Midnight Train to Paris (A Paris Time Travel Romance)

by Juliette Sobanet

  Luckily, the knife-wielding woman in the room isn’t paying any attention to my sister. Instead Hélène Morel towers over her lover, pointing the knife at his chest.

  “Is this true?” she shrieks in French. “Is it all true?”

  Isla works furiously to untie the ropes around her waist and legs while Hélène—with her back to us—continues grilling the speechless, despicable man at her feet.

  She stomps a pointy boot into his groin, making him cry out in anguish. “Is it true?” she demands one more time.

  Hélène doesn’t need to ask him again because the defeated look in his hollow eyes says it all. The knife that was meant to scare Isla and that would’ve eventually served to end her life now finds its rightful home in Parker Williams’s chest.

  Just as my sister is untying the last rope from her bloody ankle, Hélène wrenches the knife from the senator’s lifeless body and turns to Isla.

  “I don’t care about that baby anymore. This has to end,” Hélène says flatly. “Now.”

  As Hélène charges Isla with the bloody weapon in hand, her eyes turn the color of an inky black sky. Pooling every ounce of energy I have in this incorporeal body of mine, I throw myself in front of my sister.

  But in an instant, the wicked face before me flashes and morphs into one with those same dead black eyes—Agnès.

  She is coming at me with the dagger, poised and ready to kill.

  I glare at Agnès, knowing she is the vile seed who started it all. It was the inherent evil, sickness, and desperation of this woman that set off the entire chain of ill-fated events that will ultimately lead to my sister’s abduction seventy-five years in the future.

  Even though I am aware that changing the course of history could have irreversible consequences, I know without a doubt that this is the reason Samuel and I have been sent back in time. I must end the evil that has plagued my sister and me since the day we were born.

  Agnès’s long black dress swishes around her ankles as she charges me. I should be scared as she presses the tip of the knife into my neck. I should be shaking with terror at the wickedness that pours out of her like a gushing black river.

  But I grew up with a woman just like Agnès—a mother with no motherly instincts.

  A mother who I wasn’t afraid to fire a gun at when I was only thirteen.

  I am older now. Stronger. And I’m still not afraid.

  I look Agnès straight in the eye and shoot my hand up to hers, stopping her from pushing the knife any farther into my already broken skin.

  A visceral cry sounds from my lips as I wrench the blade from her cold, decrepit hands, lift the dagger and thrust it deep into her nonexistent heart.

  She crumples to the ground, her thick black dress swallowing up her frail, limp body.

  Breath and adrenaline course through me as one final gust of wind swoops through the frosty nursery, slamming the windows closed at my back. The baby mobiles finally cease spinning, their dreadful tune dying out with the wind. I turn toward Rosie, who is awake and—thankfully—alive, but my eyes lock instead on a man who is collapsed and bleeding in the doorway.

  Samuel.

  The dagger spills from my hands, landing on the marble floor with a clatter as I run to Samuel’s side. He is slumped against the door frame, lying in a pool of his own crimson blood.

  Air is no longer passing through his lips, and his chest is still.

  “Samuel! Samuel, come back,” I beg, shaking his shoulders and checking his neck for a pulse. My hands are shaking too much though, my fingers smeared with blood, tears clouding my vision.

  “Samuel!” I scream into the icy nursery. “Don’t leave me. Please, don’t leave me.”

  Sobs rack my body as I collapse against the man I have always loved, the man I will never stop loving.

  The man who saved me from my own wretched lies.

  “Please, no. Samuel, please.” In the slippery blood, through my frantic tears, I fumble, searching for his strong hands. I weave my fingers into his and pull him to me. “I’m so sorry, Samuel. I’m so sorry.”

  The slightest hint of warm air brushes past my ear as a spark ignites on my left ring finger. I barely feel any of it though. I just want him back. I would do anything to have him back.

  “I love you, Samuel,” I whisper. “Since the day we first met, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

  The spark grows in intensity, until it feels as if our hands are melding together, becoming one. And as another puff of warm air blows against my cheek, I lift my head to find Samuel’s striking emerald eyes blinking back at me.

