CHAPTER 2

After a night of practiced excuses, Marcus’s hands dampened with uncertainty. He stood wordless before an obscure Lower East Side shop with a neon light flashing ‘Watch Repair’ into the waning night. Mid-breath, he curled his fingers around the rusted doorknob. It was almost over. However, through the constant stream of cars sloshing puddles, the hinges moaned as he opened the door and reminded him that it wasn’t over yet.

Display cases cast lengthened shadows and veiled Marcus’s entrance into the damp store, where endless ticks and taps splintered the stillness. He stiffened. Of all, this was the most dreaded part, the list of souls waiting in the stackable letter tray beside the cash register, and with the list, came the promise of another night.

Determined, he paced to the metal contraption. The tempo of his steps slowed to a stop, as did the beats of his heart. In the letter tray, under his name, there was no list. There was only one reason his list wasn’t there.

“Abigail Archer,” he breathed, dragging his hands over his face. Yes, there was one reason his list was missing, and only one way he would get it back.

He paced down the poorly lit hall, eyes focused on the shadowed silhouette in the back room. Beneath a solitary orb of light, the Timekeeper arched over a large magnifying glass. A narrow screwdriver trembled in his wrinkled hands that hovered just above the open body of a silver pocket watch. With measured breaths, the Timekeeperhe removed one screw from the broken timepiece and dropped it into a rusted dish at his side.

“You do know the reason you’re here,” the Timekeeper murmured frailly from his splintered workbench. A hollow ding resounded as another screw fell into the dish.

Marcus leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms tightly over his chest. “Yes, Timekeeper,” he said, and nothing more.

Without taking his sight from the patient beneath his fingertips, the Timekeeper adjusted his light source, drawing it closer. He set down the screwdriver and retrieved tweezers in its stead. “Then you know He will not be pleased.”

Marcus’s lips tightened into a thin, white line. “I know.”

“Then why am I now sitting here, before Abigail Archer’s broken clock, without her soul?” The Timekeeper ticked the tweezers irritably on the silver watch before him. Glacial gray eyes finally lifted toward Marcus.

Marcus paused. He opened his mouth, but found no sound.

The Timekeeper sighed and lowered his tools to the wooden table. “What is it that you seek, Marcus? I thought your arrangement with Him was quite clear. I trust you remember it very well. Are you not reminded of it every day?”

The Timekeeper reached down, anger and irritation flashing across his normally vacant face. The subsequent scrape of an opening drawer tore through Marcus. He pushed off from the doorframe as gradually the Timekeeper revealed a thin, tarnished chain at whose end dangled a golden watch. A clock whose owner Marcus knew all too well.

“I must say, your presence here has surprised me. You of all collectors have the most to lose. Maybe we should discuss the terms of your agreement so that there is no confusion,” the Timekeeper said, and dangled the golden watch in the air. His gray eyes trailed it like a pendulum.

“For your service, I keep Margaret’s clock safely tucked away. The moment you fail to offer that service, the contract is void, and her clock destroyed.” The gilded pendulum swung to a stop, as did Marcus’s breathing. What did the Timekeeper mean to do?

The Timekeeper sighed. “It’s of little importance to me whether you decide to continue collecting souls or not. You can simply be replaced. You do know there are others willing to take your place for much less.”

Drenched in cold sweat, Marcus let out a breath when the Timekeeper set down the clock. His fingers curled into taut fists, his words just as tight. “I haven’t forgotten our arrangement, and am fully aware of other’s wanting my position.”

“Then why is Abigail Archer still alive?”

Soft ticks splintered the silence between them. Marcus dug his nails deeper into his palms with each snip, and met the Timekeeper’s stare with the only answer he had, more silence.

Half-nodding, the gray haired man dropped his gaze. His chair moaned as he settled back and swiveled side to side as if keeping the beat of his thoughts. “You know, I’ve seen it happen before, to others like you.”

“Seen what?” Marcus clipped, straining to hear the Timekeeper through savage heartbeats that thrummed in his ears.

“The loneliness,” the Timekeeper replied plainly. “After a while, collecting one soul after another after another becomes a bit disheartening and daunting. Whatever the reason for accepting this duty no longer holds the same luster it once did. That’s when loneliness expands, slowly poisons sanity, destroying the collector from within.”

