Ch. 2 ... Head Space
2039 Words
Brianna stretched herself in odd poses across the king-sized mattress, nestled in a four poster Tudor style frame with a canopy, and yawned. She took in the smell of sizzling rashers, pudding, sausages and other delicacies of the Irish breakfast. It was time to get up.
Walking out to the kitchen, she spotted Bennet with his back to her dicing something that sounded hard like potatoes. "You didn't wake me up."
His head turned with a smile, but his hands stayed focused. "Good morning, sweetheart!" His eyes switched from sappy to pained as the knife came down again.
"You're bleeding," she said, pulling his finger close to her face to inspect it.
"No worries," he said.
"Yes, worries," she replied, squeezed his second knuckle till the skin around the cut started turning white, and then to Bennet's complete surprise stuck it in her mouth to clean it off.
He pulled it away from her, but it was too late. "You shouldn't have done it," he scolded.
"You don't have anything I won't have in a few days' time," she mocked.
"You don't know that," he said, as she put a plaster on it.
"I do feel a bit woozy," she laughed.
Kate's head was pounding- that's what woke her. The tick, tock, ticking like a clock. Filled with ice and fire, her body burned as she shook. She felt the sheets drenched in sweat. She opened her eyes. The light of day flooding in the window forced them to shut again, but it was too late. Whoever was in the room had noticed her stir.
She heard footsteps, like someone wavering back and forth unsure of themselves. Carefully, still feeling the pangs from the night before, she moved to switch on the bedside lamp. Her hand swept the air searching for the pull cord, before finding it peculiarly far away. As her eyes tried to adjust she scanned the room. It wasn't her apartment, and looked to be a hotel suite. The footsteps approached.
"Who's there?" she asked trying, unsuccessfully, to mask her fear as she sat up and put her hands out in front of her.
The stranger stopped at the window. "It was raining before I got in the elevator, but look at it now!" he said, ignoring her question.
Shading her face with her hand, and blinking hard, she opened her eyes again to see him standing next to the desk staring out the three-paned window that stretched the length of the room. He pulled off a dark blue wool scarf and grey paletot overcoat, then gently folded them onto the back of the chair. As he leaned against the desk, his eyes caught hers. They were blue and piercing through a mop of soggy, shaggy black hair. His tall broad frame was a bit daunting and the lines on his black button-down hinted there were well-toned muscles underneath. "Hair of the dog?"
"You called it," she said, while tempering her suspicion. He unfolded his arms to grab a bottle off the desk and throw it next to her. She noticed there were also coffees and scones next to where it had sat. "Where am I?" she asked, recalling nothing of the night before.
"That whiskey will go well with a cappuccino," he continued. She watched him pour two sugars into one of the cardboard cups and stir it up before walking over to hand it to her. Although he wasn't answering her questions, he seemed calm and she didn't want to unravel him. She pulled the protective seal off the bottle of Jameson and took a couple large gulps, poured a bit into the cup to comply with his request, then stared at him until he broke the silence. "This is my hotel suite."
"Who are you?" she asked.
"We met in the pub- last night," he said, "You were too out of it to give me an address, so it was this or a hospital."
"Did I need a hospital?" she hinted.
"I'm not a doctor." His eyebrow went up as he looked at her. "What do you remember?"
"I don't remember," she said.
"Anything?" his disbelief radiated.
"Did you drug me?" she asked.
"Someone did," he said while looking more contemplative than offended. "He followed us out, but I took care of it."
"How do I know you're not him?" she asked pensively. Shifting positions, she was reminded of the pain. When she looked to survey the bruising down her right side, a hot spell rushed over her. She winced as the sting became overwhelming.
"You don't," he said. Her eyes shot back open just in time to catch the smile spreading across his face. "But sure, why would I bring coffee if I wanted you asleep?"
She had an answer for that, but decided not to share it. "You're from London?"
"I'm not. I'm just back from King's College though," he said.
"What did you study?" she asked. Curious if he'd answer Kidnapping 101 or Hitman-ese.
"Art. I'm a photographer... well, was a photographer," he added, looking despondent. "What do you do?"
"Would you believe I'm a model?" she lied.
"In another life," he said. She didn't laugh.
"Who are you?" she asked again.
"Your saviour," he replied, mocking.
"Who are you?" she asked again, a little more impatiently.
"Dylan," he said.
"Dyl-an," she said as if trying to link the name in memory through its taste on her tongue. "I think I should leave."
As she stood, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Black streaks of mascara ran under her green eyes and her once Katy Perry like hairdo now more so resembled Ke$ha during her Die Young 'brush my teeth with a bottle of Jack' phase. Dark bruises ran along her right side matching small areas of cuts in her too tight dress. She was a mess.
"Great, I'll go with you."
