Timeless (13 page)

"It'll save time if we split the shopping in half," Mindy said,
tearing a piece of paper down the center and handing one half to Andrew. "We'll meet back here at the checkout in, say," she looked at the large clock hanging over the front doors of the supermarket and made a calculation, "fifteen minutes." She handed Andrew a white wicker shopping basket, and picked up a pink one for herself. "Can't believe they still use these old things," she murmured, thinking aloud. "À tout à l'heure," she sang, waving a hand above her head as she turned to walk away.

"What?" Andrew asked, drawing Mindy to a halt.

She turned back to look at him and smiled. "I take it you didn't study French in school, Andrew," she replied, then, seeing the vague expression on his face, took that as a no, and added, "It means, toodles, see you later, sweetie. Meet you back here soon, okay?" she said, turning briskly and walking towards the fresh fruit and vegetable aisle. She picked up a ripe mango, held it up to her nose, and drew in a long, deep breath. "Lovely," she murmured, placing it and four others in her basket, along with a punnet of strawberries and a honeydew melon, before proceeding to the fresh herb section. She would have to do something about the unkempt, weed-strangled herb and vegetable garden at Witchwood. Such a shame, she thought, how the once thriving garden had been discarded and left to the elements.

Andrew studied his half of the list, then looked up, scanning the hanging signs above each aisle. Finding the one he was after, he ambled towards the rear of the store, the wicker basket swinging in his hand. It was nice, he thought with a smile on his face, getting back to some kind of normality, even if it was just painting and grocery shopping. Then he remembered the last time he'd gone grocery shopping with Eden, and his heart, along with his smile, sank. He walked along the meat aisle in somber strides, scanning the refrigerated shelving until he found free-range chickens.

Twenty minutes later, her basket filled with fresh fruit, vegetables and herbs, Mindy stood in the checkout area, waiting for Andrew. Ten minutes later, she was walking up and down each aisle, searching for him. She didn't find him. She did however, find Andrew's white wicker basket, containing a chicken, a carton of milk and a stick of butter, sitting on the supermarket floor.

She looked along the vacant aisle. "Oh, this can't be good," she said. She waited for another few minutes, hoping that he would return waving a tub of ice cream above his head. When he still hadn't returned five minutes later, she picked up the basket and headed briskly to the checkouts. Thankfully, no one else was in line at the checkout, so she paid the girl for her groceries and had everything packed in a cardboard box, all within ten minutes.

Taking the change from the woman behind the cash register, she said, "If you happen to see the young man I came in with, would you be kind enough to tell him I'll be waiting in the car for him."

The woman looked at her for a moment, then frowned. "Do you mean the guy in the black Guns N' Roses t-shirt?" she asked.

"Yes. That's him."

"He left," the woman said over the clang of the cash register drawer closing.

Mindy couldn't hide the surprise in her voice or on her face. "He did? How long ago? Was he with anyone?" she asked, gathering up the box of groceries and resting it on her hip.

The woman shrugged. "Bout fifteen minutes ago or so," she offered, nodding to a woman who had just walked up to the register with a basket full of groceries and a howling child tugging relentlessly at her denim skirt. "Sorry," the woman said over the din. "But that's all I know. I don't recall anyone else leaving with him."

"Okay. Okay. Thank you," Mindy said, turning her head to glare at the child, who ceased howling in an instant.

The cashier and the mother both looked at Mindy in open-mouthed surprise.

"Please. You have to tell me how you did that," the mother pleaded, grabbing hold of Mindy's arm.

"Trust me. I wish I could tell you," Mindy said, shrugging apologetically.

Once outside, Mindy looked up and down the sidewalk on both sides of the street. No sign of Andrew. When she reached the car, still deep in thought about where Andrew may have gone, she set the box of groceries on the roof of the car, rummaged in her bag until she found the keys then inserted them into the lock and pulled open the door. She sprang backward as something large tumbled out of the car door and landed on the ground at her feet.

"Andrew. What the hell is going on?" she screamed, waking the sleeping boy lying in the gutter.

Andrew sat bolt upright in the gutter, then stood up, brushing himself off. "Shit. Sorry. I must have fallen asleep on the ride. He turned and noticed the groceries on the roof of the car. "You should have woken me up. I would have gone with you."

Mindy looked at him in mute horror, then said. "I should have what…?"

"You should have—"

"Get in the car, Andrew."

"Right," he said, beginning to climb back in the door he'd just fallen out.

Mindy grabbed him by the arm and dragged him back out of the car. "Oh no you don't, mister. I may not have a current license, but there is no way you're driving anywhere. Not in the state you're in."

Andrew shrugged, wiping his hands on his trousers. "What state? All I did was fall asleep, which was not against the law the last time I checked. Anyway, I'm fine now."

Mindy put her hands on her hips and looked at Andrew with increasing suspicion. "Oh, really? Just fell asleep? Then tell me, Andrew, what were you doing asleep in the driver's seat?"

Andrew spun around then looked back at Mindy, a worried expression on his face. He swiped a hand across his mouth and shook his head.

"Check your pockets," Mindy instructed.

