Authors: Denise Daisy
Quillan takes my hand and leads the way down the wooden staircase, illuminating our path with the glow of the lantern. The tunnel is bleak and rustic, giving no resemblance of the luxurious home it hides within. Etched on the walls in black paint is the location and entrances to rooms throughout the house. Bedrooms are numbered, and other rooms are listed accordingly, library-bookcase, conservatory-painting, study-fireplace and so on. I think back to the night Quillan and I hid in the tunnel behind the crates and saw Lunar leading the small family through the dark corridor. Lunar took a big risk coming inside the mansion himself. I wonder why Emily wasn’t the one doing the leading. But then again, it’s a good thing she wasn’t. Had I seen her drifting through the corridor that night, I would have died of fright. Funny how your perspective changes with the truth.
“Here it is,” Quillan whispers and steps back like he promised. Hesitantly, I take the lead. When I do, he pulls my hand, stopping me. “I’ll be right here.” He hands me the lantern. The way his eyes search mine gives me courage to push open the door.
The carriage house is dark and quiet. I don’t see anyone. I wonder if I should step inside and wait. I peek my head out of the secret door and strain my eyes. The darkness is too dense to see anything. Cautiously, I raise my lantern, and it’s then I hear a rustling. My heart is pounding now. Before I can squeak out a hello, I see Lunar appear from the shadows. His eyes meet mine and, relief softens his stone-cold expression.
“The cargo has arrived, Miss Averie.” Appearing behind him is a man and woman with two children, a boy and a girl. They look more frightened than I am. For some reason, it puts me at ease. Trying to put their fears to rest, I take the initiative and smile. “Welcome.” I keep my voice low. “Follow me.” Lunar gives a slight nod. With his approval, they step into the corridor behind me. Once inside, I pass the lantern to Quillan, who leads us back up the staircase. It’s deathly quiet. No one speaks or makes a sound. Even the children are following along in an eerie silence. We make it to the second floor and follow the passageway pretty far before we come across a second set of stairs. We ascend those and reach the third floor. Just as Emily said, the rooms are numbered. Halfway down the hall the lantern illuminates the writing
Bed 23- bookcase
. “This is it,” I whisper to Quillan.
“I’m checking it out first.” He warns me to step back. This time, I agree. He pushes open the door and steps into the bedroom. I wait behind the wall for a few seconds before he pushes it open and motions us inside. He has lit the lanterns, keeping the glow low, but giving enough light for the small family to see the provisions available to them. The look on the children’s faces is priceless. I am glad the room is dim so no one sees the tears pooling in my eyes. They act as if they just entered the pearly gates of heaven. The girl is gaga over the big canopy bed, while the boy is salivating over the spread of food Emily left for them on the mahogany table. The woman is mumbling a prayer of thanksgiving as the tears stream down her face, leaving a glistening trail on her dirty, bronzed cheeks.
“Eat up.” I choke back my tears. “Get your rest. We will be back at four. You have six hours.”
The man nods in agreement and thanks us profusely. Quillan’s hand touches the small of my back as he ushers me through the bookcase. My stomach warms with his protection. That, combined with what we did, gives me an overwhelming sense of purpose. It’s a sensation I have never experienced before. I wonder if this is what living is supposed to be like.
We are halfway down the set of stairs when Quillan asks me what our room number is. My stomach drops. “I have no idea,” I whisper back. “I didn’t look. Don’t you know?”
He shakes his head, and I panic. There are at least fifteen different bedrooms on the second floor. “We can discount the ones that don’t say
mirror
after the number,” I suggest, feeling pretty brilliant with the idea. After walking the corridor, we are left with four doors that still read
mirror
. From where we’re standing, they all look the same, and in the dark, it’s hard to determine our location.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
Taking a deep breath, he pushes the heavy wooden door. It swings slowly, and immediately we realize we’ve made a dreadful mistake.
The old grandfather clock tolls eleven bongs as Quillan and I stand frozen against the cold glass of the mirror. I wonder if we should make our escape while the chiming echoes across the dark mansion. The tolling of the clock, however, has no effect on the action taking place in the canopy bed. I am hoping our dim lantern will not be noticed either. I can feel Quillan move, ever so slowly beside me, and soon the light we carry is gone. He did a good job not giving us away. Now, the only source of light comes from the silvery glow of the moon pouring into the open window, lighting a path across the sheets and illuminating James Faulkner’s white ass.
