FAE
Page 1
FAE
This is a work of fiction. The descriptions and characters herein are imaginary. Any resemblance
to anyone, place or thing is completely coincidental and a creation of the author.
No part of this work either written or electronic may be copied without express written
permission of the author.
Publisher – lulu.com
ISBN 978-0-557-05685-9
Heather McAlendin – mcalendin.com 2010
SECOND EDITION
heather@mcalendin.com
CHAPTER ONE
At forty five years old, mild mannered Gordon Parks was an accomplished author
and had long since earned his English Degree at Maple Ridge University. His particular
genre was Historical Romance and since many of his colleagues felt he was not a
“serious” writer. So, in the last ten years he wrote under an assumed name; Erica Stone.
Although Gordon always put on a brave face at writers conventions and the like, the
whispers behind his back hurt. After all, Gordon worked hard at his craft and had a
following of millions of love starved, fantasy driven women between the ages of
eighteen and seventy five who thought him a brilliant, albeit female author.
Erica Stone was everything Gordon could never be. Where she was exotic, he
was plain; she was as sensual as he was uncomfortable; where she seemed brilliant he
was dull and inexpressive. Erica Stone was Gordon's opposite in every way including
sex. It was this that allowed him the freedom to express his own innermost desires
instead of being who he truly was; a middle aged man whose biggest fear was being
alone with a woman even though he craved the company of one in his life. Instead,
Gordon owned a Russian Blue male cat he named “Godfrey”.
Godfrey was an independent creature and came to Gordon when he wanted
attention. Gordon never had to worry about making the first move. At times Godfrey
would happily jump into Gordon's lap and purr happily for hours at a time. While at other times Godfrey was content to sit on an old, battered arm chair that Gordon left
beside his writing desk expressly for that purpose.
Godfrey was curled up comfortably in that very chair as he blinked his vivid
green eyes and stared at Gordon.
Gordon stretched out his long, lanky legs and slowly got up from his computer
chair. A cold, evening rain storm had begun and he wanted to be sure that his prize
English roses were not getting battered around in the wind.
Maple Ridge was notorious for its sudden fall storms. Being so close to the Great
Lakes, it was not uncommon for a hail or rain storms to seemingly start up out of
nowhere and furiously lash Maple Ridge residents throughout the night.
“Tonight is one of those nights.” Gordon sighed as he pressed his long, thin nose
against the cold glass of the window in his study. His warm breath left steam marks
outlining his nose and cheeks as he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to see the garden
below. His glasses fogged and he rubbed at them furiously with the hem of his faded,
denim shirt.
This old Victorian house at the edge of town was Gordon's pride and joy, along
with its English Garden and patches of heather. He had purchased it over fifteen years
ago when his first novel, “Unrequited Love” hit number one on the best sellers list. Shocked but pleased, Gordon's publisher had given him a tidy advance for his next book
and he was able to purchase the large, drafty old house for a menial sum from its elderly,
Irish owner; Mary Quinn.
Old Mrs. Quinn regaled him with stories of her life on the Coast of Ireland. The
lushness of the land and the quaint folklore of “little people” and “Faerie circles”
became fodder for a few of Gordon's most successful novels to date.
It had recently come to his attention that Mrs. Quinn had long been suffering
from Alzheimer's disease and had finally passed away a few months earlier.
It saddened his heart but at the same time Gordon swore he could feel her
presence in the house. Even Godfrey would stare and sometimes hiss at shadows in the
middle of the night. Gordon preferred to think that perhaps it was Old Mrs. Quinn
visiting her home and garden to make certain he was keeping it well.
A loud crack of thunder jolted Gordon back to reality and in that brief flicker of
light he saw his pasty, middle aged reflection in the misty window pane.
“What has happened to you Gordon? You used to be so full of hope and fiery
imagination. You dreamed of love and family, now you write books for the lovelorn and
live like a hermit. Albeit a wealthy hermit; but a hermit nonetheless. What woman
would have you now?” Sighing heavily and satisfied his garden was relatively untouched by the weather,
he turned to sit back in his chair when another bolt of lightning shook the house and lit
the backyard awash in a bright, white light.
Godfrey jumped from the chair and slunk underneath it, his belly pressed to the
floor and his ears drawn back. The lights flickered and Gordon's heart sank. This was a
sign that a power outage was not far behind.
Being that the house was so old and Gordon has chosen not to upgrade the
electrical system, any storm was a potential black out waiting to happen.
“Damn!” Gordon exclaimed as the lights finally went out and he and Godfrey
were plunged into darkness. “Not again!”
He waited for a moment as his watery blue eyes adjusted to the inky blackness.
Barely making out the furniture in the room, he was almost glad when another explosion
of lightening momentarily lit his study and he grabbed the flashlight he kept under his
desk for just such a purpose.
