Author's Note: *apologizes now for lengthy AN* Hey guys! :D I feel extremely bad for the semi-hiatus I've been on. This is my second submission to FF, and I hope that it is as successful as my other story has been so far! To any readers of Love Changes Things: thank you for your patience! Juggling two stories has been FAR more difficult than I ever could have imagined. I would spend a lot of time thinking about both of them; when I would go to write on one, the other would cloud my vision! Fear not, though; a new chapter of LCT will be up any day now. In the meantime, I hope that everyone, old and new readers alike, enjoy this first chapter of my new story.
All of my hearts and thanks go out to my amazing, gorgeous Betas.
Reviews are welcome and thoroughly appreciated; if you have an issue, please bring it to my attention!
As a disclaimer, I do not own BatB.
Happy reading! (:
-jonnilyne
Belle leaned forward on the counter with a soft sigh as she watched the man browse through the shelves of books. It was five minutes till ten, and she wished desperately that this man would hurry up. She had already swept the floors and put up the entire shipment of new books; as soon as this guy was done doing whatever he was going to do, she could lock up and leave for the night.
She absentmindedly straightened the edge of her forest green shirt, emblazoned with "HUDSON BOOKS" in white print. Mr. Hudson, the middle-aged, no-nonsense owner of the bookstore couldn't be bothered with coming up with a clever or catchy name for his shop – his name would have to do.
"Hi," came a deep voice; Belle's eyes snapped up, a smile mechanically appearing on her face. The man had apparently finished his search; he was brandishing a worn copy of The Hunchback of Notre Dame and a cocky smile.
"Do you like that book?"she asked as she scanned the barcode. The guy scoffed.
"I started reading it online and could hardly get through the first page. I have to have it, though, for a class."
"That's a shame," she said, punching buttons on the old computer. "I love it. Your total is $7.52; would you like a bag?"
"Well, when I said I couldn't get through it, I meant because I was so tired," he amended with a cool smile. "If you like it, I'm sure it will be great."
"Hmm," Belle muttered, sliding the book into a bag as he slid his credit card onto the counter.
"You're about to close, right?" he asked as she slid his card. "Does that mean you're about to leave?"
"I still have to clean up and put up books," she lied smoothly, trying to send him as many 'not-interested' vibes as she could. She tucked his receipt into the bag and handed it to him along with his card, but he still stood there, smiling at her.
"Can I help you with anything else?" Belle asked pleasantly.
"You'd be helping me very much if you gave me your number," he said with a broad grin.
Belle had to applaud his tenacity. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, with bright green eyes and messy black hair, but she could tell he wasn't someone she wanted to be involved with.
"Sure," she said, plastering on a smile. He pulled out his phone and she rattled off a number.
"See you around," he said with a wink as he sauntered out the door. Belle rolled her eyes at his back and waited until he had driven away to run towards the light switch. With a flip, the lights were out. She grabbed her bag from behind the counter and pulled out a set of keys. Giving the shop a last glance, she headed towards the front door.
In a moment, the front door was locked and Belle was unlocking her blue Focus. She slid inside and started the car, ready to relax in her apartment.
As she drove, she thought about what she needed to get done in the next few days; she knew she was almost out of groceries, so a trip would be necessary soon. Bethany was coming over in two days, on Thursday, to watch movies, so Belle would have to clean up her apartment. At least she had the next two days off of work; she could finish everything and still have time to relax with a good book.
Belle jumped slightly when her phone rang. She dug around with her free hand and finally found the buzzing phone.
"Hello?"
"Did you give out my phone number again?" Belle's friend Bethany wasted no time getting to the point.
"I may have," Belle replied off-handedly.
"Oh, you may have," Bethany said with a scoff. "I just got a text that said, 'Hey hot stuff, miss me yet?'"
"He was hanging about around closing time. I had to get rid of him somehow. If it helps, he was attractive."
"If he was attractive, why don't you talk to him?" Bethany asked exasperatedly.
"He seemed arrogant and dull," Belle replied as she made a left turn.
"Cocky, attractive, and not too bright? That's just how I like 'em!"
"Which is why I gave him your number," Belle teased.
"Right. Are you on your way home?"
"Yeah; I'm going to grab some food and then I'll be there."
