The Timekeeper's Daughter

by C J M Naylor

  I looked at him and said it, even though I knew the truth now. "I thought you said that was a myth, one family starting it all."

  Mathias smiled at me. "Someone had to have created it. They say it's a myth, but I believe in it."

  "How about we return to the party?" Ian asked.

  I nodded and followed Ian and Mathias back to the ballroom. Before I went back in though, I turned around one last time to look. There was no sign that Elijah was back there, hiding, or that he had even been there. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before rejoining the party.

  My attention turned after that to admire the guests of the party. I did begin to see the different Timekeepers there and while it was limited, there was still some diversity. An African family came up to Mathias and shook hands with them. Mathias introduced them as the Timekeepers from Africa.

  "So, this is the orphaned one that Stuart was talking about," I heard a thick German voice say from behind me. I stood up from my chair and turned around at the same time that Mathias did. He smiled as a man came forward, with who I assumed was his wife. I could tell that she was expecting and she was very far long.

  "Abigail and Ian," Mathias said, "I would like for you both to meet Hans and Ingrid Bäcker. They currently oversee the Timekeeping society for Germany. The both of you are stationed with the French Timekeepers right now however, is, that right?"

  "Yes," Ingrid responded. "We have been there since the start of the war."

  "We were just speaking with Stuart a moment ago," Hans said. "He had a few things to say about young Abigail here."

  "The racist pig also gave us his views on how he just assumed, since Hans and I are German, that we must be conspiring with Hitler," Ingrid said.

  "That's horrendous," I responded. "He just assumes who people are without even trying to understand them."

  "Like I said," Ian added, "people jump at the chance when they see someone different."

  Hans laughed. "The man has always been like that. He's never going to change. Anyway, it's a pleasure to meet you, Abigail. Stuart wanted us to let you know that he was ready to do the initiation ceremony. I think he is ready to get this ball over with. Unfortunately, he has never held Mathias in the best regard. Not that I am up there either for that matter."

  "Well Abigail," Mathias said, "are you ready?"

  Was I ready? Wasn't that the question of the day? I still wasn't ready for this ball let alone this initiation. Or as Elijah had called it—this contract. Mathias had lied to me and maybe, just maybe, if I had known earlier, I could still get out of it all. But did I want that? I knew that my biological mother wanted to protect me—to keep me safe—from whatever it is that caused me danger, whether that be Mathias or someone else. But I needed to know about her. I needed to know why she died. Because, unlike what I had previously thought, she hadn't thrown me out like I was trash. She was trying to protect me and I needed to know why. And her death wouldn't be meaningless. I would try to undo whatever prophecy had been made. I just needed to know about her. So, I nodded. Even though he was lying, Mathias was actually being nice tonight and I didn't want to ruin that. A part of me felt like he was probably doing it for the audience rather than me. I followed him, however, as he led the way toward the front of the ballroom where there was a raised platform for the ceremony. Ian disappeared into the crowd once more.

  "I see the American Timekeeper didn't bother to make an appearance," I heard a woman nearby say.

  "Isn't he the young, handsome one?" another woman gossiped. "I heard he has a scandalous reputation with the ladies." I heard the two of them laugh.

  It didn't even cross my mind to look for an American Timekeeper. I had never been to America, but I had always wanted to go. I wondered why the man did not make an appearance.

  Mathias led me up some steps onto the stage and we both turned to face all of the Timekeepers and their families. In front of me was a raised pedestal with an intricate wooden box sitting alone on it. Stuart walked up onto the stage. He looked at me like I was nothing with his smug face. I simply stared him down. I could play games too.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," Councilor Winston began, "I am very excited to announce the joining of a new Timekeeper in training. We have here, Abigail Jordan." He spoke my last name with venom. I wanted to push him off the stage, but I figured that that would not be very lady like. "Miss Jordan has currently been in training with her father, Mathias Benedict, however because of her late initiation she has not been able to achieve the full extent of her studies. She will now have the opportunity to receive the full training that Timekeeping has to offer as well as the possibility to study abroad in a different country from other Timekeepers. We will now begin the initiation."

