I know it’s been a long time coming but I’ve had some friend drama and got a bit discouraged in my writing. Hoping the next few chapters will be longer and that someone would be nice enough to review. Thanks guys!

Chapter 1:

A chill crept its way up my spine and I ignored the need to shiver despite the warmth. The terminal at St. Sebastian Square was so familiar with its vintage architecture and its practically deserted platform that I nearly cried. Its wide arches were welcoming and classic like a railway station from an old black and white picture in which the damsel awaits, forlorn and uncertain, for her amante to whisk her away into their happily ever after.

Of course, reality doesn’t guarantee the happy book ending. Sometimes it just gives you a push out the window when you find yourself cornered by mistakes.

“There’s no trains comin’ in no more, Miss. You need me to call someone fer ya? Hello? Miss?!”

The man was irritated and at first I didn’t recognize him. His hair was white like salt, his nose big, whiskers unkempt, and his eyes buggy behind prehistorically thick bifocals. But it was the condition of his blue railway uniform that gave him away, how his golden buttons were done up haphazardly, skipping in the bottom and derailing the others. The fabric rumpled and folded over itself awkwardly as it had when he’d taught me eighth grade math. All of these things I knew because I’d known the Gary Parks who taught me pre-calculus during fourth period.

It was weirdly upsetting to see him work anywhere but inside a classroom.

“Oh. No thank you. Someone’ll be coming to get me shortly. I’ll just wait.”

I almost asked him then if he’d recognized me but decided against it. It wouldn’t have done me any good to suddenly show up in town as unannounced as I’d left. Till this day I wasn’t sure whether they thought I’d been kidnapped or ran away but the newspaper story printed the summer I left blamed my absence on a secret pregnancy and banishment to a convent in Sweden where I’d embrace God and be forgiven for my sins. This was a bigger and even better rumor than Travis could have ever hoped to come up with. Ridiculous in its own right - I was only barely fourteen at the time - it seemed to be what most in town believed.

Mr. Parks stared at me for another moment and I was afraid he‘d see right through me, demanding where I‘d been and why I‘d left. It had hurt to come back because St. Sebastian and I had history, a lot of it. St. Sebastian owned my first kiss, the first boy I ever liked, and the only place I called home even if I’d left it. But then, Mr. Parks’ eyes finally shifted behind his glasses and took in my yellow dress and small backpack. I must have looked like a runaway or a new wage worker for South Province.

“Ah-right miss, let me know if ya need any help.” He took one last look at me and limped away to the other side of the station where the rest of the carry hands stood waiting for the last train as it arrived at the station. None of them were looked fit enough to carry the heavy loads of the oncoming tourists. Mr. Parks could barely keep himself upright, Mr. Wringly the lazy station manager was stout but useless, and Simon the ticket handler was a wiry high school student who looked like he would snap under exertion. The only man even remotely built was Wally Walters who sold water bottles from a large cardboard box to anyone coming or going from the 5 pm train. At the end bit of June, anyone would be willing to pay anything for a sip of cold water in the ninety-two degree weather. Besides, everyone knew Wally sold bottles at half the cost which was enough to keep him through fall until the winter when he was out selling hand warmers to keep him through spring until summer.

As the train finally coasted to a stop in front of me, I was surprised by the gaggle of people swarming at the doors of the red oak train. It was unusual to have so many tourists visiting St. Sebastian, even if it was in season. A town made from old money, most of the residents lived in South Province where the housing was simple and affordable. These people made up the workforce of St. Sebastian, the shop owners, farm runners, and subordinates to the wealthy in North Province. The relationship between the two sides, as strained as it was, had been the traditional way of life since the 1800’s when milkmen, maids, and other servants were forced to wake before dawn to travel to their master’s houses in North Province to serve, only to return home late at night.

The conflict had been easy enough to stay away from. The numbers in South Province dominated those in North Province, who did not live in their homes but rented them out for money or social gain during the summer season. Only then was the tension too much to bear. And this was why as the train doors finally opened, I repressed a wince at the amount of passengers descending onto the platform. A loud angry mass of influential power, they were all frustrated with the heat, annoyed with their thirst, and in a hurry to get away.

