“Cate. That’s lovely.”
“Dear Micki, you are so exhausted, poor darling.” She stood from the sofa, still holding Micki’s hand. “Let us both go to bed and have a pleasant rest.”
Now, with her mind truly boggled, she stood from the sofa and allowed Cate to guide her back to the bedroom. She almost mechanically got into the bed. Cate tucked her in, pressed a gentle kiss against her forehead and got into the bed next to her.
Maybe she was right. A nice sleep would help both of their minds to clear. Yet, Micki couldn’t help but be a bit unnerved by the beautiful stranger in her bed beside her.
“Micki?”
“Yes, Cate?”
“Could you please tell me what month and year it is?”
For a moment, the room was so quiet, all Micki could hear was her own breathing, and the ticking of the bedside clock.
“It’s March, Cate, 2018.”
Again, the silence fell over the room like a heavy quilt.
“It has been a very long time, Micki. A very long time, indeed.”
“A long time since…”
“Since I was sealed in the crypt.”
“Cate, I really don’t understand…”
She rolled over and stroked Micki’s cheek. “Let us get the sleep we need.”
Micki only nodded, and Cate smiled, rolled back to her side of the bed, and pulled the blanket over her shoulders.
Yes, Micki needed sleep. Too much happened this morning, and it was sure to only get more confusing. Yet she could not deny that she was intrigued by the beautiful woman in bed beside her, who seemingly held a wealth of secrets and surprises. Before she could close her eyes, she needed to ask one more question.
“Cate, could I ask you one question?”
“Of course.”
“What year were you…sealed in the…crypt?” The question sounded so ludicrous.
“1912. A very long time ago.”
And the answer was even more unbelievable.
“Oh…okay then,” Micki forced the words out threw suddenly dry lips. “Let us get some sleep. It seems you have a lot of catching up to do in this world.”
Exhaustion was one thing, but after just the small amount of conversation with Cate, Micki was sure she would never sleep again as long as the mysterious woman remained beneath her roof.
Yet, she did sleep. Very deeply, and for many hours. When she awoke and looked at the illuminated dial of the clock on the bedside table, it was already evening.
Maybe she really did dream it all. One look to her side, and Cate was there, eyes closed, her mane of honey blonde hair spread out like a fan over the pillow.
Well, she would get answers soon.
As carefully as she could manage, she slid from the bed and slipped her feet into the novelty unicorn slippers she received from the Secret Santa gift exchange at the church.
In the kitchen, she started the kettle for tea. As she waited for it to boil, she got a fire going in the stone fireplace in the sitting room. Almost instantly, the room filled with warmth. March was always a peculiar month. Too cold to not use some type of heat; too warm to run the central heating system without it feeling like a sauna. The fire was just right.
The kettle whistled, and Micki hurried back into kitchen to keep the sound from waking Cate. But after she poured the boiling water into two tea cups over chamomile tea bags, she sensed a presence behind her. When she turned, Cate stood a few feet from her, blue eyes sleepy and her gorgeous hair tousled.
“Hello Cate, how are you feeling?”
“Tired, but alive,” she answered, as she accepted the proffered tea cup.
“Would you like something to eat? Maybe a bowl of porridge? I know it’s evening, but your stomach must be as empty as mine.”
“Emptier,” she smiled.
If Cate was to be believed, her last real meal was sometime in 1912.
If she was to be believed.
“Why don’t you sit in front of the fire with your tea? I will be along shortly with your porridge.”
“I will enjoy that.”
Micki prepared the porridge, ladled it into two bowls, and finished it with a splash of cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon sugar. She placed each bowl onto a pretty floral tray along with a spoon and a linen napkin.
In the sitting room, she momentarily watched as Cate walked around touching everything. The desktop computer, the telephone, and the television. Her lovely face quizzical.
“That is a television, Cate. It has moving pictures on it. Like…” she paused to think. If Cate really did exist in 1912, she might have seen some early silent movies at the theatre. “A movie at the theatre with sound.” She paused. “Did you ever see a movie?”
