by J. Smith
“Of course, Doctor,” he responded, cautious to keep his nerves at bay. If his boss thought he had anything more than a professional interest in Jenna, there is no way he would be allowed to stay on her case. He could not lose her as a patient, for the claim of doctor over patient was truly the only realistic claim he had on her. And he was not willing to relinquish that as of yet. “What other interest would there be?”
“Miss Wilson is a very lovely woman,” Dr. James suggested, watching the young resident closely for any sign of emotion.
“A fact that Dr. Charleson made very clear at the meeting,” he replied with squared jaw, looking his boss straight in the eye, the model of resolute professionalism.
With a deep breath, Dr. James allowed, “Alright, Doctor. Be careful. Take good notes.” With a parting nod, he left the room.
He waited until he heard his boss's footsteps fade away down the hall before turning back to Jenna. “Looks like we got approval to be lab partners on our little experiment, Miss Wilson,” he said in a playful tone, gathering up his supplies. “Now you just make sure to do your part and wake up. After all, you want me to get a good grade, don't you?”
15 LET THE DREAM BEGIN
It was early morning, but Omid knew Erik would not be asleep. The ghost rarely rested, which was one reason why he was so successful at haunting the opera house. He moved about and caused his mischief when respectable souls were sleeping. Then again, since Erik thought himself devoid of a soul, Omid supposed it was fitting. He brought with him a bag of fresh pastries, since he was also certain Erik would not have thought to provide Jenna breakfast, most likely expecting her to subsist for days on fumes like he was wont to do.
Fully expecting Erik to be composing or even out and about in the opera house, he was surprised to see him sitting in the leather chair, a book in his hand, and several strewn on the floor around him.
“Erik,” he said, a bit taken aback. “What are you doing?”
“I would have assumed,” his friend began, not even looking up from the page he was perusing, “that since you observe a book in my hand, you might have surmised that I was reading.”
“You're in my chair!” Omid exclaimed, in mock outrage.
Turning the page he had just finished scrutinizing, Erik replied, “I do admit, Daroga, you've spent more time in it lately than I have. But, it still remains my chair.”
“What has got you so enthralled?” He pressed, discounting the fact that Erik was completely ignoring him. “It's not like you to toss your belongings about like this,” he waved his hand, indicating the books all over the floor.
“I am trying to find some information on our guest's predicament,” Erik informed, finally looking up, “so as to help her get home.”
Omid looked at him incredulously, “So you are sending her back to the mental hospital?”
“What?!” Erik was taken aback, and startled into looking at the Persian. “NO! As it turns out, Daroga, Jenna is not a mental patient after all.”
“Are you sure?” Omid raised an eyebrow at him. “Then why is she here?”
“She is actually a time traveller from the 21st century,” he said, in total seriousness.
“Really,” Omid said, impassively. “Well, Erik, it is good to know that Jenna is sane—especially since you have obviously decided to let go of your already tenuous grasp on reality.”
“I know it seems crazy, Daroga,” Erik began, rolling his eyes and letting loose a heavy sigh. “But is it really so impossible? There have been tales of time travel from the very earliest of ages. I found mention of it in a Hindu myth dating back to 700 BC, and countless instances after that in the legends of many different world cultures—from the Celts to the Japanese to the Hebrew to the Norwegians. They all boast tales of time travel.”
“But that's just it, Erik,” Omid interjected. “They are tales. Fictional stories and myths.”
“True,” Erik agreed. “But when something is so much a part of the collective consciousness, doesn't it at least allow for the possibility that it could happen?”
“What made you all of a sudden start believing this, Erik? A few nights ago, you were completely convinced she was bereft of her sanity.”
“The other night, Daroga,” Erik began, “we were outside by the marsh. She…” Erik hesitated, as if what he had to say next was difficult for him. “Ran from me…but she was almost hit by a carriage.” Omid was surprised to see a look of abject terror in Erik's eyes as he said this. “When she saw it, Daroga, she knew something was wrong, and she told me her fears. She asked me the date and when I told her, she said that she was from the year 2014.”
