The autumn leaves gently crunched beneath my feet as I walked along the dirt road, a strong breeze blowing my hair until it stuck straight up. I knew right away that I was dreaming; San Diego rarely experienced a drastic change of seasons, and there were hardly any dirt roads left in the city. Nevertheless, instead of trying to control my surroundings, I decided to simply let myself explore, knowing that I could wake up if things started going awry. The road was straight, but uneven and difficult to walk on, and I almost fell a few times, remaining upright at the last second. As I glanced up at the sky, I saw that it was cloudy, yet not in a gloomy sort of way. No, the clouds provided a nice shield from the sun—it would've been uncomfortably bright otherwise—and I gave a small sigh of content. Even for a dream, this was beautiful.

The wind whispered through the trees that lined the road, talking in a language that was foreign to me, but the birds seemed to understand. They chirped and tweeted and sang back, hitching rides on gentle updrafts and then gliding back down to do it all over again. I watched them for a moment before looking down at my feet; no sense in disturbing their fun.

A hint of laughter flew with the wind and I smiled despite myself, somehow knowing that if I followed it, I would find children happily having fun in a playground. Why I knew this beyond absolute certainty, I had no idea, but supposed that it had something to do with having had this dream before. Normally, I would allow my dreaming self to go to the playground and join the children's—usually my old schoolmates—games, but I decided not to this time. This time, I simply continued to walk down the dirt road and listen to the leaves crackle beneath my shoes. I didn't want to leave. I merely wanted to follow the path for as long as it lasted.

And then another breeze—more of a gust—slammed into me, nearly knocking me off of my feet. I wobbled, somehow not falling over, and folded my arms across my chest before continuing onward. It was a few more minutes before I noticed that the laughter had stopped, leaving a hollow sound in its wake. Frowning, I listened more closely and heard a new sound, one that was definitely not as inviting. It was a single voice—a man's voice—and it traveled through the trees slowly, tauntingly.

"Why'd you leave us?"

I stopped walking and looked around for the voice's origins, realizing with sickening clarity that I knew to whom it belonged. The hairs on the back of my neck suddenly stood straight up and when it—he—spoke again, the sound was right in my ear.

"Why'd you leave us, Olivia?"

Whirling around, I expected to see someone, but instead came face to face with nothing. Tears welled in my eyes and, despite my best efforts, ran down my face before I even knew what was happening. Slowly sinking to my knees, I felt sobs—heavy and horrible—shake my shoulders. I wanted to wake up. I wanted to wake up more than anything, but I couldn't. It was that weird dream experience, the one where you're semi-lucid, lucid enough to know nothing's real, but not quite enough to control any aspect of your mind. All I could do was wait there, kneeling on the ground, and hope that my brain would decide to wake me soon.

"Why'd you leave us?"

The voice came from somewhere behind me, but I didn't turn to search for its master this time. I hugged myself tightly and shut my eyes, willing myself to wake up—or at least change the dream scene. Silence rang in my ears for a few seconds before the voice came back, again closer than I'd expected:

"You shouldn't have left."

Countless responses flew through my mind, some furious, others pleading, but I didn't say anything, for if I did, it would only solidify the dream. I shuddered as the wind kicked up again and winced against the cold. The sudden sound of crunching dirt reached me, and I knew that if I opened my eyes, I would see to whom the voice belonged—and I didn't want that. Seeing Him again? That was something I didn't think I could handle.

Freezing fingers found their way under my chin, tilting it up until my face was skyward, and I felt more tears run down my cheeks. There wasn't much I could do besides open my eyes and, swallowing the fear that gripped me, I reluctantly did. At first, my vision was blurry, but when it cleared, I barely managed to choke back a sob.

"...Dad?" I questioned, voice wavering uncontrollably, and the man in front of me disappeared.

The sounds of the forest faded and the colors melted as the dream began to crumble, leaving me in nothing but darkness. My body felt heavy—like someone had thrown a sheet of lead over it—and I wanted to scream as a paralyzing anxiety clutched my heart.

And then I was falling down, down, down into a bottomless pit.

.

.

.

.

I woke with a gasp, gripping the blankets of the bed so hard that my knuckles were white and sitting up so abruptly that my head spun. It took a moment for me to collect myself enough to realize that I wasn't still dreaming, but when I did, I breathed a sigh of relief and sank back against the pillows. Damn, I hated that dream. Not only did I have it nearly every week, sometimes it would disappear for months at a time, only to resurface at the most random, worst times. So far, that was the first time I'd had it since getting sent to Hotel 1800s—and I was certain that it wouldn't be the last.