"You'll be home so late," Bethany said with concern. "Are you sure you don't want me to come over so you won't be home alone? Or I could send Lou over there, if you'd like."
"I'm fine," Belle said flippantly. "Besides, I highly doubt Lou would come to my apartment at this time of night."
"Lou does whatever I ask him to," Bethany said; Belle could perfectly visualize the coy grin she was sure was on her friend's face. "I don't like you living alone," Bethany finished, her tone turning serious.
"You live alone," Belle pointed out.
"I may quote, live, alone, but I'm hardly alone at night."
"Point taken. Look, Beth, I'm almost to McDonald's. I'll grab some food and text you when I'm in. Alright?"
"Alright," Bethany said, defeated. "Later."
"Bye."
Belle glanced out of her side window at the trees rushing past her. Oddly enough, she hadn't seen a single car since she left Hudson's. She had taken a back road to get food, though, and it wasn't too strange to be alone on it. She wasn't normally one to be frightened by the dark, but as she drove down the dark road, surrounded by trees, her spine began to tingle; she felt as if someone was watching her. Her hand tightened nervously around the steering wheel.
Outside her windshield, the world seemed to still around her car. Though her speedometer still registered forty-five miles per hour, the trees surrounding her weren't moving. Her heart skipped a beat in terror; what was going on?
Surely she was hallucinating; after a few seconds, everything returned to normal. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and turned her attention back to the road in front of her.
Immediately, she screamed and slammed on her breaks.
The road had been empty the second before she looked out her window at the immobile trees, but now there was a figure standing in the road with its arm over its eyes.
Her car lurched to a stop as she slammed forward and hit her mouth hard on the steering wheel. Belle felt a small bump at the front of her car and she froze in horror.
"Oh, my God!" she squealed over and over, trying to overcome her shock.
"It was a small bump," she said to herself, fumbling with her seatbelt. "My airbag didn't even deploy. I have to have barely hit them. They're okay; they have to be." She finally managed to unhook herself and wrench her door open. Trembling, she exited her car, nearly falling on her face.
Lying on the ground a few feet in front of her car was a person – a man from the looks of it – who was moaning and clutching his head in pain.
"Sir!" Belle shouted, rushing towards him. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did you hit your head? Oh God, oh God, oh God …. " She knelt on the pavement next to him, and stopped in shock.
"You hit me," she heard him mutter with a groan.
The first thing she noticed was his strange clothing. He had on fine black pants, but none that she had ever seen before. They cut off at the knee, where high white socks led down to black buckles shoes. Above, he wore a green shirt and jacket. His clothing looked as if it had come out of the pages of a history book. He could have been a wealthy man from centuries ago, but Belle did notice that his clothing, while fine, was in a state of disrepair. Buttons from his jacket were missing, loose threads hanging out. There were stains on his shirt and rips in his pants. What on earth …?
Her attention was almost immediately torn away from his clothing, however, as his skin caught her eye. The man's skin that was visible was completely disfigured. His shirt was open at the top, revealing a pale chest that was riddled with pink, ridged scars. Most of his neck and face seemed to be slightly pink, dry, and wrinkled in areas, as if he had been horribly burned. The parts of his face that weren't burned were covered in more scars like the ones on his chest. From what Belle could see, none of the man's bald head or face was left unaffected.
For one second, an irrational thought fluttered into her head; was she responsible for these damages? She pushed that thought away instantly; she had barely hit him with her car. These were old injuries. What on earth had happened to him? She tried not to stare at the wounds.
At that moment, the man's eyes popped open. Time seemed to stand still around Belle as his inhumanly blue eyes shocked her to the core. His eyes were so vivid and electrifying that Belle felt, in that moment, as if nothing in the world had been real until she had seen his eyes. His eyes narrowed and then widened in confusion; he tried to sit up and then fell back again. Belle instantly reached towards him and helped him into a sitting position.
"Are you okay, sir?" she asked, barely breathing.
"You," he breathed in a clear, deep voice; Belle shivered.
"I know, I hit you with my car. I'm so sorry, but I didn't see you at all! Where did you come from? It seemed to me like you just appeared out of nowhere; of course, that's just silly, but it's what I saw! Why are you dressed like –"
"Woman, stop rambling!" he exclaimed; Belle blinked in surprise as her jaw dropped. "I – I need – think."