Some, like a small child clutching a black haired china doll, pouted angrily and pushed her damp hair from her eyes as she pulled at her mother impatiently. They crowded around Wally who was pushing bottles into any outreached hand. Others, milled about chatting, fanning themselves with their hands as they waited for the carry hands to retrieve their things. Remembering Mr. Parks, I was sure it would be a long wait.

As I watched the procession with amusement, two middle aged women with crisp designer clothes sat beside me on the bench.

“Well it can’t be helped that David wants to take a break before going off to Harvard. He deserves a little peace and quiet, even if I still think we should have gone to Hawaii instead.” The taller of the two women surveyed the station with pity and distaste before flipping her obviously dyed blond hair off her shoulder.

“I’d have to agree but it can’t be all bad. Not everyone in town’s a pauper and I read that some of the wealthiest patrons in history came from here. St. Sebastian’s known to be very traditional,” the shorter, black haired woman said as they both watched Mr. Parks’ attempt to move someone’s luggage out of the cargo hold. The blond rolled her eyes and tugged at the collar of her black dress, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

“Wonderful,’’ the blond said sarcastically, apparently unimpressed with the town’s merit. “The last summer I can spent with my son and it‘s in an inferno.”

“I do hate to admit it but I’ll miss him when he goes. He always did come to visit when he was in the city.”

“Yes well, how do you think I feel? My youngest is leaving me for college and my good for nothing husband is of somewhere on ‘business’. Without David, Andrew’ll divorce me in a year.”

“Well, maybe while we’re here you can find David and yourself some ‘business’ of you own.” The blond smiled and waggled her eyebrows in agreement and then they both cackled, pleased with themselves and their plans for David who was nowhere in sight.

In the distance Mr. Wringly tried to pacify an agitated passenger. Just to his left, Mr. Parks was tugging at a suitcase so hard that when he gave one last pull, it broke free from the others only to fall open on the station floor. Expensive lingerie littered the platform in blacks, reds, and whites, lacy and embarrassing. Mr. Parks froze for a moment, startled, and then as quickly as he could, bent over to collect everything back into the suitcase. A woman screamed, tanned faced splotched with red stains as she blushed and tried not to cry. She too made her way towards Mr. Wringly to complain. Clearly overwhelmed, Wringly’s face bordered on a sickening shade of purple as the other passengers offered their own complaints about the establishment.

“Have you been waiting long?”

There was a split second of hope in which I thought it had been Fulton, my welcoming party, who’d asked. But my hopes were shattered when I registered the female voice and turned to find the blond woman’s face staring at mine. Her straight blond hair though too pale to be natural, looked shampoo commercial soft, and her makeup complimented her flawless skin perfectly. There were no wrinkles, blemishes, or laugh-lines on her ageless face and I knew without a doubt that her perfection was probably as paid for as her size D breasts. Despite it all, she was unreasonably beautiful.

“Oh. Sorry. This is all of it actually. I’m just waiting for someone to pick me up.” I looked down at my watch with a worried frown. It was unusual for Fulton to be late. “I’d like to say you’ll get your bags soon but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

“So what? They just expect us to bake out here in the sun and wait?! What horrible service,” she huffed, fanning herself with her hand. I itched to tell her that the unnecessary movement would only make her feel hotter but kept the knowledge to myself.

“Have you ever been here before? It’s not dreadful is it?” the other woman asked and I felt bad for her immediately. She was by no means ugly with her wavy black hair and brown eyes but paled considerably next to the blond. Shorter and less in shape than the other woman, she was too plain to take notice of.

“Actually the houses in North Province are beautiful and the scenery is very relaxing. It’s hot but you’ll get used to it. I’m sure you’ll have a great time here.”

Mr. Wringly looked about ready to collapse from stress and Mr. Parks, poor Mr. Parks had finally gotten Simon, who could not stop blushing, to help him pick up the last of the clothes.

“What about the people?” the blond asked.

“They’re wonderful. Everyone here is very lively, especially with Fourth of July and the summer festival in August. Everyone works for ages on the preparations.”

