The Space Between (17 page)

You had no choice
, he told himself. Even the voice in his head didn't sound too convinced. Guilt was a formidable foe, and he'd been feeding it well since losing Emily. He knew deep down he was not at fault for Emily's death, but it had never been easy to dig so deep. It was always easier to linger on those few seconds where the slightest turn of the wheel might have made all the difference. With
Elizabeth
, he could see the danger ahead. Now he was facing off with guilt again, and he wasn't so sure he would win this time, or even be allowed to walk away.

Isaac steeled himself against the assault and made his way downstairs. He cracked open a fresh beer and leaned against the kitchen counter, turning the bottle up until it was half-drained. He paused to take a breath before finishing it off and opening another. The second bottle was poised at his lips when he stopped, holding it there as new thoughts floated into his consciousness.

Elizabeth
had definitely been acting differently. And now that Isaac thought about it, there had been a difference between the first two encounters with her, though not as noticeable. She seemed to be growing less trusting, less affectionate. Was she losing faith in him? His guilt seemed to relish this idea and gurgled happily in his stomach.

Here he was, a complete stranger appearing out of nowhere and telling her she was in danger,
showing
her that her own mother was most likely dead because of her father's sick mind. And then he would just disappear, leaving her to her own devices with only a few words of warning and an unfulfilled promise to help. It was quite possible she no longer felt confident in his ability to save her.

But I asked her to come back with me, damn it! It was like she was more afraid of
me
than her father.

The more Isaac considered this, the more it fit the pattern. She went from wanting to leave with him, to giving herself to him, to being apprehensive of his every word. She'd even tried to flee when he walked in, only calming down after he'd convinced her who he was. Why was that? The room wasn't shrouded in darkness; she could see him as plainly as the previous times. She recognized him, but didn't seem to
know
him. Not to mention she was ready to have him sit down to a nice family dinner with her and
Obediah
.

It really is you, Isaac?

The beer almost slipped from his hand as
Elizabeth
's words played through his thoughts. He tightened his grip and caught it just in time, lowering it back to the counter as he stared ahead at nothing.

It really is you. Isaac?

When she'd asked that question earlier he completely misinterpreted the inflection of her words and thought she'd asked something else, asked if it were really him. But hearing the playback in his mind, Isaac realized she was saying his name in a way that asked for confirmation. She was asking if his name was Isaac.

As if it were the first time she'd heard it.

His legs shook with the realization, and he stumbled over to one of the dinette chairs. His hands went to his temples, pressing hard towards the center of his head before sweeping back along his hair.

"It's all been backwards," he coughed out in small breaths. "Every time I see her it's earlier than the time before."

His eyes were wide with wonder as he tried desperately to discount this theory. But all of the pieces seemed to fit. Her reactions to him, the shifting attitude toward her father, everything. Even her father's rage toward him went from insane to merely protective.

The implications of this, if he was correct, would make helping her even more difficult. If she feared him in the slightest now, how would she react to him on his next visit? He would have no choice but to get in and take her back with him, kicking and screaming if he had to. It went against what he'd just told her, but everything was changed now. He would have to worry about convincing her after she was away from
Obediah
and safe with him.

Of course, that brought about the whole question as to whether or not she could even come here. There wasn't much Isaac could do if his attempt failed, and he could only hope that trying to bring her here wouldn't cause some cataclysmic event. But if he could go through to her time, why couldn't she pass into his? There was only one way to find out.

Settling in with the idea that his final visit would be a rescue mission, Isaac began to relax, grabbing the open beer from the counter. He sat back down and glanced at the clock. Albert and Harold were due in roughly an hour. Dinner would take just as long, so he would need to get started soon. Perhaps the ritual of cooking would ease his nerves until he could finalize a plan for
Elizabeth
's rescue.

Before he began preparing dinner, he conjured an image of the lovely girl he'd fallen hard for over the past few days. He marveled at the thought that in such a short amount of time he'd allowed himself to become so attached to someone. It had taken weeks (if not months) with Emily, and it stung to compare the two. However, he could not deny the adoration and love he felt suffused with when imagining
Elizabeth
's face. That first time he'd seen her, her golden hair and trusting eyes. The way she'd touched her belly and-

We have to be together, Isaac. Especially now.

He choked on a mouthful of beer, spitting it all over the table and his hands. Tiny bubbles fizzed up through his sinuses, causing him to sneeze several times before getting himself back under control.

As he sat there, bent over and rubbing at his nose, he could see her face as she had spoken those words. He knew what she'd been hinting at, but it made absolutely no sense for her to do so at the time. But now, considering he
had
made love to her on the following visit, and the theory that he was moving backward through her time...

