chapter 3

A t least "toilet" was basically the same in most languages.

In my best mouse impression, I rushed towards the toilettes sign at the back of the nearly empty pub. The bartender and a few men that were huddled around the bar were too immersed in whatever story to notice the embodiment of distress running past.

To my relief, the restroom was unoccupied, and the door had a deadbolt.

It wasn't the freshest bathroom, but it was private and, for the moment, somewhere that I could clean up and think.

Even though my foot was still furious from the abuse it had endured during the night, I lunged at the sink.

The cold water stung my hands as the red stains swirled down the drain. The water pressure was low and the water freezing, but I was thankful for the indoor plumbing.

I got my foot into the basin, ignoring the blaring bruise on my hip as it stretched. My teeth gnashed together through the pain as the cold water bit at the wound I hoped wasn't infected already.

Every pass of soap erased a little more evidence of the night's terror. Visibly, at least. Until I looked in the mirror and saw the evidence across my face. I thought maybe for a moment, it was a dream.

The sight of my homemade mask and perfect wings seemed so silly now.

What hadn't rubbed off on the Basement Angel's shirt, dried into the cracks of the custom design. Red splotches stained where my mask didn't cover. I looked like the final girl in every horror movie you'd ever seen.

I ripped the mask off and dove into my hands, scrubbing until my skin hurt and the water ran clear.

No more perfect wings.

No stupid romanticized theater night.

No more Mom and Sarah.

But no matter how many times my hands passed over my face or through my hair, it wouldn't wash away the monster's eyes that stared into mine until life left them.

You couldn't wash that kind of memory away.

"It was self-defense," I whispered, over and over. Even though it was true, it didn't make it any easier to digest.

The spiraling thoughts were catching up again. I stumbled back against the wall and slid to the floor. "What's happening? Where am I?"

My arms crossed my midsection, and I rocked back and forth wishing for home. But of course, when I opened my eyes, I was still fucking there, in that bathroom, crying on the floor.

A partially crumbled newspaper laid at my feet, obviously meant for the trash. I wiped the fear from my face and reached for it.

The moment I unraveled it, my throat closed. What I hoped wouldn't be confirmed, stared back at me.

17th Janvier 1880.

"January 17th 1880."

Frantically, I pulled the trash bin down, not caring what else had been tossed inside. Papers and alike rolled onto the ground. I grabbed the first one I saw and unfolded it. 14th Janvier 1880.

"No... No... No. No. No."

One after the other, a similar date was printed.

The room spun and I couldn't keep up with it. How could I be where these papers said I was?

In the same moment, the doorknob twisted and rattled. " Sors de là maintenant! " A man yelled through the door as he continued his attempts to get inside.

My body leapt with every heavy knock. Further into the wall, I tried to melt. Just a few more minutes, please.

The pounding on the door doubled when another voice joined in the shouting. I knew I couldn't stay in this room forever, especially with my fucking foot bleeding out like the end of a SAW movie. But there was no other way out.

My knees came up as far as they could go. I closed my eyes and covered my ears. Trying to focus on anything but this.

The faint smell of the Basement Angel still lingered. I concentrated harder, trying to hold the memory of false safety. Even trying to fall back into the camping memory it brought on. Nothing worked.

The possibility of this ending badly was very high, and I was here wishing I had never left a stranger's arms on the off chance he wasn't an awful person like everyone else seemed to be.

I'm fucking manic.

Then the pounding stopped. The sudden silence left me even more uneasy as I sat and listened for signs of life. But none came.

Cautiously, I uncoiled my body and reluctantly pulled myself from the floor.

Every bit of me trembled as I walked to the door. Had they given up? Or had they gone to get some help?

The pulsing in my ears grew louder when I pressed it against the wood. I waited for something to tell me that someone was right outside, or that they were still nearby.

Nothing.

The stinging in my foot begged for relief again, and the voice in my head told me how stupid I was for wanting to leave the safety of the restroom.

It felt like a trap. A too-good-to-be-true moment. I unlatched the door anyway. I couldn't stay.

The creaking from the hinges might as well have been a tornado siren, alerting everyone I was coming out. But I was greeted by an empty space.