  Councilor Winston reached into the coat pocket of his lavish suit and pulled out a small, withering book. He opened the book to the first page and began to read.

  "Called to study," he began. "All individuals who possess the knowledge of the past, present, and future. Like those before them, these individuals have the ability to see beyond that of the normal human eye. Like many to come, they must let go of their life and move forth in the realm of Timekeeping. A special task has been assigned to them. Great power has been bestowed upon them. Hardships may lie ahead for them, but they must be battled with. A Timekeeper is who they are called to be. Nothing should prevent them from protecting the balance of time, nor should nothing possess them to abuse its tender heart. At this point, you will now sign a contract to obey the laws of time and our laws will officially apply, specifically, if you should interfere with a premonition of death, death will take you instead." A part of me was still hoping that maybe Elijah had been wrong, but now it was official. I looked at Mathias, guarding my knowing face with one of surprise. I saw him look guilty and he turned his gaze away.

  Councilor Winston placed a piece of parchment paper onto the podium in front of me as well as a quill and ink. I looked at the contract. The words were written in Gaelic.

  "Please sign here," Winston said, indicating to a place at the bottom of the document.

  I hesitated for a moment and then took the quill, dipped it in the ink, and signed my name. It was done.

  Councilor Winston turned and reached for the small box on the pedestal. He took out a key and put it into the lock of the box. It clicked after one quick turn and he opened the lid. Inside I saw what looked like a pocket watch, similar to Mathias' as well as the one that had been my mother’s, but this one was silver and looked more like a necklace. Councilor Winston picked it up and stepped forward, placing the necklace-watch over my head.

  "Record time well," he said to me before turning back to face the audience. "Ladies and gentleman, our newest Timekeeper in training, Abigail Jordan. Until we meet again for her placement ceremony, thank you for coming."

  Clapping erupted in the audience before all the lights in the room went out. The room was consumed in a powerful darkness that threatened to swallow all of us in it. Several women screamed and many man were cursing loudly. I assumed this was not part of the ceremony.

  "Mathias," I cried, “what is going on?"

  There was no reply. I reached out into the darkness for Mathias' hand, but I did not find it. He was no longer standing next to me. I heard footsteps leaving the stage and a door shut.

  "What is going on?" I heard Councilor Winston say. "Mathias Benedict, is this your doing? Someone turn the bloody lights back on or light a candle!"

  The temperature in the room suddenly became very cold and drafty. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself. The darkness was menacing.

  "Bloody hell!" Winston yelled. "What in the devil is going on in—"

  Winston made the most horrifying sound I’d ever heard and then I heard a body drop to the floor. Then, I heard footsteps from behind me.

  I didn't have time to respond before something ruffled against my back and I turned quickly. My breathing was growing faster, my heart beat was increasing. I reached out into the darkness, b
ut I felt nothing. I heard breathing though and it wasn't Winston. Was it Mathias?

  "Who is there?"

  Silence.

  "Who is there?" I screamed. "What are you doing?"

  There was no response and my body was suddenly pushed forward. I fell onto the hard concrete of the stage and hit my head. Pain shot up through my skull and my body shivered but it wasn't from the cold of the floor. I was lying in something hot and sticky.

  I heard footsteps again and someone running off the stage. I heard several people shriek and a door slam.

  The lights came back on and I was staring up at the ceiling. I could hear several people shrieking and I quickly rolled onto my side. I wish I hadn't. I was staring directly into the dead, empty eyes of Councilor Winston. His throat had been cut and it was his blood that I was lying in. I began to scream and pushed myself up off the floor away from the body. I turned to the people in front of me. Many of them were pointing at something behind me. I turned around and almost lost my balance again because of what I saw. Winston's blood was all over the wall behind the stage, and a message was left with it.

