Time After Time (12 page)

Bored, and with nothing else to occupy my time, I flipped the library intranet over to Google and typed in ‘Marcus Knight’. I didn’t really know what I was looking for and paused before hitting the search button. Googling a boy’s name was so outside of my normal behaviour.

There are quite a few Marcus Knights in the world. I found the Facebook page of the one I knew at the top of the results, an image of his twenty-first-century self smiling back at me. He looked like the kind of boy with which girls everywhere fell in love—a fact that had been proven at Brookdale High.

Flipping back to the search engine, I paused, then I typed ‘Heath Lockwood’. There were few hits, not as many as Marcus Knight, but that was to be expected; it was a very nineteenth-century name. Scanning the list, I saw little to grab my attention. Well, nothing that seemed relevant, anyhow.

Curious, I switched the search engine and tried again. I almost expected to see a colour photo of Heath smiling crookedly but, of course, there were no cameras in 1806. More’s the pity.

The image results were vague and uninspiring, although one caught my attention and I enlarged it.

It was a tombstone. I couldn’t breathe while the words swam before my eyes.

Here lies Heath Lockwood, died October 25, 1806
.

With wide eyes I stared in horror at the inscription. It was Heath’s grave. I was looking at Heath’s grave. And the date was 1806, the year I’d met him.

The year it was in my dreams now.

The year he and Penelope planned to marry.

Nausea swirled in my stomach. The tombstone made no mention of his
wife
. Did that mean he and Penelope hadn’t married? Did that mean she’d already been murdered? Or had Heath died first?

October…October…

My blood ran cold. In my dreams, it was September. Heath had only a few weeks left. It was impossible to believe. How did he die? He appeared well enough.

I hoped that Heath and Penelope had found some time together, although I knew, deep in the very core of my soul, that it wasn’t so.
He
had gotten to them.

Taken her. Taken her from her soul mate.

A new thought occurred to me. With unsteady fingers, I typed ‘soul mates’ into the computer and was immediately assailed with more than a million hits. The first five pages of results were devoted to clairvoyant websites promising to help find yours. I scoffed.
People really are desperate
. Imagine believing in the ridiculousness of soul mates, of souls being…

…reincarnated together, over and over, throughout time
.

My fingers shook and I had to place them in my lap as I read the website, my whole body rigid.

Reincarnation is also called transmigration of the soul, the website explained before outlining the various religious theories of reincarnation. Hinduism. Judaism. Islam. Buddhism. Christianity. It seemed they all had a theory.

Briefly I wondered what Pastor Broadhurst’s theory would be.

Clicking on a link to another website, I scanned the page, my eyes wide, hungry for new information. This website suggested that people were reincarnated in order to learn lessons they hadn’t fully grasped in previous lifetimes.

Drawing a ragged breath, my pulse pounding in my ears, I chose another website. My blood ran cold.
Soul mates
, I read,
were couples who appeared in each other’s lives time after time
. But there was another type of soul mate—the enemy.
Unresolved relationships
, I read, my throat constricting with rising panic,
can bring the same souls together, again and again
.

An image of luminous eyes with tear-shaped pupils filled my mind. I shuddered, knowing what I’d read was true.
He
was the constant between my dreams.
He
appeared over and over again with the sole purpose of killing me.
He
was my enemy.

Clicking on another website, I read on, devouring as much information as possible. I lost track of time, my head filling with new words and terminology such as
transmigration
,
soul connections
and
soul gardens
. It wasn’t until Daniel appeared in front of me that I realised how late it was.

‘You okay to lock up?’ he asked. ‘I want to make the dance.’

There was no suggestion that I might want to make the dance. Even the lanky, oily-haired Daniel had a better social life than me.

‘Sure,’ I said. ‘You go ahead.’

I took my time turning off lights and computers, and arming the building’s security system, my head spinning with information. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I’d learned.

Soul mates. Enemies from past lives.

Pretty horrible past lives that all ended with my murder. Perhaps the therapist that Meredith wanted to hook me up with could find a way to stop my memories. Perhaps there was a way to break free of the dark dreams that plagued me every night.