“And that's when you decided she wasn't crazy?” asked Omid, shaking his head.
“I know we believed her mad. But I'm telling you, Daroga, she is not crazy. There's something in her eyes…”
Omid raised an eyebrow at Erik and asked, suspiciously, “Since when do you spend so much time looking in a woman's eyes?”
“We know Jenna is not from here,” Erik continued quickly, completely avoiding Omid's question. “And she speaks of things—things that seem so strange and wonderful—things that don't exist, and yet I wish they did. If she is not from the future, then she is a genius and a visionary. But…” Erik paused briefly, “I believe her, Daroga. And I have been trying to figure out how she may have traveled here and how I might help her get back to her own time.”
Omid studied his friend closely. It was strange to see not the least bit of cynicism in his expression. Things with Jenna had certainly changed over the past few days. “Well,” he asked, realizing he was not going to beat Erik, so he might as well join him. “Are you having any luck?”
Erik shook his head, a look of disgust coming over his face. “Not unless she was transported by fairies, enchanted by a harlequin, or visited by a guardian angel.” He closed the book he had been holding with a huff. “It is all so maddening! The idea of time travel is so widespread, but understanding how it might be possible is proving harder than I thought. As much as I allow there could be something to the universality that the concept, it is also universally explained in ridiculous, fairy tales. I'm going to have to consider this further if I am to discover something that could be useful to Jenna.”
“Erik,” Omid began carefully, “Could it be that she is mad? Not every insane person is a lunatic. There are many who could pass as rational. There are even,” he added, knowing that he was treading on dangerous uncharted territory, “those that are beautiful.”
“This has nothing to do with her beauty, Persian!” Erik barked. “It has to do with the fact that she needs my help, and I am trying to give it to her. Just like Christine.”
“Oh yes, the singing seamstress.” Omid rolled his eyes.
Erik decided to take a deep breath and ignore the Persian's impertinence, even though his fingers were tingling again. “The only thing I can deduce is that Jenna's time travel had something to do with water. She drove into the river in her time and wound up here by the lake. I don't think that can possibly be insignificant.”
Omid chuckled to himself a moment before earning himself a glare by declaring, “I would hope not! Otherwise, your ideas are all wet.”
Jenna was back on her warm, cozy cloud, but suddenly, her arm, was freezing. She looked down to see soft little snowflakes alighting onto her skin, lingering the briefest of moments before dissolving into dew. She shivered against the cold, and with a flutter, opened her eyes. She was, of course, in the spare bedroom, surrounded by the pillows and blankets of the lush feather bed. Her arm had come free during her sleep, however, which would account for the chill that had woken her from the dream. She absently wondered if Erik had ever rebuilt the fire, and was mildly disturbed to find that the mere thought of him was making her feel warmer already. “I must still be half dreaming,” she admonished herself, as she threw off the covers and walked over to the armoire to select a new dress to wear for the day.
When she left the bedroo
m, Jenna was surprised to see Erik and Omid huddled together over one of his books, talking in hushed tones. “Good morning,” Jenna called out to them, with a smile.
“Good morning, Jenna!” Omid greeted her warmly, rushing over to her and giving her hand a quick peck in greeting. “I trust you slept well?”
“Quite!” She nodded and smiled sweetly at him.
“Splendid!” he exclaimed, with a bright smile. “I brought you some breakfast, because, considering Erik's lack of enthusiasm for food,” he gestured toward Erik with his head, “I thought if I hadn't, you might starve!”
Jenna looked over Omid's shoulder and caught Erik's gaze. While he was not as ebullient as his Persian friend, she did notice a slight upturn of his exposed lip and a sparkle in his eyes that she found electrifying. When Jenna did not comment on the offer of breakfast, and her glance at Erik lingered a moment too long, Omid raised an eyebrow, saying, “I'll just go make some coffee to go with these, and then we can all sit down to eat.” He made his way to the kitchen as he contemplated the information his friend had given him earlier, as well as the looks on Erik and Jenna's faces when they regarded one another. He almost felt as if he suddenly had ceased to exist as they'd gazed at each other from across the room.
