Morning fog hazed the orange glow of the streetlights. The quiet was disturbed only by the unbroken rhythm of Marcus and Abigail's footsteps on the pavement. It had been a long night. Not vexing or trying in any manner, no, simply long. Marcus burrowed his aching hands deeper into his pockets and slid his gaze toward the barely visible map of stars in the sky that faded under the hues of the coming sun. He smirked as if sharing a secret with the distant companions. But it was no secret. Morning approached, and with it, a promise, Abigail.

The red traffic light turned green, ordering their steps to a welcomed stop. In a manner that had become a secret custom under the cover of night, along with the stolen glances and shared, surreptitious desires, Abigail turned to Marcus. She curled into his chest, watching cars splash gasoline-tainted puddles into the air. With a long sigh, she closed her eyes and folded into him as if the damp breeze feathering past threatened to whisk away what little they'd built during the course of the night.

Inhaling her scent of rain and night, Marcus planted a light kiss at her temple. "Tired?" he whispered into her ear, burying his nose in her hair. She'd mounted it on top of her head in a ridiculous knot-like form that he found quite bizarre, but he wanted it no other way. Her veil now lifted, he could finally see her face and nothing else mattered.

She nodded against his chest. "This is the last one, right?"

Her sleepy voice infused Marcus's bones with unparalleled warmth. It held the promise of rest, of waking beside her, of all the things he thought he'd never have. He nodded.

"Are they close?" she asked.

Marcus closed his eyes and focused hard on his fiery star. It was indeed near. Not only near, but moving closer by the second, coming toward him. Marcus's eyes snapped open. He looked frantically at the anticipated trajectory. Nothing but the steady flow of traffic framed the avenue.

Abigail lifted her head warily, having noted how tense he grew by the minute. "Is something wrong?"

Marcus met her stare, but couldn't talk. The words were trapped in his throat. He shook his head as if trying to rid himself of the unexplainable anomaly.

"The next soul is heading in this direction, but it's moving so fast," he said, and closed his eyes once more. He fixated on the star that was much closer than before. It gained steadily with no signs of slowing, as if it meant to pass him by. But how was that possible? He never had to chase after a soul.

The charged star grew wilder, a hypnotic beauty of crimson hues that lit the black of Marcus's closed eyes the closer it drew. He fisted his hands that felt ready to ignite, sensing the approaching life.

But from where? Marcus thought desperately. He opened his eyes, and the world dissolved into particles of suspended rain around him. The wisps of smoke from Abigail's breath whirled to a deathly slow pace. All noise faded to black, distorted echoes when he finally saw from whence his star came.

The street light turned yellow. A symphony of whining brakes marked a line of cars that rolled to a slow stop-except for one. Still a distance away, a red Honda tore down a stretch of avenue, its speed gaining.

Turning away from the approaching missile, Marcus looked at the intersection where the light had now turned red, and pedestrians trudged across the street, wearied by the late night. They were all oblivious, unaware of the car that gained ground by the second.

The Honda flew past at a sloth's speed to Marcus's eyes, enough time for him to glance inside. The negligent woman in the driver's seat looked at the passenger, a girl much younger than her. Black tears ran down the brunette girl's heavily painted face, a face contorted in anger. In the midst of their war, neither of them saw the stream of cars and pedestrians in front of them.

Through a silent link in that moment, the flushed girl locked eyes with Marcus. Crashing into his world, she blanched, seeing the tragedy in his stare. A tragedy that was about to happen to her. Terror marked her face, and she turned straight ahead. Seeing what approached, she reached over to the driver and screamed.

Simultaneously, Abigail peeled back. "Marcus, what's wrong?"

A piercing screech answered her question.

"Watch out!" someone yelled and a collective gasp tore through the crowd. Marcus looked at the widened eyes and breathless figures that jolted upon hearing the fear-twisted warning. Pedestrians flew blindly from the path of his shooting star. Startled, Abigail coiled into him, her eyes shut, as frantic screams closed in around them. The shrill of screeching tires punctured the air. All at once the crowd shrank with dreaded expectation. The boom of metal against metal climaxed through the chaos. A crumbling smash behind him closed the curtains, the sparkling sound of broken glass its exit theme.

