Vision

by Beth Elisa Harris

  Super, considering how I just loved approaching total strangers asking for favors.

  I called the airlines for earlier flights but there were none.

  The thought of spending the night by myself was somewhat daunting, but there was no way to leave the island sooner. By four it was dark. After nibbling leftovers, checking the locks and selecting a movie from her DVD library it seemed logical to stay on the sofa for the night, nonchalantly drifting off while the movie played and the house lights burned.

  So that’s what I did before it arrived.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  The vibration shook the house and forced my dry, drowsy eyes open.

  The blue DVD clock illuminated 2:13 AM.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Something was outside knocking around, maybe a raccoon.

  I couldn’t pick up anything – read what it might be, which was super irritating.

  Abbey’s house, as all houses on Colonsay, were spread a good distance apart. Neighbors didn’t visit at two in the morning, although I wasn’t familiar with the locals and their habits.

  A louder, thump, thump, thump.

  It came from the back of the house, down the hall in the direction of the guest room. The decision to doze on the sofa has been solid after all. Plus, the conveniently located fireplace poker might come in handy, what the heck. I gently lifted it out of the rack, thinking I was either silly or smart to grab a weapon.

  I crept slowly down the hall toward the guest suite, the moon shone round and bright through the French doors, illuminating the room with soft light. Looking out the glass through the French doors, the only visible movement was caused by wind swaying leaves on the trees outside.

  Slowly moving toward the doors seemed to exacerbate the strength of the gale, and as if in response to my movement, one side of the double doors flew open.

  I knew damn well I had locked every door and window.

  You can’t rule out anything when you’re a Clear, so I politely and respectfully addressed the noise by pushing a whisper from my throat. “Is someone there?” But my voice was swallowed by the air and the crashing waves in the near distance.

  Okay, Layla, think rationally. 1. Only those you implicitly trust know you’re here. 2. You were not followed. 3. The only other people with you on the ferry coming over were seven island residents who had shopped on the mainland. 4. There were no tourists. 5. It was winter and cold – too frigid for animals to wander around, unless perhaps they were seeking warmth or shelter.

  Suddenly a strong, magnetic force pulled me out the now open door making any resistance futile. It was like losing at tug-of-war without the rope.

  Then it dawned on me. Sarah wrote, ‘I will find my way to her when she arrives.’

  She was coming, or rather, she was already here.

  The air stilled as if someone simply flipped the switch to off. Time froze, floated really. It was very disorienting and I was unsure how to define reality again.

  It would be defined for me.

  At first there were voices in the distant, growing closer, and bickering – a man and woman. Where were they? I looked around, not remembering how I came to stand near the cliff edge.

  I turned around and there they stood, behind me from where I faced the ocean, arguing about something, perhaps a married couple, standing toe to toe in the open grass. They didn’t notice me.

  My eyes narrowed to focus in the dark as I cautiously approached, the only light a full moon over the shoulder of the woman – the glow enveloping her frame like a divine being, reflecting off her long curls. The man was dressed in a kilt and boots, his long unkempt black hair matted and sticky against his bare back, pale blue eyes beating down on her. No question this was the brute that starred in my nightmares.

  I had officially crossed time zones.

  This wasn’t a dream, unless I was sleepwalking.

  He held her wrists firmly in place, pleading with her, desperately begging for something. Moving in closer, slowly, I spoke. “Hello?”

  No response. They clearly didn’t see me or were distracted within their heated discussion. Inching forward I tried again. “Hi, I’m Layla. Is there a problem?” They ignored me, continuing their conflict. Evidently I only existed as an observer.

  The woman’s voice escalated in anger. “Wilbur, please stop! Ye behave like a damn fool. Let me go!”

  “I can not let you go Sarah because I love ye.”

  “Arse! Yes ye CAN let me go! I do not love ye Wilbur. I love Jonathan! For god’s sake we’re both married.”

  His name is Wilbur! Wilbur loved Sarah – it was jealousy. Whoever sent the email knew somehow.

  Answers were staring me in the face – how was I missing so much?

