Remembered (5 page)

“That’s a horrible thing to say,” Cappy scolded.

“Tell her I decided to stay in England, then. I’m not going
to see her again, ever,” Emily said through deep breaths.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it,” Cappy replied. “Come on; let’s
go to Donnelly’s Pub on the way home. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“I doubt that will help,” Emily said, pressing the palm of
her hand into her stomach.

“Okay then, I’ll buy you five drinks,” Cappy answered with a
nervous chuckle.

“Now you’re talking,” Emily responded.

Catherine threw her arm around Emily’s shoulders in a
comforting manner and led her out of the building.

She reached her arms up over her head and felt the fabric
slip off. Completely undressed, she closed her eyes tight and lay down. She
felt the burn of the blush on her cheeks.

After a moment of silence, she opened her eyes to find
Kellus gazing at her with an unreadable expression.

“What’s the matter?” she asked, slightly trembling.

“I’ve never seen anything so perfect,” he replied
emotionally. “It’s hard for me to believe that you are really mine.”

“Completely,” she whispered.

“Emily.” She heard Nancy’s voice cut into the dream. “Ems,
are you awake?”

“Um, yes,” she replied, opening her eyes and looking around
the unfamiliar room.

“The tour bus to Stonehenge leaves in forty-five minutes,”
Nancy said. “We don’t want to miss it.

They arrived in London the previous morning and took a cab
to their hotel in Kensington.

After dropping off their luggage, they headed out quickly to
see the city.

Their first stop was Kensington Palace, where they took
dozens of pictures, then went on their way to Buckingham Palace, just in time
to watch the changing of the guards at eleven thirty. It was well worth the
forty-five minutes spent in drizzle to see the Queen’s guards in full dress
uniform of red tunics and bearskin.

From there, they walked to Westminster Abbey, taking lots of
pictures of the famous buildings, especially the clock tower—Big Ben.

Emily was most eager to see the Tower of London, and it did
not disappoint. It overflowed with history in a way that made everything back
home seem ridiculously new.

The White Tower, built in 1078 by William the Conqueror,
held eerie torture chambers that seemed to pulse with chilling, spine tingling
vibrations of fear and torment.

The Tower Green, where Anne Boleyn and Catherine Howard both
lost their heads over the same fickle man, with it’s prisons that held Sir
Walter Raleigh and Guy Fawkes—among many other’s—seemed to whisper of anguish
and persecution. The memory of those souls, forever bound to history books,
seemed to swell in the atmosphere, eternally ingrained in the stone casing.

By the time they had seen all there was to see, the effects
of having only one or two hours sleep on the plane was starting to become a
factor, and still they had a four mile walk back to the hotel.

They managed to finish off their day with the best Indian
food Emily had ever tasted, along with three King Fisher beers.

Today, they found themselves seated on a comfortable tour
bus, gazing out the window at the scenery beyond the motorway, having fought
through the throngs of traffic that swarmed the London roads, on their way to
Stonehenge and Glastonbury.

As they approached their first destination, the bus driver
took on the role of tour guide and began filling them in on historical facts
and theories of Stonehenge. “In it’s first phase, Stonehenge was a large
earthwork called a henge. It is believed to have been constructed five thousand
years ago,” he explained in a pleasant voice. “What we now call the inner
circle is thought to have been constructed around two thousand years ago. The
stones are said to have come from Southwestern Wales.”

 He continued his explanations, but it was hard to hear him
over the conversations that were buzzing all around.

Nancy was on her feet and grabbing her jacket from the
overhead luggage rack before the bus came to a full stop.

It was a perfect day. The sun was shining brightly, and
there was just a hint of a nip in the air. Emily stretched her arms over her
head as they exited the bus.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Nancy said, taking a deep breath.

“Yes, it is,” Emily agreed. “Come on, let’s get closer. I
want to take more pictures.”

Stonehenge was every bit as interesting and mysterious as
Emily had imagined—like being thrown back to an ancient time. The only thing
that grounded her to the present was the motorway bustling with cars three
hundred feet away.

