by Amanda Paris
“That’s okay, I got it,” I said, taking it from him.
He put his hand on my arm.
“It’s cool, Emily. I’m not going to bother you. I’m just being polite. You know, like friends?”
“Oh, right,” I said, feeling horrible. What was wrong with me?
We boarded in silence. As it happened, my seat was next to his.
“I’ll trade with Zack, so you can sit with Annie,” he offered.
“No, Ben, it’s okay. Really,” I said, thinking that I was glad we’d come this far after the break up.
I didn’t want Ben to think I was completely heartless. And I realized that I did want to sit beside him. I missed Ben and could use some support—as long as it didn’t mean that he believed we were getting back together. I didn’t want to cause him more pain.
He looked at me and smiled, and I knew then that I wanted him in my life, no matter how things turned out with Damien. I missed his friendship too much.
We took our seats, and I stared out of the window, anxious to find the place in my dream. Even though we’d broken up, it felt right to sit next to Ben, as though I was touching both of my futures at once. It was impossible, I knew, but a strong feeling nevertheless.
We sat in silence for the first hour of the flight, neither of us bothering to watch the in-flight movie that had started. Eventually, he put his hand over mine, casually, as though to offer support.
“However this turns out, Emily, remember that I want your happiness,” he said, somehow sensing what I would do. I hadn’t told anyone but Ramona about my plans.
I wanted to tell him how much I loved him for saying that, but I knew it would be too cruel. I couldn’t tell him how I felt without opening the wound all over again.
We sat together for the duration of the flight. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep on his shoulder. I awoke sometime later with a start, waking up Ben in the process. I’d been dreaming of Damien, and we were in the woods again, running from Lamia and her guards. I’d not had this dream in a long time. I reached into my inner pocket for the rosary beads for comfort.
Not having grown up a Catholic, I was unsure what to say, but all of a sudden I felt the need to pray. Aunt Jo and I had attended some church services when I was young, but we hadn’t been back since Mom died over a year ago.
The only formal prayer I remembered was the Lord’s Prayer, so I said that, feeling the beads between my fingers.
“Deliver us from evil…” I murmured, not realizing I’d uttered the words aloud.
“Emily, are you okay?” Ben asked.
I didn’t immediately hear him.
“Emily?” he repeated.
“What? Oh, yes…yes, I’m okay. Just a little tired. Got a crick in my neck, that’s all,” I replied. I rubbed my neck and stretched for emphasis.
Ben called for a flight attendant, ordering us both some water.
“Is it hot in here, or is it me?” I said, reaching in my pocket for a rubber band to pull back my hair. My throat felt dry, and my heart raced.
For once, I was grateful for the water and splashed myself in the face and neck before taking a long drink. It was as though a strange feeling had come over me, a feeling of danger that I remembered from the dream.
“What is it?” Ben asked, knowing it wasn’t a stiff neck or the heat.
“I just got hot sitting here,” I said evasively, not knowing how to explain the feeling I had.
Ben looked at me doubtfully. I couldn’t explain it to myself, let alone to him.
We had a connecting flight in New York, where we waited for passengers to disembark or get on. Then we were on our way for a direct overnight flight to London. I felt as though I’d been sitting on the plane forever. The air felt hot and sticky. Increasingly, I couldn’t breathe and nearly hyperventilated. I excused myself, stood up, and walked down the cabin aisle, glad when the intense feeling of nausea and fear subsided. Several minutes later, I felt calm enough to return to my seat, my heart beat slowing down.
The rest of the evening passed uneventfully. I drifted in and out of sleep, and I could tell that Ben was watchful, worried about me. I couldn’t shake the feeling of something dangerous looming over me, but neither could I imagine turning back. I’d come too far.
We arrived in London to a cold, wet day. Once we’d gotten our bags, took the train, and found our hotel, I decided to investigate the best available means of transport to Salisbury.
The front desk attendant answered me without looking away from her computer.
“You’ll have to check the train schedule. I think several run out daily, but I’m not sure how often,” she finished matter-of-factly, idly pointed to the hotel computers. There were only two of them, and everyone wanted to check email to let their parents know they’d arrived safely.
That will take forever, I thought, cringing. I needed to know now so I could make my plans.
I saw a phone in the lobby. I asked the attendant to look up the station number and decided to call.
Getting there would be easy, but how long would it take? I called for the schedule and then took out the itinerary that Mr. Dean had distributed on the plane. I decided to have a headache as the first part of my story and would ask Annie to tell Mr. Dean that I’d be in bed for the day tomorrow. Mr. Dean had decided to renege on his promise to let me go visit “relatives” by myself, despite the forged note from my Aunt. I thought at first that he’d called Aunt Jo after all, but she never said a word to me.
It would be difficult to get away, but I wasn’t going to wait for a more opportune time. We were only in London for a few days before moving on to Paris and Rome, where we’d take a flight back. I didn’t have any time to lose.
Annie wanted to come, believing my story about exploring some ruins I’d read about near Stonehenge. She was always up for something adventurous.
“No,” I told her firmly.“It’s something I need to do alone.”
“But you’re just going to explore some old stones,” she complained.
