Chapter Two

Painting

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Everything, somehow, was different.

The change was dramatic for me. I felt everything different at once.

My head was throbbing. I knew that was due to the alcohol I consumed last night. My eyes were also hurting, a dull throbbing sensation forming behind them. I already knew today would not be a good day.

My chest felt tight. I wasn't sure why that was. It felt almost as if there were water in my lungs.

Through an open window, I could hear a bird chirping loudly. I could swear that it was right next to my ear, chirping until I lost my hearing.

I thought the bird was outside, at least. I wouldn't know the difference.

I put one hand on my forehead. My skin felt dry – the sort of dry stiffness that settles on the skin after swimming in the ocean.

I tried to run my hand through my hair, but it felt hard and tangled, hardly unlike the soft waves it had been last night. A few strands ripped apart as I attempted to do so, causing my eyes to water, even though they were closed.

I knew that I was laying on some sort of bed. Where, though? In my drunken stupor, had I gone home with Adam? It felt like I was still in my dress, though.

Something didn't feel right to me. Fear churned in the pit of my stomach at finding out what.

Instead of going out with Adam like I had last night, it felt like I had gone swimming an hour or two ago.

I remembered Adam asking me to go on a boat last night. I had. I remembered dancing like a drunken fool on said boat. I, unfortunately, had.

That was when it hit me: I fell into the water. I remembered that clearly. The same fear rushed over me: Not being able to breathe, water filling my lungs, the darkness... Reliving it terrified me.

I was alive, though. Adam must have saved me.

Why didn't I remember it? Was I dead? Was I finally in Heaven – or wherever those who died went?

No, I thought. I must be in Adam's house.

I was instantly filled with relief. Adam had saved my life. Without him, I would otherwise be at the bottom of the sea, nothing but a corpse.

I had gone onto a boat in the middle of the night, though. My dress still felt fairly damp, considering that I thought it was morning. It felt like it – or, I, rather – had been drying for two hours or so.

To prove that it was, indeed, morning, I opened my eyes. I knew it was a mistake when I saw the first ray of light. My eyes and head hurt even more than they had before. Before shutting my eyes, I saw yellow walls.

Even when they were shut, no relief was provided. Just that one moment of harsh sunlight made my head pound and eyes throb with pain. I couldn't help but whimper softly in self-pity. I prayed that Adam was far enough away to not hear my self-pity. I heard no laughing next to me. I wondered if Adam was even in the room.

I prepared myself to open my eyes and feel the sharp light again. I did so – this time, I kept my eyes opened.

The ceiling's white color seemed brighter than any white I had ever seen, even more so with the rays of sunlight streaming across with it. I refused to close my eyes. I knew that I would just have to deal with seeing the bright lights once more. My eyes would get adjusted to the light much faster.

To the left of me, I could see a pale yellow wall. I turned my head to see it. Nothing was nailed onto the wall. It was blank.

This was Adam's room. Where was he, then?

I sat up to see four yellow walls surrounding me. This was not a bedroom. True, it had a bed, something that appeared to be a dresser, and a writing desk, but it seemed almost as if this was some long-forgotten bedroom on a historical reservation.

I began to panic. Where was Adam? It was morning, and, here I was, in a bedroom that hardly looked like it belonged to an adult man. There was no sight of him, either.

Adam had to be here. He was the only person I was with last night. I knew that I was with him when I fell into the water. He had to have been the one that rescued me. His was the only house that I could be in!

"Adam?" I called out, wary. I sat up.

There was no sign of Adam. There was no place for hiding in this room, thinking that he was playing a trick on me. It didn't even have a closet!

I saw that there was a door to my left. Maybe he had let me be and was checking on me ever so often.

Who lived in a house like this, though? The room alone looked like it was built centuries ago!

There was no sign of Adam. No footsteps, no talking, not even a rustle.

My heart began to speed up even more. Anxiety pumped through my body. I wanted this to be an awful nightmare, one that would end any moment, awoken from the hairdryer that Irene was using, or even my parents knocking on my door.

I realized, with an anxiety that I had never before felt, that this wasn't a nightmare. I was awake, frightened, and had no idea where I was.

"Adam, if this is a joke, I'm not into it!" I said. The waver in my voice was undeniable. I was realizing that I was not with Adam. The inevitable thought of where, exactly, I was made me feel sick to my stomach.

I tried to tell myself that it was impossible that I was anywhere else but with Adam. He was the only person that I had been with last night!

Deep down, though, that was wrong.

I heard footsteps coming down the hallway. My heart froze. I was terrified to see who it was. To see Adam would make me relieved, a gross understatement. I didn't care about my parents and Irene (or, quite possibly both) yelling at me about sneaking out and coming back too late.

My mouth went dry as I heard the doorknob turn. I knew that it wasn't Adam. I wasn't sure if I could even allow myself to see who it was.

I felt ready to vomit, and none of it had to do with my numerous shots last night. My chest felt even tighter. Of all things to think of at the moment, I wondered if I was going to cry.

A woman poked her head into the room. Her skin was so light that I wondered if she had ever seen the light of day. Her ivory skin was a sharp contrast between her dark brown hair in a tidy bun, a few curly tendrils escaping it. She had a face that was beginning to subtly show it's age, but her delicate bone structure overpowered it.

Her brown eyes were inquisitive, her full lips slightly parted. Her gaze made me feel even more sick. Why was this woman just staring at me?

She opened the door more and walked in, smiling gently. She had on a low-cut, dark green dress, accentuating her chest.

I noticed two things that were very, very wrong: this could not possibly be Adam's mother, nor was this a typical dress, although, I wasn't as nearly concerned with the latter. What I did need to be concerned with was who this woman exactly was. This, plainly, was not Adam's mother, or any relative of his, for that matter. She could be a neighbor or a friend.

