Another officer arrived with his partner and tased Connor a couple of times until he slumped on the ground on his side, the flimsy hospital gown blowing in the wind, making Mellie avert her eyes.
“Now that’s the way a man should be made.” The female officer nudged her partner. “Get a load of him, Danny,”
If Mellie thought magic were real, she’d say one of the museum sculptures came to life when the storm hit. He was so perfect, right down to the scars. The man had so many scars: the slashes on his chest, the hole in his hand and another in his shoulder and arm, not to mention all the other faded, jagged lines she could see.
“Too bad he’s crazy. That is one fine-looking man.” The female cop unabashedly admired Connor, and Mellie wanted to smack her. Of course she did; there she went, falling for a lunatic thief. Her brothers would laugh and pull the family together for an intervention of ditzy Mellie and her bad taste in men.
No, she didn’t care what happened to Connor. Even if he was almost too beautiful to look at. Easily over six feet tall, heavily muscled, with long black hair and dark lashes. The midnight eyes were closed, and she shivered, remembering how they’d looked into her soul. He had a six-pack deep enough that she could run her fingers in the ridges, nothing at all like rotten Greg, who played tennis but was skinny and thought muscled guys were idiots.
The cop named Jones rubbed his arm as he finished talking to someone on his phone. “Thirty days of observation at Mint Hill for you, buddy.”
“No, not there.” Horror filled Mellie, thinking of the pale green walls, the scuffed floor, and the smell.
“Let it go, miss. He needs help. Mint Hill is a good facility. They’ll see he gets the treatment he needs.”
Helpless, she watched them put Connor in the back of the car, none too gently, and slam the door. As the car pulled away, Connor woke, pounding on the glass. She turned in time to meet his eyes and heard him yell.
“Lass, doona let them take me. I beseech ye.” The car sped away. Mellie found a bench and sank down, head in her hands, shoulders shaking.
“Please. Not again.”
Had Connor spent the night drinking and wenching? Nay, from the way his head pounded like the sea against the rocks, ’twas at the very least a se’nnight, though there were no wenches in his bed. When he rolled over, reaching for a plump arse, he fell onto a cold floor and sat up blinking at the harsh light in yet another odd room.
Truly the almighty was punishing him for the great many sins he had committed during his score and eight years.
The room he found himself trapped in was small, the bed fastened to the floor. A small silver basin was empty, and there was a bowl he did not know the purpose of. Perchance to drink?
The water was cold to the touch, so he stuck his head in and drank deeply, only to hear laughter from the demons. Had they poisoned him?
“Get your head out of the toilet, McTavish. You piss and shit in there, dumbass.”
“Then where might I ease my thirst?”
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then kept rubbing it against his mouth and cheek. ’Twas verra soft. The man in white stomped over to the basin and turned a handle.
“From where does the water come?”
He turned it again, and the water stopped. When he turned the other handle, the water came out hot.
“How is the water heated?”
The man grunted and shut the door behind him, leaving Connor to turn the water on and off, over and over, trying to figure out from whence it came. And the light, ’twas brighter than a summer day, so much so that his eyes burned. No matter how he tried, he could not open the door; ’twas barred from the outside. To what end? Was he a prisoner? Hell was nothing like the priests preached—’twas cold and ugly, but there was no lake of fire nor demons peeling the skin from his bones. Mayhap they kept him here until ’twas his turn to burn?
Bars covered the window. Why was there a window in hell? Connor banged on the door.
“Do not imprison me. Burn me and be done with yer foul deed. Hell is not what I expected.”
The demons on the other side of the door chortled.
“Mint Hill is far worse than any prison or hell, McTavish. Now pipe down before we knock your ass out again.”
Odd; he did not feel dead. Connor dragged his arm across the corner of the bed. He bled. If he was dead, he did not think he would bleed—unless in this hell he was to be tortured? In the tales he’d learned from his father, there was always a way to escape the underworld, if the warrior was brave enough and strong enough. So he would escape, make his way back home, and live a better life. And then Connor would tell the priests they were daft. Hell was nothing like they said.
Three times a day, food was shoved through a metal opening in his cell. Though ’twas food unlike he had ever tasted. The demons said he was to call them “guards.” They did not like being called “demon”; they thought they were human, and while they looked human, why would the devil need humans as guards?
The clothing provided was finely woven yet ugly. The hose were called pants, and while soft, they were a dreadful yellow that made him think of heaving his guts after a long night of drinking. The pants stretched when he pulled them on and off, which made it easy to dress when the guards bellowed at him.
The shirt was the same color and fashioned from the same cloth. And the bedding for the small bed—it too was finely made, the sheets the gray of a stormy day. The walls were green, the ceiling pale blue, and the gray floor was cold under his feet. There was no hearth or fire, no tapestries on the walls and no rushes on the floors. ’Twas an ugly hell indeed.
TEN
Mellie opened the door to let Amy in, arms full of bags.
“Give me those.” She peeked inside. “You’re a good friend.”
Amy licked her lips. “Only the most delicious breakup food for my bestie. Cotton candy, giant Pixy Stix.”
