Our Time Is Now

by Chloe Douglas

  And though Gideon might consider his new job with J.W. a good thing, Jessica wasn’t necessarily sold on the idea. He’d only recently recovered from pneumonia. Not to mention, he was still under the delusion that he was a Confederate soldier. A delusion that could very well land him in the loony bin.

  What will happen when I’m not around to cover for his Civil War bloopers? J.W. wasn’t stupid. He’d soon figure out that something wasn’t right.

  Flipping the turn signal, Jessica turned right and headed east on Route 60. As she peered through the windshield, she could see numerous stars twinkling against the night sky.

  “I couldn’t help but notice that you seemed awfully intrigued with Draygan,” she ventured, throwing out an opening gambit.

  “I do not wish to speak of the matter,” Gideon replied.

  Jessica tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “You spoke of it plenty in front of Darlene. Or maybe those D cups were just the incentive you needed to loosen your tongue,” she added under her breath.

  “Miss Malone lent a sympathetic ear.”

  “So would I, if you gave me half a chance.”

  “You, madam, are the quintessential skeptic.”

  Jessica whipped her head in Gideon’s direction, angered by his starched tone of voice. Folding his arms over his chest, Gideon returned her stare, giving as good as he got.

  Afraid that she might run them off the road—a very real possibility on a narrow, two-lane, winding stretch of highway—Jessica was the first to look away. “You do know, don’t you, that Darlene is determined to get you alone, preferably in a room with a big, fluffy bed.”

  “You need not worry on that account,” Gideon assured her. “Given that Miss Malone is thrice widowed, I shall watch my step.”

  “Oh, Darlene isn’t a merry widow; she’s a gay divorcée,” Jessica clarified. As she spoke, she flipped on the defrost fan, since the windshield was starting to fog up.

  “A divorced woman? I am appalled.”

  About to swipe her hand across the fogged up glass, Jessica stopped in mid-motion. Gideon’s last remark sent a chill down her spine. Although she’d yet to disclose her marital status, she, too, was about to join the ever-expanding ranks of the divorced. According to her lawyer, her divorce would be finalized in just a few weeks’ time.

  “To listen to you, someone would think that a divorced woman and a fallen woman are one and the same.”

  Still on his high horse, Gideon said, “Yes, in so far as a divorced woman has fallen from a state of matrimonial grace. Need I remind you of the Andrew Jackson scandal?”

  “Gee, maybe you better.” Particularly since Jessica had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Andrew Jackson nearly lost the presidential election because he married a divorced woman. Such scandals are to be avoided at all costs,” Gideon stated emphatically.

  Quickly rallying to the dead president’s defense, Jessica said, “If Andrew Jackson loved his wife, it shouldn’t matter that she was divorced.”

  “That is beside the point.”

  “Well, here’s a newsflash for you: more than half of all marriages end in divorce,” she informed him. She was not only offended, but deeply wounded by Gideon’s high-and-mighty attitude. “Which makes Darlene Malone fairly typical. So I suggest you either get off the soap box or you keep your puritanical opinions to yourself.”

  Gideon’s jaw visibly slackened, his look of stunned disbelief nearly comical. “Half of all marriages, you say. Good God. What has the world come to?”

  Jessica snorted, that having to be the mother of all rhetorical questions. While it was none of his business, she’d tried hard to make a go of her marriage. For seven long years, she’d been loyal, faithful, and completed committed to Richard and his unceasing demands. But having given up her friends, her career, her interests, and even her dreams, she’d finally realized the situation was hopeless. When Richard had hit her in the face, it was a wake-up call, a dire warning that things would only get progressively worse if she stayed in the marriage.

  “I’ll have you know that sometimes, maybe even all the time, there are extenuating circumstances which make it necessary for a person to file for divorce,” Jessica stated. “No one should have to stay in an abusive or loveless marriage.”

  Gideon shot her a quizzical glance. “Why would a husband ever demean his wife? Does a man not take a sacred vow before Almighty God to honor, protect, and love the woman he weds?”

