Reminiscence (Statera Saga Book 1)

by Amy Marie

  “The same way you know me,” is his evasive response.

  I seriously consider risking the curse to give him a good dagger poke in exasperation. I may not be the most patient person, but my temper has never been so tried as it has in this man’s presence.

  If there’s ever a good time that my expressions are so easily read, it’s when I’m irritated. At my glare, he laughs and says, “You fail to comprehend how frustrating this is to me as well. But if you were to take a blindfolded man and describe to him the essence of something, would the description match when he is to open his eyes and see it for himself, or would he continue to see it as through the blindfold?”

  Thinking for a moment, I say, “You don’t want to influence me?”

  “Precisely.”

  “But you don’t mind kidnapping me?”

  “I do not mind protecting you.” He corrects, enjoying himself too much.

  “Why is this the only place that is safe? If Talbot has been following me as well, then he knows where my family is. Char could be in danger.”

  With everything that’s happened, I hadn’t considered it until just now. At once, worry for my family takes over.

  “There have been arrangements, and please be assured your family is protected in the same manner that we are. If you would recall when you first entered into this great room, I told you that balancing the elements is the only true safeguard against destruction.”

  “Yes…” I hesitate, “but I don’t understand how that means we’re all safe.”

  “And I do not understand how a dagger and words can curse me into an undying existence. There are many things in the universe that we do not and will not understand, but that does not necessarily make them impossible. Having the four elements balanced around us gives us protection.” He points to the four walls that feature the fountain, garden, fireplace, and air vents. “It’s an ancient safeguard. Think of it like a charm.”

  “In reality, you’re asking me to believe the unbelievable. Magic, curses, immortality, and evil, all sounds like part of a horrible fairy tale,” I say, shaking my head.

  “I suppose all stories and tales have sources of truth from somewhere. I have not been able to withstand the pain of sunlight in hundreds of years, nor have I even been out during the day in most all that time. Over time, I have made acquaintances that have noticed. Excuses are made, explanations are exaggerated, rumors are spread, and the next thing you know creatures of fiction evolve. In the old days, all monsters only came out at night, but vampires were never referenced to be damaged by sunlight until the nineteenth century. I was born and cursed the century before.” He laughs easily at his inspiration to a monster that I find unsettling.

  I give him an uncomfortable look, absurdly wondering if he has fangs.

  Reading my thoughts yet again, he answers my silent question, “It is only the sunlight and the inability to die. No killing, bats, or appetite for blood here.”

  “Well that’s comforting,” I say, rolling my eyes.

  “You need not have fear of me, I am no beast,” he says with unblinking candor.

  This declaration prompts me to look at him openly for just an instant. There is something there, just beyond my reach. It’s as if his eyes are a window to the answers I’m looking for. I can see it’s there, if I only take the chance to open it.

  My fear causes me to break eye contact, and I look away.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I say shaking my head. And I realize that’s the honest truth now. “It’s just the unknown of this situation. It makes me more than anxious. And with having an evil cursing madman out to hunt us down and kill us… it doesn’t necessarily ease the tension.”

  “He will not harm you. Not this time.”

  “What?” I ask, not sure I heard him correctly.

  “What?” he returns, too quickly.

  “You said ‘not this time.’ What do you mean?”

  He refills his drink as he gestures to the bruising on my face. “The accident. You were injured, it could have been much worse,” he answers.

  While his answer is sufficient, I’m just about to ask a few more questions when he stands up, cutting me off.

  “It is late,” he says.

  Looking at the amount that the candles have burned down, we must have been talking for hours – though it didn’t seem that long. I didn’t even cover half of my list of questions that I’d spent all day building up.

  “I hope you’re not going to lock me up this time,” I say.

  “Of course not. But I was just wondering, I cannot remember if I included a toothbrush in with your toiletries.” He peers around me as if he wants me to check in my room before I go to bed.

  Wondering if he sleeps in the second bedroom here, I retreat to the room that has been designated to me to double check on the toothbrush. Seeing it lay on top of the basket’s contents, I grab it and go back out to let him know not to worry.

  “Darcy?” A quick search around confirms that he is nowhere to be found.

  Touché.

  He may have distracted me to escape unnoticed tonight, but good luck to him getting away with that again next time. Just to be sure I check all the rooms again for signs of the hidden exit, but come up unsuccessful.

  Sighing, I open the new toothbrush, grateful for the everyday supplies I’d been missing.

  Thankful for the privacy, I take the opportunity to haul out the copper tub, which was surprisingly lighter than I thought it would be, and hide it away in my designated room. Finding a bucket in the kitchen area, I fill it with hot water and haul several loads of warm water back and forth to fill the tub.

  Giving myself a full body scrub is a dream after a few days without modern convenience. After washing, I sit in the tub with my legs propped up and think back over the evening’s revelations.

  I’ve been kidnapped by a cursed eighteenth century colonial printer to protect me from being murdered by an eighteenth century British officer with some sort of evil agenda. I’m not quite sure if that makes me want to laugh in hysterics or cry.