“Perfect for cutting off the plastic ends and drinking…”
“Chocolate milk,” Amy finished for her.
“Tell me you have chocolate milk in there.”
Her friend grinned. “And lots more chocolate.”
Mellie unloaded the bags, spreading the booty out on the counter.
“You didn’t think I’d forget the trashy magazines, did you?” Amy held a stack of all the latest gossip rags and laughed. “I have lots of experience. We’ll get you through this breakup, no problem.”
She fanned the magazines out on the coffee table. “Now, tell me everything, and don’t leave anything out.”
“First I need a shower.” Mellie fingered the waistband of sweatpants that at one time had been navy but were now more of a faded bluish gray.
“I like the t-shirt.” Amy pointed. “Did I just roll my eyes out loud? It’s perfect.”
It was one of Mellie’s favorites. Though she’d been wearing the same thing for the past three days, and, with a discreet sniff, wrinkled her nose. Definitely a shower.
Amy was a good enough friend not to say anything, but Mellie needed to at least change.
“Go on, Mellie. Get a shower. I brought my comfy clothes too. I’ll change while you shower.”
Mellie poured a big glass of chocolate milk and took it with her to the bathroom. By the time she was clean and dressed in leggings and another t-shirt, this one proclaiming, My book boyfriend is better than your real boyfriend, Amy had straightened up the living room and was surfing through the channels, her hair in an old scrunchie, wearing a pair of shorts and a tee with a picture of Charlie Hunnam from Sons of Anarchy.
“Much better.” Mellie sighed as they clinked glasses, and she told Amy all about being dumped via social media.
“…so that’s what he did, and I haven’t heard from him since. Well, other than all the posts of him and Melinda looking like they’re madly in love.”
“Girl, you have got to quit going on social media and looking at him. You need to delete his contact immediately, block him, unfriend, unfollow, and
whatever else you have to do to erase his presence. Trust me, I’ve been there. You’ll feel better in the long run. Rip the bandage off and get it over with.”
Amy shook her head, and Mellie had to admit that her friend had a point, even if she had a tendency to scare men off, talking about their future and things they could do together over the next year, all on the first or second date. Was it worse to be ghosted? The guy fading away, or seeing all the social media crap? She hoped she would never have to personally compare the two to find out.
Unbidden, he popped into her thoughts: Connor. Who she’d found out was not her new coworker. Jacob had been confused because of the names. He thought Connor was the guy’s last name, not his first. Henry Connor showed up on time to start work, and the kids loved him. While Connor—her Connor, as she’d been thinking of him—was at Mint Hill for three more weeks. She shuddered.
“What’s wrong? Thinking about Greg again?” Amy handed her a family-size bag of peanut M&M’s and opened up a box of chocolate-covered Oreos, taking four.
“Let’s see what scary movies we can find to watch. I suggest an entire marathon until we either pass out into a sugar coma or bounce off the walls. Or we’ll scare ourselves silly and then we won’t be able to sleep and we’ll have to stay up all night. Sound like a plan?”
Grateful to have such a great friend, Mellie laughed. She and Amy always joked that they would be the ones to help each other move a body, no questions asked.
“No, I wasn’t thinking about Greg at this moment, believe it or not. I was thinking about my coworker— Never mind. He wasn’t really my coworker.”
“What you mean? You said that Connor guy was hired to tell the kids about medieval history, but was all scary and totally hot at the same time. And some kind of thief or something. What’s going on?”
Mellie couldn’t help but grin at her friend’s glee over the prospect of a new hot guy, even if said guy was currently under a psych eval.
“Turns out Connor was actually a thief. Mint Hill found several of the weapons from the cases that were damaged in the storm on him. Guess he’d taken them, probably thought he could sell them. And the coins they found… They were in mint condition from the fourteenth century. He was basically carrying a fortune in gold and other assorted coins.”
Mellie twisted a curl around her finger. “It’s a shame. He’s so good-looking and charming. There was something about him that made me want to say yes to everything. Which is a big part of my problem.”
The magazine pages fluttered when Mellie slapped her hands down on the table. “I am done with picking the wrong men. No more losers, workaholics, and guys who put their jobs first. For once, I want a guy who will put me first. Make me his number one, number two, and number three priorities. Is that too much to ask?”
Amy wiped her eye. “Not at all. It’s what we all want.”
They spent the rest of the evening watching scary movies, eating way too much junk, and laughing until they cried. Amy had the ability to say the most outrageous things that made Mellie laugh until her stomach hurt and tears ran down her face. Her friend was always working on a project, she had the best parties, and Mellie envied Amy’s ability to make friends wherever she went. While Mellie herself was a serious introvert who’d rather read than socialize. She found it difficult to warm up to people. It took a while, long enough the person who’d made the overture would move on, tired of her being so standoffish.
Her thoughts vacillated between Greg, the Fourth of July family party, and, of course, him. She’d tried to call once to find out how he was doing, but no one would give her any information. And every time Mellie swore she’d put him out of her mind over the past week, those blue eyes kept coming back to haunt her. The look of utter betrayal on his face as the cops took him away. It was late, almost four in the morning, when Amy woke up.