My momma always censored what I watched on TV, so I instinctively turn my head away from the erotic episode playing out before me. I shield my eyes with my hand but curiosity gets the better of me so I separate my fingers and peek through. A bronzed-skin woman rises from the bed and gives Mr. Faulkner a lingering kiss on the mouth. I swallow back a gasp and cover my own mouth to keep from making any noise. The woman dresses quickly. I fear she will head our way to escape her secret rendezvous, exiting through the mirror in which we stand in front. Quillan’s fingers tickle at my hand, so I curl mine around his and wait. The tolling is complete, and the silence is deafening. We have missed our chance to retreat.
Little by little, Quillan leads me to the right, placing us in a dark corner. Should Mr. Faulkner’s mistress make her leave through the mirror, we won’t be standing directly in front of it. I am hoping she doesn’t take a lantern, but know deep inside, she will need one to see her way through the dark passage. I hold my breath and fear they will hear the thumping of my pulse, which is louder than the clanging of the grandfather clock.
Just as I suspected, the woman picks up a lamp and turns up the wick, allowing the faintest glow possible. Instead of making her way to the mirror, she exits through the bedroom door. Relieved, I watch Mr. Faulkner sit on the edge of the bed. He sighs and runs his fingers through his thick head of hair and then strokes his moustache, pressing it down with his fingers. He sits quietly a few moments, no doubt contemplating ways to justify his sin. The room is dark except for the moonlight that now reflects off his face instead of his rear end. His eyes appear empty, lost in sorrow, not the expression of someone who just enjoyed passionate lovemaking. In a way, I pity him. I wonder if this is how my daddy feels after sharing a bed with one of his clients. I’ve never experienced sex myself. I plan on waiting until I am gaga in love with someone before I strip down and do the wild thing. I may be naive, but when I do participate in the act, I intend on smiling for hours afterward and not have the empty look I see in many of my friends and in Mr. Faulkner right now.
He moves off the bed. I shut my eyes, not caring to see his private parts. Thankfully, the bed is a high one, and the covers are thrown back in such a manner that it creates a nice barrier between me and his wang wang. He slips on his pants, tucks in his shirt, and with another heavy sigh, begins making his way toward the mirror. My heart is in my throat now, blocking my air passage. I can’t breathe. Quillan squeezes my hand tighter. I appreciate his reassurance, but what excuse can we possibly come up with if Mr. Faulkner sees us?
He stops at a cherrywood armoire and retrieves a bottle of brandy. After pouring a snifter full, he downs the entire drink. He repeats the action two more times before replacing the bottle. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he faces our direction. I fear he is looking right at me. I hold my breath hoping the shadow we’re hiding in is dark enough to cloak us. If Quillan squeezes my hand any tighter, my fingers will break. Making his way toward the mirror, James Faulkner leans in close, checking his face, rubbing his skin, and scratching at his eyes. With another deep sigh, he places his hands inside his pockets. When he does, I notice something slip from one of them and hit the floor, rolling toward my bare feet. He pauses a moment before heading toward the bedroom door, and then makes his exit, the same way as his mistress.
I can finally breathe, but there is no time to waste. “Let’s go,” Quillan whispers and begins pulling me toward the mirror. I stoop down long enough to retrieve whatever fell out of James Faulkner’s pocket, feeling with my fingers until I touch a cold round object. I grab it right before Quillan pulls me into the passageway. We try another room. Still not ours, but thank God it’s empty.
We have two more we can choose from and, fortunately, the next door we try empties us into our private bedchamber. We both breathe a sigh of relief. This intimidating bedroom feels like home. I run for the bed and fall on top of it, allowing the soft mattress to swallow me up. I still have the object Mr. Faulkner dropped on the floor. I open my fist to take a peek. Lying in my palm is his wedding band. Quillan doesn’t see it, so I curl my fist back around the ring and slip James’s promise to forsake all others into the pocket of my dress. The sense of purpose I felt after leaving the runaways upstairs is replaced with bewilderment.
