EXCERPT
:
There’s
something wrong with this, Liz thought. She was crammed
in a pimpmobile with five other people, including her ex,
drinking rum and Coke out of red plastic cups. Nearly twenty-four
years old, graduated from college and then some, she was
too old to be here, acting like this.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ethan snarled
at her.
“Nothing is wrong with me,” she replied. “I
just think we’re all a little old for this high school
routine.”
“Weird being around me?” Ethan asked, nodding
as if he’d answered his own question.
“Come on, E,” Jeff chided. Slurred. Slurred
and chided. “She’s cool.”
And yet Liz noticed Jeff looking at her out the corner of
his eye. Oh, yeah, he was discreet. In fact, it felt like
they were all looking at her—Hannah, Jeff, Ethan-ex-boyfriend-asshole-of-the-universe,
even Jordan, looking at her and wondering if she’d
make a scene. She wouldn’t. She might up and get the
hell out of Dodge, but she wouldn’t make a scene.
She hadn’t known Ethan would be here and, in her opinion,
it had been a low thing to do. Hannah was going to catch
hell about it tomorrow. But she would deal with it calmly
tonight. Her goal was to be so calm and cool, she’d
be proud of herself tomorrow.
This was supposed to have been a fun Saturday night out
with the girls—just herself, Hannah, Jordan, and Susan.
But Susan no-showed and Liz had arrived at the Rawls Mansion
to find Ethan and Jeff with the others, waiting for her.
She ought to have just left right then, but instead she
let herself be pressured into Jeff’s eighty-four Caddy,
light blue, and the drinking had begun.
The infuriating thing was how her girlfriends had all insisted
on her coming out tonight. She’d been depressed lately
and had gotten used to staying in on weekends. It wasn’t
because of Ethan or because of any guy. Mostly, she stayed
home because she hated the singles scene. A night spent
bar hopping always left her feeling even more empty and
alone than she’d felt before the night out. It would
have been nice having a guy she cared about in her life
but, so far, they’d all proved to be self-absorbed,
self-important, and utterly consumed with the pursuit of
money.
Then there was work, which took up a majority of her life.
She worked in the admissions office of a large, glossy retirement
village, yet for all the gloss, the one factor that was
constant and inescapable was that there were a lot of lonely,
unwanted older people in the world. She felt sorry for them,
and yet she couldn’t help feeling that they had done
a lot more living than she had. Not just in terms of years,
but quality and passion.
Passion. That was what was missing from her life. In fact,
it seemed to be missing. Her theory, and she’d been
working on it for a while now, was that there was no real
danger to people’s lives anymore, which meant no noble
causes to get caught up in. Instead, people were caught
up in a quest for wealth and possessions. God, but she wanted
some passion in her life!
“This’ll be fun,” Jordan said, sending
Liz a sorry, I know this is screwed look. “The haunted
grounds are incredible.”
Liz was determined to lighten up. Really, there was no reason
for her to feel uptight. She’d broken up with Ethan
after he was caught screwing around. It was crazy how he
was playing the rejected boyfriend and she was being made
to feel guilty. Of course, the guilt may have been in the
pretense, since she’d wanted out of the relationship
for a while before he was caught. She hadn’t known
how to go about it, but that had all changed the night she
brought take-out over to his apartment unannounced and found
him bodily engaged with two slightly overweight females
she’d never seen before in positions she’d never
seen before. It had turned her stomach and she’d dropped
the food, uttered a benign, “Oh, my God!” and
ran out.
Among other things, it was a wasted twenty-eight dollars
for take-out. She had since accepted his apology but that
was as far as she’d go. There would be no getting
back together again. Truthfully, her reaction that night
had been over-dramatic and self-serving. She’d looked
all hurt and devastated at the betrayal when he’d
never had the power to do that to her. She’d never
cared that much. Maybe she just couldn’t care that
much about anything or anyone anymore. Not after the rejections
she’d faced in her life.
“I heard he spends a half million dollars on this,”
Hannah said.