  The naiveté of his remarks almost made Jessica forgive Gideon for his rigid thinking.

  “I guess some people don’t place much value on their marital vows,” she countered with a weary sigh. “Besides, actions speak louder than words. What good is it to say you love someone if all your actions speak to the contrary?”

  “Is that why Miss Malone sought divorce?” Gideon quietly asked, scorn having given way to a more compassionate tone.

  “Probably.” It certainly was the reason why Jessica had filed.

  For the next several minutes, they road in silence, the soft whrrr of the defrost fan the only sound in the vehicle.

  “Were you aware that there’s an old saltpeter cave located near Highland House?” Jessica abruptly inquired, if for no other reason than to break the unnerving silence.

  “The cave was part of my grandfather’s original land deed,” Gideon responded, a guarded look on his face. “During the war, soldiers in General Lee’s army mined saltpeter from it in order to make gunpowder.”

  Although she didn’t want to enable Gideon’s time-travel fantasy, Jessica couldn’t resist asking the follow-up question. “Have you ever gone inside the cave?”

  Gideon shook his head and said, “No. But when I was a young boy, I frequently ventured near the cave. In my youth, I was an avid collector of fossils and Indian arrowheads, which I uncovered in abundance in the area surrounding Hell’s Hole.”

  “Hell’s Hole?” she repeated, the place name unfamiliar to her.

  “That is the name of the saltpeter—”

  Just then, from out of nowhere, a burst of golden-orange flames shot across the two-lane highway.

  Jessica immediately slammed her foot on the brake, causing the back end of the Bronco to fishtail wildly and sending the SUV into the direct path of a massive tree trunk. Leaning across the seat, Gideon grabbed the steering wheel and gave it a hard yank to the right. In fact, he leaned over so far that Jessica was pinned against her door.

  “What in God’s name are you doing?” she screamed.

  “Driving your conveyance, I dare say.”

  “Then watch out for that—”

  Tree!

  Only by the grace of God and Gideon’s superior upper body strength did they avoid hitting the sturdy maple. Instead, the SUV plowed through a farmer’s fence, which bombarded the vehicle with bits of barbed wire and rotted wood.

  “Apply the brakes!” Gideon yelled, still holding on to the steering wheel.

  Jessica did as ordered, too terrified to do otherwise. As they gradually lost forward momentum, Gideon steered the vehicle toward the middle of the field, far from any dangerous obstacles. When they finally stopped, he released the steering wheel.

  “Thank you, God. Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Jessica gratefully babbled as she slumped against Gideon’s shoulder. “I can’t believe that really happened. I mean, we could have been killed. And where did that blast of fire come from?”

  Gideon, his blue eyes fiercely shining, stared at her. “Did you not see the beast?” he hissed between clenched teeth as he pulled away from her.

  Jessica wordlessly shook her head.

  A split-second later, she watched in stunned disbelief as Gideon opened his car door and lurched out of the Bronco. Then, reeling like a skid-row drunk, he staggered through the overgrown field.

  * * *

  Hit with a sharp burst of pain in both of his temples, Gideon fell to his knees. Unable to get to his feet, he groped through the tall field grass on all fo
urs, determined to move as far away from Jessica’s conveyance as possible. He did not want her to witness this humiliating, pain-wracked spectacle. No man wanted a woman to see him when he was reduced to this—a groveling, mewling shell of a human being.

  Because the pain had never been so excruciating, Gideon feared it was a prelude to death.

  Shuddering violently, he toppled over, drawing his legs up to his chest as he curled in upon himself.

  Damn Draygan for bedeviling me this way.

  As if he could read his mind, the beast, again, exacted his vengeance. Gideon clutched his head with both hands as he was seized with an agonizing burst of pain.

  Shaking violently, he swallowed a mouthful of stomach bile, on the verge of losing the contents of his stomach. With a loud groan he tried to raise himself to his knees, but could not, only able to lift his head several inches off the ground.

