All things were dreamy and light under the soft, cozying weight of a down feather quilt. Except, maybe, in Meghan's world.
Still, the quilt - as well as the bed it graced - had done wonders for her exhausted soul, during the nine hours in which she had taken in its comforts. The night before, as she had climbed in, its canopy had seemed like the shield that guarded a safe haven, a haven that would allow her to set her problems aside for the glory of sleep. It seemed strong enough, even, to guard against nonsensical nightmares.
Which, thankfully, it had. Now, as Meghan's consciousness began to creep in and wind up into action, she felt before anything else the light softness of the quilt. The state-of-the-art orthopedic pillow registered next, followed by the memory foam mattress that had conformed to her petite shape.
Her bleary eyes began to inch open, at first just caught off guard by a blinding white light, then tentatively opening fuller to allow for focus. The window was wide open, right in front of her, the sun hitting her straight in the face. Meghan rubbed her eyes and tried to register her location.
It took her a few seconds to remember that she had slept in the Dashwood mansion.
The room was strange - regally elaborate, not as foofy as the room she'd grown used to sleeping in, but still a tad overdone. Meghan sat up slightly and searched for a clock. She found one, with Roman numerals and a pendulum, hanging on the wall to her right. It was past noon.
She let her head fall back, heaving a small sigh. How late did people typically sleep at this residence? Everyone else was probably already up. Meghan would probably be subtly scorned with glares from those bearing the surname Payne.
As her mind came further to life, her thoughts drifted to the events of last night - and early this morning.
She and a flabbergasted Henry had arrived back at the palace at approximately 2:30 in the morning. They had immediately been greeted with the sight of Jocelyn, Alistair, Emma, and Faye, all seated in the parlour.
Jocelyn had immediately started firing concerned questions. Alistair, ever the conniving kiss-up, joined in as well - no doubt to cover his sad, guilty arse. Genuine concern had also shown in the faces of Emma and Faye, though they were, of course, less outspoken.
Meghan had immediately run to catch Faye in a hug, chanting endless muffled thank-yous into her shoulder. Faye had tentatively hugged her back. Something told her that her redemption had indeed been achieved, their friendship restored once again.
Emma had been the next to receive an embrace, while Jocelyn was
busy doing the same with Henry. Mother and host-mother both murmured their relief as to the two's safe return. Directly after, Jocelyn had immediately swooped to grab Meghan, squeezing her tightly in a more extreme show of emotion that was typically out of Jocelyn's character.
"Oh, Meghan, thank God you're alright. I was worried sick about you."
"Thank you for caring." Meghan had replied wearily. "It means a lot."
A few seconds after her release from Jocelyn's arms, the remaining individual approached. Alistair layed his hand on Meghan's shoulder.
"Miss Reynolds, you can't possibly understand what immense relief I feel, seeing you again."
Meghan was too scatterbrained to come up with a real reply - and it didn't help that Alistair had her suspended in a vile, burning stare that seemed to go unnoticed by everyone else.
"Thank you." she repeated once more, wondering what kind of sick force was making everyone around her so ridiculously gullible.
Oh yeah. The sick force was Alistair.
And now Meghan was lying in her luxury bed, staring at the lace canopy, and trying her hardest to figure out why she was the only one who seemed able to see through Alistair's phony, despicable act. Henry and Jocelyn were just too intelligent. It made no sense.
Didn't anyone care about her side of the story? Shouldn't her testimony be worth more than anything else? She hadn't even been asked.
But then again, she hadn't spoken up, either. And there might be grave danger if she did. She had no way of knowing what Alistair could do - he'd already gone to the extreme. He could certainly go further.
Groaning, Meghan pulled the covers aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She was confused to feel a peculiar sensation as her foot landed on something other than the plush carpet. She looked to the ground - it was a piece of paper. Meghan picked it up...
And realized that it was yet another note.
Keep yourself in check, my girl
And realize the consequence of every action
Every step and every breath taken
I suggest you take cautiously...
I warn you
Take care in what you say.
A.P.
Oh, and wasn't he just so dang poetic. It made Meghan want to vomit.
What more was Alistair capable of? Could he really make Libby look like a lying gold-digger? Meghan could not overlook the risk of his doing so. After all, he had been able to make himself look like a man of morals, a man who used his intelligence for good - when in reality, that was a sickeningly phony illusion.
There was one thing, though, that Meghan had in her favor. One thing that Alistair was totally oblivious to. Now, perhaps, the tables could finally turn for the better.
Because Henry knew about Daphne.
Meanwhile, someone else was just beginning to stir from slumber - Lucas Brenshire, who felt as if he'd been sleeping for ages.
And he sort of had been. He'd slept for a little over fourteen hours.
Instead of waking to the feeling of expensive bed linens, Luke was waking to the smell of dust, and the feeling of an ache in his back. Not to mention a sizeable migraine. He dared to open his eyes.
Lying on his back, the first thing he caught sight of was the slanted ceiling - rotting, wooden beams that crossed, with cobwebs hanging off of them and a few insulated pipes toward the very top for good measure. Turning his head slightly, he took in a slew of cardboard boxes, all stacked on top of one another. None of this was even remotely familiar, and Luke was slowly slipping into a dazed panic.