And then the memory of his first visit flooded his mind, and the real world around him swam out of focus. The blood, the disorder, the stench. He'd come to believe that
Obediah
had killed someone in that very room, probably his wife once he'd punished her enough in that dank, chilly barn. But now Isaac understood that bloody scene hadn't happened before he met
Elizabeth
, at least not to her. Whatever had happened in that room had occurred
after
his encounters with her. As her father's rage built with each of Isaac's intrusions, it was no surprise that it had culminated into something so violent.

What in God's name have I done?
he thought and lunged for the kitchen sink, unloading the two beers in a steamy rush of liquid and bile. It splashed up, spattering the counter and his arms as he leaned over and let the last of it drip from his open mouth. He waited for another round but nothing came. His face was warm yet speckled with a cold sweat. A chill ran from his scalp to his tailbone, and he moaned as he spit the bitter taste from his mouth.

It was all laid out for him now, like a road map with only one destination. Would it be possible to take a different route? To turn down some unmarked road that wasn't on the map, a way that would save
Elizabeth
from the grisly end he'd ensured for her? It made his head hurt all the more just thinking about it, but Isaac had to believe he was here for a reason. If he couldn't save her, then why would he be subjected to this hell? This was no hocus-pocus drummed up by an old man to make a few bucks. No amount of special effects and trickery could be responsible for what he'd been through and what he was feeling now.

He would try to get what he could out of Harold and Walter this evening, using friendship or force. He was feeling less and less cordial as the life of
Elizabeth
hung in the balance. And even if neither of the two men could provide him with any useful information, he would cross back over and save her. Time was running out and he couldn't waste it playing guessing games with those two.

There would be no dinner for his guests tonight. Isaac had preparations to make. And once Albert and Harold had come and gone, he would pay a visit to Walter. When he had what answers they could provide, he would step through that space between worlds and bring back
Elizabeth
. He would save her no matter what. It was time to even the score between himself and fate.

Isaac was sitting in one of the chairs on the front porch holding his guitar when Albert's truck pulled down the driveway. He sat there, picking softly on a melancholy riff he'd been unable to do anything with for weeks, rocking back and forth to induce a sense of calm he desperately needed at the moment. The truck's headlights shut off and the driver's side door opened. He could see Albert step out, then lean back in to share a few angry words with his passenger. Finally, the other door opened and Harold stepped out, slamming the truck door behind him. He followed Albert at a distance, his displeasure becoming more apparent as he moved into the reach of the porch light. Isaac could see the frustration on Albert's face, which the old man tried to downplay with a friendly smile.

"I hope you made one hell of a dinner, Ike. It's
gonna
take a lot to sweeten up that sour puss." Albert jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward Harold.

"Go to hell," Harold barked, closing the distance between himself and the porch steps where he stopped, glaring up at his host for the evening.

Isaac was far from being intimidated. He'd spent the last hour letting his worry mutate into anger. He was angry with himself for not doing more for
Elizabeth
. He was angry with
Obediah
for the things he'd likely do or had already done. But mostly he was angry at the others who'd played a part in this mess. Both Harold and Walter had been keeping things from him, information that might have caused him to take more appropriate action. If their unwillingness to cooperate cost
Elizabeth
's life, there would be no punishment vicious enough in his opinion.

Keeping his eyes on Harold, matching the gaze of defiance, Isaac answered Albert. "I'm afraid I didn't get around to it. I was a little sidetracked. I'm sure if you and Harold are hungry enough, I can whip something up. After Harold and I have a talk, that is."

"I got nothing to say to you," Harold said, spitting on the porch steps for emphasis.

Isaac put his guitar back in the case at his feet and stood, taking three long strides toward Harold. He could see Albert backing away as he approached, apparently reading the younger man's intent. Harold didn't move, but Isaac could see his courage falter in the way his clenched jaw suddenly went slack. Before Harold could react, Isaac was upon him, one hand grabbing his shirt and the other gripping his arm, pulling him close enough to smell the beer on Isaac's breath.

"You listen to me, you son of a bitch," Isaac whispered, enjoying the way Harold winced and tried to pull away. "I know you're not telling me everything. What I don't know is what and why. If you want to leave here tonight under your own power, you're going to tell me what I need to know."

Harold's eyes had lost any hint of bravado and his legs trembled beneath him. He glanced over at Albert, who started to step toward the two men. Isaac looked at him and shook his head once. Whatever Albert saw in the younger man's face was enough to halt his advance. He only looked at Harold and shrugged before stepping back to his previous position.

