Chapter 3: Christopher Dawson
My head feels light. Toes scrunch sand between them. But I’m paralyzed by the cave still. It’s sharp teeth, inviting.
“You okay…?”
The beating of my heart resumes familiar rhythms.
“Um…hello?”
Energy levels fleeting.
“Miss?”
The remnants of a thousand voices all expanding at once inside my mind dissipate before any of them make sense. A hand on my arm, warm, gently slides off, but warmth remains. It’s him… the man from the ferry, from the castle—Mr. Dawson.
He becomes increasingly unclear. I fall to my knees. Mr. Dawson tries bracing me, but I’m numb all over.
“Don’t faint, stay with me.”
Saturated green eyes bring me back to life. Frailty leaves me—I’m able to stand again, but I lay in his arms for a minute longer, just staring into the ivy eyes that saved me. ‘Saved me from what though?’
“Are you okay Ms…”
“Flagstone. Mary-Allison Flagstone.”
He takes a beat before responding like I’ve said something with meaning.
“Are you okay, Mr. Dawson?”
Mr. Dawson is back with me. ‘Those eyes.’
“Yeah…wait, how do you know my name?”
“Well, technically I only know your surname.”
My smile hopefully puts him at ease.
“Can you, um, stand, Ms. Flagstone?”
And I’ve taken too long, too much time in his flexed arms. I don’t want to leave them. People never stay warm as long as I do. Everyone grows cold in the end.
Mr. Dawson helps me stand when I give him the all-clear with a thumbs up. I’m weak, though. My vision is just as unbalanced as my legs. Like all the blood in my body has left me.
“Sorry, I just… there’s nothing good inside that cave.”
A strict tone in his voice.
“What do you mean?”
Mr. Dawson hesitates like he’s thinking of a lie, hiding a dark truth.
“It’s just dangerous. The tide comes in and… well, several people have drowned while exploring it.”
His eyes return to me.
“Oh, I see.”
Mr. Dawson looks me over—Is he checking me out?
“Well, doesn’t look like you suffered any injuries—Are you sure you’re okay?”
I’m barely standing, I’m so weak. Like something keeps sucking more and more energy from me.
“Yeah, I’m fine… but I, I should probably eat something. I’m feeling a bit fatigued.”
“The overcast will do that.”
His smile puts me at ease.
“I know a spot in town. I can take you there—You don’t look like you’re in any condition to go somewhere alone.”
A date? Or just a Good Samaritan? I should probably find out either way.
“Um, yeah… I guess that would be all right… You really don’t mind? I am a stranger, I could be dangerous myself.”
‘His smile.’
“I don’t mind, some of the best people I’ve met have been strangers.”
‘Ivy eyes.’
“Though, you might want to get dressed first.”
***
The Cursed Tavern… is everything on this island cursed? Smells of fried food and dank draft beer fill the thick air. Old timers smoke from pipes while a plump woman takes orders from the wrinkled patrons. Nobody looks like a tourist inside here. The walls are mostly oak, with an area bricked together, and a fireplace in the center.
The plump woman, Beverly, slams two large pints filled with black liquid onto our table. She asks what we want to eat, and keeps an eye on me like she knows I don’t belong. Mr. Dawson orders something in an old language, Latin in its roots, Germanic in the afterthoughts of the words.
“I’ll have the same…”
Not knowing what he said, and never being handed a menu, it’s my only option. Beverly lands her hands on her hips when she leaves us.
I can’t help but fidget in the rough worn chair I sit in. ‘Why am I so nervous?’
“The beer takes some… getting used to. But you should try it. You can only find this brew on Belzaar.”
It’s not the worst suds I’ve tasted, but I’ve had drinks from all around the world, not always in the same time period.
“Guess you like it…”
Having finished the beer in one gulp, I embarrassingly sit my glass down, wiping my mouth with my sleeve. Mr. Dawson chuckles at my animalistic behavior. After what I experienced at the cave, well, it’s been a while since I needed a drink to calm my nerves.
“Mr. Dawson, I should thank you—”
“Christopher. Christopher Dawson. And you have nothing to thank me about. I saw you from above while on a walk, knowing the dangers of that cave personally, I figured I’d save your life.”
“You saved my life? A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”
‘If only he knew.’
“Well, I guess that is a dramatic way of putting it. Maybe we can say, I intervened in a potentially hazardous moment.”
“That sounds even more dramatic.”
A chuckle and lips to his pint.
Beverly drops two steaming plates down, rocking the splintery table. I order Christopher and myself another round of the black tar they call a beverage.
“Fish?”
“Fish caught right out there, straight out of the Belzaar sea.”
Poking the thing staring at me, I try a small bit, using just one of the prongs on my giant fork—I’ve had worse.
“Most people who haven’t been here wouldn’t dare order this… the eyes usually turn people off.”
“You bring a lot of girls—people here?”
