The Messenger: Mortal Beloved Time Travel Romance, #1 (5 page)

I
woke
, opened my eyes and blasts of sunshine poked through skinny clouds in blue skies overhead. Nightmare over, mission accomplished! It looked like a decent fall day in Chicago streaming through my bedroom skylight before the weather got awful. Bonus: it was the weekend.

I’d hit a yoga class with Chaka. Maybe afterwards we’d grab Aaron and drop by some gallery openings in River North. Yummy. That’s when I heard a horse whinny, and saw a chubby guy dressed in baggy capris lead that horse past me.

This was not good. “Help!” I said. The chubby guy didn’t even look up. The horse turned and looked me square in the eyes. I flinched, lifted my head, and realized I was being carried down a skinny, dirt path on a rickety stretcher.

They lugged me past a line of decrepit, tiny, wooden buildings in a hick settlement worse than any
Little House on the Prairie
cable re-run I’d ever seen.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” I said. “Will this flippin’ dream never end?”

Elizabeth walked next to my stretcher, her lips pursed like she was an angry version of Mary Poppins. That is if Mary were seven months pregnant. Funny I hadn’t noticed that ’til now.

Now, I noticed everything. Elizabeth’s hair was pulled back in a severe bun, and the top of her head was covered with one of those white, doily cloths. Her face flushed, and she peered at me, irritated. She leaned her face right next to mine—like she meant to be friendly. But instead she pinched my cheek.

“Just because you hit your head on a stone in the middle of a vicious attack, Abigail, does not mean you can take God’s name in vain,” she said. “I am taking you to the Reverend Wilkins. He is an educated man, very sensible. Perhaps he can determine what is wrong with your memory. At least we can pray for you. Maybe then we can make everything right.”

“Nice try, Elizabeth. But the fact that I’m still here means everything isn’t right,” I said. She frowned more but held her head high and kept on walking. Why was I still here? I had a hundred percent success rate of leaving bad dreams when I followed my oh-so-polite formula—until now.

My forehead pulsed, and I rubbed it. The lumpy bandage was still stuck on it, but at least my head didn’t hurt quite as badly. Obviously, Elizabeth wasn’t going to give up and vanish, or turn into a frog like my recurring dream. The one with the airline attendant who told me my luggage weighed far too much, and I’d have to pay extra to get on the flight.

I scoped my surroundings and eyed the guy who carried the lower part of my stretcher. He was one of the guys who rescued me, and he looked like the weak link.

He was short, scruffy, and probably in his twenties. I wrestled the blanket half off me and sat up. The stretcher wobbled, and I struggled to brace myself while I glared at him. “You are totally kidnapping me,” I said. “Put me down. Immediately.”

His eyes grew huge. “Yes, Miss Abigail.” He lowered his end of the stretcher toward the ground.

Elizabeth stared daggers at him. “Daniel Winters, you swore allegiance to King Charles II, and promised my husband under oath that you would help me while he was gone fighting this war,” she said. “Do not let this stretcher rest on the ground, not even for one second, until we have reached our destination.”

Daniel’s eyes widened and he jacked my stretcher back up into the air, which made me fall backwards. “Ow!” I exclaimed, and thought about Aaron with his flair for drama.

It wasn’t easy, but with some effort I sat back up and pointed my index finger at Daniel like a magician, or a witch. “Daniel Winters,” I said. “I am not from your world. I have magical powers that will… strike you. Give you stink eye, or hand rot or… or… make your manhood shrivel.”

Guess that got his attention, ’cause his forehead broke out in a sweat and he peered down at his pants.

“Lower me to the ground
now
!”

He mumbled, but lowered my stretcher. I was only a foot from the dirt ground, which probably wouldn’t be a height issue for me. I was seconds from freedom, but only if I had the nerve to break out of here.

That’s when a guy close to my head stifled a laugh. “Be very frightened, Daniel. Because Miss Abigail who dreams of fancy, English gowns, bonnets, and meeting King Charles II some day, has suddenly become a warrior. And she threatened not only you,” he said, “but I do believe your future offspring, as well.”

This smart mouthed commentary came from near my head and I twisted, turned and tried to see the jerk, but was trapped and stifled by all the blankets. “Don’t think for one second, dude, that you’re safe from my magic powers, either.”