Maybe there was hope after all.

1806

Penelope tilted her head, studying the way the afternoon sunlight streaked across the lawn. Picking up her paintbrush, she applied a trail of crimson to the scene she’d created.

‘How is that painting coming along?’ Georgina asked.

Penelope glanced askance at her cousin, who sat quietly nearby with the book she’d been reading resting in her lap.
Modern Science
. Another book of Harry’s. Georgina was becoming quite interested in science, but Penelope knew her to be intelligent. Georgina was probably cleverer than Harry, in actuality, although no one would ever admit that. It wasn’t seemly for a daughter to be smarter than a son.

‘It’s getting there, although I’m having difficulty with the light,’ Penelope admitted with a slight frown.

‘Well, I’m getting cold,’ Georgina complained, ‘so I think we should go up.’

‘Just a few more minutes…’ The sun was fading rapidly, now just a pale, yellow hue on the horizon, but Penelope wanted to capture the dying light, wanted to get the sun’s rays just right.

‘God’s fingers,’ came a deep voice from behind, causing Penelope to pause mid-stroke. Her blood pooled in her cheeks and her pulse quickened.

‘What?’ queried Georgina with amusement, while Penelope looked over her shoulder to find Heath’s dark brown eyes glowing at her.

He blinked, the beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, before lifting his gaze to meet Georgina’s. ‘God’s fingers. That’s how the light, streaking through the parting clouds like that, is described,’ he explained.

Georgina’s lips quirked but she didn’t reply, her eyes flitting carefully between Penelope and Heath.

‘God’s fingers,’ Penelope murmured, returning her gaze to the shards of light that shone through the voids in the clouds. Tilting her head, she regarded the image she was painting carefully. It did indeed look like God’s fingers were reaching out from the heavens to stroke a comforting hand over the manor house. As if God sought to reassure or console its inhabitants.

A chill raced up her spine.

‘A beautiful painting,’ Heath continued, his eyes roaming the canvas. ‘You’ve completely captured the beauty of Broadhurst.’

‘Thank you,’ she murmured as her eyes lingered on his.

‘Well, I’m cold,’ Georgina complained, standing, a smile playing on her lips, ‘so I’m going up.’ She tucked her book under her arm before looking back to where Penelope still sat, eyes locked with Heath’s. She sighed. ‘You two may join us when you wish.’

Heath smiled in response, but Penelope barely acknowledged Georgina’s comments.

‘Another few days have passed,’ Heath said at length once they were alone, his voice heavy with meaning. ‘Does that mean we are now free to share our engagement?’

Penelope coloured slightly and shook her head. ‘I don’t want to shock people.’

He grinned. ‘A quick betrothal is not what shocks people. A quick marriage is what initiates gossip. Although I’m anxious on that account too, I’m happy to wait for as long as you deem fit.’

‘We will need to speak to my father first,’ she admitted as she began packing away her paints.

Heath’s grin spread into a wide, lopsided smile. ‘Excellent! I will go to him as soon as I can. Perhaps…’

She paused in her packing away, glancing at Heath. A troubled look flashed across his face. ‘What is it?’

‘Well, I was thinking…’

The sun had set and they were now cloaked in a veil of twilight that wrapped itself around them. Heath’s face was cast in dancing shadows, his eyes hidden and unreadable. The temperature had dropped dramatically, and, glancing up at the sky, Penelope saw a dark, foreboding cloud gathered over the rooftop of Broadhurst Manor.

God’s fingers were gone.

‘What is it?’ she urged, suddenly anxious to get inside.

He reached out and touched her arm, the heat from his fingers sending a current throughout her body. She felt her heart lurch in response, her insides twisting, and she swayed towards him, lips parted. It was as if by one touch he could command her as he wished.

His mouth descended on hers in a fiery heat, like a brand scorched her lips, marking her as his. She dropped her basket, and the contents spilled, forgotten, onto the lawn. Wrapping her arms about his shoulders, she threaded her fingers through his hair and could feel the steady pound of his heart against hers. They were in complete view of everyone at the house, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t think about them; all she could think of was him.

Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight against the hard contours of his body. Strange stirrings in the pit of her belly made her ache for something more.

‘Pene,’ he sighed against her lips, gasping for air. ‘Pene, what have you done to me?’

She smiled. ‘Whatever it is, you have done it to me too, sir.’

He grinned, his mouth twisting beneath hers as he pulled her even closer against him, eliciting from her a gasp. ‘I can’t imagine you are experiencing the same amount of torture I am currently suffering. And if you were, then I’d likely have a few questions for you.’

His words befuddled her; she had no clue to their meaning and could only smile benignly as she bent to scoop up her dropped supplies. Straightening, she looped her arm around his as they made their way towards the manor house, which was now blanketed in the dark cloud. Penelope frowned at it, as if she had the power to will it away.

‘Oh,’ she said suddenly. ‘What was it you wanted to say?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Heath said, and his voice took on a strange intonation, as if he spoke by rote or was making a difficult speech. ‘I was hoping I could arrange a meeting between you and my brother. He’s on leave and visiting our shores soon. Harry has already given him permission to visit Broadhurst.’

Penelope grinned delightedly. ‘Of course! I should be very pleased to make his acquaintance! When are we to expect him?’

‘Within the fortnight,’ Heath replied. ‘I know he will adore you.’

‘You are very sure of me, sir! I do hope I don’t disappoint.’

‘You won’t. I can’t wait for you to meet him.’

Present day

I arrived at
Hurricanes
just as the band started to play. It felt weird to be there without Beth or Laura, but since they’d decided to join the ranks of teenage lemmings there was not much I could do about it. I did feel somewhat bad for coming down so heavily on them. After all, it wasn’t really Beth’s fault her mother wanted her to be prom queen, and Laura was only being a good friend.

Still, I felt betrayed by them. Not to mention, a little lonely.

I didn’t know anyone at
Hurricanes
, although there were a few familiar faces. At least I didn’t feel like an alien or an outsider here.

Pushing my way through the crowd, I secured a spot near the stage with a great view of the band. Hard Candy was an all-girl punk band. I admired their individuality, although it was a little hard to tell the members apart—they dressed from head to toe in black, sleeve tattoos adorning each of their arms. I tried to get a clearer look at the tattoos, searching for ideas. From the time I was young I’d wanted to get a tattoo. I planned to get one as soon as I turned eighteen and didn’t need guardian consent, something Meredith would never give. I just wasn’t sure what design I wanted.

But when I saw the perfect mark, I would know.

Closing my eyes, I lost myself to the music. The atmosphere in the dark, sweaty club was moody and alive, and I wasn’t at all out of place with my short haircut and black makeup—compared to some of the heavily pierced and tattooed clientele, I looked rather tame. For a while I forgot that my best friends were at the Spring dance mixing with the likes of Lilly and Emma and, of course, Marcus.

Instead, I danced. I didn’t care whom I danced with; I just enjoyed myself. After a while, I realised I’d been manoeuvred to the back of the dance floor, near the bar. From this position, hidden behind the crowd and dry ice, I couldn’t see the band anymore, but I didn’t care, feeling too relaxed to care much about anything. Strangely, despite the crowded nightclub with the thumping vibe, I felt a cool breeze start at my feet and wash up through me. Shivering, I looked around, almost expecting to find silver eyes glowering at me in the dim light of the club.

Then I saw him.

Marcus.

Leaning against the bar, he was staring at me intently, his face drawn in a thoughtful frown. I straightened, shocked to see him. He looked completely and ridiculously out of place amongst the gothic crowd, wearing dark denim jeans and a white shirt, not to mention his trendy haircut.

When he saw that I’d noticed him, his face lit up, stretching into a lopsided grin that was too familiar. The heat of his gaze warmed my insides, causing them to give a little, confused flutter, and, without thinking, I pushed through the crowd towards him until I stood right in front of him.

‘What are you doing here?’ I asked, shouting over the music.

‘Looking for you.’

I started at his unexpected answer. My mouth dropped open in surprise, and for the first time, I had absolutely nothing to say. No witty, sharp retort to offer.