My heart stopped.
I thought I wouldn’t see him until next week! Why did he return sooner? What he was doing, sneaking into my room at that hour? I was too confused to articulate words. All I could do was stare at that enigmatic face until he betrayed a hint of emotion.
Adrian said nothing. His lips spoke a silent greeting, while his eyes remained serious. He stared at me like someone who knew many things, but only revealed what he wanted to reveal when it was convenient for him. He leaned toward me, resting one knee on the mattress. His strong hand found my wrist, holding it for a brief moment. His hands gently rubbed my arms up toward my shoulders as he moved closer to me.
Time stopped. I think until the planet stopped spinning.
When I felt his hand touch the neckline of my nightgown and ease it off of my shoulder, it vaguely occurred to me that something was wrong. I should have been wearing my old T-shirt full of holes. I don’t remember having changed clothes before I went to bed. I opened my mouth to express my confusion, but Adrian quickly pressed his index finger against my lips. I felt a slight tingling in the spot where his finger contacted my skin.
His eyes became black as his smile widened. It was a seductive smile, but at the same time dangerous. My heart leapt in my chest, but instead of being afraid, all I could feel was my body melting against him.
Adrian held me tight. It felt like he was almost lifting me from the mattress. His solid chest pressed against me, his breath caressing my ear until his lips brushed against it, producing sparks that radiated throughout my body. When he bit down ever so gently on my ear lobe, I thought I was going to faint.
He began massaging my neck, using his thumbs to gently knead around the bones and muscles...relaxing me, leaving me lost in the pleasure of it...until everything disappeared, except the hands around my neck.
“Wake up, Melissa! Today is your big day!”
“Mmmm...” I shook my hand in the air, trying to ignore the shrill female voice.
The curtains were abruptly opened and daylight unexpectedly assaulted my eyes, forcing me to cover my face with the sheet. Before I could think about what was happening, the voice repeated, “Come on! It’s not every day that you turn eighteen!”
The wretched creature approached my bed and lifted the edge of my sheet. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the woman leering at me—one of the tutors from the orphanage in Dailey’s Crossing. Incredulous, I looked around and recognized my old bedroom.
Oh, no!
I leaped out of bed and turned around, quickly assimilating the old, familiar furniture as if they were stab wounds in my chest. Clothing was folded on the dresser, the posters nailed to the stripped wall were the same; there was a jumble of drawing materials mixed with toiletries on top of the scratched dresser. None of this resembled my room in the McPherson House.
Was it possible that Hadrian’s Wall was only a mega-dream production? If so, then Adrian Cahill did not exist.
My heart sank.
Ignoring the vertigo that threatened to overwhelm me, I dashed down the hallway in time to see the other orphans being escorted to their morning activities...and there I was with them—pajamas, barefoot and disheveled. The children looked at me suspiciously, as if I was a barking mad dog. Well, I couldn’t blame them. If I saw someone looking like I looked, I’d think the same thing.
The familiar aroma of bacon wafted from the kitchen, filling my nostrils, but still I couldn’t believe that everything I’d lived was part of a dream. I held my head between my hands and shook it hard until I was really dizzy.
Visibly alarmed, the tutor approached me and tried to calm me down, but I didn’t want to be calm. Suddenly, she said, “There’s someone here to see you. Isn’t it wonderful? I guess that today will today be the best day of your life.”
She was kidding me! Being snatched from a dream like that is something, but it’s not “wonderful.” If Hadrian’s Wall was a figment of my imagination, I’d prefer to never wake up. In fact, I’d prefer to remain in coma if it would take me back to Adrian.
But the tutor really believed that my mood would improve because I had a visitor and led me down the stairs without giving me an opportunity to decline. Who could it be? Suddenly, I had an idea...maybe Adrian was downstairs and would explain everything to me.
Still in a kind of stupor, but with my brain racing a mile a minute, I was led to Mrs. Winfield’s office.
As usual, she was sitting behind her desk, making some notes. There was someone else in the room, although it wasn’t Adrian. What a disappointment! The silhouette was that of a woman and as best I could see—a very well-dressed woman. What caught my attention was the fur stole she was wearing over an impeccable two-piece suit.
The mysterious woman was standing, looking out the window, but when she heard us come in, she turned around so that she was backlit by the sunlight. I could not distinguish her features as she walked toward us. It was not until we were face to face that I could see her clearly. We stared at each other for a few minutes in silence.
I figured she must be in her forties. The plastic-looking face sported heavy makeup so that it was difficult for me to deduce her real age. A stylish pair of sunglasses disguised her excessive paleness and hid her eyes. Facing my own reflection in those two black lenses began to get on my nerves.
“Looks like a gift from heaven, Melissa,” said the Director. “Your mother has come to pick you up.”
My mother?
Stunned, I stared at the woman more closely. Then I realized that her facial features were not strangers to me. Even though she was wearing heavy makeup, after all these years, I was sure it was her. She looks so fashionable!
However, along with my disbelief came understanding. The woman was pale like a corpse, so she could not be my mother. Was she or wasn’t she? My eyes told me she was, but my heart told me that something was wrong.