  “Samuel? Oh my God, Samuel, you’re back!” I shower his gorgeous face with kisses, pulling him to me. He squeezes my hands even tighter, sucking deep breaths into his lungs.

  The electricity swirling around our hands dies down, but the spark blazing in Samuel’s eyes is as alive as ever.

  “I will never leave you, Jill,” he says. “Never.”

  CHAPTER 21

  December 31, 1937

  Lausanne, Switzerland

  A loud train whistle blasts off in the distance, and within minutes, the glossy blue carriages of the Orient Express come into focus. As the vintage train barrels over the snow and chugs to a stop in the bustling Swiss train station, a gloved hand squeezes my forearm.

  “I can’t believe I’m actually going to see Jacques in only a few hours.” Rosie Delaney’s sapphire eyes twinkle in the early morning sunlight as her other dainty white glove runs over her tiny belly. “Jillian, you saved my life…and my baby’s. You’re an angel from heaven. How will I ever repay you and your husband?”

  I take Rosie’s hand in mine and smile warmly at this young, sweet girl who has been given a second chance…and who has no idea that she is about to change the course of history.

  “My only wish for you, Rosie, is that you live a life filled with love and happiness,” I tell her.

  She pulls me into a tight embrace, and just as I am wiping my own tear from my eye, Samuel’s deep voice sounds behind us.

  “Paris is waiting, ladies.”

  “And so is the love of your life,” I say to Rosie with a wink.

  Dressed in a spiffy, gold-trimmed, royal-blue uniform, the conductor steps onto the platform and tips his hat to us.

  “Mademoiselle Delaney,” he says, taking Rosie’s white-gloved hand.

  Then he smiles at Samuel and me. “Monsieur et Madame Kelly, the entire Orient Express staff would like to convey our sincerest apologies for what has happened to all of you,” he says in French. “We have arranged a special, private carriage for you today, including a gourmet lunch prepared by our most famous chef. And before you deboard in Paris this afternoon, I will be providing all three of you with a lifetime pass to ride the Orient Express anytime, to any destination you wish.”

  His offer is generous, but if it’s up to me, this will be the last Orient Express ride I ever take. Still, we all smile kindly at the conductor as he motions for us to follow him aboard.

  Inside the elegant, warm carriages of the Orient Express train that will finally transport the three of us to Paris, the conductor leads us down the corridor, then stops to gesture inside the sleeping compartment to his left. “Mademoiselle Delaney, I believe this red valise belongs to you,” he says.

  Rosie cannot contain her excitement as she shoots up on her tip-toes and pecks the conductor on the cheek. “Merci, Monsieur. Merci!” she squeals, rushing past him and popping open the old-fashioned suitcase.

  As the conductor leads Samuel farther down the hall to our own private compartment, I linger outside Rosie’s doorway, watching as she removes a tattered shoe box from her luggage. Inside are stacks of letters—love letters from Jacques, my grandfather.

  Tears stream down Rosie’s cheeks as she clutches his words tightly to her chest. I watch her joy, her hope, her love spill onto Jacques’ letters, and I too am gripped with a mixture of overwhelming emotions as I recall the events of the past week.

  Af
ter our horrifying Alpine castle ordeal, Agnès’s body was taken away, and sadly, so was Frances Chapman’s. The thought of Frances’s blood-stained blond hair dangling from the stretcher as the paramedics walked her body out of that freezing, wretched nursery still makes me shudder. I am consumed with guilt that we didn’t arrive in time to save her from Agnès’s rage. At the same time, I am beyond grateful that we did arrive in time to save Rosie and her unborn children.

  Rosie and Samuel each spent four days in the Lausanne hospital, recovering from their wounds—which, according to the doctors, healed miraculously fast. Especially Samuel’s. The physicians on staff told me that between the gunshot wound Samuel suffered outside the castle and the knife wound he took from the giant guard who chased us down the candlelit hallway, he’d lost enough blood to have died twice. There was no medical explanation as to how he had survived.

