by Sofia Grey
“They called them Last Letters,” he explained. “The airmen and soldiers were encouraged to write them to their loved ones in the event of them not returning from a mission. Sergeant Porteous wrote one to Isabella.”
My heart just about stopped. He slid the letter toward me. I stroked the clear sleeve as my eyes filled up again. “Please…would you…” I gulped, unable to speak, but he understood.
Sitting back in my chair, eyes closed, it could have been my Davy reading it aloud to me.
My dearest, darling Isabella.
I asked you this afternoon if you believed in fate. I truly believe we were meant to be together. My time with you has been so short—a lifetime would never be enough—but every minute has meant more to me than the years before I met you. You have made me so happy, brought me so much love, I am a better person for loving you. If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never forget our afternoon in the woods.
But I know if you’re reading this, then I must have gone on ahead. My love, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be there with you. Promise me you’ll forget about me. I want you to live your life as if every day were your last. Be happy.
Even if I can’t be there, I will love you forever.
Always yours,
Davy
X
His words hung in the air, but I couldn’t speak yet. Davy had written to me. I could add this to my mental archive of everything-Davy.
“That’s odd.”
I opened my eyes and saw Student Porteous sifting through the artifacts. “What’s odd?”
“The other photographs are missing. I’ve looked at these many times before, and there should be more pictures. One I remember clearly was Sergeant Porteous and his wife.”
Oh no. I really did not want to hear this. In the space of half an hour, my world had turned inside out. To learn Davy had married was a step too far. Common sense told me he would have been lonely, but I didn’t want to see the evidence.
I sucked in a ragged breath and manufactured a very fake smile. “I should be going. Thank you for this. Really. It means a lot to me.”
He glanced at me, his brows knitted together. “I wanted to see it. The resemblance is uncanny. I wonder where it can be?”
The smile was making my cheeks ache. “Yes. You do look like him. I thought that straight away.”
“Not me. You.” He tugged at his hair. “You look exactly as I remember the picture of Isabella.”
What? For the second time, I was glad to be sitting. “I don’t understand.”
“There should be a picture here of Davy Porteous and Isabella. The girl he wrote the letter to. His wife.”
PART II—Marc
Chapter Twenty
I stared in the mirror and assessed my appearance as critically as though I were looking at a stranger. The dark shadows beneath my eyes hinted at physical exhaustion, but the firm set of my jaw offset it. If anyone asked, I was working long hours to retrain. I was keen to take up a new posting, in a new time period, and the amount of information I had to absorb was colossal.
I knew there were whispers about why. Why I’d left behind my specialist period, an era I’d trained in for years and was as familiar with as my own time. I’d been given the opportunity to lead a squadron, and I’d turned it down. None of my ghardian peers understood, and I knew they questioned my judgment. I might never be given this promotion opportunity again. I must be unstable. More than one had mentioned PTSD.
Unstable? Yes. That summed it up. The armor I’d constructed over the years had been smashed to pieces. One crack was all it took. One slip of a girl. And now I had to painstakingly rebuild it, one day at a time.
I blinked and then twisted my head to examine the scar tissue. A dark red line snaked down from my hairline to my left temple. That was the only outward scar from my last jump. The others were mostly on the inside.
Grabbing my bag, I left my quarters and set off for the training center. A few hours of hard, physical exercise might leave me tired enough to sleep properly. It might also silence some of the relentless whispers inside my head, that I’d become weak.
I rounded the corner and nodded to one of the admin assistants that staffed the ghardian residential complex. “Lieutenant Gallagher.” He snapped a salute. “I just left you a message, sir. You have a visitor.” He gestured toward the reception area. “I put her in room one while I tracked you down.”
A visitor? None of the people I knew were in the habit of dropping by to see me. I kept my puzzlement from my face and nodded to the assistant. “Thank you.”
The first thing I saw from the doorway was her hair. A golden yellow plait hung halfway down her back. I blinked, unsure if I was hallucinating. By the way my heart was racing, the pulse booming in my ears, she was real. “Lila?” The name dried on my tongue when she turned around.
Younger than Lila, she had a narrower face and a classic peaches-and-cream complexion. Her eyes were a darker shade of blue, but her lips were the same rosebud pink.
I must have become weak if I really imagined Lila would come to see me. It was my decision to cut myself out of her life, and I had to live with that every day. She was happy, I knew that. She had Jared, and he was a worthy partner, but my gut still ached when I thought about her.
Hauling my attention back to the blonde girl staring at me, I tried to pull my usual armor back into place. “How may I help you?” It came out sharply, and her eyes widened. To her credit, she didn’t move.
“Lieutenant Gallagher?”
I nodded.
“My name is Student Juliet Delafield. I’m a friend of your cousin Isabella.” Her voice was soft, melodic, and didn’t betray her nerves. Her tightly clasped hands gave that away.