She was referring to Mr. Leroy Rawls, the multi-millionaire
who owned the mansion, and who allowed the use of his property
for the Haunted Grounds every year.
“Even if he does, he makes it back,” Jeff replied.
“Eight bucks a head, like a thousand people come every
night for at least a month.”
“He doesn’t make any money on it,” Liz
corrected him. She was feeling edgy and pinned in, especially
as Jeff began smoking another cigarette. “The proceeds
all go to charity. Are we about ready?”
Hannah was mixing rum and Cokes in plastic cups and making
them much too strong. “One more,” she said,
holding out her hand for Liz’s cup. “Pass me
your cup.”
“No thanks, I’m fine,” Liz said.
“She wouldn’t want to get out of control or
anything,” Ethan said. “Not with me around.
Can’t have that.”
“It’s not a control issue, Ethan,” Liz
retorted.
“Baby, your whole life is a control issue. You have
to be in control. Why do you think—”
“So, are we going or what?” Jordan spoke up,
interrupting the tirade. “The ghosts and goblins await
us.” She opened her door and got out, and Liz clamored
out right behind her. “Did you know he was coming?”
Jordan asked, when they’d put a little distance between
themselves and the others.
“No, and I’m so pissed at Hannah,” Liz
fumed, keeping her eyes on the walk in front of her. The
grounds of the mansion were lush and well tended but there
were many ancient trees with raised roots.
“He’s trying to get to you, Liz. Don’t
let him.”
Liz took a couple of breaths. Jordan was right. And what
the hell had happened to calm and cool, she silently chided
herself. “Let’s just forget them and have fun,”
Jordan said cheerfully. “This place is beautiful,
isn’t it?”
“Even with the crowds and the tacky decorations,”
Liz agreed. The mansion, built in 1818, boasted more than
a hundred rooms, so she’d been told. It was a private
residence, but they occasionally had tours. She’d
never had the twenty-five dollars to blow on it but one
of these days she was going to go.
“Hey, wait for us,” Hannah said, coming up behind
them. “Have you been here before?” she asked
Jordan.
“Yeah, last year. It’s cool. There’s a
sound system set up and fog machines, ghosts, witches. There’s
a kitschy quality about all of it—”
“A what?” Jeff asked.
“Phony but in a fun, made-up way. You know what I
mean?”
They approached the ticket gates and got in line. “You
think the rain will hold off?” a woman in the next
line fretted.
“Who cares?” Ethan asked as he stepped in front
of Liz. “We’re not sweet enough to melt, are
we, Lizzy?”
Distant thunder rumbled and a light breeze blew. It was
going to rain. It was probably going to pour.
“I can smell rain,” a man spoke up behind Liz.
Somehow she’d ended up in the back of her group. She
turned around to face the man. “Me, too,” she
said. “I always love that smell.”
“Me, too,” he replied. He was probably sixty
but still attractive with neatly coifed steel-gray hair.
He was holding the hand of a girl who looked to be about
eight or nine. She looked tired and had leaned her head
against him.
“Yes, I can always smell it,” the man said pleasantly.
“That and my elbow gets a twinge of arthritis.”
It was past ten o’clock. “It’s kind of
late for you, isn’t it?” Liz asked the girl.
She grinned shyly. “Everybody in my class has seen
it,” the girl replied.
“That’s the reason we’re here,”
the man said. “It sure wasn’t my idea and her
mother is likely to have a fit.” The man and girl
exchanged a look. “You’re going to get Grandpa
in trouble, you know.”
The girl grinned even wider and Liz turned back around.
The obvious love and affection between grandfather and granddaughter
was both sweet and acutely painful to witness.
“At least the line’s moving fast,” the
man said.
Liz blinked, realizing her group was not in front of her.
“Come on, Lizzy Borden,” Ethan called, holding
up tickets. “Got ‘em for everybody.”
Liz made a sound of disgust, hating the attention he’d
drawn to her. It was also embarrassing that they’d
cut into line in front of everyone else.
“Was he kidding about your name?” the man behind
her asked.