Lying still for a while, I stared up at the ceiling that was slowly becoming more and more familiar to me. Honestly, I probably wasn't going to fall back asleep (and risk dealing with that stupid nightmare again? Ye-ah, no), so I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood, the muscles in my back briefly tensing, but then relaxing a second later. The hardwood floor felt cold against my bare feet, but I was too lazy to rifle through my bag for socks. Instead, I wrapped a bathrobe around the nightgown Henry had so kindly lent me and crossed to my window, gazing out into the night. If I had to guess, I would say that it was around two in the morning—though the rain clouds covering the moon didn't exactly help to provide an accurate reading. Drops of water coated the glass and I turned away. Too melancholic.

Deciding that maybe a book or two was in order, I opened my door and stepped out into the hall, darkness meeting me the second I did so. Thankfully, my eyes were fairly well adjusted, so I miraculously managed to avoid colliding with anything (though just barely). As I made my way to the library, I tried to avoid the stairs that creaked, not wanting to wake Henry—if he was even asleep, for that matter. If it was one thing that I learned during my stay with him, it was that he definitely stayed awake longer than I could—and weird hours, at that. I didn't ask him about it, didn't want to pry. Like me, he probably had good reasons not to sleep.

Sure enough, when I walked into the library, he was sitting in a comfortable looking chair, leafing through a book—political writings from someone I'd never studied. He looked up the second I stepped through the doorway, a frown forming on his brow as he glanced over at the large grandfather clock in the corner of the room. Turning back to me, he opened his mouth to say something, decided against it, and then settled on: "It's late."

Thanks for the info, Captain Obvious, I thought, but shook my head instead. "Couldn't sleep," I murmured, taking a seat across from him and yawning. "Kinda got a lot on my mind."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew that I'd said too much for my liking and internally groaned. Great. Not only was I being a complete drama queen, I'd also provided him with the perfect opportunity to ask me questions about my life. Now, I didn't particularly mind answering those kinds of inquiries, but when it came to the nightmares? Ye-ah. I was about as talkative as a fish. The fact that my confidante would be some guy in the 1800s that I'd known for all of two weeks didn't make matters any better.

"Miss Armstrong..." Henry's tone was gentle. "Is something wrong?"

For one absurd second, I thought about telling him everything: Vadoma, Speed's offer, the nightmares—it all threatened to come out. Moments before it could, however, I pressed my lips together and shook my head, even though I knew that he would see right through my dismissal. I couldn't bring myself to care. I didn't want to talk about it. Any of it. Although I somehow knew that Henry wouldn't judge me, I still felt the need to remain silent. If there's one thing I've learned in my grand total of twenty-two years, it's that people rarely cared about others' problems and almost never wanted to help. Why should I think that Henry would act any different?

"I…" Words seemed to fail me. "I guess I'm just a little overwhelmed."

It wasn't a complete lie—just not the whole truth. Unfortunately, Henry didn't seem to buy it nor accept it. Unfortunately, Henry didn't seem to buy it nor accept it and instead chose to continue:

"If something's bothering you," he began, albeit a little uncertainly, "…Perhaps I can help?"

In all honesty, I wanted to trust him, but experience told me to keep my mouth shut. After all, how many times had I opened up to someone, only to have them shut me down? I didn't want to repeat that, didn't want to go through another disappointment, and I looked away from his piercing eyes to stare at the floor.

"Thanks for the offer," I acknowledged, nervously wringing my hands together, "but it's something I'd rather keep to myself, ya know? Kinda… personal."

Thankfully, he nodded his understanding and dropped the subject. "Of course, Miss Armstrong."

"And that's another thing." I felt the corners of my lips twitch. "You don't have to use my last name. I mean, I get that it's normal in this time period, but since I'm practically living in your house, I think we're on a first name basis." I smiled completely. "You can call me Olivia."

He raised an eyebrow. "That's hardly proper, Miss Armstrong."

Stop teasing me, you little shit. I'm serious, I thought, but laughed instead. "Okay, okay. We'll work on it."

There was a moment of comfortable silence, during which I glanced around the library until my eyes settled on an all but neglected chessboard in the corner of the room. Frowning, I stood and made my way over to it, noticing that it was completely set up for a game. It had obviously been that way for a while, if the dust covering the pieces was any sign, and I picked up a knight, brushing my thumb over the wood. It was intricately carved—beautiful, really—and I quickly put it back, wondering if I'd overstepped an unspoken boundary. Looking over at Henry, I saw that he was watching me with slight intrigue, and when he met my gaze, he asked: "Do you play?"

