by C J M Naylor
“I can never stop loving him,” I said. “Phillip, I mean. He will always be there, no matter how much time goes by.”
“I would never ask you to stop loving him,” Thomas said. “Never.”
Something in me was shifting. This darkness I had experienced for so long was breaking down. It was still there, but it wasn’t as powerful. And I knew it was because of the man sitting in front of me. Hot, salty tears were pouring down my cheeks now and my vision was becoming blurry as I looked at him.
“Did I upset you?” Thomas asked.
I shook my head, and said the only two words that made sense. The only thing I wanted right now.
“Kiss me.”
He looked at me for a moment, and then he moved forward on the couch and took my face in his hands and he kissed me. It was just a kiss. He did it and then he pulled away and looked at me, as if he was asking my permission. I nodded and he leaned in and pressed his lips to mine, his tongue brushing mine. It was passionate, tender, loving. He slowly lowered me onto the couch and was on top of me, moving his rough hands through my hair, carefully holding the back of my head as he continued to kiss me. It was a moment I wanted to last forever.
I woke up the next morning on the couch in Thomas’ study. A blanket had been draped over me and Thomas was gone. I took a minute to force my thoughts to go back to the previous evening. We had only kissed, and then he had stayed with me for a while until I finally fell asleep.
“Abigail.”
I sat up. Phillip was standing across the room. Dried blood was on his face from a gash in his head. He looked distraught.
“Phillip.” It barely came off my lips, but I said it.
“What have you done?”
“I didn’t do anything,” I said. “You’re not real. You’re dead.”
“You’ve betrayed me,” Phillip replied. “Why did you betray me?”
I stood up and marched over to him, or whatever this thing that was talking to me was.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t betray you. You’re dead, Phillip. I don’t even know if it’s really you I’m talking to right now, but you told me you wanted me to move on. You wanted me to live my life.”
“How could you?”
I fell to my knees. Tears were pouring from my eyes now. I moved my hands up over my ears so that I wouldn’t have to listen to Phillip, or whatever this thing was, speak to me.
“Go away!” I shouted. I closed my eyes, continuing to cover my ears. But it didn’t do anything.
“You are a killer. Killer. Killer. Killer.”
It repeated the words over and over and over again. No matter what I did, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, I couldn’t.
“Go away!”
I stood up and grabbed the nearest thing I could find—a vase on a side table. I threw it at Phillip and it went right through him, slamming against the stone wall and shattering into pieces. Shards of glass went flying, right through Phillip. Nothing seemed to get rid of him.
But then the room dissolved and I was on the Golden Gate Bridge. And she was there. In that white dress, her arm extended out to me, hand open. She was there, just like she always had been. And I had the sense that danger was coming. And then the waves from the bay washed her away.
“Abby!”
My eyes burst open and Thomas was above me. I sat up and fell into his arms. It had been a dream, just a dream. I cried in Thomas’ arms. I was still punishing myself for falling in love again. I also cried because I was glad it had just been a dream this time. Ian was no longer there to drug me, and make me see things that weren’t there. He could no longer make me question reality versus fantasy. And because of that, I was okay, at least for now.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I found Bridget in the spare bedroom Thomas had lent to her since we could no longer return to our apartment at the Chambord Building. She was sitting in a chair in front of the room’s vanity desk attempting to brush her hair, but as she pulled the brush down and through her hair, her arm shook a little. Her eyes were red, indicating she had been crying.
I pushed the room’s door in further and shut it behind me. She looked up when the door closed, saw me, and then turned back to the mirror, continuing her attempts at brushing her hair. I sat on the edge of her bed, looking at her.
“Bridget,” I said. “I just want you to know I understand what you are going through. This is the second time someone has betrayed me like this. I know it hurts, and it’s confusing, and you don’t even understand how it can be possible. But the unfortunate thing about it is that people do this all the time. They betray us. They take advantage of our kindness and the things that make us who we are.
“Don’t let yourself be consumed by this. I’m begging you. Ian isn’t worth it. He’s a terrible person, and I understand your pain. You will find someone else. I promise that you will.”
Bridget slowly put the brush down on the vanity table, closed her eyes for a moment, and took a deep breath. Then, she turned in her chair to look at me.
“It hurts,” she said, “that Ian betrayed me. It really, really does. But that isn’t what is bothering me right now.”
“What is it?” I asked.
“Do you remember that day at the Tadich Grill?” Bridget asked. “I told you that there was something that I needed to tell you, but that I wasn’t ready.”
I did remember. Even thought it had only been a few months ago, it felt like it had been forever, given everything that had happened.
“I do,” I said, nodding. “Do you want to tell me now?”
“Yes,” Bridget said. “I do.”
She stood up and paced around the room. I could tell she was trying to come up with the right thing to say; the right way to approach the issue. Finally, she took a deep breath and looked back up at me.
“I’ve always been blunt with you,” Bridget said. “I’ve never sugarcoated anything, so there is no reason I should sugarcoat my own business. Abigail, I’m sexually attracted to women.”
