3. Chapter Three

Rip

I'm groggy and my head is pounding. It takes long moments for me to remember who I am, then even longer moments to recall where I am.

I bought this house, thinking I could lick my wounds and recover from all the blows handed to me by the world, the public, my agent, and my lover. It was delusional, though, to think that painting all day in this secluded cottage would cure my broken heart.

I discovered the secret room and the amulet and then half-heartedly followed the directions. I never really believed a magical talisman could put me into a state of suspended animation until I was awakened by my one true love.

It goes to show how desperate I was. Now that I think of it, I was more crazy than desperate. What was I thinking when I laid down on this bed, placed the pendant necklace over my head, and said the magic words?

I couldn't have been sleeping for more than a few hours, could I? I guess it's time to re-join the living and get on with my life.

Except my joints feel creaky and… shit, my beard almost reaches my navel. I tug on it, wondering if someone played a hell of a prank on me. Damn, this beard, and the hair that reaches almost to my waist, is real.

When the terrified woman with the knife asks who I was expecting, I almost answer, "My true love." I'm completely unglued.

As I parse through all the possibilities of what's happening, the reality seeps in. I have a long beard, a mouth so parched it signals I haven't had a sip of water in a long time, and a woman in the doorway wearing clothes I've never before seen the likes of.

Perhaps I've really slept until I was awakened by my one true love, just as the prophecy foretold.

I don't move for fear she's going to use that carving knife. It doesn't keep me from taking her measure. Fiery red hair cascades past her shoulders. Eyes the color of emeralds glare at me.

She"s average height and build, wearing a clinging shirt that says, "There's no such thing as too many books" and men's blue denim trousers that hug her curves in a shocking fashion.

Her bare feet are delicate against the hardwood floor. Though she looks ready to attack, there"s a captivating beauty to her fierce gaze that draws me in.

I've been sleeping for months, possibly years. The last thing I should focus on is this woman, yet the back of my mind is thrilled, announcing joyously that the prophecy has come to pass.

But reality sets in once more. It's imperative I explain why I'm here in a manner compelling enough that this woman will put down her knife.

"I'm sorry," I say, holding up my hands in surrender. "I don't mean any harm."

"Then why are you here in this…" she gestures with the knife, "in this tiny secret room?"

Swallowing hard, I search for the right words. "A while back, I bought this cottage, hoping to find some peace and quiet. I came across the amulet and followed the instructions, not really believing it would work."

"The amulet?" Her voice is skeptical, but I can see the curiosity in her eyes.

Reaching under my beard, I hold up the swirling orb I've worn around my neck since I took this long nap. It feels heavy in my hand, and, just as I did before I went to sleep, I sense a strange energy emanating from it.

"It was supposed to put me into a state of suspended animation until I was awakened by my true love." I shrug, embarrassed by how pitiful my story must sound.

She looks at me as though I'm crazy. I can't blame her. I'm in a hidden room with a foot-long beard and I'm claiming to have been put to sleep by a magical amulet.

"Look, I don't know how long I've been asleep, but I'm sorry for scaring you. Can you please get me a glass of water and help me figure out what's happening?"

She hesitates for a moment, eyeing me warily, before finally lowering the knife. "Fine. But if you move a muscle, all bets are off."

"You don't have to worry about me leaping at you. I'm so stiff I can barely move."

She stands still, her eyes searching my face as though she's looking for deception. She gives her head a shake and mumbles what sounds like "I can't believe I'm doing this," then turns to leave the room.

Rising to my feet, my body protesting being in one position for so long, I trail behind her as we exit the hidden room. Underneath my beard, my hand tightly clasps the amulet.

Pausing before the fireplace, I indicate a loose brick nestled in the far recesses of the firebox. "It was here that I discovered the amulet."

I unclasp it from around my neck and lift it in her direction. After what appears to be a lengthy internal debate, she stretches out her palm and I place the orb in it. From the way she jumped, perhaps it gave her a little shock. She inspects it with interest as she turns it over.

"What does it do?"

"I'm not sure, but it seems to have put me to sleep for a long time."

She seems fascinated by the swirling purple glass orb.

