Darque Wants (59 page)

*****

Dorian

Morning of October 31, 1881 – Durango, Colorado

              Today is the day. Today I will test my invention. It is a masterpiece my father started building when I was a boy and I have only just discovered the missing piece to make it run. I am saddened that he will not be here to witness the miracle of time travel. That is, assuming it works.

The machine itself is not grand, but compact with a single data input point that allows for a specific set of parameters to be entered. These parameters, in theory, will narrow the specimen selection to the desired traits. The base of the machine is circular and large enough to hold two adults standing side by side. The rotating sphere-shaped frame encloses the platform and prepares the space for the specimen.

The missing link that my father could never figure out was how to convert the steam we had to actually power the machine. Other steam-powered machines need to power motors and since our motor was not traditional, I had to make some modifications to convert the steam power to a compatible state.

So why do I need a time machine? I used to ask my dad that all the time growing up. He would always answer in a very serious voice, “Son, you need to find the right woman.”

He was right. Beyond the obvious excitement and sense of adventure that comes with the prospect of time travel, I need to find my soulmate. Yes it is selfish, but I also need her.

My home town is currently overrun by the worst men possible. I am convinced, as my father was, that with the right companion from the right time, we can take back our town and make it safe again. Our wives and mothers should be able to cross the street with their children without being molested and accosted. They certainly should be able to go to the Sunday market without being shot down.

My poor mother was a casualty of the violence that currently exists in our otherwise quiet town.

We are still a hub of what trade is done in these parts but it is always done hurriedly. The cowboys still come through at payday but they never stay for long. The railroad brings in new people every day but they move on as soon as it becomes clear they aren’t welcome here.

It wasn’t always like this. I remember when things were peaceful and we had a real community. The people who passed through wanted to stay awhile and linger, taking in the sights and sounds of bustling city in the wild west of Colorado. I want to be able to help get that back. Bringing someone from the future with the right skills and knowledge is our best chance at saving Durango.

              Walking from the back of the workshop to the front, I pass the gaudy mirror my mother insisted we keep. It is the only thing we brought with us on the trip from New York. Being Irish immigrants in New York in the 1870s was not an easy task. When they realized what their fate would be in the city and had the opportunity to try their luck in the West, my parents to sold what little they did have and began a new life in a foreign place, again.

Having mostly grown up in Durango, I don’t really miss the city or Ireland. My mother, before she died, would get a look in her eye every now and then and I know she was thinking of her homeland and wishing she could be there one more time. I am sure my father felt the same, but he never let on.

The mirror is a constant reminder of that long, treacherous journey here, one that I hope I will never have to make again. But today, it is a harmless reminder of the past.

Taking a quick glance in the mirror at myself, I find a youngish man looking back at me with dark features and piercing blue eyes the characteristics of a true black Irishman. I am proud to say I resemble both my parents but have my mother’s temperament. That hasn’t served me very well here with my father gone. But I have managed to keep to myself and for the most part, the powers that be leave me alone. Today, none of that matters. With a new purpose in my step, I reach the front of my work shop and flip my open sign to closed.

              I should feel more nervous, but mostly I am just excited. I have been waiting for this moment for what seems like my entire life. Standing here alone in my dusty workshop on the outskirts of town, I realize that if this test goes horribly wrong, no one will ever know what I have been working on or what happened to me. It is too late to turn back though. I have a destiny to fulfill and I intend on doing just that.

              Walking back to my machine, I run a mental checklist to make sure I haven’t missed anything. I run the safety checks put in place long ago by my father and by now they are a ritual for me. Checking the back door to ensure that no one will disturb me. Carefully inspecting the base of the machine and the panels of the frame for cracks.

I can hear my father’s voice in my head saying, “You can tell the worth of an inventor by how he treats his inventions.” With his words echoing in my ears, I ever-so-carefully trace the power conversion through the motor I have modified to ensure that no connection, joint or belt is loose. At this point, I engage the initial power source, the steam, to the motor. The actual conversion and powering of the time machine will be switched on at the main control panel. The motor is whirring excitedly now and everything seems to be running smoothly. None of the telltale sounds of impending doom have come from the motor; the clunks, pings, and rattling that every inventor dreads hearing.

Once I am satisfied that everything is in order, I review the notes I have fixed to the control panel. Completing every step in the correct order is a critical element to a successful test. To the casual observer it would be a gaggle of toggles, switches, and buttons. A series of numerical displays indicate what has been dialed in to the control board. For me, it is engrained in my memory. My father sketched it years ago, and gave me the final adjustments to make days before he died.

I take my time here as this is the first step of the actual time travel initiation process. If I make a mistake, it could be catastrophic. I follow the steps, carefully checking and rechecking after completing each one and before beginning the next.