When the suitcase had finally been closed with everything inside, Mr. Parks bent to pick up the luggage and return it to the woman but never came back up. I knew the moment he hadn’t unbent himself that something was wrong. About to excuse myself to help him, I watched as Simon and a blond haired man helped Mr. Parks shuffle into the ticket booth, one man on each side.

“You sure know a lot about this place,” the other said.

“Yes well, I used to live here when I was younger.”

“Where,” the blond asked.

Simon and the man came back out of the ticket booth talking with each other as though they were old friends. Even I thought the man looked vaguely familiar, I couldn’t place him. Four years was a long time to be gone.

“Montgomery Manor.”

Whoever he was, he was too tall to be Andy, had the wrong build for Tim, and I could tell Jacob McClellan apart from anyone else in the world. If I knew the man, I couldn’t remember how. But he was nice enough to pick up the suitcase and hand it to the woman himself, aimed with a toothy smile that made her flush.

“Sounds familiar. I must have read about it somewhere.”

“So you’re from North Province?”

The two women laughed for having spoken at the same time. It came out the same haughty cackle as before only this time, it didn‘t surprise me quite as much.

“Where are our manners? I’m Lila and this is Alexandra. We’re staying in Covington Manor for the summer with her son David,” the dark haired Lila said with a smile.

“I’m Natalie, pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Alexandra drawled as the blond haired man ushered the embarrassed woman towards Wally who was almost out of water bottles. Even he hadn’t planned for the number of tourists coming in this season. The influx was overwhelming. And I wondered, not for the first time, just how much things had changed since I’d left.

My muscles ached anxiously to get home. The unfamiliarity of things that should have been familiar to me were making me feel heavy and I knew that I should have seen this coming before I’d gotten off the train. Things change Nat, I’d told myself, you did. But I couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since the tourists started coming in groves, how longer since uncle Jack had been out of the hospital, how long since everyone had forgotten me and moved on.

I pulled my cell phone out from my backpack and scrolled through the contacts before I found the number Fulton had written to me in the letter, the house phone for Montgomery Manor. It was silly that he’d written it down when it hadn’t changed from all those years ago. Even sillier that somehow with time I’d forgotten it. I pressed the call button and waited as it rang, fidgety as the two other women beside me leaned closer while trying to look busy. Alexandra searched through her bag furiously and Lila reapplied her makeup with the help of a hand held mirror as her eyes occasionally shifted in my direction.

It rang and rang and rang. They didn’t have an answering machine when I’d been living there and I instantly thought maybe something had gone wrong. Maybe uncle Jack had been sent back to the hospital. Or maybe there was something wrong with Fulton who had always run on time. A stickler for punctuality and manors, it was cosmically wrong for that he be anywhere forty-five minutes late.

Finally after what seemed like a thousand rings later, someone picked up. No one spoke.

“Hello? Is anyone there? Fulton? It’s Natalie.”

And from the silence the loud monotonous dial tone sounded.

Whoever had picked up the phone had hung up on me.

“Everything alright dear?” Lila asked but her voice was neither soothing nor worried. If anything, it was prying.

It took me a while to respond. “Oh. Uh, yes.”

“Ah here it is.” Alexandra pulled something out of her bag, a card, and handed it to me. On it was a name and a phone number but no job title. “In case you want to get together.”

“Yes. Of course.” I shoved the card into one of my backpack pockets and got up to leave. If no one was coming for me, it was just a few miles walk to North Province. “Well then, it was nice meeting you but I should probably get going.”

“I thought you were waiting to be picked up,” Lila said and I almost sighed in annoyance. She was almost as bad as the town folk who salivated at the scent of gossip and drama.

“I’m visiting my uncle who’s very sick. I’m sure no one’s picking up because they’re all attending to him. So I’ll just walk there myself.”

“Walk?! That’s a horribly barbaric idea. Get a cab,” Alexandra suggested. The comment brought an unexpected smile. Cabs in St. Sebastian? I didn’t bother to correct her.

“Well I’ll be going then.”

“Maybe we could give you a ride?” The voice that offered was distinctly male and belonged to the blond haired man that had helped Mr. Parks. He stood with Alexandra and Lila as he offered me a charming smile and reached over to take my bag from me. I was so surprised that I let him take it.

