Chapter Seven
Seconds after I pulled up in front of my father’s house, Mack’s Tahoe slid to a stop behind me. He called my name as I climbed the front porch steps and was behind me by the time I jiggled the locked handle.
“Don’t do this, Abby,” Mack said. “He didn’t have a choice.”
“She had a right to know,” I said as I knocked on the door. “I had a right to know.”
“No, you didn’t.” His voice was plain and without argument.
I turned on him, unable to believe what was coming out of his mouth. “How can you say that? I lived with her for eighteen years, and in all that time, do you know how many times I remember her actually being there as a mother? As a friend?”
I waited for him to respond, but he didn’t.
“None. Not one. Do you know how many years I spent worrying I would end up with schizophrenia? How many hours I spent wishing I could help her? How many times I begged my father for an explanation?”
He remained quiet, and some of my anger dissipated. I turned my back to the door and crossed my arms tight over my chest.
Mack stepped beside me. “Do you honestly think that knowing what your mother really was would’ve changed any of that? Do you think you would’ve worried less?”
I stared at the brown grass and leafless trees. “I would’ve liked the chance to find out. At least it would’ve made some kind of sense.”
Mack shook his head and faced me. “Would it have? Made sense? Before you started drifting yourself?” My entire body went numb. “Would you have believed it?”
I walked to the middle of the yard, not really knowing what to do or where to go. I blew out a heavy breath and shivered in the cool air, my heart hollow and confused.
“I know it’s not easy,” Mack said as he reached for my shoulder. “But please, try to be gentle with your father. This hasn’t been easy for him, either.”
My head pounded, and I rubbed my temples. How could I know more than I ever did, yet feel like I knew nothing at all?
James and I burst from the hotel doors with laughter on our lips. He wrapped an arm around my waist and spun me in a tight circle before setting me down.
“That’s some party,” I said, my chest light and giddy.
“My parents always know how to have a good time.” We strolled to the end of the street, and the music faded until we heard nothing but the sound of our footsteps.
“I don’t ever want this night to end,” I said. It had been perfect.
James took me by the hand and pulled me into an alcove. “It doesn’t have to.”
A smile spread across my face, and my stomach fluttered. “Everything ends. Most assuredly, the night.”
He leaned in close, his lips at my ear. “Not this. Not us. I’m yours, for all of time. Well, if you’ll have me.”
James gripped my hand, and the corner of his mouth pulled into something that resembled a smile. My heart jumped in my chest thinking I knew what he meant, but I couldn’t be sure, he hadn’t actually asked. With his free hand, he reached inside his coat, fumbling in the pocket, but before he could say anything else, footsteps, heavy and fast, beat against the sidewalk and caused us both to turn.
“Tommy?” James asked as the man ran toward us.
His eyes were wide with fear, and a thin layer of sweat beaded at his temples. He stopped next to James, his breath labored. They clasped hands, and Tommy placed his left hand on top as if securing their connection.
“Where’ve you been? Abigail, this is Thomas, my brother.” As James made the introduction, Thomas gave me only a quick look before he turned his frantic eyes back to James, his jaw shaking. “What’s wrong?” James asked.
“Don’t let them find it. They’ll kill her if they do. And tell her I’m sorry,” Tommy said, letting go of James’s hand.
“Who? Tommy, you’re not making sense.”
“Tell her I tried.”
He gave James one last squeeze on the shoulder before sprinting down the sidewalk.
“What was that about?” I asked as we stepped from the alcove and watched him run.
“I don’t know.”
Tommy reached the end of the block and slowed when a car screeched and stopped at the corner. It was a Duesenberg, unmistakable with its elongated front end, and carried two passengers. When the men jumped out, Tommy’s hands rose from his sides. He took a step back in our direction when one of the men aimed a pistol at his chest.
“No,” James said and took a step toward Tommy.
The gun fired, and Tommy fell at the gunman’s feet. My entire body vibrated in fear, and my throat burned when I screamed. The man’s head turned in our direction. He stepped over Tommy’s body and ran toward us.
James didn’t hesitate. He yanked me with him and we took off. His strides were longer and faster than my own, making it difficult to keep up. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the shooter, shadowed under the night sky, gaining on us. I spurred my legs to move—to fly—alongside James.
“He’s getting closer,” I gasped.
The strap on my shoe broke, and I stumbled as I kicked it off.
“In here,” James said as he pulled me into a dark alleyway. The cool brick of the wall pressed against my back and James kissed me. His hands ran down the length of my sides and paused at my waist. His lips were hot and filled with something more than love. Something desperate.
