The Day Before Forever

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The Day Before Forever Page 30

by Anna Caltabiano


  I shook it to make sure the water was still inside.

  “Now can I pet your doggie?”

  I told him that he could, and the boy plopped down in front of Alma to stroke her entire body. Alma didn’t seem to mind at all. She licked his face while he giggled and ran his fingers through her yellow fur.

  I was still nervous about the priest, not to mention being caught by the police, and sent the boy on his way as soon as I could. The last thing I wanted was a child there when the killer came.

  Alma and I took the back way to the room. The fewer people who saw a dog and a bloody woman in the resort, the better.

  I found the key under the pot as usual and pushed open the door.

  “Henley?” Then I sighed; he wasn’t here either.

  Alma stared up at me, curious as to why I was talking to an empty room.

  The first thing I noticed was that the neon-green backpack was in plain sight. We always took care to hide it under the bed when it wasn’t with us.

  I stepped to the bed and saw that all the backpack’s contents were strewn across the duvet.

  There was a note on the pillow. Frowning, I picked it up.

  On it was the address of Miss Hatfield’s house. It was written in Henley’s handwriting. In smaller script, at the bottom, was today’s date and the time: 12:06.

  I had an idea of what it might mean, but I didn’t want to believe it.

  I checked the stuff that was spread on the bed. Henley’s passport was missing. Two of the Visa gift cards were also gone.

  Henley wouldn’t leave without me. The priest must have taken him. And the address that Henley wrote . . . he was taken to Miss Hatfield’s house.

  I held my head. I couldn’t breathe. The priest had seen Henley—or rather Richard’s body—in more than one time period. He must have thought he was immortal. If that was true, Henley was in more trouble than I had imagined. My body started to ache all at once, as if it had just realized the extent of the fight it had gone through. Henley wasn’t just leverage for the priest. Henley was also now a target.

  There was no time for thinking. Henley was alone with the priest. I had to get there.

  I picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Hello? This is Al at the front desk.”

  “Yes, um, hello, Al. This is Rebecca in Room 212. I’d like to check out as soon as possible.”

  “Certainly.”

  “Could you get all the paperwork ready for checkout?”

  “Of course. I need to notify you that you will be still expected to pay the full amount for the booked four-week stay, even though—”

  “Yes, that’s fine. How long will it take?”

  “Till checkout? I could get the paperwork ready in twenty minutes if you would—”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” Just as I was about to hang up, I thought of something. “You don’t happen to have a gift shop here, do you?” I asked.

  “Of course. It’s right by the elevators on your right. It has the most wonderful selection of souvenirs, chocolates—”

  “Yes, that’ll be fine. Thank you,” I said, hanging up.

  The priest must have snuck Henley out of the hotel in the middle of the commotion. There was no way I could catch up. I couldn’t even turn back time to keep the priest from taking Henley, since, like me, the priest was immortal and could only be found in one time.

  I looked down at Alma, who was still staring at me. “We need to get ready.”

  Walking into the bathroom, I was met with my gory reflection. One of the sleeves of my dress had been cut clean off. Blood was soaking down my front from my sliced shoulder. I looked down to see my right knee was swollen and starting to turn purple. In other words, I was a mess. My saving grace was my face. It had been smacked around, but it didn’t look bloody and the bruises hadn’t come out yet. Given that, I could hide everything else in clean clothing and look relatively normal. That was good.

  Groaning, I started taking off my clothes to inspect the damage. My entire chest looked purple—probably from the fall onto concrete—but there didn’t seem to be any broken ribs; I felt like I would probably notice that. I took a washcloth and cleaned my cuts. The one on my shoulder was by far the deepest. Applying water to it burned, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from shouting, but I knew I had to clean the wound to keep it from getting infected, and to soak up the extra blood to prevent it from seeping through a clean shirt.

