CHAPTER 3: A Flash of Lightning

"Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away."

-- Philip K. Dick

"Nee, there's a patient in the E.R., and…"

Nia stood up from her cot. She was catching a few winks… She didn't get to sleep last night. There was a gunshot victim and…

The long and short of it was that she never really knew that her profession would be this… demanding.

Not that she was complaining, of course. She loved her job. She loved saving lives.

"Are you alright, Nia?" Dr. Stephens looked worriedly at her. "I know you haven't had much sleep these past few days, and this isn't exactly your department, but we're kind of short, and…"

"I'm fine, sir." Nia said, feigning energy.

It was around seven years after The Tragedy. Nia graduated summa cum laude from Cambridge two years ago and was immediately accepted at a private hospital in Kent as a GP for her first six months, and as a pediatrician (her specialty) after that. Lately, though, she was getting assigned to general practitioner tasks once more. It was Christmas, and many of the doctors were on leave. She mentally cursed those doctors for abandoning ship. Thank goodness it was her rest week next week! She dearly loved her job, but she badly needed some rest!

Still, she had work to do. And as much as she privately whined about her inhumane working hours, she would forget about that, anyway, when she actually got to work.

"We're here," said Dr. Stephens, opening the door to the E.R. "Are you ready?"

Nia smiled, already warming herself up to the task. "Ready."

"Don't you think I'm fat, Su?" Olive Carter, a fellow model, sighed. They were eating lunch at a chic café near the Louvre in Paris.

Susan privately cursed Olive for insisting on eating salads. How she longed for meatballs and ham! It was Christmas for crying out loud… why the hell was she eating crackers? Then, she remembered the box of chocolate bonbons waiting for her in her hotel room.

"Of course not, Ollie," Susan replied graciously. "You look beautiful." Olive was, in Susan's opinion, positively skeletal. Of course, it wouldn't be polite to say that… Susan prided herself in being a proper lady.

"I wish I could be as beautiful as you are," sighed Olive. "Or as beautiful as that duchess…" She was referring to Nia, who had been an instant celebrity when she'd attended Queen Elizabeth's coronation. As much as she hated to admit this, Susan admired her old friend for her (rarely-seen) impeccable fashion sense - the elegant white chiffon Nia wore for the occasion was just too adorable! If Peter could've seen her then…

Susan shook her head to clear her thoughts. Her family was dead, and she no longer kept in touch with Nia. That was that.

Susan had been a model for seven years now, and she'd just renewed her contract with Madam Nichols for another year. Yes, she was the toast of every society there was (London, New York, Paris, Los Angeles). She traveled a lot among these cities, although she liked to spend Christmas in London. She kept her family's house in Finchley and lived there whenever she was in London. It was the last remnant of her childhood, and she found herself not wanting to let it go.She half-wondered why she was here, instead of at home?

Oh, wait. The Dior show… The most important event of the season.

"Oh my… look, it's…" Olive began.

Susan turned around and her heart skipped a beat as a very tall (about six feet five) young man with a mop of curly red hair entered the café. It was Will.

"Ladies, if I may…?" He gestured at an empty seat.

"Of course." Susan smiled, really meaning it this time. William Evenshire (yes, Nia's cousin) was her closest friend. He was her sole link to Nia – not, of course, that she really cared what the Duchess was up to. Of course not!

"What's that?" Will wrinkled his nose at her plate.

"It's salad, thank you very much," replied Susan.

Will shrugged, and then signaled to the waiter. "I'll have roast beef, thank you."

Susan bit back the urge to order the same.

Susan had known Will ever since they were teenagers, thanks to Nia. She'd always liked Will, because he was nice and warm and caring. She lost touch with him after she'd returned from her first trip to America, probably because she stopped being friends with Nia. William Evenshire was very close and extremely protective of his cousin, whom he considered his sister.

They met again three years after The Tragedy (Will told her that's what the accident the killed her family was called) during a fashion show in London. He'd reintroduced himself to her (as if she wouldn't have recognized him anywhere, what with that height and that hair!). The rest was (she was fond of using this cliché very much) history.

"I'll also have pork tenderloin," Will said suddenly to the waiter, "to go." He gave her a conspiratorial smile that was lost on Olive (who'd always been sort of stupid).

Susan couldn't help it. She laughed. Olive looked at her, puzzled. She shook her head. Will was so funny!

Nia rapped the bronze knocker on the door. It was finally her rest week! She'd love nothing more than to spend it sleeping.

"Oh there you are!" said Weatherby, the butler. "Goodness gracious, are those eye bags?"

"Yes," sighed Nia. "Good morning, Weatherby. Where's Uncle?" She stepped into the entrance hall. She as a rule, she kept a friendly relationship with the servants. The house was large (and I mean REALLY LARGE) and there were only the three Evenshires and the servants living in it. Nia never liked the house as a child – it seemed so cold and large and lonely – but it was certainly more comfortable now.