I explained that I had a special historical interest in Stonehenge, which wasn’t too far from the castle in my dreams. I hoped that someone could help me once I was there. I knew it wasn’t the best plan, but how could I ask someone to help me find a place that had been in ruins even in the thirteenth century?
“You’ll just be bored,” I said, which would have been true if I’d been going to Stonehenge. Annie wasn’t all that interested in history.
“Besides,” I continued, “somebody has to cover for me. I’ll do it for you in Paris, okay?”
“Oh, okay. But what’s the fun of an adventure without someone to share it?” she grumbled.
Ben came up to us in the lobby. He’d overheard the last part of our conversation.
“I want to come,” he said firmly.
“No. Absolutely not,” I replied. That’s just what I needed—to bring Damien, my new love, to the present with Ben, my old love.
“Emily, you’ve never been anywhere besides Colorado or Florida in your entire life. I don’t see you going all over England by yourself,” he argued.
“I’m not going all over England. I’m just going to one part of England. And I’m not stupid, thank you very much,” I shot back.
“Emily, you know that’s not what I meant,” he said, exchanging a look with Annie, who shrugged at him.
“Well, forget it,” I said.
“I’ll tell Mr. Dean,” he threatened.
“That’s low, Ben. Give me some credit, okay? I’ve been planning this for months now,” I said, worried that he might actually follow through on his threat.
He looked hurt.
“Alright,” he said, “but I hope you know what you’re doing.”
He turned to go upstairs, and I felt relieved. I had my schedule set for the next day. I could hardly wait.
Chapter Eleven
"Touching Eternity"
Here, the intersection of the timeless moment
Is Englan
d and nowhere. Never and always.
T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding”
Stonehenge looked mystical, timeless. I’d remembered some of the landscape from the dream, but it appeared like a magical place, with the fog hanging low over the ground, clinging to the large stones that stood mysteriously erect, defying the powers of human explanation to explain their appearance. I had my own theories about them, believing that those ancient pagans were probably witches. I knew how they’d moved the stones.
Sheep dotted the surrounding fields of Salisbury, creating a pastoral scene that looked as if it belonged to a faraway time, which, of course, it did to me. I surveyed the patchwork quilt of earth spread before me in varying shades of green and smiled. I felt close to the past here, and for the first time, I thought I might actually succeed in casting my spell. Nowhere else on earth seem better attuned for it.
Most tourists took the bus to see the city and its famous cathedral, which had the tallest spire in England, or to visit Stonehenge. I definitely knew I needed to go toward the stones. I guessed that the castle—or what was left of it—would not be too far away, and I hoped the bus driver could give me directions before I disembarked. I was not disappointed.
I waited for the tourists to leave and then paused before getting off too.
“Yes?” the drive asked me politely.
“I was wondering,” I began, taking a gamble. “Could you tell me if Montavere Castle is nearby?”
He paused and scratched his head.
“Don’t believe I’ve heard of it,” he replied.
I suppose I had to expect that. It had been almost eight hundred years, and the registry had listed it having been destroyed.
“Oh…” I paused, thinking a moment. “How about any ruins to a castle or a small chapel near this area?” I asked.
He continued to look at me, puzzled. I knew it was a long shot.
“Maybe you have the wrong part of England? We got castles aplenty here, but I can’t say I’ve…no, wait,” he said, suddenly thoughtful.
I looked at him hopefully.
“It’s been years since anyone’s talked about it, but there are ruins not too far from here—it might have once been a castle, but I can’t say for sure.”
“How far away is it?” I asked excitedly.
“Oh, a good ten minutes, at least, by bus,” he answered.
My shoulders slumped. It was farther than I’d originally thought to walk there, likely a good ten miles.
I thanked him, asked about the general direction of where I was heading and got off at the tourist center at Stonehenge. I decided I’d have to use my power if I was going to get anywhere. I was determined that the next bus I saw would take me to the ruins of Montavere Castle.
I sat down to concentrate. It was good practice, I thought, for what was to come.
A few minutes later, a red bus came into view. It carried no passengers. The driver pulled to the stop, and I got on.
The driver sat as if waiting for others who never arrived, and then we were off, passing first a few houses before heading off the main road. He didn’t say a word to me, and I concentrated on the place in my dream, hoping to navigate us mentally.
We took a bumpier road where it looked as if few, if any, regularly traveled. The two people we did meet by the side of the road stopped to stare at the bus, clearly puzzled to see us in this remote area. We’d left any paved roads behind us some time ago.
On our way, we had to stop once for a cow grazing. The driver honked his horn, and she finally ambled over enough for us to get around her.
A few miles further on and the road ended abruptly. I could see woods ahead.
“This is as far as I can take you. The castle is through there,” the driver told me in a faraway voice that sounded just a little too creepy for comfort. Had I conjured him from somewhere? It was a frightening thought what I could do with this power.
He pointed to the woods, indicating that I’d have to travel on foot to get there.
“Thanks,” I said, getting up and seeing a sign that read “Pike’s Woods.”
I paused before getting off the bus.
