Time After Time

by Wendy Godding

  ‘Perhaps you think you’ve seen me before? Perhaps I’m familiar? Perhaps you’ve dreamed of me?’

  Penelope swallowed hard. ‘Have I seen you before?’

  ‘I think so,’ he said easily.

  ‘Maybe I have seen you before, but you have one of those faces that are easy to forget.’ It wasn’t true, and Penelope couldn’t remember the last time she’d said anything so rude. Perhaps never? But she possessed a desperate need to hurt him, to make him dislike her and leave her alone. To make him not stand so close, not breathe on her neck, or not watch her closely with those cold, hard eyes.

  ‘You wound me, Penelope,’ he said, but he laughed a little, as if her words amused and not wounded him at all. ‘I know that if I’d had the pleasure of seeing you before, then I would never forget such a beautiful face.’

  Penelope spied the parsonage up ahead and quickened her pace. Her father would be home, as would the servants. She would no longer be alone with Sebastian, a thought which gave her comfort.

  ‘In fact, your face is so beautiful, I wish I’d seen it first and staked my claim on you before Heath.’

  ‘You do me an injustice, sir, saying words you don’t mean.’

  ‘Oh, but I do mean them. I mean them very much indeed.’

  Penelope’s heart thundered in her chest and her body trembled, hot and itchy. ‘You’re forgetting that I’m engaged to your brother.’ Not much farther and she would be inside the parsonage with the door firmly shut behind her.

  ‘Engaged, my dear. Not married.’

  ‘You said yourself that you and he are close,’ her voice wavered slightly, and she hoped her fear didn’t show. She had a sense that Sebastian would enjoy her terror.

  ‘Not close enough that we would share the same girl,’ he growled, his voice low and angry.

  Penelope whirled on him and managed a tight smile. ‘Thank you for walking me home, Mr Lockwood.’

  He stepped closer, the coldness from him creeping beneath Penelope’s clothes and making her skin tingle, but she held her ground, her chin high as she met his brilliant silver grey eyes. ‘The pleasure is all mine,’ he said. ‘I do look forward to renewing our acquaintance some more.’

  He leaned forward like he was about to kiss her, but Penelope recoiled, turning her face from his and staring into the distance. Still, she didn’t step away.

  He laughed, his voice low and threatening. ‘Don’t hate me, Penelope. That’s not a good start to our relationship. Not this time.’

  Then he turned on his heels and walked away, leaving her trembling, afraid and confused on the grounds of the parsonage. She didn’t move but stood rigid, watching him stride up towards the Manor. It was only when he reached the top of the hill, standing on the horizon with the orange sky behind him, that he turned and looked at her again.

  Even with the distance between them, Penelope could see the menace glistening in his eyes and felt it reach inside her, touching her very core, and promise her something she wasn’t quite sure she wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Present day

  Marcus arrived just before eight to pick me up from work. Seating himself at a nearby desk, he pretended to read, but he didn’t fool anyone with the sly smiles he threw my way, least of all Simone.

  ‘Boyfriend?’ she asked me wryly. ‘He doesn’t look like your type.’

  ‘He’s my next-door neighbour,’ I told her.

  ‘I think he thinks he’s more than that,’ Simone observed. ‘I thought you didn’t like any of the boys around here?’

  ‘I can change my mind, can’t I?’ I replied, wandering over to Marcus. ‘Hey, listen, I have to work a little later to make up for being late.’

  ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘Really?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I should be only about fifteen minutes.’

  ‘No worries.’

  I don’t think I hid my delight at his words very well as I went to finish behind the counter.

  ‘Are these your books, Abbie?’ asked Simone, gesturing to a pile of books I had checked out. They were old books on reincarnation. I knew I could find tons of information on the internet, but I wanted to read older and more radical theories. A trip to the state library was high on my to-do list as well; it was bound to have much more information on the subject.

  ‘Yeah, um, sociology assignment,’ I muttered by way of explanation. Bundling them into my school bag, I hid them under Jane Eyre, ignoring the curious look Simone shot me. ‘See you later.’

  ‘So, where do you want to go?’ Marcus asked as we climbed into his car.

  I snuggled down in the seat, enjoying the scent of Marcus, which filled the small space. ‘I’m easy.’

  He grinned. ‘Really? I hadn’t heard that.’

  I flushed at the innuendo and wriggled further into my seat.

  After a while we turned off the main road and headed towards the back streets where it was darker. There weren’t as many cars or people in this part of town, and the streetlights placed sporadically along the roadside cast an ominous yellow glow on the empty pavements. We came to a halt in front of a run-down bar. It resembled an old-style country pub, complete with a swinging sign that read The Hare and Hound.

  The inside probably has paisley carpet that stinks of stale cigarette smoke, and a bar lined with old, lonely men with grey beards and false teeth, I mused.

  ‘What’s this place?’

  Marcus chuckled. ‘I’m the one who’s new in town, remember? You should know all the hot places to hang out.’ Getting out, he came around to open my door—his old-fashioned manners on display again.

  ‘This doesn’t exactly look like a hot place,’ I said ruefully, accepting his hand and following him in.

  I was right about the interior. It was badly lit and filled with old men sitting silently along the edge of the bar. The carpet, which was indeed an orange and brown paisley twirl, stank of cigarette smoke, sweat and stale beer. As we entered, the bartender looked up and nodded at Marcus.

  ‘You know him?’ I asked, surprised. This place was a back street dive and Marcus looked just as out of place here as I did in a pink tutu.

  ‘Yeah, I’ve been here a few times,’ he said, ushering me into a booth before taking the seat opposite.