  He killed Elisabeth.

  My heart had been racing moments before, but now it almost stopped entirely. Who was “he?” Was it the councilor? Had Councilor Winston killed my mother? But it was an accident, a suicide is what they said. She hung herself. Or did someone hang her?

  "Mathias!"

  I turned, looking desperately for Mathias. Where was he? I wanted to get out of here. I wanted to leave this room, and leave the Headquarters. I wanted to go home. I had a man's blood all over me and a message that was quite obviously left for me, if not for Mathias as well.

  Turning, I made for the stairs but slipped on the blood and went skidding off the stage. I landed on the hard floor and heard people rushing to help me.

  "Get me out of here," I said. "Please get me out of here!"

  I could not take the pressure of the moment anymore. I could not take the eyes looking at me. I could not take it. Period. I blacked out.

  The bombs dropped, but they missed me. They missed my biological mother as she extended her hand out to me.

  "Come to me dear," my mother said. "Please."

  I walked forward, but every step I took it seemed my mother was two steps back.

  "Come to me."

  "I'm trying," I said. "I'm coming."

  My mother's elegant white dress blew in the wind and bustled around her. The bombs were dropping but as soon as they hit the ground they simply fell straight threw, like the ground was smoke to them. My mother's long blonde hair blew in the wind and around her face.

  "Abigail, please hurry."

  "I'm trying."

  It was too late.

  The picture seemed to melt away and change. My mother was being lifted up by a noose around her neck. She was choking violently beneath the Tower Bridge, and I was sinking in the depths of the Thames. The water bustled around me as I continued to sink.

  Mathias stood at the bridge's rail.

  "No!"

  I shrieked and sat bolt upright. My entire body was shaking and sweating and I was screaming and I couldn't stop. I clawed at my face and ran my fingers through my hair. It was dark. I was in a bed. Where was I? What was going on? I began to shake even more and scream even more. A door opened and light crept into the room and I felt familiar arms wrap around me.

  "It's okay," Phillip said. He held me as I continued to writhe violently in his arms. "It's okay."

  It was not okay. Nothing was okay. Nothing would ever be okay again. I had seen a dead man. I had fallen in his blood. I had seen my mother hanging from a bridge with no way to defend herself and standing above her, watching her die, I had seen him. I had seen Mathias. It was him. He murdered her. He'd been lying to me. It was true. But wait, no it wasn't. Or was it? I began to cry. Tears poured from my eyes. I didn't know what was going on. How did I even get to Phillip’s? I was losing it. I was finally losing it. I realized then and there that I'd much rather be a mad girl hearing voices then be in the situation I was in now. But that was crazy talk. I didn't want to be locked up. Or did I?

  "Abby," Phillip whispered, "it's okay. I'm here now and I'm not going to let anything happen to you." I could feel his clean shaved cheek rubbing against the crane of my neck. I felt safe.

  I began to pull away from Phillip and lay back down in the bed. The scent of Phillip consumed me, and I was asleep.

  The sounds of the city echoed through the closed window of Phillip's flat. My eyes peeled open to bright sunlight. I put Phillip's pillow over my face and signed. London was awake and alive outside the window, and it was screaming at me to get up and rue the day.

  I heard the bedroom door open and pulled the pillow off my face. Phillip stood in the doorway of the bedroom in his work suit, a brown jacket and pants.

  "Morning," he said, "I slept out on the couch. How are you feeling?"

  I sat up in the bed and placed my face in my hands.

  "I feel like someone beat me to a pulp. What happened?"

  Phillip made his way across the room and sat down on the edge of the bed. He reached out for my hand and I placed it in his.

  "Mathias said that someone turned off the lights wherever this ball was being held, and that some councilor, I couldn't make much sense of it all, was murdered. He said you fainted right after the incident and the whole place went chaotic. He brought you here."