“Promise me…”
“What did you see?” Mack asked as he stepped in front of me. His face came into focus, and his eyes were anxious.
But I couldn’t speak or even look at him. If these visions, or drifts, were like Mack said, then they were all a part of a past life I’d shared with James. My mind spun as I pieced the sequence together.
Tommy was dead, probably killed by the same man that murdered James, and the necklace—Tommy had to have given it to James while they spoke. I remembered their clasped hands and Tommy’s cryptic words. Don’t let them find it. They’ll kill her if they do.
After running and hiding in that hole, I’d expected James to follow me, but he’d stayed above ground and, moments later, had thrown my purse down after me. He must’ve hidden it in my bag to keep it from the man who’d killed Tommy—from the man that ultimately killed him.
My father’s truck pulled into the driveway and stopped midway. I watched in a daze as he approached me, loosely holding a grocery bag in his arms. “Abby?” In light of everything that just happened, I’d forgotten why I’d come here in the first place. “What happened to your face? Are you okay, sweetie?”
He was worried, and my eyes watered. “No, Dad,” I said. “I don’t think I am.”
He looked at Mack and then back at me. “No, please, no.”
My father’s normally olive complexion paled, and he dropped the paper sack, shaking his head in disbelief.
Picking up his things, Mack ushered us inside and out of the cold. We were seated around the same beat-up kitchen table for several minutes before my father rose. He opened the cabinet above the stove and pulled out a crystal tumbler and a bottle of scotch.
He poured a heavy glass and took a long sip. I could see he was trying to work something out. His lips parted like he might ask a question, but instead of speaking, he lifted his drink and downed the second half in one gulp. He stared at the empty tumbler for a period of several heartbeats before he slammed the glass into the sink.
The crystal shattered, and broken pieces bounced out and onto the floor. I jumped in my seat and Mack placed a hand against his shoulder.
“Everything is going to be okay, Mitch.” He gave him a squeeze before dropping his arm.
“How long?” my father asked quietly as he braced his hands on the countertop.
“Not long,” I said. “It’s all happened so fast.”
Gritting his teeth, he looked toward Mack. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Honestly, I didn’t know. I had an idea, but I wasn’t certain. You more than anyone can understand the delicacy of this situation. It wasn’t something I could ask her about.”
My father’s gaze dropped back to the granite counter, and his head hung between his shoulders as if the news of my drift was too much to hold.
“Why didn’t you tell me about Mom?” I asked.
My father leaned against the counter while he rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. “I couldn’t. My work on your mother was classified, but believe me—I wanted to. I saw how much you suffered.”
“I should’ve heard it from you first, not my neighbor.” As soon as I’d spoken the words, a new crop of questions surfaced, and I turned to Mack. “When you moved in,” I said, and he shifted on his feet, “you knew who I was, didn’t you.”
His eyes held no apology. “Yes.”
“Wait a minute. You moved into her apartment building?” my father asked.
“I told you, I had to be certain. Surveillance would’ve been difficult if I hadn’t.”
I huffed and continued as if my father hadn’t spoken. “Surveillance? You were spying on me?”
Mack shook his head like I was overreacting. “No, it wasn’t like that. There are things you don’t understand.”
A culmination of emotions boiled to anger. “Don’t tell me there are things I don’t understand. Explain them. I’m not stupid, and I’m not a little girl, so stop treating me like one.”
I was shaking, and both men stared at me in silence. With a groan, I moved to the other side of the kitchen hoping the distance would calm me.
“I never meant to treat you like a child. I’m sorry,” Mack said. “Give me a minute, okay?” With a sigh, he left the kitchen and walked out the front door.
“Abby,” my father began. He took a deep breath and pulled himself up straight. “There were so many times I wanted to tell you the truth. I did. But I couldn’t.”
“You keep saying that, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.”
“Drifting isn’t easy to explain or understand until you’ve experienced it. I knew that unless you yourself had a drift, you would think I was making it up. Telling you a story to ease your mind.” He pulled a hand through his coal-black hair. “And, if I’m being honest, I’d hoped I’d never have to explain it. I wanted you to have a good life—free from all of this—and if that meant you had to believe your mother suffered from schizophrenia, then so be it.”
I exhaled a breath and my shoulders slumped. He’d done what he’d thought was best, and no matter how angry I’d been with him, I couldn’t blame him—not anymore. He bent to pick up some of the larger pieces of broken glass from the floor, and my anger continued to cool.
