The Day Before Forever (32 page)

When I was done with all the cuts and had scrubbed most of the dirt off my legs, I took one of Henley's shirts and tied it around my hurt shoulder. Hopefully it would prevent further bleeding.

I wore another of Henley's shirts on top to hide the makeshift bandage. I made sure it had long sleeves to hide the cuts on my arms. I wore jeans to cover my legs and draw less attention to my swollen knee.

I looked into the mirror again. Not bad. I looked more like a person and less like something from a horror movie.

I packed everything we owned into the backpack, taking special care with the clock and the flask. I had to remember to ask for a plastic bag in airport security for the liquid. The flask looked like it would just fit.

I looked at Alma, who was patiently sitting by the door.

As for her . . . I couldn't leave her here. I wasn't sure if I could bring her on the plane, but I had to try.

I slung the backpack over my better shoulder and took Alma down to the lobby with me.

A right at the elevators, I remembered.

I turned and there was the gift shop. Not too big, but it would do. It was a glass room filled with tropical-themed merchandise. There were tropical T-shirts, mugs, candles, glasses . . . but I quickly found what I had been hoping for.

I pulled a thin scarf with a print of fish on it and the biggest sunglasses I could find. I set them on the counter.

“And this.” I put a bag on the counter along with the rest of the items and pulled out the credit card.

I doubted the bag was actually meant to be a pet carrier, but it was rectangular with a zip opening on the top and two mesh sides. It was perfect for getting Alma on the plane. Alma seemed heavy for her size, but she couldn't have been more than ten pounds.

“Could you cut the tags?” I asked. “I'll be using these right away.”

Once everything was paid for and the tags were cut, I pulled the scarf over my head and tied it under my chin. I put the oversized sunglasses on and picked up Alma's bag.

There. Not the best disguise, but at least it wouldn't be easy to tell that I was the woman involved in the fight by the pool.

“Come on, Alma,” I said, as we made our way to the front desk.

Al was ready with the paperwork for me to check out.

“Should I use the card on file?” he asked.

“Yes, yes.”

Al glowered at Alma by my feet, but he didn't bother to tell me that dogs weren't allowed at the resort, probably because we were checking out already.

A couple men in uniform walked in as I was signing the last of the papers Al had put in front of me.

“Police?”

“There was a bit of a bizarre scuffle outside,” Al responded.

I wondered how many police calls were made as the poolside patrons watched two people disappear and appear, all while trying to kill each other.

“Could you call me a taxi?” I asked.

“Certainly. Certainly. In fact, there should be a couple outside that just dropped off guests.” He escorted me to the door.

Sure enough, a taxi was waiting for me. I loaded Alma in her new carrier and we got on.

“Marathon Airport please. As quickly as possible.”

Buying a last-minute ticket at the check-in counter was surprisingly easy, since I was traveling alone. I only needed to tell the woman that a family emergency had come up, and she sympathized to the point of giving me a discount on the fee I had to pay for Alma. Of course, money was now no issue, since the credit card was a magical way to pay for everything and the money from the auction house wasn't going to run out anytime soon.

A last-minute flight meant I got to skip most of the security line. I was escorted through the side, and Alma had her own officer to check her. I remembered to ask for a plastic bag for the flask, so the backpack passed security without any trouble.

A TSA officer was curious about the bulge at my left shoulder, but I told her it was a bandaged injury and she was fine after she waved her metal detector wand over it.

Alma and I made it onto the plane in one piece. Then it was
just sitting and waiting. In a way, that was really the hardest part.

I had time on my hands. Too much time.

In the middle of the struggle with the priest, I hadn't been able to think. When I'd realized Henley had been abducted, my brain had frozen. Now I suddenly had three whole hours ahead of me with nothing to do
but
think.

Why had the priest taken Henley? To make sure I came to him? Probably. But I didn't have any other option. I couldn't leave Henley with the priest.

And the priest. Why was he doing all this in the first place? He was obviously immortal himself. I had more in common with him than anyone else in this world, even Henley. Yet he had some twisted vendetta against me. I just didn't get it.

I tilted my head back and stretched my stiff neck, while I stared at the plastic ceiling of the plane. My entire body was sore. Especially my chest. It was probably black by now from all the bruising.