“It’s Gordon,” Liz said. “Elizabeth
Gordon. He thinks he’s funny.”
“That’s a beautiful name,” the man said,
smiling at her.
“Thank you. You two have fun,” Liz said as Hannah
came back for her, grabbed hold of her arm, and pulled her
away. It was irritating, and Liz had a strong desire to
give Hannah a big ole’ shove. Instead, she merely
shook off her hand. “Do you mind?”
“Don’t be mad, Liz,” Hannah said under
her breath. “Okay? Please?”
Liz just shook her head. This was not the time to get into
it.
The first hour was entertaining, worth the eight dollar
admission price. But then the wind started in and so did
Ethan. “So, you seeing anyone?” he asked.
“No, I’m not, and I really don’t want
to talk about it.”
“You miss sex?” Ethan asked, his eyes narrowing.
“I mean, not that you were ever all that into it.”
She glared at him and walked faster to put some space between
them.
“There’s still ten different trails,”
Jordan called out excitedly. She was so cute, the way she
got excited about things. She was small with short blonde
hair and enormous brown eyes that gave her an air of innocence
that allowed her to get away with a lot. “Dead Man’s
Trail, Execution Row, Bloody Mary’s Mile—”
“I don’t see the point in going down Dead Man’s
Trail,” Ethan said loudly, looking very pointedly
toward Liz. “I already know what that feels like.”
Everybody had to speak up to be heard over the wind. It
was obvious they didn’t have long before it began
pouring. The distant thunder wasn’t so distant, and
there were occasional flashes of lightning from the storm
that raged several miles away.
Jeff gave a loud whoop. “Let it rain, let it pour.”
He then produced a flask from his pocket and drank from
it.
A strange moaning sound from the ground took Liz by surprise,
but not nearly so much as Jordan grabbing her arm and screaming
due to the fact that a corpse had just touched her leg.
“It grabbed me,” Jordan cried, doing a little
jig.
Jeff and Ethan found it hilarious.
Thunder boomed, and seconds later a flash of lighting splintered
the night sky.
The corpse popped up behind them. “Thunder and lighting,
folks,” he said. “That’s it.” Then
he turned and broke into a jog.
“Not yet it’s not. I want to see the headless
vixens,” Jeff complained.
Wind suddenly whipped Liz’s hair straight back. “I
think we better go,” she called to the others. The
hanging lanterns that lit the paths were swaying crazily.
Some had already blown out.
“I think so, too,” Hannah agreed. “They’ll
probably give out rain checks.”
“Oh, come on,” Ethan said. “Don’t
be such skirts.” And he started off with Jeff. Hannah
looked at the girls, who were hesitating, and the guys,
who had gone on, then ran after them yelping, “Wait,
guys. Wait for me.”
“Hey!” Jordan yelled after them, but they were
out of sight. “Jerks!” she complained. “Want
to turn back?” she asked Liz.
They heard the rain before they felt it. Thunder not only
boomed but it rolled and echoed, and lightning lit the woods
up in a blinding, incandescent way. Liz had been poised
to answer affirmatively, but the onslaught of rain caught
them both by surprise.
They took off at a flat out run, but then had to slow. It
was not easy to retrace their steps in the rain and watch
the path for obstructions. When they came to a fork, they
stopped. The rain had slowed after the initial downpour
and the wind had died down for the moment. “We go
right, right?” Jordan called.
Liz frowned. “Or left.” She suddenly laughed.
It was so stupid fighting the wind and rain. They were drenched
and probably lost. She’d have tangles that would take
an hour to brush out, but so what? This would be one All
Hollow’s Eve they would never forget.
“Come on,” Jordan urged and she broke into a
jog again.
Liz glanced behind her to see if the others were coming,
but something else caught her eye, something colorful, hanging,
swaying to and fro beyond the path. She held a hand over
her eyes and squinted. She couldn’t make it out, but
it was giving her a creepy feeling in the pit of her stomach.
She turned and looked for Jordan, but she was already out
of sight.