"Where..." he croaked, heaving himself upwards - only to fall over the side, out of the cot he'd slept in and onto a hard, concrete floor. "Bloody hell..."
He heard a noise from what was apparently the next room. Immediately, he saw a stout, older man run in, one of his hands holding a murder mystery novel. Luke saw the man stare at him as if he were a deer in headlights.
"Gus! ' E's up!" was the man's shout into the other room.
In dashed a thinner, slightly more agile individual, who looked about the same age as the first.
"Geez, you're right! What should we do next?"
"Don't talk as if I'm not here." Luke grumbled at them.
Silence. The teenager propped himself against the side of the cot and lay his head back, wincing. Then, he bent forward, rubbing his forehead. He glanced at the two slack jawed onlookers as he did so.
"I suggest you tell me who you are, and where in blazes I am." he stated.
The thin one finally spoke up.
"I'm Gus from Virginia, he's Mick from Yorkshire. You're at Fallow's."
Luke pondered this.
"Fallow's."
"Yeah. As in, the store owned by this Mr. Mick Fallow - co-owned by myself."
As the man spoke, Luke was immediately reminded of Meghan...and then of more. He cursed to himself, flinching and letting his hands drop to the floor. The two men continued to stand, silent.
After a few moments of muttering obscenities, Luke turned to them again in frustration.
"Stop staring and tell me why I'm here!" he bellowed.
"Y'were running around drunk in the streets." the chubby one finally spoke up.
"We were closing up last night, and saw you running and shouting, so I ran out and grabbed you."
"And at what point, Gus from Virginia, did you think that was a wise idea?"
The two men looked at each other.
"Well, let's just say you looked...pretty funny out there. We were afraid you'd end up killing yourself."
Both of them were trying to keep from sniggering. Luke pulled himself up and stood, trying to shake himself into full consciousness. He watched them.
"Glad to know you find this amusing. Now then, I'll just be going." he said, annoyed. He then walked into the other room, which turned out to be the store itself. The back of a counter and cash register immediately met his eyes, and he saw shelves full of miscellaneous items. Luke made his way around the counter, pondering what mayhem must surely be going on in his absence, his heart twisting with anguish all the while.
"Now wait a minute, man!" he heard from behind, as the thinner one approached. "We both just stayed up through the whole night keeping track of you. If I hadn't brought you in, you might be somewhere in a gutter by now."
Luke turned.
"Alright, fine, thank you kindly. I'm very sorry, but you'll have to excuse me."
"You're in no condition..." Mick said as he came behind, still clutching his book.
"Right, I am in no condition to care what condition I'm in, after what nightmarish events have taken place, as I am only concerned about reconciling the relationship I seem to have horribly damaged. Oh, yes, and letting my family know that I'm still alive!"
"C'mon. We got a phone, use that instead. They'll eat you up out there!"
Gus took the arm of a very confused Luke, leading him back to the room he had just left. He motioned for him to sit on the cot, which Luke did.
"You need to eat. We have microwave pizzas." Mick told him.
"Fine, fine, just get me a phone." Luke said, submissive at last.
This was done immediately. Along with a cordless phone, Luke was handed a glass of water.
"Gotta start getting over that nasty hangover." was its explanation.
Luke took what was given to him.
"Might you have some aspirin, by any chance?" he asked as he began to dial a number.
It was a Wednesday, but obviously, I was going to be absent from school today. One thing I wasn't sure of, though, was what I was going to wear.
I had been given a nightgown of Jocelyn's to sleep in - thankfully, they hadn't tried to wrench any garments from Clarissa for me to try on - but I knew I couldn't go around all day in that. Nor could I go around all day in a formal dress and heels.
I was surprised, though, to see something interesting resting on a tufted chair in the corner. It was a light yellow peasant top and white crinkly skirt. Below these things was a pair of old, brown moccasins with flowers embroidered on them.
Apparently, this was to be my outfit.
The blouse fit perfectly - however, the skirt was a little loose. It was a good thing, then, that I had brought safety pins with me to the dance, in my little evening bag. Safety pins are an essential of mine - one should never go anywhere without them. You never know when something is going to rip or fall astray.
Too bad I hadn't had any with me that one day, when I had the nightmare with the gym shorts. But I had learned my lesson.
The moccasins were just a little big as well, so I stuffed a bit of tissue in the toes. There. Good as new.
Where had these things come from, I wondered. They certainly weren't anything Clarissa would be caught dead in. And they really weren't Jocelyn's taste either. I was confused.
Nevertheless, I still came shuffling out of my luxury suite wearing yellow, white, and brown. One problem was solved. Now, on to the next challenge.
I had intentions of finding the kitchen, wherever that was, and scrounging for something to eat.
I didn't count on Henry's summoning me as I passed by his office door.
"Meghan."
I had just gotten by the door. That was where I stopped, and backed up until I was right in the doorframe, facing the brown-haired executive.
"Mind if I talk to you?" he quipped calmly, leaning forward a little. Of course, I was expecting something along this order...I just thought I'd maybe get to eat first...