“Movies?” she asked. “I have seen movies.”
“Yes. The other box is called a computer. You can access almost any information on it from around the world. Like a living newspaper.”
“So much change, so much to learn,” Cate lamented.
“There’s time to learn. It might even be fun for you.” It might even be fun for them both. Of course, how long could this little arrangement last?
Cate sat on the floor before the fire and stretched her legs in front of her. Micki knelt beside her and carefully handed over the tray.
“Thank you, my darling.”
Cate had such a lovely and refined manner about her. Micki was intrigued to know everything about her houseguest.
Micki fetched her own tray from the kitchen and sat before the fire. In silence they ate. A certain sadness now radiated from the woman.
“Are you sad, Cate?”
“A little. I feel very…lost, Micki. I am now in a world I do not understand. Perhaps it would have been better if I never woke.”
Micki placed her tray aside, scooched closer to her, and placed a protective arm around her shoulders. “You are not alone, Cate, remember that. You found me. I won’t let you down. I plan to introduce you to a fascinating world that will astound you.”
She turned her head to Micki, her blue eyes large and liquid. “You would do that for me? Do you not fear what I am?”
“I don’t know what you are, Cate. I have a feeling it has something to do with those pointed teeth you have. I don’t fear you, I envy you…you have woken up to a new world full of endless possibilities, and if I am correct, and I’m not sure I am…I don’t think you will ever die.”
Cate looked down into her tea cup. “I am not enviable, Micki. To not die, to be feared…hated, always on guard. It is not a pleasant life, at least the last years I was awake were not.”
“No one hates you, Cate, and this is a different time, full of lots of different people. You will seamlessly blend in with everyone.”
“You sound so sure.” Cate chuckled a bit, but it was not a happy chuckle.
“You will have to trust me, Cate. I promise you that by Easter you will be ready to re-enter society.
“Easter,” she sighed. “I always loved Easter. The spring, and the awakening of the earth from its long winter slumber.”
Not only was Cate exquisitely gorgeous, she was eloquent, as well.
“Yes, that is the perfect parallel, Cate. Like spring, after a long sleep, you have awakened to a bright, beautiful time full of sunshine and flowers, and growth.”
And then Cate did something surprising. She leaned over and pressed her slightly parted pale pink lips to Micki’s lips. Pulling back a few inches, her blue eyes searched Micki’s brown eyes. “Is that wrong?” she asked.
“No, it’s not wrong. It’s perfect,” Micki sighed, and kissed her again.
3
They talked for hours, yet Micki felt she knew no more about Cate than she did when she first discovered her hiding inside the broken crypt. Cate was reluctant to speak of her past and what she really was, whether it be some supernatural being, or simply a traumatized woman whose mind would not allow her to accept whatever terrible things happened.
Cate showed an exuberance when watc
hing a glitzy soap opera on the television, and a wonderment of the internet. She had a basic understanding of electricity, and of the telephone. In truth, she was extremely intelligent. If she really was in some type of deep sleep for the last many decades, that intelligence would serve her well in adapting to the twenty first century. She was no longer the fearful, nameless woman who early that morning was terrified of everything and everyone around her. It seemed every hour that passed, even every few minutes, Cate became stronger, sharper, and more lucid.
Like spring, Cate was awakening.
Micki could not help but wonder if Cate really was something otherworldly and supernatural, did her sudden strength and lucidity come at Micki’s expense? She had been tired that morning when she opened the gates to the graveyard, but after she found Cate, especially after Cate was inside the cottage, the exhaustion was beyond overwhelming. Micki reckoned it to a strong sedative.
Did Cate somehow drain Micki’s energy for her own resurgence? Maybe not deliberately, but it seemed too much to write off as a simple coincidence.
