The Day Before Forever (31 page)

“No . . .” Even as I was saying it, I knew it was too late.

The dog probably hadn't had fresh water in days. She was lapping it up now gleefully.

I glanced at Juana to see if she had noticed. She was still sitting by the bank. She had her arms crossed over her knees and her head bowed.

I decided to leave her alone and handle Alma on my own.

As I moved around the lake to get to the other side, I wondered if the Fountain of Youth worked the same on dogs as it did with humans. There was no real reason to believe it wouldn't.

“Oh, Alma, what did you do?” I guided her out of the lake.

Alma looked positively bubbly as she scampered in circles around me with her tongue hanging out. Well, the Fountain of Youth certainly looked like it had cured the effect old age was having on her. I wondered what Henley would say when I returned with an immortal dog.

I heard splashing again. I glanced toward Alma, thinking she had climbed into the water once more. It wasn't her. She was on dry land.

I looked toward the other side of the lake for Juana.

She was upright, her feet still in the shallow depths of the lake. She was standing at a strange angle, and then I knew why.

There was a hand around her neck, holding her up. There
was a second pair of legs in the water behind hers. My eyes met the eyes of the priest.

“Father Gabriel,” I whispered.

And he slit her throat.

I watched her eyes go wide—maybe from the pain, maybe at the amount of blood pouring from her neck. He stood there, holding her up, watching the blood spew for a moment. With one hand, he opened a black pouch and poured something into the lake. When he let her go, Juana's body toppled forward, pitching headfirst into the lake. As soon as her body touched the water, she disintegrated.

A scream came out. Mine.

I started to run.

My feet hit the ground. I willed them to go faster. I didn't have time to look back, but I knew he was after me.

He knew I had realized he was the killer. He had followed us here. But for what? To pour whatever had been in that black pouch into the lake. What was it? Poison of some kind? Arsenic? Something to eradicate the source of immortality?

He had killed Juana because he knew that she was immortal. And how had he known? Because of me. I was the reason she was dead.

I crashed through the trees, waving my arms to get the branches out of my way. I thought I was heading the way we'd come. I had to get to the clock. I needed to put distance and time between me and the killer. That was the only way I was going to survive.

I took a chance and looked back. I had to have been running for almost twenty minutes. No sign. He was still probably on to
me, but I had momentarily lost him.

Trusting my gut, I rerouted and headed in the direction I thought the camp was. Once I was close, I could find the clock and put more time between me and the killer.

Juana had died the same way Miss Hatfield had. They hadn't deserved to die, especially not Juana. How could I have been so stupid? Juana could have lived if I had figured out the killer's identity just a few hours earlier. Her blood was on my hands.

I ran through the woods for what felt like an eternity. My legs were slick with blood from scraping bark, and my muscles should have been sore from the running, but I couldn't feel anything. Was it adrenaline or was it numbness at what had just happened?

When I reached the edge of the camp, I found the bent tree, counted fifty-four steps backward, and dug up the clock as quickly as I could. I didn't know how he was doing it, but the killer couldn't be that far behind me.

There was a bark and something hurtled toward me.

“Alma, no!”

I turned the hands of the clock and held my breath.

TWENTY-ONE

I WAS RUNNING
down the road before the scenery around me had settled into 2016.

It wouldn't be long before the killer worked out I had gone back to this time period. I had to get to Henley and warn him.

I had the clock tucked under one arm and the flask under the other. It was a miracle I hadn't lost track of either.

There was a bark and I stumbled, looking back at the road. Alma was bounding after me. A part of her must have been touching me when I used the clock. I guessed I had a dog now.

I ran into the hotel lobby.

“I'm sorry, miss. No dogs—”

I couldn't be bothered with that just then.

I looked out of the window, hoping to tell whether Henley was at the pool or in the room. Yes, I saw him.

“Henley!” I burst outside, Alma yapping and following close behind.

The women tanning in bikinis lowered their sunglasses. Their children froze in the pool, before some of them started to cry. I wondered if they were staring at the dog running past the No Pets sign or my bloodied body. Maybe it was the strange outfit I was still just about wearing.

Henley was also similarly gaping at us. The only difference was that he got over his surprise quickly. He was used to it.

“What happened?” He stood up.

He tried to hold my arms, but I couldn't stand still enough to let him.

“You need to breathe and tell me what happened,” he said.

“The killer. Juana's dead. He's—”

Behind me, Alma was yapping so loudly I could barely hear myself.

I turned around. And screamed.

He was there.

Of course he knew I'd go to see Henley.

The next thing I knew I felt his hands on me, then all of a sudden I was underwater.

