Two

Thomas Jefferson gets beat up

Heavy crackling permeated my silent slumber. It reminded me of curling up in front of the fireplace at my grandparent’s house, but wait, I wasn’t at their house. In fact I’m ninety nine percent certain that I fell asleep in my bedroom while mom talked to the police officer. Panic now setting in, I forced my eyes open. Instead of a cozy bed, my eyes met with a slush filled parking lot.

What in the world was I doing here? Had I slept walked? I was clueless and to make matters worse, waves of heat rushed over me from behind. In the middle of winter there was no way this kind of heat was possible. I slowly turned around, knowing that the source probably wasn’t a good thing. Enormous flames shot out of an abandoned factory on the edge of the city. The heat intensified as smoke billowed from numerous broken windows.

“If you would like to know what is going on then open the piece of paper I gave you when you are ready.”

My stalker stood directly to the right of me, only he wasn’t wearing the same puffy jacket. He wore a plain black suit, making him over dressed for such a place. Wait a minute, had he set the fire? Did he kidnap me from my room?

He crouched, his face hovering just next to mine. This was it. I knew at any moment he would turn a gun on me or something and I would be done for.

“You still have the piece of paper, don’t you?”

Feeling afraid and confused I remained silent. Not pressing the subject any further, my stalker stood, turned, and left casually as if he had been speaking to an old friend at the grocery store. Knowing that staying would be a bad idea, I shoved the piece of paper that I still held in my pocket, gathered the sanity I had left, and ran.

Home was my intended destination, but the thought of that piece of paper kept bugging me. Why was it so darn important? Every natural instinct told me to run home and hand it over to the police, but something held me back. A mental wrestling match took place and the paper won out. I mean what would the harm be in just reading it?

My hands were shaking as I unfolded it. My heart beat faster as I looked over the full piece of paper. Scrawled in cursive were the words, Meet me at the Museum of American Revolution Artifacts 536 Hyden Street. The truth is waiting.

I expected some kind of sick love note, but compared to that this seemed tame, and like it could have been written by one of my friends. Of course the thought of the person responsible for the note was unsettling. Sirens wailed just a few blocks away, they would be here within minutes. Regardless of what I decided to do with the information on the letter, getting away from the flaming building was of first importance. If they found me at the scene, my butt would wind up at the police station, bombarded with an infinite amount of questions that I simply wouldn’t have the answers to.

I circled a nearby block a few times, my mind not made up. I could go home and pretend that none of this mess ever happened, but if my stalker had brought me to that parking lot then there was no telling how far he would go next. That is of course unless I went to the police, but would they really believe me? And I would have to tell them about the fire, leaving the possibility open that I could be blamed. I figured the museum wouldn’t be open for a couple of more hours, so at least there was time to think.

Endless Books, sat at the end of the street on the left. The permeating aroma of coffee drew me closer. Gripping the door handle tightly, I opened it and someone slammed into my shoulder from behind. Whirling around in search of an apology all I found was a balding guy in a gray pea coat.

A harsh stare met my expectant look, but instead of an apology he said, “Stupid little girl, can’t even move out of peoples way.”

He disappeared inside, and now slightly annoyed, I followed after. Pretty much every inch of the indie book store was lined with huge book shelves that nearly reached the ceiling, minus the café and tables at the very back of the building. Instantly gravitating toward the young adult section I hoped to find a decent title to occupy the better part of a few hours, at least until I made a decision regarding the museum. A book set in the 1950’s grabbed my attention.

The café chairs were wooden, but comfortable. You could really slink down in them and lose track of time. Interesting characters and even aliens came to life as I flipped each page. I considered spending the day there, reading as many books as possible, and pushing the thought of my stalker out of my mind.

“Well check in the back so that you are entirely certain.” The man who attacked my shoulder screamed at the cashier.

Her large, brown eyes looked close to shedding tears as she darted through a door and into the back of the store. Thankfully the register sat just to the left of the café so I could eavesdrop without drawing unwanted attention.

 A minute later the cashier returned, looking more upset than when she left.

“Well?” The pea coat man screeched.

“We don’t have any more books on George Washington,” she mumbled almost inaudibly.

“You are nothing short of useless.” He paid for his purchase and dashed from the store.

He just had to say George Washington, didn’t he? Now all I could think about was my stalker and the museum. Maybe I could call and have the cops show up with me. Would they believe me, or write it off as a prank? And if they did show up with me my stalker would play dumb and pretend that he didn’t know me. A few hours later I made up my mind.

The stiff columns stood at the entrance to the museum, durable and unwavering, exactly the opposite of how my legs felt. On a scale of one to dumb I knew that meeting my stalker ranked completely idiotic, but what choice did I have? If I didn’t do this on my own terms then the next time we met I would probably be unconscious again.