“Jordan,” she called anyway. Her voice sounded
small in the wind. There was no response. Liz looked back
to the slightly swinging object. She had to see. It was
probably just one of the haunted displays, but why was it
off the path?
She swallowed and began picking her way through the dense
thicket of trees. The good news was that the trees mostly
shielded the rain, except where water had collected in leaves
and came down in fat, cold drops. After several yards of
black forest, she came to an opening, but there were no
lanterns. It took a flash of lighting to reveal the oak
tree with men hanging from it.
She screamed and turned to run back the way she had come,
but her foot immediately caught on something, and she tripped
and fell. Her knee encountered something sharp and she cried
out again from pain and fury. How could anyone create a
display so real and graphic and horrible? Great special
effects were one thing, but that kind of reality was something
else altogether. It was sick.
Lighting flashed above again and, like an idiot, she turned
back to see if any of the hanging men were coming after
her. To her surprise, they were gone. What had it been,
a hologram or something? Only one man was there and he wasn’t
hanging. He was standing, looking at her, confused and frightened
and flat-out gorgeous. Obviously, an actor. Had he gotten
lost in the woods, or was he part of the hanging men display?
It wasn’t raining anymore, she realized. No, it wasn’t
raining in the clearing. She could still hear the rain falling
around her. But in the clearing, there was only moonlight,
fog, and him. Strange. So strange. The fog was rising from
the ground, obscuring everything. A fog machine? Part of
the show? Her heart was hammering like crazy. The man would
be gone in a moment and she would convince herself he’d
just been a vision.
But he wasn’t. His gaze was so intense she could feel
it. She scrambled to her feet, keeping her eyes locked on
the eyes of the stranger as best she could in the moonlight.
She crept forward a few inches until a barrier of freezing
cold mist halted her. The fog was dense, gray and closing
in. He’d be gone in a moment and forever.
Liz heard Jordan calling her name behind her, then thunder
drowned out the sound of her voice. The stranger lifted
his hand, as if beckoning her to him. His eyes never left
hers. Bolts of brilliant lighting lit everything, even the
particles of glistening silver mist in the air. In a split
second of desperate impulsiveness she had never felt before,
she rammed her body into the cold and felt a pulsing of
electricity through her body. Instantly, she knew that she’d
been hit by lighting. She was falling, cold, dead. Then
there was nothing.
October 30, 1783
Wesley
approached the woman slowly. Whatever had just occurred
was by far the strangest thing he had experienced, and he
had experienced a lot. One minute he’d been in a sound
sleep, and the next he’d been torn from that sleep
by a terrified scream. He’d sat up, his hand reaching
for his musket, and blinked in confusion at a raging storm
just beyond the trees. A storm that didn’t touch him.
He’d seen the woman then, staring at him from the
trees. The sight of her made his breath catch. Even wet
and frightened, she was lovely, but that wasn’t it.
There was something different about her. In fact, there
was something different about everything. The area, this
area he knew so well, had been different. He could have
sworn he’d caught a glimpse of a massive building
on the hill above, but it was possible he had imagined that
with his attention so riveted on the pretty stranger. Where
had she come from, and what had so frightened her?
Now, he crouched beside her and touched her. She was cold,
but she was breathing. “Miss?” He gave her a
gentle shake, but she didn’t rouse. Who was she and
why had he reacted to her so strongly? Was it simply the
strangeness of the moment? It had been otherworldly. They
had stared at one another, transfixed, then a fog had risen
between them. He hadn’t wanted her to disappear and
she’d stood up, as if she’d understood his wish.
Come to me, he’d commanded silently. Come!
And she had, through a flash of light so intense he’d
been blinded for moments after.
She was thoroughly wet. No wonder she was cold. He rushed
back for his blanket, knowing he had to get her warm. How
odd this is, he thought as he returned to her. He hadn’t
planned to stay the night in this place, but the absolution
he so desperately craved had not come and somehow he hadn’t
been able to make himself leave. And now he had this woman
and this mystery to contend with.
