Echoes of Time

by Calia Read

  This woman is identical to me.

  And I know she recognizes me on some emotional level from the way her eyes fill with tears. I know there’s a distinct chance she’s been experiencing the same dreams I have. Before I have a chance to open my mouth, she flies out of her bed. Whipping the sheet back with remarkable speed, she stands on the opposite side of the bed.

  “Oh, shit,” she mutters. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Her gaze never leaves mine.

  For such a remarkably gorgeous person, she certainly has an ugly vocabulary.

  I take a step closer. Her hands begin to shake. I notice she winces slightly. Does she have the searing pain rocking through her skull, too?

  Staying in place, I hold my hands out, palms up. “Please don’t scream. I just want to talk with you.”

  Her hands are placed protectively on her stomach as though I’m the villain here to hurt her and her child. How insulting. I’ve never harmed a person my entire life.

  “I can’t believe it’s you,” she breathes. “Old Serene.”

  Old Serene? Old Serene?

  I don’t understand what she’s referring to. I’m far from old. “Old Serene?” I ask.

  She lightly shakes her head before she continues. “We’ve been looking for you for days. Everyone thought you had disappeared.”

  I want to ask who is “we,” and why isn’t she more shocked by my sudden appearance? Rather, I take a deep breath, and say, “What is your name, ma’am?”

  She swallows loudly before she responds. “I’m Serene, too.”

  Absurd.

  There’s only one Serene, and that is me. This woman is merely my twin stranger. But most strangers don’t share the same face as you or already know your name.

  “You’re the reason I have bizarre dreams. You’re what led me here,” I state confidently.

  The woman merely nods.

  We’re so entranced and unnerved by the sight of one another we don’t hear the door open. We don’t hear the footsteps. My twin stranger glances toward the door, and her eyes widen, causing me to look in that direction.

  It’s then I see a small, lithe woman standing. How long has she been there? She’s well dressed and beautiful in her own right. Nothing is out of place. Except for the knife clasped between her thin, ladylike hands.

  My twin stranger takes one look at her, and the color drains from her face. She notices the knife and slowly shakes her head. And then, she lets free a blood-curdling scream that has the potential to shatter every window in this house.

  And it’s then I realize that sometimes our dreams can be disguised as nightmares.

  While people speak around us, I watch her eyelids continually flutter open and close. She’ll hear strings of conversations, and smirk or grunt, but it’s apparent to me she needs to lie down.

  “Serene?”

  Her eyes become half-mast. “Yeah?”

  “If you’re exhausted, you don’t have to stay down here. Go rest. It’s been a tiresome few days.” My large hand covers her stomach. “There is a Lacroix baby inside you depletin’ your energy,” I say teasingly.

  “That’s not a half-bad idea. I don’t feel good. I’ve felt nauseous all day and have a slight headache.”

  Frowning, I watch her rub her temples and begin to stand. “I’ll take you upstairs.”

  “No. I’m good.” Smiling faintly, she places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes once. Serene kisses my crown, a gesture that causes Nat to halt talking long enough to smile before she goes back to speaking with Asa and Livingston. No one else can get away with an intimate gesture in public with me. Only Serene.

  I watch my fiancée walk out of the room, her pregnant state undeniable.

  “Étienne Lacroix is goin’ to be a dad. I never thought I would see the day,” Asa comments as he sits down across from me.

  “No one did,” I remark dryly. “Not even I.”

  “When precisely do you plan on makin’ an honest woman out Serene?” Nat asks.

  “As soon as humanly possible.”

  Nat dips her head, her eyes alight with happiness. “Very well. As long as I can be involved with the weddin’ process.”

  “I’m positive Serene will let you do whatever you wish.”

  “How is she feelin’?” Nat asks.

  “Decent. She has her good days and then days like today. She tends to become ill more so at night.”

  Nat props her chin on her hand and smiles. “Good. I’m glad she’s farin’. I cannot wait to see my niece or nephew!”

  “That’s many months away.”