Finding a box of matches near the mantle place, he started a small fire in the
corner fireplace. He thought it would bring a touch of warmth to the room when he
added it two years ago but Gordon discovered he had little patience for cleaning the
chimney and stocking kindling and wood, especially in the winter months. “I guess this thing may serve a purpose after all right Godfrey?” Gordon
mumbled as he set about piling kindling and wood to start the fire. Once lit, the fireplace
in the small upstairs study provided enough light and warmth to convince Gordon that
he and Godfrey could hold up there for the night.
Gordon sat cross legged in front of the fireplace and removed his sneakers. For a
moment he got lost staring into the brilliant embers. The flames seemed to dance and
flicker in time to the rain beating on the roof and windows.
He probably would have stared into the flames all night if not for the shrill
bleating of his cell phone. It was the one modern convenience other than his laptop that
Gordon allowed himself. Beside the fact that his younger sister, Marie would be
annoyed if she could not contact him daily with another scheme to set him up on a blind
date with a “nice girl”.
Gordon knew his sister loved him but she viewed him as odd and eccentric and
felt the right woman would change all that. Although she may have been right, Gordon
was too afraid to follow through and find out. It seemed safer to remain at home and get
lost in his stories.
Picking up the cell phone, he saw his sister's number flashing in the darkness.
“Here we go again.” Gordon whispered to Godfrey before answering. Godfrey blinked and yawned before stretching out beside Gordon on the braided
rug.
“Hey sis!” Gordon answered, trying to sound as cheery as possible.
“Gord, I assume your lights are out? Want to come over here? I can have Joseph
pick you up.”
Gordon knew his sister’s heart was in the right place but the last thing he wanted
was the red lights of her husband, Joseph Spencer's police car pulling up in front of his
house in the dark of night. Marie had met Joseph when he stopped into her used book
shop after a break-in ten years earlier and they had been together ever since. Now
Joseph was the Sheriff of Maple Ridge and he and Marie had two children; twins they
had named Trevor and Tina.
Gordon loved his sister's family fiercely and thought that must be what it would
be like to love his own children; if he had any.
Blinking back the tears that had suddenly formed in his eyes, Gordon swallowed
hard and coughed. “I am fine Marie. Try and remember I am your
older brother.”
He smiled when he heard Marie chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Yes sir
Mr. Parks!” She chided. “I just hate to think of you alone in that drafty old house. The
kids would love to see you.” “I'm not alone Marie, I have Godfrey. Besides, I lit the fireplace and we are
warm and comfy right where we are.”
“But...” Marie started.
Gordon smiled. “I'll tell you what Marie. If the power is not back on by the
morning I'll pack a bag and come by for the weekend. We can have a barbecue or
something okay?”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“Love you Gord. Call me tomorrow regardless okay?”
“Will do Marie and give Joe and the kids my love.”
The phone went silent and Gordon placed it on the desk near his laptop. He stood
for a moment wondering if indeed the storm would end before morning. It seemed to
have settled in for the night.
He walked past the window again and glanced down into the garden. Once again
a flash of lightening lit up the yard.
“What the hell?” Gordon removed his glasses, blinked furiously then placed them back on his nose
and squinted, trying to get a better look out the window.
At first he thought the night and his eyes were playing tricks on him. In the
corner of his garden stood an ancient Maple tree and Gordon swore, near the base of the
tree lay a person.
“Impossible!” He marveled. Gordon very rarely got any visitors this far out
except the post man and his sister's family. “Who would be venturing out this far and in
this ungodly weather?”
With a last flash of lightening, Gordon's assumptions were verified. Someone was
out there! CHAPTER TWO
The rain pounded the ground as the figure, swaddled in what seemed to be a
soaking wet, white cloth, lay curled up near the base of the Maple tree. There was no
movement as Gordon hesitantly approached. He was dressed in a bright yellow rain coat
and held a large black umbrella and flashlight in one hand as he walked toward the
stranger in his back yard.
“Hello there,” Gordon said. “Are you alright? Can I help you?”
Silence.
Gordon walked a few steps closer and once again tried to speak to the stranger
under the tree.
“Are you hurt? Can I get some help for you?”
Silence.
Deciding he had to take matters in hand, Gordon walked up and placed a hand on
the figures slight shoulder, trying to get some kind of reaction. He could feel a slight
tremor as he touched the body and was somewhat relieved that he or she was still alive.
