The Timekeeper's Daughter

by C J M Naylor

  He had shown a different side recently. He was truly trying here, I could see it on his face. No. You don't trust him. Did I say that? No. You don't trust him. He lied to you, remember? That was right, I didn't trust him. He had lied to me.

  "People can change, Abigail." Mathias looked at me with pleading eyes and I realized I was making a final decision. As Phillip had said, I needed to make this decision and stick to it. You know the decision. Leave. If you need to, you can make him pay for it later. Make him pay for it? He killed her, remember? I don't know that for sure. Yes, you do. What was going on inside me?

  "You killed her."

  Did I just say that? I did. I hadn't meant to say it, but I did. What was going on?

  "What?" Mathias looked confused. "Your mother, again? Why do you keep saying that? I didn't do it."

  "Maybe you've just forgotten it," I said.

  Why did I just say that?

  Mathias put his arms on my shoulders. I shook my head.

  "Are you making me say these things?"

  He looked confused. I was confused.

  "I didn't want to say you killed her! I thought it before, but I haven't been sure! Why am I saying these things! It's you, isn't it? You have some power over me."

  "Abigail." Mathias looked concerned now. "I feel something is terribly wrong. Please stay here."

  "I won't! I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

  I took off the pocket watch necklace I had been given at the ball. I held it out to him. He wouldn't take it, so I put it on the floor and turned.

  "Abigail, please don't!"

  I started to run. I ran and ran. I couldn't look back. I didn't know what I was doing anymore. I didn't know if this was final. I didn't know if I was listening to Phillip. I only knew I had to get out of there. My mind was not in the right place and I needed to separate myself from this world for now. I needed to get away and think it out. I needed to be with Phillip.

  I threw open the lift doors and shut them. I didn't want to turn around, but I did. Mathias was in the same spot, watching me. The lift began to rise and he was gone. My heart was racing. I had no idea what I had done. I had no idea if it was the right decision. I was the most indecisive person in the world. I had no idea if I was keeping Phillip's word. I just needed to leave.

  The doors opened again and I ran. I ran down the stairs and out of Big Ben into the rain. I threw open the door to Phillip's car.

  "Abby?" he said. "Abby! Please talk to me. What happened? Please say something at least!"

  "I don't know," I said. I turned to him as the tears fell again. Why did I keep crying? I knew why, but why all the same? Why couldn't I have a break from this? It was one thing after another in this life and I just couldn't take it anymore. I spoke through my sobs, choking on my words. I spoke word after word. I wasn't sure if I was speaking coherently, but I just spoke what I felt. I needed to tell him how I felt. "I'm sorry Phillip. I don't know if that decision to leave was final or temporary. He seemed so upset. He really did. Maybe he is a good person and I'm a bad person. Maybe I made the wrong decision. I don't know. I'm sorry I'm so indecisive."

  He looked at me for what felt like a good minute or two. Did he agree? Did he disagree? Was he really not going to say anything? I felt like it was Bridget all over again, except I was Bridget and Mathias had been me, and Phillip was the person on the sideline still not saying anything. Sometimes a person just doesn't know what to say and I think that for Phillip that was now. He just didn't know what to say and I didn't know how I felt about that.

  We continued to look at each other until finally, Phillip put the car into drive.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The only place I had to stay now was Phillip’s. I did not feel upset by it, but I felt like I was trapped. Two days had passed since the funeral and I found myself waking up every morning, expecting to find myself back at home with my parents. After a few minutes, I would realize my parents and home were gone. I would be upset and maybe cry before forcing myself to get out of bed and to face the world. I knew it was time to speak with Bessie and to try and find out more information from Mathias. I realized he could be dangerous, but at the same time I did not know for sure.

  Before I knew it, I was showering and putting on the clothes I had been using lately to see Bessie. They were getting very ragged and rough looking, but I would use them to go through the underwater ritual without ruining good clothes.

  I called for a cab and had it take me to the Tower of London. The wind blew powerfully today as I made my way through the familiar routine. I had to be extra cautious today however, since it was daytime, to make sure no one saw me jump in. It would be rather odd seeing a grown woman take a plunge into the icy water. I was sure someone would probably have a panic attack and dive in after me.

  The icy plunge was even icier today, but I pushed myself through it. I was getting rather good at swimming. If I was ever in a terrible situation that involved water, I was sure I would be better off than I had before.

  I lifted myself out into the familiar room and found where I had left an old gray dress. I quickly slipped out of the wet dripping clothes and into the dryer ones, taking the dry towel I had left as well and wiping my hair. I then took out my mother's pocket watch and used it to gain entrance. While I had parted with my own pocket watch, I would never part with my mother’s.

  I could smell the fire before I saw it, so I knew Bessie was there. My heart warmed a little when I realized she was probably coming here daily to see if I came. I knew she stayed here, waiting for me, wanting to give me answers.

  "Abby."

  Bessie stood in the empty room by the fire. She had her hands folded in front of her. I smiled at her and she smiled back.

  "Are you here every day?" I asked. "I hate to keep you here, even if I don't show up. Maybe it is time we had another form of communication?"

