The evening forecast for Waterford, South Carolina was bleak to say the least. Marigold considered stopping by the café on her way to the hospital, but Tavington still had another hour of work when she headed that way. She felt a pang of guilt knowing that he would have to walk four blocks in the rain only to return home to an empty house. So, she trusted Tommy to swing by his aunt's café to let him know that all was well. In retrospect, this probably wasn't the best idea, but the unnatural events upon which Tristan had disappeared (and now, reappeared) caused her to be more than a little bit frazzled.
Rain pounded aggressively on the roof of her car as she drove from the quaint downtown district and into greater Waterford. A series of roadblocks and a crew of rain-soaked construction workers with tractors and hand-held stop signs took her on a detour through a mid-town development that she was not familiar with. She rolled down her window in frustration as a young worker directed the line of cars that she was in onto a freeway ramp.
"Excuse me, Sir. I'm trying to get to the hospital to visit a friend," Marigold hollered against the wind. "It's urgent. Not only do you have me going in the opposite direction, but through Pembroke. I don't mean to discourage you in any way, you guys are doing a fine job catching up to them. But Pembroke is like… the unnecessary road construction capital of the universe. I won't be able to see my friend until next week at this rate-"
"-Sorry, Miss," The presently antagonistic, but polite young worker interrupted what was going to be a classically lengthy rant from Marigold Casey. "If it's the hospital you want, take Exit 5 onto Meridian when you get to Pembroke. It's an extra thirty minutes, but a straight shot."
Several impatient drivers started to honk their horns. After raising a quick peace sign out her window to everyone involved in the conundrum, Marigold proceeded to the onramp. Exit 5 was a ways off, so she merged into the fast lane and preoccupied herself with NPR. She also stole occasional glances of the rainfall as it splashed into the coinciding river. Her phone rang a little over halfway through the drive and she peeked into her tote on the passenger seat. She was compelled to lower the volume of her radio and pick up when she saw the name flash across her screen: Tristan Stone.
"Tristan!" Marigold practically yelled into the microphone. "I've been so worried about you! It's going to take an extra half an hour, but I am on my way. How are you!?"
"Miss Casey," her voice was different, void of all its natural exuberance, but undeniably Tristan's, "that man. The one that we met on Sunday. I saw him again. I saw him do terrible things. When they found me in Pembroke…"
"Pembroke? Why Pembroke all of a sudden? What were you doing there?" Tristan would have answered, but Marigold saw the exit that she sought approaching on the righthand side of the road and was distracted yet again. If she wanted to make it, she would have to change lanes quickly. Once it was clear, she turned on her blinker and floored it. The slick road caused her to lose control and before she could realize her error, the little yellow Subaru Baja was airborne. Marigold ducked behind her wheel. The car twisted and turned like a corkscrew and yet, everything was in slow motion. She wanted to take it back, to go back in time if only for a second. But there was no going back, her fate had been sealed in the blink of an eye. Within moments, dark waves of water from the river below approached, swallowing her whole.
There was no darkness, no void after the she hit the water. The only thing that Marigold knew for certain was that she had been submerged in the shallow depths one moment and wading towards the surface immediately after. The interior (and exterior) of her car had vanished, leaving her to face the undertow alone. To her relief, however, the undertow of the storm-riddled river was not the monstrosity that she had feared. Once she blinked the water out of her eyes, Marigold realized that it was no longer raining and the sun had yet to set in the distance. The exit ramp and guardrail were gone along with the city limits of Pembroke that she had just passed through.
The water was only deep at the center and by the time Marigold was halfway to the riverbank, she managed to stand without any difficulty. She examined herself for any injuries. Not a scratch. The fact that she was unharmed, however, seemed less obscure when she realized that her reaction to the water had been more psychological than anything. Her hands, her face and clothes were not only dry, but as bright and transparent as smoke. She was no more real to the world around her than a passing breeze. Marigold was a ghost.
There were several hills that sloped down to the river. If Marigold was going to find out why she was there and whether she was alone, she would have to make it to the top of at least the lowest incline. In life, she was a subpar climber at best. In this state, whatever it was, she was as light and graceful as a feather. She reached the top of the hill at twice the speed she had prophesized.
The horizon was typical of a South Carolina winter. Dark formations of cold forestation were blotted beneath the grey evening sky. At the heart of this image, two forms awaited her arrival. They were just as ethereal and weightless as she. Juxtaposed against the dark horizon, Marigold thought that they looked like something out of an expressionist painting.
"Come closer," said the "ghosts" in unison. As they turned, Marigold could identify them without any difficulty. Facially, the one on the right could have been her twin but her attire paired with the single golden braid across her left shoulder indicated that she was the ghost of Annabelle Casey. To the left, stood the girl who Marigold was driving to see when she crashed into the river, the last person she had spoken to before departing from the earth for a second time- Tristan.
