The Other Side of Anne (13 page)

Anne’s stomach fluttered, and her heart hammered. Her insides were akimbo, and she loved the feeling.  This was happening. This was really happening.
She would be with Avery. She would love a man again. She would have to eradicate her walls completely, let that man in, lose herself in him. The prospect had never more appealed to Anne.

“I understand your perspective,” Avery went on. “I think the benefits outweigh the cons. We can try. I would like to. My concern is that
I will fall in love with you, and you will find you do not care for me. In any case, that is a risk I have to take.”

Anne had not imagined Avery being scared. “I would not do that to you,”
she said gently. “I care for you too much to hurt you like that.”

“Can’t control love and feelings.”

“I would not do it,” Anne said with finality.

“We could start
tomorrow night,” Avery whispered. “What do you think?”

Anne imagined running her hands through Avery’s hair.
Clutching herself to his back as he entered her. She and Avery teetered on a precipice. They could ruin a perfectly nice friendship.

“Tomorrow sounds lovely,” Anne said.

**

On the drive home, doubts plagued Avery. Good for Anne, taking a step forward—but what if their try at a relationship blew up in their face? Only one way to find out, though.

A stack of library books on the Victorian era, his birth era, awaited him on the nightstand. He had been retrieved two days before Queen Victoria’s death and had been avoiding the books, but no time like the present to get started. He got ready for bed, made himself comfortable and re-read the “Overview” copy from his file, which he had gotten when he and Anne went to Pegasus for testing.

The History Project (in the persons of Charles Paul Franklin and Bella Lucrezia Franklin, from 1972) retrieved Newborn Boy Zero (thereafter referred to as NB0) on Sunday, January 20, 1901, in the Whitechapel area of London. The infant weighed three pounds and five ounces. He was found next to his biological mother, who had the appearance of being approximately thirteen or fourteen years old. The mother probably died while delivering her placenta. The child was cold to the touch and presumed to be dead as well, but a faint pulse was detected.

N
B0 was transported to modern times, where with the treatment of a doctor and proper nourishment, he thrived. He has given no sign of being abnormal, and history seems the same as it has been. As of this writing, NB0, now Time Traveler Zero (thereafter referred to as TT0), has been in modern times for

Avery groaned and slipped the paper back in the file. He plucked the top book on the Victorian era and started reading. Infant mortality back then had been high because of, among other things, poor nutrition and diseases, including diarrhea-related diseases. Life mortality in general was abysmal. Health care for some people was nonexistent, and for other people, such as the rich, health care was misguided and dangerous. Many doctors had no idea what they were doing.

My poor mother
, Avery thought. What a bleak life she must have led, this thirteen or fourteen-year-old girl. Even Edward Tudor had outlived her.

Avery ached for Anne. For the feel of her arms around him.

**

Anne
opened her door late that night and let Avery in. When he had called saying he needed to see her, she told him to come over. No reason to ask why. She had heard the loneliness and grief in his voice. Sometimes questions proved extraneous.

They stared at each other a horrible moment, and he kissed her. His mouth was hot, searching, sad and dangerous. Anne pressed her body into Avery’s, deepening the kiss. She broached no protest when Avery’s hands sought and then undid the buttons of her shirt. And then her bra.

“Wow,” Avery said
, drinking in her chest. “You’re exquisite.”

“You are kind to say so.”
Anne had never liked her breasts; her chest was much like a man’s. But Avery’s awed expression made her smile. What would Avery think of the rest of her body? Not much in the way of curves. Knobby knees. Indeed, how could this be the woman Henry VIII threw England over for?

Avery used his tongue to rouse Anne’s nipples
. And something else inside her too, a melting sweetness. He pressed her up against the wall, and she moaned. Dug her nails into his back. He yanked her pants down, and she welcomed him inside her. This joining would be brief, she knew. And that was okay. Anne melted, and then exploded, Avery filling her world and her body.

The night of April 21, 1509

Benjamin Franklin studied the sleeping young man. Teenager, really, for the young man was seventeen years old. Tomorrow, this man-child’s father would die, and the young man would become king of England. Soon after, he would marry his brother’s widow, and they would be crowned together. Benjamin knew exactly what to do. This was exactly how Benjamin would make amends with Anne if he was still alive in modern times when she saw him at her execution.