"Oh, yes, sorry," she said, biting her lip. "Are you all right?"
"My - my head aches terribly. Also, what was that word you used a moment ago? 'C-car?'"
"Yes," Belle said, glancing at her Focus. "I hit you with my car." The man stared blankly at her for a moment.
"What is a car?" he asked; Belle let out a nervous laugh.
"Don't joke," she said with a dry laugh, afraid that he wasn't joking. What if she had given this man amnesia?
"I do not jest," he snapped, his eyes blazing. "I do not know what it is. I am also puzzled by your clothing and your hair," he added.
"My hair?" Belle asked, self-consciously touching the ends of her black jaw-length bob.
"You have a boy's hair," he commented.
"I – what?" Belle demanded, now sure that she had addled this man's brains. "You know what, never mind that. I just hit you with my car. Stand up with me, and let's get out of the road." She tried to put his arm around her shoulder and help him up, but the man pushed her away briskly and shakily stood up on his own. Belle watched cautiously, her arms hovering around him in case he fell down.
"I'm fine," he said, brushing himself off. Belle moved around him slowly, trying to examine him.
"You're bleeding!" she shouted, staring at the base of his skull. It looked like he had scraped himself on the pavement. There wasn't much blood, but Belle was beginning to feel sick – she had injured this man! He gingerly reached back and then examined his hand.
"It's hardly a scratch," he scoffed. "I am fine, madame."
"I think you should go to a hospital," Belle said with concern. "You need to see a doctor."
"See a physician for a light bump on the head?" he asked incredulously. "That's ridiculous." Belle hesitated, weighing her options. She couldn't force this man to go to the hospital; at the same time, he seemed to have some memory loss. Shouldn't they go?
"Look," she said firmly. "You've got amnesia. You need to go to a doctor."
"Am-amne- what?" the man asked, blinking rapidly.
"Amnesia. You can't remember things before I hit you."
"I remember everything perfectly well, thank you very much," the man spat.
"Y-you know who you are?"
"Yes."
"So … you don't have amnesia?"
"It would appear not," he said. His face was set, but his eyes were light as if he were teasing her. Belle rocked on her heels, thinking. She couldn't just let him go; after all, she felt responsible for him now. She had to make sure he was all right.
"Will you at least stay at my place tonight? I've got a comfortable couch, and that way I can make sure that you're really all right.
"I will," he said quickly. "But give me a moment, first."
"Thank you," Belle said with a sigh of relief. The man took a few steps away from her, staring intensely into the distance.
"Trees," she heard him whisper. He bent at the knee and put a hand on the hard, smooth cement. He muttered something unintelligible before straightening himself and looking up at the sky. After a moment, he turned towards Belle again, but his gaze was fixed on the car. He placed his face in his hands, seemingly in desperation.
"Okay," he said, finally dropping his hands. "I – I think I'm ready."
With a small nod, Belle turned toward her car but paused with her hand on the door handle; the man was still standing a few feet away, staring at the car with a mixture of confusion and anxiety on his face. She walked around to his side of the car and opened the door. "It's all right," she said calmly. "It's just a car." The man raised an eyebrow but moved slowly towards the car. Once he was inside, Belle shut the door; he jumped in fright.
"Are you sure you don't have amnesia?" Belle asked when she was in the car. The man glared at her but didn't answer.
"Are you hungry?" Belle asked after driving in silence for a moment. "I was about to get food when I – well, you know."
"I – I could eat," he said flippantly. He sank deeper into the seat and turned towards his window. Belle pursed her lips as she finally turned off of the dark back road. She heard her guest inhale sharply in what she could only guess was shock. Lights of passing cars and nearby buildings lit up the otherwise dark night.
"What is this place?" he asked in awe.
"It's Peur Jointe," Belle said lightly.
"What is causing these lights?" he queried. "They do not look like lanterns."
"That's because they're not," she answered, her confusion mounting. "It's electricity." The man finally looked at her, his eyes full of anxiety.
"I – I have never seen such things before," he muttered. With a sigh, Belle pulled into the drive-thru line at McDonald's.
"What do you like from here?" she asked, afraid that she already knew the answer.
"I'll have whatever you have," he replied quickly. When it was her turn, Belle ordered quickly; she could feel the man staring at her while she was placing her order.
