The Day Before Forever (8 page)

“We could say that my grandmother—God rest her soul—left me a great amount of things when she passed, including her treasured Tudor jewelry passed down for generations. How simple is that? No need for problematic paperwork on how the jewelry was bought or acquired if it was passed down in a family long enough.”

“Nice and simple . . .”

“No holes,” he said. “We get the man his money. We get IDs—”

“And passports,” I said.

“And passports,” Henley repeated. “And we're out. And then?”

“New York.”

FOUR

THE WOMAN STOOD
in front of me in a haze of white. I couldn't see where she was—I could only concentrate on her. She was dressed in white, with only the faintest rose color in her cheeks. She was
pure
. She was
good
. She looked like some sort of immovable Roman statue. She had marble eyes and frozen lips. Her hair fell gently down her back.

I reached out—I didn't know if it was to comfort her or to somehow unfreeze her—but try as I did, I could never reach her.

The woman smiled, suddenly unfrozen, and both our gazes traveled down. A red flower bloomed from her body. As its bright petals unfurled, the red seemed to engulf her.

I looked back at her face, and all at once she looked terrified. How could I have mistaken that grimace for a smile? She was horrified at what was happening to her. She was in pain. She started to scream.

I tried to reach her, but I couldn't move. I tried to cry out,
but there was only silence. All I could do was watch her die.

I woke up, blinking into the dark. My breath was coming in ragged bursts from crying in my sleep.
Everything's okay. Just breathe.

I sat up slowly. The room was ink black, and though my eyes strained against the darkness, I couldn't see a thing.

I felt Henley next to me. The side of his body pressed into me, and he felt warm.

Moving to swing my legs off the side, I suddenly brushed over something cold with my hand. I recoiled.
What exactly is that?
It felt smooth and chilled. Something on Henley's side.

I frowned. My hands fumbled to get the light switch. I thought it was above the bedside table. When the lights flickered on, I choked.

Henley was on the bed, lying straight on his back. His hands were clasped together and wrapped around them . . . the plastic beads we had gotten on the streets yesterday.

So that was what had felt cold to the touch.

He looked like a corpse.

“Rebecca . . . What time is it?” Henley's eyes fluttered open.

He looked from me to his hands. The color drained from his face.

“You didn't do this, did you?” his voice wavered.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

He sat up with the beads still around his hands. “If you didn't do this . . .”

“Someone was here.”

I immediately dove for the backpack under the bed. I pulled
it out and unzipped it, emptying its contents. The clock was there. Thank goodness. Richard's vial was there. And the cash too. Nothing important was missing.

“It's all here,” I said.

I looked to the bedside table. The other set of beads we had been given remained untouched.

Henley was already walking around the room, taking a look at everything else. “It doesn't look like anything's been touched . . . Maybe I grabbed the beads in my sleep,” Henley said, but we both knew that wasn't true.

My hands shook, but I managed to repack the backpack and slip it under the bed again.

“But what's the meaning of this?” Henley said.

I bit my lip. I didn't know. “Whoever this is—he linked your hands together. Was it supposed to invoke chains? Or be a signal to me somehow?”
Was it supposed to mean something to me?

“The man on the street yesterday . . . ,” Henley started.

“No. He doesn't have any reason to do this.”

There was a chill in the room.

“He found us,” Henley said. “The killer.”

I sank back into the bed in disbelief.

He couldn't have. Of all the time periods he could be in, he had managed to find ours.

“He tracked us down,” Henley said.

This was a person on a mission. He wanted me—and maybe Henley too—dead. That was his goal, I was sure of it, but now I started to wonder . . .

Henley rushed over and grabbed the backpack from under the bed again. I watched as he began throwing our clothes into
it.

“What are you doing?” I asked slowly.

“What do you think I'm doing?” he snapped. “Someone's toying with us. I'm packing to get us out of here.”

“Out of here and to where?”

“Somewhere. Does it matter as long as it's not here?”

“Henley,” I said, not moving from my spot on the bed. “We have no place to go.”

He still continued packing, even grabbing the clock to bundle it up.

“Henley, are you listening?” I asked, but he didn't stop. “We have no place to go and no immediate money. We can get money but that'll take time, and we need to stay in one place for that.”

Henley dropped the backpack in front of me. “My God, Rebecca, he'll kill you. He'll kill you, you know that?”

I shook my head. “We were asleep last night, and he didn't kill us then. He had the opportunity, but he didn't take it.”

Henley roughly pushed back his hair. “And what makes you so sure that he won't take the next opportunity he gets?”