Had the request been made anywhere else, especially after living in New York, I would have run away as fast as I could. But having the request made in St. Sebastian, where the crime rate was almost non-existent save for a few townsfolk squabbles, it didn’t occur to me to say no.

“David! Have you gotten our bags yet? We’re baking out here.” Alexandra whined, hands fanning herself again as though to emphasize her point.

“They’re already in the car, mother.” He offered them a quick smile as the two women celebrated and led the way out of the station. “I’m David and you know my mother.” The joking tone in which he said this forced a smile out of me.

“Yes. We met at the station just a few minutes ago. She’s very… lively.”

He laughed. “Just don’t hold her against me. So, do you have a name?”

“I do. It’s Natalie. Natalie Walsh.”

“Well Natalie Walsh, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Now lets get you home.”

He opened the car door for me and I was surprised when he sat beside me in the back as opposed to in the front where Alexandra had already made herself comfortable and was bringing a lit cigarette to her mouth. To the other side of me sat Lila who was staring out the window excitedly.

In the confines of the car it was easier to take a better look at David who was too accomplished and charming to fit the surfer boy stereotype despite his dirty blond hair, natural tan, and blue-green eyes.

“So tell me Natalie Walsh, why are you here for the summer?’ he asked after a few moments of silence.

“I could ask you the same question,“ I said but answered anyways. “I’m visiting my uncle. He’s not doing well and I owed it to him to visit.”

“I sense a long heartwarming story behind all that vagueness. As for me, this is my final summer of freedom before starting at Harvard Pre-law. After that, I‘ll be a slave to the justice system for the rest of my life.” I sensed a story there too but said nothing. “So where are you from?”

“Here originally but I’ve been living in New York for the past four years.”

“Wow. You can hardly tell. About being from here, I mean. You don’t have an accent at all.”

It wouldn’t have been noticeable. Rachael’s first responsibility as stepmother was to make me acceptable for the city because as she’d said, I wasn’t a country girl anymore.

“It took a lot of vocal training to get me to sound like this, you know?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? It’s a shame. I think the drawl would definitely suit you.”

The flush was quick to crawl up my no longer tanned cheeks as I turned my head to look out Lila’s window. Anything to distract me from the physically attractive man beside me who was so much closer than I’d been used to that I was getting nervous and fidgety.

“Okay…” he said and I could see his sheepish smile from the corner of my eye, “lets steer the conversation to clearer waters.”

Then as he began to talk about himself, sharing small secrets with me, I felt myself relax. It wasn’t hard to enjoy myself in the company of David Arrington the third, who was so amiable he was impossible not to like. And as the car stopped in front of the iron gates of Montgomery Manor, I knew that his favorite color was blue, that his father was a wealth private doctor in California who mostly catered to Hollywood starlets, and that he could eat macaroni and cheese every day of his life and never tire of it.

“This is where you live?” Alexandra almost demanded as David got out of the car and extended a hand to me. I let him pull me out before following him to the trunk.

“This is a nice place you got here,” he said as he handed me my backpack.

“Thanks. But you know, Covington Manor is very nice too.”

“I know. I did my research when picking the place out. But it doesn’t even measure up to this.”

I wondered if it was the sheer size of it that had him so mesmerized or the almost gaudy Greek-style sculptures that stretched along both sides of the path leading to the front door.

Here, every house had its own history, its own lineage. They were old elegant masterpieces from decades filled with romance, a cluster of French Colonials and Victorians filled with a surplus of antique furniture. But none more prominent than Montgomery Manor, St. Sebastian’s oldest and grandest residence. Traditionally, the mayor of town was born or married into the Montgomery house, directly in the center of North Province. The geography made it the most easily accessible house in North Province from Main Street, a direct path that required none of the bends and turns the other houses did.

David got back in the car and lowered the window a warm smile still on his face.

“It was nice meeting you all. Thank you for the ride.”

“You make sure to keep in touch dear. It would be great to see you again,” Alexandra drawled as she took one last drag of her cigarette and flicked out the window onto the graveled path that led up to the house.

“That would be nice,” I said and blushed when my eyes immediately rested on David whose smile widened at the attention.