"It's beautiful." She quickly hands it back to me as though she doesn't want it in her possession for long. "It's still hard for me to accept that magic is… real, but I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt." She swallows hard, her face pinched in worry. "I mean, that's a hell of a beard. It couldn't have grown there overnight."

"I really didn't believe it either, but here I am and I need to figure out what's going on," I admit, feeling lost.

"Agreed. I'm Rose, by the way."

"Rip."

"Okay, Rip, let's start by figuring out how long you've been asleep and why no one knew about this hidden room for all these years. When did you go to sleep?"

I pause. No matter that she already knows I've been in that room a long time, I have a feeling I'm going to shock her.

"1911."

Taking a step back, her eyes widen in surprise. Her hand instinctively rises to cover her mouth, then she removes it as though she doesn't know what to do with her limbs. A fleeting moment of confusion passes over her face as she processes my revelation. Eventually, she regains her composure and strides to the sink to get us both a glass of water.

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around everything. Honestly, I'm not sure if you're the crazy one or if I am for believing you." After forcing a mirthless chuckle, she looks at her half-drunk glass of water and says, "I'm not much for alcohol and all I have is a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream my realtor included in my Thank-You basket, but I think now's the time to break that out, don't you?"

A moment later, we're drinking the sweet liqueur out of juice glasses.

When she's drained hers, she lifts the glass, inspects it, shakes her head, and says, "I don't see what the attraction is. I don't feel better than before I drank it."

Her candor makes me laugh, which breaks the ice.

"I'm kind of disoriented. If you're convinced I'm not an axe murderer, would you feel comfortable if I look around, see if I left anything behind that might help ground me?"

"Go ahead. My knife is still in reach." She gives a lilting laugh, which reminds me that if the prophecy was correct, this beautiful woman is supposedly my one true love. I shake my head. What was I thinking following those magical instructions?

As I comb through the items on the bookshelf, none of which mean anything to me except some of the books, which were mine, she asks, "Is anything coming back to you?"

I scoff. "Everything is coming back. Everything, that is, except why I was fool enough to follow some scribbled instructions on this swirling glass amulet."

"I'm still debating whether I can set this knife down." Her expression is wary.

"Honestly, I don't blame you."

"I'd offer to hop on my Indian to leave you alone, but I have a feeling it's not in the front yard anymore."

"Indian?"

"My Indian motorcycle. Best bike in the world. You haven't seen it around, have you?"

"No."

There's an awkward silence for a moment as she continues to size me up.

"I'll let you stay a moment. We'll figure out what to do with you." When one of the paintings on the wall catches her eye, she asks, You wouldn't happen to know anything about the paintings on the walls, would you?"

"Guilty."

"Guilty of what? Extraordinary talent?"

"And that, Rose?" I tip my head toward the painting on an easel in the corner.

"I should cover it with a sheet. It's like hanging a Paul Schumer next to a room full of Van Goghs."

"Paul Schumer?"

"Exactly. You don't know his name because he had no talent."

"You have talent, Rose. Nothing some practice and further instruction could't improve."

She scowls, but I think she likes my praise. I let it slide as I page through a few books hoping some scrap of paper will flutter out and explain my life choices in a far better way than I can. All the while, I sneak peeks of Rose, who's still sitting at her little kitchen table.

Although she's wary, she laughs easily and seems to be taking this far better than I would if our places were reversed. I develop a sense of connection with this fiery-haired woman, though she parses out fewer facts about her life than I've shared about mine.

The most revealing thing I learn isn't from her words. It's because she's so tight-lipped about her childhood that I presume she has her own secrets.

Years ago, I sought refuge in this place, hoping to leave my past behind. Perhaps she, too, is here for the same reason. Intently, I pay attention to the sparse fragments she shares, isolated tales that carefully avoid disclosing anything personal.

Still, I feel a kinship with her. We laugh and joke as we try to unravel the mystery of my long slumber.

I don't understand much about the arcane secrets of the amulet except for one thing. It kept me alive until I found Rose.

She's my one true love. My body shivers at the thought. I'm at sea right now, my emotions and body trying to catch up with the fact I've slept for a long time, but I know one thing with startling clarity and conviction. I defied time to be with this woman.