Why me? Why Miss Hatfield?
I had too many questions, and I couldn't answer them on my own.

When the plane touched down in New York, I rushed off with the backpack and Alma in her carrier.

I caught a taxi and gave the driver Miss Hatfield's address.

As we got into the city, I fidgeted with my shirt, the backpack, anything I could lay my hands on.

What was going to happen? How was I going to get Henley out and avoid being killed by the priest?

I was going in without a plan. I hadn't come up with anything during the flight.

What was I going to do?
I balled my hands up into fists.
Okay
,
I thought,
I have to take this one step at a time.

What was I going to do first? I had to make sure Henley was all right. That was the most important thing. But . . . what if Henley was already dead?

I swallowed a burning in my throat. I couldn't think like that. I
shouldn't
think like that.

The taxi pulled up in front of Miss Hatfield's brownstone.

I paid with the card. And then I hesitated.

What if Henley was in trouble?

I took my stuff and got out of the car. I let Alma out of her carrier and walked up the stairs to the door.

It was ajar.

I willed my legs not to shake and walked in.

I made sure Alma had followed me before closing the door after us.

I took another step.

“Henley?”

I waited. There was no answer.

Slowly, I walked through the parlor, then the hallway, then the kitchen. I walked through all the rooms on the first floor.

Empty.

I took the stairs to the second floor and did the same. I looked through each of the bedrooms. I checked behind each door.

Empty.

But I now knew exactly where they were.

They were in the room where it had all begun; the room I had first woken up in after Miss Hatfield had slipped the water
from the Fountain of Youth into my lemonade and turned me immortal. The attic bedroom.

I walked to the end of the hall and set the backpack down. Oddly, my steps were sure and strong. There was no rush. He would wait for me.

The ceiling trapdoor to the attic was open. The steps that led up to it were pulled down. He was waiting for me.

I walked up the stairs. Each step was deliberate. My body no longer hurt. We were beyond that now. This would be the end.

TWENTY-TWO

“REBECCA.” HENLEY WAS
the first to speak.

He was tied to a wooden chair, with a knife to his throat. The cord the priest had tied him with was so tight, it looked to be cutting into Henley's flesh.

The priest stood behind him. It was the first chance I'd had to take him in since working out that he was the killer. All that was between us was a four-poster bed with a gilded headboard and a bare mattress.

The priest looked like a pillar of black in his dark robes. He was tall enough that he could have touched the exposed rafters slanting toward him above his head. Against the black fabric he wore, his skin was pale and translucent. He looked as if he had never set foot outside. But he was handsome. He had bright-green eyes, and they never left mine.

He looked
good.
Kind. Like a priest should.

“Why are you doing this?” I said, taking a step forward.

“Stay where you are.” It was the smooth voice I had heard in confessional. “Don't you see? Don't you see what you've done?”

The priest wasn't looking at Henley as he said this. He was still looking at me.

The hand holding the knife began to tremble.

“This was supposed to be you.” The priest gently ran the blade down the front of Henley's throat. “This would have been a fitting ending for you. We couldn't even call it death, since you're not really alive, are you? You're merely
existing
.” He spat out the last word. “You don't deserve death. You simply need an end.”

“And you're here to end me?” I said. “Then why are you standing there with a knife against Henley's throat and not mine?”

He squinted his green eyes at me. “Sometimes the innocent must be sacrificed to fulfill God's work.”

The innocent? So he knew that Henley wasn't immortal yet.
“You murdered Miss Hatfield to do ‘God's work'?”

“Miss Hatfield? Is that what you called her? Such respect for the person who damned you.” He smirked.

I had never seen someone look so sinister, least of all a priest. “What kind of God do you worship?” I asked.

The priest had an answer ready for me. “One who created everything and everyone. Save for you and me.”

“You're just like me,” I said. “Why would you want to end me?”

“You're right. We're the same.” He surprised me with his answer. “You're
unnatural
. Something that was never supposed to be.”

Unnatural. There was that word again.

“The Lord never meant for you to happen.” The priest walked around Henley, trailing the knife along his neck. “You cannot continue on to the afterlife without dying. You're stopping that from happening. Disrupting the way things are supposed to be.”