  “Jonathan is a weak man. He can’t love ya like I can! Love me Sarah damn ye to hell!” He tightened his grip, yanking at her arms in rage.

  Sarah gritted her teeth, leaned into Wilbur, lowering her voice to a growl. “You listen to me Wilbur MacDonald. I will never love ye, ya hear? Now get back to your wife’s bed you disgusting pig!” She spat in his face.

  Wilbur MacDonald. So this was the beginning of the MacDonald’s taking over the island. Stuart knew about it. How?

  He stepped back, wiped her saliva off his cheek with his grimy fingers, glaring with his monster eyes; a look so full of hate and revenge I shivered with terror. He spoke in a low, vengeful tone. “Here me now Sarah MacPhie! You shall pay for this, with your breath, and with the breath of that fool husband of yours. Aye, I’ll make sure you pay for not doin’ my will,” he hissed.

  Sarah stood her ground, defiant and challenging, standing on tiptoes to gain height. “Do not threaten me or I’ll surely curse each blade of grass your feet step on from here to eternity.” Sarah pivoted then ran toward Abbey’s house, which for the moment was otherwise occupied by really old poltergeists, my relatives. As she walked, her frame faded into nothing, like a hologram, until all I could make out were the house lights where I stood frightened moments ago, although I couldn’t be sure how much time passed now. The whole reenactment left me disoriented in the time and space continuum. I shivered not from the cold, but from the unknown.

  Wilbur had also vanished, the hostile scene dissipating like vapor, as if it never happened. The ocean was now quiet. Everything was back to normal. Sarah had shown me the truth.

  It was over.

  Lights flashed across the sky again. Looking up, the stars shone brilliantly, the moon still in its place, the sky was clear, so that ruled out lightening.

  Turning around, I saw the group of men approach, Wilbur in front. They all carried torches to light the way. I dropped to my stomach and hoped they didn’t spot me. There was no way to tell if I was still transparent from one moment to the next so I waited.

  The mob stopped a few yards away. I could run, but it didn’t seem worth the risk. From where I was, they couldn’t see me and I could hear clearly enough.

  They were drunk, reeking of foul smelling alcohol, grainy and pungent. They tried to keep their voices down, but only managed a loud, intoxicated whisper. Wilbur was on a rant. “She’s a witch I tell ya! Seen it with me own eyes. That devil vexed me so I’d lust for her, begging me to be untrue to my sweet Mary.”

  What a liar!

  Someone else spoke. “Wilbur, everyone knows ya love Sarah except for that blind wife of yours!” With that, the men burst out laughing, but Wilbur wasn’t finished making his point. “What about the weather predictions, and birthin’ babies with no screamin, everyone drinking her concoctions like she’s holding them in a trance?”

  Another man spoke. “For god’s sakes Wilbur, she’s a healer. She knows a bit of medicine. So what? She’s helped all of us, our children…” The laughter had turned into an attempt at reason, but Wilbur was blinded by revenge, stopping at nothing to stir his evil intent into a fear-frenzy.

  Wilbur scanned the group. “Never mind ya buffoons. I’ll do it me own damn self.” He paused for dra
matic effect to see if his words stirred up a reaction.

  This was the turning point that could have saved Sarah and Jonathan. Wilbur was outnumbered and could have been stopped, as with other cruel rulers through time, if the people let dictators rule then rule they will. But unless my visions had been false the outcome was already history. The other men were clearly cowards in the presence of his perceived power.

  “Ah nah, you won’t do it yourself.” Someone responded, resigning on behalf of the others. “Tell us what to do.”

  Wilbur puffed up his chest. “Do ya agree Sarah MacPhie is a witch?” The mob hesitantly nodded fearing their leader more than the injustice of the horrendous act they would carry out, sealing the fate of my ancestors.

  “Then she and her devil soul will perish this time tomorrow.” He sealed her fate as easily as suggesting ham for dinner.

  “Without a trial?” Someone asked? “We can’t just murder the woman.”

  Wilbur sneered. “It ain’t murder if it’s recorded as something else. We make the rules here and we say she’s a witch!”