"I am sorry that I had to bring you here this way," Tristan said, nipping Marigold's question in the bud, "there is something that I need for you to see if you are going to continue on the path that you are headed down."
Annabelle, far gentler in her expression and demeanor, spoke next. "I see your concern. Don't worry. You will be able to return to him very soon."
Tristan shook her head, "After this, she may not decide to. The choice is Marigold's, not yours."
Marigold kneaded her temples, "Just for clarification, Tristan, they didn't actually find you? I just flew over a guardrail, Annabelle died in 1780-something, and you?"
Tristan shrugged, "We're doing this now?"
Annabelle plopped down in the grass and started moving her hand through the petals of a wildflower. The flower caught the breeze that she was creating with her "touch" and bobbed its head in response. Marigold would have continued to watch this lovely, hypnotic scene had Annabelle not given Tristan permission to explain their situation.
"Starting at the beginning," Tristan sat and gestured for Marigold to follow suit, "do you remember how I vanished in the first place?"
"Baako pushed you off the stadium bleachers." Marigold saw Annabelle turn her attention away from her wildflower. She quickly explained to her what 'stadium bleachers' were along with her best guess as to why Tristan was on them. Waterford students would either make out or smoke pot there (or both) after school, but she left that fine detail out. Then, they both grew quiet and allowed Tristan to continue.
"Darren Baako and I go way back. Believe it or not, we go back as far as you and that monster Tavington do." Another pause. Annabelle took Marigold's hand in hers and Tristan flinched slightly. "You're not the only reincarnate in this scenario, Miss Casey. What Annabelle and I are hoping that you will understand at the end of this painful excursion… is that the past and the present are linked. We can't see those links when we are living because they are hidden from us. We can only glimpse them through-"
"-love," Annabelle's icy grip on Marigold's hand tightened, "because love is divine."
"Death," Tristan rolled her dark, brooding eyes, "and I can prove it. The stadium was built on the remains of a very old churchyard in Waterford. It is in that churchyard that the remains of my ancestor were buried in 1781. You asked about my connection to Pembroke earlier. She, my ancestor, a 16 year old girl by the name of Virginia Hardwick died alongside her uncle in a terrible fire in Pembroke. When her parents recovered what was left of her, she was taken back to Waterford and buried. I think they wanted her to be closer to them. You know how parents are with their suffocating need for proximity."
"But that doesn't explain Baako," Marigold pressed after exchanging a "look" with Annabelle.
"You might not believe this, but there was a time when Baako and were in the same social circle. Before he was initiated into the league of extraordinary douchebags," Annabelle cocked her head, but Tristan proceeded without explanation, "I was his only friend after he was adopted. You are an exact reincarnate of Annabelle. I am an exact reincarnate of Virginia. Don't get me started on the Martin family, we'll be here for the next decade. Darren is only a blood relative of the man that Virginia martyred herself for all those years. I was drawn to him because he was the closest thing that my soul could find to James Wilkins. When we were arguing the other night about silly things like cliques and my own unrequited love… when he pushed me off of those bleachers and onto the burial site of Virginia Hardwick, that wasn't just a coincidence. That was another event in this massive domino-effect that you and I were destined to become trapped inside… this never-ending conversation that the present is having with the past."
Marigold crossed her arms. "You said that I'll have a choice to go back or to stay? Does this mean that you chose to come back here?"
"I called you from the hospital after locking myself in the bathroom," a mask of severity covered her face, "I didn't want them to find me. Not until after the pills did their work."
Annabelle looked up yet again. "The pills?" She didn't understand, but Marigold (sadly) was beginning to piece everything together.
"The Vicodin that I snatched when the nurse was making her rounds," Tristan admitted with calmness, "the entire bottle."
Marigold shook her head as she took in the beautiful, dark-haired girl in front of her, "No." A shock of anger came next. "No! How could you be so idiotic!? So selfish!? Out of all of my students, I thought that I'd never have to worry about you-" the otherworldly touch of Annabelle's white hand derailed her impending rant.
"Would you die for him?" Annabelle asked with great gentleness. This seemed to calm Marigold down, but the grief for her promising young pupil was still present. "If you had to, would you die to save William?" Silence. "That is what the three of us have in common."
"When I heard about what Baako did to you," Tristan sighed, "it killed me inside. I know I had a funny way of showing it, but you always were my favorite teacher. I might have overreacted, I don't know. But I had to see you again, to warn you about Tavington's brutality before I go back to my previous life as Virginia-"
"As Virginia?" Marigold's forehead creased, "You mean, I can go back as Annabelle?"
