FAE Read online

  FAE

  This is a work of fiction. The descriptions and characters herein are imaginary. Any resemblance

  to anyone, place or thing is completely coincidental and a creation of the author.

  No part of this work either written or electronic may be copied without express written

  permission of the author.

  Publisher – lulu.com

  ISBN 978-0-557-05685-9

  Heather McAlendin – mcalendin.com 2010

  SECOND EDITION

  [email protected]

  CHAPTER ONE

  At forty five years old, mild mannered Gordon Parks was an accomplished author

  and had long since earned his English Degree at Maple Ridge University. His particular

  genre was Historical Romance and since many of his colleagues felt he was not a

  “serious” writer. So, in the last ten years he wrote under an assumed name; Erica Stone.

  Although Gordon always put on a brave face at writers conventions and the like, the

  whispers behind his back hurt. After all, Gordon worked hard at his craft and had a

  following of millions of love starved, fantasy driven women between the ages of

  eighteen and seventy five who thought him a brilliant, albeit female author.

  Erica Stone was everything Gordon could never be. Where she was exotic, he

  was plain; she was as sensual as he was uncomfortable; where she seemed brilliant he

  was dull and inexpressive. Erica Stone was Gordon's opposite in every way including

  sex. It was this that allowed him the freedom to express his own innermost desires

  instead of being who he truly was; a middle aged man whose biggest fear was being

  alone with a woman even though he craved the company of one in his life. Instead,

  Gordon owned a Russian Blue male cat he named “Godfrey”.

  Godfrey was an independent creature and came to Gordon when he wanted

  attention. Gordon never had to worry about making the first move. At times Godfrey

  would happily jump into Gordon's lap and purr happily for hours at a time. While at other times Godfrey was content to sit on an old, battered arm chair that Gordon left

  beside his writing desk expressly for that purpose.

  Godfrey was curled up comfortably in that very chair as he blinked his vivid

  green eyes and stared at Gordon.

  Gordon stretched out his long, lanky legs and slowly got up from his computer

  chair. A cold, evening rain storm had begun and he wanted to be sure that his prize

  English roses were not getting battered around in the wind.

  Maple Ridge was notorious for its sudden fall storms. Being so close to the Great

  Lakes, it was not uncommon for a hail or rain storms to seemingly start up out of

  nowhere and furiously lash Maple Ridge residents throughout the night.

  “Tonight is one of those nights.” Gordon sighed as he pressed his long, thin nose

  against the cold glass of the window in his study. His warm breath left steam marks

  outlining his nose and cheeks as he narrowed his eyes in an attempt to see the garden

  below. His glasses fogged and he rubbed at them furiously with the hem of his faded,

  denim shirt.

  This old Victorian house at the edge of town was Gordon's pride and joy, along

  with its English Garden and patches of heather. He had purchased it over fifteen years

  ago when his first novel, “Unrequited Love” hit number one on the best sellers list. Shocked but pleased, Gordon's publisher had given him a tidy advance for his next book

  and he was able to purchase the large, drafty old house for a menial sum from its elderly,

  Irish owner; Mary Quinn.

  Old Mrs. Quinn regaled him with stories of her life on the Coast of Ireland. The

  lushness of the land and the quaint folklore of “little people” and “Faerie circles”

  became fodder for a few of Gordon's most successful novels to date.

  It had recently come to his attention that Mrs. Quinn had long been suffering

  from Alzheimer's disease and had finally passed away a few months earlier.

  It saddened his heart but at the same time Gordon swore he could feel her

  presence in the house. Even Godfrey would stare and sometimes hiss at shadows in the

  middle of the night. Gordon preferred to think that perhaps it was Old Mrs. Quinn

  visiting her home and garden to make certain he was keeping it well.

  A loud crack of thunder jolted Gordon back to reality and in that brief flicker of

  light he saw his pasty, middle aged reflection in the misty window pane.

  “What has happened to you Gordon? You used to be so full of hope and fiery

  imagination. You dreamed of love and family, now you write books for the lovelorn and

  live like a hermit. Albeit a wealthy hermit; but a hermit nonetheless. What woman

  would have you now?” Sighing heavily and satisfied his garden was relatively untouched by the weather,

  he turned to sit back in his chair when another bolt of lightning shook the house and lit

  the backyard awash in a bright, white light.

  Godfrey jumped from the chair and slunk underneath it, his belly pressed to the

  floor and his ears drawn back. The lights flickered and Gordon's heart sank. This was a

  sign that a power outage was not far behind.

  Being that the house was so old and Gordon has chosen not to upgrade the

  electrical system, any storm was a potential black out waiting to happen.

  “Damn!” Gordon exclaimed as the lights finally went out and he and Godfrey

  were plunged into darkness. “Not again!”

  He waited for a moment as his watery blue eyes adjusted to the inky blackness.

  Barely making out the furniture in the room, he was almost glad when another explosion

  of lightening momentarily lit his study and he grabbed the flashlight he kept under his

  desk for just such a purpose.

