Hello everybody! Thanks so much for the favs/follows and for the wonderful reviews on my last chapter! :) BIG BIG thank you's to : HoldOnToThisLullabye, immysaurus, FlamePumpkin32 & 'Guest'. You are all amazing and I love you! I hope you all enjoy this update.
Time Knows No Boundaries ~ Chapter Four
No one can blame you
For walking away
Too much rejection
No love injection
It's only forever, not long at all
Lost and lonely
'Underground' – David Bowie
.:*:.
For what felt like a long time, Martha stood there, trembling like a leaf. So many confused thoughts were scurrying around her brain like a swarm of busy ants as she stared at the stranger before her. There had to be an explanation that was slightly saner than the truth, surely, despite what she had just witnessed. But still reality sat there, growling at her from its mental cage.
Still continuing to stare suspiciously at him, Martha made her way across the room with difficulty; her leg muscles had gone numb with shock and didn't seem to want to cooperate - even more so than usual as she was a terribly clumsy person. Her legs had an extraordinary talent for getting tangled up with things like rugs, tablecloths and other such items. She often joked that when God rained down gracefulness and balance, that she must have been holding an umbrella. However, she kept a safe distance from him, skirting around him as though he had some sort of fatal disease she was afraid of catching but still not once taking her eyes off of him. James watched her mutely, awaiting her reaction, hoping very much she would not start screaming again. To his intense relief, however, she didn't.
"You're...you're a...ghost?" she eventually whispered hoarsely, her green eyes searching his.
"It would certainly appear so," James answered.
Martha looked him and up and down, heart thudding painfully hard in her chest. But he looked so solid. It didn't seem at all possible for Cath to have just simply walked right through him as though he didn't even exist and yet Martha couldn't deny the evidence of her very own eyes; she had seen it for herself. Cath really hadn't a notion that he had been present in the room. Sensing her doubt and fear, James sighed a little.
"Miss, I am very sorry for giving you a fright like that and for putting you through any embarrassment with your friend...but I just couldn't find a better way to prove to you what I was," he explained.
"No, I guess not," Martha said quietly, still continuing to stare at the soldier like he was nothing of Earth.
"You disbelieve the existence of ghosts?" James guessed shrewdly, raising his eyebrows as he watched her expression.
Martha only shook her head in a non-committal manner. She had never really given the subject much thought if she was perfectly honest. True, she was an open-minded individual and had never scoffed at the idea of spirits continuing to exist beyond the grave, no more than she scoffed about the existence of aliens or of the Loch Ness monster. But she always associated ghosts as floating, transparent beings, who spent their time after death haunting creepy gothic manors, not with tall dashing officers trying to vainly make conversations with living people in antique shops.
This doesn't make any sense! A voice in Martha's head screamed. If he was really a ghost, what the heck was he doing here in her flat? Why did he talk to her? Why would any respectable spectre choose to haunt her of all people anyway? She was hardly the most interesting or important of people.
She ran her hands distractedly through her mess of coppery hair, making it even more dishevelled than it was before. James favoured her with a gentle, sympathetic smile, apparently aware of the turmoil going on in her reeling mind.
"I know this must be very strange for you, Miss, as it is for me. I do not blame you in the slightest for being dubious," he said understandingly, "If I were in your shoes, I daresay I would be the same way."
Martha continued to stare at him, her hands curled into fists at her temples as though trying to hold her head together. The rational part of her brain was telling her that this was complete madness and yet like before, there was a soothing quality to his speech which seemed to help appease her. When he spoke, his voice was the consistency of warm honey, effectively calming her, and she welcomed it like a hot beverage in the early morning chill which still lingered in the flat. His voice seemed to have a thawing effect on the rest of her body too as she felt the feeling come back into her legs and it was then that she realised she had stopped trembling. She lowered her hands slowly.
"But...but...what are you doing here?" she managed to sputter out at last. "How did you even get here?"
"Surely you must already know the answer to that?" James said, his gaze settling on the coffee table in the middle of the room and Martha followed his line of vision to see he was looking at the pocket watch which was sitting there, lying open and she realised that she must have dropped it in her panic at his sudden appearance.
