Remembered Page 4

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Cappy replied. “Come on; let’s go to Donnelly’s Pub on the way home. I’ll buy you a drink.”

  “I doubt that will help,” Emily said, pressing the palm of her hand into her stomach.

  “Okay then, I’ll buy you five drinks,” Cappy answered with a nervous chuckle.

  “Now you’re talking,” Emily responded.

  Catherine threw her arm around Emily’s shoulders in a comforting manner and led her out of the building.

  Chapter 5

  She reached her arms up over her head and felt the fabric slip off. Completely undressed, she closed her eyes tight and lay down. She felt the burn of the blush on her cheeks.

  After a moment of silence, she opened her eyes to find Kellus gazing at her with an unreadable expression.

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, slightly trembling.

  “I’ve never seen anything so perfect,” he replied emotionally. “It’s hard for me to believe that you are really mine.”

  “Completely,” she whispered.

  “Emily.” She heard Nancy’s voice cut into the dream. “Ems, are you awake?”

  “Um, yes,” she replied, opening her eyes and looking around the unfamiliar room.

  “The tour bus to Stonehenge leaves in forty-five minutes,” Nancy said. “We don’t want to miss it.

  They arrived in London the previous morning and took a cab to their hotel in Kensington.

  After dropping off their luggage, they headed out quickly to see the city.

  Their first stop was Kensington Palace, where they took dozens of pictures, then went on their way to Buckingham Palace, just in time to watch the changing of the guards at eleven thirty. It was well worth the forty-five minutes spent in drizzle to see the Queen’s guards in full dress uniform of red tunics and bearskin.

  From there, they walked to Westminster Abbey, taking lots of pictures of the famous buildings, especially the clock tower—Big Ben.

  Emily was most eager to see the Tower of London, and it did not disappoint. It overflowed with history in a way that made everything back home seem ridiculously new.

  The White Tower, built in 1078 by William the Conqueror, held eerie torture chambers that seemed to pulse with chilling, spine tingling vibrations of fear and torment.

  The Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard both lost their heads over the same fickle man, with it’s prisons that held Sir Walter Raleigh and Guy Fawkes—among many other’s—seemed to whisper of anguish and persecution. The memory of those souls, forever bound to history books, seemed to swell in the atmosphere, eternally ingrained in the stone casing.

  By the time they had seen all there was to see, the effects of having only one or two hours sleep on the plane was starting to become a factor, and still they had a four mile walk back to the hotel.

  They managed to finish off their day with the best Indian food Emily had ever tasted, along with three King Fisher beers.

  Today, they found themselves seated on a comfortable tour bus, gazing out the window at the scenery beyond the motorway, having fought through the throngs of traffic that swarmed the London roads, on their way to Stonehenge and Glastonbury.

  As they approached their first destination, the bus driver took on the role of tour guide and began filling them in on historical facts and theories of Stonehenge. “In it’s first phase, Stonehenge was a large earthwork called a henge. It is believed to have been constructed five thousand years ago,” he explained in a pleasant voice. “What we now call the inner circle is thought to have been constructed around two thousand years ago. The stones are said to have come from Southwestern Wales.”

  He continued his explanations, but it was hard to hear him over the conversations that were buzzing all around.

  Nancy was on her feet and grabbing her jacket from the overhead luggage rack before the bus came to a full stop.

  It was a perfect day. The sun was shining brightly, and there was just a hint of a nip in the air. Emily stretched her arms over her head as they exited the bus.

  “It’s so beautiful here,” Nancy said, taking a deep breath.

  “Yes, it is,” Emily agreed. “Come on, let’s get closer. I want to take more pictures.”

  Stonehenge was every bit as interesting and mysterious as Emily had imagined—like being thrown back to an ancient time. The only thing that grounded her to the present was the motorway bustling with cars three hundred feet away.

  When they were satisfied that they had taken a respectable amount of pictures, they strolled around for a while then headed to a gift shop to look for souvenirs. Emily bought two leather bracelets with painted stones in the middle—one for Cappy and one for herself. The woman at the register explained that the tiny intricate paintings were Celtic in nature, symbols of the ancient druids.

  Two hours later, they were boarding the bus again for their second destination, the town of Glastonbury.

  When they turned off A303, the driver acted as a tour guide once more. “Glastonbury holds some of the best rock concerts and music festival in all of Great Britain,” he explained.

  Emily found herself straining to hear him over the noise and could only pick up certain words.

  “…Many lovely pubs and restaurants in town…be sure to enjoy the local food.”

  “I’m looking forward to that,” Nancy whispered. “I could eat a horse.”

  “Same here,” Emily replied, still trying to hear what the bus driver was saying.

  “Glastonbury is one of the most beautiful old towns in England…many ancient sights to see…” the driver explained. “…Glastonbury Abbey…said to have been visited by St. Joseph of Arimathea. Some believe he may have built the original cathedral.”

  It was almost impossible for Emily to hear what he was saying. The noise level, from a group of passengers up front, seemed to increase the closer they came to their destination.

