Page 62 of The Book of Lost Hours

MOIRA HAD NOT SEEN Ernest Duquesne for five years when he showed up on her doorstep in the middle of a rainstorm.

She returned from work late that night, fighting to keep her umbrella open in the pouring rain and wind.

It had been a long day, filled with multiple phone calls from Jack.

Even after five years as the head of the CIA, he still hadn’t been able to relinquish total control of the TRP to her.

The rebellion picked up steam, despite her best efforts, becoming harder and harder to eradicate.

Every month, there were new reports from other agencies across the world of suspected rebels lurking in their ranks.

Rebels who continued to ask about Lisavet Levy, who searched for her book and occasionally asked questions about the child she had once been seen with.

He was standing on the stoop, waiting for her. Judging by his wet clothes in spite of his umbrella, he had been standing there for quite some time.

“Ernest,” she said, freezing.

He didn’t speak, staring at her with those blue eyes that never changed no matter how much time had passed.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I need to talk to you.”

“Is everything all right?” She and Ernest still spoke from time to time when their work demanded it, but always on the phone. Never in person. After he’d been informed that she would be taking the job as director, he had made a point never to deal with her face-to-face.

He laughed breathlessly. “Oh yes, everything is fine. That’s why I’m standing outside your apartment at nine o’clock at night.”

Moira looked at him. Ernest was more than angry, he was furious. She straightened. “Can I know what this is about?”

“It’s about Lisavet Levy.”

Moira tried to keep her face blank. Not this again. She had tried so hard to remove that name from his head. Why did it keep coming back to haunt her?

“Well, let’s not have it out here in the street. Come inside.”

In the elevator, Ernest stood beside her in silence, dripping water from his coat onto the floor.

Moira stole a glance at him, noting the tension in his jaw, the unkempt look of his hair that indicated he had been running his hands through it obsessively.

He was pushing forty now, but his hair still shone as bright and thick as it always had.

Not a trace of gray or thinning. He caught her looking at him and stiffened his jaw even more.

They reached the top floor. Moira unlocked the door to her apartment and let him inside, shutting and bolting it behind her. She hung her own umbrella and coat on the rack and told him to do the same.

“Coffee?” she asked, setting her handbag down on the table by the sofa. Still playing cordial host until she knew what he wanted.

“No thanks,” Ernest said tensely. He was looking around at the apartment.

This was Moira’s third apartment in New York and was by far the nicest she’d had.

She had made it her own, decorating with modern furniture in dark woods and heavy upholstery.

The south-facing windows overlooked the city and there was a second room she used as a library in addition to the bedroom.

For a moment, there was only silence, punctuated by the roaring of the wind and rain outside beating against the windows.

“Nice place,” Ernest said bitterly. “Did Jack help you pick it out?”

Moira gave him a look and went into the kitchen. “Do you want tea instead?”

“No.”

“Then how about a drink? You like gin, right?”

“Moira. I don’t want anything.”

He set his briefcase down on the coffee table by the record player and opened it.

The latches clicked like the sound of knuckles cracking.

She watched him uneasily as he turned his back to her and removed something from the case.

In an effort to have something, anything to do, she reached into the drawer for a cigarette.

As she was raising the lighter to the tip, she heard the soft scratch of a record starting to play and froze.

A song she knew too well poured from the horn. The trumpeting intro to “Blue Moon,” sung by Billy Eckstine, filled the apartment. Moira’s blood ran cold. Her eyes flew to Ernest, finding him standing in the center of the room, fists clenched.

“Sound familiar?” he asked.

“Ernest, I don’t see how this is—”

“I asked you if it sounded familiar.”

Moira swallowed. “Yes.”

“Yes,” he repeated softly. He turned to look back at the record player as the song continued to ring out.

“I always loved this song. From the very first time I heard it, I thought it was one of the most beautiful songs I’d ever heard.

I used to play it all the time when I was alone.

Especially back when we were together. I was drawn to it because it reminded me of you, even though it wasn’t a song we’d ever listened to together… or at least, I thought we hadn’t.”

