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.

"I will forever be ashamed of the things I did, but never again will I regret them. How could I? Had they not plagued me, I never would have refused to take you. Had they not occurred, neither would we have. But the thing is, they did, and they led me to you. You happened."

Beneath a fresh coat of tears, Abigail stared back at Marcus with a strength that struggled to hold on to what he was saying.

He snatched her hands into his and pressed them to his chest. "Touch me, feel me. There is no place for regret here between us because we happened." Unable to mask the emotion hitching his voice, he traced her jawline in crippling awe. He hadn't expected it to be easy, but heavens, a slowly twisting blade through the heart would have hurt less. Finding strength in the pain, he took strong hold of the blade and twisted it further. "So go with Gabriel and stand before Peter's Gates. If any regret surfaces, any guilt however small, you think of me. You remember me and never doubt for a second in eternity that I happened. We happened."

Marcus's voice faltered and he brought his lips to hers, just one kiss with which to seal his confession to her soul. Any more and holding back the tears would have been unmanageable, and releasing her impossible.

"Now go," he whispered against her mouth. The words clawed at his throat. Marcus made to step back, yet found he couldn't move. Looking down at what stayed him, Abigail's hands clung to his shirt. Marcus prayed she didn't feel pain and grasped her hands firmly, pulling them away. He held her gaze, apologizing though his mouth did not move. She had to know he didn't do it to hurt her.

Fear surged in her eyes again and Abigail refused to let him go. Marcus shook his head no and forced her fingers to disengage, all the while feeling as if a piece of him were being torn from his body. Extricating himself, he held her slender wrists. In that stagnant moment, he knew if he let her go, then he would be letting her go forever. He released her suddenly and stepped back.

"Go!" he demanded. Having drained the last of his power in prying her away, he didn't have the strength to keep the harshness from his voice.

Abigail's eyes blurred with tears, and she bit her lower lip to keep it from trembling. Marcus noted her spine straighten slightly, her chin, too, held a little higher. Not much, but enough. It appeared her strength was taking root, and he prayed a quiet thank you, as his own strength was dangerously splintered. Refusing her would have been impossible if she resisted a little longer.

Gabriel appeared beside Abigail. He set his shoulders back as if tucking away his wings and clasped his hands before him with a smile. It was a simple smile, yet Marcus found that he could no longer breathe. Abigail's previous affliction suddenly became contagious.

The sensations sparked by Gabriel's presence sent the reality of that day, of that moment, crashing at Marcus's feet. All he could see in the towering blond-haired man was everything Gabriel stood for, the place where Abigail was to go, the place Marcus believed he would never see.

"Everything will be fine, Abigail. It really isn't as scary as it may seem. You won't be alone," Gabriel said, and placed a hand on her shoulder. All at once, coolness swept through the room. Abigail's face softened, and her anger too seemed to brush away in the invisible breeze. She nodded and looked at Marcus. Just as quickly as her anger had vanished, concern engraved itself in her eyes.

"But what will happen to you?" she asked quietly.

The knot in Marcus's throat plummeted to his stomach. There was only one place he saw himself going. Willing himself not to care, he shrugged in spite of the shiver that tore down his spine. Against it all, he said, "It doesn't matter. Not anymore."

Gabriel lowered his hand from Abigail's shoulder and looked at Marcus. "There is still an order of business left after which then it will truly be over." Gabriel motioned to the Timekeeper who had yet to lift his head.

As if rehearsed, the Timekeeper brushed aside the remnants of Margaret's shattered timepiece. The scraping of the drawer cut through the silence. He lowered his hand out of view. A moment and he placed Abigail's silver clock onto the table.

"Abigail, if you would please." Gabriel motioned his hand toward the Timekeeper. Obediently Abigail moved to the table, though she looked at Marcus, questioning what was to come next. Marcus offered her nothing but a nod, one he wasn't certain of himself. Never had he witnessed what happened after delivering the souls. It wasn't until recently that he actually cared.

