One
Sara wondered to herself if this rain was normal for a British Autumn. It lashed down onto the grey Oxford street, sending tourists scuttling to find cover under overhangs or ducking into shops and cafes. Sara, cursing herself for not bothering with her raincoat when she had left her B&B that morning, pulled up the hood on her hoodie and scuttled in the direction of her accommodation.
A small pub caught her attention on her left, and she quickly entered, giving a small sigh of relief as she did so.
It was a curious pub, all old, dark brown wood beams with a small room immediately on the left and right, the bar was beyond these to the right and beyond that appeared to be another small room.
Squeezing her way through the throng of the usual American tourists, Sara ordered herself half a lager before wondering into the small room ahead of her in search of a seat. Above the doorway was a bronze plaque that read 'rabbit room' which made her smile.
Being the size it was it only had room for two benches on the left which were already occupied, the large open fire place, and a snug little table for two which was occupied by an old fashioned gentlemen in an old brown tweed suit, nursing a handle pint of dark ale and -looking totally out of place- an old fashioned pipe lay dormant next to his pint.
Sara turned to try her luck in another part of the bar but turned back when she heard a friendly voice address her
"Sit down and keep an old professor company – there's room for two".
Knowing that she wasn't going to find much better in the crowded pub, Sara sat down and smiled, holding her hand out,
"My name's Sara".
The man smiled and shook her hand "Jack – pleased to meet you young lady". Smiling he added, "You're not from around here, are you?"
Sara smiled "No – I'm from New Zealand".
Jack leaned back, absent-mindedly picking up his unlit pipe and taking a puff "Ahh, the Antipodes. What brings you all the way across the world to Oxford ?".
Sara studied her half-lager for a few seconds and shrugged "Oh the usual – the big overseas experience and all that. Do you come from Oxford Jack?".
He nodded "Yes I do. I am a professor at one of the universities and in my spare time I write books".
That piqued Sara's interest "Really? What type of books?"
Jack smiled, his eyes twinkling "Some would call them children's stories, others fantasy. I prefer to think of myself as one who is chronicling others stories about hope and above all – faith".
Sara looked into his friendly eyes "Are you writing one now?"
He took another puff on his pipe and leaned back against the wall "It is being written at this minute. Tell me Sara, what was it like growing up in New Zealand?".
Sara shrugged and took a sip of her lager. "My parents moved to New Zealand when I was six. I was lucky I guess, I grew up on a farm, had my own horse and as much outdoor space to roam as any kid would wish for, but it never felt like 'home'. It's hard to explain".
"Were your parents English then?"
Sara nodded "Actually, I'm adopted. I was found abandoned on the steps of Oxford's Police station when I was two. That's the reason why I'm here I guess, I guess I'm hoping for a clue as to who my real parents were."
Jack gave her a wistful smile. "Everybody's story gets told to them when it is time".
Wondering why she was telling a stranger in a pub all this, Sara once again shrugged. "Maybe".
Excusing herself, Sara pushed her way through to the bathroom, annoyed at herself for being so candid to the friendly professor.
However on her return she found the professor gone, only what was left of Sara's drink was still there, and where Jack's pint had been glittered gold. Staring at it, she found it to be a gold chain and on the gold chain was a gold rampant lion with a single red ruby where it's eye should have been.
A strong wave of deja-vu swept over Sara and hesitantly she put her hand out and picked the chain up. The instant she did a dream – the one she had been having ever since she could remember rushed to her – fleeting images and feelings of despair and terror flooded her but there was also love, stronger than anything else and cancelling the others out.
Gently placing the chain around her neck, Sara turned around and left the Pub, as she passed the bar she thought she should do the right thing and pass the necklace over to the bar-staff in-case Jack came back looking for it – but she kept on walking out onto the street and into the rain.
The streets by now were sodden, drains flooding and cars sending up showers of water. Hurrying with her hood up, head down out of the rain Sara realised that it must be rush-hour, and it was because of the noise of the rush-hour traffic, the showers of water and the pounding of the rain that Sara never heard the cries and shouts of warning as the blue Honda-Civic mounted the pavement heading straight for her.
A split second of panic was all she had before the world went black.