The world around Marcus became a blur of cries and flames, of glass and smoke. He had a life to take, yet all he could think of was Abigail and the overturned car behind her. She had yet to surface. But she would, he thought dreadfully, and looked over her shoulder at the wreckage. There was no way to keep her from looking at the all too familiar crash. Surely what little joy she had found that night was at an end, right along with the fiery star that blinded Marcus with every blink.

Abigail pulled back a little. Her face was pale and eyes widened in stark fear. She unfolded her hands from Marcus and made to turn.

"Abigail, please don't turn around. You don't want to see this."

She shook her head. "I need to see."

Marcus moved closer to her, his hands reaching out from instinct. But unable to touch her, to keep her from the heartache over her shoulder, he curled his fingers into tight fists and watched her pull back farther. It would pain her to see what lay there. It already did.

Abigail turned. Her breathing hitched and fingers shot to her mouth. She doubled over, winded as if the sight had punctured her center.

Marcus moved before her hoping to block the tragedy. "Abigail, look at me," he demanded, but she blanched by the second. Her eyes lingered on the wreckage a bit longer before hesitantly shifting to his. Though she looked at him, it was a detached stare. Clearly in her head, all she saw was the flipped car behind him and the one from two years ago.

Marcus gripped his hair, frustrated at not being able to hold her against him, to shield her from the pain. But he knew it would be futile. Even if he could soothe her, there was nothing to keep at bay the memories that haunted her mind. He had to get her out of there.

"Abigail, I know-God, I know this is painful to see, and that I'm asking a lot of you right now, but I need you to be okay because I have to leave you here, just for a moment. I'll come right back," he assured her, struggling to frame the right words. "I will take her and we will go. I promise I will do this as fast as I can. Will you be all right?"

She didn't answer, but she trembled, violently. Staring at him, but right through him, she didn't even blink. Her breathing grew shallow and Marcus watched helplessly as she shattered and retreated into her mind. But he had to take the soul!

Tearing himself from her side, Marcus rushed into a shadowed alley between two nearby buildings. He could will himself unseen there, take the soul, and get Abigail far away from there, fast. He was barely into the dark when a hand took firm hold of his arm. He flinched and spun around, only to find the slender hand belonged to Abigail. She looked at him evenly and shook her head.

"Marcus," was all she said, but the sound left him winded.It was one word, his name. The connotation of his name from her lips, however, was enough to compromise his breathing, his life, and hers as well-and Margaret's.

Abigail didn't need to say any more, but she came closer still. With frantic breaths, she pleaded, "Please don't take her. You want to stay here with me, don't you? You can. You should. I want you to. God Marcus, I need you to stay right here with me and not take that soul."

"I know this is hard, but I have to-"

"No! You don't want to do this! You said it yourself, that you're forced to take these souls. Don't let them force you anymore. You don't have to take her."

Her words told him that if he took that soul, he would lose her forever. In between the lines of her silent plea was her heart for him to take or shatter.

Marcus turned away from her. How could she possibly ask that of him? But she refused to let him go. She moved in front of him and blocked his way. He made to look away, but she took hold of his face and forced him to look at her. She stroked his cheeks though he was no longer sure if her mind was in the present or lost in her memories.

"What if-what if it was her mother's birthday and they were fighting?" she asked, her voice a low whisper. "What if they both said hurtful things they didn't mean? And, what if in anger she caused this? She'll never get to apologize. She'll never get to tell her mother that she didn't mean to do it. She won't ever forgive herself. Marcus please, please don't do this. You don't know how it feels. You don't know what it feels like to remember her face every waking moment, how scared she was as it happened, and how she screamed my name..." Her voice splintered with emotion.

She fell away from him and her hands clenched into tight fists at her mouth. "We were driving home when she told me that she had to go away the following week for work. She went away often and I didn't mind. But I'd been getting into trouble lately, and she was scared to leave me alone. She was scared of what I would do. She insisted on Nancy watching me. But with Nancy came Randy, and I-I just couldn't!" She curled into herself. "I'd never told her before, but he always tried to touch me, to get me alone, and push into the apartment when she wasn't home. I'd always managed to keep him away, but Nancy worked nights and I'd be left alone with him, and I was scared. I told her, but after everything I'd done, after all the trouble I'd gotten into, she was so angry, so furious that I would dare say such a thing. She didn't let me explain. I just wanted her to believe me."