Erik rose from his reading chair and slowly closed the distance between himself and Jenna. The moment she had emerged from the bedroom, a strange, fluttery feeling appeared in his chest, and Erik was surprised to realize that he was happy to see her. Not breaking her gaze, Erik asked, “Do you like coffee in the morning, Jenna?”
“I'm a nurse who often works twelve to sixteen hour shifts,” she smiled. “I live for it!”
He raised his exposed eyebrow to her and asked, “Do they make coffee from bags in the 21st century too?”
Jenna remembered her mishap from last night and giggled, “Well, actually, some do. Some even use these little plastic things called pods too,” she chuckled at Erik's horrified expression. “But that's not how I brew it,” she assured him quickly. “I like freshly ground beans, myself.”
“Agreed!” he sighed in relief. “I'm hoping you like your coffee strong, for that is how the Persian makes it.” Erik rolled his eyes. “Of course, that should prove useful, since I'm sure he will be prattling on about something this morning. I always find I need extra help staying awake when he does.”
As Jenna laughed at his joke, she remembered their playfulness from the night before. She looked down a little, suddenly bashful as she recalled the feelings his song had awakened in her. When she did, though, she suddenly felt Erik's long fingers brushing her forehead.
“Jenna, what did you do?” Erik asked, his tone cold.
She looked back up at him, confused, “What do you mean, Erik?”
“Did you think I was not going to tend to them?” Frustration entered his voice, laced with a hint of disappointment, as his hand returned to his side. “I know I was distracted last night, preparing for my lesson today with Christine, but I also assured you I had not forgotten your needs. “
“Erik,” Jenna asked again, still perplexed by his sudden shift of mood. “I don't understand.”
“Did you not trust me to keep my word?” the frustration was growing more heated, now, and Jenna saw Erik's temper begin to flare right in front of her eyes.
“Erik!” She spoke his name loudly, trying to get his attention back on her, and not on his brewing irritation. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“Your stitches, Jenna. They're gone.”
“Mrrreeeoooowww!” Red the cat crawled over to him and bopped him in the head, rubbing his cheek against his forehead and kneading the mattress as he did so. “Red!” The doctor chuckled, as he stroked the cat's soft yellow fur, immediately eliciting a happy purr out of the cuddly animal. “I am trying to research ways to bring Jenna back to us, you know!” When the precocious feline proceeded to climb onto the book that was open in his lap, the doctor added, “You're not helping, Red!” Purr, purr, purr, was the feline's only response.
Knowing that reading time was over, at least for the moment, he lifted Red up into his arms and cuddled the cat while thinking about Jenna. “What's she like, Red?” he asked the animal absently. “Is she as sweet as she is beautiful? Does she like candies and chocolates? What's her favorite flower? What kind of music should I play for her? I've got to find someway to reach her. The books all say to try somewhat unpleasant stimuli to draw her back into consciousness, and if I have to, I will. But, really, Red,” he said, looking directly at the cat's face. “Do you think she'd enjoy a drop of Tabasco sauce on her tongue? Or the smell of ammonia near her nose? Yuck. There have got to be better ways to reach her. I want to make her want to come back to me, not shy away.
“No, Red,” The doctor continued, as he saw Jenna's face in his mind. “I don't want her to shy away from me at all. I want her to look at me with those amazing eyes, and I want her to run to me, and throw her arms around me, and kiss me…” He shuddered a little at the thought, and then sighed. “I'm a mess, Red. I want her to love me, when she doesn't even know my name. I know that's crazy. But I want it anyway. I want her anyway.”
He looked over at the clock on his bedside table and realized that it had gotten quite late. He gave Red one last cuddle and placed him down on the bed. He went into the bathroom for his nightly routine and then returned to fall into bed and shut out the light.
