Perchance to Dream Box Set

A Haunted Love-3

I wake with a start.

It’s freezing now. As I sit up and rub the feeling back into my arms, I stare into the thick fog and listen. The branches creaking above me, the faint guttering of flame in the lights, is all I hear.

Greg must’ve already passed by then, if the lamps are lit. In the fog he didn’t even see me, so he didn’t wake me up. How long was I out? Hours probably.

The bus.

I hope I didn’t miss it. Much as I like to doze off at work, I’d hate to be forced to spend the night here. After eight even the inn closes, and the only place I have a key for is the stables. God, the last thing I want to do is lie down with the horses. I might be a re-enactor and I might take my history seriously, but I have to draw the line somewhere.

I stretch as I stand and when I walk, my shoes ring off the cobbled stones. The sound echoes through the square, off the buildings, surrounding me until it sounds as if the place is full of people, but I don’t see anyone else through the fog.

I run a hand through my damp hair and realize the temperature has dropped. It’s now much too cold for the scant clothing I wear during the day. Never would I fall asleep after my shift again. Next time I’ll just get on the bus, go back home, forget all about the colony until I’m paid to be here. Sleeping on the grass, how stupid. Like I can’t get fired for that s**t.

Around me the street lamps glow like tiny suns haloed by the fog. As I pass beneath a lamp, the next one down the street suddenly materializes into sight, like a phantom trail leading the way. The bus runs right along the edge of the park, not more than twenty yards from here. Maybe I’m not too late. I wish I could see the moon—at least then I might be able to estimate the time. I wasn’t that tired. I couldn’t have slept too long.

Behind me I hear a faint step. Relief floods through me—someone else, thank God. It can’t be that late then, if there are still people in the park.

“Greg?” I whirl around, eager to see someone, anyone. If it’s Greg, then it isn’t too late at all, and even if the last bus has already come and gone, he can give me a lift.

But I don’t see anything except swirls of fog rolling through the square. Maybe I’m only imagining things. Maybe I should hurry to the stop, in case the last bus hasn’t run yet. I even turn in that direction, already heading that way, when I hear another step, a shoe on the cobbled stones and the snap of a twig beneath sudden weight.

“Greg?” This time I turn in mid-step and hurry back the way I came.

I swear I heard someone. If not Greg, maybe someone else. Didn’t Jeremy once say he worked late some nights? If it’s him, I know I can still catch the bus. He lives in the same apartment complex as me.

The street lamps bob into view like buoys on a sea of fog. I don’t realize I’m running until I see a guy passing beneath one of the lamps, walking away from me.

I stop.

It’s another re-enactor, dressed like I am. His breeches pull tight across his butt with each step he takes and his shirt billows in the breeze that scurries down the street. From the back I don’t recognize him, but at this point, who cares? He probably works at the plantation, or maybe he’s part of the tea party bunch, down on the wharf.

Wherever he works, he must have a car, right? At this hour, he has to be heading home. “Hey!” I shout.

He keeps walking as if he doesn’t hear me. As I watch, he disappears from the lamp’s light, almost as if he was never really there.

I chase after him. “Hey, wait!”

He walks through the next cone of light, hands shoved into his pockets, a thin whistle carrying from his lips through the dense fog. I sprint ahead and reach out, and for a brief instant my hand goes numb when we touch. I hadn’t realized it was so damn cold outside.

Then he turns and looks at me, pulling out of my grip. His eyes are so dark, they look like pools of shadow in the light cast down from the lamp. “Kind sir,” he starts, in that indignant manner all re-enactors have when they’re in character.

I laugh. “Jesus, am I glad to see you.”

I give him one of my brightest grins, the kind that makes girls giggle and keeps the tourists coming through my stables. “You work here, right?”

When he nods, I hurry on. “I fell asleep…stupid me, I hear you…and I don’t know what time it is. The bus leaves at midnight, the last one into town. Do you know if it’s already gone? I really don’t want to stay in the stables tonight. God, Marie will kill me if I have to sleep on site and she finds out. Are you from this colony? I haven’t seen you before.”

He stares at me with wide eyes and I laugh again, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Did you catch any of that?”

For a moment, I think I frightened him away. I’m just so relieved to see someone else here. Now that I’ve shut up, I notice dark red hair pulled back from his face into a tight little ponytail at his nape and blue eyes so deep they’re almost black. I’ve never met anyone with eyes like his before. He can’t be much older than I am and he wears his shirt unlaced in the same manner I wear mine. He must work one of the trades then, like me. When the breeze blows the fabric against his skin, it accentuates his arms and chest.

Suddenly I find myself thinking this might be the cutest guy I’ve seen here, ever. Why couldn’t we have met up sooner? The whole winter passed and I didn’t hook up with one person, not one. All Jeremy talked about was his latest girlfriend and Thad had it bad for Angie, and Greg is too old. He’s not even all that cute, just funny and I don’t really go for funny, I go for hot.

This guy here in his tight-ass breeches and his flouncey shirt…he is hot. and he isn’t talking to me. Damn. “Look,” I try again with another disarming grin, “what time is it? Can you speak?”

