.