1st Place for 2015 Feathered Quill Award, Science Fiction/Fantasy
Finalist in the 2014 Book Pipeline Contest
–Travel to the future – it will only cost you everyone you love.–
Attacked and injected with a drug which slows his metabolism to a fraction of normal, Martin James becomes an unwilling time traveler who hurtles through the years. His children grow up, his wife grows older, and his only hope is finding the people who injected him in the first place- not an easy task when one day for Martin lasts four years. And while Martin James strives to find a cure before everyone he loves is gone, others are uncertain if his journey can be stopped at all.
W. Lawrence weaves a dystopian future filled with the best and worst of humanity, highlights the blessings and curses of technology, and pushes the limits of faith and hopelessness. Above all,Syncing Forward is a tale of one man’s love for his family, and their devotion to saving him from being lost forever.
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“One man couldn’t do that, I agree. Something like that would require help. A lot of help.”
“Does Director Thomason know you are accusing a senior researcher of the company of stealing?”
Posturing. Seventy-one percent of respondents who use their position or stature to guard themselves are guilty.
I inched my chair slightly forward again, bringing it to the edge of his comfort zone. “Director Thomason is fully briefed on this case and has complete confidence in our investigation.”
“I don’t like where you are taking this, Mr. James.”
“I’d like to see your phone, if you don’t mind, Doctor.”
“I think I do mind. I don’t see how it is relevant.”
Another message caused my tablet to vibrate in my palms. Dave, no doubt, but I dared not answer him. This pivotal part of the interview required focus, and I needed Bruchmuller to confess to something . . . anything. He needed to think that I knew more than I truly did. I stared straight ahead, doing my best to maintain a confident demeanor.
“How well do you know Albert Vies, Doctor?”
“I want to speak with my attorney,” Bruchmuller said pointedly, his gaze fixed hard upon me.
The words were the final blow in a losing bout. I was required by company policy to end the interview when an employee asked for a lawyer. Even though he was guilty as sin, even though he remained the only subject who hadn’t vanished on us.
At that point I should have let it go, but I didn’t. It might have been my pride that took over, driving me to single-handedly solve the case. It might have been the fantastic company bonus that sat at the end of the rainbow or the stacking bills at home or just the frustration of coming so far and falling short. Whatever it was, I believed if I could push him only a tiny bit more, I could convince him to confess. One question more . . .
“Tell me about the rat.”
It was as benign a statement as could be uttered, and yet it was as if I had driven an adrenaline needle into his heart. He stared at me with a look that I had only seen a handful of times in my life, and I knew at that moment I had made a grave error.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four. My subject went from immobile to a blur of movement so fast that I didn’t have time to react. Bruchmuller might have been nearly twenty years my senior, but he jumped out of the interview chair like a leopard and closed the few feet between us in a blink. I started to get up, but he pushed me back down into my seat. The momentum drove my body weight onto the back legs of the chair, and I tipped backward. Dieterich reached down and grabbed my ankles as my legs went up, accelerating my movement, flipping me flat on my back, and rapping my skull against the hard floor.
I rolled off the chair and onto my hands and knees, my rear end to the man assaulting me. Looking back, I managed to make out the looming figure of Dr. Bruchmuller as he solidly kicked me in the groin. I landed facedown on the cool tile. My guts ached, and I balled up in a fetal position, my hands shielding my crotch as my eyes instinctively shut. When they opened, I made out Bruchmuller as he grabbed the camera tripod, gripped it tightly in both hands, and swung it down hard at me. The camera mount caught me squarely on the side of the head. A second blow struck me as I spiraled into darkness.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
W Lawrence was born in San Francisco, California, and moved two dozen times before settling in Pennsylvania with his extraordinarily patient wife and two precocious daughters. He wants a boy dog. He works in the world of corporate security as an investigator and professional interviewer/interrogator.
Lawrence is obsessed with 5K zombie runs, comes home empty-handed from hunting turkeys, and loves non-fiction books about pirates. He has no problem reconciling that his two favorite shows are Downton Abbey and The Walking Dead.
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