“This doesn't make sense,” I said. “You had a chance to kill me in that hostel room in London. We were asleep. There was nothing we could have done to stop you.”

He smiled. “Very clever, Miss Rebecca. I did have the perfect opportunity to end you there. But I had to make sure more immortals—more deviants of nature—weren't created.”

“And so you followed me to the lake,” I finished off his speech.

“Precisely. You're much sharper than you look,” he said. “I knew of the lake. I knew it was somewhere in Florida, but I didn't know where . . . That is, until you kindly led me directly to it. With that knowledge, I was able to ensure more aberrants weren't created. You even led me directly to another. One who had already been turned.”

“Juana.”

“Yes, I must thank you for that. That one might have slipped away from me, but the Lord wished her caught and finished, so I did my duty.” The priest moved to Henley's side, so I could see all of him apart from his legs, which were cut off from view by the bed between us.

A glint of silver caught my eye.

There was a pocket watch hanging from the priest's neck. Even from where I stood, across the room, it looked familiar. I could describe the flowers and vines engraved on the cover
without needing to see it up close, because it had been made for me.

“Ah, you've seen my little time-traveling trinket?” The priest held it up with his free hand and watched it sway on the chain and catch the light. “I have you to thank for this as well, don't I? The court clockmaker created this for you, and you were foolish enough to leave it behind. For me.”

I had left it on Richard's bedside table, because I hadn't thought it was important. I had commissioned the clockmaker to make me the golden clock.
My
clock. Not some small silver pocket watch he thought was better suited for me. I hadn't even imagined it would be able to time travel.

“So many surprises.” The priest tilted his head and watched me.

I was worried he would kill Henley. I needed to keep him talking until I could come up with a plan.

“So how did you become immortal?” I asked. “It doesn't seem as if it was voluntary.”

The priest paused, and I thought he would refuse to answer, preferring to move ahead with his killings.

“It
wasn't
willful. One of your Miss Hatfields was to blame,” he said.

“One of the former Miss Hatfields turned you immortal?”

“No, not me. She turned my sister immortal,” he said. “My sister was sick. Dying. She was going to meet her maker. She was pious. She knew the Lord. But in a moment of weakness, she became scared and begged Miss Hatfield to help her . . .”

“And she turned your sister immortal.” I was trying to figure out why I hadn't been told of another immortal besides the
Miss Hatfields.

“Did she become the next Miss Hatfield?”

“No.” The priest's face flushed. “I ended her before that became her fate.”

“You killed your own sister?”

“I sent her to the Lord, where she belonged. But not before she turned me into this . . . this perverse insult to the Lord!”

I watched the knife at Henley's throat carefully. As the priest talked and became more agitated, the blade moved against Henley's throat. Right now it was so close that he could barely swallow.

“She thought it was a gift. A way to remain with me forever. Even at the cost of paradise and salvation.”

“And so she snuck water from the Fountain of Youth into something you consumed,” I said.

“Yes . . . she believed it would be some sort of twisted heaven on earth.”

“And that sent you on a mission to hunt down all immortals?” I said.

“You were all the same.” The priest dragged the tip of the knife down to Henley's collarbone. “All of you thought you were more intelligent than you were. All seven of you sought to understand me. All of you tried to talk your way out. But at the last, it all ends the same way.” His green eyes glowed. “I provide you with a last kindness—a choice in death. Death by arsenic. Or by the blade.” He swept his knife up Henley's throat in one motion.

My heart leaped at that quick movement, but he hadn't pressed down. A thin red scratch marked Henley's throat. I had to remain calm.

“Arsenic?” I asked.

With his free hand, the priest drew a black pouch from inside his robes.

“I always gave each Miss Hatfield the choice of a more honest death. The last Miss Hatfield didn't take it and chose to run instead. A coward's death.” The priest tossed the pouch onto the bed. “Go on.”

I leaned over to the center of the bed to take the pouch in my hands. Soft black velvet. I recognized the pouch from the lake. When I opened it, I saw there were exactly two white tablets left.

I could do this. I had a plan . . . though I didn't know for certain if it would work or leave me dead.

“Wondrous pills. Minimal discomfort,” the priest said. “Or a swifter death by blade. Have you made your decision?”