  “A woman who has spent her whole life trying to live in the past, surrounding herself with history. Now somehow, I’m literally in the middle of it,” I say out loud to myself as if it might make more sense to get the thought out of my head and into the room.

  It doesn’t help.

  I attempt to think of things from Darcy’s point of view. He lost two people who were precious to him. His best friend, and the neighbor girl – who I now assume was the woman he loved. He was then cursed, and has been living an existence trying to figure out how and why. I still don’t see how I fit in to this story, but I do sympathize with his plights.

  I’m curious about the neighbor girl, and his relationship with her. I’d like to ask him about her, but don’t want to appear rude and intrude upon a sensitive subject.

  I sit up quickly, spilling water over the rim of the tub.

  I’m acting like a fool with Stockholm Syndrome. I’m technically being held against my will. I haven’t put up much of a fight because there is a lot of confusion in my head that I’m trying to figure out. But the last thing I should be doing is sympathizing with my captor.

  Can I trust memories from my dreams? I have a feeling of comfort towards Darcy, something that makes me not afraid in a situation that warrants fear. But what if he is the bad guy and not Talbot? Or with Talbot? Could he be keeping me here for some dark purpose?

  I get up with a new enthusiasm to search for the exit without a chaperone. After getting dressed and brushing through my damp hair, I empty the tub and get to work. I choose the second bedroom to start my thorough search.

  Apart from the bare furnishings, there are no signs of life in the second room. It must have been vacant for some time judging by the layer of dust covering everything.

  This makes me wonder if the room I’m occupying was previously Darcy’s room. And if so, where does he go when he disappears? He can’t go far if he must avoid the sun, bu
t then again, I only see him at night.

  Refusing to get sidetracked, I leave the second room, convinced that it doesn’t contain the exit.

  Moving on to the kitchen area, I examine all cupboards and storage spaces. There are electricity outlets that do not seem to be extended throughout the space. They have been set up to accommodate the smaller sized refrigerator, stove, and appliances.

  If this room was renovated to add electricity and the others weren’t, maybe there’s a possibility that the exit could be closest to this area to make the wiring more convenient.

  Encouraged by this thought, I excitedly scour the entire kitchen area, but still can’t seem to find an exit.

  My last hope lies in the supply room. The small supply space houses an interesting array of valuable antiques I had overlooked in my earlier inspection that would be a treasure to any historian.

  The most dominating of all is a large antique printing press that takes up a good portion of the space. My hand runs over the wooden structure in awe. Could this be the press that Gabriel and Darcy used for business and to print rebel propaganda during the revolution?

  I close my eyes and concentrate to try and picture it. With ease, an image comes to mind of the press in a small cabin room.

  Suddenly a sulfur smell, accompanied by an explosion and screams, jolts me back to reality. I open my eyes in shock.

  No, I suppose this would be a replacement press if Talbot destroyed Gabriel’s property.

  I freeze.

  How did I just do that?

  I answered my own question about a past that I didn’t even exist in.

  My desire to escape builds with my discomfort as I work hard to push that line of thought from my mind.

  I let go of the antique press and continue my search. Shelves of porcelain figures and various knick-knacks catch my eye, and I’m sad to realize a beautiful display of antiques is wasting away in dust.

  Resisting the urge to dust them off and put them out on display, I continue to rummage and come across a beautifully carved roll-top secretary. Eagerly, I reach for the shuttered wooden cover knowing that there could be multiple secret treasures hidden within. With ease, the shutters split and the cover rolls up.

  Many sectioned compartments sit empty, except for a few dust bunnies.

  My history courses in school taught me these types of desks were used to store important documents that sometimes needed to be hidden. I poke around searching for any secret compartments.

  Way in the back, a false wooden panel pops open to reveal a small lockbox and yellowing handkerchief, hidden away in a cubby.

  I turn the handkerchief over in my hands. The letter E is embroidered on the bottom corner. A faint perfume reaches my nose, and I’m overwhelmed by a quick vision of an old dressing table and various bottles. The scene is so vivid, I drop the cloth and step back. Uncomfortable, I stuff the handkerchief back into the cubby.

  The lockbox is barely big enough to hold a small keepsake, and seems impenetrable without it’s given key. I discount the box, thinking anything it may contain would be so small, I’m sure it would be useless. Although if there’s something about a way out in there…

  I size up the keyhole on the front panel determined to keep an eye out for the key as I return the box and pop the panel back into place.

  I finish the rest of my way around the storage room with the same amount of success as the other three rooms – no exit.

  There must be a way out, but I’m simply overlooking it. A new resolve builds to find the key to the secretary lockbox. It may be my only clue to the way out.

  Wandering back into the great room to look at the four walls, I think back to what Darcy said about balancing the elements.

  The fountain obviously is flowing water. The garden must represent earth, with the plants growing from a soil floor. The large hearth has had a constant fire burning since I’ve been here, and the air vents have been blowing constantly as well.

  The four elements: water, earth, fire, and air. Apparently they create some sort of protective charm, but what would that have to do with Talbot?

