The wind gusted, sounding like an idling subway train and an incessant rumbling of thunder disturbed the night. She rolled over to look out the window by the door. The curtains diffused the blue lightning, yet the room lit like twilight each time a bolt shot across the sky. She closed her eyes, feeling just like the damsel in distress Sawyer must think her.
Before she’d fallen asleep, he told her to wake him if she needed anything. Did that include needing his company? Charlotte no longer felt like sleeping. She needed to know what the hell was going on. She considered waking him then decided she’d just check in on where he was. That way, if she needed him, she’d know exactly where to find him. She was an independent, full-grown woman. Protection wasn’t what she needed. Comfort wasn’t what was called for right this moment. She simply needed to know someone else existed in this place and time.
Charlotte pushed to her feet, keeping the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Beth snorted softly but remained where she lay. Feeling her way to the staircase, Charlotte laid her hand on the railing and followed it up toward the landing. The lightning cast eerie shadows on the walls. She couldn’t help jumping each time the room lit up.
There was no light in the upper hall. She stopped for a moment, considering which room Sawyer slept in. Spreading her arms wide so the tips of each hand touched a wall, Charlotte made her way down the corridor, feeling for the indentation that represented a door.
She turned the cold brass knob of the first door she came to, hoping it wouldn’t squeak. She peeked through the slit of the open door. Inside, the room was cold, dark and quiet. There were no signs of life. Carefully, she closed the door, letting the knob turn slowly in her hand.
The next door was the same. She held her breath as she pushed it open. From within this room, a soft glow wafted into the hallway. As she poked her head through the doorway, she noticed a low light coming from a reading lamp perched atop a desk in the far corner of the room. That however, was not what held her attention.
On the bed, surrounded by black bedding and a headboard covered in black suede, lay a man. Sprawled on his stomach, he was bare from the waist up, his lower body modestly covered by a sheet the color of the night. She wouldn’t have seen him lying there if he’d been completely covered by the sheets. As it was, the light from the small lamp bounced off the curves and ridges of resting back muscles.
She moved into the room, grateful for her sock covered feet as they slid noiselessly across the hardwood flooring. She hovered over the bed, watching Sawyer as he slept. His sculpted face was serene, his breathing deep and even. However, even in sleep, he maintained the aura of a man powerful enough to get his way.
She walked to the unoccupied side of the bed. Taking care not to trip or disturb the bedding too much, she lowered herself to the mattress. Being in the same room as Sawyer calmed her anxiety to the point where she felt comfortable closing her eyes and easily fell into a deep sleep, curled on the bed, facing the door.
A warm hand on her shoulder woke her from a dream. She opened her eyes, trying to focus. Where was she? What day was it? In the dream, she was running from something through a swamp of thick mud. She didn’t know what, just that there was a powerful force she needed to escape. The problem was, as in most nightmares, her legs weren’t getting her anywhere.
The pressure on her shoulder grounded her, bringing her awake and back to reality. Or was it reality? She found herself back in Sawyer’s room, in a world she neither understood nor recognized.
She blinked her eyes and turned to look at him. He leaned toward her, blankets pooled around his waist, drawing her gaze down his torso to the bulge beneath the covers. Whuh! Before he noticed, her gaze flicked back to his face. The dim light in the room lit his eyes, ensuring her he was indeed real.
“You were dreaming,” he whispered, his hand still on her shoulder.
“I was? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. I’ll go back downstairs.” She moved to get up. The last thing she wanted was for him to know she needed his company.
His hold tightened, “No. Lie down. I won’t touch you…unless you want me to.” The smile that curved his lips didn’t quite reach his blue eyes. “There’s a reason you came looking for me. I don’t need to know what the reason was. You can stay. I was only worried about the sounds you made in your sleep. I hope I wasn’t the source of your fears but now that you’re awake, the nightmare won’t likely return.”
His hand left her shoulder and he slid back to his side of the bed. “Go back to sleep, Charlie. You’re safe here,” he said softly as he rested his head back on the pillow.