When his eyes closed, she was beside him in his dream. They were walking hand in hand along a riverbed and the light was dancing in her strawberry blond hair. They whispered lovers’ secrets to one another and laughed with joy, knowing at that moment, there was no one else in the world but each other and nothing more important than their love. Soon, they came to a blanket laid out on the mossy shore, and they sat down for a picnic in the sun. They dined on crusty breads and fine cheeses, and fed each other grapes and berries for dessert, their lips mingling in wine flavored kisses. When he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “I love you, Jenna,” she kissed him, deep and full on the mouth, as if in an answering declaration of love. Their kiss ignited a blaze between them, and as they lay back, removing troublesome articles of clothing, he knew that nothing before in his life had ever felt so right. They made love to each other, on their blanket in the sun, the rush of the river mingling with the moans of their desire. And as that wave of passion finally broke over Jenna's body, she cried out his name as she clung to him, her arms tight around his back.
He awoke in a sweat, startling Red off the bed. He was breathing heavily and raked his hands through his hair. Yes, he thought, there was no longer any doubt. He was a complete and utter mess.
16 A NEW PET
“I should definitely bring you on my errands more often, Jenna,” Omid said, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “You make shopping much more fun!”
Jenna laughed and smiled up at Omid. “It was a lot of fun, Omid,” Jenna agreed. “Thank you for the treats,” she said, gesturing to the bag of sweet dessert items on which he had splurged for her at the patisserie, after noticing how much she'd enjoyed the pastries from breakfast. Just in case Erik once again forgets to cook, Omid had told her. Or to eat.
Omid had been unceremoniously kicked out earlier that afternoon by a very frustrated Erik, for “prattling on obsessively over nonsense,” as Erik put it. Realizing that Erik was trying to work on his lessons for Christine, Jenna had volunteered to go along, to give him some peace and quiet. Erik initially protested, saying that it was far too dangerous for her to be out and about in a big city. Jenna had balked, reminding Erik that she was from New York and insisting that she could handle the city. Erik had then threatened the Persian to within an inch of his life if any harm should come to her, but finally relented that it might be a good idea for Jenna and Omid to go out for the afternoon.
The sights and sounds—and smells—of nineteenth century Paris had been a bit overwhelming for Jenna at first, but once she got used to the rumble of buggy wheels replacin
g of the honks of taxi horns, the city began to remind her of home. Bright colors swirled everywhere, as merchants standing by covered carts hawked their wares loudly in the streets. From baguettes to bouquets, household necessities to fanciful baubles, it seemed one could find anything on the congested Parisian streets. Jenna began to feel a sense of excitement and adventure as she explored the unfamiliar marketplace with Omid, who used his good-natured humor and adept navigational ability to guide them expertly through the strange, overcrowded streets. By the time they had stopped for a late lunch at a sidewalk cafe, Jenna found herself quite enjoying the experience of strolling Victorian Paris.
Still, as the shadows grew long and the daylight began to dim, Jenna found she was quite relieved to once again be approaching the Palais Garnier. She was very ready for Omid to lead her back down to the quiet stillness of Erik's lair, so she could rest her feet and relax after her eventful day. Perhaps Erik would even make her another cup of tea. She smiled once again at the memory of their previous evening.
“Meeeerrrroooow,” came the tiny cry at Jenna's feet, and she looked down to see a fluffy Siamese kitten with creamy white fur, gray nose and ears, and bright blue eyes looking up at her.
“Ohhh,” Jenna gasped, and bent down to pet the kitten, shifting the bouquet of fresh blooms she had gotten from the flower cart into the crook of her arm. “Hello,” she said in a sweetly hushed tone, reaching out to stroke the kitten's creamy fur. Suddenly she remembered her dear Red. How she missed his soft yellow coat and his low rumbly purr. She felt a tear spring to her eye as she hoped that he was being cared for.
The kitten purred at Jenna's attention and rubbed her cheek against Jenna's hand. “Oh, Sweetie, do you have a home?” Jenna continued to speak kindly to the fluffy feline.