* * * *
Her arm ached and she tried to shift, realizing she’d
been sleeping on it. The next realizations came flooding
all at once. She was lying next to someone…a man…on
the ground—outside—
Her eyes jerked open, and it was as if she’d been
awoken from the most vivid and horrible of nightmares. Her
heart was pounding and her senses were screaming that something
was terribly, terribly wrong.
She disturbed the man sleeping next to her and his eyes
opened. For a moment, he looked as confused as she felt,
and he raised up on an elbow and studied her. She sat up
and pulled back as much as possible, given the swaddling
of blanket they were wrapped in.
“You’re all right,” the man said.
He was incredibly beautiful. No man should be that beautiful,
she thought, especially first thing in the morning. The
memories came like bullets—the haunted grounds, rum
and Coke, Ethan and Jordan and the others, the storm. “Wha—W-where
am I?”
The air was cold, and pain throbbed at the top of her head.
“Oh, my head,” she moaned. “What happened?”
The man got up, and cold air further assaulted her. She
pulled the blanket back around her and watched as he walked
toward a small mound of things on the ground near a large
black horse. The beautiful man had a limp and bizarre clothing,
a loose white shirt with large, almost puffy sleeves and
tight brown breeches that ended just below the knee. He
started back to her with a canteen, which he offered.
She accepted it, noting that his eyes were a deep sapphire-blue.
“Do you have any pain reliever?”
He cocked his head as if he didn’t understand her
words.
“Tylenol, Motrin, aspirin?” she clarified. “Anything?”
“I don’t understand,” he replied in a
measured tone that made her think he was trying to sum up
if she was crazy or not.
Her heart began pounding again, harder than before. “If
this is a joke—”
“A joke?”
“Are you an actor? Was this all some special effects
that went awry?”
He could only shake his head. He didn’t understand
what she was talking about. He watched as she threw off
the blanket and got up, the fingers of one hand pressed
to her temple. He had realized she was pretty, but not how
pretty. Not only that, but there was a vibrancy about her
that was uncommon and exhilarating. He’d noticed her
strange clothing, of course, but it was rather startling
to see the way she moved about in the long breeches.
“Where’s the mansion?” she asked. It was
more to herself than to him, at first, but then she turned
back to him and thrust both hands on her hips.
“I don’t know what mansion you are referring
to, Miss, but I can assure you that I did not take it.”
She took a step toward him, panic mounting. “Rawl’s
Mansion. The mansion. Built in 1818 or whenever.”
“1818?” he said softly. Again, that tone, as
if he was trying to decide if she was crazy. If she was
crazy!
He had known something tremendously strange had occurred.
He’d felt it. And he had caught a glimpse of a building
in the distance. He swallowed, then raised his chin slowly,
determined to stay calm. “Sit,” he said, gesturing
to the blanket. “Let’s both sit and discuss
the matter calmly. Shall we?”
Sitting seemed a good idea since her knees had turned to
jelly, and she suddenly felt nauseous with fear. She walked
back toward him, feeling dizzy. She must have looked unsteady
as well, because he stepped forward, took her elbow, and
guided her back to the blanket.
“What’s your name?” he asked, gently.
“Elizabeth Gordon.”
“They call you Liz,” he said.
“How did you know that?”
“Someone called your name—”
They stared at one another for a long moment. These were
no special effects. This was real. He was real. “What
year is it?” she asked. It came out just above a whisper.
“1783.”
She paled so dramatically; he reached out for her. “Miss
Gordon?”
She didn’t realize she’d grabbed hold of his
arm but she had, and still the world spun.
“What time were you from?” he asked.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “2004.”
Had she been watching, she would have seen his color drain
as well. There was no wondering if it was the truth, not
for either of them. They’d lived through the moment,
the transition. Not only that, but they’d each made
a choice and willed it to happen.
She opened her eyes and looked at him again. “I can’t
be here,” she said simply.
“You are here,” he stated calmly.
“Am I still in North Carolina?”
He shrugged. “Either north or south.”
She frowned. “How can you not know?”
“Well, it’s not like there are signposts. It’s
wilderness.”