“Okay,” I said. “But what about Mom? Why didn’t you tell her?”
My father’s face crumpled with emotion. “There were so many times I wanted to do exactly that, but—”
“She should’ve known,” I said simply.
He nodded. “It seems that way.” He gathered another piece of glass in his hand. “By the time I found out she was drifting”—he stumbled over the word like he had trouble saying it out loud—“your mother, if you recall, didn’t know who I was half the time. Do you really think telling her at that point would’ve helped?”
I shrugged and watched him rub the smooth side of glass between his thumb and forefinger.
“She didn’t understand her world anymore. How could she have accepted what I told her was the truth?”
I swallowed and shook my head in defeat. He was right. Even if my father had told my mother about drifting the moment he found out, she wouldn’t have understood, and it wouldn’t have made her life easier to bear.
“Is it bad? Your drift?”
He wouldn’t look at me, but I heard the pain behind his words, and guilt churned inside me. He did what he thought was best, and I couldn’t blame him for that. I sighed and walked toward him.
“Yes and no. Some things are worse than others, but I’m handling it.” I squatted next to him and helped pick up the pieces.
“Your mother’s drift was…well, you know what it did to her.”
“Do you know what hers was about?”
My father held a large piece of broken crystal in his hand and turned it left to right, watching the light refract and cast pops of color against the tile floor. “Not really. She mentioned her baby, but she never gave me a context. I’m assuming it died, but I never knew for sure.”
Silence followed as I imagined my mother caught in a world where she had to watch her child die over and over again. The sadness she always wore began to make sense.
“I’m going to be fine, Dad.” We stood, and Mack entered the room.
He carried a thick manila folder from which he pulled a single sheet of paper. He walked to the table and set it in front of me, turning it with the tips of his fingers so I could see. It was a photograph. The man in the picture was turned to the side, his face in profile. He had a thin nose and razor sharp cheekbones.
“This is Nino Roselli the third.”
I picked up the photograph. “I’ve never seen him before.”
“No, I wouldn’t imagine you have. He’s rarely seen these days, preferring to stay on his estate just outside Houston. His money came from his grandfather, but he owns and operates a small ranch—cattle mostly.”
I looked back to Mack and shrugged. “So, what does he have to do with me or my drift?”
“Recently, Roselli found some information regarding an artifact that was stolen from his grandfather, Nino Roselli, Sr.”
I shook my head. “Okay, but I still don’t understand.”
“It was extremely valuable, and his grandfather died looking for it. Can you guess what it was?”
The moment he spoke the words, understanding dawned. “The necklace,” I answered automatically. Tommy’s frantic voice shouted in my ear, and his murder replayed on fast forward in my mind.
Mack nodded. “Those men last night, there’s a good chance they worked for Roselli.”
“Wait a minute,” my father interrupted. “What men from last night?”
“Nothing to worry about, Mitch.” Mack gave him a confident nod. “I took care of it.”
“You mean”—he sat in his chair and buried his face in his hand—“this Roselli, his men were able to track her down? How?” He looked at me. “Did they hurt you?”
“It’s not important, Daddy. Mack already told you he took care of it.”
“Is that how you got the cut on your face?” he asked, and I covered my cheek with my hand. “Talk to me, honey.”
Mack stood. “Mitch, I’ll tell you all about it, but right now I need to speak with Abby. Do you mind giving us a moment?”
“Yes, I do. She’s my daughter, and if she’s in trouble—”
“Then it’s my job to protect her,” Mack interrupted. My father aged in a matter of moments. Had his hair always been that gray? Had the lines around his eyes always been that deep? “I promise I will do everything in my power to keep her safe, but right now I need to speak with Abby.”
“It’s okay, Daddy,” I said. “I’ll explain everything later tonight.”
His posture sagged, and he reached for the bottle of scotch. “I’ll be in my office.”
I wanted to assure him again that I was okay, but before I could, Mack put his hand on mine, pulling me back to the now.
“He’ll be fine. I promise.” He gave me a quick squeeze before placing another photo on top of Roselli’s. The picture was black and white, so color was impossible to see, but I recognized the shape instantly.
“Now, obviously, this isn’t the correct setting. This was a hatpin made sometime around eighteen eighty-five, before the stone was smuggled into the U.S. It’s the only known photograph we have of the Florentine diamond.”
“Smuggled here?”
