No Place Like Home

                 An Important Notice to Readers...

     Although this fiction blog is illustrated with photos of dolls, and dollhouse miniatures, the language and content of the storyline is intended for an adult audience.  Please be advised.

Thank You,

The Author

Kevin and Ted pick up where they left off

         He'd been home less than an hour, Patrick safely on his way back to Boston, when she came bursting through the door, out of breath and red faced, the ankle bandage unwrapped and trailing behind her like a tail on a kite.

       "Kevin!  It's me!  I'm back!"  She threw herself into his arms, half weeping, half laughing, wrapping arms around him with total abandon.  "I'm me again...really me...Oh thank you, Jesus!"

       It took a nano-second or two for the realization to sink in.  This was his sister.  This was Maureen. Truly back in the body she was born with, and no longer sharing head space with Rachel Revere. He hugged her back, the two of them dancing around the rectory parlor with total abandon, celebrating the oddest of family reunions, until both remembered the ordeal was far from over.

         "The others?  Ted and Roxanne?  Have they traveled back?"

          She shook her head, anxiety replacing the joy of the moment.  "No.  Ted sent me first.  Said he wasn't going anywhere until he knew I was safe and sound in my own body.  They were going to set their spell as soon as he was sure I'd made it back."  She grabbed at the end of his jacket, wringing the linen in her hands as she spoke.  "What if they don't make it, Kev?  What if the spell doesn't work, and there stuck back in time?"

           The same thought was running through his head as well.  He was no expert on fey magic, but was pretty sure it didn't come with guarantees.  It was the last thing she wanted to hear, and so he did his best to remain optimistic.  "We have to have faith, Mo.  Beckett seems to make things happen.  They'll be here shortly, all in one piece. I'm sure of it."

           "You don't understand, Kev.  Roxanne was hurt when I left.  Shot by a red coat soldier.  She looked pretty awful. What if..."

           The news hit him in the gut, knocking the wind out of any attempt to pacify his sister.  "Shot?  Damn it, Maureen!  Beckett promised me there'd be no blood shed!  No change in the time line!  How   the hell did he let this happen?"

           She pulled away from him, moving from fear to anger.  "Don't you dare blame my husband for this, Kevin O'Kenney!  He and Roxie risked their lives to save me!  It just happened.  It was no one's fault.  Those were dangerous times in American history.  You have no idea what it's like...trapped in some weird body, some time not your own.  It's like living a nightmare!"

        Fr. Kevin wanted to counter the argument.  Explain to her that he knew exactly how it felt.  But a change in the room suddenly put an end to the discussion.  The air around them seemed to thicken like fog that wasn't there, and the hair on their arms and head rose in static electricity.  There was the acrid smell of something burning, the odor reminding him of the times he and his father would burn fallen leaves in autumn, and the temperature in the room rose several degrees despite the air conditioning running at full blast.

          From nowhere in particular, Beckett just appeared, landing on the parlor rug in front of the fireplace with a thump.  He was unconscious, but a quick check of his pulse revealed he was alive and well.  Before they could further attend to him, there was a flash of light, and Roxanne materialized, unconscious as well, her complexion a chalky gray color, her lips an unnatural shade of purple. For a second, Fr. Kevin couldn't move, stunned by her awful appearance, thinking, but not wanting to believe, she had slipped the bonds of earthly life. It was Maureen who sprang into action, checking her pulse, and tucking a few sofa pillows under her legs to raise her feet.

           "Kevin...run upstairs and grab a blanket off the bed.  She's colder than ice.  We need to warm her up.  I think she's in shock."

             He did as asked, racing up the stairs, mouthing a hundred prayers for the girl he'd loved but couldn't have, making countless deals with God on her behalf.  He pulled the blanket off his bed and charged down the stairs, almost tripping and falling as the ends tangled about his feet.  He knelt next to Roxanne as Mo tucked the blanket around her, grabbing a limp hand in his, willing her to live.
She was breathing, but each puff of air was labored and raspy.

            "We need to call an ambulance, Maureen!  She's in bad shape."

            Still flat on his back, it was Ted who answered.  "No ambulance.  Too many questions."

           Even half conscious, Beckett was still calling the shots, and his self-appointed leadership rankled Kevin.  "Don't be ridiculous, Ted.  She's seriously injured.  We need to do something, and we need to do it now!"

            Beckett pulled himself up to a sitting position, leaning his back against the fireplace.  "I'll handle it, Kevin.  Trust me on this.  There's no way we can explain an eighteenth century musket ball in her chest to the authorities.  You'll rain all kinds of trouble down on us.  Get me my cell phone."

            Fr. Kevin tore himself away from Roxanne, trying to remember a time he hated the man more, and failing.  He rummaged through the desk drawer for the cell phone Ted had given him for safe keeping before he left, and tossed it towards his brother-in-law.   "If she dies, Beckett, I'm holding you responsible."

           Ted narrowed his eyes.  "Is that a threat, O'Kenney?  Because I'm not really fond of threats."