‘His smile.’
“No, not at all. Just girls I save from certain doom.”
‘I hope my smile has the same effect as his does on me.’
Beverly slams our beers, mumbling as she does, causing some suds to spill over the table.
“She’s a treat.”
“Bev? As long as I’ve been coming here, she’s always here. Just as disgruntled as ever.”
I sip the black liquid I’m not sure is beer anymore.
“You’ve been coming here long, Christopher?”
The fish is tasting better—Scaly, salty, but better.
“My family, er, my ancestors, I guess, made Belzaar their home. So, I like to visit every year, to remember my roots.”
Looking around, through the haze of smoke and old men laughing, then swearing, I can’t find any roots anyone would want to water.
“I know, I know, it isn’t the most… welcoming of places. But this is where my money comes from as well. My family did well here, they were fishermen. The water has since receded, the rocks make it a hard living now. As you can see though, still plenty of fish in the sea.”
“I see.”
As my lunch sees me with that one eyeball. I take another bite.
“And what brings you here, Ms. Flagstone.”
Do I hand him all my cards? He certainly seems to be bluffing with his honesty.
“The Cursed Festival, of course.”
“Ah, the festival. Should have figured. The island is never fuller during festival season. It’s a big blowout. Hundreds of tourists come from all around the world. Few leave the same. It’s a life-changing experience.”
All that’s left of my lunch is a soulless eyeball. However, my energy has returned. My head, heavier, full of booze now.
“The eye is the best part.”
Beverly winks at me, a distorted laugh when she drops off more black ale. Christopher shrugs, his food barely touched.
One prong into the eyeball, and it’s down my throat. Definitely not the best part. Beverly laughs more and calls me a tourist. Christopher says not to believe anything the locals tell me.
“What makes the festival so life-changing?”
‘A change in my life would be nice.’
“I’ve only been once, wasn’t my scene—It’s more like a rave at a castle. Too much noise and wasted youths.”
Christopher doesn’t look much older than me, maybe thirty. Everyone looks the same when you’re this old.
“And what is your ideal night, Christopher?”
Another hesitation on his part, like he’s trying to pick the lie that will work best on me. Reading people is a hobby of mine.
“Solitude, I guess.”
“That sounds lonely.”
A beat and I want to tear this man’s clothes off—but why? I gulp more suds.
“It can be. But at least I can’t get into any trouble.”
“Trouble?”
Christopher looks off again. He’s back with a sip of his drink.
“Maybe you’ll find out.”
‘I hope so.’
Beverly walks by, lighting the candle on our table. The brightness of any kind barely trickles in through the gated windows. It’s getting late.
“It’s getting late, Mary… Allison.”
“Mary is fine. Allison is an old family name.”
I think—I’ve never known where my name originated.
Christopher stares at me like he just met me. Like he truly sees me now.
“Another round dear? Perhaps more eyeballs for this one?”
Beverly’s haggard laugh is like metal caught in winding gears.
“No more eyeballs Bev, thanks, just the check.”
‘As he says check, the night is either over or just beginning.’
“We should get going. After hours on Belzaar can be dangerous.”
“Roves of children pickpocketing us naive tourists?”
‘His smile’—I never want to see any other kind of expression on his face.
“Something like that.”
Christopher is so calming, and comforting, something I’ve been missing my whole life—No, don’t be stupid, Mary. In an hourglass, I am the sand, and everyone else is the empty space left at the top.
***
Christopher walked me back to the hotel as I glided next to him on my bike. We didn’t chat much more, he seemed to be enjoying Belzaar at night, and I must admit, it is beautiful with all the tiny flames guiding our way. At the doors, I thought he would enter with me, but instead, he bid me goodnight and left—Though I wished he had stayed.
Finding my way up the steps, my energy slowly regains, giving me momentum to walk down the long hallway to my room. ‘Where was Christopher going?’ He didn’t enter the castle when I did. This is the only place for people to stay on the island, right? I thought we had a connection. Maybe it was just one-sided—It’s for the best.
All these thoughts and I’m fumbling with the lock to my door, my key not entering its hole properly. I try a different angle, but with no success.
“Excuse me.”
“What?”
Too much frustration in my response to the kind voice.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you but, you seem to be struggling a bit.”
I throw the key to the ground.
“You think?”
But when I follow the crackling voice, a man with white cropped hair and a short beard matching his roots stands tall, squinting eyes at me through the candles held over our doors. He stands three doors down, exiting his room.
“Sorry, I’ve had a weird day.”
The stranger walks over and picks up my key.
“Can I try? These old locks are finicky. I don’t know why they don’t update them.”
A clink when he turns the key, fitting it in the hole in some way I couldn’t.
“There. You just have to have the right touch.”
“Apparently—Thanks.”
A nod from the gentleman when he departs. He might be older, but he’s handsome. Besides, I’m way older. Years are meaningless to an immortal like me.