Isaac turned back to Harold. "So what's it going to be? Are we going to play show and tell, or do I have to get what I need from you using a less pleasant method?"

Harold closed his eyes, his whole body now shivering in Isaac's grip. The old man let loose the longest, saddest sigh Isaac thought he'd ever heard, suddenly transformed into a scared, lost man.

"Okay," he assented. "I'll tell you what I know."

Isaac waited a moment before loosening his grip on Harold. He let his hands drop and took a step back. Harold looked into his eyes and he could see fresh tears pooling at the bottom of his eyelids, igniting a pang of sympathy for the old guy.

"You just remember that you asked for this, you understand?" Harold had regained some of his defiance. "You asked for it, no matter how much you don't like what you hear."

Isaac nodded. "Fair enough."

Albert cleared his throat but neither of the men turned to look. Instead, Harold kept his eyes on Isaac while speaking to his friend.

"Al, I think you need to sit this one out."

"You sure, Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm sure," he answered, sparing Albert a glance before looking back at Isaac. "It's getting dark. If you got a flashlight, get it."

Isaac didn't answer; he simply turned and went back into the house, finding what he needed under the kitchen sink. When he came back out onto the porch, Albert and Harold were talking softly to each other. Harold was shaking his head while the other patted his shoulder. The two men looked up as Isaac approached.

"You mind if I sit a spell inside?" Albert asked. "It's a little chilly to be waiting in the truck."

"Be my guest. And help yourself to anything you like."

With a final concerned glance at his friend, Albert ascended the steps and went inside. Harold stood where he was, staring at the ground until Isaac stepped into his field of vision. He looked up, his face drowning in a sadness that seemed too deep for any man. He reached over and took the flashlight.

"You know where we're going?" he asked, looking back at the ground.

"I think so. Up on the hill?"

Harold nodded and started off toward the barn with Isaac immediately behind him. As they rounded the porch, Harold glanced back to make sure they weren't within earshot of the house. He faced forward again, watching the beam from the flashlight dance and sway ahead of them as he began his story.

"I remember one day, after Miss Jane had been gone for quite a while, I was out in the back yard trimming the lawn and such. I could hear
Elizabeth
singing a hymn. She had her bedroom window open as a nice breeze had kicked up for the day. Well, I knew Mr. Willoughby had just gone out to the barn with
Dixon
, the hay dealer, so he'd be there for a good thirty minutes. Being a boy as young as I was, and having a big climbing tree not thirty feet from that window...I guess it don't take a rocket scientist to figure out what came next.

"I shimmied up that tree, found a nice big limb where I could peek through the leaves right into her room and still keep an eye on the barn. I didn't see much of her, just her passing the window now and then as she got dressed. Seeing her in a nightgown was enough to get me squirming for a more comfortable position on that tree limb."

Isaac smiled, catching on to Harold's quick injection of humor.

"I saw her leave the room. I looked back toward the barn, but there was still no sign that the hay dealer was getting ready to leave. I decided to wait there just a minute or two more. That's when I saw her door open and a man come through."

Harold's eyes were still pointed ahead of the men, but it was obvious from the low, dreamy tone of his voice that he was playing that scene in his mind like an old movie.

"I remember thinking 'He looks like a cowboy' just before I realized he wasn't supposed to even be there, especially in Miss Elizabeth's room. I started to holler for Mr. Willoughby, but caught myself when I realized I was still in the tree. I scrambled down as fast as I could, just about broke my leg. When I looked back up at the window, I saw the
fella
crawling out. He dropped onto the roof of the back porch, then slid off and landed on his feet.

"I got a real good look at him then. Real good. Because he looked right at me. I started yelling my head off for Mr. Willoughby then, thinking poor Miss Elizabeth had been hurt or taken advantage of, or even worse. The man was saying something to me, but I couldn't hear him on account I hardly took a breath between my own screams. He took off running around the front of the house and I heard him go through the front door. I just hauled ass to the barn. Mr. Willoughby and Mr. Dixon, the hay seller, both came running out of the barn by the time I was almost there. I was barely able to get enough air in me to say what happened. I mostly just pointed and tried to tell them there was a man in the house. Mr. Willoughby took off like a colt. Mr. Dixon checked on me and then jogged off toward the house."

Harold paused, apparently lost in a thought, once long forgotten but now fresh in his mind.

