Page 9 of Stay with Me

Harrison had tried explaining the phenomenon to Sybil once. He alleged that something in the molecular makeup of the holy water—particles that moved at the smallest wavelengths—allowed it to defy the constraints of time and travel from one era to another.

As with everything else Harrison had revealed, the time-traveling of holy water was far-fetched. But she’d had no reason not to trust his word, hadn’t known how else to account for the mysterious appearances of holy water in places she’d already checked.

Even so, she’d remained skeptical... until today. After her experience with the time overlaps, she had to put any remaining doubts aside and embrace the possibility that someone in the past had supplied the holy water to them in the present. If it’d been done before, could she find a way to have holy water deposited again—this time in Reider Castle for Dawson? Or in the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral where other flasks of holy water had shown up?

Was it feasible she could taste another drop of the holy water from the test tube, set the man in the dungeon free, and ask him to do this favor for her?

Her heart raced forward at even the hint that she could orchestrate a miracle for Dawson.

“Don’t want to push you, Sybil.” Acey was studying her.

“I’ll work it out.”

“You sure?”

Was she sure? “No. But I’ll give it a go anyway.” Sybil crossed her arms and stared at Dawson’s bedroom door. Then, squaring her shoulders, she marched toward battle.

She didn’t bother knocking. She’d learned that when he was in a terrible state he wouldn’t answer. She’d end up talking to his rigid back. But for what it was worth, she owed it to both of them to have one last attempt at a conversation.

As she threw open his door, the blare of the TV and the stench of unwashed clothing greeted her. Except for the light from the fast-moving images on the screen, the room was dark.

She picked her way through piles of clothing and rubbish to the bed where he was sprawled out, his back facing her, his head buried in a pillow.

He’d always been a handsome man, with the same green eyes and brown hair a shade darker than hers. Tall and lanky, with beautifully proportioned features, he’d once been approached by a modeling agent. But Dawson had been too eager to run off and join in the war efforts to pay heed to anything else.

If only he’d never gone . . .

When she reached the edge of the bed, she lifted her boot and gave him a swift kick in his hindquarters.

He grunted but otherwise didn’t budge.

She flipped on the bedside table lamp. The glow brought to life even more of the chaos that surrounded Dawson—musty towels, crumpled mail, crushed beer cans. And a plastic bottle, tipped over, pills scattered around it.

She didn’t have to read the prescription to know what it was. His OxyContin.

He was only supposed to take the pain reliever as needed on the rare occasions his injuries became unbearable. Even after a dozen surgeries, four of them on his eyes, his body still bore painful scars from the blast that had killed three soldiers and injured both Acey and him.

She let her shoulders slump. She’d tried over the past few years to control his pain meds, had wanted to keep him from becoming another statistic among the growing number of opioid addicts. But it looked like he was headed down that path.

Dawson had always been a sensitive soul. As children, he’d taken their dad’s desertion hard. As they’d gotten older, he’d hated the danger of their mum’s job in counterterrorism and the toll the long hours had taken on her as a single working mother. When Mum had disappeared four years ago, he’d lost his lifeline and had slid into depression.

“For pity’s sake, Dawson.” She brushed a hand over his tousled hair the way their mother always had. “What have you done now?”

With heaviness settling deep inside, she expelled a sorrowful and unsettled breath. Maybe he wasn’t an addict yet, but he was probably close to it.

If that wasn’t fear enough, she lived with the dread that one day she’d come to his flat and discover he’d ended his life once and for all.

She couldn’t let that happen. She was the strong one and had to make sure he survived—any way she could. Even if that meant she had to resort to unusual methods, like getting her hands on the rare and coveted holy water.

It was worth a try for Dawson’s sake.

~ 5 ~

Had she left herself enough timeto accomplish her mission before Isaac arrived to begin another day of investigating the computer system?

Sybil glanced at the wall clock again. 2:00 a.m. or 0200 hours. If she slept for six hours after the overlap to the past similar to the last time, then she’d wake up at about 0800 hours. Most likely Isaac wouldn’t arrive until 0900 hours. She’d be awake by then and already working.

She settled herself more comfortably on the hospital bed, careful not to disturb the spot on her finger that contained the dampness of the holy water. She’d considered dripping the liquid directly onto her tongue. But in doing so, she risked dropping and shattering the test tube when she fell asleep or became unconscious or whatever happened during the overlap. Even though she’d nearly drained the liquid, she had to protect the tube and try for one more overlap after this one.

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