The wanderer, p.26
The Wanderer, page 26
Phillip chuckled. “You’re kidding. Let me see.” They handed over their results and sure enough, both of them were destined for the 1820s.
“At first I thought I ran Greg’s DNA twice. Their match was uncanny …” Lachrisha said with a smile but as soon as she looked at Lizzy, it vanished. She held two sets of results in her hands. One for Roy and one for her.
Phillip looked at Paul and Greg, his brow creased in concentration. “Perhaps there’s a reason you’re both destined for that era. If I were you two, I’d organize a location and time to meet.”
“A Pro Praeteritis Manor Reunion?” Greg smiled at the idea.
“If you want to call it that. Sure.”
Greg gestured to Susanna who was sitting very upright in her seat and looking proud as punch.
“She’s slightly ahead of us. What’s ya decade again?”
“Eighteen Tens,” Susanna replied sharply.
“Want to attend the reunion in ten years time? Class of 2019 but 190 years in the past.”
“I couldn’t think of anything worse.”
Angus chipped in about attending when he would be 75 years old. That was if he survived the Battle of Culloden. He was ecstatic at the thought of finally using his sword, which brought everyone to discuss his or her weapons and skills. Everything was making sense to them now. Lizzy saw it on their faces. They knew who they were truly meant to be. But she still had no idea. Her future was written on a piece of paper and she doubted she would be as thrilled as the others. A wave of envy came over her. They had been cast as their favorite part, the role of their dreams, while she was just a chorus girl in the background—spiteful that she hadn’t made the cut to be a lead. Not even sure she wanted to be in the damn play.
“Phillip, can I have a word?” Lachrisha looked concerned.
She led him over to the kitchen, away from everyone. Her expression changed, something was distressing her. She leaned into Phillip’s ear and Lizzy wondered what she was telling him. Phillip shook his head and he snatched the results from her hand. He scanned the piece of paper then looked up at Lizzy. Both of them looked at her. Why did she feel so uneasy? Suddenly, he scrunched the paper up and cursed.
Something was wrong.
Lachrisha tried to console him but he pulled away. She looked baffled. Lost for words. Phillip couldn’t stop looking at Lizzy. But she noticed it was a look of sorrow, the kind of look you give to a sick puppy that has to be put down. She was too afraid to go over there. Her heart sank as she lip-read Lachrisha saying to Phillip, “I’m sorry.” Eventually, Phillip strode toward Lizzy. He didn’t say anything but just guided her away from the others. The three of them walked down the hall and into his room.
“Is it bad?” Lizzy asked.
Lachrisha looked at Phillip.
“Is there something wrong with me? Am I dying?”
“You’re not dying,” she said gently.
“What’s wrong then?”
Phillip took a deep breath but couldn’t bring himself to tell her.
“I need to know. Do I belong in a bad time or something?”
“Your DNA has no match to a time. It’s all over the place and is impossible to pinpoint,” said Lachrisha. “I ran it again and again and it still failed to secure a period. There’s only one explanation, despite it being statistically impossible.”
“What’s the explanation then?”
Phillip looked at Lizzy like she was a sick puppy again.
“What’s wrong? What am I!”
“You’re a Wanderer.”
A what?
“What does that mean? Where do I belong then?”
Lachrisha went to answer then closed her mouth.
“You said this DNA test would tell us …” Lizzy searched for a clue from her but she just stood there. “Why is this a problem? Am I like Li Jing and Xeno or something?”
Phillip shook his head. “No, you’re different.”
She was getting frustrated now. “We’re all different! What the hell is a Wanderer!”
“Shh!” Lachrisha interrupted Lizzy with a whisper. “Don’t say it so loudly.” She looked over her shoulder, even though the door was closed. “You have a lot to teach her,” she snapped at Phillip.
“Hey! I’m right here.”
Phillip told Lachrisha to go wait outside. He took Lizzy’s hands and sat her down on the bed beside him. He traced his fingertips along her cheek and marveled at her. “How did I not see the signs?”