  When I was done with all the cuts and had scrubbed most of the dirt off my legs, I took one of Henley’s shirts and tied it around my hurt shoulder. Hopefully it would prevent further bleeding.

  I wore another of Henley’s shirts on top to hide the makeshift bandage. I made sure it had long sleeves to hide the cuts on my arms. I wore jeans to cover my legs and draw less attention to my swollen knee.

  I looked into the mirror again. Not bad. I looked more like a person and less like something from a horror movie.

  I packed everything we owned into the backpack, taking special care with the clock and the flask. I had to remember to ask for a plastic bag in airport security for the liquid. The flask looked like it would just fit.

  I looked at Alma, who was patiently sitting by the door.

  As for her . . . I couldn’t leave her here. I wasn’t sure if I could bring her on the plane, but I had to try.

  I slung the backpack over my better shoulder and took Alma down to the lobby with me.

  A right at the elevators, I remembered.

  I turned and there was the gift shop. Not too big, but it would do. It was a glass room filled with tropical-themed merchandise. There were tropical T-shirts, mugs, candles, glasses . . . but I quickly found what I had been hoping for.

  I pulled a thin scarf with a print of fish on it and the biggest sunglasses I could find. I set them on the counter.

  “And this.” I put a bag on the counter along with the rest of the items and pulled out the credit card.

  I doubted the bag was actually meant to be a pet carrier, but it was rectangular with a zip opening on the top and two mesh sides. It was perfect for getting Alma on the plane. Alma seemed heavy for her size, but she couldn’t have been more than ten pounds.

  “Could you cut the tags?” I asked. “I’ll be using these right away.”

  Once everything was paid for and the tags were cut, I pulled the scarf over my head and tied it under my chin. I put the oversized sunglasses on and picked up Alma’s bag.

  There. Not the best disguise, but at least it wouldn’t be easy to tell that I was the woman involved in the fight by the pool.

  “Come on, Alma,” I said, as we made our way to the front desk.

  Al was ready with the paperwork for me to check out.

  “Should I use the card on file?” he asked.

  “Yes, yes.”

  Al glowered at Alma by my feet, but he didn’t bother to tell me that dogs weren’t allowed at the resort, probably because we were checking out already.

  A couple men in uniform walked in as I was signing the last of the papers Al had put in front of me.

  “Police?”

  “There was a bit of a bizarre scuffle outside,” Al responded.

  I wondered how many police calls were made as the poolside patrons watched two people disappear and appear, all while trying to kill each other.

  “Could you call me a taxi?” I asked.

  “Certainly. Certainly. In fact, there should be a couple outside that just dropped off guests.” He escorted me to the door.

  Sure enough, a taxi was waiting for me. I loaded Alma in her new carrier and we got on.

  “Marathon Airport please. As quickly as possible.”

  Buying a last-minute ticket at the check-in counter was surprisingly easy, since I was traveling alone. I only needed to tell the woman that a family emergency had come up, and she sympathized to the point of giving me a discount on the fee I had to pay for Alma. Of course, money was now no issue, since the credit card was a magical way to pay for every
thing and the money from the auction house wasn’t going to run out anytime soon.

  A last-minute flight meant I got to skip most of the security line. I was escorted through the side, and Alma had her own officer to check her. I remembered to ask for a plastic bag for the flask, so the backpack passed security without any trouble.

  A TSA officer was curious about the bulge at my left shoulder, but I told her it was a bandaged injury and she was fine after she waved her metal detector wand over it.

  Alma and I made it onto the plane in one piece. Then it was just sitting and waiting. In a way, that was really the hardest part.

  I had time on my hands. Too much time.

  In the middle of the struggle with the priest, I hadn’t been able to think. When I’d realized Henley had been abducted, my brain had frozen. Now I suddenly had three whole hours ahead of me with nothing to do but think.

  Why had the priest taken Henley? To make sure I came to him? Probably. But I didn’t have any other option. I couldn’t leave Henley with the priest.

