Paranormal/Futuristic
Across Time
By Lori
Sep 1, 2007, 20:57

Familiar, yet different. It was as if the very air that seeped in through the cab widows buzzed with something akin to excitement. Like a child on Christmas morning, she couldn’t quite sit still and found her gaze flashing from window to window as they bounced down the cobblestone road.    

A shrill ring pierced the serenity of the taxi. Not expecting a call, it took a moment for her to realize that the noise wasn’t some bizarre English bird, but her cell phone.  

“Hello?”

“Izzy?”

“Jane? What...”

“It’s your brother.”

Dread sank into the pit of her belly and she leaned back against the cracked vinyl seat. The trip had been too good to be true; she should have seen the warning sign.

“What?” she whispered, her throat dry.

“He’s in jail.”

Relief made her lightheaded. Not dead. Yet. “Why? What happened?”

“Drugs, again. He called me and I didn’t know what to do.”

“It’s not your problem. Don’t worry about it.”

Silence hung heavy on the other end. She knew what Jane wanted to say, that at his age it shouldn’t be Isabel’s problem either.

“What does he need?” Isabel rushed out before Jane launched into a lecture. With the perfect family, how could Jane possibly understand?

“A good lawyer, money.”

Neither of which Isabel had at the moment. “All right.”

“Izzy, how? You barely have enough money for yourself.”

Isabel raked her hand through her hair and grimaced when her fingers got caught in the tangled strands. English weather had tightened her wavy locks a nest of curls. “They were so insistent that I paint their portrait, perhaps they’ll give me an advance.”

“Izzy,” Jane sighed. “When are you going to let your brother...”

A sudden screeching of tires was the only warning Isabel had before she was thrown forward. She gasped and her cell phone went careening toward the floor. The seatbelt dug into her stomach, pressing the breath from her lungs.

“Bloody hell!” the driver hollered.

With her senses spinning, she grappled with the cell.

“Hello? Jane?”

No answer.

“Damn it.”

She pushed open the cab door and stumbled from the vehicle. A bleating of baa’s echoed around her. Suddenly, Isabel found herself surrounded by fluffy sheep, jostling her every which way. Ignoring the animals, she held her cell phone high. No signal.

“It’s a bloody road, you imbecile!” The driver screamed at a man who looked old enough to be her great, great, great grandfather.

“Ehh? What’s that?” the man asked, cupping his hand around his ear.

“Oh, Bullocks,” the driver snapped, raking his hand through the few strands of hair still attached to his round, shiny head. “I said get your bloody sheep off the road.”

“Right, right,” the man mumbled. He stood there, seemingly confused for a few moments and then pushed into the fray of wide-eyed beasts.

Urged forward by the old man, a sheep stepped on Isabel’s foot and crushed her toe. She stifled a squeal. The animals gathered around her in a rank, wooly circle. One nudged her with its head, trying to eat the phone from her hand. Isabel hobbled out of the way and glanced at her watch.

“Shoot.” She had ten minutes to get to the house. Lord Clemmins had been adamant that she arrive on time. “Listen, is the house far?”

Her driver glanced at her as if just remembering she stood there. “What’s that?”

“The house, is it far?”

He shook his head. “Nah, just down that hill, there.”

Isabel turned. Between the trees she could see the remnants of a Georgian style home that would do Jane Austen proud. A brilliant burst of white light branched across the sky. Seconds later, the earth beneath her feet shook.

“Blimey, that’s a doozy of a storm. Bit strange. The paper didn’t say anything about bad weather,” the driver murmured.

The dark clouds loomed low over the landscape, threatening rain. Sheep continued to pour over the small hill and across the road, shuffling forward as the herder nudged them with a cane.

“Hey, maybe I should head down there? You can bring my luggage whenever you get out of this mess.”

The driver leaned against the hood of the car and shrugged. “Sure, whatever lights your fancy.”

Isabel hiked up her dress and clambered over a rock wall, sending lose stones thumping to the grass. Even under the dull sun, the grass sparkled with the sheen of freshly fallen raindrops. Her fingers curled, itching to take up her paints. She shook her head, brushing aside any thoughts of art. She had more important things to worry about at the moment.