"Mr. Willoughby never did ask me about the man I saw before he took off running toward the house. Didn't ask what he looked like, what he was wearing, if I knew him or not. I always thought that was a little strange. Of course, I could have told him exactly what the
fella
looked like, even though I'd never seen him before in my life and never did again. Until a few days ago, that is."

With that last statement, Harold looked Isaac dead in the eye so there was no mistaking what he meant.

"You can't be serious," Isaac laughed.

Harold didn't even break a grin.

§

Harold had stopped walking. He'd lost his breath a bit as the story rushed out of him. A few moments later, he continued the trek.

"I wasn't far behind Mr. Dixon, being he wasn't in the best shape. When we reached the front door it was wide open. We could hear Mr. Willoughby upstairs, raising Cain. It sounded like he was having words with
Elizabeth
, which didn't make much sense to me at the time. It never crossed my mind to think she was up to no good. We heard a door slam upstairs and he came stomping down to meet us. We stood outside for a few minutes. I was too scared to go in, and I suppose
Dixon
felt the same. There was a lot of screaming and yelling. We could hear some sort of scuffle break out. I figured Mr. Willoughby had caught the man I saw come out the window."

They were nearing the barn and Harold veered to circle around the left side.

"After a few minutes it got real quiet. Mr. Willoughby called out that everything was fine and that Mr. Dixon should just head on out. He made a point of telling
Dixon
that it wasn't anything worth mentioning. Even though I was ten, I kind of figured what he meant by that.

"
Dixon
got out of there real quick, leaving me standing out front all by myself. After another minute or two Mr. Willoughby came to the door. He looked pretty roughed up, had blood all over his shirt and hands but I didn't see any wounds on him. I was scared for Miss Elizabeth at first, but once I heard her and Miss Rose crying somewhere inside the house, I figured they were okay."

Isaac followed him as he stepped toward the back of the barn and took the path up the hill. Though it was only slightly more visible than during his previous trek, he was still surprised at the ease with which Harold followed the trail.

"Mr. Willoughby just stared at me for a little while. He looked crazy if anything, so I just waited until he spoke. 'Come on in, Harold,' he said. 'I need your help.' With the wild look in his eye and all that blood, I wasn't about to refuse. If I had taken off running, I wouldn't have made it to the road before he was on me. I followed
Willoughby
upstairs and there he was, the man I saw come out the window. He was laid out on the floor right outside Miss Elizabeth's room, all covered in blood and kind of twisted up a bit. I knew right then that he was dead. No man could look that bad and still be breathing."

Harold took the final steps of the path with long, purposeful strides. He waited just inside the clearing until Isaac stepped up next to him. He shined the light in the direction of the grave marker. The chill of the night air seeped down into Isaac's bones and he surrendered to the shiver it brought with it.

"I helped haul him up here. Mr. Willoughby did all the digging while I watched for anyone who might happen by the barn. There were a few minutes, though, when he had to go down to the barn for a pickaxe. The soil is thick with rocks up here. While he was gone I looked at that man lying face down in the dirt. I saw a wallet poking out of his back pocket. I don't know if I did what I did thinking I'd find some money, or if I was just being curious."

Harold wasn't looking at him. He kept his gaze fixed in the direction of the grave. Isaac could see the shimmer of fresh tears spilling down his cheeks. The old man's voice was beginning to break up until he coughed into his hand a few times.

"I pulled it out of his pocket and looked through it. There was some money in there, but it looked funny. I left it in there because something just didn't sit right with me, stealing money from a dead man like that. But there was something else in there, something I decided to keep."

Now Harold looked at Isaac, unaware or unashamed of his tears. There was no defiance or fear in his eyes now, just that same sadness that must have been residing there for decades.

"I ended up giving it to Miss Elizabeth a few weeks later, though I'm not sure why. She seemed kind of sad after it happened, got even sadder as time went on. I didn't stay on after that summer, so I was glad I did give it to her. She seemed awfully grateful. I figured she just felt bad for you in some way, though I had no idea why."

Isaac didn't miss Harold's reference to him. And as the chill settled deeper into his muscles and bones, he could only wait for what the old man would say next.

"It was this little card. Had your picture on it, your name. All kinds of stuff I didn't necessarily understand. But like I said before, I never forget a face. I don't forget names, either. It was a few years before I figured out what I'd seen. By then I was living in Statesboro with my mother and her sister. My father had died from a heart attack and we had nowhere else to go. I came back to
Logan
as a young man to work at the mill. I never heard much about the
Willoughbys
since and I sure as hell didn't ask, though I'd heard the name come up now and again, usually in quiet conversations that I'd make it a point to avoid.