by Amy Murray
I lifted my head, all at once frightened and relieved. He approached me, his footfalls soft and slow. He raised his hands, and I imagined the shape of a gun. The killer had come back. I just hoped my death would be fast.
I leaned over James one last time and pressed my lips against his. “I love you,” I whispered, ready now to accept my fate.
“Are you alright?” the man asked.
I opened my eyes and stared at his hands. They were raised, but they were facing me, palms out and empty.
He wasn’t here to kill me. I dropped forward as grief pummeled me from the inside out.
“Are you hurt?” he asked with concern.
I shook my head no, then yes, then no again. “I don’t know,” I managed to say.
He took a few cautious steps in my direction and knelt a foot away from me.
“Is your friend okay?” he asked as he brought his fingertips to James’s neck.
I shook my head. “He’s gone.” The words were fractured with pain.
“Let me help you.” He inched forward and reached his hands toward me. They were large and calloused, a working man’s hands.
“They want to kill me,” I said, still staring at his palms.
“Who wants to kill you?”
The tears came again. Sadness swelled in my throat, and I choked on the words I couldn’t voice.
“My name is Colin. I promise, I won’t hurt you. Will you let me help you?”
I nodded, knowing my voice was an impossible thing.
He reached for my hands and assisted me to my feet. He didn’t ask whether or not I could walk, but chose to sweep his arm under my knees and cradle me like a child. I turned into him and buried my tearful face in his chest. I was leaving, but my heart stayed with James.
As my surroundings came back into focus, I released my fists and dropped my arms to my sides. A thousand unnamed things swirled in my head. Colin. Colin. Who was Colin?
“Abby,” Mack began. “I was looking for you last night because I had—have—so much to explain.”
I blinked up at him, my mind caught somewhere between here and there. James folded his hand around mine and squeezed. The motion did not go unnoticed, and Mack’s back stiffened.
“Can we talk?” He motioned to his apartment, where the door hung open. “Alone?”
I wasn’t ready to talk to him, and certainly not about last night. My answer was the shoving of my key into the lock on my door.
“I’ll call you after I talk to Gracie,” I told James as I stepped inside.
“Abby, wait.” Mack stood where I’d left him, his hands now buried in his pockets. “Please.”
“Good-bye, Agent McCormack.”
It was silent inside. Gracie must still be asleep. I said a silent thank you and stripped my clothes as I walked to the bathroom. Thirty minutes later, I had on a fresh pair of jeans and my university sweatshirt. I combed my wet hair away from my face and noticed a mark that ran just under my eye and across my cheekbone.
It was tender to the touch, and I hoped that in a day or two it’d be gone. The memory of last night, though—I didn’t think that would ever fade. Just thinking about it made my throat tighten, and the air was suddenly too thick to breathe. I threw myself from the bathroom and a pair of arms wrapped around my neck. A panicked scream was building, but before I could release it, I was let go.
“Where’ve you been?” Gracie asked. “You didn’t come home. I’ve been calling—”
My heart pounded, and I grabbed at my chest as if the pressure of my hand would keep it from exploding. “You scared me,” I said.
“What happened to you?” she asked as she stared at my cheek. I covered it with my hand and the small scab under my eye was rough against my palm. “Talk to me, Abby, because I’m starting to really freak out.” I dropped my hand, and her brows curved upward with concern. “Did James do that to you?”
“No!” I nearly yelled, shocked she would even suggest it.
“But you were with him?”
I had no idea where she was going with this. “You know I was.”
“If he did that, you need to go to the police.” She pulled her cell phone from her pocket and swiped her finger across the screen.
“Gracie, James didn’t hurt me. He’s not that kind of person.”
“I don’t know that.”
“But I do. He would never hurt me.”
She lowered her phone and disbelief colored her features. “Then please explain to me what he’s like. Because this?” She gestured to my cheek. “This isn’t okay with me.”
“I know, but you need to understand that this wasn’t his fault. We met at the gallery and went for a walk.” The rest of what I was going to say dissolved on my tongue when a shadow of worry crossed her face.
“Then what happened?”
I shook my head and dropped my gaze to the floor. Snapshot images from last night flashed before me. Guns. Blood. Dead, unremarkable eyes. I pulled in a slow, measured breath.
I shrugged. “We were alone, outside, when these two men—”
She leaned forward as she searched my face for answers. “Oh my God, were you mugged?” When I didn’t answer, she grabbed my hands and pulled me into the living room to sit on the sofa.
“I guess you could say that, but they didn’t take anything.” I cleared my throat and blinked to stop the tears threatening to come. “They were looking for something they thought James had.”
“Like money? What?”
I shook my head. “Jewelry.”
“Okay,” she said, drawing out the last syllable. “Why would they think James had it?”
“It’s complicated.” I searched for the right words. “He painted a portrait of—” I stopped and swallowed hard, debating how much of the truth I should tell her. “It was of a woman wearing a necklace. The painting was on display at the gallery last night.” Her only response was a nod. “We tried to get away from them, but…they attacked us.” The tears fell silently, now. “James was able to fight off one of them, but the other—the one holding me—had a gun.” I explained what happened while Gracie sat dumbfounded.