Benjamin would take this man instead of taking Anne’s daughter. Anne was right to let Elizabeth remain where she was. What kind of life could Elizabeth have in modern times, especially if she had severe fading issues and was confined to the Pegasus building? That would not do. Besides, Benjamin had no enthusiasm for bringing more people from the past forward. Anne had been more trouble than she was worth, and undoubtedly others would be too.

This young man would be okay to bring into the future. Not as he was now, of course. No, Benjamin would bring him later. Much later, in the waning days of January 1547, when the man was fifty-five years old and several days before death. At that point, according to history books, he would be bedridden and so feeble he was incapable of bringing water to his own lips. Benjamin would bring him forward and let Anne have her revenge on him. He would show her that Dr. Benjamin Franklin was not the bad man Anne believed him to be. Anne, not her husband, would have the last say, and Benjamin grinned. He could not wait to see Henry’s shock at seeing his long-dead wife alive, her head intact.

The young man was beautiful
in his deep sleep, and even in the darkness, he reminded Benjamin of Mika. She was one of several women he visited regularly. He was a man, with the needs of a man. Mika moved with sensual grace, and she did things with her body and tongue that none of the women in Benjamin’s first time dared dream of. Benjamin had hated to stop the visits after his fades started. Once they had been figured out, he eagerly returned to Mika. He thought perhaps he was in love. He wanted to ask her to marry him, but logic told him such a match would fail. She would eventually become a nagging wife, would ask too many questions, and he would be forced into the embraces of other women.

He longed sometimes to bring back Deborah, his wife. She was plain and not exciting. But she was home, she was a part of home. She knew what he liked for supper and that he liked
his clothes and shoes just so. She would help him not be so lonely sometimes.

Benjamin shook his head. No bringing Deborah back. She would not cope well in modern times, and besides, his life now consisted of the pursuit of knowledge. Benjamin refocused on young Prince Henry
sleeping below him. Benjamin had a gun on him. Mace and several knives too. Bringing protection was simple common sense, but Benjamin wondered what would happen if he shot Henry right now, shot him through the heart. Would Benjamin change history? He was thoroughly in command of one fact: when he was in his natural time, he could not change history. Something innate compelled him to do things no matter how hard he tried to countermand the compulsion.

However, he felt his future as of right now
remained unfixed. So in this way, he could change history. Maybe. He was ninety-nine percent certain that if he wanted, he had the free will to send a bullet through the heart of this seventeen-year-old slumbering heir to the throne. The two questions that remained: Did Benjamin dare try? And if he killed Henry, would the galaxy collapse on itself?

He was intensely, horribly curious to find out. He was so curious he had practiced shooting a dummy back in 2012.

Benjamin Franklin drew out the gun for the job. Would the universe somehow stop him? Would Henry rise up and attack him, or would the gun not fire? It was top of the line and had never failed.

Benjamin did not let himself think any more. He was left handed, but he had practiced loading the gun enough times so that it was second nature. He opened the cylinder and used himself to anchor the gun. He inserted the bullets and let the speedloader fall
. He swung the cylinder closed and jiggled it to ensure it was properly in line with the barrel. Darkness shrouded the room, but Benjamin’s night vision had adjusted enough so that he knew where to shoot. He positioned himself but kept his finger off the trigger.

One. Two. Three.
Benjamin pressed down on the trigger.

N
othing. No bullet. Henry lived.

Benjamin hazarded another try. Nothing. So, the gun that had never failed to fire was failing now. Universe prevention, indeed. Benjamin unloaded the gun and replaced it. He got the knife most suitable for the job. He had pr
acticed knifing dummies in 2012 too. He wrapped both his hands around the handle of the knife. He plunged the knife down, and then...

And then...

Thank goodness Benjamin wore a protective, padded vest to absorb the blow, for the knife was in him. In the vest, rather. Prince Henry shouted a mess of incomprehensible words, his red hair stood up in tufts, and Benjamin had his answer.

There is one absolute tim
eline.