She remained motionless under his touch.
“You tried telling me over and over again but I just ignored it. You picked up every skill flawlessly, couldn’t choose a weapon and no time in history fazes you. It was right there in front of me and I never saw it.”
“Please tell me what this means.”
He sunk his head into his hands.
“I never thought I would ever have to explain this to anyone else.” He let out a nervous laugh. “Where to begin? Okay …” he cleared his throat. “You belong in more than one time but not like Li Jing and Xeno … A Wanderer is … different. They belong nowhere and everywhere.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
Phillip grined. “You’re a glass half full kind of girl, aren’t you? I see it as being essentially homeless.”
“So, does this mean I can leap through any time in history?”
He was shocked by Lizzy’s excitement. “Well, yes but you can’t just wish yourself to 1965 to see The Beatles live at Shea Stadium then be back in time for tea. It doesn’t work like that and it would take a lot of practice to do something—”
“But it can be done?”
“Lizzy, please … your enthusiasm is scaring me. We try and prepare Time Keepers for when they time leap to that one destination, a Wanderer will never be prepared. You’re susceptible to any time. You never know where you’re going to be thrown next. It’s exhausting … it’s terrifying.”
“You speak about it as if from experience,” she replied faintly.
Phillip ran his hands through his hair, “It’s because I have … experienced it.”
“Wait. So, that makes you ...?“
He nodded.
“And these people that are after you? It’s because you’re a—”
He nodded again. “That glass isn’t looking so full now, huh?”
“But why?” she asked. “What makes us targets?”
“Imagine if you were taken hostage by some of the worst people in history? Pol Pot, Stalin or Vlad the Impaler. What do you think these people or their supporters would use you for? How do you think World War Two would have ended if Hitler had the atomic bomb? Or a cult follower, set on decimating the world’s population, kills Alexander Fleming, the creator of the first antibiotic?”
She took a deep swallow.
“Do you see how you can be used? Why it’s imperative to keep your identity, your ammunition a secret?”
Lizzy pictured being forced to do the unthinkable. Forced to kill, forced to mutilate. Used as a pawn to destroy …
“Elizabeth! Do you understand?”
She nodded, her chin quivering.
“If what you can do falls into the wrong hands, you’re at best a curiosity but at worst …”
“I’m a massacre …” she whispered.
Phillip tucked her under his arms and Lizzy felt her hands begin to shake. She was too scared to ask, but she knew she had to. “Have you changed the course of history? Have you … accidently …”
Phillip turned away.
His head hung low and his hands fell into his lap. He stared at them and suddenly he began to shudder. Tears fell into his palms and he squeezed them into fists.
“Phillip?”
“Don’t touch me! Don’t even look at me.” He moved off the bed and faced the wall.
“I have to live with what I’ve done. Every day.” He rested his head against the wall then turned to face Lizzy. “They may be able to make me a monster, but not you … I won’t let them.”
“You’re not a monster, Phillip.”
He looked at her with swelled eyes. The tears made his irises explode with color and Lizzy was swept away by them.
“You don’t know what I’ve done.”
Is this what has been torturing him? What evil has he faced to force him to do such a thing, she wondered. Instinctively, Lizzy reached for his shirt and pulled it up over his back before he had time to stop her. She gasped at the sight. The twisted raw flesh on his shoulder continued over his back. It was completely covered in burns and horrific to see.
“Phillip,” Lizzy whispered, “who did this to you?” Her fingered touched the mutilated flesh. Like a thickly painted canvas, the texture of his skin was rough and taut.
“That’s what I am, a distorted mess.”
“How did this happen?” Her voice choked back tears. “You didn’t do this to yourself, did you?”
He spun around and took her hand. “Not really.”
“What do you mean?”
“The alternative was much worse.”