  “…It is also believed to be the burial ground of King Arthur and his Queen, Guinevere,” he continued. “…believe that Saints David and Patrick—”

  “ANNELLA!” Emily heard someone call out.

  “What was that?” she said aloud. She turned her head to the left and right. “Who said that?”

  “Who said what?” Nancy asked.

  “Did you hear someone call ‘Annella’?” she asked, straining her neck to see what direction the voice had come from.

  “No,” Nancy replied.

  “Never mind,” Emily breathed, assuming that she had imagined the voice.

  “…Chalice Well and Gardens…” the driver continued. “…a beautiful spot, so be sure to have your cameras—”

  “ANNELLA!”

  Emily knew for sure that she’d heard it that time. It was crystal clear, and it seemed to cut through all the other chatter as if momentarily suspending all other sounds. She looked around again. No one else seemed to hear the voice.

  “…A nice walk to Glastonbury Tor,” the driver prattled on, barely audible. “…The ruins of St. Michael’s cathedral…believed to be the gateway to the mythical Avalon —”

  “ANNELLA!”

  Emily’s heart started beating faster, and a wave of nausea overcame her. That voice sounded so desperate, so distraught, like it was pleading. But where had it come from? Moreover, why was she the only person who could hear it? Her mind began racing. ‘Annella…I’ve heard that name before,’ she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a couple of deep breaths to try calming herself.

  “Are you okay?” Nancy asked, on her feet, once again, before the bus stopped. “You look very pale. Are you feeling ill?”

  “I’m fine,” Emily replied through clenched teeth. “I felt a little sick, but I think it’s passed.”

  She followed Nancy off the bus and found a little bench. She sat down, still feeling queasy.

  “What can I do for you?” Nancy questioned, standing over her.

  “Go on ahead,” Emily responded. “I’ll meet you in an hour at the pub across the
street,” she added, gesturing to an old red and white building that had a quaint and inviting look. “We can eat lunch there.”

  “Are you sure?” Nancy questioned with concern. “I hate to leave you like this.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Emily promised, eager to get away from her boss for a while.

  When Nancy was no longer in sight, Emily stood up and walked in the opposite direction, trying fiercely to remember where she had heard that strange name before.

  She wandered around the shops for a while then strolled up a beautiful side street. Rows of charming two story buildings in reds, pale blues, beige, and whites adorned each side of the narrow street. Behind the buildings, on the left hand side, a cathedral tower shot up into the sky, creating a postcard perfect setting.

  Up ahead, she could see St. Michael’s tower standing on top of the beautiful hill.

  Slowly the incident from the bus began to dissipate and she found herself thoroughly enjoying the walk through the charming town.

  Further up the pretty street, she stopped an elderly man to ask the best way to approach the hill.

  “Enjoy the view; it’s quite lovely,” the man said pleasantly after telling her the way.

  She walked as directed and marveled at how green the grass was in this part of the world. Her eyes were drifting over a picturesque field, sprinkled with tiny yellow and white wild flowers, when she saw it.

  She blinked twice to make sure that her mind wasn’t playing tricks again.

  There appeared to be a wavy pattern in the air; the kind of waves that one would see on an expressway in summer—heat waves. She blinked and looked again. The wavy pattern was still there. It was about six feet high and four feet across, like a watery doorway in the middle of the field.

  Emily stopped walking, trying to identify what she was seeing, completely mesmerized.

  “ANNELLA!” This time, the anguished voice seemed to come from inside the patterned air.

  All this time, Emily had pictured England to be a country of wizards, hobbits, and dragons. Maybe she’d been right all along. This was, after all, the town that held the gateway to Avalon.

  She chuckled silently, staring at what was probably some kind of gas leak, convinced that the voice she’d heard was due to jet lag, yet she was more curious than she’d ever been before.

  She hopped over the tiny stone wall and started walking towards the strange waves. Her heart was thumping so hard that she put a hand over it as if to hold it in place.

  ‘This is not smart,’ she scolded herself. ‘This could be very dangerous.’ No, there had to be a logical explanation for this. If this was something poisonous, the authorities should be notified.

  As she approached the wavy pattern, she could see that it was thicker than she first thought; she could not see through it. She reached a shaky hand out in front and felt cool air coming from inside.

  She suddenly had a strange urge to walk through the waves. Realizing that this was undoubtedly a huge mistake, she took a step through anyway—into complete darkness.

  Chapter 6

  She could see nothing.

  In the darkness, she felt oddly calm. She should have been petrified. She knew that would have been the logical reaction, but she felt no fear.

  Perhaps this was some kind of reaction to King Fisher beer; like those expensive bottles of tequila with the worm that makes people hallucinate when consumed, but with a delayed reaction. No. She knew that was not so. This was something else entirely. Maybe she’d finally cracked under pressure.

  She threw her head back and looked straight up. A million stars covered the sky. Then she noticed a purple streak to the far left. Dawn was approaching. As impossible as it seemed, it was the start of a new day. It had just been a beautiful sunny afternoon, now it was somehow a cold early morning.