This had always happened. Prince Henry had always been aware a man watched him on this night, Henry had been tensed and ready for the attack, and he had driven the attacker’s own knife into the attacker’s body. The attacker had made no grunts of pain, and there had been no
blood. And then the attacker mysteriously disappeared before Henry’s shouts brought his men. Perhaps the attack was attributed to a dream or hallucination.

Benjamin fumbled in his pocket for the red button on Aries. “See you in 1547,” Benjamin said. “Watch out, hmm? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.”

In the morning, Avery wanted to kiss every inch of Anne’s body, and he proceeded to do just that. He spent extra time and care on Anne’s pussy, prompting groans from her when he moved on.

“Nooo, Avery. Go back.”

Avery grinned. “I will later.”

“Soon later or quite later?”

“Medium later. Unless you keep whining. Then definitely quite later.”

Anne laughed. “Come here.”

Avery went into her arms, and they kissed luxuriously, no rush about it. Somehow, Anne ended up on top, riding him. “This is fun,” Anne said. “Better than riding horses.”

“I agree.”

“Is this okay?” Anne asked. “Am I okay?”

“You’re very okay.”

“Are you scared?” Anne’s voice was suddenly somber, breaking Avery from his decadent thoughts.

“I’m...are
you
okay?”

Anne hesitated. “I am not sure.”

“Why?”

“
I am happy here with you. My heart is full. Something bad will happen.”

“Don’
t think that way or you’ll make it a self-fulfilling prophecy.” Truth was, though, Avery knew he was crazy to get involved with a woman dead since 1536. A woman with this crazy history, a woman with fades. But here they were, and Avery was falling in love with Anne. “Let’s forget about this shit,” Avery said. “You deserve to be happy. Want to sit on top of my face?”

“Ahh.” A gleam returned to Anne’s gaze.

“Yeah. Ahh.”

**

Afterward, Anne rubbed the bare skin of Avery’s back and shoulders. She wanted to tell Avery that she truly was scared because she was in love like never before. That could not be good. Anne did not deserve to be happy like this, not when she had disregarded her stepdaughter Mary so.
You deserve to be happy. You know it. Forgive yourself for what you have done and move on. This is your new life.

“What are you thinking about?” Avery asked.

“Mary, my stepdaughter.”

“What about her?”

Anne shook her head. “I need to tell you something,” she said. “In case I fade and do not return.”

“Anne, don’t talk like that.”

Anne could deny her heart’s anguish no longer. “Your father was the best thing that happened to me because he saved my life, and I met you. I love him, and I love you. I am very much in love, and at the same time I know I cannot be because I hardly know you. I am in love with the newness and the thrill.” Anne’s senses spun. She was being foolish, but she pressed on. “I just wanted you to know. In case I go away and do not return. I think I
do
love you. Whatever love is.”

Avery did not answer right away, and Anne felt stupider.

At last, he sighed. “Well, that was...look, Anne, you’re right. Who the hell knows what love is?” He took her hand, and heat rippled under Anne’s skin at the intensity in Avery’s gaze. “Sometimes you
know
something. I knew with Mandy. And you’re the second person I
know
with.” Avery grinned. “Maybe we’re making a big mistake, but maybe we can figure out this love thing together. I love you too. We will be okay.”

**

The rest of the day passed like a dream, and the next morning found Anne back at Starbucks for her shift.

“Good weekend?” Rosemary asked.

“Yes. I spent it with
him
.”

Rosemary cocked an eyebrow. “You took my advice.”

Anne giggled. “I did, and we are divine together. I thank you.”

Rosemary left at six o’clock, and Anne
daydreamed until shift’s end. Nate followed her home, hanging back discreetly, and Anne was sick of him. Sick of waiting for a fade to seize her to her death. She was eager to start her life with Avery, but perhaps first she should die.

Anne locked her
apartment door behind her and sat. A whisper in her gut said:
The end is here. You are brave enough to die.
If she still had the power to fade of her own will, she should take advantage of it. See the execution through and, hopefully, stabilize in modern times. Then no auspices of doom would linger over her, and she would force Nate and Pegasus to leave her alone. No stalkers, thank you very much.

Terror choked Anne, and she
fumbled with her cellphone to call Avery for a last goodbye.
No. Spare him.

