Under the Cobblestones Page 2

  He knew he was sweating as he ran his fingers through his hair.

  “Yes, I'm fine...I think. I just...out there, something...”

  She was staring at him.

  “What's wrong?” she asked, and she got up.

  He saw concern in her eyes, and that was the last thing he needed to spot because he felt alone and terrified.

  “I'm not sure,” he said honestly, and then he felt weakened by that admission, and sat down heavily on the armchair.

  “Zack?” she said, still standing over him, “It's like this – either you tell me what's going on, or I take my bag and I leave. I've been honest with you and if there's something you're not telling me -”

  “I had a breakdown.”

  He couldn't look at her as the words came out, so instead he looked down at the carpet as he spelled it out and felt the weight of his own guilt at how much he had kept back from the woman he had made a point of knowing everything about.

  “It was eighteen months ago. The usual pressures of life, I had a good job, but I lost my job, I cracked up...I tried to kill myself. That cost me my marriage. But I didn't hear voices.”

  He looked up at her.

  At least she was still standing there, she didn't look like she was about to bolt for the door... It was worse than that. She looked like she felt sorry for him...

  “Don't pity me. Just go if you're going to do that -”

  “I just want to understand,” she said, and she sat down on the sofa and looked at him.

  “I was depressed for two years,” she said to him, “But it's partly my fault for marrying a man I barely knew. I didn't take the time to find out everything about him and when I did, it was too late. I was married to a wife beater. So I left him and got a divorce. It was rough. Sounds like you've been through a rough time too. It happens, you know.”

  “I'm sorry for what you went through,” he replied, “And I'm sorry I just burdened you with my shitty past.”

  “Don't be silly,” she told him, “Everyone has baggage. What did you mean about voices?”

  He gave a heavy sigh.

  “This is the point where you pack your bags and leave because you're about to find out I'm crazy. I just heard voices in the garden. I don't mean in the distance I mean, in my ear, whispering things about this warlock character you told me about. Saying things about fire and earth and being cold and alone, something about under stones. It was so real...” he shook his head, “I don't know what's wrong with me. I stopped taking my meds a few weeks back, but I've never heard voices before. I can't tell you how much it scared me.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully.

  “I know you don't believe in ghosts -”

  “I never said that, I said I don't know what to believe because I've never seen one.”

  “Maybe you heard one. Or maybe it was your imagination. Either way, you don't sound mad to me, you just sound shaken up. There's probably a logical explanation anyway, don't think about it any more.”

  “I'll try not to,” he replied quietly.

  She smiled.

  “Good. It's the best way. Now I'm going to make some tea, then perhaps we can watch some TV together? You don't look like you want to be spending the evening on your own.”

  Her offer was kind, and he was far more grateful for it than he cared to admit.

  “Sounds good to me,” he replied quietly.

  By the time the sky had darkened to black and the moon was round and fat casting the garden in a silver glow, the back door was closed to shut out the night chill and the lamp was on in the front room to throw a cosy glow about the place. And the TV was standing dark, because their evening had turned into one of lively conversation as he had jokingly told her they ought to talk about anything but the ghosts, and so she had talked about her work, and he had told her about his, then they had swapped stories about growing up and life in general and while it was clear she had not come from a background as comfortable as his, it was clear they certainly got along together.

  “I'm glad I got to know you,” she told him, “When I first walked in I wondered if I'd ever get two words out of you. I'm glad the ice is broken.”

  “It certainly is,” he replied, “Although not under the circumstances I would have preferred. I never want to hear anything like that again.”

  She set her tea down on the table and looked at him. Now they were both on the sofa, and as she met his gaze, she reminded him of what he had said earlier.

  “Let's not talk about the ghosts.”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, I don't want nightmares.”

  “You get -”

  “No!” he laughed, “No, Sarah, I don't get nightmares. I just thought I might after what happened today,” then his smile faded as a thought crossed his mind, and he wondered why she was so easy to talk to, because he had to share it: “Why didn't you leave when I told you all that stuff about my past?”

  “I don't know,” she replied drily, “Maybe it's because I'm not narrow minded and I don't believe in cliches about mental illness automatically equalling axe wielding psychopaths?” and then she smiled, and so did he.

  “Thanks for understanding,” he said, and he reached out and gave her hand a squeeze and then let go again.

  “That's all, just...thanks,” he added, to be sure she had not misread his motive. Then he got up from the sofa.

  “I'm off to bed,” he told her, “See you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight,” she replied, and then he left the room, went down the hallway and up the narrow staircase, turning on the lights as he went, because suddenly, he didn't want to be left in the dark in this old house any more...

  After Zack had gone to bed, Sarah went to the kitchen and opened up a bottle of mineral water, added some ice to it and went back to the front room, then she opened up a window to let in a cool breeze that carried the scent of the garden as it filtered through the thin net. She sipped from the glass and lay back on the sofa and left the glass on the table, and then she looked up at the beamed ceiling as the breeze slipped in and she wondered why she felt so comfortable around Mr Zachary Stirling. She had learned her lesson the first time around when jumping into a commitment to a man she barely knew – she was not about to make that mistake again in any kind of relationship, even in friendship.