Tall display cases filled the main lobby. At such a vast size housing an entire football field would have been an easy undertaking. Uniforms, muskets, swords and even paper documents lined the cases. The uniforms were haunting; to think they belonged to people long since dead. It was a safe guess that some of the soldiers had died in these very uniforms. They were well taken care of as if their owners were going to waltz in and claim them any day now.

Seeing no sign of my stalker, I wandered into the middle of the room. I could have passed for a student on a field trip. If only the purpose behind my visit could be so simple.

“I am pleased that you decided to meet with me.”

That voice sent me into panic mode, causing my brain to scream, “Run you idiot.”

Ignoring it, I slowly turned, finding my stalker standing between me and the exit. Great, trapped in a museum with my stalker. This plan went south real fast.

“I want to know the truth.” The forcefulness of my tone did nothing to mask my fear.

“You will learn everything in time, but the first thing you should be aware of is the fact that I have no intention to harm you. I know our encounters have been bizarre to say the least, but you will understand soon enough,” my stalker explained.

I couldn’t decide if his words comforted me or made things worse. Would a real stalker take the time to reassure his victim like this?

“Even If I believe you, what am I supposed to do now? I won’t follow you alone somewhere. The only reason I even talked myself into coming here was because it’s a public place.”

“I understand your worries,” he assured. “But for the moment you are just going to have to trust me. I have something to show you, but I promise it is in this very museum.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but before I could a familiar voice pierced every inch of the air.

“Blasted people don’t even have the decency to move out of my way.” The pea coat man shouted. Shoving innocent patrons left and right he marched toward the middle of the room, but before he could reach us my stalker grabbed my hand and whisked me away.

“Where are you taking me?”

“If you want to live I recommend that you shut up,” my stalker snapped.

Great, I had never imagined any possible details concerning my death, but even if I had, being murdered in a museum wouldn’t have made the top ten. Frantically darting his head from side to side, my stalker tightened his grip on my hand, the pressure making it feel like snapping in half was imminent.

Rooms with everything from cannons to wooden furniture came and went. We finally stopped in the middle of a wax recreation of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. Our founding fathers stood poised to sign for their independence, to fight for their beliefs.

“You can admire all of this another time, but our very lives depend on retrieving a certain objecting and escaping before we are found.”

My stalker seemed almost… afraid. Surely an old man in a pea coat couldn’t be anything near terrifying. Heck if it came down to it I was pretty sure that I could take him. Not waiting for a response, he bolted over to a wax Thomas Jefferson and violently shoved him to the ground. After stealing one of Thomas Jefferson’s shoes, he shoved his hand deep inside, retrieving what looked like a small piece of gold.

“So you drag me through a museum, nearly breaking my hand all for a stupid piece of gold? Are you completely insane,” I shouted.

“You don’t understand, and you must lower your voice.”

“Oh I understand that I am going home, and that I am stupid for ever meeting you here in the first place.”

Turning on my heels, I made direct eye contact with the pea coat guy. Standing in the doorway he smirked, blocking our only exit, ready to pounce. Of course he was just an old man. I didn’t think he stood a chance against the both of us.

“I believe you are quite mistaken. Whatever ability you possess is of no concern to me. I can handle both of you in my sleep.” The pea coat man boasted.

“Ability?” Whipping back around I faced my stalker. “What in the world is this nut job talking about.”

“You mean you haven’t told her yet?” The pea coat man looked shocked then pleased. “In that case she probably doesn’t have access to her ability yet.”

My stalker threw an arm in front of me, forcing me directly behind him. The pea coat didn’t look amused by his blatant display of bravery.

“I know all about your ability, and trust me it falls far short of invincibility.” For the first time I really took notice of the pea coat man’s accent, a sophisticated southern twang steeped in the false nobility born from the cavalier myth.

Undaunted, my stalker stood his ground. “We will just see about that.”

Taking that as his cue, the pea coat man raced forward, swinging his right arm through the air. It landed on my stalker’s shoulder, only instead of being an arm, a large blade occupied its place. I shrieked as the sharp metal pierced his skin, inching its way deeper. My stalker groaned, but didn’t lose focus. Forcing both arms forward he grabbed the blade with his bare hands, dislodging it from his torn flesh.

By the time I looked from the blade back to his shoulder there wasn’t a wound to speak of it had simply vanished, but that was impossible. Of course impossibility was a silly notion to consider while staring down a man with a sword for an arm. With blood dripping from his hands, my stalker shifted the blade to his right, thrusting it straight through a wooden table. The pea coat man attempted to retrieve his or arm… whatever it was, but it stayed lodged in place.

Dumbfounded, I watched as the blood on my stalker’s hands subsided as the wounds disappeared. Sprinting over my stalker grabbed my hand and pulled, buy my feet stayed glued to the floor, fear gripping them tightly.

“Come on, we have to leave or we are dead!”

The prospect of death proved to be a powerful dissolvent. My feet came unstuck and I charged for the exit.