“Ch…Charlie?” she sputtered.
He hesitated before responding, pulling on the sheets to cover more of his body. “That is a shorter form of Charlotte, is it not?”
“It’s only…no one calls me that except my father.”
“I’m sorry. The name just seemed to suit you.”
She reached her hand out, searching for him in the dark. When his hand took hold of hers in the dark, she inhaled a gasp.
She struggled for words to ease his mind. “No, no, it’s okay. When you called me by that name, well, I just didn’t expect to hear it. A reminder of home.” She looked him in the eye. “You can call me Charlie. I’d like that.”
This time the smile reached his eyes. “Thank you. Now sleep. There’s much to do tomorrow.”
* * * * *
The storms of the night passed through by morning. Through the curtained window the bright sun sent rays of light dancing across the walls. Charlotte woke to find Sawyer gone. She sat up, running her hand over the place where he’d slept. She shifted over, placed her cheek against the warmth he’d left behind and was rewarded with his strong, masculine scent. She closed her eyes, breathing him in.
In the far corner of the room, nearest the window, was a large canvas. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark but was immediately intrigued. Scattered on the floor, surrounding the easel and canvas, were pots of paint, pencils and various sizes of paintbrushes. She arched a brow. So, Sawyer was an artist. She slipped from the bed, holding her arms around herself for warmth.
Fiery reds and intense oranges ruled the canvas. From the center gaped a mouth. She could almost sense the heat and the toxic stench emanating from within the beast. The painting was somewhat abstract, but Charlotte concluded, almost intuitively, it was a dragon. A large, dangerous, ferocious dragon.
As she walked closer, she found other smaller canvases leaning against the walls behind the current work. All the paintings depicted various dragons in stages of attack or flight. They were intense and so lifelike, full of fire and brimstone. Sawyer painted what he’d seen. She was sure of that. His dreams must be so real, she thought, in awe of his skill.
“Charlie? Are you hungry? Wake up,” he called from the base of the stairs.
She jumped at the command, knocking over a can of paintbrushes. “Sawyer?”
“C’mon. Come eat,” he called. “We have to get going.”
“I’m coming,” she called back.
Oh God. Where were they going? Where was he taking her? Images of psychiatric wards and institutions of various security levels flashed through her overactive imagination. Her hands suddenly felt clammy. She wiped them on her shirt and stood up from her crouched position on the floor. The brisk morning air brought goose bumps to her bare legs. She’d give him anything he wanted if she could only see her shop or her father one more time.
Quickly glancing around the room, she found her dry clothing lying across the back of a chair. She dressed and headed downstairs.
She entered the kitchen slowly, her body not quite keeping up with her mind in the early hours of morning.
Sawyer had his back to her as he worked over the sink. He glanced at her and smiled. “Sit down and eat. We have to get going.”
She sat at the small oak table disproportionate to the massive kitchen. In front of her was a plate of poached eggs and bacon, complete with a small glass of orang
e juice in a diminutive cup.
Awed that he’d made her breakfast, she picked up the fork and began to eat. Oh, it’s good, too. This is a good dream to stay in.
“Where are we going?” she asked between mouthfuls.
He dried his hands on a dishtowel, pulled out a chair, spun it around and straddled it.
“I have a meeting at my brother’s home late this morning. It’s very important I be there. I figured you should come, too. You might learn something of your situation. Besides, I can’t leave you here alone.”
She lifted another forkful of eggs to her mouth. “Why not?” Keeping her eyes on him, she slowly chewed the eggs. “These are really good.”
“You sound surprised. I live here alone and I don’t intend to starve. I know how to feed myself.”
“Yeah, but I would have taken you for a cereal and Kraft dinner man.”
“I have to eat healthy to stay strong.” He paused. “What’s Kraft dinner?”
Charlotte’s head spun. “Oh God.” She put a hand to her forehead, her fork dropping to the table with a clatter. Sawyer was beside her before she opened her eyes.