By entering each of the parameters, I have described my ideal woman and the one I hope will be my partner in defeating the gang that rules this town. Finally I come to the end of the list and the final step: initiating the power conversion and thus starting the time machine.

Coming to this moment has been such a long road. I wonder briefly if it has all been worth it. My only consolation is that woman on the other side of the vortex of time will be the answer to our prayers. I hesitate only a moment before flipping the switch.

*****

Faith

October 31 – Am I Dying?

Floating, I’ll go with floating. I wish I could tell you that something awesome is happening. But really there is just nothing, maybe impressions of things as they stream by. I feel like I am being suspended in place and watching everything pass by me. I am slowly realizing that everything is going backwards.

This can’t be happening. No, I was supposed to see my mom this weekend. Why is this happening?

The world seems to be slowing down now, the images are getting clearer.

Morning of October 31, 1881 – Durango, Colorado

Dorian

It’s working, it’s actually working. I can see the light coming through the tiny slits in the panels and the imperfections in the metal. A thin beam of light shines from the top of the time machine to the ceiling. I’m not sure what I thought it would look like, but it’s beautiful. More beautiful than I could ever imagine.

The conversion modification appears to be working. The panels are spinning faster than I ever thought possible.

I wish my father was here to see this.

Faith

Everything has stopped moving. I feel sick inside and squishy, like everything is made of jelly. My eyes are starting to adjust and I wonder briefly if maybe I just had a fainting spell. I look around me, knowing that is a false hope. It seems to be some kind of metal encasement. At least I am on something solid. I wonder if I will be trapped in here forever.

Dorian

I can’t move. I have been so fixated on getting the machine to work, I never thought to figure out what to do if it did work. Now that it has, I am at a loss. I have no idea who or what is inside. I realize I have no weapon to defend myself against whatever is in there. The control panel ‘occupied’ button is flashing. I know I have to push the button sooner or later. If I am about to die, now is as good a time as any, I guess. I steady my hand and push the button before I can lose my nerve.

Faith

The walls are moving maybe away from me, I can’t tell. Knowing I have no way to defend myself, I prepare myself to run. I have to find the closest exit and make a break for it. Hopefully wherever I am supports human life. The walls are almost completely open, but it is so dark I can’t see anything. It’s like I’ve been plunged into a black, inky pool. My eyes must need more time to adjust before I will be able to see in this new place. I won’t be able to flee in this condition. I sink slowly to my knees and prepare myself for the worst.

Dorian

She is beautiful. It’s awful, I know. I’ve ripped her from her home, her time, and everyone she loves. All I can think of is how beautiful and perfect she is. She is kneeling on the floor of the time machine, apparently awaiting her fate. Little does she know that I have no intention of harming her. I only want to protect and cherish her. I hope that she will in time return the sentiment.

Approaching the platform carefully I ask, “Are you all right?”

*****

Faith is not quite sure what to do. She expected an onslaught of violence. A seemingly harmless question like that seemed so… anti-climactic. What do you even say to that after what she’d been through?

Instead of replying,she turns her head to the side and is violently ill
.
Dorian is immediately by her side and holding back her hair. He rubs her back gently while she gets everything out.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know how time travel would affect a person.” The remorse and distress in his voice makes her lift her head to look at him. The movement is too much. Grunting, she retches again until there is nothing left and all she can manage to do is rock back and forth on her knees.

“I will find a way to make it up to you,” Dorian says after she goes quiet. Yeah right, she thinks, how are you ever going to make this okay?

After a few minutes, Faith finally feels like maybe she will be ok and turns to look at her would-be captor. What she finds is distracting to say the least. She should feel fear, trepidation, or hatred. Instead, she feels pleasant warmth spread through her as she gazes at him. A deeper feeling than she has ever felt looking at a man. And he is a man; embodying everything the guys back home lack. His eyes are what strike her the most: a piercing blue that can only be described as sparkling sapphires. She struggles to maintain her focus and promptly faints, falling into Dorian’s arms.

“I have never seen a lady faint quite like that before,” Dorian says aloud to himself. “I wonder when she will wake up?” He briefly remembers something about smelling salts, but dismisses the idea and decides that maybe she should just sleep awhile.

Dorian gently lays her on the platform and runs to open the backdoor of his workshop. Checking to make sure the cost is clear, he goes back to Faith and lifts her carefully in his arms. Moving gently so as not to jostle her, Dorian makes his way to his home and pushes in the backdoor. Having no guestroom in his modest house, he carries her to his room upstairs. Carefully placing her on the bed, he covers her up and creeps quietly out of the room.

Dorian makes his way downstairs to his study and takes out his journal. His previous entries have all been about the machine, the problems he was having with it, and how he thought he could fix it.