With eyes downcast, the Timekeeper explained, "Under normal circumstances, the clock of a soul will simply stop working once the soul's time has come." The Timekeeper then lifted tired eyes to Abigail and smiled weakly. "Thank Marcus for forcing my hand into repairing yours. Because of what was done, however, though your name appeared on the list, your clock will not stop on its own. As it was made to work, it must be made to stop. It has to be broken, the same as must be done for all collectors."

The Timekeeper did not look at Marcus, but Marcus knew those words were meant for him. At a distance, he watched the Timekeeper open Abigail's clock and, beside it, slide a narrow hammer, the dim light reflecting from the silver handle. Quietly, Abigail stared at the clock, then at the hammer.

Lost to the ceremony before him, Marcus had not taken notice of Gabriel who stood beside him. Abigail's words to the Timekeeper fell to indistinct murmurs when Gabriel turned to Marcus.

"I never doubted you would make the right choice," he said for Marcus's ears only. "Though I must say, I was a bit hesitant about leaving, considering I was never able to answer your question."

Marcus frowned. "What question?"

Gabriel chuckled. "If I remember correctly you wanted to know why the hell you couldn't exchange your services for Abigail's life, seeing as your service for Margaret's was upheld. It wasn't that you couldn't have. Freely you could have made your deal and offered your services once more, but it wouldn't have made a difference. Your arrangement with Margaret was that once she tired of living, you would both resign to life. Once that happened, it would require both your clocks to be destroyed. Thing is, once a clock is shattered, there is no turning back. If you would have exchanged your service for Abigail, your clock would have still had to be destroyed in order to finalize your deal to Margaret, before making another. In the end—"

"It wouldn't have mattered," Marcus murmured. "I would have had to die, and Abigail's time would have come regardless."

Gabriel nodded. "And here we are."

As the words left Gabriel's lips, a shatter resonated all around them. Turning, Marcus felt his heart slow as he watched Abigail lower the thin silver hammer to the table with little sound. She released the handle and took a step back. She didn't cry, but for a long moment she stared down at the scattered springs and screws glittering under the solitary orb of light. It was over. It was really over. She lifted her eyes and looked at Marcus. There was sadness, as there was acceptance. And as the corners of her lips drew upward, Marcus saw the beginnings of peace. The traces were faint, but for him that was all he needed to accept his own fate and go into the darkness with a peace of his own.

This brought on a thought. In hushed tones, he said to Gabriel, "If you could take her before I go. I would hate for her last memory of me to be—" Marcus broke off, a shiver rippling through him. He knew what was coming—the Shadows with their sulfuric scent and moans. But to think that Abigail would be there to see him being dragged into the dark was an aching thought.

Abigail appeared beside him and suspicion slowed her movements. She squeezed his hand in question, knowing something was wrong, just not what. Gabriel looked equally perplexed.

Gabriel's brows furrowed. "Marcus, I'm curious. Why exactly do you think I am here?"

"To transport Abigail's soul, of course."

Gabriel's mouth drew into a tight line. He didn't say anything immediately, thoughts swarming in his clear blue eyes. A sudden smile surfaced, and his features softened. "I suppose I can't blame you, considering the timing of it all. But I'm afraid my coming here was not to transport Abigail."

Marcus felt the blood drain from his face all at once, his knees buckling beneath him. Ignoring the blatant reason given by Gabriel, his mind whirled with nightmarish possibilities. If Gabriel did not take Abigail, there was only one other possibility that Marcus, through his fear, could think of. Looking at Abigail, who lost all color as well, rage swelled within him. He neared Gabriel with his fists tightly clenched at his sides. "You bastard, you said—"

"I said my coming here was not for her. I did not say that I would not take her."

Fuming, Marcus opened his mouth, but no words came when Gabriel's statement settled on him. Just as quickly, relief flushed through him. Abigail would not be at the mercy of the Shadows.

Marcus let out a sharp breath. "Then I am glad Margaret got an end befitting her life. She deserved it, more than I can say."

