Oh wow, thank you all for the positive and encouraging reviews. It seems you would like a romance of some kind then. I was half expecting your response to be 'You sicko, get out!' :P

Shout outs to: AussieMaelstrom, Lightest'Ink, LokiLipsSewnShut, 'Guest', immysaurus, megumisakura, PirouettingPixie, prettytimemachine, PhoenixCrystal, sparki111 (for all three of your reviews!), crisis what crisis (your review made me smile like an idiot, let me tell you) & Golden28.

All the feedback has been spectacular. Whenever my email chime goes off on my phone, I grab it like it's a crack pipe. Thank you all SO much, I love you!


Time Knows No Boundaries ~ Chapter Seven

Strange maze, what is this place?
I hear voices over my shoulder
Nothing's making sense at all
Wonder why do we race?
When everyday we're running in circles
Such a funny way to fall
Tried to open my eyes
I'm hoping for a chance to make it alright
When I wake up, the dream isn't done
I wanna see your face and know I made it home
If nothing is true, what more can I do?
I am still painting flowers for you
'Painting Flowers' – All Time Low

.:*:.

Mrs. Erin Parker let out a sigh as she gathered up some of the books in the children's reading corner which were strewn haphazardly all over the carpeted floor, or carelessly abandoned on beanbag chairs. She tutted and shook her head at the sight of the bent pages and spines, for it saddened her seeing books being treated in such a devil may care manner.

She had been working as the librarian here at Taunton Public Library for a good thirty-four years now. These days, she noticed that fewer and fewer people seemed to enjoy visiting the grand old building, since it was much easier accessing reference via the internet. Either that or others preferred to use all these eBooks, Kindles and the like that were now available to buy. Erin, being the old-fashioned soul that she was, did not really care for these gadgets. She much preferred the solid feel of a proper book to sit and pore over rather than a screen. Books had their own special perfume, their own special way to comfort people, in her opinion. She felt that they had souls in a sort of way. Machines didn't have souls.

Once she had tidied up the children's corner, she glanced at the clock and thought she would go and grab herself a cup of coffee in the staffroom. She passed by the high bookshelves of the history section and caught sight of a flash of red. She glanced down the aisle, smiled and nodded at the young woman who was lingering there and avidly scrutinising the weathered titles on the shelves. Erin had seen her enter the library ten minutes earlier, her distinctive red hair drawing the eye like a flaming beacon, glancing around surreptitiously when she had walked in. One of Erin's pastimes included people-watching (sometimes there was little else to do whilst working in a library) and she had watched as the girl had made a strange little motion with her hand as though beckoning to someone, before heading for the area where the reference and non-fiction books were kept.

Erin was just about to walk on when she came to a sudden juddering halt. Frowning, she doubled back slowly, the sensibly low heels on her shoes clip-clopping on the wooden floor. She thought that she could hear some frantic scrambling around. She peered curiously back down the aisle at the red-haired girl, who looked rather flustered, her arms now full of books.

She quickly gave Erin an innocent smile, nervously tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. Erin returned the smile and made to carry on walking, feeling a teensy bit puzzled. But then she shook her head, dismissing the impossible idea that had sprung to mind. No, no, that was ridiculous... After all, what was this, Harry Potter? It must have been a trick of the light or something...

But she could have sworn that she had just seen a pile of books floating in mid air...


When the librarian had thankfully passed on by without comment, Martha blew out her cheeks in relief, having just snatched the books out of James' hands that he had offered to hold for her. Any time she came across a likely-looking book, she passed it to him, momentarily forgetting that no one else could see him apart from herself.

"That was close," she whispered to him, "We're going to have to be so careful..."

The Taunton Public Library was just as James remembered it from the outside. A large, very grand building with magnificent stone columns and wide steps leading up to the glass double doors. Inside, however, it was a different matter. Like everything else he had seen thus far, it had all been modernized.

Erin Parker may have thought that a lot of people no longer enjoyed visiting the library but Martha wasn't one of them. She liked their peaceful atmospheres, and just like her fondness for frequenting antique shops, you never knew what sort of treasure you could unearth.

Their journey to the library had been quite an illuminating – if not downright unnerving – experience for the captain. It had quickly become apparent to him that the area of Taunton where Martha resided was clearly the least attractive parts of the town. In all honesty, Taunton's town centre was not as unrecognisable as he initially imagined it would be. True, it was much noisier and busier; cars of various sizes and colours sped along the tarmac roads, only to pause every now and then at the traffic lights. (He took a great deal of interest over these peculiar creations which seemed to amuse Miss Burton no end.) But there was the post office where James remembered it. So, too, was the parish hall, he was quite relieved to see.