After breakfast Brianna put on her coat and headed out to the garden for a stroll. Her stomach was feeling a little queasy, but a touch of wind and warm summer sunlight on her skin should make quick work of that. The Blackburn Estate was one of the largest in the county. It had a Georgian style landscape of sprawling fields accented with statues, rustic ruins, running trails and a lake. Trees were scattered along the outer edges of the land, with an eight-foot cobble stone wall surrounding the property. The gates stood magnificently, protecting all who dwelled within the estate from all onlookers without. Brianna was sure the door would be busted down regularly by paparazzi were it not for that gate.
On the far corner of the estate from the house laid a yew-tree maze that was four metres tall and spanned across six acres at least. She usually wouldn't go near it, as it gave off a haunted vibe. She was sure she'd get lost within it's infinite turns and no one would think to look for her till it was too late. Today, however, she could no longer see what scared her so much about the place. The sun shined on it, turning its deep forest-green into more of a chartreuse. Its entrance was wide and welcoming, and she decided to go in for a gander.
The hedges twisted this way and that. Cool wind brushed at her hair. She never felt so alive and yet, at the same time, so ill. That feeling in her stomach was growing up her chest to warm her face and forehead. Overlooking it, she wandered further into the maze. This wasn't the first time she'd been in it, but the first time had left an impression. She had only made it a couple turns around the hedges, ignoring the spine tingles and overwhelming sense of dread emanating from around her, till finally she could take no more. She turned on her heels and ran, like a bolt of lightning, zigging this way and zagging that. Her heart was pumping, and her legs were quivering. She had no idea what had come over her. This time though, she was determined to stay the course. Despite the thick hedges looming above her, obstructing her view, she didn't feel so small.
She heard sounds coming from the far side of the maze, like distant muffled cries. The further she went, the louder they were. After what felt like a mile, around the next corner she turned, she found a door. Why would a hedge maze have a door? She pondered this for a moment. It was a red door and frame, with an ornate handle and a skeleton lock. Drawn to it, she reaches a hand out.
"You're not meant to here," a voice demanded.
Kate wasn't sure of Dylan's intentions, but he sure was handsome. A beautiful smirk and clever eyes can get you everywhere, she thought. "Don't follow me."
Dylan feigned shock. "Love, I'll follow you to the moon and back."
"You will not," she scoffed.
"Downtown then?"
"I'll be looking at dresses all day," she said.
"For what?" he asked.
"A wedding…" He could hear the words sour in her mouth as she said it. "I was invited last night. It's on this week."
"Funny, I'm going to a wedding soon. Where's yours?" he asked.
"You're not tagging along to that too," she laughed. "Although now that I think of it, I haven't got a date."
"Seriously, my brother is getting married in Donegal in three days," he said.
Her eyes shot open and she turned to look at him. The more she looked at him, the more she recognised those familiar features. "You're Bennet's brother?" she said, more in the tone of an answer than a question.
"Who are you?" he asked, now genuinely looking surprised.
"I'm on the bride's side," she said. "Kind of."
"What kind of?" He didn't wait for an answer. His eyes seemed to spot something in the distance, or maybe he was listening to something. It wasn't her.
"I dated your brother," she said.
He put his arm around her waste and pulled her down Castle Market toward George's Street Arcade, continuously glancing back behind them.
"Stop! I wanted to go to Powerscourt Centre," she begged. He ignored her and ushered her into the tunnel that bisected the terraced buildings, they passed every type of flea market hippy with a stall one might imagine in such a place. There was a weaver with tie-died skirts and bags for sale, a sweet shop baker standing beside scrumptious looking pies and pastries, a music man with nothing but vinyl records, and lastly a cast iron and silver jeweller on the way out the other side. He quickly turned her down Aungier Street and, looking back out of the corner of her eye, she saw a man cloaked in black. He seemed to have a determined gait, and was heading toward them. "There's someone following us, isn't there?"
"I spotted him a few streets back," he said.
"Do you think it's the man from last night?" she asked.
"I don't know, I never got a good look at him," he said. "Let's not find out."
They took another left across Fade Street, which circled them back around toward Powerscourt Centre. Hurrying along, they ran up the steps and stepped inside. After moving out of view, Dylan peaked back out and surveyed the visible streets. He couldn't see the man anywhere. Satisfied that they had either escaped or had been wrong, he refocused his attentions on Kate and their outing. "Where did you want to go?"
"Should we call someone?" she asked.
"No, I think I was mistaken," he said.
"Ah, right," she laughed. "No worries."
"Where do you want to go?" he asked again, wanting to move on just in case.
"There's a lovely dress shop on the top floor. I think it's called Covet. It's all high-end fashion, perfect for a wedding," she said. As they walked down the halls she cased the many jewellery displays lining the wall, keeping an eye out for things she liked. However, it would all depend on which dress and coat she chose.
"Did you say you dated my brother?" he questioned.
- Writer