  He brought me here. Something about that did not feel right to me. I remembered then the message that had been left. He killed Elisabeth. And then I remembered my dream—Mathias was standing at the rail of the bridge. Did Mathias kill Elisabeth? My throat tightened and my heart rate picked up.

  "Abby." Phillip's voice called me back out of whatever thoughts were running through my mind. I turned my focus back to him. A concerned look had appeared on his face.

  "How does Mathias know where you live?"

  Phillip gave me a questioning look.

  "I assumed you told him. Didn't you?"

  I shook my head.

  "Well, maybe he looked it up."

  "Looked it up where?" I shot back. "At whatever time of night it was, with a dead body lying around, and an unconscious woman to transport. He had time to figure out all that?"

  "What are you saying?" I could tell Phillip was coming to the same realization that I had, but he didn't want to say it out loud.

  "The notes," I said. "Your broken window. Someone's been watching us. It was him. It's all him."

  Phillip shook his head. "No. No, it wasn't him. It can't be."

  I was flabbergasted.

  "Why are you so quick to discredit the theory?" I asked. "You haven't exactly been on board this train. You didn't get along with him. I haven't really got along with him until last night, and I assume that is because it was his big night to show me off. It all makes sense. He always has his mood swings too." And then I remembered my conversation with Elijah and immediately told Phillip.

  "Fine," Phillip said. "If all of that is true than you are not going back."

  "You cannot make that decision for me," I yelled. "I need to know what he did to her!"

  "Who, Abigail?" Phillip snapped back, "What he did to who?"

  "My mother!" I responded. "He did something, I know it."

  "Well, you'll have to figure that out here and not there. I need to go to work. Please stay here, and don't do anything stupid."

  He turned on his heel and slammed the bedroom door behind him. I sat there in disbelief. I knew he was trying to protect me but I needed to figure this out. I needed to know what was going on. I needed to have the answers to everything. I was so close to having the answers. My whole life was questions after questions, and now, I was so close. So close. I got out of the bed. I realized I was wearing only a shirt and my underwear. I quickly threw on a pair of pants I kept at Phillip’s. He must have taken off the bloody dress. It was Sunday. I needed to get home so I could go to church with my parents and then, then I
was getting an answer. An answer to something—anything.

  I pulled open the bedroom door.

  Bridget was sitting on Phillip's couch and I almost fell backward at the shock of seeing her there. She was red in the face and it was the red of what looked like anger, not embarrassment. I realized that Phillip was still here, standing in the kitchen, watching us both.

  The first words that came out of my mouth were, "Bridget, why are you here?"

  She looked at me for what felt like a good minute before a tear finally fell from her eye.

  Bridget did not say a single word, so I turned my attention back on Phillip.

  "Why is she here?"

  Phillip only looked at me as well. Why was everyone only looking at me?

  "Say something!"

  "Bridget is here because she was worried Abby," Phillip finally spoke. "She came because she is your friend, and was worried about you."

  I looked back at Bridget. She was standing up now.

  "I was her friend."

  My heart rate had increased again. I was getting upset with how much my heart rate was increasing. Why couldn't it just slow down for a while?

  "Bridget."

  She shook her head. "Stop, Abigail, please just stop. What is going to come out of your mouth? More lies? I cannot take it anymore. I just wanted to stay and make sure you were okay, but Phillip is the one who finally had to tell me the truth, and from what he said, I gathered that you were probably never going to tell me, so goodbye, Abby."

  How could this be happening? Was she being serious?

  "Bridget, please don't," I said. "Please don't leave me, I need you."

  "Abby, if you needed me," she shouted, "if you truly needed me than you would keep our commitments. You would not break them. I understand this ball thing, but Christmas with him," she pointed at Phillip, who looked confused, "and all the time you have to spend with this so called unsociable father. You could have talked to me, you could have confided in me. I'm sorry that I recommended professional help. I was just trying to be a friend to you, because honestly Abby, most people would recommend that. They wouldn't baby you like he does."