Find Me Alastar

by T L Swan

  I smile gratefully. I needed to hear that, because in all honesty, I have never felt so weak.

  “You know… men are all assholes,” she mutters as she picks up her drink and sips it.

  I nod sadly.

  “Although serial killer dating is taking it to a whole new level of assholism.” She accentuates her point with a raised brow.

  I smirk and cover my face with my hands. “Do you believe this shit?” I murmur.

  She shakes her head. “No. Actually, I don’t. On the upside, you do get to come to soccer practice tonight.”

  I look at her. “Oh… goody. It’s so worth it. I can’t wait.”

  * * *

  The week has been long, and to tell you truth, I don’t remember much of it. It’s all a blur. Meeting with the police over the stolen art and lying to their faces while I stared into space. Pretending to work while I stared into space. Pretending to be alive when I am clearly half dead, and I haven’t let on to anybody that I know who stole the art. The only thing that has brought a smile to my face was when I received a delivery and I thought that it was Alastar with an explanation. A large box was delivered. I was so excited and ripped it open, only to be disappointed when just my drawing pad and the letters from Alchron to his princess were inside. Why would he send me just those things? I want answers, not my fucking belongings. Brielle’s trying to cheer me up and I’m going out of my mind by replaying my last conversation with Alastar.

  You need to work this out for yourself.

  What did he mean by that?

  What would I possibly have to work out?

  I didn’t go to the police. I lied to Brielle and told her I called them, but I couldn’t go through with it. I dialed their number a few times only to hang up every time they answered. I can’t send him to prison and I’m scared I am putting my life in danger by doing so.

  What choice do I have? How do you turn on someone you are desperately in love with? If I knew for sure he wasn’t dangerous, I would be back in his arms and stealing the art right alongside of him in an instant.

  I’m losing it, I know.

  It’s Friday night and I am with my work friends at a pub in my usual zombie state. We are playing trivia and are seated in low seats surrounding an open fire. As I stare into the open flame, I can almost feel Alastar’s warm arms wrapped around me from behind, his gentle loving kisses on my face, and his hard body slotted up next to mine. For the rest of my life, I don’t think I will ever be able to sit next to a fire and not think of him and the precious time we spent together. My work friends have been a blessing this week, as if sensing my fragility. They have all been super attentive and funny. I appreciate every single moment of their time.

  The question gets called out. “Who is the artist that sang Tainted Love.”

  “Oh God.” Deidre pats her forehead. “I know this.” Everyone starts whispering with their suggestions.

  “I think it’s Soft Cell,” I murmur.

  “Is it?” Travis asks as he quickly Googles Soft Cell.

  I continue to doodle on my paper.

  “Yes,” he whispers. “She’s got it. That’s it.”

  We have a few more rounds and are appalling; we are all fighting over the answers we are giving.

  “Have you been there?” Travis asks me from his seat next to me on the lounge.

  I frown as I look up. “Where?”

  He points to my doodle on my paper with his pen. “Ashford Castle.”

  I frown. “What do you mean?”

  He points to my doodle again. “That’s the family crest for Ashford Castle you are drawing.”

  What?

  I frown. “Are you sure?”

  He shrugs and starts typing in his phone. “Looks like it to me.”

  What the fuck? I have been drawing this shield since I arrived in London, long before I went to Ashford Castle.

  “Yep, that’s it. I thought it was.” Travis smiles proudly. He shows me his phone and, sure enough, the exact symbol I have been drawing is the family crest. Goosebumps scatter up my arms and the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. Holy shit. What’s going on?

  I sit back in my chair in shock. I don’t get it.

  How could I know that?

  What does this mean?

  I need to go. I quickly look around for an exit. “I got to go, guys,” I croak as I feel my world begin to spin. My heart is beating so fast, I feel like I may go into cardiac arrest at any moment.

  “Oh, fuck off. Sit back down,” they all cry.

  “No, really. I’ve got to go.” I hand my trivia card over to Deirdre. “Here, you finish for me.”

  I turn around in a daze and start to stumble from the pub.

  What the hell is going on?

  Chapter 25

  It’s 2am and I am sitting at my desk reading through the Google information on Ashford castle I have collected. My mind feels like I have taken an upper… it won’t stop spinning or darting from idea to idea, from verdict to verdict. Unsure what is real and what just exists in my head anymore, I’m officially completely confused. But at the same time, I feel clarity, as if there is something I know but am just missing that final missing jigsaw piece that will show me it clearly. I click on another link as I try to find old plans of the castle to try and work out where that staircase I knew about led to.

  How did I know that was there?

  If I knew the family crest without realizing, I must know other stuff, too. I know it’s there in my head, I just have to find it.

  Why is it in my fucking head in the first place?

  Why did Alastar send me the drawing pad and the letters? Why those particular things?

  I flick though my notepad of lead pencil drawings, and I study each one of them carefully.

  There is no such thing as a doodle, Alastar had said when he first saw this pad. What if he was right? What if the things I drew were true? This family crest—I had no idea what it was when I was drawing it, and yet it turns out that it is connected to me in some way. The staircase… where did the staircase lead?

