Page 64 of The Book of Lost Hours

A MELIA , A NTON, AND A ZRAEL emerged from the last of Lisavet Levy’s living memories, returning to the quiet darkness of the time space.

All of them were deathly silent. Azrael had brought them to the edge of the chasm.

Amelia could still hear the whispers calling out from the depths of it. Only now did she understand why.

“So this…” She swallowed, her voice shaking. “This exists because of me.”

“In a way,” Azrael said. “But… you were an infant. I hardly think you can blame yourself.”

Amelia did blame herself though. This chasm was here because of her.

Moira Donnelly… no, Lisavet Levy… no, her mother had done it to protect her.

Over and over again, she’d rewritten the past for her.

Over and over she had lied, interrogated, killed, and denied herself the only happiness she had ever known…

for her. As if sensing her thoughts, Azrael gave Amelia a sad smile.

“Never underestimate what a mother will do to protect her child,” he said.

Amelia shook her head, unable to reconcile this with the version of Moira she had met. The one who had thrown her out of windows, pushed her into an open grave, and sent her into the time space against her will. Was that all to protect her too?

Beside her, Anton had turned away from them.

He was staring down at the chasm, still holding the book in his hands.

Eyes heavy and full of shadows. Azrael bowed his head at her and removed himself from the scene, fading against the backdrop of dust-covered shelves.

Amelia took a few tentative steps toward the chasm.

“Anton?” she said gently.

He was turning the book over in his hands. “He fought for her,” he said in a quiet voice that shook with each word. “Not just at the beginning. His whole life he fought for her. And she killed him.”

Amelia said nothing. What was there to say when she was the reason his father had been killed? How could she comfort him when the charmed childhood he envied, full of poetry and safety and love, had been bought at the expense of his own?

She swallowed back tears, reaching for his arm. “Anton, I—”

He flinched. “I need a moment,” he said.

“Wait,” Amelia said. “Please…”

“No, just… just give me a moment to… to… how do you say it? Process. I will come back,” he said, eyes shut. “I promise, I just… I need to be alone for a moment.”

Amelia nodded. Swallowed. “I understand,” she said.

Anton didn’t look at her as he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her alone. She sank down onto the ground beside the chasm, pulling her knees up to her chest in the exact same position she had been in when he found her there the first time.

M OIRA AWOKE to the sound of Ernest shutting the window in the next room.

It had begun to rain again, the wind tossing water droplets onto the edge of the table where he worked.

She pushed herself up onto one arm, watching him.

Before him were pages upon pages of notes.

Books on quantum physics and space-time theory he was using to find a solution to their problem.

To find a way to cut off access to the time space for good.

A single lamp illuminated his face, casting shadows over the weary lines on his forehead that were now a permanent feature.

It was late. Ernest had put off coming to bed for hours, as he had every night since she arrived.

He always waited until she had fallen asleep before doing the same.

Always woke at least an hour before her.

As if he didn’t trust her to be awake while he slept.

Moira sat up, letting the blankets fall away, and left the bedroom.

He didn’t notice her until she was right beside him.

“Ernest,” she said.

He jumped. “Lisavet,” he said, closing the pages of his notebook at once.

Moira’s heart clenched at the familiar name. He called her that now, as if attempting to remind them both who she really was.

“It’s three in the morning,” she said gently.

He sighed heavily. “I know. Just a few more minutes.”

“Any luck?” Moira asked, pulling out the chair across from him to sit.

He didn’t answer right away, one finger tapping the notebook. “Nothing concrete. A few threads that always lead to nowhere.”

“Tell me. Maybe I can help.”

Ernest shook his head slowly. “No. You’re right, it’s late. I should get some sleep.” He pushed back from the table, taking the notebook with him but leaving the books behind. “You coming?” he asked.

Moira could hear the tension in his voice. If she came, he wouldn’t sleep until she did. And she wasn’t tired. She shook her head.

“No. You go ahead. I’m going to stay up for a while.” She pulled one of the books toward her and opened to the table of contents.