  ‘I thought you were new in town,’ I remarked, remembering again how little I knew about this Marcus.

  ‘I am. My brother likes to hang out here sometimes, and I’m not completely new here. We just moved back.’

  ‘Really? When were you here before?’

  ‘Years ago,’ he replied easily and distractedly, not really answering the question. ‘Rem comes here quite often, and I like it too; it reminds me of another time.’

  ‘It certainly does.’ I cast another look around the pub, at the faded, peeling wallpaper, the old-fashioned portraits and maps lining the walls, the scratched and mismatched tables and chairs. A picture of two hummingbirds, their bills entwined, caught my eye and I shivered.

  ‘It’s not so bad,’ Marcus shrugged, ‘and it’s quiet. I don’t mind it. It isn’t quite the same as Hurricanes, but I thought you might like it.’

  ‘It’s very different to Hurricanes,’ I admitted, ‘but you know what? I do like it. There is something about this place…’ I paused, unsure how to finish.

  ‘Yeah?’ he prompted, his brown eyes boring into mine.

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know. I guess since it’s so old and all, it feels familiar. Gran probably took me here when I was little.’

  ‘You grew up with your gran?’ he asked curiously.

  ‘Yeah. Gran was pretty much my mother, and Meredith is now my court-appointed guardian until I’m eighteen.’

  ‘And your parents?’

  ‘They’re out there somewhere.’ I stopped talking as the bartender approached and placed two beers and a basket of fries in front of us, which I didn’t remember ordering. It didn’t matter though; I was starving and began shoving food in my mouth as I spoke. ‘I’m like an or
phan really—except my parents aren’t dead.’

  ‘And there’s no one else? No brothers or sisters?’

  ‘Nope. Just me. I think I scared my parents too much when I was little and they were too frightened to have any more children.’ I gave a low, mocking laugh before cursing myself for telling Marcus such things. They were my secrets. Things I should never tell anyone, ever.

  ‘How?’

  I blinked at him. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said, how’d you scare them?’ He leaned across the table and looked right at me, like he was willing me to say something, and all of a sudden I felt a prickle of fear. Like he knew. Like he knew exactly who and what I was. ‘You don’t look very scary to me, pixie girl.’

  ‘I’ve been rambling,’ I said, choking on the words. ‘That’s enough about me and my boring life.’ There was no way I would ever tell anyone about my past lives. That was the surest way to get locked up in a loony bin.

  ‘I don’t think your lives are boring at all. I think they’re quite fascinating.’

  My mouth dropped open. Did he just say lives and they? He watched me intently, his brown eyes large and serious, and never flickering from my face. His mouth drawn in a thin, straight line. My heart tripped over itself and, glancing around, I realised we were isolated in this corner of the pub. No one paid us any attention at all. There was no one to help.

  Which was ridiculous. Why would I need help?

  And why was I suddenly so scared?

  Is Sebastian here? Is he nearby? Did he follow me from the library? My mind ran through all the variables. None of them centred on Marcus, who still watched me intently.

  But I couldn’t meet his eyes, couldn’t bring myself to search within them, scared of what I might find or what I might accidently show him. Dropping my French fry, I took a large gulp of beer, which only made me feel worse.

  ‘You know,’ I said looking at him, my eyes squarely meeting his, ‘I think I should probably get home. I have homework, and it’s pretty late.’ My excuse was lame, and I flushed hotly, sure he could sense my sudden nervousness.

  But he did say lives.

  ‘Sure,’ he said, his voice light and breezy, back to his normal, less intense self. ‘I’ll take you back.’

  We were silent most of the way home as I struggled to think about the strangeness that had just passed. Marcus taking me to that back street dive, the way he looked at me, the way he said they. I kept glancing at him all the way home, but he looked relaxed and like his normal, easygoing self, a lock of his hair falling across one eye. Nothing at all out of the ordinary.

  Marcus parked in his yard and walked me across to my house. He paused on the porch, grinning that charming, lopsided grin again. The one that warmed his eyes and made my belly perform tiny cartwheels. Yes, I can trust Marcus, I told myself firmly, willing away the seed of doubt. The one that was screaming at me.

  ‘Can I ask you something?’ he asked for the second time that day.

  ‘If you’re going to ask if you can kiss me, I’ll scream,’ I warned, and I watched as his face fell. ‘Oh no! Not because I don’t want you to,’ I added quickly, ‘but because I don’t want you to ask me all the time. Every time. Just do it already.’

  His mouth fell on mine the moment I stopped talking, shocking me for an instant before slowly relaxing me. His lips were warm and soft, just as I remembered, and he smelled like a mixture of apple shampoo, beer, and salty French fries. I revelled in the feel of his lips before they slanted across my mouth, deepening the kiss. My heart pitched and slid to the bottom of my belly, where it settled as a dull ache. Winding my arms up around his neck, I threaded my fingers through his hair, curling the silky strands around them. His own arms encircled my waist, pulling me against him firmly, lining my body against the length of his. I concentrated on the contrast between his hardness and my softness, where his hips pressed against mine, how he had to bend his knees to kiss me because he was so impossibly tall.

  He bit my bottom lip and I shuddered. It was just like I’d wanted to do to him earlier. His warm breath filled my senses. I couldn’t get enough of him; I wanted to pull at him and suck him into me, wanted to push his clothes off and sink down onto the porch with him. My breath came in shallow gasps, and my heart made no sense at all as it struggled to keep up with my tumult of emotions.

  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.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  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.’<
br />
  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.