TIME BEING Chapter 2. THE STRANGER
A dying woman travels through time to significant points in her life, but things are not as she remembers them. Accompanied by a handsome young stranger and her childhood cat, the fate of both past and future now lies in her aged hands.
Chapter 2. THE STRANGER
The house was huge. Sylvan didn’t remember it being so big, but things diminish as one gets older. The magic goes away, and all that is left are walls and memories. But not this time. She was back, and in a way she had never thought possible. Back back. Back in time back. Back to where it all began.
Sylvan was recalling something else as she followed the wounded stranger down the stairs and through the maze of rooms, something that had been hidden from her all those in-between years. She couldn’t put her finger on it; it was slippery like oil or the green slime that lives atop stagnant water. It had to do with…
“The watchers!”
She grabbed Aron’s shirttail and pulled him around to face her. “Who are the watchers? What are they? I feel like I should know, but I don’t.”
Aron stared at her, and for the first time she was really able to see him. Long-faced, long-limbed, delicate features, and hair that curled as it fell around his shoulders. His eyes, dark as tunnels and just as compelling, though if she was asked what color they were, she would be at a loss. No color—all colors—a kaleidoscope of every hue. He must be an angel—or an alien—because she had never before seen such an amalgam of elements in a human being.
“Come on, Sylvan. We don’t have much time.”
Sylvan shook off her wonder. “First tell me what’s going on.”
“I’ll tell you everything when we’re safe, all right?”
She stayed her ground, a stubborn little girl ready to stamp her foot if she didn’t get her way.
“I want to know now! You said something about a baby—what baby?”
“Why it’s you, of course.”
“Me? But…”
“Come on. You don’t want them to take you, do you?”
“I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about,” Sylvan muttered, but this time she let him pull her away.
Together they raced: across the living room with its vast tile-faced fireplace and built-in benches along the windowed walls; around the old oak table and chairs set in the dining room; through the swinging door and into the kitchen. Sylvan’s patent leather shoes skidded on the linoleum, and she almost fell again, reminding her of the blood.
“Was it the watchers who hurt you?” she panted to Aron’s back. “Did you get in a fight?”
Aron shot her a look of exasperation, his strange eyes flashing like angry stars. “Why can’t you shut up and trust me?”
“I have a naturally curious nature. That’s why I’m a writer.” She held up the red diary and laughed. Her writing career was still years in the future, though the imprint of that chapter of her life seemed clear as if it were today.
Aron had slowed at the back door. “Garden or basement?” he muttered. “Where will they be? I don’t know. I need to know. If I make the wrong choice now…”
“Not the basement,” Sylvan said.
“No? Why not? You don’t think that’s a good plan?”
“It’s never a good plan to corner oneself in a creepy basement. But tell me, are we looking to find these watchers or are we running away from them? You haven’t been very clear on that.”
“Basement it is then.” Throwing the door wide, he plunged into the gloom.
“No, wait! I said not the basement.”
Sylvan felt something soft brush against her ankle and jumped in surprise.
“Brie!” she cried as the cat disappeared down the stairs after the man. “Not you too!”
Grabbing the wooden handrail, she stepped onto the top tread and let herself be swallowed by the looming dark.
“Oh, bother!” she swore, though another, more adult word had come into her mind as well.
Chapter 3: BAD THINGS ALWAYS HAPPEN IN THE BASEMENT coming next Saturday.
For previous chapters, look here.