“Oh,” I said. I was surprised. I could tell Bridget was afraid I would react in a negative way, or treat her as if she were inferior to me. But that wasn’t the way my parents raised me. They raised me to respect people, and to tolerate their decisions, even if I personally disagreed with those decisions. I was not the one to judge. But honestly, at the end of the day, even if it went against what I believed in, I didn’t personally disagree with this. Because it wasn’t Bridget’s decision. It wasn’t her choice. It was the way she was, regardless of what anyone wanted to say otherwise. You can’t change what you feel, just like you can’t change the color of your skin, or the ancestors that you are descended from. Just like I couldn’t change being a Timekeeper. I had tried to run away from it. I couldn’t do that. I had to accept it, live with it, and make my choices around it. I truly believed God made us all a certain way. And if anyone disagreed with that, and who Bridget truly was, they could take their self-righteousness and go elsewhere.
“I’m happy for you then,” I replied.
“You aren’t upset?” Bridget asked. “You don’t want to stop being my friend?”
“No, Bridget. You will always be my closest friend, and I will always accept you for being you. You’ve accepted me, and who I am, so why shouldn’t I do the same?”
Bridget plopped down on the bed next to me and laid on her back, staring up the ceiling. I fell back and stared up at it as well.
“I didn’t exactly accept you right away though,” Bridget said.
I rolled onto my side and looked at her. She did the same and we were looking into each other’s eyes. It reminded me of our childhood together. We used to sit out in my mother’s garden and just stare at each other, giggle, and talk about things.
“Bridget,” I said, “it is a little bit different. I mean you had to genuinely come to an understanding that I wasn’t going insane. But the thing is, you did come to an understanding.”
“Only after I saw and heard things though.”
“Stop, Bridget,” I said. “You are accepting. You accepted me. And I accept you.”
Tears were welling up in her eyes. She sat up and attempted to wipe them away. I sat up beside her and pulled her to me. She threw her arms around me and cried into my shoulder for a moment. I didn’t know if her tears were of happiness about our friendship, sadness about everything that had happened to us, or something else. Maybe they were a combination of everything. In that moment, we had each other, and that was all we needed.
But the moment ended almost as quickly as it began.
“I really need to get to class,” Bridget said, pulling away from me. She began to get up and move about the room, collecting together some of her things that she might need.
“Bridget,” I said, “you can’t go. It’s not safe.”
“Abby,” Bridget responded, “I understand that. But I can’t live my life underground, and you can’t always be there to protect me. And I know Thomas doesn’t think it’s safe for you out there either, but sometimes, you just have to take a chance. How else are you going to live and experience life?”
She was right. It wasn’t good for me to stay hidden away here, only because I was afraid of Ian, or Aldridge.
“I’ll see you later,” Bridget said. I looked up, nodded and smiled, and she left the room, leaving me there thinking about how I could get through all of this.
As much as I understood Bridget’s reasons not to stay cooped up in the Headquarters all day, I began to worry when she did not return at the usual time from her classes. I paced back and forth in the room I had been staying in, waiting for her to get back. I constantly checked the pocket watch I had been given at my initiation for the time. It was getting later and later. Sighing, I finally made up my mind that something wasn’t right and went to seek out Thomas.
Alma was in Thomas’ study looking over some papers at his desk and writing down notes on a separate sheet of paper. She looked up as I walked into the room and smiled at me. I smiled back, but a quick flash distracted my attention. It was light flashing off of Thomas’ blade above the fireplace. The blade that had been in his family for years. I tore my attention from it and looked back to Alma.
“Abby,” she said, as friendly as ever, “how have you been doing, given everything?”
“It’s been…” I hesitated, not able to find the words to describe being utterly betrayed for the second time in my life. After a moment, I quickly added, “Hectic.”
Alma nodded in understanding. “Well, is there something I can do for you?”
“I’m looking for Thomas,” I replied. “I’m getting a little worried about Bridget. She went out to attend her classes and hasn’t returned yet. This is later than usual for her.”
A look of concern flashed over face. “Well, Thomas had to leave on some business. He should be back soon though. If you want, I can send him a quick message?” She pulled out her pocket watch, ready to send a message, but I quickly shook my head.
“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m sure I’m just overthinking things.”
Alma smiled and then the clicking of heels against the floor pulled our attention to the entrance study. Councilor Headrick walked through the entrance. She looked the same as always. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and she wore a dress similar to the one she’d worn at Mathias’ hearing, one that looked as if it were swallowing her whole.
“Alma,” Headrick said. “Have you made any headway on that report yet?”
“I’m working on it now,” Alma replied.
“Good.” Headrick turned her attention to me and smiled. “Miss Jordan.” It was all she said, but it was layered with poison. I wanted to know what she was doing here. Where was the councilor who was actually in charge of the American Headquarters?
She looked away from me, and then her attention fell on Thomas’ sword.