“Wilderness?” What was he talking about? The
mansion was only a few miles from Charlotte. “Then
why are you here?”
“I’m here because—” He hesitated.
“It was a battlefield.”
“A battlefield?”
“Yes.”
The image of men hanging from the tree came flooding back
and she gasped, not having recalled it before. “There
were men hanging—” she turned and pointed to
the oak tree. “There, in that tree.”
“W-what?” he stammered. “What did you
say?”
“I saw them and…I screamed. I started to run
away, and that’s when I tripped and fell. I had this
feeling,” she shivered remembering it, “I was
being watched. That they were coming after me, like zombies
or something. I turned back around, but they weren’t
there anymore. That’s when I saw you.” She stopped
speaking because of the shock etched upon his features.
“What is it? Why do you look like that?”
“There were no men hung last night,” he said.
His voice was raspy and strange.
“I swear I saw them. Most of them—”
“Were in uniform,” he supplied.
“Yes.” Red ones, military…Redcoats! British!
God, he was talking about the Revolutionary War! She swallowed.
This was unreal. This was either the greatest Candid Camera
moment ever, she was in the twilight zone, or it was real.
“Were they your friends?” she asked quietly.
He looked as horrified as if she’d grown two heads.
“Friends? Of course not. They were the enemy!”
He looked off and she saw a muscle working in his jaw. “But
they’d surrendered,” he continued. “They
shouldn’t have been hung.”
So he knew about it. He’d been there. “But your
accent—” she tried to venture carefully.
“My what?”
She could tell she was angering him but she didn’t
understand why. “Are you not British?”
He glared at her. “I am a patriot! I am Major James
Wesley Hale of the Continental Army.”
“Okay. Hey, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to
offend you,” she said quickly, sticking up a hand.
“I was judging my your accent and, for your information,
the British are no longer our enemy. They’re our ally.”
“Our ally?”
“Yes.” She drew a breath to explain but the
gulf between them was too enormous. How could she begin
to explain the events of well over two hundred years? “I’m
sorry,” she repeated. “Okay? I swear, I did
not mean to offend you.”
He nodded stiffly.
“James, is it?” she tried again.
“Wesley,” he said. Then, “Wes.”
“Well, Wesley, what the hell are we going to do? How
am I going to get back?”
“Get back? To 2004?”
“Yes.”
“Miss Gordon—”
She sighed, already knowing what he was going to say. “It’s
Liz. No one has ever called me Miss Gordon. Although there
is a certain charm to it.”
“I don’t think there is any going back to where
you came from,” he stated. “Think of the impossibility
of it. Have you ever heard of anyone going either back or
forward through time?”
“They make movies about it all the time,” she
replied. As soon as she’d uttered the words, she realized
how stupid a thing it was to say. She couldn’t talk
to him. Not really. They had no common point of reference.
He shook his head. “And what are—”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, the panic
returning full force. “It was a stupid thing to say.”
She couldn’t stay here, not in 1783.
He watched her struggle, panic, and think. “I have
friends nearby. We’ll return there. We’ll just
have to—” he looked her over, “hide you
until we can get some proper clothing.”
She looked down at her faded blue jeans. She wasn’t
dressed right for 1783. In fact, she didn’t even know
how to dress for 1783. And she had no money! New thoughts
and fears began crowding her brain.
“It will be alright, Elizabeth,” he said.
“No, it won’t. I don’t know how to exist
in 1783,” she admitted. Tears suddenly filled her
eyes. “You cannot possibly understand how different
my life is from life in 1783. I don’t know how to
do anything women of 1783 know how to do. And I have no
money, not that my money would have even been acceptable
here. I mean, our money’s all different now. Not that
I know anything about your money.”
She was talking very fast and she was obviously working
herself into a state. “Elizabeth!” he said sharply.
She drew a breath and looked into the deepest blue eyes
she’d ever seen. She would have sworn they were color
contacts—had there been such a thing in the eighteenth
century?
“It will be all right,” he told her. “I
promise you that.”
|