He and Martha walked side-by-side along the wide pavement where they could, Martha manoeuvring around other people as they jostled past her. James stared as they passed brightly-lit shop window displays of places like opticians, banks and department stores, which added splashes of colour to an otherwise grey world. He also took the opportunity to observe other people on the street. Some were dressed casually, some in smart suits, carrying briefcases, some apparently talking to themselves until James realised they must have been using those mobile telephones that Martha had shown to him earlier.

As they walked, Martha watched him drinking it all in with a boyish, wide-eyed wonder. So absorbed he was and so busy looking around at everything, he paid no mind to the unfortunate individuals who walked straight through him, completely oblivious to the fact that he was there. Although she noticed that they all flinched and shuddered after they had passed, like they had suddenly been caught in an icy draught.

Remembering their skirmish with the cricket bat that morning, Martha asked now, remembering to keep her voice down, "I know others apparently can't see you, but can you deliberately go invisible? Like, if you didn't want me to see you?"

"Certainly," James answered cordially, and he obliged by demonstrating this newfound talent of his.

Martha had to cover her mouth with one hand to bite back a yelp of shock when he suddenly disappeared from view and she was left staring at the shelves of reference books behind him.

"Are you still there?" she whispered uncertainly after a moment or two.

"Yes, I'm still here," came the soft timbre of his voice, apparently from nowhere, and she could hear the faint trace of a laugh in his tone.

She watched, aghast, as he shimmered back into being before her eyes, as solid-looking and dashing as ever. He smiled at her astonishment; the expression on her face was priceless.

"Wow... How do you do that?" she asked, awestruck, "Is it hard to do?"

James shrugged a little.

"I don't know for sure. All I know is that it comes as natural to me as breathing does for you."

Recovering herself a little, Martha asked, "Could you...walk through me? Like when Cath walked through you this morning?"

"Why would you wish me to do that?" the ghost asked dubiously, raising a pale eyebrow.

It was Martha's turn to shrug.

"I'm just curious, is all," she answered.

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable," James told her.

"Well...just your hand then," Martha said, holding up one of her hands which wasn't holding the books, so that her palm was facing him.

James hesitated for a moment before bringing up one of his own slender hands to mirror hers. He didn't touch her, however. It was almost as though he was shy about it. Martha was apprehensive herself; after all, she had never done anything like this before.

"Will it hurt you?" Martha asked with concern, thinking maybe that was the reason for his hesitating, but he shook his head. "Will it hurt me?" she continued.

"No," he murmured quietly.

Martha took a deep breath and moved her palm forward as though intent on pressing it against his. But then her fingers passed straight through what would have been his flesh and she found herself experiencing the most curious sensation. He was icy cold – but then she already knew he would be – and she was determined not to flinch at the contact. She moved her hand around as though attempting to grasp onto his but her fingers closed around air. She felt a tingling in her fingertips which wasn't altogether unpleasant. It wasn't the same as when you got that "pins and needles" feeling when you became numb; more like holding out your arm out of a car window as you drove along, feeling the breeze sift through your outstretched fingers.

Martha stared at their hands performing a little dance with great fascination. She didn't even to stop to worry over the fact that the librarian or anyone else may pass by again and see her waving her hand apparently at random through the air; she was too engrossed in the moment.

While Martha may have found this exchange fascinating, James for his part found it very frustrating. He wasn't entirely sure why. He wasn't frustrated with Martha; he supposed it was natural for her to be curious about his deceased state. He had been half-expecting her to recoil in disgust when their palms passed through one another. He supposed the reason for his frustration was because he had been deprived of human contact for nearly one hundred years and that being in this state, he couldn't truly touch her.

When at last he could bear it no longer, he waited until Martha had taken her hand away from his before he made himself solid again and entwined his fingers through hers, dismissing propriety for the moment. He grasped Martha's hand, his long tapered fingers encompassing her comparatively smaller ones, savouring the feel of her warm skin, clinging desperately to her living, breathing person like a drowning person grabbing onto a lifeline. For it pained him to know he could never truly be part of the physical world ever again.