He snorted in laughter again. “Now I am as frightened of you as I am of King Philip and his warriors.”

“Who?” I floundered but just seemed to get more tangled in the blankets. The only thing I gained from my efforts was frustration.

“Shush, Samuel. You of all people should know better.” Elizabeth pinched Daniel’s arm. “I will not hide your poor judgment, or let you go unpunished should you choose to disobey orders, Daniel. You will be charged with disorderly conduct, your military record will be permanently scarred. And you might find yourself facing time in the stocks.”

Daniel looked at Elizabeth wide-eyed. Then the wuss hoisted his end back up in the air, and continued carrying me wherever this journey led.

Elizabeth marched calmly next to me, and patted her blossoming belly. I no longer liked her for rescuing me. Right now I actually disliked her. Intensely.

“No!” I slammed my hand against the cot. “No! I told you I am
not
Abigail. I do not belong here. I want to go home. Now!”

Daniel shuddered. Elizabeth didn’t flinch, let alone bat an eye. The guy above my head carrying the front handles cleared his throat.

I looked down at the ground. Yes, the drop was higher than before, but it was still only three or four feet. If I jumped or rolled off, maybe I’d only suffer a few bruises. It wouldn’t be like dangling off a ten-story, parking garage, hovering between earth and sky. Suffering amnesia as well as anxiety.

If I landed in one piece, nothing badly broken, I’d bolt. I’d run so far away from Elizabeth and her crew, and hopefully stumble on a safe, hiding place where they couldn’t easily find me. I’d find the right words to say that would break this nightmare, and bring me back to my life in Chicago. But then I saw something so creepy it made me second guess my plans.

They lugged me through a part of this hellhole that was a pathetic, tiny, central park or village commons. There was a small, but sturdy, wood building. Next to it was torture devices I’d only seen in history books: stocks to publicly humiliate and punish people.

A worried-looking, wrinkled, middle-aged guy with huge round eyes was imprisoned in one of them, seated on a bench, his hands locked into a contraption that didn’t allow him to move them. A sign crudely scrawled underneath him said, “LIAR.”

The guy caught my eye. “I am not a liar, Miss Abigail. Do you believe me?” I didn’t know what to say to him. I didn’t even know who he was. So, I just nodded.

Next to the guy in the stocks was a whipping post. Close to that was a hanging platform.
No, no.
Give me Taylor and her bitchy friends at Preston Academy any day, ’cause I definitely didn’t belong here. Bye-bye. It was past time that I left this bizarre place. I closed my eyes, crossed my fingers, pushed myself off the cot, and landed with a thump on my butt on the ground.

T
angled in the stupid blankets
, I fumbled around for seconds, like a kid thrown into the pool who didn’t know how to swim.

Daniel said, “I did not do that.” He whistled nervously.

Elizabeth frowned. “Abigail, you are making a mistake.” She leaned down to grab me, or help me. I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter at this point—because I was done.

I tore off the blankets, pushed myself to standing and ran. Where to head? I didn’t have a clue.

I sprinted past women in long, puffy, drab skirts chatting with each other, as they held freshly killed, bloody chickens upside down, while they absent-mindedly plucked the feathers from their scrawny, still-twitching bodies.

I dodged around defeated-looking, hunched over colonial soldiers carrying beat-up weapons and wearing dirty, ragged clothes.

I whipped my head over my shoulder to see if I was being pursued. Dang! That simple movement shot pain up from my ribs through my neck and into the slash above my eye. Daniel careened after me like a colonial Frankenstein.

I slammed into somebody, and caught myself on his skinny, long, black-sleeved arms.

“Oof!” he exclaimed. His very, long face was surrounded by greasy, silver hair. He was rail-thin, freakishly tall and dressed in a black suit of sorts. He wore what looked like a permanent scowl and clutched a fat Bible.

“Miss Abigail?” he squeaked and clutched his stomach.

“Sorry, sir!” I pushed away from him, and kept on running. My head pulsed, I felt dizzy and out of breath. What happened to my healthy swimmer’s lungs where I could do lap after lap and just be a little winded? Before I landed in this weird dream I was completely in shape. Now I couldn’t even escape through some rural, nightmare town without being completely exhausted.
(Note to self:
delusion
.
Not real. Get a grip.)

