The Travel Through Time

Emilia's POV

“Miss Unusual,” Gabby called me. Her voice was spiced with that mischievous undertone I had come to recognize like the back of my hand.

I paused in the crowded college hallway. A mass of students strolled past for their various lecture rooms or for home, like I was.

I whirled fast for her, knowing what was coming. But I could never be fast with her. She had legs the size of two logs of wood. But God! Can those fat things run? She flew into my back, knocking me forward, with her enormous weight. The books arranged in my arms spilled onto the white-turned-brown tiles of the hallway.

I grunted, clenching my teeth tight to suppress the fury charging violently down my veins. I shrugged her off my back and bent down to pick up my books.

“I am sorry, Emilia,” she screamed. I bowed my head from the unneeded stares she'd drawn to me, reaching for my books. God! I was going to strangle her when I am done.

She dropped to a squat as far as her thick, chubby legs would allow her and began to reach for the books near her.

I gave her no response. Sorry won't cut it this time.

“I said I am sorry, Emilia.”

Still, I didn't respond but continued reaching for my books.

She bumped me with her big body. I whipped my head to her this time. Her face was crumpled into a large, placating smile that stretched her lips well over her chubby cheeks.

“I am sorry, friend,” she whispered softly with almost pouted lips.

Like a magic wand, my fury dissolved first into a frown, then a slight chuckle. Finally, I was laughing as I picked up another book. I just could never get angry at her.

We picked up the books and resumed to our feet.

She chuckled amidst her gasps for breath. “Here you go,” she breathed, handing me the only book she had picked up, a title called WELCOME TO HELL’S GATE.

I stared straight at the book cover for a moment. The thought lifted after being repressed by loads of schoolwork. I was supposed to pick up the second volume in a new bookstore I just discovered en route to my dorm…

“Another sad ending, huh! Miss Unusual.” Gabby teased, walking along with me, and we strolled down the hallway together.

I basked under her full glare now, her brow angled over her fleshy forehead in expectation of my answer. She had no interest in books, but as long as I was reading it, she was always interested.

“Yeah,” I nodded. “You know I like sad endings. That way, it feels like the story is real. Happy Ever After is just meant to appease readers and make more sales.”

“What else should matter to a writer if not sales? This is why you can't beat this Miss Unusual allegation. You are always going in the opposite direction of the usual.” She spoke with a seriousness that was rather amusing.

My cheeks bulged forward as I stifled a chuckle. I covered my mouth with my palm so she wouldn't find out I was laughing at her.

“When everyone wants this, you want that. When everyone is going this way, you are going that way. Sometimes, it feels like I don't know you…” She continued, sounding like a nagging mom—my nagging, naughty school mom.

Yeah. I was Miss Unusual. Some time ago, that was an insult. Now I have come to own it, since everyone has decided to call me that in school.

Looking back now, as we strolled into the college fields, I realized I was more unusual than I had believed. I was the last and only girl of four kids, with pale green eyes, when all my brothers and my parents all had blue. Auburn curls flowed down my head to my chest when my parents and brothers all had jet black hair. And while my brothers were extroverted and social, I buried myself in books, making just one friend—Gabby, from elementary school to college.

I pushed open the glass door of the bookstore, and Gabby bounced in after me.

An old lady sat behind the large counter. Her old, very wrinkled eyes peeked above the large, hard-covered book she was reading, following every step we made to the counter.

“Good afternoon ma’am, I am here to pick up Hell’s Gate volume 2.” I said to her. "I made the order two days ago."

“I am sorry, young lady. Someone has bought the last copy.” She said, her voice flat, like she was speaking to a wall.

My heart sank at the news. I bit down on my lips in silent reproach. Damn it! Why didn’t I come for it sooner?

Gabby bumped my shoulder with her bigger ones, and I jerked my face to her. “So there are more weirdos like you,”

I said nothing to her. Right now, I needed to get a book to read. At least one for the next two days, or I was looking at a total breakdown of my mind and soul.

I leaned onto the large wooden counter so she could hear me better. “What other title do you have, ma’am? Can you recommend a title to me? One with a very devastating, sad ending that can shake me to my core.” I said, not caring how weird that must make me sound.