Holding up her phone, she waved her arm around through the air as if she could capture that elusive signal. Nothing. She sighed and stuffed the mobile into her jacket pocket. How could her brother do this to her, now of all times? She’d have to cut her trip short and she’d so been looking forward to traveling around Britain. Perhaps she could hire a lawyer from here and...But even as she thought the words, she knew she’d never let her brother go to court without her.

Tears burned her eyes. She gritted her teeth, refusing to cry. But damn, she was tired of the worry, tired of wondering every time the phone rang if it would be the police. The overgrown hill gave way to a manicured lawn. Isabel stumbled onto a cobblestone drive. Stately maples lined the road. Their brilliance and beauty made her heart skip a beat. Above, a canopy of fall shades, crimson and gold, covered the sky like stained glass windows in the medieval church she had visited in London.

She slipped between two yew trees and the house came into view. Her breath stuck in her throat. She couldn’t explain the sudden tightening of lungs, nor the way her heart began to thud against her ribcage at the sight of the large golden estate that loomed ahead. She only knew the house looked picture perfect, and she had finally found true love. So what if her affection revolved around an inanimate object.

“It’s amazing.”

Chimneys and fairy tale-like gables lined the roof. Immense windows winked along the front of the house, so many she couldn’t count them fast enough. For a blissful moment, she forgot about her worry and heartache, her brother.

Stirred by her movement, birds darted out from the bushes as she made her way up the wide and low steps to a massive wooden door. She took her lower lip between her teeth and knocked. The door jerked open before she had time prepare.

A thin, short woman with gray hair peered up at her from behind thick glasses. Her wide eyes and petite stature made her look more like a weathered child, than a grandmother. “You’re here,” she whispered.

Isabel gave the woman a smile even as a shiver of unease raced down her spine. “Yes. I made it. The portrait painter, Isabel Church.” She held out her hand to the woman she assumed was Lady Clemmins. She took her fingers in a tight grasp and tugged Isabel inside.

“Oh, okay,” Isabel mumbled and stumbled over the threshold.

The woman stared up at her as if a child seeing Santa Clause for the first time. “Come in, please, do come in.” She started down the hall. “My husband is most eager to meet you.”

“Of course,” Isabel muttered. With no other alternative, she hurried after her.

Down a long, narrow hall they traveled, neither one speaking. The only sound was that of her shoes tapping against the marble floor. Away from the sun, the inside was chilly. She drew the edges of her wool coat closer, willing the shivers to go away. The woman stopped outside a set of double doors. With her skeleton-like hands resting on the handles, she turned to Isabel. “We are so glad you are here, my dear.”

“Thanks,” Isabel said, unsure of how to respond. People liked her portraits, but never had anyone been this eager.

The woman pushed open the doors. “Darling, she’s arrived.”

Across from her, a roaring fire sent shadows dancing across the wooden paneling on the walls. Thick drapes covered the windows, keeping out the chill evening air and any sunlight that lingered on the horizon. There was a slight movement near the fireplace and then a man with a shock of white hair peeked around the arm of a high-backed chair. Upon seeing Isabel, his wrinkled face split into a huge grin.

“Come here, my dear, please,” his voice was thick and raspy with age.

Isabel went toward him. She reached for his hand when the sparkle of unshed tears in his eyes made her still. Would he cry? Well, really, she was glad they wanted her here but crying seemed a bit excessive.

He took her hand in both of his. “It’s you. I’d recognize you anywhere.” 

“Recognize me?” She pulled back and frowned.

Lady Clemmins stepped forward. “From your website, of course. Please sit.”

Isabel settled in the chair across from the man. “I’m most eager to get started. You can show me tonight, or...”

“How are you?” the man interrupted her.

“How am I?”

He leaned forward and nodded, his faded blue eyes intense on her.

“Well, fine. Thank you for asking.”

“You’re happy?”

Okay, this was getting a tad too personal. She shifted in her seat and glanced at the doors.

“It’s all right, my dear,” Lady Clemmins said, patting her hand.

All right? Maybe for them. She pasted a smile upon her lips. “Of course I’m happy.”