  And the priest. Why was he doing all this in the first place? He was obviously immortal himself. I had more in common with him than anyone else in this world, even Henley. Yet he had some twisted vendetta against me. I just didn’t get it.

  I tilted my head back and stretched my stiff neck, while I stared at the plastic ceiling of the plane. My entire body was sore. Especially my chest. It was probably black by now from all the bruising.

  Why me? Why Miss Hatfield? I had too many questions, and I couldn’t answer them on my own.

  When the plane touched down in New York, I rushed off with the backpack and Alma in her carrier.

  I caught a taxi and gave the driver Miss Hatfield’s address.

  As we got into the city, I fidgeted with my shirt, the backpack, anything I could lay my hands on.

  What was going to happen? How was I going to get Henley out and avoid being killed by the priest?

  I was going in without a plan. I hadn’t come up with anything during the flight.

  What was I going to do? I balled my hands up into fists. Okay, I thought, I have to take this one step at a time.

  What was I going to do first? I had to make sure Henley was all right. That was the most important thing. But . . . what if Henley was already dead?

  I swallowed a burning in my throat. I couldn’t think like that. I shouldn’t think like that.

  The taxi pulled up in front of Miss Hatfield’s brownstone.

  I paid with the card. And then I hesitated.

  What if Henley was in trouble?

  I took my stuff and got out of the car. I let Alma out of her carrier and walked up the stairs to the door.

  It was ajar.

  I willed my legs not to shake and walked in.

  I made sure Alma had followed me before closing the door after us.

  I took another step.

  “Henley?”

  I waited. There was no answer.

  Slowly, I walked through the parlor, then the hallway, then the kitchen. I walked through all the rooms on the first floor.

  Empty.

  I took the stairs to the second floor and did the same. I looked through each of the bedrooms. I checked behind each door.

  Empty.

  But I now knew exactly where they were.

  They were in the room where it had all begun; the room I had first woken up in after Miss Hatfield had slipped the water from the Fountain of Youth into my lemonade and turned me immortal. The attic bedroom.

  I walked to the end of the hall and set the backpack down. Oddly, my steps were sure and strong. There was no rush. He would wait for me.

  The ceiling trapdoor to the attic was open. The steps that led up to it were pulled down. He was waiting for me.

  I walked up the stairs. Each step was deliberate. My body no longer hurt. We were beyond that now. This would be the end.

  TWENTY-TWO

  “REBECCA.” HENLEY WAS the first to speak.

  He was tied to a wooden chair, with a knife to his throat. The cord the priest had tied him with was so tight, it looked to be cutting into Henley’s flesh.

  The priest stood behind him. It was the first chance I’d had to take him in since working out that he was the killer. All that was between us was a four-poster bed with a gilded headboard and a bare mattress.

  The priest looked like a pillar of black in his dark robes. He was tall enough that he could have touched the exposed rafters slanting toward him above his head. Against the black fabric he wore, his skin was pale and translucent. He looked as if he had never set foot outside. But he was handsome. He had bright-green eyes, and they never left mine.

  He looked good. Kind. Like a priest should.

  “Why are you doing this?” I said, taking a step forward.

  “Stay where you are.” It was the smooth voice I had heard in confessional. “Don’t you see? Don’t you see what you’ve done?”

  The priest wasn’t looking at Henley as he said this. He was still looking at me.

  The hand holding the knife began to tremble.

  “This was supposed to be you.” The priest gently ran the blade down the front of Henley’s throat. “This would have been a fitting ending for you. We couldn’t even call it death, since you’re not really alive, are you? You’re merely existing.” He spat out the last word. “You don’t deserve death. You simply need an end.”

  “And you’re here to end me?” I said. “Then why are you standing there with a knife against Henley’s throat and not mine?”

  He squinted his green eyes at me. “Sometimes the innocent must be sacrificed to fulfill God’s work.”