  Rubbing my forehead in perplexity, I retire back to my room to read and help myself fall asleep. Exhausted as I feel, I know it won’t take long.

  I gently pick up the aged fairy tale book and read the short classic.

  “Among mankind, there are many that deserve that name more than you, and I prefer you just as you are to those, who under a human form hide a treacherous, corrupt, and ungrateful heart.”

  My eyes close, and I smile at the story, and the thought of such a genuine compliment to the misunderstood creature that by all outward appearances, is nothing but a beast.

  Chapter 13

  A steady beat.

  My heart. My breath. My feet. All in unison.

  I’m running through the trees.

  I break into a clearing and see the small structure ahead. There’s a single candle lit in the window.

  He’s home.

  Looking down at myself, I realize that I am back to dreaming about the past, with the glimpse of a deep, navy blue corseted dress hugging my frame like it was tailored just for me.

  Although my mind has registered the dream, my body continues through the motions. I watch in a sort of outer body experience at what unfolds as I approach the small cottage.

  Out of breath from the exertion, I can’t seem to recall how long I’ve been running, or where I’ve come from.

  My approach to the door is cautious as I raise my hand to knock tentatively.

  The door opens and those haunting hazel eyes widen in surprise to find me on the doorstep.

  A yearning inside of me builds to ask him what is happening, but my mind is frozen against my desired actions. Through no control of my own, I blurt out, “I’m sorry!” while falling into an embrace with Darcy.

  He soothes me, stroking my hair as I begin to cry. Before I can ponder too long on the source of my tears, I hear myself whimper, “Gabriel!” and begin to sob.

  Crying in the presence of others has always made me feel weak and dreadful, but I have to give credit to the skill in which I’m being comforted. The normal shame I would feel letting someone see me cry is surprisingly absent. In this moment, being consoled by Darcy, I feel like I trust him to help me.

  Darcy says softly, “I know. It is as bad as we had feared. But you have no reason to be sorry. There is nothing that you could have done. We could not have known how empty Talbot was, nor could we have understood until now.”

  “I cannot believe it!” I say, pained. The sobbing has passed, but I continue to sniff.

  “He is evil. You and I have both seen what he is truly capable of. He has been planning this all along.” My head nods along to what Darcy is saying.

  “What can we do now? Will he come after us?” I ask.

  He nods. “I believe he will come after us both, and the book. We must get away,” he says in earnest. He scans the small cottage as if to make a plan to pack up.

  The book?

  My mind screams in question, but is powerless to voice it.

  My body merely goes through the motions with Darcy to pack a few small things. He eventually makes his way over to the hearth and fumbles with something on the wall.

  I’m only half paying attention to him as I’m stuffing items we might need into a burlap sack. In my peripheral vision, I notice him push into something, and a false wall opens to a secret compartment.

  Stopping what I’m doing, my curiosity takes me over to see Darcy retrieve the leather-bound book from its hiding place. The cover of the book has been stamped with a diamond shaped four-point ornamental scrolled design:

  The diamond is surrounded by a dentelle border pattern along the edge.

  Immediately I know it’s the secret text, though I’m not sure how I can be certain.

  “We must guard the Statera now,” Darcy says with the book, turning to me. “Gabriel trusted us, and he knew our potential.”

  My m
ind is working overtime, and I am transfixed on the text.

  Wracking my brain, I search for any recognition of the word. I have never heard of anything by that name.

  What could it mean?

  There’s a charged feeling in the air as I look from the book up into Darcy’s eyes. As soon as our eyes connect, I’m falling into a chaos of memories and emotions. The overload effect is one hundred times more than the night by the river when I first saw him, and I feel this time I may never recover.

  There is just one last coherent thought before the chaos fades into darkness.

  Statera.

  My eyes flutter open as I emerge from the dark haze of my subconscious. Continuing to lie still, I put my thoughts and memories in order trying to remember all the details I can from my dream.

  The name of the secret text floats to the forefront of my mind. The immediate urge fills me to find out more about the Statera.

  Expelling the grogginess of sleep from my mind, I think back to Rafe’s theory on what information the text contains.

  Could it really be what he claims?

  Excitement builds within me at the prospect of the ancient text and its contents.

  Trying to understand the angle of my dream, I wonder if I can I trust the information it revealed. How do I keep having memories from the past in my dreams? Could this dream have really happened? How am I getting this information?

  If somehow my dream is connected to a memory of the past, then that would mean that Darcy knows where the text is. There’s only one way to see if my dreams have any validity.

  I’ve got to confront Darcy about the Statera.

  After occupying my time throughout the day, I clean myself up and search more for clues in vain. I wait patiently for the clock to turn near the eight and for Darcy to appear.

  Except as eight o’clock nears, I am shocked to see that Darcy is not the man who enters through the kitchen door.

  Chapter 14

  “Uncle Mike?” I ask in disbelief.

  Running to him, I throw my arms around him in a tight hug. Relief floods through me at the thought of being rescued.