Time is living.
Time is senitinent.
Time can be harnassed.
Daniel Wiltshire is a spy in MI6, and when a dormant terrorist group comes back into the limelight, Dan witnesses his family being torn apart by forces unknown.
Sometimes to see the future, you have to look to the past.


1. Death isn't permanent.



.Prologue: ‘til death do us part.

      ‘Ben! Ben! Oh my God! BEN, come on mate, WAKE UP!’

Daniel pushed the fallen front door off the silent body of his best friend, his every breath forming clouds of steam in the cold night air; he cleared away more debris desperately trying to find evidence that perhaps Ben was still alive.

 ‘Oh God, no,’ he gasped through his tears as a terrible sight met his eyes.  A pool of blood surrounded Ben’s torso, blooming from a rip in his shirt, the blood was thick and warm, who ever had done this was not long gone.  Obviously the intruder had not stayed long, but why had they come?   Daniel grabbed Ben’s shoulders and shook them in a final seed of hope, when no response came Daniel closed Ben’s eyes through his own tears.  Looking up, Daniel saw the hall had been ransacked; the console table had been emptied on to the floor before being annihilated; keys lay strewn across floor covered by shards of the ceramic bowl they were once held in, paper littered the floor amongst wood splinters.  Keziah.  Daniel froze before scrambling over his late best friend whose body lay slumped across the threshold, taking the stairs two at a time, Daniel screamed.

 ‘KEZIAH! KEZIAH? WHERE ARE YOU?’ Daniel burst into his bedroom, the wooden door slamming against the wall as he pushed through.  He scanned the room for signs of life but on seeing none, he exited and sprinted to his son’s room, the room’s door was slightly ajar.  The white door had various dents and scrapes in it but through Daniel’s tear misted eyes it went unnoticed.  Daniel bounded into the room and fell to his knees, his wife was lying on the floor face down, blood trickled down her face, through his sobs Daniel could hear tiny gasps of breath. Daniel wiped the blood away with his tear dampened thumb, to his relief Keziah’s eyes opened marginally.

 ‘You found us,’ she whispered before coughing up blood from the strain. Her face was pale and littered with sweat droplets, her lips ashen and a tear drop of blood trickled from the side of her mouth.  She lay next to their son’s empty bed; the room had been ransacked and Charlie was gone.

 ‘Kez, it’s ok, I’m gonna get you outta here and to the hospital,’ Daniel stuttered as he tried to not let on how bad things really were. Keziah gave him a small smile, she had a small twinkle in her eye, one of knowledge and acceptance; leaning up she gave him a soft kiss before resting back down and coughing.

 ‘There’s no point, I’m gone. I love you Daniel, I always will,’ she rasped, Daniel pulled her into a tight hug, his tears falling on to her bloody shoulder thick and fast. Every breath he made caused him to shudder a little more, it should have been him, he should have died for her and their son, not the other way around.

 ‘No Kez, don’t leave me! Please Kez, you can do this! Come on love, for me! Please,’ Daniel begged hopelessly through his sobs, ‘Please, don’t go to sleep! NO! Don’t fall asleep! Stay with me!’

 ‘Daniel Joseph Wiltshire, I love you ‘til death do us part-,’

 ‘No, don’t say this-,’ Daniel cried in despair, this was not happening. This couldn’t be happening.

 ‘Find our son-,’

 ‘No, please stay with me-,’

 ‘It was them,’ and with one last breath she closed her eyes.


 The howl of a pained man echoed through the air.





 Chapter One:

26th July 1983:

Mrs. Jane Sanders was not happy. Scrap that, she was desperate.

Her day had been bad from the moment she woke up; the first thing she had seen after waking up was rain pouring down the drafty, glass panes she was supposed to call windows and  the sky behind them wasn’t much better.  Dark clouds loomed above the bustling, rain soaked city, thunder crashing when she least expected it, scaring the living daylights out of her, which, truth be known, wasn’t hard to do. Then little Bobby Taylor came stomping into her office with his running nose streaming crying that ‘Nasty Patricia Parkinson’ had stolen his blanket, although she wasn’t entirely sure how Patricia had managed to do that, as it wasn’t like Bobby owned a blanket to steal. In the end, it turned out to be a grime saturated rag that Bobby had ‘borrowed’ from the kitchen staff.

And now the door bell was ringing.

A quiet click and the loud banging of the door against the hall wall alerted her that this person was now inside, which meant either one of two things as the local people knew not to ring the orphanage doorbell:

Someone wanted to adopt a child or That someone wanted to abandon one

Needless to say, the latter was more common and the coos of pleasure confirmed her ideas. Just as Mrs. Sanders started to go down the steps to face the rabble of children and the visitor, she was accosted by Mary Johns who, at 17, worked alongside Mrs. Sanders at the orphanage. Mary wore a black dress with a white apron on top giving out the impression that she was in fact a maid, though the holes in her tights suggested otherwise.