The first tear abandoned Abigail's eyes, followed by many more as she gripped her hair manically. "She was so disappointed in me and me in myself! I should have told her before and it only made me angrier. We said such horrible things to each other that I can't ever forget. I told her I hated her and that I would rather die before going back home with a woman who wouldn't believe her own daughter. In my anger, I snatched the wheel from her hand. It was stupid and it all happened so fast, but I can remember everything," she said just above a whisper. Stumbling back, she pulled her hands from her hair, and the cursed veil tumbled down over her face once more.

Lost to her memories, Abigail smoothed out the air before her as if sculpting the scene she narrated. "She wasn't expecting it. Her hands flew up instinctively, but it was raining, and she screamed so loud, and the roads were icy and...and..."

Abigail crumpled into her hands. Ungracefully, she sobbed, her spirit broken, but free. As the cathartic tears left her, Marcus let her cry alone. Not that he wanted to. He just had no place there. That was her confession, her liberation, and he thought it to be between her and God.

Finally, finally, he met the culprit of her misery, a guilt that was his own daily companion. He felt her remorse as if it were his very own. It churned and tightened its grip with each breath. Still, he watched her as she mourned the last of her secrets with each tear. She had just given him everything he'd ever wanted to know, yet then and there, Marcus couldn't imagine ever letting her go.

When her cries faded to quiet sobs, Abigail dropped her hands from her face. "Tell me you won't take her."

"Abby, you know I don't choose who stays and who goes-"

"You're a liar!" she thundered and moved back. Marcus could barely see her face in the light that spilled in from the street, but her look of disillusion was unmistakable.

"Abigail, please-"

"You're a hypocrite and a liar!"

"Abi-"

"You say you can't choose who you take or leave, yet you clearly chose not to take me!"

"And that was my mistake!" Marcus roared, pounding an imaginary gavel into the dark.

Abigail's eyes widened at his words. Hurt, she stepped back farther and farther away from him until forced to stop at the brick exterior of the towering building. His words echoed in the dark alley and also in her eyes. He saw a deep pain tearing there. There was disbelief and swarms of other emotions he could no longer see through the tears that blurred her eyes.

Cognizant of her pain, he approached her. Scared, but possessed by the maddening need to comfort her, he walked closer and closer, until he was looking down into her emerald eyes that glittered in the invading streetlight.

"It was a foolish mistake because I put a lot of people in danger by refusing to take you," Margaret, the Timekeeper, you..."But if time was cruel, and I was to live that night again, if I was to stand in that damned room, listening to your cursed song, I would refuse to take you tenfold and ten folds upon it."

Marcus ran his gaze across her features caressing her in awe and utter desire. He lifted a hand, a single finger and trailed the length of her hair dangerously. Abigail stood still and closed her eyes as if intoxicated by his phantom touch. She breathed a single, shuddering sigh, a sweet fog that blistered what little control remained within Marcus and nearly brought him to his knees.

He met her lips and robbed the breath from her mouth. Unable to hold her, he lifted his hands to the wall behind her in a silent plea for strength. He dug his nails deeper into the brick facade and fell wholly, deeper into their kiss. Lovers under the cover of the vanishing night, Marcus sought her mouth continuously, tenderly, with all the time in the world that he didn't have.

And she did not waver, tensing at first, yes, but in gliding his lips upon hers once more, he felt her mold into him and reciprocate with equal, burning ardor. She laced her arms around his neck and brought him closer, where he gratefully drank from her mouth and swallowed each of her warm moans, until his hands could no longer bear the pain of the wall behind her.

He broke from their kiss and rested his forehead against hers. But before a breath escaped, Abigail twined her fingers into his hair and dragged him back into their exchange with a hunger that was unlike her. Confused, but consumed by the feel of her against his body, Marcus allowed himself the pleasure as she deepened their kiss. Long moments later, she let her hands fall from his hair, her lips, too, drifting away, but just barely.

With a lingering last kiss, she opened her eyes and pressed her face into his neck. "Let's go home," she whispered against his pulse.

Home...