"The watch?" She slowly walked over and hesitantly picked up the tarnished piece with trembling fingers, squinting at the initials engraved there. Her eyes darted between him and the watch, remembering all those times she had heard his voice over the last week. "You...you were haunting this watch?" she questioned.
James was heartily relieved that she had managed to grasp that concept so quickly.
"Yes, I was...Though I didn't exactly have a lot of choice in the matter."
Martha noticed that there was an odd, faraway look in his eyes as he gazed at the pocket watch in her hands, apparently lost in thought, his expression unfathomable. After a moment, he seemed to snap out his trance-like state and looked in her in the eyes. After the consternation he had put her through, James felt the very least he could do was to be honest with the young lady.
"I will try my best to explain but as I said, I don't fully understand the situation myself..."
Martha said nothing. She only waited for him to continue.
"At the time of my...demise, I was carrying the watch in my pocket. Somehow or other, my soul or my spirit, if you like, became trapped in the watch. Don't ask me how or why for I do not know... When my body was recovered to be buried, whoever it was moving me found the watch in my pocket and took it for themselves..."
Despite herself, Martha involuntarily felt a rush of disgust and revulsion. Did some people have no respect that they felt the need to thieve from a dead man?
James continued, "As far as I could tell, over the years, the watch has been passed on and changed hands many, many times. I tried to leave the watch but found I could not. So I endeavoured to try and ask for someone's help. I tried desperately to call out to the watch's new owners... Again and again I tried to make any sort of contact with them to beg them for my release...to let my spirit be free."
"And did any of them hear you?" Martha asked quietly though she could guess by his solemn expression what the answer would be. His shadowed eyes found hers.
"None of them did."
Martha listened to his story and she could feel her heart go out to him. There was a longing in his voice...he sounded so lost. Though not in a way like he was fishing for sympathy. She heard the frustration and desperation at trying to contact those people with absolutely no success. It must have been so unbearably lonely for him.
"In the end, I had to convince myself that I was just going to have to accept the inevitable...that my soul was doomed to remain all alone trapped in the watch in that gloomy little shop. But just when I began to lose hope, you came along, Miss...You picked up the watch and I dared to hope that there was a chance you would hear me. I just had to try and reach out to you. And for some reason, I cannot even begin to fathom, you did hear me. So imagine my sheer joy that you decided to purchase the watch and eventually you freed me..."
"Freed you? What did I do, rub the watch?" she asked, thinking of Aladdin rubbing the lamp to release the genie.
"Last evening, you acknowledged me and it was that which ultimately freed me. And I don't know how I'll ever repay you but I am so, so grateful to you, Miss. More than you couldpossibly imagine."
He made a sudden strange motion with his arm as though he had made to reach out to grasp her hand just to show how tremendously gratified he was but had then thought better of it. He did not wish to appear so forward or to make her feel uncomfortable. Martha was silent for a moment, stunned by this sad story and at the knowledge that she had unknowingly helped to release a ghost from the confines of his time-keeping prison.
"Well...you're very welcome but...why me? How come I heard you when no one else has done before?"
"That is a very good question," James answered, "As to that, I don't know. This is the part that I do not understand."
The pair lapsed into silence as they simultaneously pondered any feasible explanations as to why Martha was the only one who could hear or see the captain. Martha was going over his story in her mind. Now she felt truly terrible for kicking off like she had and hitting him over the head with the cricket bat; all of that time spent trapped in a watch and look at the welcome he had received when he was at last released from it. She grimaced and bowed her head, shamefaced.
Mistaking her expression, James murmured, "I have told you all that I know... If you wish for me to leave, I will more than understand. The last thing I want is to inconvenience you – "
Martha's head immediately shot up to stare at him.
"After what you've just told me? No, don't be silly! You don't have to leave. I wouldn't want you to."
Apart from anything else, now that she had appeared to have gotten over her initial shock (at least a little) at having a ghost in her home, she found Captain James Nicholls truly fascinating and found herself now wanting to know more about him. After all, it wasn't every day that one was haunted by the spirit of a handsome soldier!