‘Mrs. Sanders, it’s Mrs. Fairfax again but this time she has a child with her,’ Mary said in a low voice.

‘A child?’ Mrs. Sanders shot her an incredulous look. Mrs. Fairfax was an elderly lady of roughly 60 or 70 who had a love for children although never having any herself, she was always visiting to check up on the ‘little-uns’ or to see if there were any developments, which there nearly never were. She always wore the same faded navy overcoat with blue drawstrings around the neck, a brown leather handbag slung over her left arm and a wooden walking stick in her right hand, but this time no hand bag was to be seen; in replacement, a small baby wrapped up in white cotton sheets was cradled in the crook of her arm. The baby was an adorable thing with brown messy hair and red cheeks from the cold, his eyes were closed in peaceful sleep.

‘Mrs. Sanders, look what I found! Isn’t he sweet?’ Mrs. Fairfax said as she stared at the baby with a light in her eyes that Mrs. Sanders hadn’t seen before in her thirty years of knowing her. With a small murmur of agreement, Mary gently took the small baby from the ecstatic Mrs. Fairfax who was still intent on stroking the baby’s rosy cheeks.

‘Where did you find him?’Mrs. Sanders asked as she looked in the blankets for some form of identification, on finding nothing at all of interest apart from an area of singing, she looked up to stare at Mrs. Fairfax.

‘I found him on the steps outside the abandoned house on Fox Lane, it was quite funny actually because the boy was inside the gates- it was a stroke of luck I spotted him!’ Mrs. Fairfax looked happily at Mrs. Sanders, who wore an expression of great confusion.

‘You say ‘inside’ the gates?’

Mrs. Fairfax stared at Mrs. Sanders in confusion, hadn’t she just said inside the gates? ‘Yes.’

‘And no name, no?’ Mary piped up, she had been listening in rapt interest, it wasn’t often that such a baby was found. The abandoned house on Fox Lane had been dormant for what seemed like forever; occasionally it was inhabited by squatters and the odd runaway, but apart from that no one was ever seen going in nor out, which was especially odd as Fox Lane was one of the busiest roads around. The house was commonly called the Leere House by the local children and was fabled to have hosted a brutal murder many years ago, though the origins of this story were unknown to the town’s people. Mary, however, was of the disposition to doubt such rumors, for that is what she felt they were: rumors.

‘No, there was no name but I’ve been calling him Benjamin for name’s sake, if you excuse the pun,’ Mrs. Fairfax stifled a small laugh, it wasn’t very often that she was able to make such a joke in company and certainly not in front of Mrs. Sanders who was a rather domineering woman in her mind.

‘Benjamin- how fitting!’ Mary cooed whilst stroking the child’s face. Newly named Benjamin let out a small yawn deep from within his wrap of blankets, three small teeth showing between his slightly parted lips; with a small sigh the Benjamin’s eyes opened to reveal the most startling shade of blue, it was almost green yet most decidedly blue.

‘And you definitely found him? No parents? Not anything?’ Mrs. Sanders asked sharply before pulling out a little notepad and half chewed pencil.

‘No, just like he is, if he was there any longer, I have no qualms that he would’ve died of cold,’ Mrs. Fairfax said most happily, her batty side coming through; only she would be so upbeat and optimistic about an abandoned baby. Mrs. Sanders stared at Benjamin for a while before scooping him out of Mrs. Fairfax’s arms and holding him to her chest.

‘Thank you Mrs.Fairfax, I am sure we will find him a home,’ Mrs. Sanders said in a tone that could be seen as caring or, perhaps even, sympathetic that yet another child had been placed into the orphanage – though that was improbable, over the years she had grown accustomed to the placement and abandonment of children, she still felt a pang of upset and guilt of how the child would grow up, but that slowly that feeling fell into the background until she no longer really thought about it.

‘You better look after him Jane,’ Mrs. Fairfax threatened though it held no real bite, more assurance searching; as for the calling her Jane, well, that was a liberty only she was allowed.

‘Of course, you know I do, best be off before the wind picks up, don’t you think Mrs. Fairfax?’ Mrs. Sanders said gently though it was obviously a dismissal, with a small nod and a mumbled goodbye, Mrs. Fairfax turned on the spot, lifted her hood and left the dingy hall.

As Mrs. Sanders plodded down the narrow hallway she couldn’t help but wonder who this child actually was; children don’t just appear from nowhere, she thought with a small frown and it wasn’t as if anyone had had a child in the dreary town in the past year, no, all the families had moved down south to London and Croydon. Benjamin was certainly a mystery.