Almost as though she sensed his desperation, Martha looked up slightly from their entwined fingers to meet his clear blue eyes, which she was sure must have sparkled with such vivacity when he was alive and gave him a sad smile. A smile which plainly said, "I know...I know it hurts and I wish I could do something to help you."

Neither of them were certain of how long they remained standing there between the bookshelves, hands linked together, amongst several decades of history that James had yet to discover. But looking down into those enchanting sage-green eyes of hers...the officer still could not shake off that nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he knew Martha from somewhere.

"I think we have enough books to be getting on with now," she whispered after a while.

James suddenly dropped his hand almost as though he had been burned, and he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Yes, quite," he answered quietly, and he followed Martha to the desk so she could check out the books.


By the time they had returned to the high street, the sunshine that had greeted them that morning had long since disappeared to make way for an overcast sky with uniformly grey clouds, which were getting heavier by the minute. It looked like it was about to chuck it down with rain at any moment. It was almost as though the weather was a reflection of James' now rather melancholy mood. He was quiet on the journey back, lost in thought about this strange new world...about Martha's mysterious familiarity...about his fiancé...

" – I just need to pop in Tesco for a sec. You don't mind, do you?" Martha was saying, jolting him back to the present.

Tesco? Now what could that be? James wondered. It sounded Italian; was it a ladies boutique or something?

However, the shop to which Martha had directed him towards was certainly not a boutique. In fact, it was about as far from an elegant ladies store as it could possibly get! "Tesco" turned out to be a grey, concreted, rather ugly-looking building. Its name was emblazoned boldly across the top of the entrance in red and blue, and there were swarms of people milling back and forth.

"What is this place?" he asked.

"It's a supermarket," she explained, "it's where a lot of people go to shop for their groceries."

James arched an eyebrow at this but chose not to make any comment. This building was very gloomy-looking; more like an over-sized funeral parlour than a place where people went to purchase food. When he followed Martha through a pair of doors which slid back automatically as they entered, the sight that met the captain's eyes both surprised and horrified him. The almost unbearably bright fluorescent lights. The smell of cooking meat, cheap cosmetics and hot plastic. And the people...hundreds of them, it seemed. And it was all so noisy.

Martha hoisted the books in her arms so that they were a bit more secure, and led the way down a polished floor towards some aisles which were full to bursting with brightly-coloured boxes and packets. The trip around the supermarket was thankfully a relatively short one; Martha only wanted some milk, coffee, some cat food and a loaf of bread.

When she opted to use the self checkout machines, James experienced another bout of culture shock. These peculiar contraptions actually talked to you!

Martha had managed to successfully beep through two items when -

"Please wait for assistance!" a female voice trilled in an annoyingly jaunty manner.

"I don't need assistance, you stupid machine," Martha hissed at the screen irritably, "It's only a bottle of milk!"

A Tesco worker approached to validate the item and then all seemed to be running smoothly again, until...

"Place item in the bagging area - !" the machine kept on repeating.

"I am! Quit nagging," Martha muttered under her breath as she placed her groceries in a plastic bag as quickly as possible before the machine could hound her again. She glanced over at James, who wore an odd, contorted expression as though he was trying to fight the impulse to laugh. "What?" she whispered irately.

"And I thought that you said modern technology was intended to make life easier?" he said in amusement. He chuckled at her disgruntled expression; he found it quite endearing. "Is having arguments with inanimate objects a habit of yours?" he asked teasingly, and for the first time, Martha noticed a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Oh yeah," she responded with a smile, "It's when I lose the argument, that's when it gets worrying..."

At the sound of his laugh, she immediately felt her irritation melt away. Just like that time when she had been so panicked at the discovery that he was a ghost, his voice had this odd, calming effect on her.

"Glad to see it's cheered you up at least," she added, but she broke off when she saw the shop assistant give her a funny look that she was apparently talking to herself. Martha hastily slipped some coins into the machine, took her receipt, grabbed the plastic carrier bag with her shopping and promptly left the shop.


As predicted, the heavens opened up and it absolutely poured with rain, the water falling down in great sheets. Martha had had to run the rest of her way home and got completely drenched in the process. James felt himself somewhat relieved to be back in the sanctuary of Martha's flat. He was not entirely sure whether he enjoyed his first glimpse of the year 2012 or not. When Martha had put her shopping away, she headed to her bedroom to blow-dry her sopping wet locks.