"Who was speaking to you?" he asked with wide eyes.
"The person inside," she said. "They use an intercom system to take orders." The man didn't comment, but his ruined face was covered in confusion. After paying, Belle pulled forward where a girl with a bored look on her face thrust the bag of food into her hands.
"I don't live far from here," she said casually, trying to hide her growing curiosity and failing. "Where did you come from?" she blurted quickly.
"A very different place," the man answered after a pregnant pause.
"How were you suddenly in the road? I swear I didn't see you until you were just in front of me. Did you jump out?"
"No, I did not jump out." Belle mulled over his cryptic answers.
"Is that all you can tell me?" she prompted. He lowered his head in silence; Belle sighed in slight frustration.
"It is quite fanciful," he said softly. "I still feel as if I am dreaming. I do not think that you would believe me if I told you."
"You could try me," Belle said with a small smile. Again, she was met with silence. She gave up her interrogation as she drove towards the gate of her apartment building. She punched in the code and waited as the gate slid open.
"It opens on its own," the man said in a low voice. Once they were parked, Belle scooped up her purse and got out of the car. When she shut her door, she saw the man still inside, fumbling as he tried to open his door. She hurried to his side and let him out.
"Thank you," he muttered.
"Follow me," Belle ordered. "I'm in 113." She pulled her keys from her bag as they walked. As she thought about the strange man and the strange circumstance she found herself in, she ran her thumb along the purple plastic heart keychain she kept all of her keys on. Michael had given it to her a long time ago; she could just feel the painted letter 'S' that was all that remained of the white lettering that had adorned it.
She sighed when she reached the door and unlocked it quickly.
"I'm sorry about the mess," Belle said sheepishly as she entered the apartment.
It was a small but nice apartment. Belle led the way through the narrow entryway, bumping into the old table covered with papers as she did almost every time she entered. She caught sight of the mess she had left behind in the spacious living room and blushed. Books and articles of clothing were scattered over the tan couch and small dark coffee table.
"I'm sorry about the mess," Belle said, turning sheepishly around only to see that the man wasn't behind her. He had turned right from the entryway and gone into Belle's small kitchen. She watched as he stared openly at her refrigerator. He reached up and gently touched a photograph of Bethany and her; they had their arms around each other and broad grins on their faces.
"This painting is so … lifelike," the man commented.
"That's because it isn't a painting," Belle answered with a small laugh. "It's a photo." The man looked at her with wide eyes and her smile faded. "You really have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" The man shook his head. "There's a thing called a camera. It takes pictures of real life." His eyes widened, but he didn't comment. Belle took advantage of his distraction to pick up the dirty clothes from the living room. She threw them into her bedroom that branched off from the left wall of the living room.
"Do your parents own this residence?" he asked when she came back into the living room.
"Uh, no," she answered. "I rent it."
"Was it your husband's?"
"I've never had a husband," Belle said, her brow furrowing. "I rent this place – by myself."
"But you're – you're a woman," the man said, sounding flustered. Belle's eyes widened in irritation.
"I'm not sure where you're from," she said acidly. "But in this world, women can do anything men can. We can vote and own property and everything." She crossed her arms.
"I – forgive me," the man said, looking extremely uncomfortable. Belle stormed to the kitchen and pulled two plates from a cabinet. She pulled out their food and slid it onto the plates.
"Here you go," Belle said softly, putting the plates on the coffee table and sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it. The man stood awkwardly next to the table before slowly sitting down.
"Please, forgive me for my remark," he said lightly, looking down at the purple shag rug. "I – I am feeling very overwhelmed. I am not used to many things here."
"It's fine," Belle said, feeling a twinge of guilt. His apology seemed sincere, but why wouldn't he be familiar with the world?
"What is this?" he asked, staring pointedly at the plate.
"A Big Mac," Belle answered, broken from her reverie; she began to devour her fries. She nearly choked with laughter as he timidly poked the bun.
"It's a burger," she added, amused. "You eat it. It's pretty good." He picked up the burger and examined it for several moments before taking a small bite.
"It is not bad," he admitted after swallowing. They ate in silence for a moment before Belle gathered the courage to question him again.
"So, still think your story is too crazy for me?"