The thick, hard-covered book in her hand closed with a loud clap that stung the air.

She dropped the book slowly and leaned on the counter toward me, letting me glimpse every bit of her old face. There was a deliberate slowness to the way she moved that made my heart suddenly slam against my chest, my breath caught for a moment.

“Perhaps we should leave,” Gabby leaned close, whispering in my ear.

I couldn't agree more. But my legs were heavy as lead under me. I couldn't get them to move. I couldn't pull my eyes away from the black, soulless void of the old woman's eyes. Lines of wrinkles etched deep on her old face, her somewhat blotchy skin folded against each other. She was strangely too old for a bookstore owner. She looked like she was in her late nineties.

Yet, her voice was so clear, like that of a middle-aged woman. “Be careful what you wish for, young lady. The Duke needs a Duchess.”

I flushed back from the counter, chased back by the intensity of her stare. I swallowed, feeling the huge lump almost tear down my throat. “I think I should leave,” I said to her.

I was about to turn away when her voice stopped me. “Try The Duke of Duchester. It’s on the last shelf, deep into the back of the bookstore.” She leaned back to her seat behind the counter. “Don't say I didn't want you, young lady. The Duke needs a Duchess.” She repeated, then she took her big book from the counter, snapping it open to resume her reading.

Her fingers moved surprisingly fast for a woman in her late nineties.

Gabby dragged me fast towards the bookshelves while my eyes lingered on the old woman. “What does she mean by the Duke needs a Duchess?”

“I don't know,” I answered. I barely heard myself speak. THE DUKE NEEDS A DUCHESS. What does she mean by that? For some reason, that statement sent strange, cold shivers coursing through me. I nearly shuddered in myself.

I dragged my eyes to the bookshelves. “Let's grab the book and get out of here.” I said to Gabby and began tracing my way to the shelf the old lady described.

Other times, I would have spread my arms open wide, positioned my nostrils strategically in the air, and made a slow, careful inhale of the musty, almost vanilla-like odor of old books around me, feeling it wrap around me like a cloak. Now, I walked like my legs were wired to some invisible wheels.

I stopped before the shelf. All the books were thick medieval hardcovers. They looked like books of magic spells I’d seen many times in movies, rather than regular novels.

Gabby bumped my shoulder again, jolting me. Her push sent a tinkling shock through me. I shuddered on my feet. My fingers quivered as I reached for the book, having spied the words written on the hard brown book spine. The Duke of Duchester. Why was I so scared?

I snatched it fast, as if it would harm me otherwise. On the hardcover was the second title, “A book that writes itself.”

I flipped open the pages, my heart beating as fast as my fingers shook. The first random page I opened to was empty. My eyes snapped open wider when I opened more pages, staring at empty brown-like papers—nothing was written in the book.

Gabby leaned her head atop my shoulder. “Let's just grab the book and go, girl.” Her breath raspy behind me.

I didn't respond, my eyes calming a bit as I spotted a sentence on one of the middle pages. It was written in a strange language—Gaelic. I could tell. I was a language major. I read the characters aloud, although with a bit of difficulty. I was versed in many languages but was fluent in a few, and Gaelic just doesn't happen to be any of the few.

I flipped through more pages—they were all empty. I had no use for an empty book. I heaved a heavy sigh as I leaned my arm up to return the book to the shelf. Cold tremors drilled down my spine, and then I staggered on my feet. It took Gabby’s fat, chubby body bouncing me back to get some balance onto my feet again.

I threw my eyes fast in every direction, as far as they could go. But there were no shelves, no bookstore. All I saw around me were large stone walls clamping me in what looked like a medieval room, with medieval furniture and antiques.

“Where are we, Emilia?” Gabby asked, her usually loud voice now tuned low.

My heartbeat thrashed against my chest wildly, pulsing in my ears. Cold shivers continued to ripple through me as I pushed past Gabby to the window. I peered out of the opened space in the latticed window. Beyond me, covering every visible direction, were 17th- or 18th-century stone houses and buildings.

I dropped weightless to the floor, a searing pain rippling from my ass up to my brain. I’d just traveled back in time.