"Every soul has an ending that is befitting of their lives. I am certain that whatever her end, it is what she deserved," Gabriel replied warmly.

Marcus went cold. "Whatever her ending? How could you not know what her fate was? If you aren't here for Abigail, then—"

"I am sure Margaret has found her peace, but I was not sent here for her. I was I sent here for you."

Time stopped. Deafening pangs tore at Marcus's chest. The room spun into blurred lines of shadows and colors while the ground beneath shifted in the opposite direction.

Marcus shook his head, winded. "That's impossible, it can't—it can't be. There must be some mistake. After everything, the things that I've done—"

"After everything and the things you've done," Gabriel affirmed. "Whether or not you forgive yourself, and whether or not you asked for it, you have been forgiven."

Marcus shifted back as if offended by the words. "But I saw them! I saw the Shadows waiting for me. They were there when I died, wanting my soul!" Resignedly, Marcus stepped back. It was a cruel joke, a vicious part of his punishment. Casting his gaze around the room, he braced himself, sure the Shadows would appear at any moment. Or maybe, somehow, without even noticing he'd already been swept into the darkness and was on his way to damnation.But if so, what then of the hissing and the moaning despair? He closed his eyes, straining to hear them, but there was no sound other than his unsteady breathing and his heart pounding in his ears. Wanting to speak, Marcus remained silent. Rooted, he didn't dare a breath. What if, just what if it was all a fragile dream, one born out of sheer desperation and fear? What if the slightest movement shattered it?

Braving it all, he opened his eyes. Gabriel was still there beside him, and the Timekeeper sat at his workbench with Abigail's shattered clock scattered before him. More, upon opening his eyes, Abigail crashed into his arms, and with her embrace came reality. No longer enslaved to fear, he bent his head and kissed her. Continuously and desperately, he sought her lips because he could, because above all he had not just been forgiven, he had been blessed. Abigail had not just happened. It was an undeniable truth that she would continue happening to him for all eternity. He deepened their exchange because he loved her and would only love her more after death. Pulling back, he framed her angelic face with his hands, his thumbs grazing her jaw in wondrous awe. For a stunning moment, all was right in the world.

The scraping of a drawer then sliced through the room, and the moment was over.

The Timekeeper placed an untarnished silver timepiece beside the remnants of Abigail's clock. Marcus's eyes narrowed. It was his clock. He knew this, but could not for the world recognize it. The chain glimmered and the cover glowed as if reflecting moonlight.

In a dreamlike state, Marcus released Abigail and paced to the workbench. Retrieving the flawless mechanism, a smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He flicked it open and arched a brow at the Timekeeper. "If I remember correctly, the glass had a crack running down the center," he said. Snapping it shut, he added, "And the front was worn and rusted."

The Timekeeper lowered his eyes and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. He smoothed the remainders of Abigail's clock aside. "Yes, well, it hadn't been tended to for some time. I thought that considering all you've done, a new glass would be nice and polishing it, well—" He shrugged. "It was the least I could do."

Tempted to hug the man, Marcus chuckled to suppress the emotion swelling in his throat. "The least you could do? I can assure you that this being your least speaks magnitudes about your character." He set down his clock and extended his hand to the Timekeeper. "While it will be my honor to forever call you friend, it would be a pleasure to know your name."

The Timekeeper lifted his eyes and gazed at Marcus for a moment. He rose to his feet and met Marcus's hand in a firm handshake. "James Truman."

"Thank you for everything, my friend. I will never forget all you did for me, for Abigail. I will forever be in your debt and truly wish that I could have helped you in some way..." Marcus trailed off, his very words giving him pause. If there was to be one regret, it would be to know that the Timekeeper never found his peace.

The Timekeeper regarded Marcus with a smile. He lowered into his chair, and his smile exploded into a hearty laugh. The sound resonated through the dimly lit room as the Timekeeper's frame rose and fell in free, wholehearted laughter. Bemused, Marcus watched on. It was a strange sight, seeing the often-morose man in such high spirits, especially considering the situation. But Marcus did not interrupt his strange joy. Whether of madness or to mask his pain, the Timekeeper deserved the release.

