Until We Meet Again(46)

“Does it say what?”

“Does the newspaper say how I die?”

The question punches me right in the gut. It’s almost as bad

as telling him the first time. “Don’t make me…”

“I want to know.”

“I can’t.”

“Please, Cassandra. I have a right to know.”

It’s true. But even still, the words stick in my throat like

drying cement. “Murder,” I whisper. “It said murder.” The frightened look on his face crushes me.

“It doesn’t matter what it says.”

He gives a bitter, mirthless laugh. “How can it not matter?” “Because it’s not going to happen,” I insist. “You’re not destined to die this young. I refuse to believe that. I’ve given this a lot of thought. Maybe what’s destined is that I was meant to meet you on this beach. I was meant to find that article. Maybe that’s why I can see you. Because I’m supposed to save you.”

He processes the thought wordlessly.

“See? Then everything makes sense,” I say. “This summer,

before I met you, I was lost. I knew something was missing in my life, but I had no idea what. Now I know. I came to this awful house so that I could meet you and save your life.”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Lawrence says carefully.

“It’s the only explanation that fits! But even if it wasn’t true… Even if fate had nothing to do with it, I’m here now and I can save you.”

He sets a hand on my cheek, his eyes intense. “You really think so?”

I press my hand over his. “I do.” I sound more confident than I feel, but I want to give Lawrence hope. We both need that.

He’s silent.

“You don’t have to believe me just yet,” I say softly. “But will you at least let me try?’

“I suppose I can’t stop you.”

“Not really, no.”

The corner of his mouth turns up in a half smile. “I think you might be a little crazy, Cassandra.”

“A little?”

He laughs. “Okay, a lot.”

“That’s more like it.”





Chapter 18





Lawrence


t’s Saturday morning. I’m supposed to die on the fifth.

I



I have seven days to live.

The thought strikes me the moment I open my eyes. What a

way to wake up! Though frankly, I’m amazed I slept at all. I’d

given up lying in bed at around one in the morning to sit out

on my balcony, listening to the waves.

I’ve already run through the gamut of emotions—fear, sorrow, rage, disbelief, despair, punctuated with fierce stabs of

hope. I have to trust that Cassandra can do what she thinks

she can. This “Internet” they have in her time can give her vital

information. And in this case, information is everything. We

have the advantage of her being able to find out exactly what

will happen to me before it occurs. That fact alone makes me

think I might just have a chance. A chance to beat this. I dress

quickly, eager to see Cassandra.

Ned is having breakfast on the deck with Aunt Eloise, who came to check in on her poor, lonely bachelor brother. It’s warm

and brilliantly bright outside. The wind carries the scent of sea

and grass. I breathe it in, and it takes everything in me not to

run out there right now. But Cassandra and I have agreed to be

extra cautious to keep from arousing any suspicion.

Ned glances up from his paper as I sit. We’ve been on frosty terms ever since New York, though I can see he’s trying his best

to gloss over it. Eloise daintily pecks at her grapefruit, gabbing about what she’ll wear to the party that Ned’s throwing here next Saturday night. My attention jolts at her words. One

week. That’s the night I’m supposed to die.



“Oh!” Aunt Eloise says. “Morning, Lonnie. You dear boy.”



“Good morning,” I smile, quickly nodding to her. “Lovely to see you, Aunt. Now, what’s this I hear about a party?”

Eloise beams. “Hasn’t Ned told you? It’s a big gala for your

uncle’s business. Some big mortgage, right, Ned?”

“A merger,” Ned says with a chuckle. “You remember me

telling you about it, Lon. We’ve finally sorted things out with

Cooper Enterprises.”

“Swell,” I say, my mind spinning over this news. A party on

Saturday night. I’m certain that’s where it will happen. Someone

at the party means to kill me. Unfortunately this opens up the

list of possible suspects dramatically.

“Any fun plans today, Lonnie?” Eloise asks, sipping her tea.

“Meeting up with your friend Charles? Or maybe our dear Fay?”

Ned’s gaze flickers up, but when I meet it, he looks back at

his paper.

“I’m not sure,” I say, pouring myself some coffee.

“You should. She’s been missing you, you know.” Eloise