find something to cover it, a few drops spilled off of her fingers onto the ground, where it was sucked up by the thirsty soil.
Jess could have sworn she heard a moan drift out of the cemetery on the wind. Must be delusional from the pain, she reasoned.
The man who had shouted came running up, spouting apologies and staring wide-eyed at her injury.
“Oh my God!” he exclaimed. “I am so sorry, miss! That was stupid of me!”
He was fumbling around in his pockets as if he had some magic elixir to offer her. He finally pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket. She didn’t know many men who carried handkerchiefs these days.
“Here, this is clean, I promise.” He took her hand in his and wrapped the white linen around her finger, and she let him. While he doted on her crippling injury, she gave him the once over.
Seemed that trees weren’t the only things they grew well here in Willow Tree.
His head of coal black hair was trimmed short, tapering down to just a trace of side burn. He wore yesterday’s beard, which was just enough, and he seemed to still be working off last summer’s tan. As she watched his rugged hands tend to hers, she noticed no trace of a ring. Then, she mentally slapped herself in the face.
What the hell was she doing looking for rings? She had just met this guy, who had caused her grievous bodily harm, no less, and she was already picking out china patterns?
She must have lost a lot more blood than she realized.
“Well,” he said, releasing her hand slowly, “I think you’ve stopped hemorrhaging. Again, I’m really very sorry. I was just trying to warn you that they don’t like people touching the gate, or the tree, or … anything. I’m Patrick, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she said lamely. She had forgotten about the pain in her hand. “I’m Jess.”
“Well, Jess, you really should get that looked at,” he cautioned, glancing at the bloody handkerchief. “I’d feel really bad if your finger fell off on account of me.”
Jess grinned. “I don’t suppose you’re a doctor?” She had never met a doctor who wore coveralls.
“No, sorry,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Not unless you’ve got a sick car.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Patrick grinned and then looked passed her, up the long stone path that led to that other Rusty Gate . Patrick’s face darkened as he looked at the people milling about the inn.
“We should probably head back. They’re most likely watching us.”
“They watch you around here?” she asked, with a curious frown.
He took her by the arm and started with her up the path.
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Annabel, October 6th
Annabel drummed her fingers on the rented Camry’s steering wheel and kept one eye on the dashboard clock.
It said 8:30, just like the last five times she had checked. She had been on the road for well over an hour, which was already an hour longer than she had ever driven at one time. The little jaunts to Ferguson’s Market and the Hardware Hut hadn’t prepared her for the endless black corridor that was US State Road 35.
Signs with names of other towns and other highways all blurred passed her at an intoxicating speed. By the time they appeared in her headlights, they were gone, leaving Annabel to wonder if she had missed her exit and was destined to end up lost on this Mobius strip of black asphalt.
Maybe she shouldn’t have had that last Code Red Mountain Dew .
That was the part that was most intoxicating, the sense of freedom. The freedom to do things she wanted, out from under the watchful eye of Willow Tree. She knew some of that was just her paranoia talking. She knew she wasn’t going to be reclaimed just for chugging one soda pop.
But, she always had to be mindful of the rules.
Drink too many soda pops and suddenly you weren’t setting a good example for the newcomers. You weren’t supporting local businesses with their teas and lemonades. You weren’t acting in the
Jess could have sworn she heard a moan drift out of the cemetery on the wind. Must be delusional from the pain, she reasoned.
The man who had shouted came running up, spouting apologies and staring wide-eyed at her injury.
“Oh my God!” he exclaimed. “I am so sorry, miss! That was stupid of me!”
He was fumbling around in his pockets as if he had some magic elixir to offer her. He finally pulled a white handkerchief from his back pocket. She didn’t know many men who carried handkerchiefs these days.
“Here, this is clean, I promise.” He took her hand in his and wrapped the white linen around her finger, and she let him. While he doted on her crippling injury, she gave him the once over.
Seemed that trees weren’t the only things they grew well here in Willow Tree.
His head of coal black hair was trimmed short, tapering down to just a trace of side burn. He wore yesterday’s beard, which was just enough, and he seemed to still be working off last summer’s tan. As she watched his rugged hands tend to hers, she noticed no trace of a ring. Then, she mentally slapped herself in the face.
What the hell was she doing looking for rings? She had just met this guy, who had caused her grievous bodily harm, no less, and she was already picking out china patterns?
She must have lost a lot more blood than she realized.
“Well,” he said, releasing her hand slowly, “I think you’ve stopped hemorrhaging. Again, I’m really very sorry. I was just trying to warn you that they don’t like people touching the gate, or the tree, or … anything. I’m Patrick, by the way.”
“Thanks,” she said lamely. She had forgotten about the pain in her hand. “I’m Jess.”
“Well, Jess, you really should get that looked at,” he cautioned, glancing at the bloody handkerchief. “I’d feel really bad if your finger fell off on account of me.”
Jess grinned. “I don’t suppose you’re a doctor?” She had never met a doctor who wore coveralls.
“No, sorry,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Not unless you’ve got a sick car.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Patrick grinned and then looked passed her, up the long stone path that led to that other Rusty Gate . Patrick’s face darkened as he looked at the people milling about the inn.
“We should probably head back. They’re most likely watching us.”
“They watch you around here?” she asked, with a curious frown.
He took her by the arm and started with her up the path.
“Doesn’t everybody?”
Annabel, October 6th
Annabel drummed her fingers on the rented Camry’s steering wheel and kept one eye on the dashboard clock.
It said 8:30, just like the last five times she had checked. She had been on the road for well over an hour, which was already an hour longer than she had ever driven at one time. The little jaunts to Ferguson’s Market and the Hardware Hut hadn’t prepared her for the endless black corridor that was US State Road 35.
Signs with names of other towns and other highways all blurred passed her at an intoxicating speed. By the time they appeared in her headlights, they were gone, leaving Annabel to wonder if she had missed her exit and was destined to end up lost on this Mobius strip of black asphalt.
Maybe she shouldn’t have had that last Code Red Mountain Dew .
That was the part that was most intoxicating, the sense of freedom. The freedom to do things she wanted, out from under the watchful eye of Willow Tree. She knew some of that was just her paranoia talking. She knew she wasn’t going to be reclaimed just for chugging one soda pop.
But, she always had to be mindful of the rules.
Drink too many soda pops and suddenly you weren’t setting a good example for the newcomers. You weren’t supporting local businesses with their teas and lemonades. You weren’t acting in the
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