James was awfully relieved to hear her say those words. He honestly did not wish to leave. All of that time spent in miserable solitude... Apart from feeling obligated to repay her (somehow) for his freedom, and though he didn't even know this woman, it just felt so wonderful to actually speak to somebody. Now that he had found someone at long last he could actually communicate with, he did not want to let them slip out of his grasp so quickly. But there was something else...Unbeknownst to Martha, James found her just as intriguing as she found him. As the two had been talking, a curious little thought kept niggling away at the back of his mind. There was something familiar about her but for the life of him, James just couldn't think why, he could not explain it. It almost felt like she was a long-lost friend he had once known but he didn't see how that could possibly be; he had never met her before this day. Perhaps he was imagining things.
Though he had to marvel at this complete turnaround in her attitude; only moments ago, she had thought him a lunatic and was all too eager to be rid of him. Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, for Martha continued,
"I just feel really bad for hitting you with that bat. I feel like I've just kicked Bambi... I'm really sorry," Martha apologised, "Are you alright? Did I hurt you?" she added, her brows furrowing with concern, wondering if it were possible to actually physically harm a ghost.
But James only waved an elegant hand dismissively. "No harm done," he said, "I was winded somewhat but I think my pride was hurt more than anything else," he assured her, which made Martha smile a little in relief that she had not caused him any damage.
Looking around, the redhead spotted his hat on the floor which must have fallen off when she had hit him over the head. She went over and bent to pick it up. That too was cold to the touch as though it'd been placed in the refrigerator. She came back and handed it to him in a friendly gesture, a shy, hesitant smile forming on her face.
He accepted it with a quiet "Thank you", returning her smile. When her fingers momentarily brushed against his gloved ones, Martha felt goosebumps erupt up and down her arms at his icy temperature but fought the impulse to recoil. Up close, she saw the markings on his uniform, confirming that he was indeed a captain.
"You're welcome...Captain."
Her eyes found the scruffy hole on his chest and wondered what had happened to bring about his death. But she knew better than to ask. It was none of her business, anyhow. James, meanwhile, turned his gaze towards the window. He looked outside at the less than picturesque view. A thick morning frost glittered on the metal rail on the balcony outside in the weak light of the autumn sun and he could hear the distant shouts of playing children and a dog barking somewhere.
"Could you tell me where we are please, Miss?" he asked. He presumed he was in Britain, judging by the young lady's accent.
"We're in Taunton," answered Martha.
So he was back in Somerset, James mused. After everything that had happened in France, after changing hands so many times, the watch had managed to wend its way back to where it originated, like it had some sort of homing instinct like swallows returning for the summer. He looked out the window at the surrounding estate of flats.
"I am familiar with the town but that is not the Taunton I remember," he said, frowning slightly at this unattractive outlook.
At this remark, Martha began to wonder how long ago it was when he had died. Judging by what he was wearing and how he spoke, it was pretty obvious to her that wherever he was from, it wasn't in this time period. She wondered if he was aware just how much time had gone past. She tented her fingers together in thought before wringing her hands a little nervously.
"Um, Captain?" she began carefully, feeling she should address him by his title out of politeness to make up for the fact she had nearly bashed his brains in. He turned away from the window to face her. "This might sound like a weird question to you but...what year do you think it is?"
"It was the year 1914 when I...passed on," For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to say the word "died". Martha's eyebrows had shot up in surprise.
"1914? Wow..." she breathed. All that time all alone? How horrible for him.
"I am aware that many a year has gone by since then," he added, his astonishingly blue eyes travelling briefly over Martha's outfit and the strange apparatus in the room (her television and the various shiny appliances in her kitchenette).
"You're not kidding..." She sighed, "Okay, listen...you might want to brace yourself. You're right, it's not 1914 anymore. It's the year 2012."
Martha let out a slow breath to let this fact sink in. She saw his face whiten and James felt a twinge in his knee as his leg nearly gave out in shock. Two thousand and twelve? Whatever he had been expecting to hear, that wasn't it. He had been imprisoned in the pocket watch for nearly one hundred years? He had had absolutely no idea it had been as long as that. James had to grip the back of a nearby chair to steady himself at this shocking revelation. Unfortunately the chair slipped slightly under his weight and skidded a little on the wood floor, almost causing him to fall. But a small pair of hands had reached out to grasp his arm to steady him.
"Oh my days...I'm sorry! Here sit down... Maybe that was too much at once..."