  “Not necessarily.” Nathalie stands and walks around the couch. Asa’s eyes follow her the entire time, and I don’t like it one bit. She’s married. And then I think perhaps I don’t like the direction or road I’ve caused my sister’s life to go down. I knew she still loved Asa. It was because I was so damned stubborn and refused to let the two of them have the opportunity to kindle a flame.

  Nat seems to be making a pointed effort not to look in his direction. It’s for the best Oliver left days ago. One, so I didn’t wrap my hands around his neck and choke the life out of him. And two, so he didn’t discover another man was in love with his wife.

  The indignation I initially felt at discovering Oliver’s betrayal hasn’t wavered. I now know where the two of us stand. He’s no longer a part of my family. I will never trust him or allow him into my life again. And what Nat chooses to do is up to Nat. She’s a grown woman and can make her own decisions.

  The fact is, Oliver is the least of my worries. There is the matter of Livingston’s recovery and tracking Old Serene. Once we do, many questions will be answered. I have a suspicion she’s behind the attack on Livingston. And most importantly, there’s Serene’s pregnancy. And Nat’s remark reminds me of all the time Serene and I have lost. On top of the business ventures I need to sign off on and clients I want to speak with, there’s also the matter of preparing for our child.

  Are we truly ready?

  While I’m eager to see my child, I’m also anxious. Until Old Serene is found, will any of us be safe?

  “How are you feelin’?” I ask my sister.

  Sighing, Nat plumps the decorative pillow on the couch and sits, gazing down at her laced fingers. “Now that you and Serene are back, I’m better.” She pauses for a moment. “As you know, it was a very upsettin’ time.”

  I dip my head in acknowledgment. It still pains me to know all that she experienced. And I never knew. “So you’ve said. Several times.”

  “I don’t mean to upset you, Étienne,” Nat gently says. “Everythin’ was simply … different without you.”

  “I’m here now. The time for uncertainty is over, all right?”

  Everyone in the room discreetly looks away from Nathalie. We all know what she’s referring to but won’t discuss.

  Nat gives me a weak smirk. There’s no possible way for me to heal the pain with one simple conversation. That happens with time. I can only pick up the pieces and remove the burden from her shoulders. She no longer has to worry about my companies or the family company. They’re safe from being sold. And I will help with Livingston in any way I possibly can.

  Livingston takes that opportunity to saunter into the room. My back straightens as I look him over. For a moment, I convince myself he’s the same Livingston I’ve grown up with, but his furrowed brows and pensive expression say differently.

  Nat sees him and smiles. She’s a fool if she thinks I don’t notice how it never reaches her eyes. “How are you feelin’?”

  “Ouch. Ouch.” Livingston reaches up, his fingertips touching his temples. “Don’t talk so loud.”

  “You still have a bad headache?” Asa asks.

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Through Nat, Asa, Rainey, Miles, and Dr. Ruddell, I learned all there was to know about Livingston’s attack and his recovery process. I discovered he took daily “light sleeps” as Nat called them. He had constant headaches and was very frust
rated when an object or person felt familiar and he couldn’t remember them. He had a hearty appetite but became nauseous easily. To a stranger, he looked healthy, but to his close friends and family, we all knew the truth: he was still struggling.

  “We can send for the doctor for you,” I say with determination.

  Nat places her hand on my shoulder. I look at her from the corner of my eye. “There’s no need for that.”

  I look down at my linked fingers dangling between my legs and back at my twin. “You still recall nothin’?”

  Livingston lowers his hand and winces. “Only that I fell, and you’re my brother.” He focuses on Nat. “And you’re my sister.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” My hope crashes. My God, when will this end? Will the memories simply fall into the correct places like pieces of the puzzles? Or is he doomed to never remember his past?

  Livingston occupies a spot behind the chessboard. He crooks his finger at Rainey. “Play with me.”

  “Don’t you do this”—Rainey mimics his crooking action­—“to me.”

  “Do you fear you will lose?” he challenges.