I’d tried to contact Isabella following her return from assignment, but she had declined to meet me. There was no reason for her friend to seek me out. “I ask again. How may I help you?”
A flush of color lined her cheeks, but she kept her gaze on me. “Can we go somewhere private, please?”
In reply, I stepped fully into the room and then closed the door behind me. I leaned on it and crossed my arms. “This is private.”
She lifted her chin, and pushed back her shoulders. Not intimidated by a surly ghardian. “I’m worried about Isabella. I know you offered to counsel her when we came back from our jump, but I don’t think she’ll call you.”
I shrugged. “It’s her choice.”
“I know. But as her study partner, I’m concerned by her behavior. She may be ejected from the course.”
Her words were crisp and unemotional, but I wondered if there was more to Student Delafield than met the eye. I assessed her appearance. She wore the regulation gray student trousers and jacket, but with a distinct flash of color at the base of her throat. That brought me to another thought.
“How did you get into this complex? You’re not wearing a visitor badge.”
More red suffused her cheeks. “I lied to the security detail. I told them I was Isabella.”
A bold move. I held onto my surprise. “Did they not challenge you?”
“Yes, but I had a note, from you, inviting her for counseling. I told them I was here to meet you for the first session.”
Intrigued, I pushed away from the door and strolled to the window behind her. She stood completely still, but her breathing quickened. So I did make her nervous after all. “You jumped back to 1941?”
“Yes.”
“And how did you find it?”
She hesitated, as though composing herself. “We both found it hard, but Isabella more so.”
“And why was this?”
Another hesitation before she spoke. “That would be betraying a confidence.”
I took a silent step right behind her, so close I could smell the shampoo she used. Floral. Not unusual for the students, but a rare fragrance in the sterile ghardian compound.
“So tell me, Student Delafield. You have no compunction about stealing a private note, bluffing your way int
o a secure installation, and then lying to the security guard about your identity.” My voice was cold. I wanted to frighten her, even as I recognized that I was being a brute. “Yet you stall at revealing a confidence? Do I need to sweeten the pot, perhaps?”
Her breath hitched, and beneath her jacket I saw the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. Leaning forward, I spoke next to her ear. “I could have you arrested in an instant. Tell me why I shouldn’t.”
Her back stiffened. “I am more than Isabella’s study partner. I’m her friend.”
“And that means?” I should have moved away, but the crass part of me was enjoying the view.
“It means she has my loyalty. She has no idea I’m here. Asking for your help.” The words tumbled from her mouth, and I drew back.
“You may leave.”
Her shoulders slumped, but instead of beating a hasty retreat, she turned her head to look at me. “Please help her.”
I was fascinated by her eyes. Bright blue at first glance, at close quarters they had a green ring around the iris. Why hadn’t she left yet?
“Why me? She has other family.”
“Apart from the fact that you offered to counsel her,” she gazed back at me, “I thought you had more experience of jumps not going to plan.”
Her words, for all that they were softly spoken, acted like ice water in my face. I jerked back. So the rumors about me had extended from the ghardian ranks? It was only a matter of time.
“This discussion is over. I suggest you leave before I call security.”
As she strode out, plait swinging gracefully and hips swaying, I made a mental note to request a thorough review of security procedures. If a civilian could just walk in from the street, we had some serious gaps in our procedures. Although, remembering the way she’d refused to buckle under my questioning, she might just have been an exceedingly talented individual.
My initial assessment was correct. Student Delafield was more than just a pretty face.
Chapter Twenty-One
I wasn’t surprised when Isabella called me that evening. Juliet must have spoken to her about our meeting. I’d not been in my apartment long, after an extended hand-to-hand combat session and a long shower. All I wanted was some food and then the blissful oblivion of an alcohol-induced sleep, but I would talk to my cousin first.
It had been a few years since I’d seen Isabella. I still expected her to be a shy teenage girl. The young woman who looked back at me on the screen was unexpected, as was the level of pain in her eyes.
“Lieutenant Gallagher.” She ran a hand through the hair that fell over her forehead. “I need to speak to you.” Twin spots of color appeared on her cheeks, and her eyes shone with tears. “In person.”
“No need for the formalities. Please call me Marc.” I considered her request. “I have some time tomorrow if you want to schedule a counselling session.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” She scrubbed at her eyes and then pushed her hair back. Again. “I need to see you tonight. It’s urgent.”
This had to be something to do with her friend’s appearance earlier. Perhaps she was in trouble with security after all? I really wasn’t in the mood for this. The sooner I sorted it out, the sooner I could get the privacy I craved.
“Where?”
She blinked, and rubbed her eyes some more. “The central archive. I’ll wait in the twentieth-century lobby for you to arrive. Thank you.”
•●•
It was a short walk to the archive, and I saw Isabella as soon as I entered the hall. She sprang up from her seat and hurried to greet me. “Thank you. I do appreciate this, I really do.”