When they were satisfied that they had taken a respectable
amount of pictures, they strolled around for a while then headed to a gift shop
to look for souvenirs. Emily bought two leather bracelets with painted stones
in the middle—one for Cappy and one for herself. The woman at the register
explained that the tiny intricate paintings were Celtic in nature, symbols of
the ancient druids.

Two hours later, they were boarding the bus again for their second
destination, the town of Glastonbury.

When they turned off A303, the driver acted as a tour guide
once more. “Glastonbury holds some of the best rock concerts and music festival
in all of Great Britain,” he explained.

Emily found herself straining to hear him over the noise and
could only pick up certain words.

“…Many lovely pubs and restaurants in town…be sure to enjoy
the local food.”

“I’m looking forward to that,” Nancy whispered. “I could eat
a horse.”

“Same here,” Emily replied, still trying to hear what the
bus driver was saying.

“Glastonbury is one of the most beautiful old towns in England…many
ancient sights to see…” the driver explained. “…Glastonbury Abbey…said to have
been visited by St. Joseph of Arimathea. Some believe he may have built the
original cathedral.”

It was almost impossible for Emily to hear what he was
saying. The noise level, from a group of passengers up front, seemed to
increase the closer they came to their destination.

“…It is also believed to be the burial ground of King Arthur
and his Queen, Guinevere,” he continued. “…believe that Saints David and
Patrick—”

“ANNELLA!” Emily heard someone call out.

“What was that?” she said aloud. She turned her head to the
left and right. “Who said that?”

“Who said what?” Nancy asked.

“Did you hear someone call
‘Annella’
?” she asked,
straining her neck to see what direction the voice had come from.

“No,” Nancy replied.

“Never mind,” Emily breathed, assuming that she had imagined
the voice.

“…Chalice Well and Gardens…” the driver continued. “…a
beautiful spot, so be sure to have your cameras—”

“ANNELLA!”

 Emily knew for sure that she’d heard it that time. It was
crystal clear, and it seemed to cut through all the other chatter as if momentarily
suspending all other sounds. She looked around again. No one else seemed to
hear the voice.

“…A nice walk to Glastonbury Tor,” the driver prattled on,
barely audible. “…The ruins of St. Michael’s cathedral…believed to be the
gateway to the mythical Avalon —”

“ANNELLA!”

Emily’s heart started beating faster, and a wave of nausea
overcame her. That voice sounded so desperate, so distraught, like it was pleading.
But where had it come from? Moreover, why was she the only person who could
hear it? Her mind began racing.
‘Annella…I’ve heard that name before,’
she thought. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking a couple of deep breaths to try
calming herself.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asked, on her feet, once again, before
the bus stopped. “You look very pale. Are you feeling ill?”

“I’m fine,” Emily replied through clenched teeth. “I felt a
little sick, but I think it’s passed.”

She followed Nancy off the bus and found a little bench. She
sat down, still feeling queasy.

“What can I do for you?” Nancy questioned, standing over
her.

“Go on ahead,” Emily responded. “I’ll meet you in an hour at
the pub across the street,” she added, gesturing to an old red and white
building that had a quaint and inviting look. “We can eat lunch there.”

“Are you sure?” Nancy questioned with concern. “I hate to
leave you like this.”

“I’ll be fine,” Emily promised, eager to get away from her
boss for a while.

When Nancy was no longer in sight, Emily stood up and walked
in the opposite direction, trying fiercely to remember where she had heard that
strange name before.

She wandered around the shops for a while then strolled up a
beautiful side street. Rows of charming two story buildings in reds, pale
blues, beige, and whites adorned each side of the narrow street. Behind the
buildings, on the left hand side, a cathedral tower shot up into the sky,
creating a postcard perfect setting.

Up ahead, she could see St. Michael’s tower standing on top
of the beautiful hill.

Slowly the incident from the bus began to dissipate and she
found herself thoroughly enjoying the walk through the charming town.