“Bye Natalie,” he said.

“Bye.”

The car pulled away and I pushed open the gate, my feet shuffling forward as quickly as possible through the gravel while in their platform wedges. The walk was longer than I remembered and I was out of breath when I finally reached the front door.

I knocked. Then once again, louder. No one came and when I fisted the door trying to sound louder still, I was surprised when the door opened. They never locked the doors I remembered as I walked in and closed it behind me. Now they had all the reason to. Who ever had hurt Uncle Jack had not finished the job and could have been waiting for the perfect chance to do so. An unlocked door at just the right time would have been more than enough. I made sure to lock it before continuing on.

Everything was exactly the same as in my childhood memories; the deep red rug that had lain above the red oak floors and led from the entry hall to the living room and the old paintings and tapestries that had belong to my mother’s father and his father before him. I turned left at the old grandfather clock, the one I’d broken when I was eight and walked past the dining room. Then I took another left before walking down a small corridor and up the west wing staircase that left me directly in from of Uncle Jack’s room.

I hesitated at the door anxious to see him again. Uncle Jack had been my only parent for most of my life. Because my mother had died young and my father couldn’t take me, it was Uncle Jack who had taught me how to walk, how to talk, and what to do when I got my first period. He’d been the person I came home to, to talk about my day and when I got in trouble, he was the one who slipped me a knowing wink behind Fulton’s back as I got scolded. He was the best surrogate parent a child could have asked for. Being away from him so long had hurt me but I was too afraid of what had happened the night I left to open the door and make myself known.

“Nat?” I smiled at the familiar nickname.

“Fulton.”

If there was anyone who could withstand the tests of time it was Fulton who looked exactly the same as I last saw him: black hair combed back, black dress shoes shined and in his morning suit. The short black jacket, grey waistcoat, pinstripe trouser, white shirt, and standard collar neck tie suited him and for the first time I realized how handsome he was, how handsome he must have always been.

“What are you doing here? We didn’t think … we though you wouldn‘t come…” for once he seemed as a loss for words.

“But you wrote to me…I thought that…” The heaviness that sank into my body did so quickly and fluidly. Had I gotten the message wrong? Was I not supposed to come? The confusion much have been etched out plainly on my face.

But then, as though the awkward moment had never existed, Fulton offered me a smile and opened the door I’d been so hesitant about. “He’ll be happy to see you.”

“Uncle Jack…”

It came out a breathy whisper, not loud enough to wake the crumpled figure on the bed. He looked so much smaller than I remembered, not wiry but thin and something dirty settled in the pit of my stomach. It was wrong that of all the things that stayed the same, it was Uncle Jack that had changed. His dirty blond hair was uncombed, bruises darkened the concaves of his face, and even the room which had always smelled like wood polish and cologne breathed of plastic and antiseptic.

“How bad is it?”

The gasping breaths he took in his sleep despite the oxygen tube was one indication that things were as bad as I’d feared. The IV only added to my concern over his loss of weight. Tears stung my eyes and fought to keep control over my emotions.

“Bad. He was in a coma before he demanded to be let out of the hospital and there’s still a concussion, a few broken ribs, and his legs… he says he can’t feel his legs.” I closed my eyes a forced a deep breath. “The doctor says sometimes it’s normal for parts of the body to go numb after such a bad concussion but its been weeks and…” he trailed off, fixing his already perfect tie, before pouring uncle Jack a glass of water from the pitcher on his bedside table. Then as lightly as he could, Fulton shook uncle Jack by the shoulder, rousing him from sleep. His eyes barely fluttered open, his left eye closed from the swelling bruise on his cheek, as Fulton lifted his head back gently for a gulp of water. Then he gave Uncle Jack two large white pills before another gulp. They went down with great effort and Uncle Jack moaned as Fulton laid him back down carefully. He’d barely moved.

“What did you give him?”

“Pain medication. He gets restless without them.”

My childhood protector been beaten down in the worst of ways.

“Have they found who did this to him?” I demanded quietly, not wanting to wake him.