  Finding a box of matches near the mantle place, he started a small fire in the

  corner fireplace. He thought it would bring a touch of warmth to the room when he

  added it two years ago but Gordon discovered he had little patience for cleaning the

  chimney and stocking kindling and wood, especially in the winter months. “I guess this thing may serve a purpose after all right Godfrey?” Gordon

  mumbled as he set about piling kindling and wood to start the fire. Once lit, the fireplace

  in the small upstairs study provided enough light and warmth to convince Gordon that

  he and Godfrey could hold up there for the night.

  Gordon sat cross legged in front of the fireplace and removed his sneakers. For a

  moment he got lost staring into the brilliant embers. The flames seemed to dance and

  flicker in time to the rain beating on the roof and windows.

  He probably would have stared into the flames all night if not for the shrill

  bleating of his cell phone. It was the one modern convenience other than his laptop that

  Gordon allowed himself. Beside the fact that his younger sister, Marie would be

  annoyed if she could not contact him daily with another scheme to set him up on a blind

  date with a “nice girl”.

  Gordon knew his sister loved him but she viewed him as odd and eccentric and

  felt the right woman would change all that. Although she may have been right, Gordon

  was too afraid to follow through and find out. It seemed safer to remain at home and get


  lost in his stories.

  Picking up the cell phone, he saw his sister's number flashing in the darkness.

  “Here we go again.” Gordon whispered to Godfrey before answering. Godfrey blinked and yawned before stretching out beside Gordon on the braided

  rug.

  “Hey sis!” Gordon answered, trying to sound as cheery as possible.

  “Gord, I assume your lights are out? Want to come over here? I can have Joseph

  pick you up.”

  Gordon knew his sister’s heart was in the right place but the last thing he wanted

  was the red lights of her husband, Joseph Spencer's police car pulling up in front of his

  house in the dark of night. Marie had met Joseph when he stopped into her used book

  shop after a break-in ten years earlier and they had been together ever since. Now

  Joseph was the Sheriff of Maple Ridge and he and Marie had two children; twins they

  had named Trevor and Tina.

  Gordon loved his sister's family fiercely and thought that must be what it would

  be like to love his own children; if he had any.

  Blinking back the tears that had suddenly formed in his eyes, Gordon swallowed

  hard and coughed. “I am fine Marie. Try and remember I am your

  older brother.”

  He smiled when he heard Marie chuckle on the other end of the phone. “Yes sir

  Mr. Parks!” She chided. “I just hate to think of you alone in that drafty old house. The

  kids would love to see you.” “I'm not alone Marie, I have Godfrey. Besides, I lit the fireplace and we are

  warm and comfy right where we are.”

  “But...” Marie started.

  Gordon smiled. “I'll tell you what Marie. If the power is not back on by the

  morning I'll pack a bag and come by for the weekend. We can have a barbecue or

  something okay?”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  “Love you Gord. Call me tomorrow regardless okay?”

  “Will do Marie and give Joe and the kids my love.”

  The phone went silent and Gordon placed it on the desk near his laptop. He stood

  for a moment wondering if indeed the storm would end before morning. It seemed to

  have settled in for the night.

  He walked past the window again and glanced down into the garden. Once again

  a flash of lightening lit up the yard.

  “What the hell?” Gordon removed his glasses, blinked furiously then placed them back on his nose

  and squinted, trying to get a better look out the window.

  At first he thought the night and his eyes were playing tricks on him. In the

  corner of his garden stood an ancient Maple tree and Gordon swore, near the base of the

  tree lay a person.

  “Impossible!” He marveled. Gordon very rarely got any visitors this far out

  except the post man and his sister's family. “Who would be venturing out this far and in

  this ungodly weather?”

  With a last flash of lightening, Gordon's assumptions were verified. Someone was

  out there! CHAPTER TWO

  The rain pounded the ground as the figure, swaddled in what seemed to be a

  soaking wet, white cloth, lay curled up near the base of the Maple tree. There was no

  movement as Gordon hesitantly approached. He was dressed in a bright yellow rain coat

  and held a large black umbrella and flashlight in one hand as he walked toward the

  stranger in his back yard.

  “Hello there,” Gordon said. “Are you alright? Can I help you?”

  Silence.

  Gordon walked a few steps closer and once again tried to speak to the stranger

  under the tree.

  “Are you hurt? Can I get some help for you?”

  Silence.

  Deciding he had to take matters in hand, Gordon walked up and placed a hand on

  the figures slight shoulder, trying to get some kind of reaction. He could feel a slight

  tremor as he touched the body and was somewhat relieved that he or she was still alive.