I blinked. Everything was tinted blue. Everything was quiet and still under the water. I couldn't hear Alma barking. I couldn't hear the children crying. I couldn't hear myself screaming.

I pushed my head up and gasped for breath as I broke the surface.

Henley and the priest had their arms locked around each other in a struggle. Neither of them looked to be winning. I pushed myself to the side of the pool and clambered out. The killer's attention was entirely on Henley.

I grabbed the priest by his shoulders, trying to pry him off
Henley, but the killer got an arm loose and swung at Henley.

Henley stumbled back, hitting the poolside deck.

The priest turned to me, and I did the only thing I could think of. I grabbed the clock and turned the hands.

When I staggered back, I hit wooden bowls that toppled off a log. The floor was dirt, but they still made a sound.

The men came to the front of their tents. A shooting pain went through my back.

I looked at my shoulder, and I caught a glimpse of sticky-looking blood before the priest came at me again.

He had found me quicker than last time. He must have grabbed hold of my arm when I time traveled.

He had a knife in his right hand. It took all the strength I had to hold him in a headlock. He wore something around his neck that was swinging against my stomach. He was too strong for me.

The knife was still slick with blood. Was it mine? Or was it Juana's? Or Henley's?

I tried to shove him off again, but he only angled his knife closer to my neck.

The men were running toward us from their tents, presumably to help me . . . but maybe they were going to help the priest instead.

Seeing the men approaching, the priest reached down for something.

All of a sudden, the men melted away. The forest, the dirt ground—it was all gone. We were traveling in time again.

We were back by the pool, where we had been standing only a few minutes before. We were merely a couple of feet from the water, and I tried to plant my feet so I couldn't be pushed in again.

My shoulder was radiating pain, but I had my eyes glued on the knife.

The men with their poolside drinks and the women with their oversized sunglasses must have been in shock after seeing us appear out of thin air, but I didn't have time to look at them.

“Henley!”

I gathered my strength and twisted my entire body to one side, momentarily unbalancing the priest. I took the brief chance to escape from his grasp and run.

But I only managed a few steps before something caught hold of my ankles and I felt my body lurching toward the ground. My chest hit the cement. I tasted blood in my mouth. But for one small instant, I felt fierce relief. I hadn't dropped the clock.

I angled my arm to reach the clock's hands. I didn't think he noticed.

I drew a breath and kicked him. Hard.

He did what I wanted and let go. I turned the hands.

There was dirt underneath my hands. Was it 1532 again?

No matter. The priest seemingly hadn't gotten there . . . yet.

I drew myself up and spat out the blood that had pooled in my mouth. I stood up tall, waiting for him to appear, while I gasped for breath.

When he did arrive, he took me by surprise.

The priest launched himself and tackled me from behind. I
hit the ground for the second time that day, but I managed to twist just enough that he took the brunt of the fall. I rolled over to gain some leverage and struck his head with my open hand.

The priest got in a few blows of his own. Mostly to my stomach, but also a kick that buckled my knee.

He twisted, rolling away just enough that we weren't touching.

I took the chance to turn the clock again.

I landed in a bush. Actually, technically, it was another one of the potted miniature palm trees by the pool.

It was enough to the side and out of the way that none of the other guests at the pool noticed my arrival, even though they were disturbed by the events of the previous few minutes. Behind me was the wall of the main building of the resort. I pressed my back against it and lay in wait for the killer. Any minute now, he would appear. And I would be ready this time.

I held my breath, waiting, but there was nothing that I could hear through the commotion of the crowd.

Lying in wait and being able to catch my breath didn't relieve me. It only made me concerned that I had missed something.

Peeking out between the leaves of the plant, I scanned the people by the pool. Given they had just seen two blood-soaked strangers materialize out of nothing and fight each other, they looked like they were in a panic. Many of them had left the pool, but those who stayed were frantically calling the police and the manager.

I spotted the metal flask by the pool deck. It was half under one of the lawn chairs, and a woman was right above it,
spreading tanning oil on her back.

The fact that the metal flask was there meant that I had talked to Henley by the pool today . . . or yesterday, while the actual attack had happened . . . tomorrow? It was all very confusing.

Something cold and wet touched the side of my leg.

I looked down, expecting to swat away a bug, but it was Alma.

“You stuck it out all this time?” I scratched her under her chin.

Alma panted, rolling her tongue out. My fingers must have found her favorite spot.

“Where's Henley?” I asked her.

I scanned the pool area, but he didn't seem to be there. He must have been back at the room.

I was about to collect Alma and head there, but I saw a little boy heading toward us. His eyes locked with mine, and he took in the blood dripping from my shoulder and the scrapes running the length of my legs.

