The Awkward Love Song of Abigail Archer

Chapter Seven

Without any further explanation, the Timekeeper put the ledger back on the shelf and resumed his work. Marcus slid Abigail’s sheet music into his coat breast pocket and took to an aimless wander, tapping the edge of the list against his palm in a broken melody. He clenched his jaw. There was nothing more to be had. He would have to open it and, if Abigail’s name was listed, he would have to take her.

The thought alone tangled his resolve. A secret part within him whispered odd and curious words that burned in his core. If her name was indeed on the list, then you can touch her…

His body tightened and he blinked as secret desire took flight. He would have to touch her to break the bonds of life. How would he spend that last moment? Would he simply place a hand on her shoulder? Would he kiss her hand or caress her cheek to feel her soft skin beneath his fingers? He suppressed a shudder. He knew exactly how he would take her, and the thought clipped his wings. He would tell her everything he needed against her lips. He would tell her he had been selfish and that he was sorry. He’d confess that although she bothered him in the strangest of ways, her kiss was a gift he did not deserve. The only way she would lose her life would be in their kiss, and in his arms.

He cursed, crashing back to reality. What on earth was he doing thinking of such things? Especially when in his hands, there was still the list. Rejecting the agony, he unfolded the first flap. From the corner of his eye, he noted the Timekeeper’s hands hung suspended above the broken timepiece, in wait.

Resignedly, Marcus lowered his eyes to the list. Cold waved through him, and he lowered the page.

“Her name,” he murmured. “It isn’t on the list.”

A quiet minute passed. The Timekeeper set down his screwdriver to wipe his hands on his apron. He cleared his throat. “Maybe you shouldn’t be wasting your time hanging around here then,” he said with a firm nod.

Marcus’s relief withered. He would have to see Abigail. A certain song promised that and the death of a certain man guaranteed it. He raked a hand through his hair, suddenly breathless. How would Abigail react in seeing him again? Worse, how would she react when she found out about Mr. Owens?

A dismal thought settled in his mind. He turned to the Timekeeper. “What happens after I deliver a soul? Like the older gentleman from last night, Mr. Owens? You said you direct them to that door, but then what?”

The Timekeeper’s eyebrows rose. “You’re asking me about a delivered soul? Interesting.” He closed the newly fixed watch, slipped it into a clear plastic bag, and put it in a bin marked Repaired. “Are you sure you want to know? Perhaps it’s better to leave things as they are. Regardless of what we have done on this side of the door, her fate will be the same once she walks through that threshold. Once they are delivered, it’s out of our hands. I have no power on the other side. I told you, I’m just—”

“The messenger, I know. But I’m not asking about Abigail. Well, not only about her,” Marcus clarified. He held the Timekeeper’s stare, unwavering. “I took his soul, Timekeeper. Mr. Owens was her only friend, and I took that from her. I just want to know what to tell her when—if she asks. I don’t want to lie. Not to her, not anymore.”

The Timekeeper leaned forward onto his elbows and studied Marcus. “This is worse than I thought,” he muttered as if talking to himself. His shoulders dropped with a resigned sigh. “Very well, I’ll tell you two things. The first, I am confident, is advice that comes too late, but here it is anyway. Attachment is far worse than loneliness. It would do you a great deal of good to remember that.” He reached into the Damaged bin and retrieved another plastic bag. “As for Mr. Cornelius Owens, I didn’t hear or smell anything when he closed the door behind him.” With one last nod, the Timekeeper lowered his eyes and began to inspect the broken watch.