In response to my question, a disgusting smile slowly formed on her painted lips.
Gladys Baker removed her sunglasses and I was struck by the impact of two eyes as red as crimson—two glowing orbs that stared at me as if they would burn right through me.
“My dear daughter...we’re here for you.”
* * *
I sat up abruptly, desperate for air. For a few distressing seconds, my ears resounded with my heartbeat, like a drum echoing in my head, preventing me from listening to the sounds around me. My brain began to issue orders requiring that I site myself in the environment. In response, I frantically looked around.
My adrenaline levels started to decline when I was able to recognize myself in my room in McPherson House. My birthday was more than two months ago. I was in Hadrian’s Wall. The time travel was just a nightmare, right?
Right...
This realization enabled me to calm down considerably. I breathed deeply a few times, though I still felt like I couldn’t get enough air. The nightmare seemed so real to me that now it was difficult to believe that the sensations, the smells and colors were merely a figment of my imagination.
I jumped out of bed, stumbling a little as I turned to look for my cell phone that was on the headboard. I needed to confirm the date. My vision still was blurry, but with a little effort I managed to read the text on its small screen. My return to Dailey’s Crossing was merely another one of my outlandish dreams. A nightmare, indeed...one hell of a nightmare!
Suddenly, I realized there was a message in my phone’s inbox. “Sleep with the angels and dream with me...Adrian.” The message had been posted at 00:20, right after our phone conversation.
A huge sense of relief came over me. Adrian was not a product of my imagination, but the severe distress caused by the nightmare still affected my entire being, making me shiver. At that moment I was sure that I liked Adrian more than my good judgment told me I should. However, after experiencing the horror of that nightmare, good judgment was the last thing that mattered now. If my feelings for him were changing the way I see the world, then it was time to
admit to myself that our meeting might have been planned for something greater than us.
Destiny...
Was it necessary for me to experience a terrible nightmare to see that? All I knew about love was what I’d seen in movies and TV shows, so why did my feelings for Adrian seem so right...so natural? If it was meant to be, I should not try to avoid it. Whether he is a man or a mythical creature, it didn’t matter anymore. I laughed as I re-read Adrian’s text message. What would he say if I told him that I’d slept with him, but dreamed with demons instead of angels?
* * *
I noticed that it was late and I needed to hurry so that I wouldn’t miss breakfast. I put on the first outfit that came to mind, put my cell phone and wallet in my new handbag, and combed my hair with my fingers.
After a quick check in the mirror, I headed for the door. I jerked it open so abruptly that the note hanging on the doorknob fell to the floor. I leaned down to pick it up, frowning when I saw that it was from Delilah, saying she was waiting for me in the cafeteria.
I crumpled the note and tossed it into my bag. I had a lot to do now and I felt glad about that, especially after the phone conversation with Adrian. I had a big smile on my face, anticipating our reunion on next Saturday. Take it easy, girl. Control yourself!
Upon entering the cafeteria, I saw no sign of Delilah. In fact, all of the tables were empty. The only sign that there were people around was the noise I heard in the kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief. Delilah had probably given up on me.
I went to the counter and prepared a bowl of cereal with milk, while planning my day. This time there were no attendants serving the food. I confess that I prefer self-service, preferably without an audience. I ate quickly, put the dirty dishes in the stack on the corner of the counter, and went to find Keyra McPherson.
As usual, she was at the reception desk. She was focused on separating some documents into neat piles. I approached quietly, but she noticed my presence without even looking up from what she was doing.
“How can I help you, Miss Baker?
I braced my hands on the counter.
“I was thinking...Do you have some kind of safe...safety deposit box here?”
She gave me a keen eye, without stopping to count her papers.
“Let me see if I can guess...would it be something where you could store a codex?”
With wide eyes, I nodded. She laughed at my amazement and extended her hand.
“Yes, I have a safe,” she said.
I felt relieved. My problem was at least temporarily resolved. Someone had already invaded my room once and since Adrian told me about Joe Verano’s obsessive interest in the lives of the Cahills, having to safeguard this valuable document was becoming a problem.
“Can I trust you that it will be safe?”
“It could only be more safe if you locked it in Fort Knox or maybe in some Swiss bank.
I searched inside my handbag and handed her the personal diary which I had wrapped in an old faded scarf. She smiled at me and disappeared through a door under the stairs. A minute later, she returned.
“When you want it back, just let me know. And by the way, great idea to put it in the safe.”
I think so. However, I merely shook my head.
“Anything else, Ms. Baker?”
“Please call me Melissa.”
“Only if you call me Keyra.” She glanced up, raising her eyebrows behind the thin framed glasses.
“Deal,” I said, smiling awkwardly.
We smiled at each other until I began to feel like a complete idiot. I cleared my throat to disguise my discomfort.
“Do you know where I can find a frame shop?”