"I am still deciding if even I believe it," he answered lightly. "What is that thing?" he asked, pointing at the barely-used television that sat in the corner of the living room.
"A T.V.," she answered. She tried to think of how to explain a television. "Do you know what a play is? Like, theatre."
"Yes," he said, sounding relieved that she had a comparison he could understand.
"Well, people put on plays and they are recorded by a sort-of camera. Then anyone can watch the plays whenever they'd like."
"Is there magic here?" he asked, as if that were the only explanation for such phenomenal things.
"No," Belle said with a laugh. "Is there magic where you come from?" Her brown eyes danced with amusement.
"Of course," he said, frowning at her; Belle's grin slid away.
"So where do you come from?"
"Give me some time, please," he implored, playing with a French fry. "Tell me about this place."
"Like I said, this town is called Peur Jointe. It's in California, which is in the United States of America." The man continued to stare at her with a blank expression.
"What year is it?" he asked quietly.
"Two thousand and twelve," Belle said, watching his face closely. At her words, he inhaled sharply.
"You're lying," he said, narrowing his eyes.
"No I am not!" Belle exclaimed. She scrambled up and dug around the drawer of the table in the entryway. She returned, brandishing a calendar. She pointed at the date: August 25, 2012. The man's eyes became glassy and he covered his mouth and nose with his hands.
"Not what you were expecting," Belle offered; it was a statement, not a question.
"No," he allowed, biting into a fry.
"Who else lives here?" he asked after a while.
"No one," she answered, confused by his question. The man nearly choked on his food.
"You mean we're alone? You plan on my staying here, and we're going to be alone?"
"Well, yes."
"No chaperones, no maids, no family members?" he exclaimed.
"No."
"That is – that is unheard of! It's unseemly and inappropriate!"
"I'm starting to think you're joking with me," Belle said anxiously. "Look, nowadays people – well, it's okay for men and women to be alone together." The man looked mortified. "Okay, listen – you'll be in here, on the couch, and I'll be in my room. I swear I won't – I won't try anything." Belle couldn't believe how ridiculous the words sounded coming out of her mouth.
"Try anything?" he exclaimed, his eyes bulging. "I – it doesn't matter your intentions, it is still inappropriate. Extremely inappropriate."
"People don't think it is now," Belle reasoned.
"This is insanity," he said with a frown. "You really see no problem in our being alone together?"
"We're just going to sleep in the same apartment," Belle said, her cheeks flaming. "I don't see an issue." Belle gathered the empty plates and headed towards the sink in the kitchen.
"Would you like a shower and a change of clothes?" she called as she washed the plates.
"A shower?"
"Uh, it's like a bath."
"No. I bathed three days ago."
Belle blanched. "Okay, in this place, we shower every day. Or at least, most people do. I've known some people that skip a day, but I definitely prefer showering every day." She could see the man wrinkle his nose through the window in the kitchen. "Besides, your clothes are filthy," she said, trying not to sound condescending. "I have some old clothes of Mi – well, I have clothes that would probably fit you, but you should be clean before you wear them."
"Fine," the man said with a sigh. "If that's what you do here, then I'll … 'shower.'"
"Thank you," Belle said with a smile. "Come on, this way."
"How is this even possible?" the man asked when Belle showed him the shower.
"We have indoor plumbing," Belle answered, lightly touching the neon pink flowery shower curtain that adorned her tub. She absolutely detested the design; it was far too girlish for her tastes. The edges were slightly frayed. Belle knew that she should throw it out and buy a new one, but she couldn't bring herself to. Her mother had bought her the shower curtain almost four years ago.
"You no longer use wells?" the man asked, tearing Belle's eyes from the curtain.
"Some people do," she said, frowning. "But we don't have to draw the water out like people used to. It works differently now."
After a moment, Belle continued, "You really won't tell me anything?" Her question was met with silence and she ground her teeth in aggravation. "Oh come on!" she exclaimed. More silence. She was just about to throw a fit when she remembered that she did hit this man with a car. Maybe demanding answers from him wasn't the best thing to do. Belle sighed and didn't press the matter further.
Soon the man was in the shower in her bathroom; she hoped he remembered all of her instructions. Belle dug around in her closet, searching for the box she knew was in there somewhere. Finally, her hand closed on a piece of cardboard; she lugged the box out and found a variety of boxers, shorts, jeans, t-shirts, and socks that Michael had left. He had insisted she keep them in case he ever wanted to stop by.