Mack nodded. “In 1920, I believe. Very few people outside the family know about it. Even fewer know what it looked like. We know, through one of our sources, that Roselli’s grandfather had the stone set into the necklace as a gift for his daughter Valentina in 1922. It was from Valentina that the necklace was stolen nearly one hundred years ago.”
“So someone with knowledge of the new setting saw James’s painting and recognized it.” I grasped to make further connections. “They assumed, then, that since he painted it, he had to have seen it?”
“That’s what I think,” Mack agreed.
“So, if Nino Roselli is behind this, he could send others.” Mack lifted a hand, but I continued. “Why not go after him directly? Arrest him or something.”
“Because we don’t have a case. Right now, it’s a working theory. Probably an accurate one, but we don’t have anything solid that shows us Roselli is the one who sent those men after you and James.”
“What about the one you didn’t shoot?”
“He’s in custody, but he isn’t talking.” There must have been a look of panic that crossed my face, because Mack’s voice softened. “But you let me worry about that. That’s my job. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
We sat in silence, each studying the other. “I’m starting to understand the how and why of what happened last night, but what I still don’t get is how you ended up there. Were you following me?” Mack sat at the table, but he didn’t speak. “I mean, you’d just asked me out on a date that morning.”
“I asked you to dinner at my place,” he clarified.
“So you weren’t asking me on a date?”
“No. I was trying to keep you home. Away from that gallery.”
“Why? Did you know what was going to happen?”
“No. But I knew about the painting, and I had my suspicions. I went as a precaution—just in case Roselli showed up.”
He seemed so sure of himself. “How do you know so much about him? You talk about him like you know him.”
Mack looked again at Roselli’s photo before sliding it back inside the folder. “It’s my job. You’d be shocked at the things I know, but I can’t afford not to. The smallest piece of information could mean the difference between life and death.”
I picked up the picture of the diamond that lay in front of me. “It’s beautiful, you know?” I traced my fingers over the image. “You called it something. The Florentine?”
Mack nodded. “It was named when the original owner, the Duke of Burgundy, died in battle. I believe it was the Battle of Morat. Anyway, it is said that a soldier found the diamond among the Duke’s things and sold it for a Florin, thinking it was glass.”
“With the color being so unusual, I wouldn’t have known it was a diamond.”
“It’s not just the color that makes it so different. The Florentine is approximately one hundred and thirty-seven carats.”
My eyes bulged from their sockets. “I knew it was big, but I had no idea it was that big.”
“Now you see why people would kill for it? It’s worth a fortune.”
I remembered the weight of the necklace in my hand, and an image of James’s dead body surfaced. “Why is this happening to me? Why am I drifting?” I asked.
He lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “Things happen in life that leave marks. Some are physical, and some cut so deep they wound your soul. When those wounds are deep enough, they scar like anything else.”
I thought of my mother. What must she have experienced in her previous life to leave her so scarred—so broken—in this one?
“Scars appear in varying degrees. Sometimes it’s a physical mark on the skin.”
“What? Like a birthmark?”
“Exactly. Sometimes, it’s a sense of déjà vu. Sometimes it manifests in other ways, like nightmares or dreams.”
“Or paintings?” I asked, thinking of James.
Mack nodded. “It’s very rare to experience these events in drifts, like you do,” he said. “The stronger the drift, the more dangerous it becomes.”
Dangerous. The word unsettled me.
“So, what I can do—what my mother could do—is more dangerous than what James can do?”
He nodded. “What you have aren’t just visions, or even dreams. When you’re drifting, you’re traveling back to your past.”
My mind spun, and Mack remained quiet. I cleared my throat. “Tell me, please, how that is even possible. Because while I am able to understand this in an abstract way, it still seems unbelievable. I mean, people have been around when I’ve drifted. I don’t leave. I may not be a physicist, but if I’m traveling to another time, wouldn’t I have to leave this one?”
He shifted in his seat, leaning toward me. “Time moves in different speeds. What takes an hour in your past may only be a blink of an eye here. You can’t compare this to what you think you know. Believe me, if I didn’t experience—” He cleared his throat. “If I hadn’t…studied it in the capacity I have, I wouldn’t believe it, either.”
“So, if I’m really traveling back like you say I am, then how is it that my body remains here?”
Mack grimaced. “Because your body isn’t traveling.” He paused, giving his words time to sink in for a moment. “It’s your soul.”
“My soul.” I let that roll around on my tongue for a while. “And why is that dangerous?”
Mack’s face went perfectly blank before a few somber lines crinkled around his eyes. “Because if you’re in a drift and you die while in your past life, your soul can’t come back.”
