by Jaime Loren
After a minute she groaned, shoving the torch toward me. “Can you please hold this?”
I held it as still as possible, trying to avoid the empty eye sockets staring up at me. As I stood there, watching my soul mate comb through her own coffin on my hunch that her deaths weren’t accidental, it became clear that I’d gone insane. The probability was that all I’d accomplish by doing this would be to mentally scar us both for eternity.
As gently as she could, she peeled the dress from the bones and retrieved the first of her thighbones, then the second. “Have you got the bag ready?”
I wrapped them carefully in the towel and slipped them into the labeled bag. She then went back for the hair, placing the torch under her arm while she pulled gently at the mass still plastered to the skull. Once she’d dropped it carefully into the bag, I sealed it, then gave her a boost out of the grave. After taking a moment to compose myself, I slid the lid of the coffin back on and climbed up. April had already grabbed a shovel and had started piling the dirt back into the hole.
Fifteen minutes later, we were back in the car, April damp with sweat and out of breath, while I was more numb than usual.
But I had to look at the bigger picture. In our possession we now had two samples of bone marrow—along with a hair sample—that could potentially prove whether I had to protect April from something, or someone. No matter how hard I squeezed my eyes closed, though, I couldn’t shake the vision of her scattered bones. I took a deep breath and turned the engine, praying I wouldn’t have to do this all again in another 150 years.
Chapter 38
(April)
It was the sound of rain that woke me. No, not rain. Water. I rolled onto my back, kicking off warm sheets and taking in his scent. I brushed the back of my hand over my eyes before opening them with a flutter. A splice of light cut through the room, emanating from Scott’s bathroom.
The door didn’t creak when I pushed it open, so he didn’t hear me coming. Judging from what I saw, though, I wasn’t sure he would’ve registered it anyway.
Crouched down in the shower, Scott was covered in soap, scrubbing at his invulnerable skin with a brush that made an oven scourer appear soft in comparison. Water dripped from his saturated, sun-bleached hair, tracing rivulets in the lather covering his broad shoulders. When he fell forward and flattened his palm against the shower screen, I jumped.
He’d barely spoken a word the whole way home from Newcastle, aside from asking if I was okay. The first thing we’d done once we’d returned the rental car was to go back to our motel room in Portland and shower. He’d showered again when we’d gotten home, while Henry and I’d cooked dinner.
I watched as he rinsed the soap off and started again, scrubbing at dirt that couldn’t possibly have remained after the last two showers. I crept forward and opened the shower door.
“Scott?”
My heart sank when he didn’t respond to my voice.
“Scott,” I said, stepping into the shower to kneel in front of him. When I tried to take the brush from his hand, he grabbed my wrist, making me jump.
“It’s me! It’s me,” I said, my heart pounding.
He didn’t look up. Instead, he loosened his grip on the brush and turned his attention to my hand, trailing his fingertips tenderly over mine, causing my heart to pound in a different way entirely.
“Hey,” I whispered, taking his chin in my free hand. “Hey.”
He slowly looked up, finding me with those blue-green eyes I loved to get lost in.
“April?”
Dread shot through me. I’d never seen him so out of touch before. “I’m here.”
“April,” he said, taking my face in both hands so quickly, I almost lost my balance. He smoothed his thumbs across my cheeks, my lips, my temples. “April.” His face filled with such sadness, I almost heard my heart break. “I’ll save you this time.”
“I know you will,” I whispered, rising up to kiss his forehead. “I know.” I pulled him against me, cradling his head as he leaned in, soaking me, and there we stayed, holding each other in the warmth of the water until Scott had fully surfaced from my grave and joined me in the land of the living.
*****
In the silence of his room and the comfort of his bed, we lay nose-to-nose, one of his arms wrapped around my waist while his free hand sat pressed against my heart. His breathing was so steady, I could’ve convinced myself he was asleep if it wasn’t for the occasional brush of his thumb against my hip, as though he was reminding me how much he loved me.
As if he had to.
It was moments like these, in the middle of the night, that I was prone to panic. Not outwardly, but in my chest, my gut, my veins. The weight of the life I was living—the one we were living together—was crippling. The pressure to succeed was momentarily overwhelming. Everything was riding on us getting this one right, on figuring it out. If we failed, he’d never recover, and that was a terrifying thought.
His thumb brushed my hip again. “I can hear your brain ticking away.”
I smiled and nuzzled into him. “I should catch up with Stell before we go to Hong Kong.”
There was a slight change to the rise and fall of his chest. “Of course.”
I hadn’t told him what her thoughts regarding the two of us together were, even though I knew he wouldn’t care. It wouldn’t change anything. But she’d always kept his secrets, so I figured there was a level of friendship there that was worth keeping. Just because she didn’t think he was boyfriend material—through a complete misunderstanding on her part—that didn’t mean she wouldn’t be there for him if anything were to happen to me. He was the first person she’d called when Joshua had been injured. He was the only person she’d wanted to talk to. I had to believe she’d help Scott if the roles were reversed.
“Just—will you promise me you’ll stay away from Rowan?” Scott asked.