  One previously silent man stepped forward. “But Wilbur – Sarah is with child. Jonathan and she…”

  “What did ya say?” Wilbur whipped around to glare at the man who delivered the news.

  “Sarah’s with child, didn’t ya know?”

  Apparently this was news to Wilbur.

  He grabbed the ear of the poor messenger trying to plead Sarah’s mercy, hissing through his teeth. “Then we kill them all.”

  It was all I could stand. “No! No!” I shouted. “Please don’t kill her. She’s not what you think.” Collapsing to my knees, I began to sob into my hands, feeling helpless, in the wrong century, a mute with no voice.

  Someone gently touched my shoulder from behind. When I looked up, the men were gone but Sarah stood behind me, breathtaking in flowing white energy. Was I really this pretty? Is this how Stuart saw me? Her serene features spilled over with grace, wisdom. She smiled widely at me, comforting, as if to say this was all in the past now.

  Following the gaze of her eyes she beamed past me into the distance to Abbey’s house.

  It was then I saw what she wanted me to see. Sarah, now both behind me and under the tree burying the urn, as if to prove the truth behind the letter. She wore her nightdress, hair uncombed.

  The Sarah behind me opened her mouth, trying to speak words. Can apparitions speak? This was all new to me. She mouth struggled to form shapes to form sounds, closing her eyes as if to concentrate. Staring intently, clearing my mind, I waited to receive her message. How I longed to hear her voice, just once, to make this real. “Tell me Sarah. We’ve come this far.” Yearning for her to know I wasn’t afraid, I remained still and focused. Moving closer, I made sure my ear was almost touching her mouth, so she wouldn’t need to project too far.

  As if a door opened up for only an instant, her voice echoed like strings from the low tones of a harp, reverberating in song. She pointed to my heart, “You…” then pointed to hers, “are me.”

  My tear ducts were swelling, spilling over as my chest heaved. The emotion of the moment was overwhelming, and I craved to hear more – but that was not to be. “What do you mean, exactly?”

  But I understood we couldn’t converse more. Talking from the spirit realm wasn’t be easy, and she had struggled to speak the three words she managed to push out.

  Quickly drawing my attention away again, she nodded toward the angry mob coming into view. “Um, are we just watching?” I asked. Sarah nodded. “Good, because this needs to be the last show tonight. Seriously. This has been going on for a super long time and…”

  Her finger pressed against her lips to silence me. She wanted me to see the rest of this play out, and I was beginning to suspect masochistic tendencies resided in my ancestors. “Sarah, no, I can’t. Please, not again!”

  Last time, Layla. I heard her internal voice.

  Promises, promises, I returned.

  She gestured for me to stand and move toward the men so I could hear. Walking toward the commotion, reenactment Sarah emerged from the darkness wearing the exact dress as in my dreams – pale blue. Up close, I could see small areas of wear and light stains. Spirit Sarah who had been hanging out with me was gone. Reenactment Sarah made firm determined steps toward the man gang, planting her feet defiantly after each long stride.

  She was steadfast, unbreakable in spirit, phenomenal. I was not going to be prey, just a time traveler sent to observe. So I resigned to watch the finale, to drive the outcome even further into my bone marrow.

  Sarah and Wilbur now stood toe to toe – her arms crossed, defiantly glaring into his heartless eyes. He grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the waiting circle formed by the other sweaty males waiting for the spectacle to start. He pulled her by the hair, and the men parted to let them into the center of the ring. I dreaded what was coming, and didn’t want to watch.

  Slamming Sarah into the muddy ground, she glared hard at Wilbur without a trace of expression or feeling, and then her eyes went elsewhere, and she never looked at him again. This purposeful gesture would spawn his rage. He made attempts to provoke her to no avail while the others looked on. Her face remained unmoving, as if carved from stone, as if she had already died inside.

  The crowd stood in silence while Wilbur stomped around the inside of the formation. Hostility, intolerance and hate led by Wilbur MacDonald. Even the men who had tried to convince Wilbur to leave Sarah alone were now fully vested in the violent mongering – the Hitler effect.