He fixed his eyes back on her and she held her breath, waiting for whatever was coming next. After a long pause, he took another step in her direction. “I found Lisavet Levy’s book. Or I guess I should say… I found your book.” His words shook violently at the end.

“How much did you see?” she asked in a half whisper.

“Everything,” he growled in a tone she had never heard him use before. “All of it. I saw every memory you took from me. I know who you are. I remember now.” Ernest’s voice cracked, some of the anger giving way to grieving pain.

“Ernest…”

“No,” he said sharply. “You took my memories from me. Our memories. You made me forget you.”

“I did it to protect you.”

“Did you tell me you were having an affair with Jack to ‘protect me’ too?” he spat.

Moira looked away. “It was always to protect you. You have to understand. Jack was going to…”

Ernest suddenly reached out and took hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. Moira resisted the urge to shrink back from him. She’d never seen him like this. He wasn’t being rough with her. Not like Jack. But there was so much fire in his eyes. Anger and heartache.

“You made me lose you twice. And it’s not fair, Moira. It’s not fair. Neither time did I know how much I was really losing. The realest thing I ever had was you. You took that from me. You lied to me.”

“To keep you safe.”

“I get to decide what is and isn’t safe for me.

I loved you. Both times, I loved you. You’re still the only person I’ve ever loved.

” His hand slid to the side of her face, and he looked as though he didn’t know whether to kiss her or wring her neck.

“We could have had something. A life together. Didn’t you want that? ”

“Of course. It’s all I wanted. You have no idea how badly I do.”

Ernest stared at her intently for a long, aching moment and then let go.

“Ernest… you didn’t… you didn’t show it to anyone else, did you?” she asked. Wondering how many people knew the truth about her now.

“No,” he said.

“How did you even come across it? It was stolen from me when I was still in the time space.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, waving a hand. “Now I know the truth. That Lisavet Levy, the cause behind the entire movement, is the same person trying to dismantle it.” He sounded disgusted. Rightfully so.

“You don’t understand. I’ve only been doing it to…”

“To protect me?” He scoffed loudly. “Moira, you don’t need to protect me from the movement. I am the movement. Me. I’m the one who’s behind all this. The one you’ve been working against for five years.”

Moira’s face went pale. “What?”

“You didn’t know?” he asked, looking skeptical. “You, the reader of minds?”

“I don’t do that anymore,” Moira said quietly.

Not unless someone had memories of Lisavet Levy that needed erasing. When that happened once or twice every year or so, she was never looking for memories of Ernest. Hadn’t known to look.

Ernest stared at her, struggling to process this. “How could you ever have done it at all? You, the girl who used to believe that memories were a sacred thing?”

She glared at him. “Don’t look so shocked, Ernest. Even you’ve been guilty of burning memories.”

“Until I met you. Until you showed me why it was so wrong. You used to save memories, not steal them. What happened?”

“I grew up,” she snapped. “I realized it never made a difference anyway. That time is too big for just one person. None of my efforts ever changed anything.”

“That’s not true. You did change things.

You changed me. Even though you took my memories, the ideas you gave me were already rooted deep.

And an idea is an impossible thing to kill once it starts to spread.

I spent the last ten years of my life following that idea and now there are a dozen others doing the exact same thing.

Don’t tell me it didn’t matter, Lisavet. ”

Hearing him say her name like that after all this time made her dizzy with panic. His words stirred something deep within her. The old familiar grip of conviction. The pull of that idea she had so fiercely fought for came calling back to her like the echoes of Time. She shoved it down.

“No. No. I can’t do this. I can’t. I didn’t ask you to fight for me. I didn’t want this. Do you know what would happen if anyone else finds out you’re the one behind all this? You’d be killed.” She tried to walk past him. He stepped in front of her, grabbing her by both arms.

“Then kill me,” Ernest growled. “They’re already going to anyway. So go ahead.”

Moira shrank back from him. “What do you mean?”

“I stole the watches from the TRP office before I came to see you.”

“You did what?”

“I stole them. It was part of a bigger plan. I’m just a little ahead of schedule. I sent the word out and before long every government entity across the globe is going to find themselves in a similar situation.”