"In London. He'll be back this evening."

"And Will?"

"In Paris. He won't be back until Wednesday."

"By the way, there are letters…"

"Yes, thanks Weatherby."

"Your welcome, Nia." With that, Weatherby left the room. Nia took the letters from a low table at the side of the room and proceeded up the stairs and along a gallery to her room.

Nia Evenshire's room was the most well-lit room in the Evenshire manor. It was a very large room, as large as three modern studio apartments. Her canopy bed lay at the center of the room, surrounded by her wardrobe and her bookshelves. She also had a table there for when she didn't feel like working in the study. She got her penknife from her dresser and looked over the letters.

One was a telegram from Will, saying that he wouldn't be back until Tuesday, just before Christmas (Nia had always spent Christmas together with her Uncle and cousin, the servants – they also ate at the dining room table with the family – and the Scrubbs, who visited whenever they can). The other was from Adelaide Scrubb, saying that she and her husband would come Wednesday afternoon. The last one was an invitation from the hospital's owner, Albert Huntington, for his annual Christmas party on Friday.

Nia sighed. This was one of those parties she'd love not to attend, but compelled to. She couldn't refuse The Boss, but his parties were dreadfully… She couldn't find the word. Ah, yes. Elitist.

Albert Huntington, M.D., was thirty, and his family owned a chain of hospitals, hotels, restaurants, and oil fields around the world. He was a very attractive man and a bachelor (he was named one of the world's Top Ten bachelors last year), and therefore, whenever he gave parties, he always made sure to invite the crème dela crème of the London society. Oh, and the staff of his hospital (the only one his mother would let him run), too, as an afterthought.

"Are you gonna attend that?" asked Toulouse, who was sitting on an armchair, as still as a statue. "The invitation looks good…"

"Nope." Nia wondered what kind of illness was she supposed to fake on Friday.

"We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas and a happy New Year!"

"Happy Christmas, Uncle," said Nia cheerfully that Christmas morning, handing her present to her favorite uncle.

"Happy Christmas, pet," said her uncle, handing her his present.

"Happy Christmas Addie…"

And so on, until each and every one of the household and the guests (the Scrubbs) had received his or her presents.

The Christmas breakfast was a feast – literally. Hester, the cook, outdid herself this Christmas, preparing bowls of baked beans, plum pudding, ham, curry… Nia was almost salivating at the sight of Hester's masterpieces.

"Pass me some of those!" hissed Toulouse, leaping onto her shoulder. "Yum!"

"So long as you behave," Nia whispered. "Happy Christmas, Tou."

"Back atcha."

"Where's Will?" Nia asked Mr. Scrubb, who was busy wolfing down his second serving of plum pudding.

"Haven't seen him."

"He went outside, dear," said Uncle Nick.

"Thanks." She went outside and spotted Will seating by the stone bench near the Graves (yes, with a capital G). Her cousin appeared to be in deep thought.

"So!" She said, sitting beside her cousin. "What are we thinking?"

Will laughed. "Nothing. I just came here to sit. I love the snow."

"Me too." Nia found herself thinking of the sixty-plus winters she had spent in Narnia. The English countryside reminded her too much of it.

"It's so white… so clean and pure. You could lose yourself in its endless whiteness…" Will sounded so… dreamy? Nia jolted herself from her Narnian reverie and stared at her cousin, more surprised than alarmed.

"Aha!" Nia finally figured it out. "So we're not thinking of the snow, are we? We're thinking of a certain someone… A certain world-famous someone."

Will smiled rather sheepishly.

"Let's put a name to her, shall we?" Nia liked teasing her cousin. And she loved the idea of Will and… "Her Christian name begins with S."

"Oh, does it?" Will raised an eyebrow, his lips curved into a smile.

"Yes. And her surname begins with P, and…"

"Oh alright!" Will threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I was thinking of Susan."

"I knew it!" Nia stood up and jigged. "I knew it!" She grabbed Will's hands and jumped up and down. "I knew it!" she repeated in a singsong voice. "Will loves Susan!"

"Okay." Nia stopped cheering and finally sat down. "I'm sorry… It's just that I was…" She was a little out of breath, after all that jumping and dancing. "How's Susan?" She knew about Will's friendship with Susan – that was how she stayed up-to-date with what Miss Susan was up to. She refrained from criticizing Susan when talking to Will (for he was extremely defensive), but during these past few months, Will himself had noticed that Susan was changing. It was as if she was slowly realizing that the world she lived in was as rotten in the inside as it was beautiful on the outside.

"Starving."

"Excuse me?"