  Gathering his strength, Gordon placed the umbrella down and reached over to

  turn the stranger over. “Oh my God!” He gasped once the persons face was revealed. It was a woman; a

  very frail, ethereal looking woman. Her wavy, red hair lay in wet tendrils around her

  delicately featured face. Her skin seemed translucent and almost shimmered in the pale

  moonlight. The white garment she worn was soaked through and clung to her like a

  second skin, revealing a very slender, girlish figure. It was blatantly obvious to Gordon

  that this young woman was wearing no undergarments and blushed furiously as he

  stared at her.

  “Get a grip man. You have to help this young woman not leer at her like some

  perverted old man.” “How the hell did you get here?” He wondered aloud.

  Looking up at the gathering storm, he knew another thunder strike and downpour

  was imminent. Very gently, he gathered the young woman in his arms and quickly

  rushed her into the house. Once inside, Gordon placed her on his living room couch and

  wrapped her in an old, brown wool blanket. The smell of mothballs permeated his nose

  but he figured it was the best thing to warm her cold damp body.

  Rushing around, Gordon found an old paraffin heater that Mrs. Quinn had left

  behind in a back closet. Once lit, it began to gently warm the cold, dampness that

  enveloped the room. He removed his wet boots and raincoat and sat on the floor next to

  the couch and stared at the young woman trying to decide what to do next. Worried that she had not yet moved or even murmured, Gordon slowly moved in

  close and tried listening to the young woman's chest. He noticed that her chest rose and

  fell gently and evenly.

  “It would seem you are not in any distress. Although for the life of me I can't

  imagine what you are doing way out here!”

  With a flash and a flicker, the electricity came back on and the living room was

  suddenly alive with light.

  “Thank goodness for that!” Gordon exclaimed. “I know, I will make tea in case

  she revives. I could use a cup anyway. God, now I'm babbling to myself like an idiot.”

  “Godfrey? Where are you, you silly animal.”

  Godfrey sat on the staircase that led upstairs. His back was hunched and his eyes

  narrowed. A low grow emanated from the back of his throat.

  Taken by surprise, Gordon admonished the cat with a waggle of his finger and a

  low voice.

  “You hush now. We have a stray in from the storm. She is resting and does not

  need you scaring the wits out of her.” The growling ceased but Godfrey would not move from his perch and chose to sit

  and glare at the woman wrapped up in a blanket on his Master's couch.

  Sighing, Gordon walked quickly into the tiny kitchen and lit the gas stove,

  preparing to make tea. Now and then he would peek into the living room to see if the

  young woman had moved or switched positions. She remained motionless for what

  seemed like hours.

  Growing weary, Gordon finally decided to go to sleep in the guest room next to

  the downstairs living room. As no one ever visited, the room lay untouched and coated

  in a thin layer of dust. He shook off the pale blue bed cover and crawled beneath the

  blanket, exhausted. It did not take long before Gordon was fast asleep. CHAPTER THREE

  When the dawn broke, the air was fresh and the sun was shining. The only

  indication that a storm had occurred was a few broken branches and leaves scattered
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br />   around the yard.

  Gordon woke to the sound of a sweet, feminine voice singing. “She's awake,” he

  thought happily. “That must mean she is no worse for the wear. Maybe I can get some

  answers.”

  Throwing the blanket to the floor, Gordon smoothed his salt and pepper hair and

  wrinkled clothes, cleaned his glasses and quickly walked to the open bedroom door.

  What he saw stunned and silenced him.

  Standing in front of the living room window was the most stunning woman he

  had ever laid eyes on. Her white diaphanous gown, now dry, swirled around her like

  mist and her body was viewable as a curvy outline in the morning sun. Her hair rippled

  in long red, waves down her back and around her shoulders. She was tall and willowy

  and encompassed every feminine ideal that Gordon had ever written about in his novels.

  “Who...who...what are you?” His voice broke as he stammered. The young woman turned slightly and smiled, her song never wavering as she

  realized that Gordon was watching her. She raised her arms in the air and twirled in the

  sunlight like some specter from a fantasy.

  “Who are you?” She giggled softly.

  Stunned, Gordon felt a lump grow in his throat and his heart began to pound

  furiously in his chest.

  “Now what do I say?” He thought.

  “Say what you like.” The young woman spoke so softly that Gordon had a hard

  time hearing her. Either that or he was so distracted by her beauty that his mouth had

  forgotten to form words.

  A loud growl and hissing brought Gordon back into reality as he watched

  Godfrey getting ready to pounce from his perch on the stairs.

  “Godfrey!” He yelled as the young woman shrank back in horror. Her demeanor

  had turned from delight to fear in mere seconds.

  “Evil creature!” She hissed back at the cat. Turning to Gordon with narrowed

  eyes, she asked. “How can you keep such a thing in your home?” Gordon could almost smell the fear coming from her. Instead of chiding her, he

  grabbed Godfrey and threw him on the spare bed, closing the door and locking him

  inside.

  “I am very sorry if my cat frightened you Miss.”

  The young woman stood tall and placing her hands on her hips, turned her tiny

  nose up in the air and sniffed. “I am NOT afraid of anything, especially felines. Be