Time After Time (21 page)

Marcus murmured something against my lips, and I realised he was saying my name over and over again, as if he couldn’t believe it. Pulling back slightly, I looked at him, meeting his chocolate, hooded eyes.

He gazed back at me with such heart-wrenching sadness that my heart twisted. I could see desire there too, hidden in his eyes, but it was shielded behind a layer of confusion.

‘Marcus?’ I whispered, not understanding his mood.

He blinked, kissing me again, pulling me even harder against him. I felt as if I was slowly being set alight from the inside out, like a fire had been sparked in the pit of my belly.

Burying his face in my hair, he lifted me off the ground, holding me close and inhaling deeply. I ran trembling hands over the muscles in his back and shoulders, marvelling at the sharp angles and smooth lines that made him Marcus.

‘I feel like I want to protect you, Abbie,’ he murmured. ‘Like it’s my job to keep you safe.’

I blinked at him but could find no words.

‘I promise I will,’ he said.

My heart wrenched. He remembered something but the memories were too vague and indistinct for him to understand. All he knew was that he was drawn to me, and that I was in danger.

I felt a little sad as I realised that what he was feeling wasn’t how Marcus felt for me; it was how Heath felt for Penelope.

It was Penelope that was in danger. Not me.

And that story had been played out two hundred years ago.
That
story was a closed book.

Watching him go, my chest feeling as if it might explode, I realised he had not even asked me his question.

Meredith was waiting for me when I arrived home the next afternoon after a fairly non-eventful day at school. Lilly had been absent for the day so I’d had eight hours of uninterrupted, almost normal schooling. Only Marcus had hovered by my side, which had made my day all the more surreal and anything
but
normal.

‘Why are you home so early?’ I asked Meredith warily.

‘Remember? The psychiatrist?’ she replied, ‘I did remind you.’

‘Oh.’ For a second I thought about refusing to go, then I changed my mind. I had to be careful with Meredith; I didn’t want to push her over the edge. Besides, maybe a psychiatrist would be helpful. Maybe they could offer me a way of stopping the memories. It might pay to keep an open mind.

Dr Evans was a middle-aged, grey-haired man who unfortunately turned out to be no help whatsoever.

‘Your aunt says you have few friends?’ he said, writing something down before I had even answered.

‘I have enough. I go for quality, not quantity.’

‘And you don’t attend any school functions? Do you have any problems with anyone at school?’

An image of Lilly flashed through my mind. ‘No.’

‘And what is it about the makeup that you like?’

On it went. Question after question about school, my appearance, what I liked to do in my spare time, what my plans were once I’d finished school, and what my relationship with Meredith was like. I answered as best as I could, polite and to the point. I’d already decided I would not be confiding my nightmares to him. The whole thing was a total waste of time—at least in my eyes it was—although Meredith, who raved about him all the way home, disagreed.

‘These little tablets should do the trick,’ she said. ‘Dr Evans says in three weeks you’ll feel like a new person.’

That’s all I need
, I thought wryly,
to feel like another person! Isn’t two enough at one time?

‘I’m not taking them,’ I said instead. ‘I’m not depressed. I don’t need antidepressants.’

Meredith’s hands clenched the steering wheel, but her voice was steady. ‘Dr Evans said you mightn’t even know you’re depressed. He says that your antisocial, hostile behaviour—’

‘Thanks!’

‘You know what I mean,’ she continued. ‘You’re shy and withdrawn and these will help you acclimatise.’

‘I’m not a monkey in the zoo!’ I protested. ‘I don’t need to “acclimatise”. I
need
to be left alone. Besides, I’ve made friends with the boy next door. I thought you wanted that?’

‘Well, yes,’ Meredith admitted, ‘but what I really want is for you to be a normal teenager.’

‘What does that even mean?’ I snorted, although it wasn’t a question I wanted Meredith to answer.

She did anyhow. ‘It means someone with friends—and I know you have friends,’ she added quickly, ‘but
more
friends, and a boyfriend. Someone who goes to parties and the prom.’

‘You want me to go to the prom?’ I shrieked. I felt like I was losing control of the conversation, and I started to get a little panicky. Meredith was my only family, my guardian, and I didn’t want to push her to any drastic measures, not that I even knew what those might be.