  “Gideon! Are you all right?” Jessica anxiously inquired as she crouched beside him. “This field grass is so tall that I couldn’t find you. I thought that—”

  “Leave me be,” he rasped, flinging his arm to shove her away from him. “I do not want you to see me like this.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Damn you, woman. I am ordering you to—” The words froze on his lips as Gideon suddenly sensed an unearthly presence passing overhead. Turning his head, he caught a glimpse of a huge creature silhouetted against the night sky, a gargantuan with a wingspan of some ten feet.

  Draygan.

  Gideon grabbed Jessica by the shoulders. “Do you not see the beast?” he croaked, following the colossus with his gaze as it flew toward the western edge of the field.

  “There’s nothing to see,” she insisted, refusing to so much as turn her head. “Now I need to know what’s wrong with you, and I need to know this instant.”

  “My head,” he muttered, not having the strength to argue with her. “I have a pain in my—” He stopped, suddenly able to hear Draygan speak to him. “Evil will descend upon the land of the Greenbrier. The red man cometh. Those in high places will perish in the flames of hell. So sayeth the Beast,” he duly recited.

  “Shh,” Jessica murmured, gently lifting his head and cradling it in her lap. “Don’t say anything.”

  Slowly, tenderly, she placed her hands on either side of his head and commenced to gently massage his skull. Groaning, Gideon covered her hands with his.

  To his astonishment, the pain soon began to dissipate; the heated warmth of Jessica’s hands had a curative effect.

  “The spell has passed,” he told her once the pain had finally abated. Staring in wonderment at his angel of mercy, Gideon rolled toward Jessica and rested his cheek on her upper thigh as she continued to rub his skull.

  Inhaling deeply, he breathed in her scent. Vanilla. And another scent, this one more tangy, more earthy.

  “Are you feeling better?” Jessica inquired as her hands stilled.

  “Yes. Thank you,” he murmured, knowing those meager words were wholly inadequate to convey the depth of his gratitude.

  Acutely aware of their intimate pose, he shoved himself into a seated position. For one brief moment, Jessica’s lips were achingly close, her breath fanning his mouth before he scooted to a more seemly position.

  “Gideon, I’m really worried about you. It isn’t normal to have these kinds of attacks. This is the second night in a row. I want you to see a doctor.” As she spoke, Jessica’s concern was plain to see; the woman no doubt thought that he’d lost his mind.

  Perhaps I have lost my grip on sanity.

  “A doctor cannot cure me,” he stated matter-of-factly, certain it was no disease that ailed him. It was something far more insidious, an otherworldly creature known as Draygan.

  And as long as Draygan roamed these hills, he’d have only temporary respite. The beast seemed able to take control of not only his thoughts, but his body as well. While resigned to his new circumstance—living in the twenty-first century—he would never be the master of his fate while Draygan lurked. If he was to live, the beast must die.

  And the only way to slay Draygan was to fire a silver bullet through his twisted heart.

  Unwilling to speak of the matter, Gideon scrambled to his feet. He then extended a hand in Jessica’s direction and said, “Come. We must return to Highland House.”

  * * *

  Richard Bragg closed the wall safe in his home office. He then carefully rehung the large, framed photograph that concealed the recessed vault where he kept his secret assets.

  Long moments passed as he stared at the wedding picture. Jessica had worn a strapless wedding gown which, at the time, had infuriated him. And though seven and a half years had come and gone, he could still vividly recall how he’d felt when he’d seen the dress for the first time, as his bride-to-be slowly walked down the church aisle. In that horrified instant, he’d not given a damn that the dress had been a Vera Wang design; he’d thought it made her look sleazy instead of chaste and virginal, ruining for him what should have been a perfect day.

  With a disgusted snort, Richard turned his back on the portrait, refocusing his thoughts on the contents of the wall safe rather than on the picture that camouflaged its location. For six months now, he’d been waiting for Jessica to lower the boom, to publicly disclose the fact that he’d not only skimmed money from the coffers of The Traditional Family Movement, but that he’d had a very cozy relationship with several well-funded lobbyists.

  So far, Jessica hadn’t uttered a peep, a fact that gave him renewed hope.