He held still, hesitating.

“You can lock the door if it will make you feel more comfortable,” she said without looking up.

“Oh, I… that’s not what I was…”

She looked up at him, forcing a benign smile. “Ernest. It’s fine.”

He stood there awkwardly for a moment, looking at her. “Good night,” he said quietly.

He took the notebook into the bedroom with him and shut the door.

Moira tried to focus on the book in front of her, tried not to listen to the sounds of movement in the next room as he undressed for bed and brushed his teeth in the bathroom.

And when the lock on the bedroom door clicked into place, she tried not to let it wound her.

Ernest didn’t like it when she smoked, so she took her cigarettes out on the fire escape once it stopped raining.

The night was cold, the wind cutting straight through the shirt she wore.

It was one of Ernest’s and smelled like him, that musky peppermint scent that was so familiar, yet still made her heart skip a beat.

She blew smoke up into the air and shut her eyes, listening to the jazz band playing downstairs as she replayed her earlier conversation with Ernest. They had argued during dinner, not for the first time since she’d arrived.

The ease that had once existed between them had been eroded by time, leaving both of them tense, their trust in each other frayed. Especially his.

There existed three versions of her in Ernest’s mind, each of them tainted by the other two.

First there was Lisavet Levy, the girl he had fallen in love with.

The mother of the child he didn’t know he had.

Then there was the second version. Jack’s secretary.

The woman he had bought a ring for. The woman who had broken his heart.

And then there was her. The ruthless woman who had taken the job that was rightfully his and worked against the rebellion he’d led for five years.

That woman, he hated, as much as he tried not to show it.

That woman was what had made him keep her at arm’s length.

Out on the fire escape, Moira stared down at the smoldering end of her cigarette, unable to bring herself to finish it.

He hadn’t forgiven her, and it was killing her.

He still loved her, but it was different from before.

He kissed her good morning and good night, but she could feel the wall between them.

That was somehow more painful than any of the other times she had lost him.

She flicked the cigarette over the railing in frustration.

This wasn’t productive, being here with him.

She was a distraction, keeping him from finding a solution.

She didn’t quite know how she felt about this plan of his.

To seal off the time space for good. She wasn’t sure if it was even possible, and if it was, what did that mean for their future?

Or for the past for that matter? The time space was the only safe place she’d ever known.

Would they be destined to live as fugitives?

It seemed as though her choices always came back to that, her happiness in exchange for a solution to her problems. She had always chosen the option that would result in the least destruction for those she loved.

The sound of the window opening made her look up. Ernest was climbing out to join her on the fire escape, looking like a horse with too many limbs as he contorted himself through the frame. He cleared his throat as he sat down on the stoop beside her.

“Cold out here,” he said, his voice gruff.

“I thought you went to bed.”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She looked away, wishing she hadn’t thrown her cigarette away. “Me either.”

He let out a long, steady breath. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For acting so… wounded.”

“You’re right to be angry with me. It’s okay.”

“No. It isn’t okay. I’m just…” He huffed again. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about you anymore. When I came to you that night, it was all so fresh. But here… I don’t know.”

She bit her lip and looked away. Then she said, “I shouldn’t have come.”

“Of course you should have come.”

“I’m only making this harder on you.”

“The alternative would have been worse. You would have been arrested for killing Jack. If you were killed when you could have been safe here with me, I never would have forgiven you.”

“What’s the difference?”

He looked at her helplessly. “I want to forgive you. Half of me already has. But it’s just…”

“Amelia,” she finished for him. “I understand. What was I supposed to do? I had already erased myself from your life when I found out I was pregnant. I did what I could… what I had to. For her.”

Ernest was slow to respond. “I get that. Deep down, I understand. You were alone. I shouldn’t fault you for the things you thought you had to do.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t wish it was different.

There is so much I regret. I feel so much guilt over everything that’s happened, believing that I could have done something more.

I could have saved you and Amelia from all this. ”