“Are you looking at more Greg pictures?” Amy yawned.
“Nope.” Mellie shut the laptop and hid it under a pillow.
Amy snatched it, put it up on the top of the bookcase, and piled blankets on top.
“No more looking at Greg and Melinda, the witch,” she called out from the kitchen as she rummaged through the cabinets.
“I think it’s time for Pixy Stix and cotton candy.”
“For breakfast?”
Amy laughed. “Breakup food doesn’t count. You can eat it whenever you want and the calories don’t count, so we better enjoy it while we can.”
“You’re right. Let’s chow.”
“So what are you going to do about the big family event?”
Mellie sat cross-legged on the couch. “I thought about coming clean and telling my family what was going on, but then I decided there was no way I was listening to my brothers and their wives’ pitying comments and platitudes about how I’ll find the right guy, blah blah blah. I’m sick and tired of all their crap, so I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago…I’m going to make up a boyfriend.”
When Amy didn’t tell her she was losing it, Mellie went on, the story unfolding before her as she created the perfect man.
“He lives in another state, a corporate attorney who works all the time, so we only see each other on weekends. I figure I can keep him in play for the next month, which will get me to the big family reunion, and suddenly the night before the event, I’ll say we had a big fight and broke up.”
“Absolutely brilliant.” Amy clapped, a huge grin on her face, a piece of cotton candy stuck to her nose. “In fact, it’s so brilliant I think I’m going to use the same thing with my sister. Do you know what she told me the other day?”
Mellie shook her head, and pixy dust went up her nose, making her sneeze.
“She had the nerve to tell me that I was too pushy and too demanding, and I needed to look back to the fifties to learn how to keep a man.” Amy waggled her eyebrows. “Can you believe it? What am I supposed to do, bring him slippers and his pipe and greet him at the door with a cocktail as I’m wrapped in plastic wrap?”
Amy shook her head, agitated as she paced around the living room, Oreo crumbs flying like rain.
“I don’t think so. If anything, he can have a cocktail waiting for me when I come home from a hard day at the office.”
Mellie raised her glass. They’d run out of chocolate milk and had switched to mimosas. She touched her glass to Amy’s. “To fake boyfriends. May they make us incredibly happy.”
They touched glasses, giggling until their sides ached.
ELEVEN
For a se’nnight, they held Connor in the cell before they let him out. And when the guards opened the door, Connor wished they had not, for the wretches he encountered…this place made him wish he had been a better man when he was alive.
Witless souls, some of the men harmed themselves, while others talked to the walls, and a few stared at nothing, never saying a word. There were those who babbled in a language he could not understand. And all of them had been judged and sent to hell for eternity.
The demons looked like men, though there were a few female demons as well. The women told him they were nurses, but when he’d stared at their bosoms, they bellowed that they were not wet nurses. The women made him swallow a small, hard object every day. They said ’twas a “pill.”
Connor did not know what it was made of; he only knew when he swallowed the foul pebble, it wasn’t long after he could no longer gather his wits about him. When he hid the pill, for four days straight, he could think, had almost remembered what was so important, when the guards caught him tossing a pill into the bushes outside and made him swallow the awful-tasting objects again.
Since then, they’d checked every day, forcing him to take the vile pill. He shuffled out of the room, down the hallway, into a great hall where the others gathered. In this place, he did not talk to anyone, for he found when he did, it made him feel he was losing his wits, reminding him of one of the men in the village where he had been born and raised.
The clan called the
man Big Ben, and he was kind and gentle. Though he was a huge man capable of great strength, he would not harm any animal or person, and would cry if he trampled wildflowers in the Highlands. There were many like him here.
One of the nurses favored his visage. He pleased the lasses well before he died, and whilst she had not succumbed, he could smell her interest, knew she found him pleasing. Mayhap in time she would tell him the path out of the underworld.
For he must escape, make his way home. Connor ached to smell the water, to feel the sun on his skin and the grass under his feet. What had happened to the sword and daggers he’d taken from the museum? And the gold Edward Thornton paid him? The pouch he carried about his waist was missing—had the guards stolen what was rightfully his?
The Englishman had honor. Connor respected him and wished the man had followed when the earth swallowed him on the battlefield. The Thornton brothers were fearsome fighters, and Connor knew with them by his side he could fight his way back to his home.
The woman at the museum, he remembered her name. Melissa. She was bonny, a lass he could make his wife, one who would give him babes, with her wide hips that beckoned a man to bed. But she had greatly offended him with her sharp tongue, calling him thief.
Connor could not tell if ’twas day or night other than by the tiny window in his cell. Maybe hell did not have a day and a night? The light was always a pale or dark gray.
He stood in line to fetch his food, as he had to do for every meal. The man in front of him was hunched over, gray hair sticking out from his head and mumbling to himself, reciting long strings of numbers, completely unaware of his surroundings.
The woman served the food to break his fast—’twas porridge, or oatmeal, as she called it. He winked at her and she turned pink. Another who might aid him. He would do whatever was needed to escape.
Beyond Time: A Knights Through Time Travel Romance Page 5
