Time After Time
By Sarajane
"Odette, dear!" a voice flew across the modest country house situated in rural France. "Please pick up your toys." The owner of the voice, a tall, black-haired woman in her late twenties, walked quickly across the wooden floor. "Odette!" she called again.
Quietly, the little seven-year-old who was being called slinked out from behind the door and giggled.
"Okay, Odette," the woman said, smiling herself, "Enough playtime. Pick up your toys." Odette was about to do so when another sound came crashing inside the house. She peeked up at the large black boots that appeared in the doorway, aided by a large rifle that was used as a makeshift crutch.
"Daddy!" Odette called, rushing over and putting her arms around the boot, since that was about all she could reach.
"Hello," said the owner of the boots, a black-haired man of about six-foot-four height and perhaps twenty-nine years of age. He reached down and held Odette in his arms before placing her back on the ground. He turned to his wife. "So, Lorraine, what's for dinner tonight?"
"That all depends," teased Lorraine, "What did you get today?"
"A buck. Ah, hunting…" With a smirk, he said, "Whoever brought me here was correct. I am THE best hunter around. To think, it's only been nine years since I ended up here."
"Too short a time," Lorraine replied with a smile, reaching up and stroking one of her husband's muscles as their other three children ran over. There was Victorie, age five, Yves, age three, and little Xavier, age two.
"I wonder sometimes about what kind of life I had before here," Gaston admitted, "But it couldn't have been anything compared to this right now. Although I WOULD like to know how I broke just about every bone in my body."
"So would I," she said, "All that girl said was that your name was Gaston, you were the best hunter in the world, and that we had to save you. So, we did. Though it certainly wasn't easy. You were out like a light for more than three days. And I'd never seen anyone in a coma before, so I thought you were a goner. But it was like a town project: Save-the-Gaston. And then you woke up."
"Well, of course I did," he bragged, "You wouldn't expect me just to lie around all day, would you?"
"I know we've had this conversation a hundred times, Gaston," Lorraine said with a sigh, "But you don't remember ANYTHING from your old life?"
"I do remember it, a lot of it," he admitted, "I have dreams about people who I recognize, but I don't remember their names. And I have memories that I'm not really sure if they're real or old dreams. Some of the stuff I remember is far too freaky to have been real. But what about the stuff that's in the middle?" He shrugged. "There's no use worrying over it. I like where I'm at now."
"I like where you're at now, too," said Lorraine with a grin. She walked over and gently kissed him on the lips. And he returned to his bed with her, a satisfied smirk on his face.
That night, he dreamed of the girl.
Brown hair – as brown as the skin of a deer. And as elusive as a deer, as well. Skirting and turning and evading Gaston. The name wouldn't come to him. He was running after her, through the forest. He could see she was wearing blue – he couldn't tell what the clothing was, exactly, but it was a flash of blue. He reached out and caught a hold of whatever it was, and now she was dragging him along.
And now she was jumping… over a cliff…. And he was falling too…
Gaston awoke in a cold sweat, with a scream caught in his throat. He rolled over on top of Lorraine.
"Lorraine," he mumbled, nudging her.
"Gaston," she replied sleepily, "What do you want?"
"Nothing…" he said quietly, "Forget it."