by Amy Marie
Time passes and I calm by convincing myself that if I were in danger, I would be suffering. My wounds have been tended, I was laid in a bed to rest, and there is even tea set out for me. Maybe the Talbot look alike was telling the truth. Maybe he was trying to help me?
My stomach rumbles, so I drink the tea to calm it before it gets cold. There are some snack cakes and muffins laid out that I overlooked earlier. All of this could be laced with some sort of drug or poison, but I could be happier dead quickly with a full belly than drawn out from hunger.
I never realized how exhausting it can be to sit and do nothing, especially when you have no choice. Time ticks by at a snail’s pace with only the company of a mirror, a clock, some candles, a tea set, and a rose.
In the past, my personality always led me to enjoy alone time in my everyday life. Only in their absence can I recognize how enriched my days were with school, work, colleagues, friends, interactions, and even technology.
I never would have considered myself technologically dependent. The only time spent on the Internet was for school, research, or to look up useless facts. I always shied away from social media. I hardly even watch TV, and when I do, it’s to appease Char. In my spare time, I often choose to read, or get out of the house. But being without my cell phone is like losing a crutch I never knew I was leaning on.
How can I let Char know I’m okay? And Selma, Eddie, or Uncle Mike? Even Rafe? Once they see the apartment, they’re going to know I’m in trouble. How can I get help?
After a few more hours of searching the room from top to bottom and pacing, I lie down and doze in and out of light sleep. I’m constantly listening for any signs of life from the other side of the door.
As the hands of the clock circle the face and pass the eighth hour, there’s movement and noise outside my door. I sit up and huddle into the far corner of the bed, straining to listen.
There’s a small click as the door is unlocked, but no one enters.
I remain where I am, not sure whether I’m more frightened at the idea of staying, or the unknown of leaving.
Deciding I’ve been here long enough, and more than curious about my captivity, I cross over to the door. Preparing myself with a deep breath, I open the door and walk out.
My mouth pops open in surprise.
I was not expecting to enter into a larger wide-open area that can only be described as a windowless atrium that gives the feeling of being underground.
I take small steps into the open area, glancing around for signs of life. There are many intricate details of the space to take in. The great room seems to have four closed off spaces in each corner, one of which is the room I just exited. In between each closed off space is a feature wall. All four of them are organic and elegant in decoration.
The first wall displays the falling waters of an indoor fountain cascading down a beautiful stone design, collecting to a pool below. The soft noise of the calming flow matches the beauty of the man-made spring.
My eyes are drawn to the second wall, which is adorned with an exquisite array of plants and greenery growing from a bed of soil and scaling wooden rafters along the wall. The botanicals are so beautifully tended; the scene makes you feel whisked away to an ancient garden.
The third wall on my left showcases an extravagant stone and metal fireplace. The hearth is so large it could almost fit a standing adult, and the rustic wooden mantle stretches across the length of the wall with iron and copper accents. Beautiful artifacts adorn the mantle while a toasty fire burns away vigilantly.
What the fourth wall may be lacking in aesthetics compared to the other three, it makes up for in utility. I walk up closer to where the four large circular designed grates cover the wall. I feel the air movement long before I reach the grates and discover an underground ventilation system blowing fresh air into the space. The effect neutralizes the heat and humidity from the other features with precision.
The space is set up in a perfect balance.
“Balancing the elements. The only true safeguard against destruction,” a strangely accented masculine voice says from behind me.
I slowly turn around bracing myself in fear for the cold empty stare, only to find dark hazel eyes trained on me intently. I gasp in surprise at a stranger from my memory, but not the one I was expecting.
This is the man from the river.
“You!” I say not really understanding the situation, but certain now that I know him and he knows me.
“You… know me?” he asks, one side of his mouth turning up in a slight, crooked smile.
I know that smile.
The thought comes out of the blue, but I refuse to voice it.
Instead I say, “I recognize you. You startled me the other night, down by the river.”
“My sincerest apologies, madam,” he bows. “I never meant to frighten you. In fact, it was you who startled me. I had not expected to find you. But serendipitously, I have been looking for you for quite some time.”
His speech is so strange. I can’t quite tell if it’s his tone, or accent, or merely his odd choice of words. Perhaps all three – this man seems otherworldly.
“Who are you?” I ask. “And what happened? Why am I here?” I’m upset at being locked up in a room, and not understanding what is happening. Yet here in this room I don’t feel at all in danger – at least not yet.
“You do not remember?” he asks, and I’m almost certain there is an undertone to his loaded question.
Confused, I avoid the true meaning of his question and say, “The last thing I remember was I was attacked. And then I ran, and sort of ran my car off the road. I guess you saved me from–”
“Talbot.” His tone is animalistic as he growls the name.
“You know him?” I suddenly am afraid of a potential connection between the two.
“You do not remember.” This time he states it, and sighs in resignation. “There is much I would like to tell you. And much you will not like to hear. Please come sit, and I will get you some refreshments.” He points to a seating area in the center of the great room.
As he heads toward one of the closed off corner rooms, I scan again for anything resembling an exit. Unable to find any obvious outlet, I conclude I must search the other three corner rooms to see if they hold the secret to the way out.