I had almost wished there was someone waiting. It was eerie.

I stuck my head out just enough to scan the room and found it empty. Even the bartender was gone.

There was a man at the far end of the bar, but he didn't seem focused on me, and kept his head beneath the brim of a hat.

I took the bit of luck presented to me and slipped out through a backdoor not too far from where I was.

***

The eyes of every passerby burned with disgust for me. I supposed I looked strange. Bare-footed and dressed sort of like a lady of the night for their time. Which my brain still couldn't wrap around.

Their time.

1880… Paris. 1880…

That at least explained the gibberish. It was French.

How was this even possible? Was it even real? It sure as shit felt real.

My mind was an unrelenting whirlwind of thoughts. What should I do? Where do I go? I wouldn't even fathom trying for a hotel. With no means to pay for it, they'd run me away.

My bottom lip quivered from the cold and the attempt to hold back the dam of emotions as I stared at a row of garbage bins in an alley.

The smell was awful, more potent than the city overall. But the exhaustion was worse than any smell. I sort of wished I remembered the way back to the place underground. At least no one would find me there.

Well, almost no one.

Nearly collapsing, I hit the ground too tired to even care that I was sleeping behind trash cans. My arms wrapped around myself, and my legs curled up. I sobbed as silently as I could while I clamped my eyes shut.

Everything played on a loop. From the beautiful night with my family, to killing the cop, and being "saved" by the man below the city.

I worried for Mom and Sarah. Especially Mom. What did they think happened to me? Did they even know? Or did something happen to them, too?

Finally, the weight of the Sandman's blanket began to take effect. Any thoughts softened and fell away, and I sank further into the ground as the surrounding cold didn't feel so bad anymore.

" ?a va, ma chérie? " a woman's voice snuck through.

My eyes snapped open, and I jerked away from the older woman standing over me.

" Chérie? " she asked, stretching her hand out. " Tu peux venir avec nous. "

I froze, going back and forth between her and the elderly man she was with.

" Viens? " she said. Gesturing towards herself and her companion.

"No fran?ais, " I answered. Really hoping that's how you said ‘no French'.

Her brows knitted and a pitiful smile crossed her face. "English?"

I nodded, almost like I wasn't even sure.

The man pulled her back and said something as he looked around, like he was afraid someone would see them.

She cut him off and returned her attention to me. "Come," she said. "Stay."

After watching too many crime shows, and being well aware of the historical mistreatment of women, I was naturally hesitant and stayed put. "No money," I said.

The man snapped more things at her I couldn't catch. She shushed him again and reached back out. " S'il te pla?t. Please."

What were the odds this was a random act of kindness? What other options did I have, though? Maybe not get murdered by an old couple.

I removed my favorite dress up accessory, a fake diamond necklace I only wore a few times, and handed it to her, " Faux. "

She looked at the jewelry and nodded. With the same pitiful smile she started with, the woman took my hand and helped me to my feet.

" Je m'appelle, Antoinette," she said. Then pointed to the man. "Old Louis."

"Melody," I replied.

"Come, Melody," she said, and led me away.

***

Relief washed over me when we entered the small lobby of H?tel des Anges.

I still wasn't sure this wasn't some trick or something. The idea of there being good people here baffled me. Since everyone's been pretty awful.

Mostly everyone.

The couple left me standing on a rug in the middle of the lobby. My foot was finally numb. Which I was sure wasn't actually a good sign. But a relief, nonetheless.

Louis sat down in a nearby chair. The light from the simple hanging fixture bounced off the skin of his head as he hunched over and reached for a paper on the table.

The place was small, but nice. A little worn down from the years, maybe a little outdated too, but well kept.

Then again, I guess I couldn't be sure what was outdated here.

" Sept nuits ," Antoinette said, holding up seven fingers and a room key.

"Seven nights?" I asked, asked, feeling a spark of hope. Something in her wrinkled smile reassured me I was safe for now. Hopefully, I wouldn't need that much time, though.

After signing the ledger, Antoinette led me up the stairway. My guard still hadn't dropped, but I was so tired, and it was slipping.