  Fuck, think, Emerson, think. I flick through my notepad again to look at the barn and the farm. I tap my fingers on the desk as I study it. I turn the page to the little girl. Who the hell is she? Is she dead? My eyes widen.

  Is she a dead child?

  Oh my fuck, I’m getting delusional now. I sit with my head resting in my hand and think as I flick my pencil back and forth with my free hand. Who would know history? Who would know the history of the castle? Where would I get old plans from?

  I take out my notepad and carefully write myself a list of things to do tomorrow.

  Contact Ashford Castle and see if they have an historical society.

  Track down plans for Ashford castle.

  Search deaths of people who lived in the castle.

  Try and find out who the little girl is.

  Contact a psychic and see if this thing is real or in my head.

  Search records for Ashford Castle cemeteries.

  I narrow my eyes as I think. I just wish I had taken photos of the women’s things in Alastar’s basement because then maybe I could have tracked whose things they were? I add to my list.

  Find out the history of Alastar’s house and find out when the basement was soundproofed. (God knows how I do that.)

  What else? Hmm, I write one last thing.

  Ring Alastar and demand an explanation. I want to know what he’s capable of.

  * * *

  Exhausted, I finally climb into bed, only to toss and turn all night. With thoughts of castles and staircases and a little girl staring up at me, I drift in and out of a troubled sleep.

  * * *

  4pm and I am at the London Library. I have been here since the early hours of this morning, only stopping in my research for coffee. My phone rings and I shuffle around to answer it. I have been waiting for this call all day.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Hello. May I speak to Emerson
please?” the kind female voice asks.

  “Speaking,” I breathe nervously.

  “Yes, hello, this is Maryanne from the Ashford Castle historical society. I have been asked to return your call.”

  I smile. “Thank you so much. I know it’s a Saturday.”

  “Oh that’s okay. I work weekends. How can I help you?”

  I scramble out for my piece of paper. “I was wondering if you could help me with some research I’m doing? I need to find some old plans of the castle.”

  “How old?”

  I scrunch up my face because I really have no idea. “As old as you have, I guess.”

  “Let me see.” I hear her typing and I wait as patiently as I can. She seems to take forever to come back to me “I have records going as back as far as 1692,” she replies.

  My eyes widen. Shit… that far? “Okay, that would be fantastic. Is it possible that I could get a copy of them?”

  “Yes, I can email them to you if you like. Do you want the full castle plans?”

  Wow, this is easier than I thought. I smile broadly. “Yes, please. Thank you. How do I find out more of the history of who lived in the castle?”

  “You will have to speak to our historian Charles for that information. He isn’t in until Monday. I do know there is a full history in documentation.”

  I smile. “Fantastic. Thank you so much.”

  “You are most welcome. What is your email address?” she asks.

  I tell her, spelling out each letter of my address so she is sure to get it right first time.

  “I will get this over to you tonight. We have a wedding in this afternoon and I am too busy now.”

  My heart drops. I would have been married a week today. I blow out a depressed breath. “That’s fine, thank you for being so helpful.” I hang up.

  * * *

  It’s 10pm and I am pacing in my room. I inhaled my takeaway curry earlier, and for the first time in ten days, I feel alive. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I am tapping my head with my fingers as I pace. I know I know something. I just don’t know what that something is yet, but I know it’s here in my head. What am I looking for?

  Think, damn you. Think.

  I didn’t discover anything today at the library. Maybe that will all change on Monday when Charles rings me. I have decided to not go to a psychic. I don’t want them messing with my head or planting seeds that just aren’t there. I’m not a weirdo and I don’t need a weirdo messing with me. I’m a normal girl from Australia, for fuck’s sake. I walk over to my briefcase and take out the folder of pictures I had printed of the stolen artwork, and start to flick through them. All women, all beautiful, all historical images. Why only women, Alastar? Why do you only steal images of women?

  What the hell does this all mean? I need to clear my mind. I need to get some clarity on my thoughts.

  I take out my phone and hold it in my hand.

  I need answers.

  Should I text him?

  No! I stop myself.

  I light the candles that Brielle bought me this week and spread them around the bathroom. I run the bath and turn off the light, undress and slide into the deep water as I think.

  The apartment is silent as I try to quieten my mind. I lie in the darkened room but my mind won’t stop. I get the vision of us dancing together at the charity event when he told me the song that was more fitting to us.

  What was it?

  What is it? What was the song?

  A Thousand Years by Christina Perry pops into my head and I immediately jump out of the bath and Google it on my Spotify on my phone.

  I frown and press play then sit in the dark and listen to the words.

  Heart beats fast,

  Colors and promises.

  How to be brave?

  How can I love when I'm afraid to fall?

  How to be brave.

  He said he wasn’t brave enough to love me in the beginning. Am I brave enough to love him now?

  Fucking hell. I’m so confused.