“Why is it called Pike’s Woods?” I asked. I hadn’t remembered the forest having a name in my dream, but I knew it had been a very long time ago.
“Fellow named Pike went into the woods about fifty years ago. He never came back out,” he answered.
I gulped.
“Oh.”
“You be careful, miss. It’s wild out there,” he warned.
“Thanks. I will.”
I climbed out of the bus and stood facing the woods. I took a few steps and then suddenly turned back. The bus had vanished behind the mist.
I guess I’ll have to go now, I thought, mentally preparing myself to enter the dark forest.
I felt an immediate sensation of having entered my dream. Dread plagued me, and I fought the urge to run away. I walked slowly towards the darkness, climbing over fallen tree trunks and thorny brush as I entered. The nettles caught at my jacket and face, sometimes scraping my skin. I’d had the foresight, at least, to pin up my hair. I’d remembered it catching on low handing branches in my dream.
I had no idea which direction to take, but I felt a strong urge guiding my footsteps. I knew where I needed to go, and I trusted my instincts, remembering what Ramona had told about the other time travelers.
I walked through the forest for some time, an eerie silence pervading the area around me, as though nature had lost its voice—no birds sang, no insects chirped. Just as I thought I’d started going in circles, the woods thinned, and there it stood, looming above me in the mist, Montavere Castle. The ruins sat atop a small hill, all but forgotten by humanity. Nearly eight hundred years was a long time, I reminded myself.
I eagerly climbed the hill, searching around the partially standing exterior wall of the castle for the door—or some clue to the entrance—leading to the secret passage. The wall tapered off to a few stones scattered among the rising grass. Time had forgotten the castle and what it hid below.
I doubled back and climbed through an opening in the walls, picking my way carefully. The sense of apprehension became much stronger the further in I climbed, and I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that so much of what I’d remembered seemed to have vanished.
A winding staircase led upwards, and judging from the angle of the castle, it had to be the North Tower. An internal compass seemed to guide my steps onward. I tried climbing a few steps, but they cracked, nearly breaking off entirely when I shifted my weight on them. I slowly made my way back down and crossed the large space I imagined to be the hall, standing where I felt sure the dais had once stood. I closed my eyes, letting my intuition guide me in the direction that Damien and I had taken when we’d tried to make our escape. Despite my certain knowledge of some rooms, I couldn’t get my exact bearings. Whatever was under this castle would be difficult, if not impossible, to find. And I didn’t want to be trapped beneath the castle, the remains of which looked like they could crumble at any time if I made one wrong step. I thought about using my power, but somehow I didn’t want to disrupt what time had done to the stones. I might be able to recreate the structure totally from memory, but that would also leave me drained. I had to save my energy for the task ahead.
As I passed under an arch, I felt something hit me from behind. Stumbling, I fell headlong onto the stones below, a gash opening from my forehead. Looking around, I saw that a gargoyle had broken off, its evil leer turned in my direction. I quickly turned away, only to face another one staring at me. Visibly shaking, I ran to the opening where I’d entered the castle, the blood streaming. Disoriented and not a little shaken, I felt glad to leave the castle behind. Wiping my head with my shirt, I headed in the direction of the woods, deciding to try the chapel next. I stopped, closing my eyes again to allow my intuitive sense of direction to guide me.
I entered the dark forest from a different angle this time, feeling surer that these woods
exactly matched the ones I’d remembered and dreamed about. I felt a sense of fear and urgency draw me onward, and I knew, after a few minutes, that I was close to the clearing that led to the chapel ruins.
I stopped short when I saw a small pond, realizing that I’d begun to hold my breath. The feeling of hysteria rose up in me, and I worked hard to push it down. My fear of water nearly compelled me to run in the opposite direction, but I forced myself to move on. I passed by the pond hastily, knowing the last time I’d seen it was the day I died in 1216.
The chapel should appear just beyond the clearing—the site, at least, must have remained unchanged, even if the ruins hadn’t.
Though it had begun as a cloudy, rainy day, the sun had finally emerged while I’d gone to find the church in the woods, which opened to reveal the clearing. The small pocket of light gladdened my heart. I rushed to stand in the circle, raising my face to the sun and closing my eyes to soak up the warmth from above. It helped to mitigate the sense of danger I’d felt near the water where I’d met my death before. This alone was a place I knew, a place of remembered happiness, of hours in Damien’s arms. It gave me the courage to return to the dark forest and search for the chapel.
What I came across shortly thereafter were not the ruins of the chapel where we’d pledged our love but an actual chapel, obviously rebuilt from stone and standing in the place I remembered.
That’s odd, I thought. I was sure I had the right place. My heart sped up when I saw it, and I felt the strangest sensations as I approached the entrance.
I pushed the heavy wooden door and entered the church, a small stone edifice that reminded me of pictures I’d found of gothic churches built during the thirteenth century. I took a cautious step in, then another.
“Hello?” I called out tentatively.
A man who looked like a priest glanced up. He’d been stacking brochures on the table behind the last row of pews.
“Are you lost? Can I help you?” he asked politely.
“Oh! Hello!” I said, startled.“I was wondering,” I continued, recovering quickly, “could you tell me how old this church is?”