Without anyone else to talk to over the years, he enjoyed having this outlet to ‘talk’ things out. At the end of every day, he would review the last few entries and usually could come up with a workable plan for the next day’s tasks.

Today, though, he has only one thing to say: it worked! Writing those two words at the top of the page gives him such satisfaction he actually smiles for the first time in weeks.

Dorian begins to write down everything that happened today moment by moment and ending with the girl appearing on the platform. Here he pauses, where to start? He starts clinically with how she reacted to the time travel and then moves on to describing her appearance.

The first thing I noticed about her was the way her hair was cascading around her face. Her well-toned arms and the way she carried herself was particularly appealing. Seeing her kneeling there, I had an image of her with her head titled up to look at me while she addressed my more intimate needs. Her bright blue eyes presumably innocently making me want to jump in with both feet and get lost in their depths. The outline of her breasts cut through her garments as if the garments were merely painted on. My first instinct was to look for something to cover her with, but all I could think about was devouring her and making her beg for more.

This part of the entry makes him blush after rereading it. Never one to objectify women, he has certainly objectified this one. He wonders if she would mind if he watched her sleep. Deciding that she would, he dismisses that idea.

His thoughts and writing turn to where and when she might be from. He can’t tell much from her strange garments. She is wearing pants of all things. Those are men’s clothes, certainly not suitable for a lady. Instinctively, he is embarrassed for her and determines to pull some of his mother’s things out for her to choose from. Surely there will be something in there that she can use.

The color of her clothing is more depressing than mourning clothes. This alone tells him that wherever she came from can’t be that happy of a place. He finds some solace in this; maybe he can show her what a wondrous place his time can be.

Deciding to go through his mother’s things now, he goes to the wooden wardrobe in the corner where he keeps his parents’ things. Opening the double doors, he pulls out the undergarments and his mother’s favorite dress. A deep blue, modestly cut gown with black piping that will complement the young lady’s eyes and hug her curves well. He realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t even know her name, but that will have to wait for later. He rounds out the ensemble with modest black boots. Not knowing her style preference, this is the safest way to go. Once she has regained herself and gotten comfortable he will get her measured and she can have her own things. How to coordinate all of that without alerting the whole city to her presence could prove difficult. He will have to find someone trustworthy. For the moment, he moves on to the kitchen to make lunch for them both. That is an immediate need that he can do something about.

The walk from the study to the kitchen is short, passing the stairs and going through the simple dining room. When his mother was alive, she entertained almost nightly, having the neighboring and town women over to discuss the week’s events, gossip a little, and play cards. The sound of their laughter echoes in the room now every time he passes through it. The kitchen is bright with sunlight coming through the window. Taking out a loaf of bread and some salted meat, Dorian prepares a platter to take upstairs.

Faith is awake. She just hasn’t opened her eyes yet. In fact, they are squeezed shut as tight as can be and she has a death grip on the blanket that is over her. She knows that what happened wasn’t a dream but the child-like voice inside her keeps hoping that she was dreaming. It won’t be real until she opens her eyes. So she just won’t open her eyes. That will work, right? It will all go away. Then, the floorboards creak in the hallway. She knows she will have to face whatever hell she has been brought into sometime. She listens as he gently opens the door and thinks at least he seems considerate.

Dorian pauses in the doorway, taking in the view. Her well-defined body is outlined under the blanket and softly calls to him to touch her. Mayhap she will actually let him at some point. He can’t tell if she is awake but he would wager that she is just feigning sleep by the heaving of her chest.

The bedside table serves as a dining table in the small room. Setting the tray down, he reaches out to place a hand on her shoulder. She moves before his hand gets there. A jerking movement that catches him unawares and almost causes him to lose his balance.

Pulling himself together, Dorian looks Faith full in the face. This is first time they have properly looked at each other. Faith’s eyes show some fear but something else too that he can’t quite put his finger on.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says quietly.

“Why did you bring me here if you aren’t going to hurt me?” Faith’s voice wavers a bit at the end, to her annoyance.

“We’ll get to that presently. For now, are you all right?”

There is that question again, she thinks, how annoying.

“Okay, I guess,” she replies. “How should I feel?”

“Well, do you think you are going to be sick again?”

“No. At least I don’t think I will.”

“That’s a relief. I was worried about the effect the time travel had on you. We never knew exactly what would happen to a person. Lack of test subjects made that hard to determine. Sorry, I’m rambling.”

He has a pleasant voice, Faith thinks, maybe I should tell him.

“You have a nice voice, you can ramble all you like.” Embarrassed she claps her hand to her mouth, moving so fast makes her dizzy. She had propped herself up on the pillow during their conversation but lowers head again to make the room stop spinning. She can see Dorian about to ask if she is ok again and cuts him off.