“I can never be sure,” I said. “But I can guess. And my gut feeling—”

“This isn't the damn time for gut feelings.” Henley's cheeks were red. “This is someone who tried to smother you in your sleep. Who killed my mother!”

“He's grown since then. I can't explain it, but he's different. He doesn't just want me dead. He wants me . . . to understand.”

“Understand what? There isn't time for
understanding
.”

“It's hard to explain,” I repeated. “I just
know
. He would have killed us last night. There was nothing stopping him. But
he didn't. There's something more he wants.”

“So you expect me to just let you stay here?”

“I want you to trust me,” I said.

“What? Trust that you're right, and when you're not, simply watch you die?” Henley was breathing heavily, trying to keep his voice down. “You can't ask that of me,” he said. He didn't say it, but he had to have been worried for himself too.

“That's the one thing I ask,” I said. “There's no other way. We can't go far without passports. Say we switch from here to a different hostel or hotel. Or say we traveled to a different time. What then? If he could track us down to this specific place and time, wouldn't he do it again? What's stopping him?”

“At least by traveling to a different time we could buy us some breathing space.” Henley was pleading now.

“Not enough. It would cost us additional time to get set up in the new period—money, a place to stay, a background story . . . And the toll on your body—your new body . . . ,” I said. “You almost died this last time.”

That finally got Henley to at least sit down. “You need to time travel without me.”

I sputtered. “You can't be serious.”

“I know you don't want me to bring it up, but we both know you need to time travel soon,” Henley said. “It's been on my mind . . . I mean, how could it not be? Every moment you're here is a greater strain on you. You need to time travel—”

“So I don't go insane,” I finished for him.

“So you don't suffer the side effects of immortality,” he put more tactfully.

“You know I can't leave you.”

“You can—” Henley started to say.

“I can't. I don't
want
to. After all that's happened . . . you think I could leave you just like that?”

“You need to. There's a killer here, and you're not safe.”

I was about to argue with him when I thought of the letter from the 1500s in the parking lot again.

“Okay . . . ,” I said slowly. “I will.”

“You'll get out of this time?” Henley said.

“I will.”

I started telling Henley about the article I had read on Alanna's phone.

“So you think Juana's the killer?” Henley surmised.

“I think that's a safe bet. Our only bet, in fact.”

“And you want to travel back in time to the same year in the Regency period as the chest they found just to see what this letter says?”

“Well, wouldn't it help me not go insane from staying in one time period for too long?” I said.

“But what if Juana's there?”

“Juana could be anywhere,” I said. “If she is the killer. He—I mean
she
was obviously here last night.”

“I don't like this . . . ,” Henley said.

I didn't tell him the fact that I thought the killer would follow me and therefore I could protect Henley by keeping away from him for a little bit.

“We're doing the best we can,” I said.

“What if that's not good enough?”

I couldn't answer that.

I moved to the edge of the bed where Henley was seated and
placed my hand on his shoulder. “I could go tomorrow. We can find the parking lot. It won't take long.”

FIVE

THE NEXT MORNING,
we grabbed the clock and went straight to Aaron to ask for the quickest way to get to the address mentioned in the article.

“Oh, are you going to the shopping center there? It's quite nice,” he said.

Neither Henley nor I corrected him, as Aaron pointed out the location on our map. I guessed it was the parking lot to the shopping center.

The walk there wasn't as long as it looked to be on the map. Henley had put the clock in the bag he carried. On our way there I had enough time to wonder what the scene would look like once we arrived. It was an excavation of some sort, so was it just a hole in the ground? Would there be a crowd of onlookers since this was in the news? Would it be difficult to get in there with barriers and lots of yellow tape?

But once we arrived, I was surprised to see that there were
very few onlookers. Occasionally someone would stop on their way to glance at the gaping hole in the ground, but that was pretty much it. There was only caution tape around the site of the dig.

The dig itself was bigger than I had imagined. The hole in the ground looked to be the size of the foundation of a house.

I spied a ladder on the side. This wasn't going to be too difficult.

Henley had already taken the clock out from the bag. I kissed him on the cheek and took it from him, before climbing under the caution tape and making my way toward the ladder.

“I'm sorry. This is a restricted area—” I heard as I descended into the pit.

“Miss!” The voice was coming closer.

As soon as my feet hit the bare dirt below, I started turning the clock.

Regency period. So 1815 would do, right?

I'd never get used to time traveling. The actual act was simple enough; a turn of the clock's hands was all it took. But the world around me dissolving and a new world taking its place—now that I could never get used to.