Her dress, though, was one that I had never seen in person. It had always been nothing but a picture in a textbook.

I didn't know where to begin. Everything was wrong. Nothing seemed to be as it should. The room couldn't pass for a modern bedroom, and I had no idea what to think of the woman in the dress.

My heart was lodged in the pit of my stomach. It was one of the worst feelings I had ever felt.

"Good to see you're awake, finally," the woman said. I noted she had a British accent – not a surprise, since I knew that Jamaica was still considered a British colony.

I blinked in utter confusion at the woman, still trying to comprehend the scenario. The woman looked at me blankly. I felt like a frog in Science class that was about to be disceted – I knew that something awful was going to happen to me, but I had no idea what.

"Peter was worried you passed out," she said after a long, painful silence.

I was intrigued now, only out of sheer, morbid fear.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

An expression of light concern brushed over her face.

"You mean... you don't remember?" she asked.

What was I supposed to remember? The worst immediately came to mind: someone had died, I was kidnapped, I was drugged.

"No," I said, my voice quavering.

"Peter found you in the water this morning," she began, most likely hoping that would spark my memory. It didn't. I remembered falling into the water when it was dark.

Another question was forming: Who was Peter? Was he Adam's brother, father, or a neighbor even?

"Who's Peter?" I asked.

"The cobbler's apprentice," she answered simply.

This had to be some sick, sick joke that Adam was playing on me. It could even be a nightmare, I didn't care which it was, just as long as I knew that I would get back to the hotel before my parents would send me on the first flight back to Brooklyn!

"The – The cobbler's apprentice," I stuttered.

The woman gave me an odd look. "Yes, a cobbler is one who --"

"I know what a cobbler is!" I snapped.

A lump formed tightly in my throat, constricting me. I didn't want to cry here. I was terrified enough as it was, I didn't need the embarrassment of crying in front of a stranger.

"Where am I?" I demanded. "Where's Adam?"

"You're right above me bakery," she said.

I'm above a bakery. That solves everything, I thought sarcastically.

"Besides that," I said, annoyed. "Am I still in Kingston?"

The woman looked concerned. Just by her expression, I knew that I wasn't. I wasn't sure what seemed more appealing right now: Screaming, crying, or getting rid of the nausea growing by the minute in my stomach.

"This is Port Royal, dearie," she said, walking towards me. "You were on a boat that would have landed here, weren't you?"

Peter, whoever he was, did find me in the water. At least one thing was cleared up.

Where was Port Royal, though? Was it near Kingston? Had I just drifted near shore some how?

"Where's Adam, though?" I pressed. "He said his house was a block away from the nightclub."

I wondered how dangerous this woman was. A man named Peter saving me seemed like nothing but a lie. Adam would have been able to rescue me from the waters and row me back to shore, and have me spend the night at his house.

"No one was with you," she said.

No one was with me. Those five simple words sent a chill up my spine.

"Peter found you in the water when he went outside this morning," she continued. "He was worried you were dead."

"But why did he bring me here?" I asked.

"He's a proper lad. He thought having you wake up in a house where a lady is present would be best."

She may have been telling the truth. That didn't make me feel any more at ease, though.

"What happened to you?" she asked me.

That was a very good question. What had happened to me?

"I don't know," I answered honestly.

"Were you on a ship? Was it sank by pirates? It's obvious that you were on a shipwreck. You were at sea, after all, love."

She was obviously curious at what could have happened to me. The woman was conjuring every possibility what could have happened that landed me in the water. All I knew is that I was drunk, ridiculously drunk, and with a man I had known for six or seven hours.

I had a feeling that was the wrong thing to say, though.

"I don't know," I repeated.

"Oh, dear..." she said. She looked instantly worried. "You must have lost your memory during your fall in the water."

This woman thought I had amnesia? No, I remembered everything about last night – as much as I could remember, at least, in my drunken state. I was with Adam. I had fallen into the water.

Nothing made sense still, though.

"Do you remember your name?" she asked.

"Christine," I said.

"Good," she said, nodding, appearing a bit relieved. "You do remember your last name, right?"

"Werden."

"Good," she said, looking more relieved. She must have been glad that she wasn't with a completely inept seventeen-year-old. "I'm Mrs. Ashford."

I didn't say that it was nice to meet her. It wasn't. I was still confused as hell.

"Can you tell me the year, love?" she asked me.

This did not seem like a twenty-first century house. I felt ridiculous for saying my answer, but what other year could it be?

"2008," I said.

The relief in Mrs. Ashford's face was no longer there. It was replaced with nothing but motherly concern.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, dearie, it's not." She then said to herself, "Lost your memory, you did."

I almost thought that she was joking. Who would play that sick of a joke for that long, and to the very last detail: The room, the dress, everything?

"It's 1754."

She had to be lying. I wouldn't let myself believe her.

I got up and realized that everything hurt – my feet from my heels that were still on, my head from the alcohol...

Mrs. Ashford touched my arm and tried to convince me to sit down. "Miss Werden, you really shouldn't stand up so fast. You need to rest."

I jerked my arm back, biting my tongue at all the things that I could have said. I quickly went to the window. I seemed to be in the heart of town. Shops were being open, and children were running around, chasing each other, screaming excitedly. A wild chicken fluttered about.

The cobbler's shop was a few stores down. The sign above it had a shoe on it, and writing that I couldn't read below it. The shop next to ours was called Brown's Blacksmith. I vaguely noticed a brown-haired, curly-haired figure that emerged from the shop. All I could notice that this was nothing like Kingston. This was nothing like 2008.

All of a sudden, I knew that Mrs. Ashford wasn't lying. This was 1754.

"Oh, my God," I whispered.

My eyes remained on the town square. I was completely speechless.