Deciding to humor my host temporarily until I can find a way to search the rooms, I take a seat on one of the antique chairs. Taking a closer look at the details of the sitting area, I notice stacks and stacks of leather-bound books and various documents sitting on several tables. There are two full couches, a loveseat, and several chairs all traditional in their design set up in the seating area. Instead of being scattered throughout the large space, all of the pieces of furniture are turned toward each other as if they’re set up to be working together. It creates quite the cozy effect.
My host returns with a serving tray containing a strange array of food, along with more hot tea and fresh ice water. I look down at the sampling of various fruits, breads, crackers, and cheeses, and wonder where I can find a hamburger. What an odd variety.
After satisfying my stomach enough to stop the growling, I grow uncomfortable under his observation. Refusing to meet his hazel eyes, I clear my throat and say, “Thank you. I didn’t catch your name.”
“I apologize, Eleanor. I assumed… my name is Darcy. Darcy Hughes.”
Darcy.
There it is. That trigger. That something that snaps recognition in my brain, but just beyond my reach.
“You know my name?” I ask him.
“I know you, Eleanor,” he says matter-of-factly.
For just an instant, he’s staring at me in a manner that I have never been stared at before in my life. He then puts back on his mask of a guarded demeanor.
I’m flustered, and after losing my patience at my own deep confusion, I snap, “Do you mind explaining that?”
“It cannot be explained.” In response to my nasty look, he clarifies, “I c
ould tell you what I know, but the truth of what is happening cannot simply be stated. You will not believe it, nor should you, without coming to the conclusions yourself.”
“Sounds like a lengthy process. What if I’m not interested?”
“I am afraid you no longer have a choice, now that Talbot has found you.”
“You mean to force me to stay here?” I ask, wild-eyed.
“I mean to protect us all. I have waited a long time, not sure if I would ever find you, Eleanor. I will not let Talbot near you again,” he says with such conviction, I fear that I may truly be trapped.
“What happened during the accident? How did I get here?” I ask.
“When I saw you by the river, I could not believe that you were real. I have waited so long. When I realized that Talbot had found you, I attacked him and got you away safe. If I had not surprised him, he would have killed you. You are safe from him as long as you stay here.”
Okay – part of me knows I should be grateful, but all I can think to say is, “You were following me?”
“I did not know if he had found you yet, but knew that he would come for you eventually. I had to protect you.” He sighs, running his hands through his hair. “I know you are confused, but you will remember. I can see in your eyes… you will remember.”
I’ve purposefully avoided direct eye contact up until this point because I fear what he’s saying is true. Something similar happened when I looked into his eyes, when I first saw him at the river. Part of me wants so badly to look into his hazel eyes and try to remember, but I stubbornly keep my eyes down in defiance.
I need to get out of here.
“I can’t stay here. I have school, work, friends, and family that will miss me. You can’t hold me here like a prisoner.”
“He will kill you if you leave my protection. I do not want to hold you against your will, but I will do what I must to protect you,” he says this as if it should be obvious to me.
“I don’t understand. Why does this man want to kill me?” I ask, close to letting tears of frustration loose.
He catches the hurt in my voice, and speaks in a much gentler tone, “Because of who you are. You have no idea how important it is that you are protected. I can arrange for you to get word to your loved ones, and excuses to your school and employer. I will do so right away.” He stands up as if to dismiss me.
“No!” I stand up as well, stopping him.
His half-smile response tells me he enjoys my challenge a little too much. “I am sorry,” he says.
Suddenly, he’s there, picking me up with ease. He carries me over his shoulder while I’m writhing and screaming, and deposits me into the prison of the locked room.
“I don’t want to be locked in here!”
“This is only temporary to keep you safe, I will do my best to continue to explain tomorrow evening. Anything you need shall be provided. Please do get some rest, while I make arrangements.”
The door is closed and locked. I continue to pound on it screaming. “No! I need to get out of here! Hello?”
My screaming continues for another hour or so, but when it’s obvious there will be no response, I turn back to the small room.
I’m shocked to find more food and drinks left on the table, as well as some books for reading and fresh candles. Next to the bed are an old-fashioned ewer and basin with some linen, as well as a change of clothes and a nightgown that appear to be my size.
What is this, the medieval Hilton?
The desire for a hot shower is evident, but an improvised bath with the ewer and basin will have to do. I refuse to wear the nightgown and consider using it to start the room on fire. Wondering if I’ll be left here to burn, I shiver at the thought of engulfing flames, and decide against it.
I sit on the bed thinking about Darcy. It infuriates me that he thinks he needs to lock me in here. If he would just explain the situation plainly instead of all his cryptic talk, I could decide for myself whether or not there’s a real threat.
How does he know Talbot anyway? And how can he be sure of his intentions? I admit I got a bad feeling from the man, but surely if the situation were dire, he would’ve just killed me the first night he saw me?
The more I try to think about things, the more confused I become. Somehow, I know these men, and they know me. Apparently one wants to hurt me, and one wants to help me. And I can’t even begin to wrap my head around the fact that this Talbot guy is somehow connected to a Revolutionary British officer.