"You are going to have to at some point," Annabelle confirmed. Her usual smile fell from her lips like a stone, "the time that you have with William in 2017 is limited, Marigold. You know in your heart that he doesn't belong there. Surely, you can see that he is suffering. That he is haunted. He'll tell you that all is well and that he is happy there, but he is merely voicing what you want to hear... because he loves you. I know that you love him, too. And because you love him, you must learn what to say to him when you go back. What words to use to save him from himself. It has always been my dream for him to return to England with honor. I know that he had that same dream for himself. Once he has been saved in the past, the William that your heart has adhered to over the last week will die. There's no saying when or under what circumstances, but he will fade away before your eyes like a flower that has been torn from the earth."
She felt like running, like crying, like screaming at the top of her lungs, but Marigold remained perfectly still. Her eyes began to burn with tears, but she didn't blink. She simply watched and listened as Annabelle charted her future out for her like a prophetess. As silence fell between them, Marigold inhaled slowly and spoke the only words that she could find, the only words that spoke louder than her breaking heart. "If I must suffer his loss to relieve him of even a moment of pain… so be it."
Annabelle's smile returned, "Thank you."
"But if there is any way at all that I could have more time…"
"Once you are through here, you will be able to return to 2017. If that is what you wish." Annabelle explained, "You and William can start the life together that you so desperately desire. I won't think lowly of you if this is what you choose. And I will find you again when the time is right. Or I can tell you everything you need to know now, you can go back to 1781 for a brief visit, rewrite the ending of our dragoon's story, return to 2017 and…"
"If I choose to save him now, how much time will we have?"
"I cannot say exactly, once his restless soul finds peace, there will be no stopping its decline. Please understand, the longer you draw this out, the more he will suffer," Annabelle sighed, "that is all that I know, my friend. Think on it. For the time being, Tristan has something that she needs to make you aware of. I know that it will be difficult for you to see, but try your best to hold on to what I told you before about William. I will wait for you here." As Tristan and Marigold headed into town, Annabelle stayed behind.
Like 1781 Waterford, Pembroke was small and crowded. Strangely, all the human activity was centralized around the church and it was to its steps that Tristan led Marigold. An orderly line of British soldiers lined the premises. But Marigold's eyes were drawn to only one. Every time she saw William Tavington, her heart sprung to life. Even now, despite the separation from her mortal form, she could still feel this sensation. She had never seen a more handsome man in all her life. He was just as statuesque, just as beautiful and cruel as the portrait on the cover of his biography.
"We will stand by the doorway," Tristan instructed solemnly, "what happens inside the church is important, but the exchange between William and James once the doors are locked is why I brought you here."
The terrible scene played out before Marigold without apology. Just that morning, she had awoken in the safety of his arms. Since then, she hadn't only entertained the idea that he was "the one", but believed it with every fragment of her being. She had spent the day in a state of bliss, daring against all reason to imagine what it would be like to become his wife, to learn everything about him there was to know, body and soul. In one day's time, she had fantasized about it all- building a home with him, seeing his features and mannerisms shine through as their unborn son or daughter changed from infant to child, she'd imagined growing old with him while remaining just as happy and adored as she felt this morning.
All those hopes were defeated when he gave his order without remorse. He had called her love "holy" and now, that beautiful sentiment deformed into a mockery. Marigold disengaged only once to look at Tristan. It wasn't until Wilkins' name was called that she understood that Tristan was going through the same hell. After Tavington rode away, leaving the church behind him, Marigold passed through the walls and into the burning building.
"You cannot save them!" Tristan called, following close behind. It was there that Tristan realized something that she didn't witness the last time she was there because she had remained on the outside of the church. Young Virginia Hardwick, her mirrored image, was kneeling in prayer at the center of the panic-stricken room. Tristan's eyes moved to Marigold's. "What is she doing?"
"From what you have said about her," Marigold moved, kneeling alongside the sweet young girl who had only just started to cough from smoke inhalation, "I believe that she is praying for James. Perhaps we should follow her example."
They made a row of three across the aisle. Even after Virginia collapsed, Marigold and Tristan remained, praying, pleading to whoever would listen for the souls of everyone in the building and for the men who they had been fated to love. When Marigold finally opened her eyes, her surroundings had reduced to ashes and Tristan had vanished without a trace.
The walk out of town was long and painful. Guilt haunted her every step. It was difficult not to reflect on their faces, many of them were so familiar to her. She couldn't help but feel as though she had lost William in one clean sweep. If it was merciful to let him go now, perhaps it would be the better choice. She felt a strong desire to hold someone or something close to her. When she saw Annabelle waiting for her to arrive, Marigold ran into her arms.
"He killed them all," embracing Annabelle was a strange sensation, like holding onto a human-shaped gust of wind, "an entire village. Why did Tristan show me this? Why did you allow it?"
"So that you might understand what haunts him." Annabelle whispered. "Have you decided?"
Marigold straightened her back, mimicking a stronger stance as best she could. "I have decided."