  Someone handed Wilbur a torch, and with the pride of a true killer he smiled like a demon, slowly moving the searing flame down to touch Sarah’s dress fabric. My nightmares were not fabrications of my imagination, but mirror images of the past. The bottom tip of the cloth accepted the flame. She tried to get up but Wilbur shoved her back down. That evil bastard wanted her to burn alive in front of his eyes. I wanted to kill him myself – it wouldn’t have been a problem.

  Attempting to rise again, he met her with another lunge, but with unnatural lightening speed she jumped to her feet in one motion landing like a tigress while the flames licked her skirt. With a swift, brutal kick to his groin she was able to break free, running toward the ocean where destiny waited. Wilbur was doubled over in pain, cursing and groaning – telegraphing the revenge on his mind. For the first time I saw her physical strength and courage. Perhaps she was a victim of destiny, but she was not a victim.

  Jonathan burst from the house, groggy at first then launching into a high speed run toward the action. “What did you do you filthy maggots?” Sobs mixed with grief made my heart drop as I watched Jonathan run toward Sarah, as if he could still stop the inevitable. I wondered why, if he was some sort of guardian, why he was just arriving. He ran toward her but she was burning quickly, and within seconds had launched out over the sea, an angel in flight.

  He dropped to his knees overcome with pain, arms covering his head as he rolled from side to side, unable to contain his dying heart. “God oh god I failed her…” His voice trickled away as grief enveloped him.

  Wilbur had recovered enough from Sarah’s kick to charge at him wielding a sword. Jonathan was curled into a ball, hysterical, repeating her name, promising to join her soon in eternal love. “I’ll come with you love, I’ll follow you now,” he whispered. Hearing him speak reminded me of someone – it took a few seconds to make the association, but he looked and sounded like Stuart. Warmth and cold collided simultaneously in my limbs, coils formed in my belly.

  Wilbur stopped where Jonathan now crouched on the ground, devastated, defeated. “Jonathan MacPhie, ya witch lover. I am going to kill ya too!”

  Jonathan looked up, eyes glazed with indifference responded in a low whisper. “Do you think I care about dying now ya swine?”

  Wilbur grinned deviously. “She loved me ya know.”

  Jonathan broke into hysterical laughter, literally holding his sides. “Wilbur – you are – so – Sarah loathed
the sight of you! I’ll die here knowing I was the one who brought her joy.” Standing up, he faced Wilbur, straight faced and somber. He was tall and slender, where Wilbur was large and wide. There was probably no competition in body strength.

  Still, Jonathan used words to fight his final battle on earth, and he was not done speaking his mind – there was nothing more to loose. “She found you utterly disgusting, vile, called ye a monster. Well, she was right as always. So please, kill me. There is no longer life here. You’ll only be doin’ me a favor.” He stood still in his words, expecting no less than death by sword.

  And with that, Wilbur complied, releasing a primordial yell as he plunged the blade through Jonathan’s heart, a place that could no longer feel life anyway. His limp body collapsed to the ground. Wilbur stood over him, panting heavily, a bloody night’s work completed.

  On the ground I kneeled, sobbing quietly, drained and exhausted, missing Stuart and my life. Did I even have Stuart? I wasn’t sure, but he was absolutely missing.

  And for a moment, I thought I was alone.

  The night returned to present time, and someone stood over me, for real this time, staring with death in his eyes. After I focused, it was clear the face was an older version of Andre, a red capital ‘A’ encircled tattoo on the neck, the symbol for anarchy…a piece of trivia I just happen to know. My breath came out in hard pants, but I couldn’t scream. Our eyes were locked. I couldn’t read him.

  But the danger was palpable.

  I remained motionless, waiting for him to react. Maybe he was looking through me. His eyes followed me when I slowly stood up.

  I think he wanted to kill me, so I ran.

  And the chase was on.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I was certain his intention was to corner me at the cliffs. The heavy breathing loomed inches from my neck and would either grab or push me if I didn’t jump.