Anne got in bed
. Nearly four years. She had waited for her death nearly four years. First, she had waited in a compressed period as the executioner from Calais kept being delayed. Then after the fades started, a new kind of waiting began.
Cause of death: gone crazy from waiting.

She could not breathe. Her heart raced, and she was dizzy, as if her air was cut off. She felt like someone was smothering her.
Panic attack?

A breath found her, then another. She reached for a sheet of paper and a pen. A just-in-case letter.

Avery,

I
n case I do not return, I wanted to say goodbye. Please do not be angry at me. I had to do this to start my life with you afresh. I would not endeavor this risk if I thought it would fail.

It will work.
It will. Out of death comes new life.

Anne was crying, and she set her pen down. She wiped her tears away with her shirt sleeve. This delaying had to stop.

1536. 1536. Please take me back. Take me back. Please, please. Now.

Nothing.

Anne’s heart fell.
Her escapades in the movie theater had robbed her of the power to control her fades. One would seize her someday, maybe in the middle of Starbucks, and—

Ah.
Anne was back, Anne was in 1536, with Kingston and her seven possible executioners.

**

“Speak your mind,” Kingston said.

Anne was strangely calm. She looked into the crowd, into the eyes of Englishmen and Englishwomen who brought food and their children. She felt the tangle of Avery
with her, their pillow talk, their kisses, their lovemaking. She filled her head with these good thoughts as the rest of her continued a preordained course. “Good Christian people, I am come hither to die, according to the law, for by the law I am judged to die, and therefore I will speak nothing against it.”
Good.
Her voice rang out strong and steady. “But I pray God save the king and send him long to reign over you. For a gentler nor a more merciful prince was there never, and to me he was ever a good, a gentle and sovereign lord. And if any person will meddle me of my cause I require them to judge the best. And thus I take my leave of the world and of you all, and I heartily desire you all to pray for me.”

Solemn nods from the crowd, and
dread smothered Anne.
Back. Bring me back. 2012. I want to go home.
But Anne knew, as she had known before she made this trip, there would be no going back this way.

She was right.
Her once-reliable power failed her, and she stayed exactly where she was in 1536.

She turned to the men behind her. Custom dictated that an executioner was to kneel and beg forgiveness from the person whose life he was about to take. Because of what Henry had done,
dressing seven men alike, this was not possible. “I forgive you freely,” Anne said to the men as a group.

Kingston gestured for her ladies to approach. The blindfold. Anne turned back to the crowd, hoping to find a friendly face. Someone pretty, or someone handsome. Someone worthy of being the last person she would see in this life. Who would be the last person, who would be...

Benjamin. He was there. Benjamin Franklin, gazing upon her with utmost sorrow. She had nearly overlooked him. He wore a wig, and his clothes fit the time. Dirt caked his face, but he looked about the same age he was in 2012. He saw her see him, and he flinched.

“Benjamin?” Anne said, and her heart soared high, so high she
flew with birds. Their songs and cries filled her ears.
My God. How? What does this mean?
The time machines...would he save her? Change history? Would he ensure she would avoid the utmost horror?

The blindfold was upon her, and then Anne had to kneel, and she said the words: “To Christ I commend my soul. Jesu, receive my soul.”

Avery. I love you.
His smile and laugh were a slideshow in Anne’s mind.

And then again: “To Christ I commend my soul. Jesu, receive my soul,” because as long as she was talking, the executioner would not part her head from her body.
Benjamin, please. Save me.
“To Christ I commend my soul. Jesu, receive my soul,” and then she felt a prick at her neck, a nothing prick really, and she was falling, no pain, no pain whatsoever. She saw shoes, dirty shoes, and she knew her head was separated from her body. After four years, the end had arrived.

Anne had researched whether severed heads were conscious after they were separated from their bodies. Conclusions were mixed, but at the very most, the
head would not be conscious longer than thirty seconds.

Shoes. Dirty shoes. Brown, tan, black. Yellow.

Charles. Bella. Benjamin. Mandy. Avery. George. Elizabeth.

I love you.

Anne Boleyn, queen of England, closed her eyes and died.