  Rainey narrows her eyes. I swear I can see steam coming from her ears. Although Livingston’s long-term memory may be temporarily gone, his banter with Rainey is alive and well. Some things simply come naturally.

  For all her huffing and puffing, Rainey stands and makes her way to the table, sitting across from Livingston.

  As the two of them set up the chessboard, Livingston asks casually, “Just for reference, precisely how long will everyone be hoverin’ around me?”

  “Livingston, you were attacked.”

  Livingston holds a king in his hand and glances at Asa. “I’ve been made aware.”

  “And you could’ve have died,” Nat points out.

  “Valid point,” Livingston concedes. He’s attempting to keep things light, but he isn’t the same. Stubble peppers his cheeks. Eyes that are typically so bright are lifeless. I know he’s just as afraid as the rest of us that we won’t get his memory back. This is simply his silent plea for us to give him more space.

  I think of the moment he does remember and all the things I will tell him. I will tell him about me time traveling, and how I truly met Serene.

  “Mrs. Claiborne, you have a letter,” Ben says as he stands in the doorway.

  “Excuse me a moment,” Nat says.

  She slips out of the room and speaks momentarily with Ben. I watch her, but so does Asa. Whenever the two of them are in the same room, Asa’s eyes inevitably follow her. Ben hands her a letter. She smiles holds the letter with both hands, staring intently at the envelope.

  Upon entering the room, her shoulders sag with, dare I say it, relief? While Livingston and Rainey begin sparring over something inconsequential. Nat cuts open the envelope with her fingernail. It’s just a correspondence. Probably from her imbecile of a husband. She appears unaware of her surroundings as she begins to read the letter.

  “You swindler!” Rainey huffs. She turns and faces us. “Nat, did you see that?”

  Nat lifts her head and hastily places her hands behind her back, hiding the letter. She smiles at Rainey, blinking rapidly, and steps forward. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Livingston leans back in his chair and crosses his arms, and grins at Rainey. “It’s just occurred to me you always have somethin’ to say when we play chess. Are you that afraid to lose?”

  She doesn’t notice that the letter has slipped from her grip and fluttered to the ground. Bending down, I pick up the paper only giving it a courtesy look. It can’t be from Oliver. The handwriting is too fluid and graceful. “Forget somethin’?”

  Turning, Nat’s brows pucker before her eyes light up with understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She reaches out and grabs the paper. “I didn’t realize I even dropped it.”

  “What is it?”

  “A letter.”

  “From who?” I ask, my tone blunt.

  “My Lord, Étienne”—Nat huffs—“have you always been this nosy?”

  “Yes. Now, who is it from?”

  Exasperated, she tilts her head to the side and crosses her arms. “From she-who-shall-not-be-named,” Nat says quietly.

  Doesn’t take me but a few seconds to connect the dots. “Oh.”

  “Yes.”

  My engagement to Scarlett seems like such a distant memory. For a moment, I almost forgot about her. “Do you speak with her frequently?”

  “Not often. Things didn’t exactly end on the most positive note between the two of you,” she replies.

  “I apologize if I shattered the friendship between the two of you.”

  Nathalie shakes her head and waves her hand. A gesture I can see Serene doing. “You did nothin’ of the sort. My loyalty is to you. If she writes, though, I don’t see the harm in writin’ her back. Don’t you think?”

  “Of course. I believe you should do whatever you feel is right. You’ve had a longstandin’ friendship with her, and if you want to nourish that close friendship, I encourage that.”

  A small snicker of laughter escapes from her. “I wouldn’t go that far, considerin’ the harsh words her father said.”

  “Fair point.”

  “However, I believe bein’ cordial is the best course of action.”

  I open my mouth, ready to agree, when we’re interrupted.

  “What are you two whisperin’ about?” Livingston says.

  I look over my shoulder at Livingston. “Ah. I see you’ve managed to stop rufflin’ Rainey’s feathers long enough to notice we exist.”

  “Don’t change the subject. The two of you are bein’ very secretive. What are you discussin’?”