I watched the colors of the objects around me soften. The sky was a blue sheet that ran into the white clouds like watercolor. The dirt of the ground seemed to melt off, softening as it turned into carpet beneath my feet. A different world came into view as new objects hardened in place.

Something sharp hit my chest, and I put my hands out to steady myself. A crash broke me out of the strange feeling of
peace.

There were no words as I looked about at the many shards that encircled my bare feet.

“What in tarnation—”

At the sound of the foreign voice I looked down at my nakedness. Of course. My clothes hadn't been invented yet. Quick. My eyes darted to a standing screen in the corner of the room. Four leaping steps across the carpet and I was behind it, bringing the clock with me.

“What's going on?”

I peeked from the side of the screen. I had only meant to steal a glance—to see what I was up against—but instead my eyes locked onto two gray eyes staring back at me.

“Rebecca?”

At first I thought I had heard wrong. There was no way this stranger could know my name. He didn't know where I came from. He didn't know me.

“Rebecca Hatfield? Is that you?”

I took in the sight of the man in front of me.

He couldn't have been that much older than me. Freshly shaved, curly hair combed back, neatly trimmed sideburns, and what looked like a type of necktie wrapped and secured at the base of his neck. I didn't have to be near him to know that he smelled like a bouquet of meticulously picked flowers.

“Rebecca, come out here this instant,” he said. He stood tall in his long black jacket.

I looked down at my bare body behind the screen. “Um . . .” Something in the authoritativeness of his voice made me want to obey—it actually felt safe to obey—but my present situation
made me unable.

The man also heard my hesitation and was reminded of my current situation.

“Uh, yes . . . I'll, uh, send for Mrs. Becker. She'll know what to do.” He actually had the decency to look embarrassed. Or at least that's how I figured he was feeling as he took a sudden interest in his shoes.

He abruptly left without any indication of when or if he would be back.

Who was he? And how did he know my name?

I didn't have much time to dwell on these questions before there was a knock on the door.

“Um . . . yes? Come in?” I said, placing the clock by my feet.

A woman in a brown pinstriped dress swept in. She brought with her a tower of boxes clutched to her chest. The woman sidestepped the broken shards of what I assume was a vase. She didn't even glance down.

Bobbing a quick curtsey, she set the box down. “Ethel will see to your dressing today. I am afraid Lucy is not with us anymore.”

“Dead?” I automatically asked, as a young woman with wheat-blond hair scuttled in. I didn't know what made me say it.

The older woman in the brown dress tried to look away as the corner of her mouth lifted.

“No. She simply sought new employment elsewhere,” the woman said, looking amused. “I'm afraid much has changed since your last visit, Miss Hatfield.”

My skin rose in little bumps being addressed that way. I must have traveled to a time and place where a former Miss
Hatfield once was . . . But which Miss Hatfield? I had assumed all of them had been in the United States.

“Ethel, why don't we dress Miss Hatfield in the deep-blue dress that was her favorite?” Mrs. Becker took the lid off of the box on top. Turning toward me she said, “I'm afraid the dress will be a bit wrinkled. It's the best we could do without notice. We didn't know you would be arriving . . . so soon.”

She looked to me, and I realized she was waiting for a response.

“Of course,” I said. “The blue dress will do.”

Ethel and Mrs. Becker continued to unpack white undergarments and the yards of blue fabric and ribbon that made up the dress. I tried to look around the room for the chest, but there was only so much I could see from my position behind the screen.

Ethel came behind the screen and started dressing me as Mrs. Becker edged toward the door.

Mrs. Becker paused. “Will that be all?”

“Uh, yes.”

“Very well. I shall leave you to your room.”

My
room?

I was so preoccupied with what she might have meant by that that I had barely heard her when she had said, “I believe Mr. Percy will be in his study when you are ready.”

She slipped out, only barely glancing at the broken vase on the floor on her way out.

Blending into a time period was a lot like a child's game of dress up. At times it felt juvenile, but I guess it was a testament to how little things changed in different times. Whatever the year
was people didn't really change. Sure, the fashions changed and people might speak a bit differently. But that was really it. People's relationships with each other stayed the same. Their desires stayed the same. And for the most part, even their values stayed the same.

When I was finally wearing enough layers of undergarments to satisfy Ethel, she asked me in a quiet voice if I would like her to do my hair. I gave her a nod, and she led me to a vanity on the other side. She began poking and prodding at my hair as soon as I took a seat.

“Something simple will do,” I said, biting my lip. This wasn't what I was here to do.

“Of course, Miss Hatfield.”

Ten minutes later, with my hair off the nape of my neck, Ethel led me back behind the screen to finish dressing me.