What about Darcy?
The thought of the dark stranger gives me the feeling that he’s just as out of place as Talbot. They clearly have something to do with one another. What if Talbot really is some sort of immortal British officer? How does Darcy fit in? What do they both have to do with me?
As the myriad of questions swirl around my head in a jumbled mess, I feel as if I’m in way over my head. I consider grabbing a book to distract my thoughts and quiet my mind, but there’s no need. After laying back into the bed, my exhaustion from this turn of events has me fast asleep in seconds.
Chapter 11
I walk out onto the balcony and let the cool night air wash over me.
Laying my hands on the balustrade, I notice they’re covered in white satin gloves. Stepping back a pace, I’m surprised to look down and see a beautifully intricate emerald corset gown. It’s more extravagant than anything I’ve worn in my entire life. With an insuppressible smile, my body twirls automatically in admiration, making the billowing dress flare in elegance.
“You look wonderful.” A charming light brown-haired man smiles at me.
Surprised to have company, I look at the man in recognition, but his name escapes me. A deep-rooted connection to him spurs me to return his smile.
He crosses over to me and kisses my cheek in greeting. Right away I get a friendly, brotherly vibe that immediately brings Rafe to mind. Taking notice that the man is dressed in some sort of colonial era garments, I conclude that we must be at some sort of themed event. I’m sure this must be a popular thing in Boston.
“Have you seen Darcy?” he asks.
Darcy?
Wondering why I should see him here, I turn toward the veranda door leading to the party and my mouth drops open in shock.
Ding-dong!
Something is most definitely ringing right in my head as I stare at the polished version of the dark stranger. His longer dark hair has been slicked back, and he’s dressed in all black garments with an emerald patterned cravat that accents his hazel eyes to the point of glowing. Everything looks right on him, and I can easily appreciate how he fits the part of the costume.
Darcy approaches me with a look in his eye that is unguarded and unlike my other encounter with him. “Miss Hutchinson,” he bows quite formally, and I give in to the absurd indulgence to give a small curtsey in return.
Well, how can I help it? I’ve always wanted to.
“Would you care to join me in a stroll of the gardens? If I could have a private word?” he asks, offering his arm. His accent is slightly thicker than I’ve heard it before. There’s definitely something different about him.
Reluctant to leave the party and the visual extravaganza of the costumes, I glance around to see that the garden is not far off. A quick stroll could be refreshing, as well as a good opportunity to ask him more questions. I take his arm and give a small wave to the friendly light-haired man.
“Do not worry, I shall not keep her long, Gabe,” Darcy says to the man.
Gabe?
My head snaps back toward the man, as I try to put together the pieces in my mind that are screaming at me in reminiscence.
Gabe waves us off as he joins the rest of the party inside. I vow to go back and talk to him to help shed light on this mystery.
We begin down the garden path, and Darcy distracts me as we make our way out of range from the party. On one side of the path is the most beautiful variety display of rose bushes I’ve ever seen. Darcy plucks a blossom of the
most beautiful red-purple hue and hands it to me with a half-smile.
“I have never seen you look more radiant. Even this rose could not compliment you, as it pales in comparison.”
His obvious comments of affection take me back. Yet here, being surrounded by this timeless façade, I find myself being somewhat uncontrollably enchanted by the situation. I accept the rose with a shy smile.
“Madam, your smile could outshine the sun. You blind me,” he reaches down and grasps my hand, bringing it to his mouth in a gentle kiss.
Everything is so old-fashioned and gentlemanly. I’m astounded and slightly ashamed at the effect it’s so easily having on me. I feel light-headed and giddy, and begin to wonder how I got here.
All questions are pushed out of my mind as Darcy leans close and softly whispers, “My sunshine,” as he closes in on my lips.
I close my eyes and allow myself to fall into this fantasy…
I sit up abruptly, short of breath with my hand covering my lips. It looks like my nightmares are taking on a new form.
My heart is pounding and I glance around in embarrassment to the empty room.
What was that about?
Frustrated with myself, I shove the dream from my mind and jump out of bed to cool off.
For the time being, I try to focus on reality. Pacing the room gives me a chance to ponder what got me into this mess. I’ve come to one solid conclusion: I’m moving back to the Midwest.
Since I’ve moved to Boston, I’ve had nightmares of being choked to death, drowning, and being buried alive. My strange feelings of recognition now happen on a regular basis. I’ve been stalked and nearly killed by a dangerous and magical British Revolutionary officer, enlisted to help uncover an ancient text to prove a conspiracy theory, and kidnapped by a dark mysterious stranger from my dreams. I just can’t imagine any of this ever happening in Ohio.
Thinking of Ohio makes me homesick for Selma and Eddie. They must be sick with worry, as I’m sure my absence is noticed by now. With the way the apartment was torn apart, I can only imagine what they must be thinking. I never go more than twenty-four hours without checking in with one of the three Goodwin’s. Thinking of Char, I get a little teary eyed wondering if she is missing me as much as I am missing her. She must be so worried!