She headed toward the viewing rooms, and I followed. “Would you care to explain the urgency?” I asked.
“In a minute.” She didn’t speak again until we’d signed for a set of artifacts and settled in a private viewing room.
Her behavior unsettled me. She appeared manic and restless. On the verge of an emotional breakdown. She reminded me of how I’d been after my last jump.
Isabella emptied the archive box and spread the contents across the table. Photographs. A letter. Some military memorabilia. Nothing out of the ordinary.
What had her friend done? And how did she expect me to be able to help? I was a soldier, not law enforcement.
“Isabella. Explain.”
She shoved at her hair and rearranged it, only to have it fall back into place. “I don’t know where to begin.”
I held onto my sigh of frustration. “Why here? Why this archive? Why the urgency?”
She remained silent, her attention on a photograph.
“Is this to do with Juliet?”
“What?” Puzzled eyes met mine. “No. why would it be? This is about Davy.”
I made a go-on gesture with my fingers, and she slid one of the photographs across the table to me. Two men in military uniform, probably Air Force, stood beside a motorbike. Neither man was familiar. “Davy who?”
“Davy Porteous.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know why you’ve removed the other pictures of him.” She ran a trembling finger over the clear, protective cover. “I mean, I can guess why. You didn’t want me to see it, but don’t you see? If it’s already happened, you can’t stop it.”
“Isabella. I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Her shoulders slumped. “There were more photographs here, only they’ve been removed and are now classified. As you know.” I watched in horrified fascination as a fat tear trickled from the corner of her eye to roll unchecked down her cheek.
There were a dozen questions I could ask, but I went for the most obvious. “Why are you asking me?”
“Because your name is on the change log, Lieutenant Gallagher.” She wiped away the tear with the back of her hand and then passed me the data pad for the artifact.
Today was full of surprises. That was my electronic signature, or a very close forgery. Only problem was, I’d swear I’d never seen this artifact before. I checked the date of the removal. One week ago.
Could her over-confident friend Juliet have engineered this? No. I didn’t believe that for a second—especially since she wasn’t even here at the time.
“Let’s say I did remove and reclassify them. As a ghardian, I have the authority to do that.”
“I just want to see them. Please.”
If I hadn’t been so exhausted, mentally and physically, I might have simply refused and then walked away. As it was, the sight of her tears tugged at something inside me. “Isabella,” I said gently. “Please try to control yourself. I understand you may have found the jump assignment to be difficult, but crying will not help.”
“You can lock them back away afterward, and I won’t say anything. I promise.”
I reached for the data pad and called up the detailed change log, entered my authentication, and then looked to see where I was supposed to have refiled the photographs. “Odd,” I murmured.
Isabella leaned forward, the tension visible in her taut body. “What?”
I turned the data pad to show her. “These artifacts relate to the second world war period, right? And yet I’ve reclassified them to the Ancient Greeks. To the Herodotus archive.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t there a famous Herodotus quotation that I should know?”
“‘The only good is knowledge, and the only evil is ignorance.’” I gave her a little smile. “It’s the founding motto of the archive. You should recognize it.”
“Yes, of course.” Her focus was still on the data pad. “So will you retrieve it for me?”
There was no surprise when the archivist brought us the record I’d tagged. It was exactly as I’d expected, just artifacts from the Ancient Greek period. No additional pictures slipped into the box.
The pictures Isabella was so desperate to see, that I supposedly re-classified a week earlier, had vanished.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I sat back and stared at my young cousin. “Let�
��s start at the beginning. Fill in the blanks for me.”
She took a deep breath and then met my gaze. “This man,” she pointed to one of the airmen, “is Davy Porteous. I met him on my assignment, and I fell in love with him. We fell in love.”
A chill descended over me at her casual use of the L-word. She was in more of an emotional state than I’d guessed. “Continue.”
“I came to see this artifact, and I learned that some items had been removed. By you.”
I sensed this wasn’t the whole story, but I let it pass for the moment. “So tell me. What’s the significance of these to you? Why would I remove them?”
“The significance,” she snapped, “is that they show Davy with his wife. Me. They show a future for us together.”
“Not necessarily.” I made my voice cold. She couldn’t continue to think along these lines. “How do you know they weren’t pictures taken while you were there? And that they are indeed pictures of you?”
She blew out a breath and flattened her hands on the table. “I don’t. That’s why I need to see them.”
“The fact the pictures are no longer here suggests that future never occurred.” Her face paled at my words, and I hastened to reassure her. “I don’t think you need to worry. Try to forget this happened.”
“I thought he died. And then I found he survived the war and married me. I don’t want to forget him.” She touched his photo. “I want to be with him. And it’s killing me that I can’t.”
“Isabella. Believe me or not, I do understand. We are not used to strong emotions, and the first time you encounter them can be a powerful experience. It can change how you think about people, about life. You will get over this. Learn from it and make yourself stronger so that you’re not so susceptible next time.”