  "Do not be stressed, love," she answered. "I have a connection with you. Your mother willed me to protect you and protect you I will."

  "Is it a power?"

  "I feel it is more of a motherly instinct," Bessie replied. "I understand I am not your mother, but I believe we are given these instincts." She walked forward, until she stood in front of me. I felt safe with her. She truly was a kind, honorable person. She reached up and tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. "I believe every woman has them, as will you too one day. I believe my connection with your mother, further strengthens that."

  "Will you tell me about her?"

  A smile crept onto Bessie's face and she nodded.

  "Do you trust me?" Bessie asked.

  I looked away. Did I?

  "No," I replied. The answer came from my heart. I did not trust her, but it was not out of suspicion or inclination. I just was not there yet. It took me a while to trust people. I did not trust Phillip for a while when we had met. However, I also knew that it was my part of the bargain to keep going, to keep spending time with people, and eventually, you would trust them. I explained that to Bessie to and that it was coming. I was almost there. I was close.

  Bessie smiled again. "I completely understand," she said. "I think you trust certain aspects, like coming here, but you do not trust everything and that is fine. However, I hope you are closer than you think, because that would be wonderful. I do want you to know that I trust you, and I would like to leave this place today for a walk. I would be delighted to tell you about Elisabeth."

  I nodded. Bessie put out the fire and we left the way we came.

  Unfortunately for Bessie, she did not have that second pair of clothes. As such, we were forced to call a cab. The driver gave us the most questioning look. I realized how odd it must be to see two women, completely drenched from head to toe, sitting in the back of your car.

  "I guess this is not a walk after all," Bessie laughed aloud.

  I laughed with her.

  "It's okay," I reasoned with her. "I wasn't too excited about walking through London drenched anyway."

  "Where t
o, Miss?"

  Bessie told the driver to take us to the West End. She said she was going to take me to her flat.

  Bessie's flat was small, but it felt like a home to me. The walls were white, but immediately upon walking in you were greeted to pictures upon pictures of family and friends.

  "I truly am a horrible person in photographs," Bessie said. "There I am with my father. You can tell I was not too excited about being in the photograph."

  The photos were very family oriented. I realized she did not have many friends in her life then, and I truly felt sorry for her.

  "Do you have any photographs of my mother?"

  Bessie took a quick intake of breath and responded haphazardly.

  "I burned them!"

  I had been looking at a picture of what looked like Bessie and her father together again when she said that. I turned to her quickly. Why would she burn them? Bessie looked confused. She turned away from me and walked into another room.

  I hugged myself. It was rather cold in here. Why would Bessie burn the photos? I guess that would be similar to my father not wanting to keep any possessions of my mother, but still. Bessie had been gone five minutes when I decided to go and follow her. I opened the door of what I assumed was her bedroom. The room was dark, but I saw a light on in the crack of another door—I assumed it was the bathroom.

  My attention turned to the disorganization of the room. Papers were everywhere. Newspaper articles were taped to the walls. It was the picture of Mathias and Bessie, framed, which drew my attention. The frame was sitting on a nightstand by Bessie's bed. I walked over and picked it up. Bessie was plain as usual, and rather cold looking. She stood next to my father and had a half smile on her face. My father smiled however, a wide, open smile. He looked handsome and well kept in a suit, whereas Bessie wore a simple black dress. I realized this must have been from when they dated. The door to the bathroom opened.

  Bessie stood in the doorway and looked at me with the frame in my hand. She reached forward and snatched it so fast I didn't have time to be surprised.

  "Abigail," Bessie said, "I appreciate your concern, but please wait around in the living area."

  "I'm sorry."

  I walked out of the room. I wondered why it was unkempt. Did she really need all of the newspapers lying around?

  It was another few moments before the door to Bessie's room opened and she stepped into the living area again, closing the door to the dark room behind her.

  "I apologize," she said, taking a seat on the couch. "I didn't want to keep any of the photographs of your mother. It was too hard."

  "Was that photograph of you and Mathias when you were engaged?"

  Bessie looked up at me. Her look was quizzical. What was she thinking?

  "It was actually taken at your mother's wedding," she finally said. "Your mother was supposed to be in it, but she had to take a photograph with the flower girl who was bound and determined to have a photograph taken. I suppose I kept it because it reminds me of her without having to see her. It also reminds me what Mathias did to her."

  My heart dropped. What Mathias did to her?

  "What do you mean?"

  "He was not kind to her," Bessie answered. "I'm sure he is cold to you. He was cold to her as well. If you are ready, I can tell you..."

  "No."

  "Abigail," Bessie said, "I really think you need to know the truth.”

  ”I do," I replied, "But not now. Not yet. I'm still overcoming the death of my parents, and I need to hold onto reality right now. It is hard to live in both worlds."

  "It doesn't have to be both worlds," Bessie replied. "It can be just the one. But I want you to know you can trust me. I will be here, when you are ready, which I know will be very soon."

  She said it like she did know. Like she could feel my trust already showing. But it wasn't there. It wasn't there yet.

  "I think I'm going to go," I said. "I appreciate everything. I'll be in contact."

  "Please do."