At least the bathroom was cleaner than the one I had washed up in earlier. She sat me on a bench near a small metal bathtub, which didn't look like it got much use.

She knelt down with a fresh pot of water she had filled in the sink and lifted my foot into it.

"It's ok. I can do that," I said, trying to stop her.

Antoinette pushed my hands away, saying something I for sure didn't understand, and continued cleaning the area around the gash.

The water was chilly like before, but the pain felt different. Almost good.

We didn't try talking while she tended my wound. Which was good, since my mind fazed in and out, replaying every moment since I had stepped out of that stupid bathroom and into this place. And kept going back to the man below.

Why did he sound concerned? And in English? I had to be remembering that part wrong.

It was probably best that I couldn't tell anyone about my situation anyway. They wouldn't believe me. And who wanted to be thrown into an asylum in the 1800s? Or any year.

Whatever this was, I was here, in France. In the past? Like a rift in time? An alternate universe? A hallucination given to me by the aliens who abducted me?

To be honest, that last one probably made the most sense.

In any case, I was somewhere I didn't belong.

Pain zapped through my foot, ripping me from the rabbit hole my imagination was taking me down.

Freshly bandaged and cleaned up, I was shown my tiny room. A twin-size bed, loveseat and table with a chair. Simple. Everything anyone could want and more. I don't think I've ever felt so thankful in my life and still so scared.

" Thank you ," I said. At least I knew that much French.

Her eyes were sad as she stared. Like she knew everything already. Honestly, I probably still had it written all over my face.

" Bed"à demain ," she said. "Tomorrow."

I locked the door behind her and limped to the bed. It wasn't the most comfortable mattress, but anything was better than the cold ground behind trash cans in an alley.

The moon glowed through the window near the bed. It had to be late. The streets were bare, at least from where I could see, and it was a clear, beautiful, quiet night.

I hated the quiet.

At any point in my day, there was always some sort of noise. Music. Movies. Talking. A small escape from my reality. I needed some of that now. Anything to dull my mind for a moment.

Memory smacked me when I realized I still had my phone, and intact to my surprise!

As it powered up, the message alerts sounded. I ignored them and opened my phone book without hesitation.

The signal bars were an "x". It was futile, but I called Sarah anyway, because Mom never answered the phone.

Incomplete call.

I tried again… a few more times before I was finally defeated and thumbed over to the unread messages from Sarah.

I couldn't help but chuckle at Sarah's texts. Poor girl had to deal with Mom now.

There was another from my friend, Brady, that had me wishing I could actually laugh.

Knowing it wouldn't actually reach him, I texted Brady back anyway just to torture myself.

In a last stitch of effort to find something to ease the situation, I opened the YouTube Music app and scrolled through my downloaded favorites filled with artists like Pink. Cher. Nickelback. Blink 182. Reba McEntire. Etc.

My current repeat was Waiting For The Night cover by GHOST. But not even that sounded good.

Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven was always my go to when I needed peace. And if ever there was a time, this was it.

I stared out the window, trying to get lost in the stars above as the tension slowly disappeared. Wishing on them like I did when I was a little girl. I never believed in magic or whatever, but if I was really where I was, then maybe wishing on a star could reverse it? Stupid.

Tomorrow, I'd have to figure out how to get home. Where would I even start? Could I even get home? Should I find work until then? A place to stay?

Sarah wasn't going to be able to handle Mom for long.

The tension in my shoulders returned and my lids closed as the migraine clawed its way in.

A few hours ago I was having the time of my life for the first time in a long time, and then it turned into a literal nightmare. And I was alone.

For some reason, the man from the catacombs entered my mind again. I wondered what he thought about our encounter? It must have been so terrifying for him too. Then again, he was the one hiding. I can't imagine he was down there for anything good. Hell, he could have been some Jack the Ripper type. Jacque ze Ripper ‘cause we're in France, and was hiding bodies or something. The blood on his shirt might not have even been from me.

Ugh. I didn't want to think about any of it anymore. I made light of it all, but the truth is, I was petrified.

When I said I needed some magic in my life, this was not what I meant.