  Nat glances at me before she faces everyone. “I’ve received correspondence from Scarlett Gould. She was tellin’ me about her time in Southampton over the summer.” Nat holds the paper between her hands and scans the letter. “She was just askin’ about your recovery and—”

  Suddenly, Livingston stands up from his seat in front of the window. His eyes become wide, and a gasp that can only be bred from a deep realization comes from his mouth.

  Conversations cease. Everyone stares at him. Nat veers back, lowering the letter to her side. Livingston advances, though. His eyes fixed on the letter. His strides are sure and more confident than I’ve seen them since I’ve been home. He stands in front of us, holding out a hand. “Let me see that.”

  At first, Nat gives me a shocked look. However, I’m just as confused as she is and gesture for her to do as he says. She holds the paper between them, and he snatches the letter. As his eyes fly across the words, he maintains a white-knuckle grip.

  When he’s finished, he lowers the letter and stares at Nat and me. His light eyes are clear and filled with horror.

  “I know who did it,” he rasps. “I know who attacked me.”

  And that’s when we hear the scream.

  When I slipped into my Pepto-Bismol room to lie down, I did so for old times’ sake. Soon, I had plans to make this the baby’s room. Good-bye, pink. Hello, soft yellow.

  I closed my eyes, hoping the pain behind my eyes would abate. And when I heard the bedroom door open, I thought Étienne was checking on me. Not once did I think I would roll onto my back and come face to face with Old Serene.

  Never.

  Fear didn’t even begin to describe what I felt those first few seconds. I was so panic-stricken I was frozen. And then I reacted. I knew I had to put space between us, but then fear gave way to fascination. She was finally here, and I knew I wasn’t dreaming this.

  As though the situation wasn’t astonishing enough, Scarlett walked in. I saw the knife in her hands, and I screamed because I knew it was either me or Old Serene, and I had so much to live for.

  When Scarlett Gould left Étienne’s life, I was glad. I immediately embraced the decision. I thought it would be permanent.

  Clearly, I was wrong.

  Why is she in my room? Maybe she got lost. Maybe she was l
ooking for Nat. But my explanations are weak at best. Nat never mentioned Scarlett coming for a visit.

  “Hello, Serene,” Scarlett says with perfect composure.

  There are certain quintessential traits that lend themselves to anyone who has become unhinged. The maniac laugh, wild eyes, a grin that spreads from ear to ear.

  For Scarlett, there’s none of that. She’s the very definition of calm. You would think she’s here for a friendly visit if it wasn’t for the knife in her hand.

  I can’t stop staring at it.

  Swallowing, I stand straighter.

  “Hello, Scarlett,” I reply, my voice cautious.

  Scarlett’s focus has been on me the entire time, but Old Serene—who’s been remarkably still since Scarlett stepped into the room—chooses that moment to mutter, “Oh dear,” under her breath, earning Scarlett’s attention.

  At first, Scarlett gives her a courtesy glance. But instantly her gaze veers back to Old Serene, and then her eyes widen, before her Scarlett’s eyes volley back and forth between me and Old Serene. With her knife, she points between us. “Wh ... how are there two of you?”

  Pieces of the article come flashing back to me in bits and pieces. This is bad. This is really fucking bad.

  I suppose I’ve known all along Old Serene and I couldn’t co-exist in any time. There could only be one, but I never imagined I would come face to face with her, and with Scarlett here, there’s no time for Old Serene and me to talk.

  “I never knew you had an identical twin.”

  Old Serene frowns. “Wha—”

  “There’s no time for that,” Scarlett rushes out. “Which one is Serene?”

  In unison, we both raise our hands. Scarlett groans in frustration. “Don’t try to distract me!”

  “We’re not,” we say at the same time.

  We don’t mean to mirror each’s other words and actions; it simply happens.

  Scarlett’s cheeks turn red with embarrassment. I suck in a sharp breath.

  “Never mind. I will decide.” She looks back and forth between us. “You,” she states confidently, but her gaze drifts back to Old Serene. She isn’t sure who she’s talking to. She simply took a shot in the dark. “How are you?”