  In the dark and alone, the tears slowly roll down my face. What does that song mean? It’s the theme song for Twilight? What the hell does that mean? Don’t be afraid. What is he trying to tell me?

  I lie in the bath for over two hours, until finally, my wrinkled skin can take it no longer. I climb out of the bath and drag my heavy soul to bed. Lying in the darkness, the tears run onto my pillow. I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what to feel. I am so confused. Am I going fucking crazy?

  I’m in love with a criminal who speaks in cryptic code and I don’t know how to stop it. How do I turn this love off?

  Am I searching for answers that just aren’t there?

  Is it wishful thinking?

  My email pings on my phone and I sit up suddenly. Finally, it’s the maps of the castle that I have been waiting for. They must have only just come through. I get up and turn my computer back on to open the map before I lay back in bed in the darkness. I trace my finger along the screen as I try to work out where we were in the castle the other night. After twenty minutes, I finally find the room with the staircase and my heart skips a beat. I put my hand up to my mouth in shock as the hairs stand up on the back of my neck once more. The staircase went to the very bedroom that Alastar and I were staying in.

  I shake my head as exhausted tears take over, and I flop back down onto the bed.

  “I don’t understand,” I gasp into the silence though my tears.

  I lie in a semi-conscious state as I listen to Christina Perry’s song on repeat. Somewhere between utter heartbreak and psychic Twilight hell.

  * * *

  The light flickers in my eyes and I squint to make out the shapes. It’s me and I am sitting in the sun outside. I can hear birds chattering around me. This is a happy place and I feel relaxed and warm in the sun. I’m lying on a lounge or something soft.

  “Just put your head up to the sun,” he tells me.

  Huh? Who’s there? Glancing up, I see a man painting on an easel. He studies me and goes back to his painting. He’s painting me. My eyes drop down to see that I am arranged on the couch with a cashmere blanket draped over my naked body.

  I gasp in shock and sit upright in bed. Perspiration wets my body and my nightgown sticks to my skin. I breathe heavily as I try to control my racing heart. What was that? I swing my legs over the side of the bed and put my head into my hands as I pant, out of breath.

  Painting.

  What does a painting mean? I stand and walk back over to the table where the folder of stolen artwork images lay and start to flick through them. I’ve never really looked at the pictures carefully before. The first is a woman with long dark wavy hair. She’s in bed, and I narrow my eyes as I think. She’s sexy and her blanket is strategically placed. My eyes look at the room surrounding her. The bedroom is luxurious and I hold the paper up close to study it. I would say it’s around the seventeenth century based on the furnishings.

  Hmm. I flick to the next painting to see it’s a woman sitting outside on a chair. She has dark hair that is an elaborate up style and is wearing a beautiful red evening dress. Her back is ramrod straight and she is wearing a corset, her breasts high in her low cut dress. This woman has money and she appears to have social stature. She’s wearing a ring and I hold the printed paper up to my face.

  Hang on. That’s my ring.

  Huh? I hold my hand up to look at the ring on my hand. They must have been common back in the day. What a crazy coincidence. I flick to the next picture and frown. It’s a lead pencil drawing. I put my hand over my mouth in shock. It’s of a young girl I’ve seen before. She’s smiling and sitting on the bed of a creek.

  It’s Elizabeth.

  Henry drew this.

  Oh my God. Tears form.

  My book isn’t imaginary.

  It’s real.

  I look to her hand and she also has a ring on as mine. Goosebumps scatter my skin I begin to hear my heartbeat in my ears and the room starts to spin. I
flick through all of the paintings at double speed. All women, all have the same ring on.

  My ring.

  I hold my hands over my mouth as I begin to pace. Oh my God. Oh my fucking God. What does this mean?

  I met him when I was buying this ring.

  I stand at the window and look at the raging storm outside. The rain is really coming down and I get a cold shiver run through me. As I stare into the darkness, I see Henry as clear as day, and happiness fills me. He is holding Elizabeth in his arms. Only this time, I am Elizabeth. I can feel his arms around me.

  “I love you,” he whispers.

  I feel happy. “I love you, too.”

  Oh my God.

  * * *

  I run to the table and quickly shuffle through my box of letters from the guard to his princess. I have held off reading this letter because it is the last one and I just know that something has happened to them. Why did the letters stop?

  * * *

  My beloved Princess.

  You are in danger, my love. I need you to be brave for me.

  Alchron stands with the king as they assess the latest letter of demands. Ulysis, the king from another county, has demanded that they hand over the princess to be his wife or he is going to overturn the kingdom, kill the people of the village, and take her anyway. Alchron’s heart is in his throat. He knows their army is bigger and their weapons are greater.

  The threat is real.

  The King paces back and forth deep in thought. “What should we do?” he asks his trusted guard. “Maybe we should let her go.”

  “No!” Alchron snaps. “She will not become that animal’s wife. I will not hand her over.”

  “But so many innocent people are going to die if we do not. There will be war.”

  Alchron stands and stares out the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “Then we prepare for war.” He growls.

  * * *

  Seven nights later, in the middle of the night.