She lifted the top layer of the dress over me, and the blue fell around me. Ethel's deft fingers buttoned my dress quickly and then flew down to rearrange my skirts. I looked down and the blue of the dress piled around me made me look like I was drowning at sea.

“Thank you, Ethel,” I said, giving her a nod to dismiss her.

Ethel crept out, barely turning her back to me.

When she had left and closed the doors behind her, I was finally left alone to take in the room.

It was a surprisingly big space. Yes, there weren't too many objects or pieces of furniture, but that was to be expected of this time period.

There was a bed in the middle of the room. The covers were a blue that matched my dress. There were two wooden bedside
tables, a dressing table with a mirror, and a chest with drawers on the far wall. I noticed there were no windows, but the high ceiling kept it from feeling stuffy.

A chest. Where would a wooden chest be?

I didn't quite know how big it was. I didn't have much to go by. It didn't look too big in the photo.

I scanned the tops of the bedside tables. Nothing. They didn't even have drawers that the chest could be in.

I pulled out the drawer of the bedside table on the left side. Empty.

Going over to the other side, I held my breath, expecting this drawer to be empty too.

I pulled the handle and the first thing my eyes saw was a Bible.

I picked it up, thinking I'd flip through it, but as soon as I lifted it, I saw there was something underneath. The chest.

It was wedged into the drawer so there was no space, but it was unmistakable. The same type of wood. The same engravings.

I pried it out using my fingernails as leverage. The box opened so easily.

There was a rosary in the box, but I pushed it aside. It was of no interest to me. I came here for the letter. I grasped the paper at the bottom of the box.

Querida Emilia . . .

This was it.

Gripping it tight, I pocketed the letter.

This was all I had come here to do . . . and yet, there were still so many unanswered questions. Which Miss Hatfield's life
was this? Why was Juana's letter here?

I walked out of the room, deciding one more conversation with Mr. Percy wouldn't hurt. If anyone could answer these questions, it would likely be him.

Mrs. Becker had said that he'd be in his study, but where would that be? I didn't even know if I was upstairs or downstairs currently. Wait . . . were there even multiple floors? No matter. I decided I would check the rooms nearby first.

The door next to my room was locked, so I moved on to the next door in the hallway. The doorknob turned easily, but upon peeking my head in, I saw love seats and a card table. A sitting room of some sort?

I moved down the hall door by door. Some rooms were locked. Others looked like dusty closet spaces or other bedrooms. I was beginning to think I wouldn't find the study on this floor, when I neared a room with an open door.

“Yes. Yes. Certainly.”

I could hear voices—or rather, one voice—from the open door as I neared it.

“Of course I know that she's a threat to herself . . . Yes, I know that it's important to get her back,” Mr. Percy said.

I refrained from walking into the room because I wanted to hear more of the conversation. Who was he talking with? What was this about?

His voice got low. “I-I just don't want it to go as it did last time. I know we had to force her to go, but watching it . . . it all but broke me.” There was a long pause. I couldn't hear the other person, but I supposed there was a response. “Of course I know that. But she was going to be Mrs. Benjamin Percy. I was in love
with her. I still am . . . I can't help it. You forget that I almost married Rebecca.”

I faltered hearing my name . . . or rather one of the Miss Hatfields'. But what I heard next almost made me sick.

“She sounds as if she's in one of her more reasonable moods today, so come tomorrow. Yes, she only broke one thing today. No tantrums yet, so far. Come tomorrow, then you can take her back to the asylum.”

He said it so casually that I almost missed it. The asylum. As in a mental institution. But in this time, I knew it was more of a prison than a hospital.

But he said he loved her—
me
. Then why was he doing such a thing?

And then it hit me. I knew which Rebecca Hatfield this was. The fiancé, the asylum . . . it all made sense.

I remembered the information that my Miss Hatfield—the sixth Miss Hatfield—had given me. It was the fourth Miss Hatfield who entered into an asylum because she asked her fiancé to accept her for what she'd become. She had told him everything and asked if he could still find it within himself to love her. Needless to say, he thought she carried bad blood and he helped them lock her away. It's not clear exactly how she died, but I remembered my Miss Hatfield had told me the fourth had died in the asylum. She said it was probably the torture they put her through that ultimately did her in.

I shivered.

That's why there was no former Miss Hatfield here. Or maybe the killer had something to do with this too? When a Miss Hatfield dies, she gets erased from time completely.

I had the letter now. I needed to go back.

Taking care not to make any noise, I walked quickly back down the hall into the room I had come from.

The clock was still where I had placed it on the floor behind the screen. Checking once more that the letter was in my pocket, I turned the hands of the clock.