  Obviously, she still loved him. What else could her silence mean? Not only did his estranged wife still love him, but in keeping mum, she was also protecting him from federal investigation and possible prosecution.

  And while Richard was absolutely convinced that his wife still held him in tender regard, he was admittedly stymied as to why Jessica had not yet repented and come back to him. Ever since her abrupt and totally unexpected departure, he’d been waiting for her to return. Because he’d always taken care of their finances and made all the major household decisions, he was certain that she lacked the wherewithal to make it on her own.

  Does she even know how to write a check?

  “I suspect that the only thing she’s capable of writing is a mountain of drivel,” he muttered uncharitably as he glanced at a back edition of The Greenbrier Dispatch. Sitting down at his desk, he picked up the newspaper and stared at Jessica’s front page article and its accompanying photograph of a group of Civil War reenactors. “No doubt she thinks this makes her a bonafide journalist.”

  As he tossed the newspaper into the waste bin, his gaze landed on his desktop calendar. Time was fast running out, the six-month waiting period for a no-fault divorce nearly at an end. The thought caused his gut to painfully constrict because the window for Jessica to come to her senses and resume her wifely duties was about to close.

  What is she waiting for?

  “Have I not suffered enough?” he murmured dejectedly.

  Once it had been publicly disclosed that Jessica had filed for divorce, he’d been crucified by the mainstream media. Because he’d always extolled the virtues of a traditional marriage, one in which the husband was very much the head of the household, and because he’d so often lauded his own marriage as a gleaming example of the perfect marital relationship, he’d been lambasted as a hypocrite. His political enemies had delighted in his downfall. In a particularly devastating blow, he’d even lost his prominent position with The Traditional Family Movement.

  Having been figuratively tarred and feathered, he’d had to reinvent himself, managing to carve out a highly visible and very vocal presence in cyberspace with his daily political blog, “The Truth Teller.” Not only did his blog site provide commentary on all aspects of the political landscape, he now hosted a weekly video chat. As the executive editor-in-chief of the site, he had a staff that included several writers, political diarists, and a handful of zealous volunteers. Because of
the blog’s high traffic, he’d recently been invited as a guest on a cable news roundtable, relieved to have muscled his way back into that particular arena. Be that as it may, he’d yet to reclaim his former prestige in Washington political circles.

  “For which I have my lovely wife to blame,” he muttered angrily as he shoved himself to his feet and strode out to the foyer.

  Unnerved by the stark silence that permeated the house, he came to a standstill several feet from the oversized, mahogany front door.

  Why did she have to leave? he wondered for the umpteenth time as he peered through the sidelight’s beveled Tiffany glass. Any other woman would have been thrilled to call this tasteful, upscale residence home.

  As Richard continued to gaze at the front door, his mind conjured a vision of his estranged wife, suitcase in hand, stepping across the threshold.

  Damn you, Jessica!

  Clearly, the fertility drugs that she’d been taking had caused some sort of emotional upheaval, one that he was willing to forgive. Although he’d carry the indelible memory of the pain she’d caused him to the grave.

  Turning away from the door, Richard stormed down the hallway to the master bedroom, trying to focus on the silver lining. In the first two months following Jessica’s meltdown, he’d had her movements continuously monitored by a private investigator. Provided with daily updates, he’d taken heart in the fact that she’d not left him for another man. That would have been an unforgivable transgression.

  Heavy-hearted, he flipped on the overhead light in the bedroom before stepping over to Jessica’s walk-in closet. At a glance, he could see that everything remained exactly as it had been on the day she left. Noticing the jewelry box set on top of the built-in dresser, he opened it and fingered the gold wedding band that he’d placed there for safekeeping, looking forward to the day when he could slip it onto Jessica’s tapered finger once they renewed their vows.

  Swallowing the lump in his throat, Richard slid the gold band onto his pinky finger before he stepped over to the line of neatly hung garments. Quickly flipping through the rack of expensive clothing, he stopped at his favorite dress, a green silk gown that Jessica had worn to one of the black-tie affairs that he used to be invited to.