  And yet...there was something about Zack. As soon as she had laid eyes on him, she had felt as if they had known each other for a life time... Even his hesitation, his quietness, his reluctance to talk openly about his past, none of it had seemed new as it should have done. It was strange, but she really did feel as if she had known him forever...

  The breeze sighed and the net shifted and moved ghostly, and she thought about the voices he had heard in the garden:

  A car on the road perhaps, with a radio turned up...

  Or passers by on the other side of the high wall, unseen by those within.

  But all the same, what he had heard did sound odd...

  She closed her eyes and let herself sink into a deep and welcoming sleep, her last thought being how comfortable and soft the sofa was.

  And then as sleep wrapped itself about her and she welcomed its embrace, Sarah slid deeper, deeper than dreams, deeper than the world she left behind as she slipped into another time and place, seeing through the eyes of another, in a time long past:

  She looked into the mirror that hung on the wall and saw reflected a young woman in a fine dress and hat, her dark hair was swept up and her eyes were deepest blue. Her clothing looked Edwardian – and certainly looked to belong to the finer side of the society of the era. She raised a gloved hand and touched her cheek, and wondered how this dream could seem so real. She was sure she had dreamt vividly before, but for now, could not recall anything else but where she was...This was Ravencroft cottage, but not as she recalled it – the floorboards were bare and polished, the grandfather clock at the end of the hallway looked new and as it chimed once, it sounded oddly devoid of age. The old oak
beams were still in place, but the walls looked faded and the cottage was filled with the smell of herbs. She looked up and saw bunches of them hanging to dry from tiny hooks on the ceiling. They had been arranged in neat bunches and suspended either side of doorways – lavender and rosemary and others she couldn't identify.

  “This way, Miss Lillith!” called a man, and it struck her as odd that his voice almost seemed familiar.

  She walked through to the kitchen, and then she stopped and stared, seeing an old fashioned cooking range and bubbling pots on it, and a man was standing over them with his back to her. He was tall and cut an elegant figure in his black suit, and his dark hair was shot through with grey. He turned around and smiled warmly. And if his eyes had not been bright green, she would have worn she was looking at Zachary Sterling...the likeness was astonishing.

  “So, Miss Lillith,” he said brightly, “I'm guessing it's your mother again... Or perhaps you have come to see me for some advice for yourself. Knowing your father, he's running out of patience to find a match for you. Although you have done well to hold him off these past few years. He wants you married off, am I right?”

  “I think he gave up on that notion a while ago,” she replied, and the dreamer called Sarah wondered why the voice had spoken without her bidding, and why she felt like a guest looking in, even though she saw through the eyes of Lillith.

  “I came here for my mother,” she said to him.

  He glanced once again to the pots on the stove and then went over to a wooden cupboard, which he opened and then he took out several bottles filled with liquid, and then he reached under the shelf and took out an empty glass bottle and opened it.

  “Your mother is getting far too dependant on my brews for her nerves,” he said, raising an eyebrow as he held up a small bottle marked brandy, “I think perhaps she needs a long holiday, perhaps to a warmer climate – anywhere as long as she goes alone, away from your bully of a father!”

  And he turned to the empty bottle, filled it half with brandy, then began to add drops from the other bottles.

  She stepped closer and watched him as he worked.

  “I was thinking...”

  He set down a blue bottle, placed a silver top on it and looked at her.

  “Thinking is apparently something dangerous for a woman to do,” he replied, “Please, continue to do it. Do it always, the times are changing and one day ladies will be as free in society as men - and why not indeed!”

  She smiled as she saw a sparkle come to his eyes.

  “Why are you not married, Thornton?”

  He capped the preparation and shook it.

  “As I said, times are changing. For you, in a good way. For men like me, they have never been good and never shall be. Centuries ago my kind would have been burned or hung as witches. Now we are tolerated for our worth and mocked behind our backs. I'm the local warlock, the wise man, the witch of the village, Lillith. My father before me lived in easier times than I – these days, I am considered an outcast. I am not married because no one wanted to give their daughter to the son of the cunning man. And now I am the cunning man, and still no one will consent to marry me. And now I'm used to being on my own.”

  He smiled as he handed her the bottle.

  “You're not too old to get married,” Lillith replied, and she smiled back at him as their eyes met, “I think you are a handsome man. And certainly not too old for a wife.”

  Their gaze was still locked, and he broke it first, looking to the bottle they were now both holding on to. He pushed it gently into her hand and let go.

  “Give my regards to your mother,” he replied softly, “Good day, Miss Lillith.”

  “Until we meet again, Thornton,” Lillith replied, and she turned away, walked out of the cottage alone, and as she walked carrying the bottle for her mother, she was smiling as she thought of the cunning man who lived at Ravencroft, who really seemed to have no clue just how much she liked him...

  Sarah woke up.

  She sat up sharply, in the modern but charming front room at Ravencroft cottage, and she blinked as she looked at the man who stood in the doorway:

  It was him, it was Thornton...