Andrew's heart was thumping loudly in his ears, panic quickening his pulse. He shoved both hands deep into his pockets and dragged out a piece of torn paper with writing on it. He read the words out loud. "Free range chicken, tub of butter, carton of milk, vanilla ice cream…" his voice trailed off. "I didn't get the ice cream, did I?"

Slowly, Mindy shook her head. "No. No, you didn't get the ice cream. Get in, I'm driving."

Silently, lost in his thoughts, Andrew stood on the sidewalk like a ghostly statue.

"Andrew," Mindy said, pulling him from his frozen reverie. "Get in the car, sweetie," she said, softly this time. "I have to get you back to Witchwood."

Crestfallen, Andrew nodded submissively, dropped his head, and walked silently around to the passenger side of the vehicle, opened the car door, and fell in.

Mindy opened the back door and put the box of groceries on the back seat, then slid in behind the steering wheel, closing the door behind her. "You okay?"

Andrew continued to stare at his hands curled into tight fists in his lap and shook his head. "What's going on with me?" he asked, looking up into Mindy's concerned eyes. "Am I losing my friggin' mind? Is that what's going on here, because my grandmother—" He looked back down at his hands, then over his shoulder at the groceries in the back seat. "Is there anything in there I can eat? I'm so hungry my stomach hurts."

Mindy reached over into the back of the car, found a bag of bread rolls, and handed them to him. "Help yourself, and I can assure you, you're not going mad."

He tore the bag open and devoured half a bread roll in two bites. "How can you be so sure?" he mumbled, his mouth full of bread.

Mindy turned the key in the ignition and backed out into the street. "Because you've been hexed by a Bloodthorn witch."

Andrew's head shot up to look at Mindy. "How do you know?"

"Because you stink of deepsleep, a concoction made from the bloodthorn vine and Jimson weed. Deepsleep is well known for its ability to wipe the memories of its victims, then put them to sleep." She looked at the half-empty bag of bread rolls in Andrew's lap. "An overwhelming urge to eat is also a well-known side effect of deepsleep."

Andrew stopped chewing and looked at the half-eaten bread roll in his hand.

"Don't panic. Eating is a healthy antidote."

Andrew nodded, taking another bite. "Thank God. Because I don't think I could stop even if I wanted to."

"Tell me," Mindy said. "Can you remember anything? Can you remember leaving the supermarket? Anything?"

Andrew shook his head, wiping crumbs off his t-shirt. "Nothing. Not a thing, but I suspect this has happened more times than I like to admit. I just don't know why."

Mindy studied Andrew's face, softly bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight filtering through the windscreen, then turned back to watch the road stretching out ahead of them. "I think I do," she said. "I just wonder how much you've told her."

Chapter 13 – Hands On Me.

The whirling portal sucked Alexandria and D'Artagnan into its blinding white center, then just as quickly shot them out like a stone ball fired out of a cannon, depositing them shakily on their feet in a long, dark hallway barely lighted with occasional burning torches hanging along the wall at various intervals in either direction. The tunnel was about eight feet wide, with arched ceilings, which were roughly the same distance high. The air smelled musty, like an old pair of damp boots that had been left sitting in a garden shed all winter.

D'Artagnan reached out and took hold of her elbow to steady her. "You okay?" he asked, looking at her with great concern. "You've never done this before, have you?"

Alexandria shook her head, waiting for her eyes to adjust to sudden darkness. "First time," she whispered apprehensively, wondering if she had made a huge mistake. She blinked, studying her new surroundings for a long moment, then turned to look at her companion. "Have you done this before?" she asked, glad she had not come alone.

"As a matter of fact, quite a few times," D'Artagnan said, letting her go. He looked up and down the length of the dark hall and unsheathed his sword. It made a sizzling sound, like a long kitchen blade along a sharpening stone.

"Are you sure you're going to need that?" Alexandria asked, taking a hasty step backward from the gleaming sword. She felt the cold, damp wall press into her back through the thin fabric of her dress, and shuddered. "It doesn't smell very nice in here," she murmured, grateful that she wasn't claustrophobic.

"Never hurts to be prepared. It is an unpredictable time in which we live and, I think you mean, down here," he said, correcting her.

"Down here?" she asked, growing more nervous as each word she uttered echoed off the stone walls encircling her. "Is there a phobia for being afraid of being underground?" she asked.

"Like being buried alive?" he asked. "I had a cousin once that—"

"Never mind," Alexandria said. "You can tell me about it another time."

D'Artagnan nodded. "I'd say we're in the tunnels under a manor house of some kind. Wealthy family estates quite often had tunnels running underground to avoid capture during wartime, then later, they were used for lovers' trysts. They could secretly go from one estate to another without discovery. All very naughty and clandestine," he said chuckling, as though drawing on a personal memory, then continued. "When you have been in as many tunnels as I have, well, they all start to look the same." He glanced around, studying the walls as though looking for a sign to inform him of their whereabouts. "So, then, which way?" he asked, turning back to Alexandria, who was frantically brushing a bug off her arm. "Can you still hear the girl?"