Ignoring the peculiar feeling she got when she touched him, she helped him into the chair. This was rather difficult as he was much taller than her – and much heavier, despite being a ghost. Martha briefly thought how strange this situation would look to someone if they just walked in right now, to see her grappling with someone who was apparently invisible.
James allowed himself to be steered onto the chair, hardly aware of what he was doing. Trying his utmost to keep his composure, he held his head in his hands. Everything he once knew was gone. So all of those fine, brave men...his comrades, Jamie, Charlie...men he was proud to call his friends (assuming of course, they had even survived the charge)... His family, his darling little sisters... Even his magnificent mount, Joey. Everyone he ever knew. They were all gone? But most of all...her. The very person who had given him his pocket watch in the first place. He never got the chance to see her beautiful face one last time. At this thought, he felt a great ache in his chest where his heart should have been. Also, his position as a captain probably meant absolutely nothing now. He was faintly aware that the young lady was speaking.
" - There's quite a lot of major events have happened since your day like..." Martha hesitated to think, "...the Great Depression...World War Two...the Cold War... Nine eleven, of course...But then there's other stuff like the invention of television...the first man landing on the moon - technology has come on leaps and bounds in quite a short space of time if you think about it actually...These days, most things are all automated or done by machine. I guess you could call this "the digital age"..."
Martha stopped, catching herself. She did have the tendency to ramble at times and she really hated dominating a conversation for fear of boring other people into a stupor. It was worse when all she managed to achieve was to confuse people and seeing as the poor captain was almost one hundred years behind on current affairs, this wasn't exactly helpful.
"It's quite a bit to go over..." she finished in a murmur. She looked down at him and she felt her heart give a little clench of sympathy. Sat like this, his big blue eyes as wide as saucers, he looked like a small frightened boy, a fish out of water. "Bless your heart...you look like a lost kitten," Martha said softly, "Are you feeling okay?"
James had in fact been listening to her and was a little startled by the question. Despite the rambling, he actually found her voice quite pleasant to listen to (even if he hadn't understood all of what she'd said) and once again, he had that strange sensation that she was familiar to him in some way and he still did not know why. Pushing that thought to one side, he let out a heavy sigh.
"It's just...a great deal to take in, that's all," was all he could murmur in reply.
Martha bowed her head, feeling responsible in a way. It wasn't her fault that she was the only one to be able to see and hear him but she had been the one who brought him here. She always felt compelled to help others in need, even if in the past, this compulsion had led to others taking advantage of her at times. But that still hadn't quelled that urge of wanting to aid people. Elliot said sometimes that she was too much of a soft touch and that she needed to learn to say no to people, but Martha couldn't help the way she was.
"I'll help you," she told him earnestly.
James looked up at her, his expression weary. She looked most sincere.
"That is most kind of you but you have done more than enough for me already, Miss..." James trailed off, realising for the first time that he didn't know her name.
"Oh, sorry...my name's Martha. Martha Burton. And that maybe so but I want to help."
James rose to his feet. No matter how bizarre the situation, basic courtesy was not to be overlooked. Martha watched curiously as he stood in front of her, his tall frame towering over her much smaller one but not in any way that was intimidating. He then graciously bowed to her, something that she most certainly was not used to.
"Thank you, Miss Burton, for your most generous offer."
This simple and yet so mannerly gesture actually made Martha feel a bit giddy. She didn't think she had ever been bowed to before. Who knew that a ghost could be so polite? A wide grin involuntarily working its way onto her face, she responded by crossing one leg behind the other and bobbing a curtsey like she had seen in films, if not a slightly clumsy one.
"The pleasure is all mine, Captain Nicholls," she answered, unable to contain a slight chuckle.
She straightened up, smile still in place which promptly faded when her stomach gave out a very loud rumble. Martha's face flushed a little and James' mouth curled into an amused smile, which transformed his face immeasurably. If Martha thought him handsome before, he was definitely even more so when he smiled.
"Well, I don't know about you but this haunting lark has made me hungry," she said, now thinking wistfully of a breakfast of coffee and bagels. She was just about to make for her kitchenette, when she thought of something and turned back to her new housemate.
"Do ghosts eat?"
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Reviews would be absolutely marvellous, they do help to encourage me. All reviewers can have their very own Tom Hiddleston - with or without the uniform, it's your choice ;)