“Yes, I have.” I couldn't look at Henley's eyes.

“And what have you decided?”

“Arsenic.”

I took a pill in my hand and tossed the pouch back onto the center of the bed.

“Then let me die too,” Henley said.

Both the priest and I looked at him.

No, Henley. You weren't supposed to say that.

“How gallant of you,” the priest said. “Saves me from fretting about how to dispose of you afterward.” He cut the cords that tied Henley to the chair.

“Give me a pill,” Henley said.

I closed my eyes. This couldn't be happening. It was the wrong time to be stupidly gallant. Henley was actually going to kill himself.

The priest handed him the pouch. Henley picked out the remaining pill.

I tried to make eye contact with him. I tried to convey that I had a plan and that he wasn't supposed to kill himself, but there was no change in his eyes as he watched me.

Damn it, Henley.

“Well, on with it,” the priest said.

Our eyes were locked as we both put the pills to our lips.

I stuck mine in my mouth first. I tucked it under my tongue and prayed it wouldn't dissolve too quickly.

Henley took his tablet.
Oh God.

I felt the warmth drain from my face. I felt nauseated and lurched forward, retching, but there was nothing in my stomach to come up.

I could see Henley go white, but I couldn't keep my eyes on him.

I felt faint and crumpled to the floor. I managed to make a pillow with my hands to cushion my head from the fall, but a side of my head still hit the ground. I didn't even feel the pain.

As soon as I was blocked from sight by the bed, I spat out the pill and quickly stuck it under the bed.

“Rebecca!”

Through the haze and my slit eyes, I could see Henley had rushed to my side. He made to bend over me, but collapsed instead.

I dug my finger into Henley's mouth, looking to pull the pill out. We only had a few seconds until the priest came over to check that we were dying. Henley pushed my hand away and pointed quickly under the bed.

In the middle of the floor, under the bed, were two white pills.

I was so relieved. I closed my eyes but felt like vomiting. Maybe the arsenic got to me, or maybe it was because I hit my head. Slipping. Losing my grip on everything. Scared. I don't remember anything after that.

When I came to, the priest was standing over us. He reached down and felt the side of Henley's neck. I realized he was checking for a pulse.

Fear shot through me. If it was too strong, the priest would just run him through with the knife. If Henley's pulse was too weak . . . or nonexistent . . . he might already be dead. Maybe we had both had the pills in our mouths for too long.

The priest wouldn't desecrate a body without needing to—which was why I had come up with this plan in the first place—but nothing would stop him from stabbing us if he thought we weren't dead.

After what felt like an eternity, the priest stood. He seemed satisfied. He started to mutter.

“. . . Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done. On earth as it is in heaven . . .”

It was the Lord's Prayer.

“Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

I couldn't see the priest's face as he prayed over us, but I suspected it would be showing strange compassion.

His voice was strong till the end. “For thine is the kingdom,
the power, and the glory. For ever and ever. Amen.”

I waited for the priest to check my pulse, but he must have done it already while I was unconscious. Instead he walked over to the other side of the room again, while muttering.

“Arsenic prolongs death, but death it does bring. It's only a matter of time before they're returned to the earth.”

I opened my eyes fully and looked at Henley. His glazed eyes stared back at me.
Maybe he was actually—

He blinked.

Thank God.

Henley made to say something, but I gave a minute shake of my head, signaling him to not make a sound. I pointed under the bed, toward the other side, to indicate where the priest had gone.

We heard slight shuffling sounds from the other side of the room.

I couldn't imagine what the priest might be doing. It sounded like he had moved the chair Henley had been tied to.

I glanced at Henley. He had silently risen to a crouch, just barely peeking over the side of the bed.

I knew it wasn't a good idea, but I joined him, trying to see what the priest was doing. That was the only way we could stay one step ahead of him.

The priest had moved the chair in front of the room's one window. It was small and circular, barely big enough to see out of. But the priest was sitting facing away from the window. Light shone down on him from behind.

He sat in the chair, holding the knife in both hands. He was still. All he did was look at it.

The priest turned the knife, and it caught the light from the
window, throwing sharp streaks across the room. He seemed to be playing with the knife, waiting for something to happen.