 Further up the pretty street, she stopped an elderly man to
ask the best way to approach the hill. 

“Enjoy the view; it’s quite lovely,” the man said pleasantly
after telling her the way.

She walked as directed and marveled at how green the grass
was in this part of the world. Her eyes were drifting over a picturesque field,
sprinkled with tiny yellow and white wild flowers, when she saw it.

She blinked twice to make sure that her mind wasn’t playing
tricks again.

There appeared to be a wavy pattern in the air; the kind of
waves that one would see on an expressway in summer—heat waves. She blinked and
looked again. The wavy pattern was still there. It was about six feet high and
four feet across, like a watery doorway in the middle of the field.

Emily stopped walking, trying to identify what she was
seeing, completely mesmerized.

“ANNELLA!” This time, the anguished voice seemed to come
from inside the patterned air.

All this time, Emily had pictured England to be a country of
wizards, hobbits, and dragons. Maybe she’d been right all along. This was,
after all, the town that held the gateway to Avalon.

She chuckled silently, staring at what was probably some
kind of gas leak, convinced that the voice she’d heard was due to jet lag, yet
she was more curious than she’d ever been before.

She hopped over the tiny stone wall and started walking
towards the strange waves. Her heart was thumping so hard that she put a hand
over it as if to hold it in place.

‘This is not smart,’
she scolded herself.
‘This
could be very dangerous.’
No, there had to be a logical explanation for
this. If this was something poisonous, the authorities should be notified.

As she approached the wavy pattern, she could see that it
was thicker than she first thought; she could not see through it. She reached a
shaky hand out in front and felt cool air coming from inside.

She suddenly had a strange urge to walk through the waves.
Realizing that this was undoubtedly a huge mistake, she took a step through
anyway—into complete darkness.

She could see nothing.

In the darkness, she felt oddly calm. She should have been
petrified. She knew that would have been the logical reaction, but she felt no
fear.

Perhaps this was some kind of reaction to King Fisher beer;
like those expensive bottles of tequila with the worm that makes people
hallucinate when consumed, but with a delayed reaction. No. She knew that was
not so. This was something else entirely. Maybe she’d finally cracked under
pressure.

She threw her head back and looked straight up. A million
stars covered the sky. Then she noticed a purple streak to the far left. Dawn
was approaching. As impossible as it seemed, it was the start of a new day. It
had just been a beautiful sunny afternoon, now it was somehow a cold early
morning.

She untied her sweatshirt from around her waist and pulled
it over her head, grateful that she’d brought it. She sat on the grass, placed
her hands over her face, and squeezed her eyes closed. “This is not happening,”
she said aloud.  Her voice sounded eerie in the stillness; there was not
another sound anywhere.

She took a deep breath, slowly raised her head, and opened
her eyes. Why didn’t she feel terrified? Any normal person would have. Why was
she just sitting there calmly instead of freaking out?

She remained sitting on the grass until the sky became a
light purplish-blue, until she could see forward clearly.

Another fact slowly seeped into her consciousness: this was
not the same field that she had been in earlier, and there was no trace of the
wavy doorway.

She felt suddenly dizzy, slightly short of breath, mildly
panicked. Where was the hill, Glastonbury Tor? Where was the road, the one that
she’d walked on, the one with the cars speeding past? She stood and turned a
complete circle, her heart pounding against her ribs. This was definitely not
the same field, but as strange as that was, she was still too calm, still had
no sense of fear—that fact alone disturbed her tremendously.

As the sky brightened, she began walking in the direction
that she had come from, to where the road should have been, but the road was no
longer there. Instead, there was a forest in the distance. Her legs kept moving
in that direction. Some strange compulsion came over her, and she gravitated
towards the trees.

Birds began chirping, which was a welcome relief from the
disturbing silence.

When she approached the forest, she could see that it wasn’t
very dense, but she didn’t want to walk through until the sun had fully risen.
Then she questioned why she would want to walk into it at all. But she had a hunch
that this was the direction she should take, an overpowering intuition that she
couldn’t ignore.