Her hands cupped her mouth. “How did you get away?”
“Mack.”
She looked toward the door as if expecting to see him standing there. “Our neighbor, Mack?”
“He shot him right in front of me.” My muscles trembled when I thought of the way that man looked, slack-faced with blood pooling around his head. I gripped my hands together and squeezed until my fingernails bit into my skin.
“Is he…did he…?”
I shook my head. “He didn’t make it.”
“Did you call the police? Is that where you were all night?”
“No, Mack’s taking care of it. He’s with the FBI.”
She sank back on the sofa, contemplating everything I’d told her, while I chewed at the inside of my lip, gnawing at the skin until it was raw.
When she spoke again, her voice was soft. “I’m glad you’re okay, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still worried.” Her fingers twisted at the frayed edge of her T-shirt. “I know you said that this wasn’t James’s fault, but what if you’re wrong? I mean, how well do you really know him?”
I hated to admit how little I knew of James, but that wasn’t important. Not now. Not with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. “I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I trust him.”
“Has he talked to you about himself? About his past?”
Before I could respond, a heavy knock interrupted the silence. She stood and opened the door to find Mack standing on the other side.
“Hey,” he said before zeroing in on me. “Can we talk?”
“I’ll give you guys some time. Just let me grab my things.” She slipped on her shoes, threw a sweatshirt on, and slung her purse cross-body style over her shoulder. “Call me if you need me,” she said. “I’ll be at Xander’s.” She gave Mack a nod and left.
“C
an I come in for a minute?” he asked.
I didn’t have the strength to argue. I crossed my arms, and Mack stepped inside. He didn’t say anything, he just looked around the room, avoiding eye contact with me.
“I know you’re mad at me,” he said.
“That might be the understatement of the year.”
“I had to make the shot, Abby. If I didn’t, he would’ve killed you, and I couldn’t let that happen.”
I stood, too tense to sit. “This isn’t about the shot you made. I’m grateful you saved my life. What pisses me off is that you’ve lied to me from the moment I met you. I have no idea who you are or what you do. I mean, why in God’s name were you even there last night?”
Mack deflated with a long exhale.
“I don’t know where to begin. I spent most of last night trying to figure out how I was going to explain this to you, but now that I’m standing here, I’m drawing a blank.”
The sincerity in his voice wasn’t lost on me, and some of the anger simmering in my chest dissolved. “How about you start by telling me who you are.”
Mack winced. “That doesn’t have an easy answer.”
I crossed my arms, but before I could speak, he held up a hand.
“I’m a special agent with the FBI, that much you already know, but the division I work for isn’t one you’ll find on our government website.”
“I’m not following you.”
Mack sagged and took a moment to collect his thoughts. “I work with people who have special abilities. People like your mother.”
I straightened and every nerve stood on end. “My mother?”
He nodded slowly. “She had a very special gift. Rare.”
“My mother was a paranoid schizophrenic. If you’d ever been around that kind of illness, you’d know it wasn’t a gift.”
“I need you to try and understand what I’m about to tell you.”
“I’m trying now, but you’re not saying anything.” There was a hard edge to my voice.
“Your mother could travel in time through an event we call a drift—a moment that enables a person to relive a portion of their past life.”
A bubble of a laugh escaped with disbelief. I’ve wanted an excuse for my mother’s condition for so long I’d probably have believed anything he said. But this? “No, no. That’s not possible. Time travel? Come on,” I said, throwing my hands in the air.
“I assure you, it’s possible.”
My foot tapped with nervous energy, and as much as I wanted to deny it, the gears inside my head began to turn through all that I’d experienced—my visions, James’s paintings, the diamond necklace that couldn’t be real, but somehow was.
“Just hear me out,” he pleaded. “Those men were looking for a diamond, right? Yellow? Pear-shaped?” His words came fast and jumbled.
“James could’ve told you that last night,” I said, unconvinced he was telling me anything new.
“That diamond went missing in 1922. No one’s seen it in nearly a century, and never as a pendent necklace.” His eyes searched mine, begging me to listen. “Tell me you’ve never seen it, and I’ll leave you alone, but I’d bet my life you’re drifting. And if you are, you need to know what’s coming.”
“Know what’s coming?” I repeated, making it a question.
“Those men won’t be the only ones. That diamond has ties to some powerful people.”
I bent at the waist and covered my face with my hands. Everything was falling, spinning out of control. I wanted to think that none of this made sense, but the more he spoke, the less I was able to deny that it did.
I dropped my hands and stood tall. “I saw the diamond last night, but not until after you showed up. The only other time I’d seen it was in a portrait in the gallery.”
I sat, and Mack took the seat next to me. “Do you want to tell me how it happened? How you saw it?”
I thought about telling him, but there were too many questions swirling in my mind. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I need answers first. You can’t come at me with something like this, and…and…” My words faltered as I struggled to organize my thoughts. “If what you’re saying is true, and my mother could…”
“Drift.”