  The innocent? So he knew that Henley wasn’t immortal yet. “You murdered Miss Hatfield to do ‘God’s work’?”

  “Miss Hatfield? Is that what you called her? Such respect for the person who damned you.” He smirked.

  I had never seen someone look so sinister, least of all a priest. “What kind of God do you worship?” I asked.

  The priest had an answer ready for me. “One who created everything and everyone. Save for you and me.”

  “You’re just like me,” I said. “Why would you want to end me?”

  “You’re right. We’re the same.” He surprised me with his answer. “You’re unnatural. Something that was never supposed to be.”

  Unnatural. There was that word again.

  “The Lord never meant for you to happen.” The priest walked around Henley, trailing the knife along his neck. “You cannot continue on to the afterlife without dying. You’re stopping that from happening. Disrupting the way things are supposed to be.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” I said. “You had a chance to kill me in that hostel room in London. We were asleep. There was nothing we could have done to stop you.”

  He smiled. “Very clever, Miss Rebecca. I did have the perfect opportunity to end you there. But I had to make sure more immortals—more deviants of nature—weren’t created.”

  “And so you followed me to the lake,” I finished off his speech.

  “Precisely. You’re much sharper than you look,” he said. “I knew of the lake. I knew it was somewhere in Florida, but I didn’t know where . . . That is, until you kindly led me directly to it. With that knowledge, I was able to ensure more aberrants weren’t created. You even led me directly to another. One who had already been turned.”

  “Juana.”

  “Yes, I must thank you for that. That one might have slipped away from me, but the Lord wished her caught and finished, so I did my duty.” The priest moved to Henley’s side, so I could see all of him apart from his legs, which were cut off from view by the bed between us.

  A glint of silver caught my eye.

  There was a pocket watch hanging from the priest’s neck. Even from where I stood, across the room, it looked familiar. I could describe the flowers and vines engraved on the cover without needing to see it up close, because it had been made for me.

  “Ah,
you’ve seen my little time-traveling trinket?” The priest held it up with his free hand and watched it sway on the chain and catch the light. “I have you to thank for this as well, don’t I? The court clockmaker created this for you, and you were foolish enough to leave it behind. For me.”

  I had left it on Richard’s bedside table, because I hadn’t thought it was important. I had commissioned the clockmaker to make me the golden clock. My clock. Not some small silver pocket watch he thought was better suited for me. I hadn’t even imagined it would be able to time travel.

  “So many surprises.” The priest tilted his head and watched me.

  I was worried he would kill Henley. I needed to keep him talking until I could come up with a plan.

  “So how did you become immortal?” I asked. “It doesn’t seem as if it was voluntary.”

  The priest paused, and I thought he would refuse to answer, preferring to move ahead with his killings.

  “It wasn’t willful. One of your Miss Hatfields was to blame,” he said.

  “One of the former Miss Hatfields turned you immortal?”

  “No, not me. She turned my sister immortal,” he said. “My sister was sick. Dying. She was going to meet her maker. She was pious. She knew the Lord. But in a moment of weakness, she became scared and begged Miss Hatfield to help her . . .”

  “And she turned your sister immortal.” I was trying to figure out why I hadn’t been told of another immortal besides the Miss Hatfields.

  “Did she become the next Miss Hatfield?”

  “No.” The priest’s face flushed. “I ended her before that became her fate.”

  “You killed your own sister?”

  “I sent her to the Lord, where she belonged. But not before she turned me into this . . . this perverse insult to the Lord!”

  I watched the knife at Henley’s throat carefully. As the priest talked and became more agitated, the blade moved against Henley’s throat. Right now it was so close that he could barely swallow.

  “She thought it was a gift. A way to remain with me forever. Even at the cost of paradise and salvation.”

  “And so she snuck water from the Fountain of Youth into something you consumed,” I said.

  “Yes . . . she believed it would be some sort of twisted heaven on earth.”

 

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