James, meanwhile, after removing his cap and jacket, settled himself on the large, squashy sofa and opened up one of the books Martha had chosen from the library. It was entitled 1000 Years of History. It was crudely illustrated but it looked interesting enough, and almost immediately found himself absorbed in an article about "The Roaring Twenties".

A while later, Martha returned to the living room, her hair now looking a bit flyaway and dishevelled but otherwise bone-dry. She smiled at the sight of him, head bent over the book, his attentions totally fixed on his reading.

"Is the book to your liking?" she enquired.

"Yes, thank you, you are most kind, Miss Bur – Martha," he corrected himself.

"No probs!" she answered cheerfully, picking up her laptop and sitting next to him on the sofa with it perched on her knees. "Suppose I better do some work today," she muttered as she waited for the computer to warm up.

James glanced up from the book at her words, gazing curiously at the machine he had taken to be a typewriter of some sort.

"What is it that you do for work?" he asked her.

"Oh...um... well, I waitress a couple of days a week. But I also write for an advice column for a local magazine. People send me letters and emails wanting advice about things like their love lives, careers, finance issues...anything, really... " she said, absent-mindedly braiding her hair into a single plait as she spoke, "It's hardly Cosmopolitan but I quite like it."

For it was true. Martha's compulsion of wanting to help others suited her work perfectly. To her, this wasn't just a job, those who wrote to her were not just anonymous names on a piece of paper; they were people. Real people with real problems who needed help and guidance, and she was only too glad to offer it where she could.

"But it's not what I really want to do..." She trailed off. When James raised his eyebrows enquiringly, she admitted tentatively, "I'd like to be a writer..."

She let that hang as though she was worried he was going to laugh at her for such a ridiculous notion.

"An admirable profession," he said, smiling approvingly.

"You don't think it's silly?"

This time, James' brows furrowed. "No, of course not. Why on earth should I think that?"

Martha shrugged a little, looking down at her computer screen unseeingly.

"Elliot thinks I'm silly for wanting to write a novel," she mumbled, her face reddening to match her hair. "It would help if I had an actual plotline in mind..."

"How long have you and Mr...?"

"Fielding," Martha supplied her boyfriend's surname.

"How long have you been together now? If you don't mind my asking?" James added, not wishing to sound rude.

"Two years nearly."

James nodded but did not make any further comment, and Martha did not question him on why he wished to know. There was silence between them for a moment, save for the sound of her tapping away at the computer's keyboard. The cat, Blossom, jumped up next to her owner, attempting to climb onto her lap and nuzzle under her chin.

"If being an author is what you wish to do, then by all means, you must pursue it," James told Martha after a moment. She looked up to face him.

"Do you really think so?" she asked, and James was a little taken aback at the note of hopefulness in her voice.

"Of course... My sister, Olivia always used to say that if you wanted something in life, then you should grab any opportunity you could with both hands and not to concern yourself on what others may think."

"I like your sister's way of thinking," Martha said, grinning in a way that was so infectious that James couldn't help but smile too. She seemed reassured – emboldened, even - at this encouragement. She looked over at him again. "Thanks for that, peacock," she said quietly.

"You are most welcome."

She continued to watch him long after he turned away to return to his reading. She couldn't help the smile which tugged at her lips. It was rather strange. The ghost of Captain Nicholls had barely been there a day and yet it felt like the pair of them had been friends for a long time.

"D'you know what?" Martha piped up, "I'm really glad it was me who picked up that pocket watch in the shop."

James favoured her with a soft smile.

"So am I," he answered.

Blossom let out a faint miaow as though in agreement.


AN~ To anyone who actually does live in Taunton or knows it, I apologise for any mistakes when describing it; I personally have not properly visited there, though I've driven through it a few times. But going by photos I've seen online, Taunton hasn't really much changed since Edwardian times.

Also, the little moment between James and Martha in the library, if you're thinking it was like the scene in the film 'Casper', you'd be right and it was supposed to :)

And those self-checkout machines at the supermarket ARE annoying!

And I don't know about anyone else, but I find Tom's hands deeply fascinating. During that scene in 'The Deep Blue Sea' when he and Rachel Weisz are dancing, I can't take my eyes off his hands and fingers, the way they interlock with hers...they're just...mesmerizing. I don't know what it is. Am I the only one or am I just weird? :P

And on that note, all reviewers can have their own Freddie 'I-Only-Did-It-For-The-Monet' Page. Please review if you liked it, I just love feedback :)