I nodded. “Did she know what was happening to her?”
He ran his tongue over his teeth and twisted his lips. “No. We never told her.”
“Don’t you think you should’ve?”
“We did what we thought was best. People generally don’t take it well when we tell them they can travel through time. Look at you—and you’re not half as sick as she was when I found her.”
“She knew she wasn’t crazy.” Her last words flitted through my mind. “She told me that when time bends and I’m everywhere at once—that I’d understand where she was.” I wrapped my arms across my stomach. “She committed suicide, Mack. She ran herself into a wall to get out of her head. Don’t you think some of the anxiety, or guilt, or frustration could have been eased if she knew the truth?” Mack didn’t respond. “Does my father know? About my mother?”
He looked me in the eye and nodded. “Not in the beginning. We were looking for a cure, and with your father’s medical background—”
I turned my back to him with an exasperated sigh and gripped my hands in my hair. “I can’t believe this. He knew? Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Mack stood, the movement slow. “It’s not something that can be shared. Not until it’s necessary, and even then we evaluate whether or not it’s the appropriate action.”
“I need to speak with my father.”
“Not yet. Let’s talk first.”
But I didn’t want him telling me anything else. “No, I want to hear it from him.” I grabbed my keys and purse and walked out of the apartment.
“Abby, wait.” I heard him on the stairs behind me, but I didn’t stop. I ripped my car door open and shoved the key into the ignition.
“Where’re you going?” Mack huffed at my window.
“Where do you think?” I said as I put the car in reverse. I pressed the pedal with a little too much aggression, and when the car jumped back, I slammed on my brakes.
He ran to my window and braced his hands against the frame. “Don’t go. Not angry like this.”
I ignored him and backed out of my space without looking to my left. Putting the car in drive, I left him staring after me.
Chapter Seven
Seconds after I pulled up in front of my father’s house, Mack’s Tahoe slid to a stop behind me. He called my name as I climbed the front porch steps and was behind me by the time I jiggled the locked handle.
“Don’t do this, Abby,” Mack said. “He didn’t have a choice.”
“She had a right to know,” I said as I knocked on the door. “I had a right to know.”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice was plain and without argument.
I turned on him, unable to believe what was coming out of his mouth. “How can you say that? I lived with her for eighteen years, and in all that time, do you know how many times I remember her actually being there as a mother? As a friend?”
I waited for him to respond, but he didn’t.
“None. Not one. Do you know how many years I spent worrying I would end up with schizophrenia? How many hours I spent wishing I could help her? How many times I begged my father for an explanation?”
He remained quiet, and some of my anger dissipated. I turned my back to the door and crossed my arms tight over my chest.
Mack stepped beside me. “Do you honestly think that knowing what your mother really was would’ve changed any of that? Do you think you would’ve worried less?”
I stared at the brown grass and leafless trees. “I would’ve liked the chance to find out. At least it would’ve made some kind of sense.”
Mack shook his head and faced me. “Would it have? Made sense? Before you started drifting yourself?” My entire body went numb. “Would you have believed it?”
I
walked to the middle of the yard, not really knowing what to do or where to go. I blew out a heavy breath and shivered in the cool air, my heart hollow and confused.
“I know it’s not easy,” Mack said as he reached for my shoulder. “But please, try to be gentle with your father. This hasn’t been easy for him, either.”
My head pounded, and I rubbed my temples. How could I know more than I ever did, yet feel like I knew nothing at all?
James and I burst from the hotel doors with laughter on our lips. He wrapped an arm around my waist and spun me in a tight circle before setting me down.
“That’s some party,” I said, my chest light and giddy.
“My parents always know how to have a good time.” We strolled to the end of the street, and the music faded until we heard nothing but the sound of our footsteps.
“I don’t ever want this night to end,” I said. It had been perfect.
James took me by the hand and pulled me into an alcove. “It doesn’t have to.”
A smile spread across my face, and my stomach fluttered. “Everything ends. Most assuredly, the night.”
He leaned in close, his lips at my ear. “Not this. Not us. I’m yours, for all of time. Well, if you’ll have me.”
James gripped my hand, and the corner of his mouth pulled into something that resembled a smile. My heart jumped in my chest thinking I knew what he meant, but I couldn’t be sure, he hadn’t actually asked. With his free hand, he reached inside his coat, fumbling in the pocket, but before he could say anything else, footsteps, heavy and fast, beat against the sidewalk and caused us both to turn.
“Tommy?” James asked as the man ran toward us.
His eyes were wide with fear, and a thin layer of sweat beaded at his temples. He stopped next to James, his breath labored. They clasped hands, and Tommy placed his left hand on top as if securing their connection.
“Where’ve you been? Abigail, this is Thomas, my brother.” As James made the introduction, Thomas gave me only a quick look before he turned his frantic eyes back to James, his jaw shaking. “What’s wrong?” James asked.
“Don’t let them find it. They’ll kill her if they do. And tell her I’m sorry,” Tommy said, letting go of James’s hand.