Quillan turns down the light and climbs up on the bed beside me, suggesting we get some sleep before our four-o’clock appointment upstairs. I agree. I am tired, but I wonder why he’s not saying anything about the torrid affair we walked in on. Then, I remember James is his grandfather. Seeing the man buck naked and being disloyal to his grandmother might be embarrassing for him to discuss. Maybe I should keep quiet about the whole thing, but true to my nature, I have a hard time keeping my thoughts to myself. “What do you think about it?” I ask quietly from my pillow. Quillan rises and turns toward me. The small glow of moonlight masks his beautiful eyes.
“It disappointed me,” he says softly.
“I understand.” I give him a sympathetic smile. “When I saw James sitting there, staring into space after his mistress left, I wondered what he was thinking about, and how he could look empty after something like that. I guess it doesn’t mean anything to him. It’s just something to try and fill a void in his life. It made me think of my dad.” Quillan doesn’t say anything, so we both lay there, lost in our thoughts until I decide to break the silence again. “I kind of think the void can only be filled with a purpose. Without it, life is empty.” Quillan takes his fingers and begins combing the curls away from my face. If I wasn’t lying flat, I would have fallen over. My stomach tightens, and my breathing increases while my heart races. I swallow hard, hoping he doesn’t see me getting flustered.
“Do you have a purpose?” he asks me as his fingers comb through my hair.
“I didn’t before you brought me here.” My head is dizzy from his touch, and I force myself to stay focused. “I think now I do.”
“What is it?” His voice is barely a whisper.
“Helping people, like we did tonight, and making sure you get your chance at life.”
It’s quiet again, and in the stillness of the room, he leans over me. Taking me completely off guard, he outlines my lips with his thumb. As much as I try to act cool and composed, a small gasp escapes me as his finger traces my jawline and continues down my neck. He hesitates at my dress, stopping at the bodice. I breathe deep, fast breaths. For some reason, I am shivering in spite of the heat. What is he doing? Could he really be attracted to me? I don’t know what to do, so I just lay there while helplessly falling in love. Slipping his hand under me, he lifts me off the pillow, bringing me up against him. He messes my hair, pulling my head back slightly before kissing my neck. I think I might die at any moment and as embarrassing as it is, I begin shaking uncontrollably, passion overtaking all logic. My teeth chatter, and a soft moan escapes as Quillan’s mouth moves up my neck and brushes over my lips. His lips are warm as they overtake mine. You’d think after eighteen years, I would have kissed someone by now. I haven’t, not like this anyway. I’ve never been touched this way before, and I don’t want him to stop, but unfortunately, he does. “I shouldn’t awaken love in you if I am not able to fulfill it.”
I know what he is referring to, but I’d rather not think about it right now. Despite what I want, he continues with his apology. “I’m sorry.” He pulls away. “It’s not fair. I shouldn’t have done that. I won’t do it again.”
I sit on the bed, a helpless mess, leaning up against his hard body. I know it’s only been a couple of days, but there’s a closeness to him I can’t logically explain. Maybe it’s because we are both in over our heads, attempting the unfathomable. I want to tell him that I’ve never wanted to be with anyone until I met him. I want to tell him that he is worth the risk and that I give him permission to love me and leave me. But I fear I would begin bawling if I did. “It’s okay.” I give him permission to continue.
“No it’s not, Averie.” He collapses on his back and turns his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s not all right for either of us. Whether we succeed or whether we fail, we will be separated from each other forever.” I lay there listening to what I already know is true, but hearing him say it somehow makes it much more painful.
“We have a month.” I surprise myself with my boldness. He closes his eyes and bites down hard, clenching his jaw. The way his facial muscle flexes makes me want to jump on top of him and start kissing him all over again.
“No.” I hear the remorse in his voice. “I have a month, Averie. You will have a lifetime.” My heart accelerates, and now it’s me up on my elbow staring down at him.
“What do you mean? I can’t go home? What are you talking about?”
Rising up to meet me, he calms my anxiousness by stroking my hair again. It works, and I am soothed by his touch. “Averie, when I am born, I will grow up with no memory of you or this time we are sharing. You, however, will travel back to your time and remember everything.”