  Gazing down at the sparkling emerald that is still molded tightly to my left ring finger, I remember the sparks that ignited when I laced my hand with Samuel’s right at the moment that I believed I’d lost him. I remember the breath that filled his lungs seconds after this ring touched his skin.

  There isn’t a medical explanation for Samuel’s survival, but I know that somehow this ring—or the power behind it—played a part in saving his life.

  I only wish I knew if I had saved Isla’s.

  After leaving my sister’s side to travel back to the past one final time and kill Agnès Morel, the flashes and visions that had taken me to Isla came to a dead halt. And now, that invisible connection we’ve shared since the day we were born feels weaker than ever.

  Dread pools in my stomach as I wonder where she is and why I cannot feel her presence any longer.

  As I stand in Rosie’s doorway and watch her pour over Jacques’s sweet love letters, my only comfort lies in the fact that in driving that dagger through Agnès’s heart, I have ended the original seed of evil that began this entire mess. And now, in this mysterious loophole of time and space we have jumped through, we are on our way to right a wrong that happened so long ago.

  I have no idea what will happen in the future or what will become of Samuel and me, who are still trapped in 1937…or what will happen to my lovely, sweet sister.

  All I do know is that the new version of the past is happening right now, right in front of my eyes…and this is what I must focus on if I don’t want to drive myself insane with worry.

  I give Rosie privacy with Jacques’s letters, knowing she will probably spend the train ride to Paris reading through each and every one of them, preparing to see the man she thought she would never live to see again…and preparing to tell him that she is carrying his child—or as only Samuel and I know, his children.

  I reach our private compartment and find Samuel gazing out at the charming Swiss town that passes by the steamy train window. As I rest my head on his shoulder, I know that no matter what happens in the future, we are doing the right thing. Rosie deserves to live; her children deserve to know their mother; and my Grandpa Jacques, who I am about to meet for the very first time, deserves to spend his life with the woman he loves.

  “That two hour gourmet lunch we just had may have changed my mind about refusing the lifetime Orient Express pass,” I say to Samuel as we settle into our private compartment for the remainder of our voyage to Paris.

  He laughs as he pulls me onto the plush sofa bed beside him. “That was the best meal of my life,” he says. “But not because of the food.”

  I raise a curious brow. “What do you mean?”

  “It was the best meal of my life because I got to share it with you.” Samuel leans in, brushing his lips over my forehead. “I’m just so glad you’re okay, Jill. That we’re okay. Only a week ago, I nearly lost you.”

  I run my finger along his strong jaw line and gaze into those gorgeous green eyes of his. “And I nearly lost you.”

  Taking my hand in his, Samuel peers down at the sparkling emerald ring still fitted tightly on my ring finger. As he runs his thumb over the finely cut stone, a spark ignites underneath my skin.

  By the shocked expression that passes over his face, I know he feels it too. We both know that this ring had something to do with landing us in the past and with saving Samuel’s life.

  And the even crazier part is that every time I’ve tried to take it off, it still won’t budge.

  “Have you had any more of your visions?” Samuel asks. “Of Isla?”

  I shake my head, not wanting to admit how helpless I feel, not knowing where she is or what has happened to her.

  “No, nothing,” I say finally. “I keep replaying the last time I saw her over and over in my head, hoping it will help me see what happened after I left her there with that crazy woman charging at her with the knife…but there’s nothing. And what’s even scarier is that the stories of our past, of our childhood…when I try to remember them, they’re fuzzy.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  “Fuzzy as in I can’t remember everything, not clearly anyway. The stories I told you about my mom, about the senator, and about Isla… they feel like they’re fading. My entire childhood with Isla, it feels like it’s slipping through my fingers.”

  Samuel runs his hands up my arms and gives my shoulders a squeeze. “I’m sure it’s just all the stress we’ve been under. And besides, most of those memories are traumatizing, Jill. It’s not a bad thing to stop thinking about them…or to let them go altogether.”