She toyed with the hem of an AC/DC shirt that she had bought for Michael years ago and hoped these clothes would fit. The man looked to be a good bit taller than Michael, so they might be a little short on him. For now, though, they would have to do.
"Excuse me?" his muffled voice called form the bathroom. "I'm done."
"Wrap yourself up in the towel so I can bring in clothes," Belle called back. After a moment, the bathroom door slowly opened. The man had wrapped the towel much higher than his navel, as if to cover up as much of his skin as possible. Belle could see that the scarring and burns from his neck and face were also present on his now-exposed chest.
"Don't stare," he hissed, hunching his shoulders in.
"I wasn't!" Belle argued, turning pink. She quickly turned her attention to the clothes in her arms. "These are boxers," she said, laying them on the bathroom counter. "They're underwear. These are shorts, obviously. I brought a shirt, but you don't have to wear one to bed if you don't want to."
When the man emerged a few minutes later, Belle noticed that the clothes were indeed too short for him. He tugged relentlessly at the shirt, attempting to keep his abdomen from showing.
"I'm sorry if they're a bit small, but they're all I have," she apologized.
"These are men's clothes?" he asked with a raised brow. Belle nodded. "To whom do they belong? Why do you have men's clothing?"
"Uh, someone left them here," Belle said, nervously touching the ends of her hair. "Now, can I get you anything else before bed? Water, or anything?"
"No," he replied shortly. Belle pulled a blanket and a spare pillow from her closet and hurried to the living room.
"I hope you'll be comfortable on the couch," she said as she put them down. Turning around, she saw that the man had his back to her; he was fidgeting with the shirt again. "You're bleeding again," she said, noticing that the scrape on his head had reopened.
"I'm fine," he snapped, but Belle made a sound of dissent.
"Let me bandage it," she demanded, moving to her bathroom without waiting for a response. "You'll bleed on my couch." She pulled some gauze and surgical tape from her bathroom cabinet and returned to the living room. "Sit on the couch," she ordered.
"I'm fine," he repeated through clenched teeth. Belle narrowed her eyes and put her hands on her hips.
"You sit down right now or I'll make you." The man opened his mouth to protest but finally sat reluctantly on the couch.
Belle sat on the edge next to him and gently placed the bandage over his wound. Again, she couldn't help but notice the scars lining his skin; what on earth had happened to him?
"All done," she said after a moment.
"Thank you," he grumbled. Belle stood up and walked towards her room, but paused in the doorway.
"Can I at least know your name?" she asked, running her finger along the doorframe.
Silence.
"It's René." For some reason, Belle found that a smile crept onto her face. "Will you not return the favor?"
"I'm A- Belle. I'm Belle." After another pause, she said, "I'll leave my door open tonight in case you need anything."
"I would prefer it if you would keep it shut," Rene said, fidgeting uncomfortable. Belle sighed, but Rene held up his hand to stop her protest. "This is all extremely strange to me. I am overwhelmed and quite uncomfortable, but I am trying. It would make me feel a tad better if you would shut the door."
"Okay," Belle relented. "If you need anything, though, feel free to come in." She had a feeling he would never do it, but thought that she should at least offer. "Good night."
"Good night, Belle. I wish you pleasant dreams."
Belle shut the door behind her and stood for a moment with her brow furrowed. She had no earthly idea what was going on.
Part of her clung to the idea that this evening had merely been a hallucination, brought on by a lack of sleep.
But you haven't had a lack of sleep lately, she thought. Toying with the ends of her hair nervously, she made her way across her bedroom, kicking aside a teddy bear that she had flung out of the closet in her search for men's clothing. She wondered off-handedly if Michael still had his matching bear.
She changed quickly and then shot back to her bedroom door; she stopped with her ear against the keyhole, but Rene made no sound.
If this was real, she desperately hoped that no serious harm would come to him. Clearly something was wrong with him, but she couldn't tell if it was in his head or something more serious.
If this was a hallucination … at least it would be over in the morning. As she retired to her bed, she tried to push these troubling thoughts from her head; one thing, though, resounded in her mind even as she teetered over the edge into unconsciousness.
"Is there magic where you come from?"
"Of course."