The man leaned back and shook his head. “Putting on a brave face, I’d say.” His wife sat on the arm of his chair and nodded her agreement. “You need to start seeing the cup half full. You know what the Dalai Lama said about luck, “Remember that not getting what you want is sometimes a wonderful stroke of luck.”

Isabel couldn’t help but laugh, it was all so absurd. “What does that mean?”

The old man winked at her. “I don’t know. I just read it on the free calendar I got from the dentist.”

“Sir, my Lord.” What did she call him? “Would you like to discuss the painting or do you prefer to discuss details tomorrow?”

“What do you want, Isabel? More than anything? Please, we must know if we are doing the right thing.”

She resisted the urge to sigh. Curiouser and curiouser. She had no idea English people were so bizarre. “Want?”

They nodded in unison. “Well, I suppose I want...” What did she want? “To be able to support myself and to be successful. To not have to worry.” Damn, why had those last words slipped from her lips?

“Oh my, that is rather depressing,” the man murmured.

“Dear, that’s not what she truly wants, is it?” Lady Clemmins looked at her and Isabel felt as if she’d disappointed the woman.

“Well, yes, it is. I’m sorry, but I want to be able to stand on my own two feet.”  

The old man frowned. His wife patted his hand. “Not surprising, my dear,” she said into the man’s ear. “Considering she grew up in an orphanage.”

Isabel stiffened. “What?”

        “Well,” the woman waved a hand through the air. “I just meant that it is not surprising that you do not want to be beholden to anyone. That you want to be free, in charge of your own life since for so many years others were in charge.”

        Isabel shook her head. “No, I mean how did you know I grew up in an orphanage?”

        “Your website, my dear.”

        Isabel stood. “No, I know for a fact I would not have put that on my website.”

        “You don’t have to be ashamed. It is what has made you who you are,” Lord Clemmins interjected.

        “I’m not ash-”

A sudden murmur drifted from the hall.

Lady Clemmins slipped from the chair and came toward Isabel. “Everything will work out, my dear. You’ll see.”

“She’ll make a wonderful teacher,” the old man added.

“Teacher? I’m here to paint.”

“Yes, but you’ll teach, wont you? Oh please say you will.”

“Umm, yeah, sure. You want me to teach you some painting techniques?”

Instead of answering, the woman pressed something hard and square into Isabel’s hands. “What’s this?”

“Take it,” she said. “It will explain everything.” 

Isabel glanced down to see a small, leather book.

        “Go on, my dear,” the man said with a smile. “There is someone most eager to meet you.”

Isabel stood, unmoving, her lips parted in surprise. What the hell was he talking about? Dear Lord, surely she’d entered some crazy parallel universe. Deep breath, just take a deep breath and play along.

Muffled words reached her once more. What were they saying?   

Lady Clemmins nodded. “Go on.” She waved her hands as if shooing Isabel toward the door.

Did they have family they wanted in the portrait? Were there servants whispering in the halls?

“Is there someone to show me to my room? The driver should be arriving with...”

The old man shook his head. “Oh that doesn’t matter now. Go on. Follow the voice.”

Forcing herself not to run back outside, Isabel slipped into the hall, eager to be away from the odd couple. If they hadn’t offered her such a large sum for the painting, she’d be back in that cab. She stood in the hall and glanced down at the book she held. The binding was creased and worn, showing its age.

The murmuring rose in volume, drawing Isabel’s attention. She frowned and slipped the journal into her coat pocket. Across the hall, a slice of gray light pierced through the opening of thick curtains. Isabel pulled aside the drape. A sudden gust of wind swayed the shadowed yew trees and rattled the window. She let the curtain fall back into place. Had the driver arrived with her luggage yet? She stilled in indecision. Perhaps she should go back and demand an answer. A low rumble of murmurs started again.

“Dang it.”

Slowly, she made her way down the corridor. She reached the end of the hall and the murmuring stopped. The entire house fell silent. Before she could lose her nerve, she peeked down another hall. Her heart jumped into her throat. Gone was the remodeled structure of the main house and in its place stood the original building, abandoned in all its historical accuracy. She should turn around, go back, yet she couldn’t seem to stop herself from continuing.