“I’m fine, I just need a minute to rest and steady my head. Can you tell me where I am?”

He looks sheepishly at her and says, “The more important question is when. Geographically and theoretically you are in the same place that you came from, just in a different year. We have completed the first documented time travel, my dear. You are in the year 1881.” He stays silent to let all of this sink in.

Her first thought is, how can this be possible. Then, she starts to look around her. There are no screens, no touch pads, and no electronics to speak of. The room is sparsely furnished and looks threadbare, but that is not what makes her believe. The room is completely constructed out of wood. In her time, there is no wood; the trees have been completely wiped out. The moment this thought finishes processing in her brain, she starts to try and stand up, to run outside and see for certain if it’s true, if she really is in 1881. Only her legs won’t obey. Apparently her lower limbs haven’t recovered from her ‘trip.’

“I can’t move my legs,” she says her voice an octave higher.

“They will be fine, you just need to rest a bit more and they will come back. I brought up something to eat. I wasn’t sure if you would be able to eat. Or if you would even be hungry.”

To her surprise she is hungry, famished even.

“But first, I think we should introduce ourselves, don’t you? My name is Dorian Calloway. At your service,” he says with a small bow.

“Faith Wainwright,” she replies. She reaches her hand out, taking Dorian by surprise.

He awkwardly extends his hand and grasps hers. His hand is surprisingly soft and warm, Faith thinks. He has strong hands. Her next thought makes her blush and she quickly pushes it out of her mind.

“Now let’s eat before I expire,” Faith exclaims. Dorian chuckles quietly at her straightforwardness.

“Of course, let’s eat,” he says with a smile. How his father could have been so right about the kind of woman he would need, he has no idea.

They eat in silence for a time. It seems to suit them both equally, taking the time to study each other and look for anything that would indicate subversive nature or otherwise detrimental behavior. At the end of the light meal, they are both somewhat satisfied that the other is not going to kill them once their back is turned.

“I have some more appropriate garments for you, if you would like to see them. I can bring them up here and you can review them privately,” Dorian says, breaking the silence.

“I guess that would be okay,” Faith replies.

“I’ll return presently, then.” Dorian leaves the room and takes the stairs almost two at a time in his haste. He gently gathers the items he had laid out earlier and carries them back upstairs. He lays them out at the end of the bed and holds out a hand to Faith to help her stand.

She takes his hand and squeezes it as she pulls herself up. Her legs are functioning again, which is a relief. She takes in the garments laid out before her and positively sighs. This is the stuff of dreams. She has never seen a blue such as this in real life. Even their ‘costumes’ back home were made of the drab and dull shades that were relegated to her class. The boots are especially eye-catching. All eyeholes and lacing across black leather. She looks to Dorian and smiles.

“I don’t know what to say. I have never seen so much color in my life. Are you sure I am allowed to wear this in public?” Faith asks incredulously.

“Most assuredly, you may wear any color you like and in any fashion. When you are better rested and more yourself, we will see a seamstress and she will fit you for a new wardrobe to your liking. For now, my mother’s things will have to do. I believe you are about her size, so everything should fit well.”

Faith is taken aback. She is beginning to believe that Dorian does not want to hurt her and in fact wants to make her feel at home. This gesture is surely an offer of friendship and a sign of respect, something that she is not entirely used to.

“I am honored, truly. Although I am not sure that I will be here that long.” Something shifts in Dorian’s stance as she says this, almost imperceptibly but still discernible as she has been studying him.

“We will have to discuss the future over dinner. Your next task is to get dressed. Do you think you can manage on your own? You may need help with the stays. Call for me if you find that you need me.” Without waiting for a response, Dorian exits the room, carrying the tray from lunch with him as he goes.

Well, that seemed kind of rude. A bit flustered, Faith sets about removing her clothing and discerning which undergarment goes on first. From her obsessive study of this era, she finds her way easily through the layers of clothing and begins to get dressed. She can almost feel herself becoming this new person, one who wears blue, says what she thinks, and thinks what she says. Of course when she comes to the corset she can’t manage it on her own.

“Dorian,” she calls. “I need help with the stays!” She can hear him coming up the stairs and turns her back to the door as he opens. Between all of her previous sexual encounters, at least hundred or more men have seen her naked, but dressed in these undergarments she feels shy and vulnerable.

“I’m here,” he says. “Let’s have a look at these. I don’t have a lot of practice so forgive me if I harm you in any way.” He begins studiously cinching the corset and lacing the remaining length. While he can visibly see the roundness of her backside through the light chemise, he fastidiously tries to ignore it. Her proximity to him is maddening and comforting all at once. Forgetting what he is doing, he pulls a bit too tight and Faith gasps as the corset squeezes her painfully.