           He had a million answers for the man, a litany of things he needed to say to the self-important bastard.  But for that moment, he never got the chance.  There was a rumble in the room, a small flash of light, and the appearance of yet another male body, this one also unconscious, and like the others, dressed in the attire of colonial Boston.  There was dead silence in the room.  Maureen looked to her husband, and put a hand to her forehead, and even Beckett seemed caught off guard with nothing to say.

            Fr. Kevin looked at them both, shock and anger reigning.  "Okay...which one of you wants to explain to me why there's an extra person lying on the floor of my parlor?"

__________________________

         The next three hours was a circus, confusion and disbelief being the main attractions under the Big Top that Holy Family rectory had become.  As he claimed, Beckett was able to take care of Roxanne's medical needs.  Who he called, where they came from, Kevin didn't know.  But a whole team of medical personnel quickly descended upon his home, whisking Roxanne to the bedroom, and setting up an impromptu surgical unit.  They spoke to no one except Ted, and when they finished their work, left silently in the same manner they arrived, leaving behind a single nurse to monitor her recovery.

           Crazy as it seemed, Roxanne's injuries were the easiest problem to fix.  As it was explained to him, the young man on the floor was one Ian Sawyer, a colonial Patriot and neighbor to the Revere's, who had accidentally been caught up in the spell Beckett and Roxanne had used to return home.  Once again, the how and whys of things had been conveniently left out, and Fr. Kevin could get no solid explanations on how Mr. Sawyer had gotten involved in the first place.

            Truth be told, the gentleman had awoken on the floor of the rectory in a state of complete terror and confusion, and it was nearly impossible to feel anything but pity for him.  He seemed to have recognition of only Ted, though he repeatedly asked about the condition of 'his' Miss Roxanne.  The man's use of the possessive pronoun regarding Roxie raised questions in Fr. Kevin's mind, but it seemed he'd have to wait to get clarification on a number of issues, as Ian was in no shape to be interrogated.  He had not managed the side effects of fey magic as well as Ted or Maureen, and was still shaky on his feet, dizzy and nauseous, hours after his arrival.

        The three of them had taken turns trying to explain to the poor man all that had transpired, and he was, understandably, disbelieving and panicked of the whole idea.  It took a copy of the day's newspaper, the date boldly printed at the top of the page, for him to even begin to wrap his head around the fact that he had traveled nearly 250 years into the future.  Afterwards, he spent the next twenty minutes throwing up into a bucket, until exhausted, he fell asleep on the rectory sofa.

         With both Roxanne and Mr. Sawyer attended to and resting comfortably,  Fr. Kevin stated the obvious.  "You know he can't stay here.  Here in the future.  He has to go back."

          "Uhhh...yeah...no shit Sherlock.  It's not like we planned for this to happen, O'Kenney.  He came out of nowhere.  We were in the middle of the incantation, and he just...well...dived at us.  Apparently the contact was enough to send him along with Roxanne and I.  It suppose it's lucky he ended up here, and not lost in time some where, all by his lonesome."

          "Lucky?  Not lucky at all.  Now he's our problem."

           Maureen, who had been unusually silent since her return, gave him a punch to the upper arm.  "What a rotten thing to say, Kevin.  Ian is a vey nice man.  He just wanted to help us.  If it weren't for him, well...we'd probably not have gotten home as quickly as we did.  It was his idea to hide us in the barrels.  He took enormous risks transporting us to the travel site.  And in return, you wished he'd be lost someplace in time, all alone?  I'm surprised at you, Kev.  Where's your sense of gratitude and compassion."

            She was right, of course.  He owed the strange man from 1775 a debt of gratitude he probably couldn't pay back.  But she was surely missing the point.  Ian Sawyer had a destiny in his own time.  By taking him out of that life, they had altered the time line of events to come, a ripple effect they couldn't even begin to imagine.  "I'm sorry, Mo.  I don't mean to sound harsh, but you have to realize the damage that's been done.  We have to figure out how to get him back...the sooner the better."  He looked at Ted, who sat in an armchair, head back, eyes closed, seemingly unbothered by the whole
catastrophe.  "You...Black Knight...Mr. "I'm in Charge of the Whole Damn Universe"...got any ideas?"

              He opened one eye, and then closed it again.  "No, Fr. Obvious, I do not know how to send him back.  You people seem to attract all this supernatural bullshit.  It was your damn watch that started this whole mess.  You figure it out."

             The snappy comeback never left his lips.  The lights in the room dimmed, and there was the over powering smell of roses, cloying sweet and somehow dangerous.  She appeared without much fan fare, simply making herself known in her favorite spot on the fireplace mantle, her anger a living thing of its own.  One minute Beckett was sitting in the chair, the next minute he was on his knees in front of the fireplace, unable to move a single muscle.  He and Maureen found themselves in similar positions, stuck to their seats in fairy rigor mortis, and for once, he was content to let Beckett do all the talking.

              "I see you have returned, Ridre Dubh, your beautiful bride along with you.  Now explain to She Who Is All, the damage you've done."

He's got some explaining to do

Copyright Victoria T. Rocus 2015
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