The plane ride to Rennes, France was boring to say the least. I caught up on some reading and sleep I didn't really need. The dream hadn't returned and I figured that was good. The train ride to Granville was the best part of the trip. I had to make an almost full circle through the Normadie countryside. It was more beautiful than the brochures I had received at the Airport. There were cottages scattered though the landscape, the occasional cow drinking water from its watering hole, and the gorgeous sunset sky that looks so different from this side of the world.

I got off the train at Granville and rode by bus to Mont Saint Michel. The bus ride gave me the most absolutely magnificent view of the 11th century Abbey. It looked so magical from the outside with the sun set behind, the way it was glowing almost. I could see myself walking though the streets like a vision from the past. I saw no sense in getting a car when the island is big enough for me to cartwheel across without stopping.

The bus took me across the road that connects the old country to the old world. When it stopped and dropped me off I found the nearest taxi to help me take and my things to the hotel. I splurged a little on La Mere Poulard. I figured I needed to be comfortable if I was going to be away from my family for the first time.

At the check in desk I got my key. There was a man who offered help to carry my items upstairs and I was more that willing to oblige. We finally get to the top floor where I request my room be and opened the door. I walked in with out looking and put the keys in my purse. When I looked up from my side I almost had a heart attack.

It was exactly like my dream. Everything was here. The window to the right and the bed next to it. The bathroom door to the left and the dressers too. Down to the color of the bedspread. It was a red and gold pattern that made me think French countryside.

"Madam . . . Are you alright?" He said with a very big accent. He looked extremely worried considering I stopped breathing, my hand flew to cover my heart, and I was shaking all over.

"Yes, yes I'm fine. I just . . . love the room" I sure as hell wasn't convincing anybody with that comment. It was a nice room sure but it wasn't nice enough to have a seizure over.

He sat my bags down and left with out a word. He was probably just thinking I'm another crazy American. I guess I'm am though. I'm here because of a picture in a book I saw 4 years ago.

As I thought about the activities I would be doing the next day I unpacked my things. I was only staying 5 days. My splurging caused me to run this trip short.

It was getting late as I finished unpacking. I realized I hadn't ate since that morning on the plane and it was coming back to bite my ass. So I put on a jacket locked my door and went downstairs. I didn't feel like walking to far so I just decided to dine at the hotel restaurant.

The food looked so good. I could understand most of the items on the menu and I didn't want the full meal. Just enough to fill me until tomorrow when I would be taking a trip to the Abbey. I picked the rack of lamb it seemed fine enough and I was really craving some meat.

When the waiter came I pointed to the dish on the menu and tried to convey that I wanted it rare. Ever since this dark obsession came over me at the age of 16 I've liked my meat rare. Something about the juiciness the meat has because not all the blood is cooked out just makes my feel content. Even though my friends gave me shit for it I just don't think they understand how better meat is when left a little rare. He understood what I wanted and brought back the bottle of wine I asked for.

I loved that the age was 18 and not 21 because I wouldn't have been able to enjoy the wine the French are so famous for.

After re-reading the brochure 5 times the food arrived. It came in a huge pot instead of on a plate and I loved it. The food was spectacular and they left the lamb more rare than in the states. It was delicious. I'm sure I was making little moaning noises as I was eating the lamb and I swore I could hear a chuckle off in the distance.

That's another thing. My hearing has been getting better ever since then too. I mean its not like I can hear for miles or anything but I can definitely listen into conversations or phone calls if I focused. The doctors said it was just a birth defect even if it wasn't all that bad. Sometimes is was rather hilarious to hear couples arguing over the most trivial things like leaving the toilet seat down.

The chuckle was from a man I could tell but considering it was so late it was only me and another woman in the restaurant. I heard it come from the open windows facing the street.

I didn't lift my head as I ate. I just kept listening. I heard nothing for awhile so I tried to think what I was doing to cause someone to laugh. I realized with embarrassment that I was moaning while eating and I guess that was what the man had heard. I ate more of the lamb and made another moaning noise to tempt the man to laugh at me again. I wanted to see this man myself that dared chuckle at me.

This time it came from behind me but it was no doubt the man who had laughed earlier. It was a youthful voice. Focusing more intently behind me I could hear no breathing and movement. I wanted to surprise this man in the act so I moaned a little more and heard it again.

I shot around almost forgetting to let go of the lamb in my mouth and saw a shadow disappear behind a corner.

I noticed some things before he disappeared. I saw a flash of bronze maybe copper colored hair and he move miraculously fast around that corner almost as a blur. And I want to say I heard more that amusement in that laugh I think a hint of knowing. But what did he know?

I was a little sharper than the average person I liked to believe but after the test they did on my hearing I figured I would keep this to myself. Imagine tests on my brain and not just on my ears. I shuddered.

Forgetting about finishing my food I got up, put on my jacket and chugged the wine I paid 16.95 per glass in U.S. money.

I walked by the corner and nobody was there and I causally walked by the windows to look out at the street and but I didn't recognized a bronze haired man anywhere so I continued upstairs to my room.

I unlocked my door and went into the room. I looked around just incase the mysterious stalker had been in there. My father the police man made sure I heard ever gruesome story he could think of about American girls visiting foreign places. I'm sure we watched Taken at least 8 times.

I felt a draft and saw that my window was open just smallest amount. I walked over to it and saw the piece of white paper before I reached it.

The paper had been torn off something and folded but not in a hurry it seemed because the penmanship was beautiful. Like calligraphy, but who has the time to write so neat in so little a time?

I picked it up and read the front which said Isabella. It had a slight flourish on the I. It was as if it was straight from the 11th century its self like the Abbey, it was beautiful. This writing pulled at me too like everything else these days. It was odd that a style of writing seemed familiar. But nothing else made sense so why should this note?

I opened it and read the elegant script inside.

"Finally . . .you came"