Still, it was the teeth – the pointed fangs – that really intrigued Micki. She didn’t want to push Cate into speaking if she wasn’t ready, but Micki’s curiosity needed to be satisfied. Especially since they seemed to share a mutual attraction for the other. Cate was beyond beautiful, she was smart, and she was sweet, and Micki knew it was crazy to feel such a connection to a woman who really was a stranger.
Still, the kisses were divine, the feel of her pale lips and warm breath against her. The sweet taste of her mouth. The electric charge when they touched. It was so unlike anything or any other person Micki ever was close to. It made her doubts about the woman flit away from her mind…far, far away. For now, that was enough.
The next morning, Micki woke to do her morning task of opening the gates to the graveyard. It was almost 9, she was already late. She also needed to telephone the stone mason about repairing the broken crypt. Although it was empty, it still needed to be fixed.
Beside her in bed, Cate slept soundly. They didn’t make love the night before, but they spent hours kissing and exploring each other’s bodies.
Micki knew Cate wanted to take it to the next level, but it was Micki who wasn’t ready. To Micki, making love was a sacred event to be shared only with the most special person. Yes, she was deeply attracted to Cate, and her body ached just remembering her touch. The truth was, she didn’t know Cate, didn’t know her intentions, nor what she was. She was a stranger in her home.
That was enough to sober Micki.
She reached for her terry cloth robe slung over the back of a wing chair, slipped it over her body, and securely tied the sash.
In the kitchen, as the coffee brewed, Micki stepped into her rain boots and opened the door. At once, the sunshine poured into the cottage. Warmth was in the air. Birds chirped in trees which were already turning green, and the lawn to the side of the next-door church was lush and full.
April would be soon upon them. Spring had arrived. Once again, she was reminded of how the season of spring reminded her of Cate. Before she went back into the cottage, there was something she needed to check. The grounds of the graveyard were still muddy from the storm, and her feet squished through the sodden grass, as she made a beeline to the broken crypt where she first discovered Cate.
Crouching down near the gravestone now almost obliterated from time and the elements, she strained her eyes to make out the faded engraving. It wasn’t a name – it was a series of flowers – daisies to be exact.
She moved to the next crypt. She rubbed the mud from the stone and looked closely.
Cabot and the year 1912.
Perhaps Cate wasn’t lying about herself.
Then the trickle of doubt filtered into her mind.
Yes, this crypt, and likely the one next to it where Cate was hiding, were once purchased for a member or members of a family named Cabot. That didn’t mean Cate belonged to that family. Maybe she was a woman who became enthralled with some story of a family named Cabot. These days, genealogy information was abundant and easy to find. Perhaps the woman asleep now in her bed had simply deluded herself into believing she was Catherina Cabot and assumed the identity.
Micki gazed at the church next door. Surely, they had the records for the burials in the graveyard. Since they disassociated themselves from the graveyard many years before, they could not protest Micki requesting the records. When she first purchased the cottage and its accompanying graveyard, the church promised to provide to her a computer printout of surnames and grave locations. Only they never followed through.
Even if there was a record, would it prove anything?
Maybe not, but she had to be sure she exhausted every lead. It was too easy to fall in love with the blonde beauty who came so suddenly into her life. She could live with a supernatural being, but not an interloper under her roof.
After a call to the stone mason, Micki took a shower, and dressed for the day. With Easter soon to arrive, she had work to do. The church was holding an event for all the parishioners. There would be games and egg hunts for the children, and conversation and refreshments for the adults. The church ordered from her one hundred chocolate Easter eggs for the children, and another fifty chocolates of various Easter shapes, like bunnies and daffodils, for the adults. She also had a considerable number of chocolate and candy orders to fill for neighbors, businesses, and parishioners, a result of index cards she hung at the local café, the library, and a notice in the church bulletin. She also promised to donate a large basket of goodies for the church charity raffle.
It might be nice to spend time among people again. It wasn’t that she was adverse to gatherings, she was painfully shy, and people often mistook her shyness for standoffishness or being rude.