Gradually, the Timekeeper's laughter simmered to a smile. "You say you wish you could have helped me in some way?" he echoed. He leaned forward and clasped his hands, sighing away the last of his laughter. "Do you know that a morning not too long ago, a young man, well, not so young, failed to deliver a soul? He walked into this room, albeit reluctantly, and stood right there by that door, without an explanation as to why he hadn't collected the soul of this certain Abigail Archer. A girl whom he, might I add, failed to mention was so beautiful. Had I known, his recklessness would have a made a great deal of sense." The Timekeeper grinned, and Marcus found it contagious, though he still failed to understand how he had helped the Timekeeper.

"At the moment, I was so angry, furious even, at his defiance. But then I realized—I was angry. After eighty years of sitting here with nothing but memories to rouse me, I felt angry. And although he had yet to realize it, I knew why he hadn't collected Miss Archer's soul. I recognized the confusion, the denied hope, and the madness because I too once loved. I remembered." His last words fell to a whisper. The Timekeeper shook his head, his eyes glossing over with tears. "And, well, for him to have a chance, I had to repair Miss Archer's clock. I did it for him, for them. Yet in the days that followed, in waiting for his list to appear, I found myself just as scared when it arrived as he was when he received it. Every morning, in waiting for you to come, Mr. Kent, I hoped—I hoped that Abigail's name was not on the list. I hoped that you had found her. But most of all, I had hope that you would find what fate denied me. After everything that had happened, because of you, I had something to believe in, something to look forward to—I had hope."

The Timekeeper made no secret of his pain as a single tear fell freely. "I am the one indebted to you. You didn't just help me, you revived me." Unclasping his hands, he slid the hammer across the table and flicked open Marcus's clock. He laid it before Marcus. "No regrets, Marcus. Not one regret."

The last of the Timekeeper's words coursed through Marcus's veins like liquid fire. Without a breath of hesitation, Marcus took the hammer firmly in his hands, closed his eyes, and crashed it against the ticking clock. White flames exploded before his closed eyelids, and in their midst, memories of a dark life, of hard times, and of a lonely existence. But at the blinding core of his life were love, hope, true friendship, and Abigail. And as the last shackles burst and life fell away from him as dust, Marcus remembered a life that was now over.

He opened his eyes. Trancelike, he looked around the room he had stood in many times before. There were things there, familiar things, but to his eyes, they were just smears of gray. Tables and walls were blurs of black and shadow with nothing to give them significance. It was then he understood Mrs. Kensington's words. Indeed, it was all empty.

A flooding brightness suddenly overtook the room and filled every crevice, chasing out every ounce of darkness. Marcus turned slowly toward the light and found Abigail at his side, waiting for him, her hand outstretched for his taking. She was a dream bathed in white, an unblemished gift. Over her shoulder, Gabriel held the door open at the far side of the room.

With a smile that Marcus now understood, Gabriel uttered familiar words. "We've been expecting you." Smiling down at Abigail, Marcus slid his hand into hers. Together they took one step towards eternity, then another, until to a beat all of their own, they met Gabriel at the threshold.

"And Marcus?" The Timekeeper called behind him. Marcus stopped, and turned to look at the man who stood from his workbench to see them off.

The Timekeeper smiled. "Margaret was happy to go, and she found an end much like your own, befitting of her life, indeed."

Marcus inclined his head, relief birthing a knot in his throat. "Thank you Mr. Truman, for everything. Goodbye, my friend."

Hand in hand, without a further thought or regret, Marcus and Abigail turned from the world and followed Gabriel through the threshold, until their silhouettes vanished into the light.

The door closed quietly. Light stole back through the seams of the closed door. By and by, the golden hues faded, leaving James Truman alone, his only companion being darkness and the constant song of ticking clocks.

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