“Oh, Phillip …” Lizzy embraced him and let her tears ruin his shirt. “I don’t know if you’re running from these ‘people’ or yourself, but you have to believe me when I say you are good. You care about people. You will stop at nothing to protect those you care about.”
Phillip seemed to calm at her touch. He took a deep breath and rested his chin on Lizzy’s head.
“I care about you. God, if anything happens …” he couldn’t finish his sentence. “This time will be different. You’ll be ready and you won’t follow my mistakes. I’ll make sure of it.”
Lizzy awoke the next day to the smell of pancakes. Phillip was in the kitchen cooking breakfast but everyone was still sleeping.
“What’s all this?” she asked and jumped on the counter beside him where he was cooking. He spied her short pyjamas and cleared his throat.
“Do you mind?” He turned to the cupboards and begun looking for something.
“Why the big breakfast?” She noticed the condiments laid out on the table—cream, jam, lemon and sugar, confetti sprinkles. “You’re putting in a lot of effort. Is there a reason?”
“Yesterday you all began the next chapter of the rest of your lives. You know what life has in store for you and not everyone has this opportunity. That’s cause to celebrate.” He got back to searching for whatever he was looking for. Phillip’s attitude was a stark contrast from yesterday. But Lizzy wasn’t going to bring him down. His chipper mood was a pleasant surprise.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“I’m looking for the spatula. What drawer is it in?”
Lizzy gestured under her legs, “This one.”
“Could you please move?” Phillip placed a firm hand on her knee and rubbed his thumb on the inside of her thigh.
“Sure.” She slowly spread her legs apart and he bite his lip with adorable fluster.
“Please. I need to finish making breakfast,” he grumbled. “Just put on something that actually covers you.”
Lizzy leaped off the counter, fetched the spatula and pointed it at him. “Quick question.”
“It better be because these pancakes are burning.”
“What do I say to the others? Can I tell them—”
Phillip’s eyes turned dark. “No one,” he said firmly.
“What about Xeno?”
He snatched the spatula from her, “Like I said, no one.”
“Okay,” Lizzy said faintly, “no one.” She could tell she had killed the mood so she agreed to leave him in peace while she changed.
“Wait,” he called out. “You and I have a big day today …”
Lizzy arched an eyebrow.
“You’ll notice I have something on the table for you.”
Sure enough, in a small jug was the familiar hazelnut smell of chocolate dipping sauce.
“Phillip Desmond, you know me too well.”
The corner of his mouth curled, “I have a feeling you might hate me later on so I’m doing what I can to grovel.”
“I don’t think hating you is possible.”
“Good. I placed another gift for you … under the bed.”
Lizzy bounded up the stairs and into her room. Sure enough, under the bed was a white box with a red ribbon. With twitching fingers, Lizzy lifted the lid and her heart sunk. Brand new, and only the finest pair of leather gloves, jodhpurs, a jacket and a polo. Horseback riding gear.
“Phillip, I hate you!”
Lizzy hardly ate anything thing at breakfast. She knew what was coming and it made her feel nauseated. Nor did she respond when the others asked her what her results were. Her eyes locked onto Phillip’s.
“Lizzy’s was hard to identify. She belongs somewhere in the ’70s or ’80s.”
She cocked her head to the side but Phillip ignored her and took a sip of coffee.
“Huh. I didn’t really see yer in that settin’,” piped Angus, wolfing down the last of his pancake.
“I’m a big supporter of the radical feminist movement,” Lizzy replied. “I believe in speaking out about women being forced to remain silent and obedient to male leaders.”
Phillip choked on his coffee.
“Aye … good luck to yer cause.” Angus saluted Lizzy with his glass of juice.
Everyone cleared their dishes and Lizzy remained with arms crossed at the end of the table.
“Alright my little Betty Friedman, time to get changed.”
“Don’t you dare patronize me,” she growled at Phillip. “There’s no way I’m riding that animal.”
“Suit yourself.” Suddenly, he pulled her from the chair and swung her over his shoulder.