I pulled back. “It wasn’t Rowan in the cornfield. So many witnesses saw him at Craig’s and he had absolutely no bite marks … it couldn’t have been him.”
“Maybe not, but your mom told me he verbally attacked you about being with me.”
I pressed my lips together. Chances were I wouldn’t run into him before going to Hong Kong, anyway. “I promise I won’t go near him, okay?”
He pulled me against him. “We’re so close to an answer here, I can feel it. I need you safe.”
I brushed my fingers against his cheek. “I’ll be careful.”
He sighed, the tension fading from his limbs as he leaned in and kissed me. “I love you.”
“I know.”
He pulled me harder against him, electricity sparking across my belly, my breasts, my thighs, and I figured if I couldn’t tell him how much I loved him with words, I’d just have to show him again.
*****
The next morning, Scott decided a drive to the cabin was in order. Most of his journals were there, and we figured it’d be useful to have everything laid out in front of us to connect the dots. The only problem was Mom and Dad were leaving that night, and they wanted to spend their last day with me. So, we decided Scott would do a quick round trip to the cabin, and I would spend the day with them, then catch up with Stella that night. Scott figured at least that way I was occupied, and with people who would help me should anything happen.
He’d also made me promise him at least ten more times that I’d avoid Rowan, and I assured him I had no intentions of having any contact with Rowan whatsoever.
Rowan, it seemed, was determined to have me fail miserably in that regard.
The tension at the Tav was high that night. We’d only been there around ten minutes before I started questioning why I’d even let Stella talk me into coming, but by then, there was nothing I could do about it. Rowan had made a surprise arrival, and I was trapped at the far end of the table. Mike and Craig provided comedic relief, but Rowan wouldn’t take his eyes off me, and Stella and Joshua couldn’t take their eyes off either of us.
&nb
sp; Apparently they were in disagreement over Rowan’s supposed innocence—Stella believing Rowan was at the party all night, but Joshua arguing he could’ve easily snuck out for half an hour, which had eventually stumped Stella, because after asking around, she hadn’t been able to account for every single minute of Rowan’s whereabouts.
Still, she was sure it hadn’t been him. Joshua was convinced there was something not quite right about Rowan.
I, on the other hand, didn’t know what to think anymore. I was considering climbing across the table to escape when Rowan swapped seats with Craig to sit next to me. I turned away, but felt the warmth of his hand on mine. I shuddered. Joshua tensed to stand up, but Stella grabbed his arm. It was a smart move. Joshua was in no condition to fight, not that Rowan would dare try anything in a crowded room, anyway.
I hoped.
“I would do anything—anything—to take back what I did the other night,” he said softly in my ear. “What can I do, April?”
My eyes met his. “You can leave me alone.”
He shook his head. “No. I can’t do that. Scott—”
“Scott—” I snapped, then quickly shut my mouth when everyone turned to look at me. What was I supposed to say? No one knew Scott had come back, and I wasn’t about to tell the one person it would upset the most that I’d spent the last three days in his arms. I didn’t want to make Rowan angry. I didn’t want to think of what he might do to me if he knew. “Scott has nothing to do with this.”
The others turned away, or at least they pretended not to listen. All except Joshua, whose green eyes carefully studied Rowan. I was surprised by his apparent protectiveness.
Rowan leaned in closer. I tensed. “I would never leave you the way he did.”
“He had his reasons.” I accepted that now. He was doing the right thing for both of us. He always had, and I should never have doubted his motives.
Rowan’s jaw tightened. “The guy is a fool. I’d do anything for you.”
I looked him square in the eyes. “Can you promise me you’ll never hurt me?”
“I can,” he said with conviction. “But would you believe me?”
Maybe it didn’t matter. My life was in danger regardless of whether or not Rowan would ultimately be the one to end it.
“I don’t want to fight with you. I know that much,” I said, truthfully. I didn’t want to piss him off. Ever. Maybe Scott was wrong. Avoiding Rowan could end up backfiring on me, big time. That old chestnut of keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer, might not be such a bad idea.
Rowan smiled warmly. “Then let’s agree not to be so hard on each other all the time, okay? Because I meant what I said before—you’re—” He glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Joshua lowered his eyes. “You’re my best friend, April. I would honestly kill someone if they laid a hand on you.”
I forced a smile, hoping I’d avoid another murder this time round, be it mine or someone else’s. Rowan rubbed my hand. I counted to three and pulled away. “Can I get you a drink?”
“No,” he said, smiling. “How about I get you one—as a truce?”
I nodded. “Sounds good. A can of lemonade?”
“Anything,” he said, before rising from his chair.
An image of my empty juice glass at the cabin surfaced. It was the first memory I’d had of the morning I’d almost drowned. The only memory I’d had. “Guys!”
Stella and Craig turned to me as I looked up. I wanted to tell them I’d remembered something, but then Mike looked, and Joshua, and my cheeks grew hot.
“What?” Craig asked.
I looked at Rowan, who was standing at the counter, his back turned to us. What was I going to say? Hey guys, I remember an empty glass of juice? It was hardly groundbreaking news.