‘Mrs. Sanders, what are you going to do with him?’ Mary whispered from behind her as they entered the nursery, ‘It’s not as if we have room! The place is falling apart and the council are refusing to pay-‘

‘I know, Mary!’ Mrs. Sanders snapped before placing Benjamin softly down on one of the worn mattresses, promptly placing a ragged blanket on him for warmth, ‘But we can’t leave him on the streets, you heard Mrs. Fairfax. Besides, I know just the people for him: the Molyneuxs,’


Sebastian Molyneux was sat in a large, rather comfy recliner overlooking the choppy sea in front of him; his eyes gazing at the large albatrosses that scattered the coast with their nests, his eyes were fixed on the raging sea though his thoughts were elsewhere. Over the last couple of weeks life at work had been- different to say the least: his boss had finally revealed what was causing all the hubbub in the office. A new, dangerous Russian terrorist group called the ‘фанатик’ or the ‘Zealots’. Not your usual type of work, but for Sebastian it was normal; Sebastian Molyneux was a field operative in MI6.

He had joined after he left university, apparently he had been on the induction list ever since he had joined the university, he had special qualities that they looked for according to the man who had arrived on his doorstep with a plain white envelope. Said that ‘People had been watching his progress’ and seeing how he ‘developed’; it was obvious, however, that really they had been spying on him and his habits. They had taken him down to London and put him in their testing facility, what went on in there was confidential and he had been sworn to secrecy.

A ring of the doorbell broke Sebastian from his pensive silence, scanning the newspaper one last time for any tidbits he had missed that day (‘Gilick loses case in Court: Contraceptives available to U16’ was one article of notable interest), he dropped it on to the coffee table next to his cold mug of tea and left the room to answer the door. Pulling open the door he was greeted with the unusual sight of his wife drenched in rain and salty water from the sea, her hair was blown wildly across her face and clung to her skin like ivy does a wall.

‘Hettie, come in quickly, you must be freezing!’ he gasped as a gust of wind chilled him to the bone; stepping aside to let her pass, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a man dressed in black standing on the hill next to their house, a long black trench coat whipping around him in the violent wind, but as soon as he looked at him properly, he disappeared.

‘Mrs. Fairfax rang whilst I was out I see!’ Hettie called from the kitchen, she had obviously seen a message that one of the staff must have taken whilst she and himself were out.

‘Has she? Is it of any consequence?’ Sebastian asked before pouring himself a glass of whiskey and taking a small sip, the pleasant burn warming his throat, though he almost spat it out as he heard his wife’s happy response.

‘THERE’S A BOY! There’s a little baby boy and Mrs. Fairfax says we can adopt him!’ she shouted with glee, her usual decorum faltering with her happiness. She skipped into the parlor and  hugged Sebastian with all her might, so much so her face turned red from not breathing.

‘Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go and get a son!’


Present Day:

‘Field Operative Wiltshire,’ a bark coupled with a salute broke Dan violently from his mourning, with a small sigh, he turned to the young operative next to him. The boy couldn’t be older than 19 and held himself like a soldier: straight back, close cut hair and arms snapped to his body.

‘Yes,’ Dan mumbled quietly before turning away with another sigh. His life had just been turned upside down in a matter of minutes and now he was being interrogated over the- muder of his wife, child and best friend.

‘Mrs.Wiltshire has been recovered from the area, no other casualties found, sir!’ the boy said with another salute before starting to walk away and back to the wrecked house.

‘WAIT! What about Be- I mean, Field Operative Molyneux?’ Dan asked, emotions other than grief and anger at whoever did this for the first time since- since the incident.

‘What of him, sir?’ the boy asked with a tone of confusion, ‘He should be at HQ, he’s not in the area, sir,’

‘NO! He’s there! I saw him, I picked him up. He’s there!’ Dan cried before trying to run to the house, to his best friend , but he was held back by the younger man who was looking at him with great concern. Daniel would have laughed at the boy's look of unnecessary confusion at what he was being told, but he couldn't bring himself to; to him it was very clear, there were three murders and a disappearance of his son's body. Simple.

‘Sir, are you feeling okay? Field Operative Molyneux isn’t present in the area and never has been; no person has been in nor out the area without us seeing, and certainly no deceased people-‘

‘I’m telling you, you’re wrong! He was there! I saw him on the floor with my very own eyes!’

Dan cried before trying to get past again, his eyes wet with fresh tears. WHY WAS THIS CHILD MAKING HIM HAVE TO EXPLAIN THE OBVIOUS!?

‘I’m telling you, sir, Benjamin isn’t here, he isn’t dead-‘

‘Then where is he?’ Dan spat in fury, 'Then, tell me where my best friend and son are!'

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