“Phillip!” Lizzy thudded and kicked as hard as she could but he was unfazed. “Put me down now!” He carried Lizzy up to her bedroom, flopped her on the bed and demanded that she change.
“You’re not leaving this room until you’re ready.”
“Just wait until I time leap. I’ll be far away from you then.”
Phillip frowned. “Don’t you understand? I’m doing this for your own good. You need to learn how to ride.”
“And you need to learn to respect a person’s autonomy,” Lizzy shouted up at him.
“No one will give a shit about a woman’s autonomy in the seventeenth century or any time prior. You’re talking about these values as if they’re inherent.”
Lizzy pushed herself off the bed, “There you go again! Speaking like an archaic sexist!”
“That’s society. Sorry if it hurts but I’m just trying to make you prepared for it.”
“Your preparation is trivial. You teach us to ‘blend in,’ refrain from making a change—well maybe we can do something about it—”
Phillip’s eyes grew wide with rage “You can’t just waltz into history and spearhead a revolution! God, you have so much to learn.”
“The day I wanted to leave Pro Manor, you told me we could make a difference. You said we could be the change—”
“Yeah, well …” he hesitated, “I lied.”
They stared each other down. Finally he broke contact and looked out the window.
“I sugar coated it … to make you stay. I’m sorry. While we can tweak history, sometimes it has to take a certain course. And sometimes, it doesn’t matter what you try to change. I learned that the hard way.”
Lizzy thought about Phillip’s tortured back. Everything he was doing was for her own protection—he knew what it was like. The least she could do was try.
“Are you sure those jodhpurs are my size?”
Phillip turned around and smiled.
“I’ll meet you at the stables.”
The dirt path seemed to wobble beneath Lizzy. This couldn’t be happening, she thought. The only thing preventing her from bolting the other way was seeing Phillip, looking undeniably attractive in his riding pants and boots. He stood beside the dark horse, holding its reins.
“You know there’s a name for your fear,” he called out. The horse threw its head in the air and Lizzy flinched back. “Hippophobia.”
She stopped to catch her breath. “That’s great. You know, there’s a name for you too … psychopath.” Lizzy ensured there was enough space between the animal and her, ten feet at least.
“Step one is ensuring the horse has confidence in you.”
Flashbacks from Lizzy’s novice riding days hit her. She remembered this lesson when she first started riding, but she liked Phillip in lecture mode so she let him finish, pretending this was new information.
He stroked the beast’s nose and it relaxed immediately.
“If the horse has more confidence in you, it sees you as a leader, if it sees you as a leader, then you have more confidence. See the circle?” Phillip ran his hands over its neck. He was firm but not dominating. It trusted him completely.
“The horse needs to see and hear from its leader, the same thing we want from our horse. They want calm, focus and good direction.”
Lizzy nodded and took a step closer but noticed its ears were pinned back, before it swung its muzzle in the air and curled its upper lip.
“It’s okay. He’s just examining your scent. You’re causing him stress.”
“I’m causing him stress?” Tenebris began pawing the ground and Lizzy backed away. It was all too familiar.
Phillip laughed, “He wants you to hurry up and ride him.”
“Sorry Tenebris, but the feeling isn’t mutual.”
His pawing turned into excessive stomping and Lizzy crouched into a ball, knowing full well her position wouldn’t help her.
“You’re annoying him, Elizabeth. Just get over here.”
“Please can I have a moment to adjust my mental state? You don’t know what happened the last time I rode a horse.”
“Lizzy—” Phillip said softly, “—I know you can ride. In fact, you were an amazing rider, well beyond your age category. By nine, you were already competing in the Equistrian Medal Class but you stopped competing after the accident. Your horse bucked you off before you properly prepared for your jump and he would have stomped you if it weren’t for your quick reflexes, which by the way, were impressive. You should have been put right back on the horse but your mother stopped your lessons, which didn’t help. She was in the audience and nearly witnessed her only daughter being trampled so who can blame her.”