  “No, you don’t understand. It’s beginning to feel as if none of it ever happened. Which, if we’re honest about what’s going on here, could actually be the case. Think about it, Samuel. We’re in 1937, literally rewriting the past. I killed Agnès Morel before Hélène was even born, which means that even if Hélène does marry into the Morel family in the future, Agnès will never have the chance to pass on her sick jewels of wisdom or the keys to that vile castle. So while I’m sure Hélène will still be a power-hungry, baby-crazed lunatic, it’s not at all likely that she’ll commit the same abduction crime in 2012.”

  “True,” Samuel says. “And with what we’re about to do—reuniting Rosie and Jacques—Isla may never cross paths with Hélène Morel anyway.”

  “Isla may never cross paths with Hélène or any of the Morels because Isla may never even exist,” I reply, swallowing the knot in my throat. “In giving Jacques the chance he never had the first time around to pick Rosie up at this Paris train station and to be the father he was always meant to be to their children, we’re changing everything. Because he’ll be with Rosie now, it’s not likely that he’ll wander into that Parisian brothel, which is where he met—and impregnated—my grandmother. Which means that my mother, Céline, would never be born. Considering the atrocious person she was, that isn’t such a bad thing…except when you think about what that means for both Isla and me.” I glance past Samuel out at the wintry French countryside passing slowly by the window and feel an immeasurable sorrow take hold in me.

  “I know we accomplished what we were sent back here to do,” I say through the stream of tears that have begun pouring down my cheeks. “But what if none of it mattered? What if I’ve lost Isla anyway?”

  Samuel pulls me into his chest, running his strong hands down my hair and over my back. “You can’t think like that, Jill. We have to believe that the new way things will play out from here will somehow mean a better future for all of us. Saving Rosie’s life and taking her to Jacques is the right thing to do. We don’t know what will happen beyond today…or really, what will happen beyond this moment.” Samuel places a finger under my chin and lifts my face to his, wiping the tears from my cheeks. “All I do know is that through this crazy experience, you came back into my life. And whether we’re in 1937 or 2012, I don’t want to live another day without you.”

  Blinking my tear-stained lashes, I feel my heart simultaneously overflow with love for Samuel and breaks with sorrow over the possible loss of my sister.

  “I don’t want to l
ive another moment without you either,” I say to him.

  Samuel cups my chin in his hands and presses his lips to mine. Losing myself in the comfort of his safe embrace, in the passion of his warm, sweet kiss, I place my left hand over his heart. Within seconds, a heated spark ignites underneath the emerald. Warmth builds around my hand, spreading over Samuel’s chest, but we don’t break our kiss.

  And if it were up to me, I would stay here, wrapped in his arms forever.

  CHAPTER 22

  December 31, 1937

  Paris, France

  The view of the passing scenery from inside our toasty Orient Express cabin has changed from the frost-covered countryside to the unbelievable, enchanting sights of 1930s Paris.

  Elegant French apartment buildings line the streets, and sophisticated French women stroll down the narrow cobblestone sidewalks. Their slim figures are adorned with dark-colored vintage coats that stretch to their calves, and their short, wavy haircuts are covered with dainty, old-fashioned hats.

  But as we near the train station, some of the narrow rues we pass are not so enchanting. A cluster of shivering families lined up outside a shabby old building catches my eye. My heart breaks for them as I realize they must be waiting in line for bread. And then I remember, we are in the thirties, in the middle of the depression that has plagued France for most of the decade…and which will ultimately take France and its people straight into World War II, and into the Nazi occupation of France.

  Before I have time to ponder the tragic events of history—which for Samuel and me are now the future—Rosie’s excited voice travels into our sleeping compartment.

  “We’ll be there in two minutes,” she says, and I can tell by the way she is squeezing that cherry-red suitcase of hers and bopping from side to side that Rosie Delaney has never been more excited in all her life.

  The wounds on her face have faded to mere scratches, and despite the horror she lived through only one week ago, her stunning sapphire eyes are still sparkling brightly with hope. Rosie is a vision of 1930s elegance and style, but even more so, she is a brave survivor with a kind heart and an incredible will to live.