The Timekeeper rubbed his fingers together, a deep frown at his brow. “Many become overwhelmed, haunted by the primal desire to feel and to touch.” His hands fell. “But your deal was made, and it can be broken at any time. You only need say the words.”

He leaned over the open watch and carefully replaced the silver bezel. “And bring me Margaret’s soul of course,” he added as an afterthought, motioning to the golden clock alone on the corner of his desk.

“I know very well of my arrangement, and believe me, my reasons for not taking Miss Archer’s soul have nothing to do with blasted loneliness. I was distracted and confused because she was waiting for me and...” Marcus wavered. His eyes fastened on the tiled floor and no more words came.

The Timekeeper blew out a slow breath. “Whatever your reasons, your foolishness could cost us both. Let us hope He does not realize her soul is missing before you’ve had a chance to rectify the matter.” Raising a warning finger, the Timekeeper then lowered it onto a sheet of paper at his side and slid it toward Marcus. “Your new list.”

Resignedly, Marcus tore the list from the table. No doubt Abigail’s name would be on that list. Regardless of what had prevented him that prior night, this time he would have to take her soul, for his sake, and for Margaret’s.

He glanced down at the list. Coolness rushed down his spine at the sight before him. His eyes flicked to the Timekeeper who tightened the final screws on the silver watch. “Abigail Archer’s name isn’t on the list.”

“It isn’t,” he replied. It wasn’t a question. He clicked open the newly repaired clock and his lips curved to a satisfied smile. It quickly faded. “I have managed to repair her clock and give her a bit more time. How much more, I don’t know, but her name not appearing on your list means she is guaranteed today.” The Timekeeper closed the glinting piece with a quiet click. “I can make no promises about tomorrow, but until then, you have this day.”

Winded, Marcus felt the ground shift beneath him, yet the floor remained still. It couldn’t be the Timekeeper just said he altered Abigail’s clock. He clenched the list tighter. While countless questions and concerns flooded him, there was one he could not contain:

“Why? I can’t allow you to do this. If He learns of this—”

The Timekeeper raised a staying hand. “It has been done and cannot be undone. Of the countless souls delivered in one night, I am somewhat confident our little slight here will go unnoticed at least for the night.” His silvery eyes steeled. “But this mustn’t happen again. I know of your predicament, but I only have so much humanity left.”

In that moment, under the dim light, Marcus realized, “You’re human.”

“It appears I am. Only another human can truly understand your reasons for not taking Abigail’s soul, don’t you think?”

Marcus’s brows knit together. “But I gave you no reason. I said nothing at all.”

“Yet, you said it all.” A faint smile played at the Timekeeper’s thin lips. “Besides, whereas other collectors deliver souls solely for the power, for the immortality, you…” He slid Margaret’s golden clock beside Abigail’s.

The Timekeeper clasped his hands on top of the desk and looked down to the two watches. “Sadly, Mr. Kent, while I know loneliness all too well, I must remind you that once Abigail’s name appears on the list, you have to take her soul. I cannot delay it again.”

Silence stretched between them for a marked minute before Marcus nodded. It was all he could manage through the shock tangled in his throat. List in hand, he turned and walked from the room without another word.

After the prior night, fatigue weighed heavy in his chest, as did a hollow feeling, which he’d never experienced before. He should go home, he told himself. No doubt Margaret was worried as she always was when he took longer than usual to get home.

Yes, he would go home.

Home to Margaret.

Half an hour later, Marcus stood motionless by a window watching the city strum with life beneath him. He sighed and turned away from the pure morning light to the constant rhythm of breath beside him. He moved closer and watched Abigail’s chest rise and fall with life.

A life he had spared.

A life he would have to take, but not yet.

With the last of his energies, Marcus knelt beside her bed. He stared at the misery that blanketed her and caressed the air just above her head. Purposely, he slowed his breaths to match hers. Perhaps in following her gentle tune of breath, he could learn something of her life, of her spirit, of her soul, and of why she waited for him. For the time, however, that shared breath was all he had.

Abigail’s eyes opened.

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