I shook my head, not understanding.
“Once your body dies, your soul is released to move on—regardless of where the death occurs. Your body can’t live without your soul. Do you understand what I’m saying? Once it’s gone, it’s gone.”
My heart thrummed against my ribs. “So—I could die? This drift could kill me?”
Mack nodded. I stood and walked to the sink, needing something—anything—to do.
“I’m sorry, Abby. I hoped I was wrong about you. I really did.”
Overwhelmed wasn’t a word I used to describe myself very often, but standing inside that moment, faced with what could be my own mortality, overwhelmed didn’t begin to describe it. It was like sucking in great gulps of air that did nothing to relieve the thirst for oxygen. It was like falling and climbing, somehow at the same time. It was maddening and impossible and unbelievable.
“You see him, don’t you. James?”
My chest shook with unshed tears. “Mostly.”
“Have you seen anyone else?”
I sat silent for a long moment.
“Colin,” I said as I faced him. Mack’s head lifted, and his eyes narrowed. “But I didn’t see his face. It was too dark.”
Mack took a deep breath, scrubbed his hand through his red hair, and squeezed his eyes closed. “Anyone else?”
“Thomas.”
Mack stilled. “You saw Thomas Bellingham?” He flipped through the folder in his hand and pulled out another picture. “This guy?”
I stared at the image of Tommy. His face was full and soft. He was dressed in a dark suit and tie, with a newsboy hat slung low over his forehead. I took a breath and looked at Mack. He was staring at me with questions in his eyes.
“Yes, why?”
“He was the last person known to have been in possession of the diamond before it disappeared. No one’s figured out how he was able to get a hold of the necklace, or even where he went with it. It’s like he disappeared in the wind and the necklace with him.”
“Thomas didn’t disappear.” I put my hand on his photo. “He was murdered.”
Mack circled the table with a restless walk. “Did you see it?”
I nodded. “He was shot right in front of me.”
“You’re sure it was Thomas?”
I looked down at his picture. “Positive.”
Mack pursed his lips, his thoughts somewhere else. “Do you know who shot him?”
“No, I only saw him from a distance.”
Mack finished gathering his things and tucked them under his arm.
“What am I supposed to do now?” I asked.
Mack stilled. “Let me worry about that. In the meantime, you should keep your distance from James.”
My spine pricked with irritation. “Why?”
“Because he’s a part of your drift, and he’ll act as a catalyst. You’ll be more likely to drift in his presence because of that.”
“I’ve drifted in your presence, too. Does that mean I should stay away from you?”
“I didn’t say you could only drift in his presence. Just that you’re more likely to.”
“You can’t make me stay away from him.”
“Listen, if you drift and relive your death, it’s over. I can’t stress that enough. You will not come back. Ever. And you two being together—” He paused, and after a prolonged second, he averted his eyes. “It’s only going to make it worse.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Of that, I am absolutely sure. I’ve seen it happen.”
Tension pulsed against me, and Mack’s words spread thickly through my thoughts.
“Look,” he said. “I’m not trying to be mean. I’m just trying to be honest so you understand the gravity of your situation. Drifting is dangerous. You saw what it did to your mother.”
“There have to be exceptions. You told me drifting is rare. How many deaths could you have seen?”
“I haven’t been in this job that long, but in that time, two out of the three people I’ve worked with who could drift have died.” He gave a sigh and shifted on his feet.
“My mother,” I said without thinking, and Mack nodded. “Who was the second?”
Mack pursed his lips until they turned white. “My partner, my mentor. He died last month.”
“I’m sorry,” I said automatically.
Mack lifted his shoulders and rubbed his neck with his hand. “He knew it was coming. He’d prepared me.”
I looked at Mack and felt the weight of his words. “What do you mean he knew it was coming?”
“There were signs. His drifts took him more regularly, and they became more violent, and when he would come back, his nose would bleed like he’d been punched.”
I thought of my mother, and the way her nose bled the very last day I spent with her. Had she known death was coming? Had she wanted to end her life on her own terms before her drift could take her?
“My partner had just died when I first suspected you were drifting, and I made a promise to do whatever it took to protect you from this. I don’t want to see your drift kill you, and if that means telling you the truth—that James will certainly make your situation worse—then so be it.”
I shook my head, wanting to deny everything Mack had said. “I can’t cut him out of my life. I won’t.”
Mack dropped his gaze and opened the front door. Just before he left, he turned back and said, “Be smart about this. Please.”
And with that he left, leaving me alone and confused.