I forced a smile. “Nothing. Never mind.”
Besides, that was something I should be telling Scott, not the whole town.
Rowan returned with our drinks, and the rest of the night played out without a problem. When it came time to head home, I chose to accept a ride with Stella and Joshua instead of Rowan. When he moved in for a hug, I obliged. But I couldn’t get past what he’d done to me in the gym. If anyone had motive to hurt me, it was Rowan. Even if Scott had never come back for me, my heart would always belong to him.
And Rowan knew it.
Chapter 39
(Scott)
It was always a relief to find her the way I’d left her—alive. I closed the door gently behind me and crept across to the bed. April lay on the covers, fully dressed, complete with shoes. Henry told me her parents had caught her doing that at home, too, ever since she’d been attacked in the field. It pained me to know she felt she had to be prepared to run at any moment.
No one should have to live like that.
She was still holding one of the reincarnation texts we’d bought in Essex the day before last. I bent and pulled it from her fingers, then undid her laces, holding her ankles carefully as I slipped each shoe off and rubbed her feet.
“Scott?”
“It’s me,” I said, bending down to kiss her cheek. “I’m home. You can go back to sleep.”
“’kay,” she breathed, rolling onto her stomach.
I ran my hands down her back, then up again, and she made a soft sound that made me itch to touch her in more discreet places. Knowing that if I didn’t stop touching her now, I’d wake her up completely, I stood up and went into my bathroom.
*****
In 1931, April Anne Fletcher fell from a tree, breaking her neck the second she hit the ground. Or, at least, that’s what Emma Willoughby, her three-year-old friend, had told the coroner. Wishing I could speak with her, but knowing it was probably a long shot, I pulled out the record, the writing now faint, and typed her details into the search engine.
A result popped up for her burial site, as expected. She was born two years after Henry, and the realization hit me hard. He was going to bed earlier and earlier these days, and waking up later. He wasn’t eating as much, and his hearing was getting worse. He was the only one who’d kept me sane these last seventy-odd years. Once he was gone …
I turned to look at April lying in my bed, but another date caught my eye, pulling my attention back to the screen.
Emma Marie Willoughby, 1928–1931.
She’d died the same year as April.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the screen.
The same year as April.
A familiar feeling of unease burrowed its way into my gut. I retrieved the box labeled “Nineteenth Century” and pulled it open, fishing out the journal of April’s eleventh death, in 1882.
She’d disappeared from her garden on a hot summer’s day, along with another young lady by the name of Katherine Philpott, whose body was found six months later, badly decomposed. April was found a year after her disappearance, just short of her eighteenth birthday, only partly …
I’d searched for her, relying on that tug I’d always used to find her whenever she came back, but it’d pulled me in every direction with no luck at all. In the whole year she was missing, I was vulnerable and tormented with the wish to be invulnerable so that I could better search for her. The irony was, were I invulnerable, it’d mean she was already dead. I didn’t sleep much, despite the fatigue. What little sleep I did get was usually found at the bottom of a bottle of whiskey.
That year was one of the lowest of my existence. I knew the minute she was dead, because the whiskey had stopped working.
I flipped through my notes on the case, my mind pushing at the membrane of something big, something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.
April rolled over and mumbled, “Scott … love,” and other unintelligible words.
My hair stood on end, my heart kicking into overdrive. Did she just say …?
Dropping the journal, I stood from the chair and dug my nails into my arm, a flood of relief drowning me when my skin didn’t tear. I exhaled sharply and moved over to the bed, climbing
on top of her and burying my face in her neck.
“Baby,” I whispered, kissing her.
“Mm?”
“You need to stop sleep talking.”
“Mm.”
“Wake up before you make me fall asleep.” I kissed her again softly below her ear before seeking her mouth.
She responded as though I was giving her breath, inhaling me deeply as her lips shaped to mine. A second later, she was giving me her tongue and arching her back to press against me, her hand wandering down.
A minute later I was losing myself in the silky warmth of her body and the sweet sounds of her pleasure.
Chapter 40
(April)
Click-click-click-click-click-click-click—
“April.”
I looked up. “What?”
Scott glanced down at the pen in my hand, then flashed me a look that said I was driving him nuts.
I continued clicking. “Bite me,” I said, then blew him a kiss. My heart flipped when he sprang from his chair and climbed on top of me on the bed, pinning me on my stomach as I laughed. He lifted my skirt, kissing my spine from top to base, then pulled my underwear across and playfully bit my bare backside. His bite turned into a full-mouthed kiss, complete with tongue to make my head spin.
Then with a slap on that very spot that made me jump, he readjusted my underwear before lying down beside me. “Anything?”
I propped myself up on my elbows. “Well, there’s this one thing.” I pointed to a line in his journal. “Here you say that the guy who stabbed me was short and stocky.”
“Right. The police measured him at five foot four, 210 pounds.”
“No.” I shook my head and sat up. “He was tall. Like, really tall.”
He gave me a curious look. “Taller than me?”
I took his hand when he offered it, and we climbed off the bed, turning to face one another. I looked up at him and closed my eyes, combing the memory of that particular nightmare.