The hall stood eerily silent. Yet, as if the spirits of the long dead watched over the place, the area seemed to pulse with life. The closed curtains created shadows that seemed to follow her every move. She darted a glance over her shoulder. Without hesitation, she moved to the closest door and pushed it open. The hinges squeaked, causing her skin to rise with goose bumps.

The scent of mildew made her nostrils twitch. Eclectic pieces of furniture, some covered with white sheets, others out on display, cluttered the area. A soft ray of moonlight filtered through the window. She followed the beam as it sliced through the room and landed on the portrait above the fireplace. Her gasp filled the study. The light caressed the man’s face, giving him an almost heavenly glow.

Isabel slid her hand over the wall and flipped on the overhead light. Heat rushed through her body. His stare seemed to penetrate to her soul. She hesitated only a brief moment before stepping forward. Lord, she wanted to reach up and smooth her fingers over the planes of his face. He seemed almost three-dimensional, yet the portrait was just colors on canvas, blended to form the perfect man. Familiarity washed over her in a sickening wave that threatened to pull her under.

“Dear God,” she whispered.

The slight quirk of his lips made him appear amused, as if he knew what was to come and would enjoy it. At the same time, he appeared relaxed. Sprawled out on a leather chair, he held a glass of amber liquid while the fireplace glowed warm and inviting in the background. Isabel stepped closer. In the back of her mind taunted the irrational thought that she could step into the picture and into his arms.

Her fingers flexed as she took in his dark hair, curled slightly. His eyes, a smoldering eerie green, seemed almost unnatural in color. The white shirt that hugged his chest was opened at the neckline. A sigh escaped her lips. Yes, she could definitely be happy spending her days painting men who looked like him. 

Stepping onto the marble that lay around the bottom of the fireplace, she gazed up at the portrait. The date was easy enough to read. 1866, the artist had written in the bottom right corner. The faded color and crackled surface indicated the painting had seen more than its share of sunlight. Her eyes narrowed. The artist’s name was a bit more difficult to make out. The style was flowery and delicate. In fact, much like her writing. 

        “Isabel J,” she read, raking her brain for an artist with that name.

She came up blank. The only Isabel she knew with that use of shadow and brush stroke was herself.

Her brows drew together. “How incredibly bizarre.”

“Tempus,” a whispered word that echoed in her ears.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, spinning around. A rush of unease made her skin crawl and she couldn’t quite seem to catch her breath.

“Amor,” the voice whispered again. Her heart raced in her chest.

“Who are you?” Isabel cried out. The murmured words rushed together, swirling around her...indecipherable. 

Isabel pressed her hands to her ears but it didn’t stop the voice from penetrating her brain. She raced toward a glass door that led outside. Wind rushed into the room as she threw the door wide. She darted under the archway, into the crisp night and breathed deep, letting the air cool her fevered cheeks.

The wind howled, blending with the murmuring voice. Below, waving grass of the open field beckoned. The rubber soles of her shoes slapped against the flagstone patio as she made her way down, toward the meadow. Dear God, was she going insane?

Suddenly, the voice stopped. The wind tugged at her skirt, sending shivers up her legs. A harsh reminder that she rushed across a field. What the hell was she doing? Where would she go?

The wind pushed at her body, making her stagger. Righting herself, she started back toward the house. A high-pitched howl erupted from the sky making her breath catch. Her startled gaze jumped to the heavens as a breeze painfully slapped the long strands of hair against her face.  

        “Just the wind,” she mumbled as minuscule pieces of debris stung her skin. 

Swallowing, she took a hesitant step forward when a sudden flash of brilliant color lit the sky. Aqua, mauve, and emerald green swirled together in a beautiful display of light, surely coming from the heavens.

“What the ...”

Isabel’s heart leapt into her throat. Her leaden legs would not allow her to run. For some strange reason, she didn’t want to leave. The colors twirled slowly above, hypnotizing. Unexpectedly, the hues blended and dipped, flashing only inches from her. She squeezed her eyes shut as warmth entered her body, filling each cell with burning heat until she was sure she would burst.