“I’ve always been fascinated by that sword,” Headrick said. “Well, I’ll be around the Headquarters today if you two should need anything. Goodbye.”
Headrick turned on her heel and walked away. I looked back at Alma who had continued working on her report.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to send Thomas a message?” she asked.
“No, no,” I said. “It’s fine. I might go and just run by her university for a bit.”
Alma looked up at that. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I don’t mean to be telling you what to do, but just considering everything.”
“I’ll be fine,” I replied. “Just tell Thomas I went to look for her if he comes back.”
Alma smiled at me and nodded. I left the room before I could change my mind and tell her to contact Thomas, or before she could tell me this might be a bad idea. I hoped it wasn’t. I hoped I was overreacting. I hoped that Bridget was okay. And I hoped that Headrick was only here on business, but a nagging feeling told me that she wasn’t.
The campus of the University of San Francisco was filled with students moving about their days, going home after their afternoon classes or finding the building for their evening classes. I pulled my coat tighter around myself as the fall air was a bit chillier today. I was on the main campus, and I had no idea where to go. I had already gone to the building Bridget went to her for her last class, which would have ended two hours or so ago. I racked my brain thinking about where she could possibly go on campus. Then, it came to me. The library. I wanted to punch myself for not thinking of it earlier. She had to be there. I was still familiar with the campus from my brief attendance and quickly made my way to the library, searching each row of shelves. Finally, I found her in the back, sitting alone, reading A Tale of Two Cities. Why did that book keep popping into my life?
I slowly approached the table, pulled out a chair and sat down. Bridget looked up at me and smiled.
“Well, hello there,” she said, closing her book. And then she saw the look of concern on my face and added, “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t come back from your class right away and I was worried.”
Bridget sighed. “Abby, I’m only reading. I understand your concern, but I’m fine. Honestly.”
“Well, I’d feel a lot better if I could stay with you the rest of the day.”
Bridget smiled, reaching out her hand and clasping mine. “That would be just fine. How about we go down to the pier and admire the scenic views?”
I giggled and then quickly put my hand over my mouth, looking around to see if I had disturbed anyone, but no one was paying any attention.
“I’d like that,” I finally said. She smiled, packed up her things, and we headed to the pier.
“It’s quite beautiful here, don’t you think?” Bridget asked.
We were standing at the edge of the pier, looking out at the Bay. In the distance, we could see Alcatraz Prison standing on its island, filled with prisoners. Boats could be seen arriving at their port. We could also see the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance.
“It is,” I responded. “But I do miss home sometimes.” Not sometimes, but really a lot of the time.
“I know,” Bridget said, leaning into me and putting her arm around my shoulder.
I hadn’t thought about home in a long time. Most of my focus had been on the people I had lost, but I had also lost my home. The home I had grown up in for eighteen years had been destroyed by the air raids. The London Library, that held countless memories of spending time with Phillip, had suffered the same fate. And then there was the London Headquarters, my last possible place of refuge. But I had been taken from there as well. San Francisco wasn’t a terrible place to live by any means, but it wasn’t my home. It wasn’t where I was from. And the fact that many of the places I had called home in London weren’t even there anymore, or were damaged beyond repair, made it all the worse.
“Yes, I’m kind of homesick too,” said Ian.
It took a second for the voice to register. Ian. I turned and before I could do or say anything, he had pulled Bridget away from me. His hand was plac
ed behind her back as if they were a couple simply taking a late afternoon stroll.
“Say or do anything,” Ian said, “and the knife in my hand goes into her flesh. Understand?”
I nodded.
Bridget attempted to move away, and then suddenly let out a cry of pain Ian quickly cut off by covering her mouth with his other hand.
“The rules apply to you too, Bridget,” Ian said. “Now you’ve made me stick you with the knife. I can push it in further, or you can cooperate and I’ll take it out. Are you going to cooperate?”
Bridget nodded, tears forming in her eyes. Ian lowered his hand from her mouth, looked around to make sure he hadn’t drawn any attention, and then looked back to me.
“Bridget and I are going for a little walk,” Ian finally said. “I think you’re familiar with our destination.”
“Just take me,” I said. “Please. Everything you are working toward has to do with me. Why do you need her?”
“I’m not arguing with you, Abigail,” Ian said. “You know where to find her. Give it an hour before you come. Try and follow me, and she dies. Bring anyone but yourself, and she dies. Call out for help as we walk away, and she dies. I’m not above stabbing a woman to death in the street, Abigail. I’ve done a lot worse in my lifetime. Do you understand?”
“You’re a psychopath,” I said through clenched teeth.
“Thank you for that assessment,” Ian said. “It’s probably true, but it isn’t what I asked you. Do you understand?”
I took a deep breath and then said, “Yes.”
“Good,” Ian said. “We will be seeing you then. One hour.”
“Abby,” Bridget said, “Don’t trust him. Just go get h—”
Bridget let out another cry of pain from the knife going deeper into her skin.
“The same goes for you, darling,” Ian whispered against her earlobe before nibbling on it a bit.