  Bessie stood and opened the door of her flat. I smiled at her and then turned away. It was odd, but I somehow felt like she was annoyed with me. Was she upset I didn't trust her? I felt her hand on my shoulder and turned around.

  "I'm here for you," she said. The smile had returned to her face. I smiled back and then walked away.

  I had not been to my classes since before my parents died; my professors had understandably given me some time off. Instead of going to class, or learning from Mathias, I spent my days on Phillip’s divan.

  The tears fell from my eyes. I was lying on Phillip's divan, my face down on the cushions. The cushions were being drowned by my never-ending tears. I did this every day since the funeral. I cried. I continued to cry when Phillip left for work, and I composed myself by the time he got home. I took a shower, washed my hair, and washed out my eyes. I looked as good as new. I didn't look depressed or upset. I got it together, for him. I failed today. I heard the door of the flat open and close before I even had time to do anything.

  "Abigail?"

  I heard Phillip set something down on the table and walk to my side. He knelt down by the couch and I felt his rough hand touch my cheek.

  "Abby," he spoke softly, "my Abby. What is wrong?"

  I realized how terribly I was shaking. The tears poured from my eyes. He had literally come in during what I now called "the worst fit."

  I kept my face planted down and continued to cry. I felt him carefully turn my face to his however.

  "Did you have a bad day?" he asked me. "It's okay to cry, Abby. It is."

  How could I lie to him? How could I not tell him everything? How could I lie to Bridget? How could I not tell her everything? I realized it was time to tell everything. No matter how hard it was, I had to tell the people I loved everything. They needed to know.

  "I've been crying every day," I admitted. "I just got myself together in time with your schedule."

  Before I knew it, Phillip had stood up and lifted me up in his arms. We were both lying on the couch now and he was holding me tightly. My head was lying just under his chin.

  "Listen to me," he said softly, staring up the ceiling. I closed my eyes and listened to his heart. Beat. Beat. Beat. "You do not have to compose yourself for anything. If you need to cry, you cry. If you need to laugh, you laugh. If you need to shout, you shout. If you need to speak, you speak! Be yourself. I won't judge you. The only thing I'll ever do when you cry, when you laugh, when you shout, and when you speak, is love you. I will always love you."

  His words lifted something up inside of me. His words reached down into a pit of darkness and pulled me out. His words gave me life. I felt them in my heart. I knew them to be true.

  "Abigail," he said. "You have always listened to my jokes, to my opinions, and to my criticisms with respect. Yes, I may see the look on your face here and there and yes you might have your own opinion in that righteous head of yours, but you never condescend to me. You never judge me. How could I judge you? I love you."

  No more secrets. I told him about today, I told him about going to see Bessie as well as the times before that in more detail. I told him everything about Mathias. Everything.

  "When I'm with you," he confided in me, long after the sun had gone down and the apartment was dark, "I feel like I can leave this world. I feel like I can leave this war. When I hold you, I feel like the suffering leaves the world. I will always protect you first, even if you try to protect me first. If someone were to try and hurt you, they would have to go through me over and over again. But I feel like you protect me too. You keep me in the light. You protect me from the darkness of this world."

  We lay there for what felt like hours, but in his arms, I felt safe. In his arms, I left reality too. There was no Hitler. There was no death. There was no Timekeeping. There was no war, out there or in me.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  My eyes cracked open. Phillip's side of the bed was empty and made up. I sat up in his bed and looked around the roo
m. Some clothes were scattered across the floor, but the bathroom door was open and the lights were off. I forced myself to get out of the comfort of the bed and walk into the living room. He must have carried me to bed late in the night and slept on the couch. Phillip was not in the living room though, and his coat was gone. I figured he had left for the library. I turned to walk back to the bedroom to get ready, but there was a knock at the door.

  I looked over at the door. A fear went through me that it could be Mathias, but I walked over and looked out the peephole. It was Bridget. I unbolted the deadbolt and opened the door.

  "Why are you here?"

  I didn't care if it sounded rude. It was the only question that went through my mind and actually came out in words when I opened the door. Bridget looked like she might snap at me, but I saw her think about it by her facial expressions and control the urge.

  "I'm here to talk to you and be your friend. Can I come in?"

  "A friend wouldn't have stopped talking to me in the first place," I told her. "A friend would have come to the funeral of my parents who were practically her parents to begin with."

  "A friend also doesn't lie to her friend," Bridget counteracted.

  I rolled my eyes and threw my hands up in the air. I walked over to the couch, leaving the door open for Bridget to come in. She followed shortly and shut the door behind her. I stared out the window, but I felt her presence when she sat down next to me at the couch.

  "I didn't trust you," I said. "I'm just going to be honest and tell you that. If you find out one day that you are someone with some kind of supernatural ability, would you tell everyone you knew? I didn't even tell my mum, and she's gone now. She loved me no matter who or what I was. I know that.”

  "Well, I wished you could have," Bridget replied, "because I think that is what broke our friendship."

  "If a friendship was true and strong it could be fixed."

  Bridget grabbed my shoulder and tuned me to look at her. Her face was red and blotchy, and I saw the tears streaming down them.