  She untied her sweatshirt from around her waist and pulled it over her head, grateful that she’d brought it. She sat on the grass, placed her hands over her face, and squeezed her eyes closed. “This is not happening,” she said aloud. Her voice sounded eerie in the stillness; there was not another sound anywhere.

  She took a deep breath, slowly raised her head, and opened her eyes. Why didn’t she feel terrified? Any normal person would have. Why was she just sitting there calmly instead of freaking out?

  She remained sitting on the grass until the sky became a light purplish-blue, until she could see forward clearly.

  Another fact slowly seeped into her consciousness: this was not the same field that she had been in earlier, and there was no trace of the wavy doorway.

  She felt suddenly dizzy, slightly short of breath, mildly panicked. Where was the hill, Glastonbury Tor? Where was the road, the one that she’d walked on, the one with the cars speeding past? She stood and turned a complete circle, her heart pounding against her ribs. This was definitely not the same field, but as strange as that was, she was still too calm, still had no sense of fear—that fact alone disturbed her tremendously.

  As the sky brightened, she began walking in the direction that she had come from, to where the road should have been, but the road was no longer there. Instead, there was a forest in the distance. Her legs kept moving in that direction. Some strange compulsion came over her, and she gravitated towards the trees.

  Birds began chirping, which was a welcome relief from the disturbing silence.

  When she approached the forest, she could see that it wasn’t very dense, but she didn’t want to walk through until the sun had fully risen. Then she questioned why she would want to walk into it at all. But she had a hunch that this was the direction she should take, an overpowering intuition that she couldn’t ignore.

  A very narrow stream bordered the forest, and when she was confident that it was light enough to see her way through the trees, she jumped over it.

  Déjà vu overwhelmed her.

  “I’ve done that before,” she said out loud. As impossible as it seemed, she knew she had jumped that stream hundreds of times.

  Then somehow she knew that if she walked through the forest, she would come to a small cottage that was very familiar. Her logical mind knew this could not be true. How could she know what lies beyond a forest she’d never been in? Nevertheless, a buried memory, a part of her that defied logic, coaxed her forward.

  She started to walk quickly, knowing beyond any doubt the direction that she had to take, not flinching when she heard rustling near her. She was so sure that nothing dangerous lurked in this place.

  After a short walk, she emerged at the far end of the forest, and there it was, the cottage that she would have recognized anywhere.

  Her head was reeling as she walked down the grassy hill towards the back of the little white stone house. She knew she walked on what should have been a vegetable garden, but noticed, with disgust, that it had not been tended in ages; weeds grew wild everywhere. It looked as though this place had been empty for some time. She felt a stab of sadness, wondering what happened here, wondering how this all seemed so familiar.

  When she reached the narrow cement yard in front of the backdoor, she pushed down on the latch and sighed with relief when the door swung open easily.

  The inside of the house was cold and damp. A moldy smell hit her nose; another confirmation that the house had been completely empty for an extended period.

  She walked straight into the kitchen to light the stove, and thanked heaven that there was enough dry firewood on hand. It was so natural, so strangely routine to light the stove. How could this be? Had she lived here as a child? It seemed she must have, or how else could she feel so at ease in this place?

  She stood over the open fire and held her hands to the flame, not yet closing the oven door. It was colder in the house than outside.

  Knowing exactly where the loose tea was kept, she pulled a pot from the cupboard to boil water and turned to the sink. The water ran a yellow-brown color. Of course, no one had run the water lately; it was not fit to drink.

  She put her
hands back over the open fire of the stove and looked around, torn between utter shock and a feeling of extreme comfort. Shocked at what was happening, but comforted by the feeling that only home can bring. She gave into the comfort, hoping that, in time, she would remember when and how she knew this place so well.

  The room that she stood in was the kitchen and living area combined. It was a large room with a wooden table surrounded by six chairs, along with the typical kitchen paraphernalia: sink, stove, food storage, and cupboards. In the far corner were two large upholstered armchairs.

  A corridor outside the kitchen ended at the front door to the house. To the left was a spare room used for storage. To the right, three doors in a row: two bedrooms and a bathroom.

  She walked around the bedrooms. Everything was so familiar, so beloved, except…as she stood overlooking one of the beds, she had a strange feeling that she had seen this room very recently.

  She shook her head as if to clear it, walked up the hall, and opened the front door to be greeted by a view that was as natural as breathing: the ocean, like an old friend, roared against the shore, welcoming her home.

  As she walked back down the hall, something began to trouble her. Something pulled on the corner of her mind. She instinctively realized that something was very wrong. “Something is missing here,” she said aloud, “something of great importance.” The nagging feeling became stronger, leaving an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She walked back to the kitchen, racking her brain.

  It suddenly struck her with a powerful force. “CORA! MAX!” she screamed out.

  Where were Cora and Max?

  She started feeling panic rising inside her finally, and tears streamed down her face.

  Then the ultimate realization sunk in, so much so that she felt she had been under a spell. She wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, utterly overwhelmed. “I am Annella Derlyn!” she gasped. “This is my home in West Vistira!”

  This was not a house she’d been in as a child. She grew up in this little house with her mother and father, as well as her brother and sister.