Fulton’s face as he turned to me was as professional as he was known for, stoic and stern but his eyes and voice betrayed the effort. “No. Master Jackson didn’t see who did this to him. All he knows is that it was a group of them and that they all wore masks. The police are investigating but it could have been anyone.”

I gave an unladylike snort of annoyance. “Anyone” meant that it was unlikely the perpetrators would ever be caught, that they’d get away with this and never think twice about it. Crime was almost unheard of in town and its sudden arrival in such force was sickening. Whoever had committed the crime was in St. Sebastian now, no one who arrived for the summer left before the end of the season and if the police didn’t find them by September, they never would.

“There aren’t any leads?”

“None so far,” he informed before, “Nat, are you alright?”

My hand had started to massage my right temple before I’d noticed as I tried to sooth the pounding there. “I’m fine. Just a migraine,” I said nonchalantly and my hand dropped limply to my side as I stared at the broken man in front of me. Suddenly it was as though all the years I’d missed had been made up all at once. I held in tears as I reached for Uncle Jack’s hand.

“I’m sorry Uncle Jackson that I didn’t come before. I didn’t know,” the words flowed hurriedly from my mouth desperate and nonsensical. “They hid my letter from me. They wouldn’t let me come.”

His hand twitched in mine, almost a soft squeeze and I dared to hope that he’d wake up. He didn’t. No flickering of the eyes behind closed lids, no groaning or other movement at all to tell me he was awake, that it was anything but a reflex during sleep.

Fulton too stared Uncle Jack’s hand in mine before our eyes met.

“Does Rachael know you’re here?” Just the half second of hesitation was enough to make his eyes harden. “We’ll go call Rachael and let her know you’re here. She must be worried.” When I said nothing, he continued with, “you’re not eighteen yet and she and you father are you guardians. They have a right to know where you are.”

My eyes looked to the floor and I was thirteen years old again

“Fine.”

My cell phone, small as it was, felt heavy in my hand as I pressed the redial button and entered my old room. I closed my eyes against the splash of color on the walls and sighed as her voice came through.

“I’m expecting you’re already in St. Sebastian,” she said, in a strict tone I knew to be her headmistress voice. “How is your uncle?”

“Beaten half to death and maybe paralyzed. I’m glad you’re so concerned.”

It was easier to fight her here in my childhood room where I was adventurous and bold, the bright splattered colors on my plum colored wall giving me strength. I had always fought Rachael before. When had I become so complacent?

She sighed and I felt victorious at her weakening. “I don’t want you to think that I’m not sorry about what’s happened to your uncle. I am. But not everyone is understanding of people like him.”

My left eye twitched simultaneously at those words, people like him.

“Maybe. But not here. St. Sebastian loves uncle Jack and so do I no matter who he chooses to love in his own time. I’m staying until Sheriff Barrett finds any leads.”

“Natalie you are coming home on the next train out, do you here me?”

“No.”

“This isn’t child’s play. Stop being insolent and come home,” she commanded, voice raised.

“I’m not fourteen years old anymore, Rachael. You can’t order me around. You’re not the boss of me.”

“No,” she said, her voice tight with strained control, “but I am your legal guardian and I will drag you back to New York kicking and screaming if I have to.”

“I’d like to see you try,” and then before she could say anything else, I clicked my phone shut, spent from my sudden charge of rebellion.

I deflated onto my bed and let myself relax as my body sank into the plush mattress.

“People like him”. They were the same words she’d said the night she came for me when, in twenty-four hours, everything I had ever known and loved was turned upside-down and sideways.

“Is this what you want for your daughter? Our daughter? To have him pervert her with this kind of behavior. It’s no wonder she’s so filthy having you two raise her,” Rachael’s voice echoed off the same plum colored walls they had four years earlier only this time it was faint, a memory of the aggression she’d had that night when she’d called uncle Jack a faggot and me a whore.

It was the last memory I had of my room from that night when I’d left it four years ago. That and a ghost of an image; a sixteen year old boy, tall for his age, with broad shoulders, dark hair and a narrow waist looking for a girl who’d left without warning, for me who’d vanished without a word.

A/N 2: Hope you liked it. Please please please, I pine, I burn, I perish for some reviews. Just let me know what you think. Any criticism is welcome.

-Bzchilakalak