Contemplating his answer, Marcus lost all notions of space and time. There was a soul to take, and the wrath of the Timekeeper and Death if he didn't. That much was clear. But trying to convince himself to leave Abigail was as futile as believing he was actually going to collect that soul. He looked down at her upturned face in the patches of light. All he saw was the promise of her lips. Sanity now a numbing dream, he knew then that there was no other choice. It was careless, stupid, and foolish. But nodding his acquiescence, he turned his back on duty and followed Abigail out of the dark alley. She was his moon, and he, the ocean, a willing slave to her pull.



The flickering neon sign of the watch repair shop became visible in the distance. Once a beacon of misery, all Marcus could do was smirk at its constant flash. As they walked down the opposite street, he could only think of passing the Timekeeper's shop and stealing into the heaven above it without being detected. Naturally, explanations were to be had as to why another soul wasn't collected, but explanations would come later-much later, Marcus thought with a smile. At least until after delivering the woman Abigail begged him to leave behind. A soul which, Marcus silently decided, he had to deliver. Perhaps he would go while she slept. He could ask the Timekeeper to keep an eye on her and gather that last soul. But until then, there was just Abigail. His thoughts warped to black and his steps to a halt, when a familiar figure emerged from thin air and walked straight into the Timekeeper's shop.

"Marcus?" Abigail called from beside him, noting his rigidness and delay.

He paled. Had she seen him?

Abigail turned to him and smoothed a hand onto his cheek. She drew his face down to look at her. "Is everything okay?" she asked, answering his unasked question.

He fought back a sigh of relief. She hadn't seen him. Still, the world spun with worry. Clearly this man knew the Timekeeper, and after failing to take another soul, Marcus was sure the Timekeeper could no longer cover for him.

Furthermore, as he looked down at Abigail, familiar words whispered past. 'If I show you good reason, will you take me,' she had asked. He had agreed, and that night Abigail had given him every answer he ever sought from her, and more. She had given him tenderness, affection, and blindly, her trust. How could he possibly claim to care for her when he was what stood between her and her greatest desire?

The truth of it all became as clear as the sun cracking in shades of blood red on the horizon. He chuckled bitterly and rubbed his mouth feeling a sardonic smile twist his lips. "Who knew after a century, you would be the one to do it in only a matter of days," he said with tightness so intense in his chest, his voice cracked.

Abigail looked at him. Her eyes were pale green now in the light of the coming sun. "Do what?"

His smile faded. "Turn me into an honest man."

She tilted her head, regarding him for a long time. "You're scaring me."

"If I were to ask you this instant-right here, right now-if you want to go, what would you say?"

Abigail paused. "Go? Go where?"

"Damn it, I gave you my word. To anyone else, it would have meant nothing. But I gave it to you and that changes everything. You've shown me good reason to take you and now you're free. Free of your secrets and free of me, just like you wished." He released his fingers, and extended his hand to her. It trembled, but he held it open, hers for the taking. "If you want to be free of me, the choice is yours. I will not touch you."

She looked down at his hand and her expression fell. When she lifted her gaze back to him, understanding saturated her stare. Marcus couldn't tell whether her look was one of answered prayer or of dread, and not trusting his heart or mind to distinguish between the two, he lowered his eyes to his outstretched hand.

She stepped closer. Her small hand took firm hold of his wrist, and she studied his palm for a moment. She then lowered it to his side, walked back into his arms, and resumed her place at his chest. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she buried her face into his neck.

"And I will not touch you," she said into his pulse, planting a light kiss of promise on the delicate skin.

Marcus blinked several times in succession, hoping to rid the emotion that threatened to spill from his eyes. He should have told her the whole truth, that the blond-haired man was there at the repair shop, but aside from her, in that instant, nothing else existed. He swallowed deeply and nodded. Abigail's damp hair absorbed the secret tear that spilled from his eyes.

"I'm about to tell you something, and it might not make sense," he said. "But I need you to listen and ask no questions. Can you do that for me?"

"Of course."

He cast a fleeting glance over her shoulder. "We can't go back home. I will keep you safe, for as long as I can, but right now, we need to go." There was panic in his voice, he knew that. But the blond-haired man was there and Marcus was no longer sure if the Timekeeper could, or would want to protect him any longer. There was no other choice.

He pulled back and led them away from the Timekeeper, to the only other place he knew where to go.