Find Me Alastar

What else? Hmm, I write one last thing.

Ring Alastar and demand an explanation. I want to know what he’s capable of.

Exhausted, I finally climb into bed, only to toss and turn all night. With thoughts of castles and staircases

and a little girl staring up at me, I drift in and out of a troubled sleep.

4pm and I am at the London Library. I have been here since the early hours of this morning, only stopping

in my research for coffee. My phone rings and I shuffle around to answer it. I have been waiting for this

call all day.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Hello. May I speak to Emerson please?” the kind female voice asks.

“Speaking,” I breathe nervously.

“Yes, hello, this is Maryanne from the Ashford Castle historical society. I have been asked to return

your call.”

I smile. “Thank you so much. I know it’s a Saturday.”

“Oh that’s okay. I work weekends. How can I help you?”

I scramble out for my piece of paper. “I was wondering if you could help me with some research I’m

doing? I need to find some old plans of the castle.”

“How old?”

I scrunch up my face because I really have no idea. “As old as you have, I guess.”

“Let me see.” I hear her typing and I wait as patiently as I can. She seems to take forever to come back

to me “I have records going as back as far as 1692,” she replies.

My eyes widen. Shit… that far? “Okay, that would be fantastic. Is it possible that I could get a copy of

them?”

“Yes, I can email them to you if you like. Do you want the full castle plans?”

Wow, this is easier than I thought. I smile broadly. “Yes, please. Thank you. How do I find out more of

the history of who lived in the castle?”

“You will have to speak to our historian Charles for that information. He isn’t in until Monday. I do

know there is a full history in documentation.”

I smile. “Fantastic. Thank you so much.”

“You are most welcome. What is your email address?” she asks.

I tell her, spelling out each letter of my address so she is sure to get it right first time.

“I will get this over to you tonight. We have a wedding in this afternoon and I am too busy now.”

My heart drops. I would have been married a week today. I blow out a depressed breath. “That’s fine,

thank you for being so helpful.” I hang up.

It’s 10pm and I am pacing in my room. I inhaled my takeaway curry earlier, and for the first time in ten

days, I feel alive. Adrenaline is coursing through my veins. I am tapping my head with my fingers as I

pace. I know I know something. I just don’t know what that something is yet, but I know it’s here in my

head. What am I looking for?

Think, damn you. Think.

I didn’t discover anything today at the library. Maybe that will all change on Monday when CharlesNôvelDrama.Org owns this text.

rings me. I have decided to not go to a psychic. I don’t want them messing with my head or planting seeds

that just aren’t there. I’m not a weirdo and I don’t need a weirdo messing with me. I’m a normal girl from

Australia, for fuck’s sake. I walk over to my briefcase and take out the folder of pictures I had printed of

the stolen artwork, and start to flick through them. All women, all beautiful, all historical images. Why

only women, Alastar? Why do you only steal images of women?

What the hell does this all mean? I need to clear my mind. I need to get some clarity on my thoughts.

I take out my phone and hold it in my hand.

I need answers.

Should I text him?

No! I stop myself.

I light the candles that Brielle bought me this week and spread them around the bathroom. I run the

bath and turn off the light, undress and slide into the deep water as I think.

The apartment is silent as I try to quieten my mind. I lie in the darkened room but my mind won’t stop.

I get the vision of us dancing together at the charity event when he told me the song that was more fitting to

us.