Will told her about Susan's food frustrations.

"So," said Nia few minutes later, "you really love her, don't you?"

"Yes." Will's smile was almost idiotic! "And," he continued, more somber this time, "I do hope you become friends with her again, Nee. She's not like the rest of those models, Nee. She's trapped in their world, and she's struggling to break free. Believe me, Nia. I can tell."

Susan tried not to roll her eyes as she listened to Ms. Nichols's small talk about the latest trends and whatever…

She sipped her champagne and scanned the crowd for any sign of Will. The only reason she even went to this party was because she had to.

"Miss Susan, what do you think? Is it not that that Givenchy fellow is simply… queer? Look at those lines! And those patterns! They're fit for a Cockney!" It was Mr. Huntington, the host, and one of London's most eligible bachelors. His mother was a close friend of Ms. Nichols', and as her agency's most prized model, Susan had to attend the Huntingtons' yearly Christmas bash. Sure, they were great at throwing parties, but after seven straight years of hanging around with the same type of people (different faces, though, but never mind that), these affairs were fast becoming tiresome.

At least she had a reason for staying in London for at least a month. She'd be able to visit her family.

"Yes," said Susan, not really listening. "Definitely garbage material."

What in Aslan's name am I doing here?

Susan started. That name… Wasn't it one of her siblings' fairytale characters? Nope. Definitely not, said a strange voice that sounded a lot like her, speaking from somewhere in her mind.

Of course it is, she answered back. Oh, honestly. What's wrong with me?

Funny. Susan could practically see that stupid voice rolling her eyes. I was about to ask you the same question.

"Excuse me," she said to her company, smiled graciously, and headed for the lavatory.

Nia closed the windows of her room and kindled the fire. The radio had just announced that there was a huge storm coming up (which Nia thought was very odd, considering that it was the middle of winter). It was already ten, and the wind was howling.

"Must be some storm, eh, Nee?" Toulouse said sleepily from where he was curled up on Nia's bed.

"You're telling me." Nia went to the bed and dived under the covers (she still had that habit – especially on cold winter nights). She reached under her pillows and pulled out a large, platinum picture frame.

"It's sad, isn't it?" said Toulouse, looking at the picture.

Nia nodded, her eyes lingering on each of the faces. It was an old picture of five young people: the four Pevensies plus Nia a year after her adventures in Narnia. They all looked so young… All of them had a great life ahead of them.

And now there were only two of them left, and the two of them haven't seen each other personally (Nia often saw Susan in the society pages of the Sunday paper) in almost seven years. She suppressed a pang of regret.

"I miss you," she whispered. She had long since stopped mourning, had long since learned to live with her loss… Still, there was a twinge of sadness whenever she saw this picture. She could still see Aunt Lenny grinning broadly as she took their picture under the warm Brighton sun. "Goodnight."

There was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder.

Nia and Toulouse jumped about a mile from the bed.

The storm had arrived.

And then, almost ominously, the fire went out, plunging the Evenshire manor in darkness.

Susan heard the crack of thunder as she emerged from the lavatory. She vaguely remembered hearing the storm advisory before coming here, but…

And then, suddenly, the power went out. The Huntington mansion (and most of England, for the matter) was plunged in darkness.

Several people screamed, and then all was quiet. Susan felt fear gripping her, and she took a deep breath to calm herself.

"Rebecca?" she called out. "Perpetua? Sara? Olive?"

No one answered. In fact, no one seemed to be around.

Impossible, thought Susan. I'm in a party. Of course there are lots of people here! They're just… scared. That's all. They're scared.

Well, said that voice in her mind, what if you're no longer at the party?

Sunlight filtered through the window, waking Nia up. She must've fallen asleep. She sat up straight and saw Toulouse sleeping beside her. And there was Will, sleeping on her armchair.

Wait a minute… What was Will doing here?

She fanned herself with her hand. It was unusually hot. The air seemed desert-like! Beads of sweat began to form on her forehead. She drew the curtains and looked outside.

"Oh my God," she gasped, shell-shocked, staring at the scene before her eyes. "Oh my God…"

She'd seen pictures of the Atacama in Chile, but the scene surpassed even that, never mind how.

"Will!" she said urgently, shaking her cousin awake. "Will wake up!"

"Huh…" Will opened his eyes and looked blearily around. "What am I doing in your…"

"Look at this." Nia grabbed his hand and pulled him to the window.

"Oh my…" Will looked at the view outside, more shell-shocked than she was. "Where are we?"

"I dunno…" said Toulouse suddenly, leaping into the armchair (which was facing the window). "One thing's clear, though," he continued, ignoring Will, who was staring at him, stunned. "We're not in England. And no, Nee; we're definitely not in Narnia."

END OF CHAPTER