The Christmas Eve Letter: A Time Travel Novel by Elyse Douglas Page B
Authors: Elyse Douglas
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from another time and place. But was it just an old relic? What the hell had just happened?
Trembling, her eyes lowered on the opened letter. For a long time, she listened to the ringing silence, her breathing shallow and staggered. And then her gaze slid away into the shadows of the room.
CHAPTER 6
Eve made her way to bed, feeling feverish and mildly disoriented. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw images of dissolving walls; felt as if she were falling through the bed. At midnight, she took her temperature. 98.4 degrees. Normal. Still, she could have a virus. Her nurse’s brain mentally scanned the list of probable causes. A reaction to the lamp oil? A migraine? She’d never had migraine headaches, but the visual distortions pointed to that.
She found a bottle and shook out a sleeping pill, hoping that after six hours’ sleep, she’d feel better.
When her eyes popped open at 5:34am, she still felt shaky. Her restless dreams had been filled with images of John Allister in his top hat, and of that damned lantern expanding out and up until it was the size of a skyscraper, throwing its bright yellow light out across the entire city, and beyond.
She threw on some jeans and a coat and took Georgy Boy out to the sidewalk, hoping the morning air would clear her head. It worked. Back inside, she leaned over the bathroom counter and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were clear. She took her pulse and her temperature. Both were good. She declared herself fine. She was feeling fine.
But as she walked into the kitchen, she realized there was something—some emotional residue from last night’s incident—that still made her uneasy. She was afraid to look in the living room, afraid to look at the lantern.
I have to get rid of that thing, she thought, adding milk to a bowl of oatmeal. I’ll mail it back to Granny Gilbert. She stirred the oatmeal vigorously. The letter needs to go too. She’d find someone in the Harringshaw family and either deliver it in person or mail it to them.
She didn’t want to think about the lantern, or the letter, or Evelyn, or John Allister Harringshaw anymore. And she wasn’t going to speculate as to what had happened the night before. It had all been too disconcerting and frightening.
Eve considered herself to be a rational and courageous person, who didn’t scare easily. She didn’t believe in ghosts, in the paranormal or in UFOs. Whatever had happened probably had more to do with a small virus or a migraine or something she’d eaten. Maybe it was stress. She’d been seeing a lot of new patients, requiring a lot of time on the computer. And she never got enough sleep.
On her way out of the apartment, Eve kissed Georgy Boy goodbye, avoiding even a passing glance at the lantern and letter. Once outside, Eve gazed up at her bay windows, as if she half-expected to see something or someone looking back at her. She continued on with reluctant strides, finally hailing a cab. She wasn’t in the mood for a bus today.
The office was boiling with activity at 8:15 and Eve was seeing patients by 8:30. She tried not to allow last night’s events to distract her in any way, but suddenly the words “Central Park” kept playing in her head, like the lyrics of a song you can’t shake. Without realizing it, she started humming an old Frank Sinatra song her parents had liked, about autumn in New York. How had it gone?
Lovers that bless the dark
On benches in Central Park
Autumn in New York…
Eve tried to be focused, pleasant and methodical, falling into the hectic rhythm of the work, but the song and the physical sensations of the night before would suddenly rush through her body again and she’d have to stop and take a deep breath. She took medical histories and examined ears and throats and abdomens, and even removed stitches from the foot of a 12-year old girl who bantered on about some
Trembling, her eyes lowered on the opened letter. For a long time, she listened to the ringing silence, her breathing shallow and staggered. And then her gaze slid away into the shadows of the room.
CHAPTER 6
Eve made her way to bed, feeling feverish and mildly disoriented. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw images of dissolving walls; felt as if she were falling through the bed. At midnight, she took her temperature. 98.4 degrees. Normal. Still, she could have a virus. Her nurse’s brain mentally scanned the list of probable causes. A reaction to the lamp oil? A migraine? She’d never had migraine headaches, but the visual distortions pointed to that.
She found a bottle and shook out a sleeping pill, hoping that after six hours’ sleep, she’d feel better.
When her eyes popped open at 5:34am, she still felt shaky. Her restless dreams had been filled with images of John Allister in his top hat, and of that damned lantern expanding out and up until it was the size of a skyscraper, throwing its bright yellow light out across the entire city, and beyond.
She threw on some jeans and a coat and took Georgy Boy out to the sidewalk, hoping the morning air would clear her head. It worked. Back inside, she leaned over the bathroom counter and stared at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were clear. She took her pulse and her temperature. Both were good. She declared herself fine. She was feeling fine.
But as she walked into the kitchen, she realized there was something—some emotional residue from last night’s incident—that still made her uneasy. She was afraid to look in the living room, afraid to look at the lantern.
I have to get rid of that thing, she thought, adding milk to a bowl of oatmeal. I’ll mail it back to Granny Gilbert. She stirred the oatmeal vigorously. The letter needs to go too. She’d find someone in the Harringshaw family and either deliver it in person or mail it to them.
She didn’t want to think about the lantern, or the letter, or Evelyn, or John Allister Harringshaw anymore. And she wasn’t going to speculate as to what had happened the night before. It had all been too disconcerting and frightening.
Eve considered herself to be a rational and courageous person, who didn’t scare easily. She didn’t believe in ghosts, in the paranormal or in UFOs. Whatever had happened probably had more to do with a small virus or a migraine or something she’d eaten. Maybe it was stress. She’d been seeing a lot of new patients, requiring a lot of time on the computer. And she never got enough sleep.
On her way out of the apartment, Eve kissed Georgy Boy goodbye, avoiding even a passing glance at the lantern and letter. Once outside, Eve gazed up at her bay windows, as if she half-expected to see something or someone looking back at her. She continued on with reluctant strides, finally hailing a cab. She wasn’t in the mood for a bus today.
The office was boiling with activity at 8:15 and Eve was seeing patients by 8:30. She tried not to allow last night’s events to distract her in any way, but suddenly the words “Central Park” kept playing in her head, like the lyrics of a song you can’t shake. Without realizing it, she started humming an old Frank Sinatra song her parents had liked, about autumn in New York. How had it gone?
Lovers that bless the dark
On benches in Central Park
Autumn in New York…
Eve tried to be focused, pleasant and methodical, falling into the hectic rhythm of the work, but the song and the physical sensations of the night before would suddenly rush through her body again and she’d have to stop and take a deep breath. She took medical histories and examined ears and throats and abdomens, and even removed stitches from the foot of a 12-year old girl who bantered on about some
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