“Charlie? Are you all right?” His hand was on her back, his steady body crouching down to look at her face.
She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m okay. But no mac and cheese? It’s almost laughable if it wasn’t so telling.” She inhaled a shuddering breath. “I don’t even know what year I’m in. I feel like I’m just wallowing in limbo. How am I going to get home, Sawyer?”
He sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll find some answers when we meet with the others. You’re right. The year doesn’t matter. We don’t keep track of years but I’ve heard the term. Grandmother spoke of time in years.” His voice was wistful.
On impulse she turned in her chair to face him. She took hold of his dark knit sweater and pulled him close. She leaned in and ever so lightly, brushed her lips over his. His lips were warm and firm. He pressed back but not wanting to give him more than that, Charlotte broke away. It didn’t mean anything, she reminded herself.
“That was a thank you kiss,” she explained.
His gaze dropped. He nodded and then lifted his eyes once again to meet hers. “What would you have had me do?”
“You could have left me in the city. You could have dropped me off anywhere but instead, you took me into your home and shared your bed with me, in the most literal sense.”
“Charlie, my conscience wouldn’t have allowed me to do otherwise. I intend to ensure your safety.”
“You’ll tell me more today, right? About what’s going on? I feel so disconnected,” she whispered.
Sawyer straightened and walked slowly around the table.
“After the meeting, I’ll know what’s safe to tell you. I just need to be careful until then.”
Her heart sank. “You don’t trust me, do you?”
He picked up a fork, twirling it in his hands as he gazed at her.
“That’s not the problem, Charlie. The fact is, I need to get some new information before I can tell you anything. Anything I tell you now could be old intelligence. It wouldn’t do you any good.”
“Intelligence?”
“Regarding the city.”
“And that affects me how?” She knew her eyebrows were furrowed. She rubbed her temples with her fingertips. God, he was confusing.
“It’s where I found you. Newburg might be connected to your loss of memory or your displacement in location. I’m still not entirely sure what you were doing in the middle of that horrid place and neither are you. You can at least admit that.”
“I can.”
“So, we’ll go to my brother’s. I have to discuss this situation with the Portovenere.”
“The Portovenere? I’ve heard of that. It’s in Italy. The Bay of Poets, right?”
Sawyer looked her with an expression akin to compassion. The heat of embarrassment burned in her cheeks as she realized the Portovenere she knew and the one Sawyer referred to, wasn’t one and the same.
“Charlie, no need to be embarrassed. I’m not familiar with the Bay of Poets. The Portovenere as I call them, are the men who live in the harbor town of the same name. Do you know of the goddess Venus?”
She nodded, resting her chin in her hands as a knot of tension spread across her forehead.
“Portovenere is a village of beauty and of love, named in her honor. The sailors are protected by the goddess from tragedy at sea. It’s the meeting place of my brother, myself and others working to liberate Newburg.” His eyes lit up as he spoke, telling Charlotte both the harbor village and the city held a passionate place in his heart.
“Liberate Newburg? I’m never going to understand all of this,” Charlotte complained, leaning back in her chair.
Sawyer looked at her intently. “Finish up. It’s time to go. Your clothing is dry. Get changed. I’ll meet you outside.”
He rose, slipped into his black knee-length coat from the night before and disappeared out the back door. Charlotte gulped down the last of her coffee, relishing the familiarity. A dark knit sweater was hung over the back of the chair where Sawyer had been seated. It was obviously his, but not willing to freeze again as she had the night before, she pulled it on and headed out the door after Sawyer. The scent of warm spice surrounded her as she breathed the inviting scent of him emanating from his sweater. She found herself actually looking forward to riding Coyote, seated closely behind her rescuer. If this was what it meant to be a damsel in distress, Charlotte decided she was up for the new role.