‘I want you to be happy,’ Meredith insisted, ‘and antidepressants are just that. Think of them as little happy pills.’

‘I’m not going to think about them at all,’ I informed her, ‘and I’m
not
taking them.’

It was dusk when Meredith finally pulled into our driveway. I had only just slammed the car door, still frustrated by the thought of ‘happy pills’, when Marcus appeared, stepping out from behind the fence separating our yards.

‘Oh!’ I cried. ‘You startled me.’

‘Sorry.’ He grinned. ‘I didn’t mean to—I saw your car pull up so I came over to see you.’

I stared at him, but I didn’t speak.

‘Do you want to stay for dinner, Marcus?’ Meredith asked pleasantly.

‘That’d be nice,’ Marcus replied, ‘although I can’t. My brother just arrived home, and we’re off for a family dinner.’ He rolled his eyes for effect.

‘Your brother?’ I asked. I remembered all the vague mentions of him over the last few weeks, and the black and silver motorcycle I’d seen parked out front.

Hadn’t I even seen it drive away once or twice?

‘Yeah,’ Marcus said, his eyes meeting mine. ‘He’s in the air force. But he’s on leave.’

‘How long for?’

Marcus’ eyes bored into mine, the brown and amber flecks blazing. ‘Not sure.’

Something clicked in my head, and I remembered talking to Marcus before, in another lifetime, about his brother. He’d been Heath Lockwood then, and his brother had been Sebastian.

My blood ran cold.

‘Maybe we can catch up later?’ Marcus asked warmly.

I shook my head, suddenly wary. My heart slowed, and a chill spread from my chest. ‘Actually, I have a stack of homework to catch up on, that
Jane Eyre
assignment is due soon, and I need to get an early night.’ My voice was tight and forced when I spoke.

Marcus’ face fell, and Meredith shot me an angry look. I knew my obvious and blunt rejection of Marcus would heat up her discussion about the antidepressants, but I couldn’t help it.

I had to think. I was scared of what Marcus’ brother might mean. Scared of who Marcus’ brother really was.

Terrified that he’d been living next door to me all this time.

That it wasn’t just Penelope who was in danger after all.

1806

Penelope stayed away from Broadhurst Manor as much as she could. It had suddenly become a stifling place where she suffocated under the intense, watchful eyes of Sebastian, who followed her every move. Instead, she hid herself in the attic of the parsonage, surrounded by her paintings.

But she missed Georgina, and she missed Heath.

She was working on an image of the parsonage, capturing it from the side and through the cemetery, as if she gazed out from the edge of the forest. Penelope gulped as dark thoughts filled her mind.

Edge of the forest…swallowed by the forest…

Blinking, she looked beyond the canvas and out the window to the clear blue sky. Resting on the window ledge was an orange rose bloom, one she was trying desperately not to look at.

They were everywhere.

There had been one on her pillow last night before she had climbed into bed. There had been one resting idly in the kitchen when she’d gone to talk to the cook, and one beside her mother’s grave when she took down her small posy.

And there was one here today, in the attic. In her own private enclave.

She opened a small folder filled with sketches of the rider. The horse was rearing on its hind legs and obscuring the sun, creating a silhouette of the horse and man.

‘I
knew
you had drawn me,’ a soft voice murmured in her ear, sending her jumping to her feet, the sketches falling to the floor.

She backed away, alarmed, as Sebastian filled the tiny space.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, glancing behind him. He blocked the entrance, but maybe she could dart past him and down the ladder…

‘Don’t be scared,’ he said, smiling easily as he bent to pick up the images. ‘I won’t hurt you.’

Penelope eyed him warily, not entirely sure she believed him. Something tugged at her mind and she tried to locate it, but her mind was foggy and it remained hidden, veiled by a cloud of shadowy images.

‘How did you get in here?’ she asked.

‘Your father let me in.’

‘Where’s Heath?’

Sebastian’s eyes flashed. ‘You
still
think of him?’

‘Of course.’

‘You think you love him?’

She blinked at him. ‘I do love him.’

He advanced towards her and she shrank back. ‘You’re wrong, Becca. You don’t love him.’