I spotted a rustic, tiny, thatched hut, which looked like—no—it
felt
like the perfect place to hide behind, and regroup. I rounded its corner, and collapsed on my knees onto the ground next to it. The shack was made of tree branches woven together. A thick layer of intertwined skinny branches and braided leaves comprised its roof.

I hid behind the hut, clasped my hand over my mouth, and tried to cover my loud, labored breathing. I had to be quiet, or Elizabeth and her crew would catch me. I peeked out from around the hut’s edge. Daniel lumbered away in the opposite direction from my hiding spot. The tall, skinny guy shook the Bible in Elizabeth’s face, while he complained and lectured her half to death.

To her credit she listened and nodded. But Elizabeth was no one’s fool. She glanced around the entire time, most likely looking for me. But it seemed like I was safe for a moment tucked away behind my new refuge.

Unlike the other drab, brown buildings in this eyesore of a village, this hut had some fading flowers and herbs planted in the ground around it. I touched the ground next to the herbs, and felt a calming sensation in my throat and chest. It made me think the person who planted them had a way not only with green, living things, but perhaps knew how to soothe anxious people as well. I relaxed, closed my eyes and imagined my dad, Sophie, and even Jane back in Chicago.

When somebody tall and strong wrapped a muscular arm around my shoulders from behind, pulled me backward and pinned me firmly to his chest. I tried to scream, but he covered my mouth with his calloused hand and whispered into my ear, “If you shout they will find you. Despite our differences, I would never hurt you, Abigail.”

I recognized my captor’s voice. He was the guy who carried the top end of the stretcher—the guy who laughed at me. “Let me go,” I mumbled.

“If you yell they will find you in seconds,” he said.

“Got it.” This guy pissed me off, but he was right.

“Finally we agree on something. Now that is a miracle.” He released his hand from my mouth. But his strong arm still wrapped around my upper chest, and anchored me to him.

Elizabeth excused herself from the Reverend and waddled to Daniel’s side. “You must find her,” she said. “Abigail is a danger to herself.”

“Are you?” the guy asked me.

“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m in danger of my sister eating my share of Dad’s homemade, breakfast frittata if I oversleep. Then I’ll get stuck with the seaweed energy bar. Which is not only dangerous—but scary, too.”

“I do not—” he said.

“Right. You don’t get it. You don’t understand. Because whoever you are, in wherever I’m at? You’re incredibly rude and downright mean to make fun of my situation.” I tried to squirm from his grasp. But his arm was like a vise and I couldn’t break free. “What is wrong with you?” I asked, beyond frustrated.

“What is wrong with me?” he asked. “You were the only person rescued after a vicious attack by King Philip’s warriors on the Endicott settlement. Everyone in that outpost died horrible, bloody deaths, except for you. Your friends and family traveled for hours, and risked their own lives with the smallest hopes that they would find you still breathing.”

“You don’t understand.”

“You are right. I do not. After your family and friends picked through the mutilated bodies and found you alive, they carried you back to the garrison, tended to your wounds and stayed awake for days to make sure you would survive your injuries and awaken on the living side of God’s creation. Now you repay them with hostility and arrogance. Yet you ask what is wrong with me.”

I felt a flash of anger and pride that burnt my cheeks and my neck. Then I felt shame, because in a way, this guy was right. If I put aside the absurdity of my situation, I could see that these characters in their odd clothes with their strange way of speaking
were
trying to help me. Perhaps if
they were real,
this guy would have a valid point.

But his very muscular arm clasped across me that prevented me from running away couldn’t be real. And I wasn’t about to let some guy in a nightmare make me feel any worse than I felt when I was awake in my real life.

I shook my head. “That’s not true. What happened on that field with those dead people, what’s happening right now, it’s—”

“What?” he asked, his breath warm and moist against the skin of my neck.

I felt his firm grip across my chest loosen. “What’s happening right now is not real.”

Let him be angry with me. Let this entire crew of helpful, loving, creepy people wearing terrible outfits, living in a totally strange, imaginary world get pissed off at me. At least I was—for the most part—honest and told the truth.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I’ve been through this before. I went to psychotherapy for this. I must be crazy for even sharing this with you, but I will, because you are the guy who is
not
willing to let me go.”