“I can speak.” He takes a step back and glances down the street as if thinking he should make a run for it or maybe call for help.

But then he looks at me again, staring at my shoulder-length, unfettered curls—people love the curls—then my lips and finally into my eyes. I feel another chill like I did when I touched him, a delicious shiver that runs down my spine to stab at my groin. Damn, he has pretty eyes.

“It’s after midnight.” My heart sinks at his words. “Has been for almost an hour now.”

“f**k,” I mutter.

He glares as if I slapped him. So he’s one of those re-enactors, the ones who take the whole stint over the edge. Don’t get me wrong, I love my job, love the whole historical bit, but I’m not fooled into thinking this is truly 18th Century America here. Some guys go all out—when they’re in costume, they are colonists. They stay in character as long as they’re dressed the part. These types even change before they get on the bus, just because it’s anachronistic.

Me, I ride the bus in full colonial garb but then again, I like the stares and the way kids point and call me Johnny Appleseed. Which I’m not, I’m a stable hand, and right now I’d give anything to be on that bus heading home.

The guy clears his throat. “Sir, I’m sorry, but I must be on my way—”

“Wait.” Before I can stop myself I touch him again. He’s the only other person here and I don’t want to be alone. “Can you give me a lift?”

“A what?” His eyes harden and he picks at my fingers, trying to pry them off his arm. “Sir, I don’t even know you. We haven’t been formally introduced—”

I laugh. This one’s cute; I like the way he insists on staying in character. Fine, I can play along. If it gets me a ride home and maybe his number before he disappears, I’m game. “Allow me to introduce myself, then.”

With a flourish I bow, fighting back giggles. “My most distinguished gentleman, my name is Nicholas Wiley and I tend the master’s steeds in yonder stable.”

I point across the square, but can’t see the stables through the fog. Still, he turns and looks, following my lead, and now he’s smiling, too. “Perhaps you will permit me the pleasure of your name?”

He finally smiles my way. “David.”

I try it out under my breath and like the way it feels on my lips.

“David Henry, at your service. I’m apprentice to the glass smith down the way.”

“You blow glass? That s**t’s tight.”

Suddenly he frowns as if I’m not quite who he thought I might be.

“Sorry,” I mutter. “Slipped out of character there, didn’t I? It’s all good. So you do those trinkets for the tourists, right?”

He glances down the street again like he’s looking for an escape. “Sir—”

“Nicholas,” I correct him. “Or hey, just Nick. I’m not one of the orators, just a lowly stable boy.”

“Nick, then.”

I like the sound of my name in his voice. Did I mention he was cute?

“Nicholas, sir, I must be on my way…”

He manages to pluck my hand from his arm and starts to walk backwards, away from me.

“Wait!” I call out. “No, wait, David, listen…”

When I say his name, he stops. His gaze darts to my curls but the frown never leaves his face. I put myself in his shoes and laugh. God, how stupid can I be? Here it is after midnight and neither of us are supposed to be on site at this hour. He must think I’m going to get him into trouble—or hell, maybe he wonders if I’m not some kind of pervert, hanging around after dark, looking for s*x in the park, who knows? The fact I can’t stop looking at his chest where his shirt hangs open or at his ass in those breeches probably doesn’t add much to my appeal.

Of course he’s scared. I’d be, too, with a weirdo like me prowling around.

He purses his lips as if trying to decide whether to laugh as well or run. I don’t want him to leave just yet—I haven’t gotten his number or found out where he lives. So maybe I am a perv, looking for something more in the dark, and maybe I am hoping I found it in this pretty guy with the dark eyes and auburn ponytail. “David, God, I’m sorry. I know you think I’m crazy, but please, don’t leave.”

“I have to get home.”

Yes, well, at least he stopped walking away.

“Me too.” I close my eyes and press my fingers against my eyelids until the world swims in shades of red and black. “I live downtown and I don’t even want to think about walking that far. Do you have a car? I mean, can you give me a ride? Do you live in the city?”

He shakes his head. “I’m staying at the inn here,” he says quietly. “You might still be able to get a room for the night.”

The inn? Who’s he kidding? It was for show, no one roomed there; the top floors were all decked out in period pieces and tours ran every thirty minutes until closing, which was hours ago.

“Look, this isn’t funny anymore. It’s been a long day, I missed the bus, I don’t have any money and I’m hungry, I’m tired, I’m…” I sigh, exasperated. When I speak again, my voice is on the verge of breaking. “I just want to go home.”

He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me. I stare at the ground and scuff my shoes through the remnants of dried leaves, waiting for him to walk off like he seems so intent on doing. So go then, I want to say. Leave me here, I don’t give a f**k.

But he surprises me. “Come on.”

His change of heart is so sudden, I don’t move at first.

“Nicholas? Nick. Come on, you can stay with me. You work at the stables?”

I nod.

“Come on.” He waits until I catch up with him, and then starts walking again, a few paces ahead. Our footsteps fall into an eerie rhythm that echoes behind us as if we’re being followed. I glance over my shoulder but there’s no one there, no one at all, only him and me and I hold onto the sleeve of his shirt so I don’t lose him in the night and the fog.