The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer

Chapter Fifteen

The entrance bells tinkled, echoing through the quiet store. Marcus and Abigail entered hand in hand, Abigail tucked close to his side. Beside him she shivered, despite the mid-November day having grown unseasonably warm. From the moment she had woken and awareness flickered over her eyes, she had trembled. There had been neither tears nor sobs. She had simply lain within her vacant body and quivered.

It pained Marcus to feel the shivering beside him. They weren't tremors of regret, not yet at least. Rather it was as if her soul was somehow trying to rouse the body it no longer belonged to, the body that was left behind in a peaceful sleep.

Fighting the futile urge to take her from there and somehow protect her from Fate, Marcus squeezed her hand and led them forward into the dark store where the light no longer flickered "Watch Repair." Abigail sucked in a quiet breath, frightened, as was Marcus. But regardless of what waited for him upon entering that back room, he stayed by her side and vowed silently that he would walk with her to the very end.

The narrow hallway appeared longer than ever. Seeming to mark their slow advance, every clock struck the hour, a broken wedding march that left Marcus struggling for a breath. And if there was any doubt that everything happening was real, it vanished when his gaze slid past the stackable letter tray. His name no longer marked the slot where his list had waited for so many years. He blew out a breath. There was no denying it. His service was over.

He looked back to the dimly lit room at the end of the hall, and his heart sank. As always, the Timekeeper sat at the workbench with a broken timepiece before him. The remnants lay scattered about the table in an uncharacteristic shamble. Unlike in the past, however, the Timekeeper did not work busily, nor did he regard Marcus as he walked into the room with Abigail.

The Timekeeper stiffened and his breathing grew strained. With hands in his lap, he kept his eyes pinned on a shattered clock. Marcus trailed the man's gaze and froze.

Springs and balances, screws and glass, surrounded the broken timepiece—Margaret's. A dull ache swept into Marcus's chest, and questions flooded him just as quickly. Had she cried? Did she feel alone? Who claimed her soul? Doubt, a slow moving poison, spread until he was numb with guilt. His dear Margaret, who in spite of it all, for longer than Marcus wished to remember, had been a good friend. Her silent support had proved to be a much-needed comfort in a century of so much darkness.

A door opened, and over Abigail's shoulder Gabriel's outline became visible in the shadows of the door at the back of the room. Abigail whirled toward Marcus. Her green eyes were black with fear, and violent tremors took vicious hold of her. She said nothing. She didn't need to. In her eyes was a silent plea for Marcus to take her far away from there, to never let her go.

It was normal, the panic. Marcus half expected it. His soul heaved, however, when, in the depth of Abigail's eyes, streamed regret as the look threatened to surface.The sight made fire of his blood. At once, he threaded his fingers desperately in her hair and held her frightened gaze.

"Look at me," he demanded.

Abigail tried to look away, regret clearly waging its war.

"Damn it, Abigail, do not turn away from me," he pleaded through clenched teeth, biting back his own desperation. Tears blurred his eyes, but pulling her closer, he slid his gaze across her face and took her in, etching her every feature into the memories he would carry into the afterlife. "You look at me. You look at me standing here before you. I am here and I am real." And unable to refrain from shaking her with every word, he confirmed,"I happened."

Centuries of never understanding boiled down to that one truth. Marcus understood then. "I had a lifetime of regret, of shame at what my life was and what I had become. Of what I had done to Margaret, and how I could never give her what she wanted of me. I wanted to forgive myself, but guilt lingered, plaguing me wherever I went. I could never understand why it wouldn't just let me go. It consumed me and robbed me of sleep—of an existence. Then you happened." Marcus cupped her cheek. "You happened. You, and your piano, and your damned suitcase happened to me. I don't know why you did, or how in a matter of days you filled my life with everything I couldn't find in an entire century. But I won't question them, because you happened.