I nodded. "Yeah, but it's been a while. My friend and I used to have matches every week, but then she moved to go to college. I guess I just stopped after that."

He stood and crossed to the board, running his fingers along the empty spaces, leaving a trail of cleanliness in the dust. "I haven't played in a long time." He shifted his attention back to me. "Fancy a game?"

"Sure." I gave him a smirk. "One condition: it's a real match. Don't just let me win."

He smiled. "I wouldn't dare."

Two hours later, we decided on a stalemate. The game was definitely good: both of us had our queens and roughly an equal amount of pawns, knights, and rooks left over. To be fair, Henry probably should've won; I'd used every trick I knew, including a few that theoretically hadn't been invented yet. Technically, I'd cheated, and he'd still prevented a checkmate.

"That was quite a game," he stated, pushing away from the table with a small grin. "Can't say I've ever played one quite like it."

That was basically fancy lingo for: 'you cheated.'

"Same," I responded with a yawn. "Fun, though."

Henry nodded and glanced over at the clock, a frown forming on his face. I followed his gaze and was surprised to see that it was nearly three in the morning. Jeez. I'd known that I would stay awake, but I hadn't realized it would be for that long. Yawning again, I helped him put away the chess pieces, admiring the beautiful craftsmanship once more, especially that of the Knights and the Queen. Elegant patterns—Celtic by the looks of them—swirled around each piece, framing the delicately carved faces. As I carefully placed them in their proper place, my thoughts began to drift, eventually finding their way to Speed's offer. If I accepted it (which I was honestly considering), would Henry take offense? I knew that I should simply ask him about it, but anxiety gripped my chest at the mere idea of it. What if he got angry? What if he thought me ungrateful? I didn't want to accidentally offend him.

Seeming to notice that something was wrong, Henry put away the last chess piece and then directed all his attention to me. "Is something bothering you, Miss Armstrong?" He asked, thinly concealed concern lacing his tone, and I snapped to attention, startled out of my reverie.

"Um, no?" I tried, though I knew he wouldn't believe me. At his inquiring stare, I sighed. "Okay, well… sort of. Um… Speed kinda offered me a job at his store… and a room to go with it. And, I mean, I guess I'm thinking about accepting it. I mean, if I'm not going home any time soon—which it's starting to look like I'm not—then I'm gonna need some way to support myself." I winced at my rambling. "Sorry. I just… I feel like I'm… not doing my fair share, living with you. I mean, you've been great to me and I'm really, really thankful, it's just…"

I trailed off for a moment as I debated what to say. Already, I was making a complete fool of myself and I didn't want to worsen the situation.

"I guess I've just been so used to living by myself that I feel like I'm not independent anymore," I finally managed, looking anywhere but Henry's eyes. "I think I just want something to call my own, ya know?"

I didn't expect him to understand. I expected him to scoff at me, to accuse me of throwing his hospitality in his face, but instead of doing that, Henry thought for a moment and then nodded with a small smile.

"I think I know what you mean," he murmured, gently running his hand over the chessboard again. "It can be quite… unnerving to stay with someone, even if you get along. And independence? There's nothing like it." He met my eyes, despite how I was trying to avoid his. "Miss Armstrong… you don't have to ask my permission to do anything. And accepting Mr. Speed's offer? It's not my decision to make. It's yours."

I waited for the catch, for the manipulation that was sure to come, and was surprised when it didn't. "Thank you." I returned his smile. "That means a lot. I… I think I'll talk to Speed in the morning… er, later today. A job sounds good."

I turned to leave, but stopped as a thought occurred to me.

"It's not like I'm going across the country," I said, raising my eyes to his. "This isn't good-bye, y'know."

He smirked and began to walk toward his bedroom, calling over his shoulder: "I would despair if it was, Miss Armstrong."

And that's a wrap for this chapter! Sorry that it's so short, but I wanted to get it up as quickly as possible. I know it's been a while, but I hope that everyone liked it! The next chapter will be up by next week. Sorry for the wait!

-Conversationkiller

Review Responses:

Acro111: Aww thank you! I hope you liked this chapter as well!

Clockworksalsa: I relate to the tree-like social skills as well haha.

Saar1o: I'm glad you like the rewrite! I'm quite happy with how it's turning out. Thanks for the review!