After the holiday, she planned to start an online business selling her chocolate creations, decorated cookies, and candies. If it was successful, maybe she would begin a second business creating and selling candles. She didn’t need money, but she needed to keep herself occupied and productive.
There was no time like the present to start. She poured a second cup of coffee and plugged in her chocolate melting pots. As she rummaged through her collection of chocolate molds, she became acutely aware of Cate.
She turned. Cate stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her long hair tousled, her eyes sleepy.
“Good morning, Cate,” she said brightly.
“Good morning,” she replied in a tiny voice.
Micki had the distinct feeling that something wasn’t quite right with her houseguest. She turned off the chocolate melting pots. After pouring a cup of coffee for Cate, she walked to the butcher block table and pulled out a chair.
“Sit down and have a cup of coffee, Cate. Would you like breakfast?”
She sat, her hands immediately closed around the warm coffee cup, and she shook her head.
Micki moved a chair next to her and sat down. “What’s wrong, Cate?”
She shrugged her thin shoulders in reply.
“Are you unwell?” Micki ventured.
Again, she shook her head.
Micki tentatively reached out and affectionately stroked Cate’s hair. “What’s wrong then? You can tell me.”
“Dreams. Terrible dreams,” she spoke in an ominous whisper.
“Oh, sweetheart! Why didn’t you wake me?”
“Gone…you were gone.”
Micki deduced that Cate came looking for her when she was outside opening the gates. When she wasn’t in the cottage, she panicked. Perhaps the exuberance she exhibited the evening before when she wanted to know everything about the twenty-first century, and watched television for the first time, and saw a computer in action, was simply too much of a sensory overload.
“I’m sorry, Cate. I was outside opening the gates to the graveyard. I didn’t know you were afraid to be alone. After what you’ve been through…” She paused as it all became suddenly clear. If Cate was to be believed, she was locke
d inside a crypt over one hundred years. No wonder she was terrified to wake alone from a nightmare. It seemed Micki had become her lifeline. “I should have known not to leave you, not even for a few minutes.”
Micki gently turned Cate’s face to see her eyes, so big, blue, and now…haunted. “It will get better, I promise. It will take time. I will help you.”
“Why?” she asked and wrung her hands together.
“Cate, I will be honest with you. I don’t know who you are, where you came from, or even…what you are. Fate brought us together for some reason. That is enough for me…for now. But, you have got to talk to me. I can’t help you or understand what you are unless you tell me everything. All I ask for is the truth. Please don’t give me a reason not to trust or believe you.”
Micki strove to not sound demanding, but she needed answers, too.
“Let us go into the sitting room, and we’ll talk about whatever you want. You can tell me anything. It will never leave this cottage.”
“I dreamed I was back inside the crypt. That breaking out, and you taking me in to your cottage was a cruel dream. I realized I was never getting out of that stone box I was banished to. I was going to live on, and on, and on for centuries in the dark, cold, and enclosed.”
Still dressed in pajamas, Cate sat on the sofa with her knees pulled up to her chest as she recalled her dream.
Well, it was Cate who called it a dream. To Micki it was a nightmare. If this was merely a dream to Cate, she shuddered to wonder what she considered a nightmare.
She held Cate’s hand in hers and pressed a gentle kiss against her palm.
“As bad as that sounds, it was only a terrible dream. No one will ever hurt you again if I can help it.”
Cate gazed at Micki as if to question her believability. Her pale lips were parted, and Micki was almost entranced at the two distinct fangs in her mouth.
“Tell me about your…teeth. Why…why do they look that way?” Micki asked. She mentally cursed the stammer in her voice.
Cate’s lips creased into a macabre grin and Micki’s heart to skip a beat. Tentatively, she started reaching out to touch them, to convince herself what she saw was real. But she shrunk back out of respect to Cate.
A Paranormal Easter: 14 Paranormal & Fantasy Romance Novellas Page 40