Gathering his strength, Gordon placed the umbrella down and reached over to
turn the stranger over. “Oh my God!” He gasped once the persons face was revealed. It was a woman; a
very frail, ethereal looking woman. Her wavy, red hair lay in wet tendrils around her
delicately featured face. Her skin seemed translucent and almost shimmered in the pale
moonlight. The white garment she worn was soaked through and clung to her like a
second skin, revealing a very slender, girlish figure. It was blatantly obvious to Gordon
that this young woman was wearing no undergarments and blushed furiously as he
stared at her.
“Get a grip man. You have to help this young woman not leer at her like some
perverted old man.” “How the hell did you get here?” He wondered aloud.
Looking up at the gathering storm, he knew another thunder strike and downpour
was imminent. Very gently, he gathered the young woman in his arms and quickly
rushed her into the house. Once inside, Gordon placed her on his living room couch and
wrapped her in an old, brown wool blanket. The smell of mothballs permeated his nose
but he figured it was the best thing to warm her cold damp body.
Rushing around, Gordon found an old paraffin heater that Mrs. Quinn had left
behind in a back closet. Once lit, it began to gently warm the cold, dampness that
enveloped the room. He removed his wet boots and raincoat and sat on the floor next to
the couch and stared at the young woman trying to decide what to do next. Worried that she had not yet moved or even murmured, Gordon slowly moved in
close and tried listening to the young woman's chest. He noticed that her chest rose and
fell gently and evenly.
“It would seem you are not in any distress. Although for the life of me I can't
imagine what you are doing way out here!”
With a flash and a flicker, the electricity came back on and the living room was
suddenly alive with light.
“Thank goodness for that!” Gordon exclaimed. “I know, I will make tea in case
she revives. I could use a cup anyway. God, now I'm babbling to myself like an idiot.”
“Godfrey? Where are you, you silly animal.”
Godfrey sat on the staircase that led upstairs. His back was hunched and his eyes
narrowed. A low grow emanated from the back of his throat.
Taken by surprise, Gordon admonished the cat with a waggle of his finger and a
low voice.
“You hush now. We have a stray in from the storm. She is resting and does not
need you scaring the wits out of her.” The growling ceased but Godfrey would not move from his perch and chose to sit
and glare at the woman wrapped up in a blanket on his Master's couch.
Sighing, Gordon walked quickly into the tiny kitchen and lit the gas stove,
preparing to make tea. Now and then he would peek into the living room to see if the
young woman had moved or switched positions. She remained motionless for what
seemed like hours.
Growing weary, Gordon finally decided to go to sleep in the guest room next to
the downstairs living room. As no one ever visited, the room lay untouched and coated
in a thin layer of dust. He shook off the pale blue bed cover and crawled beneath the
blanket, exhausted. It did not take long before Gordon was fast asleep. CHAPTER THREE
When the dawn broke, the air was fresh and the sun was shining. The only
indication that a storm had occurred was a few broken branches and leaves scattered
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br /> around the yard.
Gordon woke to the sound of a sweet, feminine voice singing. “She's awake,” he
thought happily. “That must mean she is no worse for the wear. Maybe I can get some
answers.”
Throwing the blanket to the floor, Gordon smoothed his salt and pepper hair and
wrinkled clothes, cleaned his glasses and quickly walked to the open bedroom door.
What he saw stunned and silenced him.
Standing in front of the living room window was the most stunning woman he
had ever laid eyes on. Her white diaphanous gown, now dry, swirled around her like
mist and her body was viewable as a curvy outline in the morning sun. Her hair rippled
in long red, waves down her back and around her shoulders. She was tall and willowy
and encompassed every feminine ideal that Gordon had ever written about in his novels.
“Who...who...what are you?” His voice broke as he stammered. The young woman turned slightly and smiled, her song never wavering as she
realized that Gordon was watching her. She raised her arms in the air and twirled in the
sunlight like some specter from a fantasy.
“Who are you?” She giggled softly.
Stunned, Gordon felt a lump grow in his throat and his heart began to pound
furiously in his chest.
“Now what do I say?” He thought.
“Say what you like.” The young woman spoke so softly that Gordon had a hard
time hearing her. Either that or he was so distracted by her beauty that his mouth had
forgotten to form words.
A loud growl and hissing brought Gordon back into reality as he watched
Godfrey getting ready to pounce from his perch on the stairs.
“Godfrey!” He yelled as the young woman shrank back in horror. Her demeanor
had turned from delight to fear in mere seconds.
“Evil creature!” She hissed back at the cat. Turning to Gordon with narrowed
eyes, she asked. “How can you keep such a thing in your home?” Gordon could almost smell the fear coming from her. Instead of chiding her, he
grabbed Godfrey and threw him on the spare bed, closing the door and locking him
inside.
“I am very sorry if my cat frightened you Miss.”
The young woman stood tall and placing her hands on her hips, turned her tiny
nose up in the air and sniffed. “I am NOT afraid of anything, especially felines. Be