* * *
Half an hour later, I disembarked the tram in the upper city. Wandering alone was much more fun than doing it with my “nannies” in tow because I could pay more attention to the details of my surroundings. Well, technically, I wasn’t alone, but since Stephen started following me, I tried to forget that he existed; otherwise, it would drive me crazy!
I passed through the security gates slowly. The sentries did not ask me for identification. That was good, was not it? I hoped so. I stopped in front of the guardhouse, but the guard just gave me a piercing look and turned his head away. I was thinking to parade in front of him until he talked to me, but it was only an impulse without rhyme or reason. With a shrug, I went on, stopping when I reached the main street where I could see the giant panthers above the walls. I stood there admiring them for a long time.
Hadrian’s Wall had so many exotic locations...a treasure for photographers and panthers. With so many security protocols, I wondered if there was any prohibition against taking pictures of the statues. No, of course not. It would be like forbidding people to photograph the Statue of Liberty while visiting New York.
Fearful, I looked from one side to the other and I saw no one, so I tried a few angles and started taking photos with my new phone. My new phone! I never could have imagined that someday I’d ever have a chic cell phone. Minutes later I watched as the images were saved in memory. Amazing!
I heard footsteps and suddenly realized that I was in the middle of the street where someone could have seen me. I dropped the phone into my handbag and fled. While accelerating the pace, I thought I heard what might have been a male’s short laugh, but there was no one around.
Oh, sure! Of course there was!
But when no one came into view, I got carried away and I took more pictures of all the interesting things that I encountered until the memory in my phone was full and I had to stop.
Ahead, at the next corner, I saw the sign of the shop Keyra mentioned to me—Fenton Frame Shop & Gallery. The sign letters written with delicate and bright colors were painted on a white wooden double door flanked by blue clapboards. Both the door leaves contained large rectangles of glass, allowing a partial glimpse inside the store. I opened one of the doors, causing a bell to ring.
The place was empty, so I looked around waiting for someone to appear. The store was divided into different sections. Near the entrance, various crafts were displayed, probably created by local residents. There were paintings, carpets, decorative boxes and figurines. In the center of the store, I came upon a revolving rack containing postcards with scenes from the region. I selected a few to admire the drawings and verse. I was impressed. The little legend read: “Young Talents of Maine Group—Initiative of the School of the Arts UWall.”
“Hello!” I heard someone behind me.
I hurriedly put the cards back in their place, like a child caught in the act of stealing a cookie.
I turned around to face a very old man, half-bald, with a pair of glasses hanging from a thin chain around his neck. He wore a striped, long-sleeved shirt and trousers held up by suspenders. His clothes made me feel transported to a film set in the 40s.
“Hi!” I replied with a smile.
As I walked toward him, I noticed in the opposite corner was an area filled with ready-made frames and frames waiting to be seated. Among them, I saw some hand-painted chairs and a colorful bookcase, also hand-painted. Definitely, it was a “confusingly pleasant” visual.
“I’m looking for a frame for a drawing that I intend to give to someone as a gift.”
His friendly smile accentuated the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“Can I see it?”
I handed him the drawing roller which he opened with great care as someone used to dealing with the work of artists would do.
“Very good!” He glanced at me over his glasses. “Very good indeed! I don’t recognize the author’s signature.” He frowned.
I felt my face heat up and shyly looked down. “It...it’s mine. I did it.”
He raised his eyebrows in astonishment.
“You?” He looked at me incredulously. Now I wanted a hole to open up beneath my feet.
“Your talent is undeniable, young lady.” He pointed to the drawing. “This is Adrian Cahill, isn’t it?”
Now it was my turn for eye-popping.
“Yes. How did you know?”
Of course he should know the Cahill family well. In fact, who in this town did not know them?
“Oh...” He smiled enigmatically. “I’ve known him for a long time! Those eyes...” He pointed to the drawing again, making a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “They’re unmistakable. You captured his personality well.”
Carefully, the man placed my drawing on the countertop.
“Adrian is who you want to give the gift?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head. “Let’s see what we can find...something to fit the lightness and irreverent elegance of your dash.”
Irreverent elegance of my dash? Hmm... I would not describe my modest drawing with such imposing adjectives. It was strange that he treated me like an artist when I did not consider myself to be one.
The man went to the wall and started looking for different frames.
“How about this?” He selected one sample and placed it on the counter and then he placed another next to it. “And this one?”
We spent the next few minutes evaluating several frames. He gave me some suggestions, showing that he had much experience in the business; however, he left me free to choose according to my personal preference.
Biting my lips, I selected some models by the colors and ended up deciding on a simple, black and white frame, no details, except for two silver threads which skirted the whole length inside and out, to highlight its content. I thought it would match perfectly with the small size of the drawing.
“Well chosen,” he said.
I didn’t need to beg him to have it ready by Friday, since he informed me that it would be finished on Tuesday. When we were about to say goodbye, he suddenly said, “I saw you admiring the postcards.”
“I think they’re very beautiful.”
“Do you...” He paused, trying to decide if he wanted to ask. “Would you like to do something like that for us?”
I looked at him, very surprised.
“I don’t know...”
Hadrian's Wall Page 43