I held my breath. I knew I looked like something out of a child's worst nightmare. I was waiting for him to scream.

But instead, he just continued walking toward me.

“You have lots of ouchies,” he said seriously.

“Yes, I do,” I said, not having anything else to say.

“Whenever I show Mama my ouchies, she tells me to scratch my forehead because it'll make me forget about them.”

He was so solemn that I felt the only appropriate response to that was to nod gravely back.

“That's good advice from your mama. Very wise,” I said.

“Can I pet your doggie?”

I had a sudden idea.

“If you help me, you most certainly can.” I pointed out the metal flask underneath the lawn chair. “Would you mind getting that for me? It's something I lost, and I'd really like it back.”

By then, police were swarming the area. They were pushing people back and talking to a few witnesses. But it was such an uncontrolled commotion that the boy easily went into the mob unnoticed.

I watched as he toddled to the lawn chair, picked up the flask, and returned, without attracting any attention at all.

“Thank you,” I said, taking it from him.

I shook it to make sure the water was still inside.

“Now can I pet your doggie?”

I told him that he could, and the boy plopped down in front of Alma to stroke her entire body. Alma didn't seem to mind at all. She licked his face while he giggled and ran his fingers through her yellow fur.

I was still nervous about the priest, not to mention being caught by the police, and sent the boy on his way as soon as I could. The last thing I wanted was a child there when the killer came.

Alma and I took the back way to the room. The fewer people who saw a dog and a bloody woman in the resort, the better.

I found the key under the pot as usual and pushed open the door.

“Henley?” Then I sighed; he wasn't here either.

Alma stared up at me, curious as to why I was talking to an empty room.

The first thing I noticed was that the neon-green backpack was in plain sight. We always took care to hide it under the bed when it wasn't with us.

I stepped to the bed and saw that all the backpack's contents were strewn across the duvet.

There was a note on the pillow. Frowning, I picked it up.

On it was the address of Miss Hatfield's house. It was written in Henley's handwriting. In smaller script, at the bottom, was today's date and the time: 12:06.

I had an idea of what it might mean, but I didn't want to believe it.

I checked the stuff that was spread on the bed. Henley's passport was missing. Two of the Visa gift cards were also gone.

Henley wouldn't leave without me. The priest must have taken him. And the address that Henley wrote . . . he was taken to Miss Hatfield's house.

I held my head. I couldn't breathe. The priest had seen Henley—or rather Richard's body—in more than one time period. He must have thought he was immortal. If that was true, Henley was in more trouble than I had imagined. My body started to ache all at once, as if it had just realized the extent of the fight it had gone through. Henley wasn't just leverage for the priest. Henley was also now a target.

There was no time for thinking. Henley was alone with the priest. I had to get there.

I picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello? This is Al at the front desk.”

“Yes, um, hello, Al. This is Rebecca in Room 212. I'd like to
check out as soon as possible.”

“Certainly.”

“Could you get all the paperwork ready for checkout?”

“Of course. I need to notify you that you will be still expected to pay the full amount for the booked four-week stay, even though—”

“Yes, that's fine. How long will it take?”

“Till checkout? I could get the paperwork ready in twenty minutes if you would—”

“Perfect. Thank you.” Just as I was about to hang up, I thought of something. “You don't happen to have a gift shop here, do you?” I asked.

“Of course. It's right by the elevators on your right. It has the most wonderful selection of souvenirs, chocolates—”

“Yes, that'll be fine. Thank you,” I said, hanging up.

The priest must have snuck Henley out of the hotel in the middle of the commotion. There was no way I could catch up. I couldn't even turn back time to keep the priest from taking Henley, since, like me, the priest was immortal and could only be found in one time.

I looked down at Alma, who was still staring at me. “We need to get ready.”

Walking into the bathroom, I was met with my gory reflection. One of the sleeves of my dress had been cut clean off. Blood was soaking down my front from my sliced shoulder. I looked down to see my right knee was swollen and starting to turn purple. In other words, I was a mess. My saving grace was my face. It had been smacked around, but it didn't look bloody and the bruises hadn't come out yet. Given that, I could hide everything
else in clean clothing and look relatively normal. That was good.

Groaning, I started taking off my clothes to inspect the damage. My entire chest looked purple—probably from the fall onto concrete—but there didn't seem to be any broken ribs; I felt like I would probably notice that. I took a washcloth and cleaned my cuts. The one on my shoulder was by far the deepest. Applying water to it burned, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from shouting, but I knew I had to clean the wound to keep it from getting infected, and to soak up the extra blood to prevent it from seeping through a clean shirt.