“I would be thrilled to let you go. However I promised Elizabeth I would help her.”

“Head’s up, dude. Elizabeth is an illusion. It’s been confirmed by over five shrinks that whatever we’re sharing right now, is either a nightmare, or delusion that my brain is creating.” I felt his hair graze against my cheek. “And for the most part, I can’t control these nightmares.”

But, I had to admit the combination of his strong arms and warm breath on my skin felt a little hot. Fine. Apparently I was having a typical, teenage,
hormonal nightmare
.

“I have known you and Elizabeth since I was a boy. I spent enough time around here to know you are both flesh and blood. Although, I would not mind if she was real, and you were simply a nightmare,” he said.

Excuse me? This guy was in my face about Abigail—why? “Listen to me,” I said. “Apparently my brain tries to escape when I’m stressed. It creates fancy, imaginary situations and exotic people that are technically called delusions.”

“My brain does not make delusions,” he said.

Yeah, ’cause you’re perfect.
Calm down, Madeline,
I told myself.
Getting angry with people in dreams never gets you anywhere.
“The docs think it’s partially my heredity and my anxiety disorder thing.” I wondered why I’d never had a prior delusion where any guy held me this tight. “So, basically, this whole thing isn’t your fault, and you’re off the hook.”

“I know where I come from, I know whom I like and who does not like me,” he said. “I do this to help Elizabeth. Not you.”

“Congrats. You’re practically a boy scout. And lifetimes ahead of me in the good karma and mental health department.”

“You complain that you are kidnapped,” he said. “You insist this is a dream. But I tell you I have never dreamt of holding a woman, who did not want to be held.”

I could feel in my gut that this guy was angry. He dropped his arm from my chest, and I felt him step away from me. My entire body swayed for a few seconds.

“I will not do this anymore, Abigail. I will not try and protect you,” he said. “Even to help Elizabeth. You are free. Go and do whatever you wish.”

I stopped wobbling, sucked in my core muscles, and stood up straight. “Thank you.” I stretched my neck from side to side. “I don’t need yours, or anyone else’s protection. I’ll wake up in an hour or even minutes and be back the next day at my school. Maybe I’ll even Google this whole dream and see your face in a movie I watched, or a .com site I follow.” I twisted my neck and managed to crack it. “Yes, that feels better.”

“Google?” the guy asked.

Time to get out of here. But in order to leave my dream I still needed to thank him face to face. “Elizabeth called you Samuel. That’s your name, right?” I turned and stared up into his face. And all the adrenaline that raged through my body abandoned me in one, long heartbeat.

Because the young man I had to say goodbye to, was the same beautiful guy with the hazel eyes and the long, black hair that curled around his shoulders. The guy who acknowledged me before he disappeared into the woods, while dead, mangled bodies lay behind him, littered in his path. Oh, no.

I felt dizzy and everything spun around me. I jammed the palm of my hand onto my forehead, and winced as that tore into the gash on my head. “Oh thank you,” I said to Samuel, who was not only a rebel, but quite possibly a killer. “Must go now.” I stumbled away from him, completely freaked.

A short, older woman with a face etched with enough lines to fill a road map and an impossibly thick, long, silver braid of hair that hung down her back stepped out of the hut and nabbed my hand.

“Welcome, Abigail,” she said. “I am so excited you are here. Would you like to come inside my home? You could tell me all about your dreams while I tend to your forehead.”

I saw Elizabeth and Daniel pointing in different directions, not sure which way to hunt for me. Samuel glared. This woman’s hand felt soothing just like the earth I touched next to this hut. “Okay,” I said. “That sounds great.” I let her lead me away but I felt Samuel’s hazel eyes on me: confused, angry, and judgmental.

Apparently she did, too. “Thank you for your help, Samuel,” she said. “It is time for you to leave.”

He frowned and kicked the earth. A young man called out, “Samuel! Hurry up. Leave that poor, Abigail girl alone.” Samuel glanced at the guy then back at me.

“Go. Have fun. But no matter what Tobias says—do not stay out with him after dark,” the silver haired woman said, and led me inside her hut.