The morning was crisp. Stopping a moment outside the house to savor the tangy sweetness of pine and wet earth in the air, she was able to gaze around her temporary home for the first time in the daylight. To her left were the stables and past a cedar rail fence grazing fields covered the ground. There were no other signs of civilization aside from Sawyer’s own abode. Forests flanked by tall hills surrounded the entire compound.
She began walking toward the stable when Sawyer emerged leading the dark horse, Coyote. Charlotte grinned when she realized Coyote’s hair was as black and sleek as Sawyer’s. They must be the best of friends. Look at how he strokes the horse’s neck as he leads.
Sawyer spared a moment to look at her, obviously recognizing his own sweater, yet aware it covered a much different feminine form. Smiling, he crouched and linked his fingers together, forming a step for Charlotte to mount the horse. She placed her hand on the horse’s back, stretching to the tips of her toes. Sawyer used pure strength to lift her slowly and steadily to the point where she could slide her right leg over the side of the horse. Without speaking, he placed a boot in the stirrup and heaved himself into place in front of Charlotte. With his tough leather hat pulled low over his forehead, he clicked his tongue and Coyote whirled around before bouncing into a canter. She wrapped her arms around his waist, sinking into the familiarity of their position. Sawyer was one thing in this strange place she felt a connection with, the one hold she had on her sanity. She laid her head against his back and closed her eyes. Loyal Beth bounced in circles around the horse beneath them.
“Do you have someone to take care of the dog?” she asked, wondering who else was in Sawyer’s life.
“There’s an old woman who lives in the forest. She comes here every now and then to check on me. The dog belongs to her as much as she belongs to me. I never have to worry about her.”
Galloping down the lane, toward Newburg, her breath became shallow and a knot formed in her belly. Every so often, she opened her eyes to watch the fields and trees speed by. Her trembles were caused by the unknown. Sawyer had succeeded in pounding a deep fear of this Newburg into her psyche. And now, they were headed in that direction. He’d assured her they were traveling directly to the home of his brother, but he had mentioned they would have to pass within sight of the city. In Charlotte’s imagination, she dodged bullets, and ran from troll-like men or packs of wolves . She had no idea what to expect. All she could do was hope Sawy
er knew what he was doing and would take the safest route to his brother’s place in Portovenere.
Just when she could discern Newburg’s towers, Coyote veered off the road onto what was little more than a path. She would never have recognized the stone and wood structures in the distance for her familiar steel and glass Newburg. The name was the same but nothing else was. Relief flooded her as they flanked the city. Surely enemies couldn’t see them on this tight path.
Coyote cantered slowly through the tall, lush trees. Sawyer was quiet. Taking his lead, Charlotte didn’t speak. She sensed a new tension in him. Longing to ask him what was wrong, she scanned the forest, searching for something he’d seen that she hadn’t. His back muscles were rigid, his shoulders tense.
When she couldn’t stand the silence another moment, Coyote snorted and restlessly shook the reins.
“What’s going on, Sawyer?” she asked, stretching to whisper over his shoulder.
He turned his head slightly and whispered back. “Someone’s been along this path. Someone who shouldn’t have known it was here. Coyote can sense them.” He swallowed audibly and for the first time, Charlotte wondered if he was as afraid as she was.
“Just keep your arms around me.” He squeezed his arms over hers, pressing Charlotte’s closer against him. “We might have to pick up speed.”
Coyote slowed to a walk. Newburg’s skyline was behind them now. Charlotte began to relax. She leaned around his side just in time to lose her balance as he kicked the horse into a hard gallop.
Sawyer gripped her thigh when he felt her slip, and she regained her seat. Closing her eyes both in relief and to avoid witnessing her oncoming death, mud sprayed over them as Coyote drove ahead. Sawyer swore. Coyote let out a whinny and Charlotte opened her eyes. To her surprise, it wasn’t mud that covered her but a sticky, yellow substance she likened to pollen. Her heart leapt, thudding against her chest.
“What is this stuff?” she cried.
“Quiet!” Sawyer shushed her.
Shifting Sideways: The Rift Page 3