"Okay." I told him, before hesitantly stepping into a room I'd never been in before. The walls were lined with books, and there was an intricately woven rug on the ground.
"You may want to shut the door behind you." he told me. Good idea. I did that and walked over to the chair that faced him, lowering myself into the seat. I noticed a slew of papers all over his desk, as well as a saucer full of crumbs and a half-empty cup of coffee.
Henry was quiet for a few seconds, before looking at me and giving a weary smile.
"Well, first off - did you sleep well, Meghan?"
I smiled back as best I could.
"Yes, I did. I'm sorry I slept so late."
"Oh, no worries. I would've done the same, actually, were I not used to always being up at this hour. Would you like a scone?"
He produced another saucer, upon which a biscuit lay.
"Yes, please." I replied, doubtless showing my gratitude. I was famished. He handed me the precious baked good.
"And how are you feeling?" came yet another question.
Hmm. How to answer that question. He had, of course, seen me betrayed by the one who supposedly loved me - I'm sure he knew about the heartache that was causing. But he didn't know the war that was going on in my head, as my mind worked to figure out how in all this world Alistair had managed to fool this man - and what, exactly, should be done about it.
"Strange." I finally said. Well, it was the truth.
He chuckled as he bent his head.
"You're not alone."
I looked on, and knew I couldn't possibly begin to phathom what crazy things were going through his mind. I sympathized with him. He now knew that he was a father.
And I must say, he was handling it a lot better than he could've been.
"I suppose I'll get to it then." he said, looking back up at me. "You see, unlike you, I didn't allow myself the privilege of sleep last night. Though I don't think I would have been able to if I tried."
I half-smiled understandingly.
"I knew that I had to talk to you before doing anything else - that is why I called you in so hastily. You see, no one else knows of the things you've told me. And with the exception of my mother, no one even knows that you are related to my...old friend."
Old friend. More were in on it than he thought.
"I plan to talk to each person individually, when I am in possession
of enough sense to do so. I surmise the prospect of my taking a nap sometime before then. But I will not allow sleep to come until I've had the conversation that needs to be had. With you."
I nodded in acknowledgement.
"This may take an hour, or three hours. But all questions, mine and yours, are going to be answered today, in this room."
I was nervous. But I knew this was a good thing.
"We can take turns asking questions, perhaps. Would you like to go first?"
I shook my head.
"Ha, I thought not. Alright then. I have a few questions." He took out an official State of New York document. "Who, exactly, is Daphne Reynolds, and what does she think of me?"
Those were nice questions. Obviously valid ones. I thought for a few seconds.
Best to go with the basics.
"Daphne Reynolds is my dad's sister's daughter. She's seventeen years old, and goes to my high school. Her grade point average is 4.5. She is tall, has brown hair, and likes rock & roll. She wants to be a psychologist. Her smile is the best in the world, and she always makes me happy. I love her."
I saw a faint smile run across his lips as he nodded for me to go on.
"We like to watch TV together, and one day, we were watching BBC America. It was about five years ago. A news program came on, and..." I looked down, fiddling with a loose thread on my peasant top. "And...she started crying. I couldn't figure out why. But Aunt Libby walked in, and she knew right away."
I wasn't sure if I'd gone too far by telling him this. He was definitely deep in thought.
"The thing is, she tells Daphne about you. On her birthday. Every year. They don't talk much about you otherwise. But Daphne wants to meet you. She wants that more than anything."
Surprised at how much I was divulging, I paused. But it felt so, so good.
I looked up to see that Henry's eyes were positively latched on me, as he listened with utmost attention. He looked almost fearful.
"And I won this contest to go to Jasperstone, all expenses paid. The day I left, my aunt gave me that birth certificate, and some pictures. Just in case."
He smiled a bit at this.
"I assume you didn't really think you'd be here today, talking to me." he said, reaching for his coffee mug. I noticed that his hands were shaking, just the slightest bit. And despite the caffeine that was surely coursing through his veins, they hadn't been doing that before.
I looked down again, and tentatively said what I said next.
"Actually...for some reason, I think I knew that something was about to happen." I told him. "Even though I acted like an idiot for the longest time, and didn't say anything."
Henry crossed his hands together in front of him, and leaned forward once more.
"I won't have you guilting yourself. You've been very brave. And I'm going to need your help."
"You are?"
"Yes. You're my only hope of ever possibly figuring this out. I must tell you. I've never been so stunned in my life."
No one said anything more for awhile. Oddly enough, though, it was me who spoke next.
"Is it my turn to ask a question?"
Henry thought for a moment.
"Yes."
"What am I wearing?"
A look came over Henry's face that seemed like some sort of bittersweet hybrid of regret and novelty. He half-smiled.
"Someone left those behind. In the laundry, a long time ago. Thought you might like to have them."
I couldn't help but smile. That's my aunt for you. Always has been absent-minded, always will be.
"Looks lovely, by the way." he added.
And then I sat there, fiddling with that thread, as I waited for him to ask his next question.
Again, I REALLY hope you liked these...because I myself am not too satisfied with how they turned out. I really hope they sort of made sense, lol.
Please let me know what you think, while I move on to preparing the next two. :)
-rf-