  No, it wasn't.

  Now she was awake, and she knew it was Zack Sterling who was standing there, looking awkward because she was staring at him, because he was wondering why she was staring, and she knew that because she knew he was sensitive, somehow, she just knew... and as she whispered something he stared back at her as he stood there with a mug of tea in his hand.

  “What did you say?” he asked her.

  |She shook her head and ran her fingers through her hair, smiling as she thanked him as he set the tea down on the table for her.

  “Nothing, ignore me, I crashed out on the sofa, I must have had a very deep sleep.”

  “I'm going to cook breakfast. Would you like some?” he asked, and she nodded, and then as he left the room she swung her legs off the sofa and sat up straight and rubbed her eyes, then she looked to the steaming mug of tea and back to where Zack had just been standing.

  She was glad he hadn't caught what she had just said, because she knew it would have worried him, and so as she thought it again, she whispered it quietly as she wondered why the hell she would have dreamt up something like that:

  “Thornton Ravencroft?” she whispered, “Why? Why would I dream you look just like him?”

  Chapter 2

  After taking a shower and unpacking and then getting dressed and calling downstairs twice to tell Zack she wouldn't be long, even as she quickly brushed her hair and got ready to start her first morning at her new home, Sarah's thoughts were still on that dream...

  It had to mean something, to see Zack as Thornton Ravencroft...

  She set down her brush and looked at her reflection, into her own eyes as she sought the answer as she asked herself, exactly how did she see the figure of the real cunning man of Ravencroft Cottage? Then she started to smile. The mysterious cunning man seemed alluring, attractive... she giggled softly. Yes, it was starting to dawn on her that she did perhaps fancy Zack...No, she had to be honest with herself, she did fancy him, she had liked the look of him since he had first opened the door to her...

  “Always a logical explanation,” she said aloud as she looked at her reflection.

  Then there was a tap on the door and she turned from the mirror.

  “Come in, Zack.”

  He entered the room with a plate of toast and set it down on the dresser.

  “I didn't want it to get cold.”

  “That was nice of you,” she replied and he smiled, and his face flushed a little as he looked away to the window, where the net was back and the warm morning air was shifting in.

  “Looks like another nice morning,” he remarked.

  She turned and looked at him, thought of the dream from the night before and was taken by surprise at the rush of fondness she felt for him as she pictured him there in his kitchen making up his brews – that often were no more than a nip of brandy dressed up with herbs...Dear Thornton, such a misunderstood man. Such a kind heart, such a harmless man for all of his books on magic and his oils and candles and spells...

  She gave a gasp.

  Zack looked at her in alarm. There was a look in her eyes that made no sense, as if something had just startled her.

  “What?” he asked, instantly feeling anxious as he recalled the voices in the garden.

  “Nothing,” she replied quickly, hiding the shock she felt at how that train of thought had slipped so easily into her mind and seemed so very real: Zack was standing there in front of her, in a white shirt and very modern jeans – to be precise, jeans that hugged his slender hips and made the most of his firm athletic body. She knew she fancied him, but this thing about the cunning man was getting out of hand now...

  “You looked like something made you jump?” he said, and she knew he was still worrying.

  “No, I suddenly realised I forgot something...”
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  “Forgot what?” he asked, and she felt like she had just made up the dumbest excuse ever.

  “I've forgotten again, it's not important, I'm sure it will come back to me. Thanks for the toast.”

  She turned away and grabbed a slice and took a bite.

  “I'll be downstairs if you need me,” he said.

  She finished her mouthful of food and nodded.

  “Okay,” she told him brightly, “See you in a bit, then...”

  And then he left the room, and she breathed a relieved sigh as she wondered how long it would be before her thoughts played more tricks on her. Maybe it was the cottage, or maybe she just fancied him so much that this romantic old place was playing tricks on her mind, and she had no clue how to resolve it – apart from kissing Zack, and she was sure he wasn't ready for her to make a move like that... She wasn't even sure if she was ready, either. But she did know that when the time was right, it would have to come from her, because Zack was like that, he held back, more so since his breakdown...She didn't even know why she knew so much about him and knew that she was right, she just knew.

  And that feeling was coming over her again, a deep fondness, as she saw him as Thornton in his kitchen, and she felt sure of it, that Lillith had loved him... Of course she had. He was so easy to love. Gentle and kind, so very kind, so unlike what most would imagine a man of magic to be...Some had thought him evil, a warlock with dark ways, one who practised black magic. Perhaps he did know some shadowy spells, and maybe they worked, too, but he was a kind man who saved the darkness for his enemies and even then considered the situation before striking out. His heart was full of love and such gentleness. That was why she loved him, because she had seen him cradle the bird with the broken wing and then take it home, and she had been there later when he had restored it and it took flight again...

  Sarah drew in a sharp breath and blinked away tears as she focussed on the room and the modern phone on the wall and the TV on the mount in the corner, and reminded herself she was in 2016, not in the turn of the century version of this house that she recalled from the dream.