Penmort Castle (Ghosts and Reincarnation #1)(85)

At the reminder of her words, Abby went still.

Deciding to run the full gamut of personalities in the hopes of making him think she was insane which, she told herself at that moment, would be a good thing, she feigned confused innocence. “I did?”

“You did,” he returned firmly and she knew he saw through her completely.

“Well, I’d just –” she started to explain or, more honestly, lie but he cut her off.

“No, don’t,” he said and she felt his eyes remain on her briefly in the shadows before his face went into her neck and he repeated on a whisper, “Don’t.”

She closed her eyes tight but he continued speaking and what he said next did what she thought would happen earlier.

It splintered her soul into a million pieces, in one fell swoop, taking all her puny defences with it.

“I’ll wait, darling. We have all the time in the world.”

At these words, Abby’s mind erased.

As if someone else was experiencing it, she felt his lips touch the hinge of her jaw then his head came up. The heat of his eyes was on her and his thumb stroked her cheekbone before his mouth touched hers softly then he gently pulled out of her and exited the bed. He tugged the covers over her and walked across the room.

She saw a sliver of light come from the bathroom before the door shut.

Mind perfectly blank, she took hold of his pillow, curled around it, pressing her face to it and closing her eyes, willing herself into denial, telling herself she’d forget, he’d forget, what just happened didn’t happen, they’d move on from here.

Against her will, Cash’s deep brogue floated through her consciousness.

We have all the time in the world.

She closed her eyes tighter and Cash’s scent came to her from his pillow as it did every morning she curled into it after he left her. It wasn’t just his cologne, it was the scent of his hair, his skin, him.

We have all the time in the world.

Then she remembered.

She remembered something she’d pushed so deep, its resurfacing caused pain, like she was pulling barbed wire out of her heart.

After Ben was killed, after the police left, after she’d called Jenny, she’d walked in a fog up to their bed and curled into his pillow.

And she breathed in the scent of him.

She stayed there for over a day, until Jenny came to the front door. She didn’t answer the phone, she didn’t eat, she didn’t drink, she often slept but she only took herself away from the bed to go to the bathroom.

She simply remained curled around Ben’s pillow, eyes closed, mind blank, breathing in the scent of him.

It was the only physical thing she had left. Not one of his belongings, it was a part of him, still there, still within reach, still able to fill her senses.

Days later, when Jenny had Abby functioning again, Jenny had started to tidy.

In a panic, Abby had taken the pillowcase and rooted through the wash hamper, sorting bits and pieces that still held his essence, shoving them in a plastic bag and hiding them in a place Jenny couldn’t find them.

And when Jenny would go to the grocery store or out on an errand, Abby would go to their walk-in closet, get the bag and pull out the pillowcase or one of his shirts. Then she’d sit in the corner of the closet amongst her shoes, his shoes and other detritus that she always promised herself she’d organise, the tangled evidence of their lives together, and she’d breathe in his scent.

Eventually, Abby stopped doing this and when Jenny came years later to help her sort through her life, Abby knew she’d found the bag Abby hadn’t touched for years. She also knew Jenny had disposed of it without saying a word to Abby.

We have all the time in the world.

That wasn’t true. It was despicably, awfully, unfairly, completely not true.

They may have years.

They could only have hours.

Abby couldn’t do it again.

Never, never again.

Her battered heart beating wildly, her mind held hostage to a panic so extreme she couldn’t begin to control her actions and she didn’t try.

She threw the covers off the bed and launched herself from it. She snatched her panties from the floor and tugged them on. She turned on the light and ran from the room to the guest bedroom where Cash had put her four suitcases after she’d unpacked on Sunday.

She grabbed two and ran back into the room.

Zee was standing on the bed. Still somewhat uncertain of his new surroundings he’d chosen elsewhere to sleep the last two nights.

Now, for Zee, at Cash’s or on the moon, it was kitty breakfast time.

In a panic, Abby ignored her cat and threw a suitcase on the floor, one on the bed and she pulled it open.

In the flurry of Abby’s harried movements, Zee took off and Abby ran to the wardrobe, throwing it open, seeing her clothes neatly hanging next to Cash’s. That was something she’d struggled with Sunday when she’d hung them. Now it tore at her shredded heart.

But she didn’t stop.

Not even taking the clothes from the hangers, she grabbed handfuls of them and hurried back across the room, tossing them into the suitcase and going back. And back. And back.

The door to the bathroom opened and Abby, with an armful of t-shirts from the dresser, halted, as did Cash, just steps from the bathroom door.

His hair was wet and he was wearing nothing but a towel around his hips. His eyes moved from her, to the bed, back to her.