Penelope stared at him, something stirring in her chest. ‘What did you call me?’

‘Pene,’ he said, his voice low and tender as he reached out and touched her face, his chill fingers tracing the outline of her jaw. ‘I called you Pene.’

She didn’t believe him, knew he’d said something else, but was too frightened to move and could only tremble beneath his touch.

‘These are very good,’ he said, ‘although I think you could have drawn a more intimate portrait of me.’

She stared at him, confused.

‘One that shows us together.’

‘I’m not very good at portraits,’ she replied, not understanding his meaning.

‘Yes,’ he glanced up at the various paintings of Broadhurst that filled the attic. Pictures of the manor house, the parsonage, the gardens, the forest and meadows, the village and the brook.

He moved to examine one, his fingers tracing over it. Penelope trembled as if his fingers were tracing over her. ‘So much potential,’ he murmured and then turned to her, smiling. ‘All I ask is a chance.’

‘A chance?’ she repeated dumbly.

‘A chance for us. For you and me. Is that so much to ask?’

‘But you’re—you’re Heath’s brother,’ she stammered.

‘Yes. But I’m yours first.’ He stepped closer, and the coldness seeping from him froze her to the spot. She couldn’t move if she wanted to.

‘Becca,’ he said, his voice low and husky, his face inches from hers, ‘give me a chance, Becca, just one chance…’

His eyes lingered on her mouth, and Penelope could feel his breath on her cheek, hear the strange, erratic thud of his heart, which beat so close to hers.

Then she remembered Heath. Heath, who looked at her with such warmth, who loved her so passionately and intensely.

Sebastian lowered his head, but she turned at the last moment.

He sighed—she wasn’t sure if it was out of exasperation, annoyance, or disappointment, but she didn’t dare look at him to find out.

‘Ah, Penelope,’ he crooned. ‘One chance? No? Don’t I at least deserve that?’

He was talking in riddles.
A chance for what?
Closing her eyes, she curled her hands into tight fists and willed a barrier around her soul that would forever shut him out.

She didn’t know how long she stood like that—head turned, posture rigid, heart frozen in her chest—but when she finally opened her eyes, he was gone.

Present day

I stared at the ceiling. What had he called her? Becca? Who was Becca? As far as I knew, there was no Becca, at least none I’d ever dreamed, and yet I was sure that was what he’d called her, as if he had expected her to answer.

Had been disappointed when she hadn’t.

The words from my research rang in my head as I climbed out of bed.
Souls are often born repeatedly together when there are unresolved issues
. Did that mean I had unresolved issues with Sebastian? That he had a score to settle with Becca, whoever she might be? It seemed entirely plausible. He’d suggested she owed him.

Bleakness descended on me like a crashing wave as I went to look out the window, staring at the neighbour’s yard, which was bathed in morning sunshine.

My mind wandered naturally to Heath.
Marcus
. A delicious thrill ran down my spine as my head filled with memories of warm, brown eyes and a lazy, lopsided grin. Of the way he looped his arm around my waist, pulling me against his chest to share his heartbeat. Of the way he murmured against my lips, calling me his pixie girl, before he kissed me.

It was Friday and Marcus’ car was parked crookedly on the lawn, a large silver and black motorcycle stealing centre stage on the driveway. Staring down the street, I saw Marcus turn the corner on his way back from his morning run. Wearing shorts and a tank top, his body gleamed with perspiration, muscles in his arms and across his chest unselfconsciously on display. He wasn’t alone though; someone ran with him. Someone who had the same dark brown hair and broad shoulders, but who was older, stockier. Someone who worked out more and possessed an arrogance that was discernible even from this distance.

His brother
.

My throat tightened of its own accord and I stepped back, letting the curtains fall into place.

I didn’t want to be caught staring.

Not again.

And not by his brother.

‘So, are you coming to
Hurricanes
tomorrow night?’ asked Beth over lunch. She tried to look nonchalant, but I knew she felt neglected, and I hated myself for it. Hated that I was becoming one of ‘those girls’ who dropped their friends as soon as a boy came along.

‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘Are you still up for it?’

Beth nodded, stabbing her lunch with her fork. ‘What about Marcus?’