The Visitor by Trisha

"Will you just look at this place!" Bud Brigman enthused, as he pulled up his hired jeep in front of a single story cottage that looked as though it belonged on the lid of one of those fancy chocolate boxes.

He turned to his passenger and friend of many years, Hiram Coffey, hoping for some kind of reaction.

"Are we here at last?" Coffey asked him, yawning and stretching.

He had been asleep again, Bud realized. He had slept through almost the entire flight over to the UK, and had continued to doze throughout the rest of the journey. It was the medication the Navy docs had put him on.

"Yea, this is it. Heather Cottage, the last house in Bent Rigg Village. What do you think?"

His friend leaned forward and peered out of the windscreen at the quaint stone cottage with its pan-tiled roof. He turned back, resting his tired eyes on his companion.

"This is it?"

"Ah-huh."

"You don't think it would have been easier just to book into a hotel?"

Bud shook his head sadly. "You're an ignorant man, Hiram Coffey. Just look at this place. For the next six weeks we're gonna be living here in a house that dates back a couple of hundred years at least. There's no phone, no TV, our nearest neighbour lives a couple of miles away. There's miles of countryside to explore, and this is supposed to be the most spectacular stretch of coastline in England. This is gonna be fantastic, I'm telling you. Did you see that great looking old pub we passed along the road?"

"No alcohol, remember?"

"Oh yea," he'd forgotten. "Well, you can soak up the atmosphere instead," Bud told him, shrugging his shoulders.

"So all this relaxing we're planning on doing, tell me again why we had to come here to do it?"

"'Cos. I always wanted to come here, you miserable bastard. Now get out of the godamned car and help me unload the gear."

As soon as they stepped out of the air-conditioned comfort of the hire car they were struck by the heat, something neither man had expected.

"I thought it might be cooler once we got up here and onto the coast," Coffey said, surprised by the temperature.

"No, I caught the weather forecast on the car radio earlier. This heat wave is country-wide. So far it's been the hottest July since they began keeping records."

"Well, I'll be damned." Coffey was staring off in the opposite direction. "Will you look at that."

Bud had been so wrapped up in the cottage as he came down the drive that he hadn't noticed anything else. They were looking down over a series of green and golden fields that swept the eye out to sea. They had an astonishing panoramic view of the coastline with its cliff top castle and spectacular wall of chalk-white cliffs, ending in a distant lighthouse.

"Now that is quite some view. I wonder how far away that lighthouse is?"

"Way further than it looks." He opened the rear door of the jeep. "Do you have the key for this place?"

"No, the owners supposed to be meeting us here." He reached in for a bag.

"Then this must be the owner." Coffey pointed out, as a well-used blue Toyota pickup came hurtling down the uneven grass track drive towards them.

It came to a bone-jarring halt barely a couple of feet away, and the driver got out. To Bud's amazement, it was a woman whom he placed at somewhere between sixty and seventy years old. She was quite stout and her soft, round face with its frame of neatly-curled gray hair, was wreathed in smiles. She wore a bright flowered dress, topped by a pink apron, and on her feet, he noticed, were pink fluffy slippers.

"Mr. Brigman?" She waved a jumble of papers in their general direction.

"Yes ma'am." He returned her smile, it was difficult not to.

"I'm Mrs. Innes. I hope you haven't been waiting too long in this heat. I've been baking for the village fete and I lost all track of time."

"We only just got here," he assured her. "You're fine."

"Oh, thank goodness. Well I'm glad you found the place, we're a little off the beaten track. It's worth the journey just for the view though, isn't it?"

"How far down the coast are we seeing?" Coffey asked her.

"About thirty miles when it's as clear as this," she told him. "Now, I've written everything down about the utilities." She handed Bud the papers she was carrying. "I'll show you where everything is inside."

She produced keys from a bulging apron pocket, and unlocked the door to the sun lounge, which stretched the full length of the cottage, carefully avoiding stepping in a saucer of milk as she did so.

"This is much more modern than the rest of the building," Bud remarked, as the two men followed her inside.

"Victorian," she told him. "They liked to make places look grander than they were, tacking on a conservatory like this one was one of their favorite tricks. Originally this was an alum workers cottage, built in the early 1700's. It's all in there." She shook a finger at the papers.

It didn't take a genius to work out that Mrs. Innes was clearly in a hurry, as she attempted to rush them from room to room. Bud was oblivious though, and he wasn't making it easy for her with his continual questions about the furniture, the house and the area. Watching the exasperated woman struggle to remain polite was the best entertainment Coffey had had in a long time.

The tour more or less ended in the kitchen. This room shut Bud up at last, with its gleaming modern appliances and shiny surfaces.

"Now the fridge, the freezer, and the store cupboard are all stocked up for you. Whatever else you want, just leave a list at the village store and they'll deliver between 9 and 10 am the following day. If you don't want to cook, the Flask and Falcon does some very good meals,.."

"The what?" Coffey asked her as he pulled an ice cold coke from the fridge.

She smiled at him, probably because it was the first question he had asked. "That's the name of the pub. You can eat at the tea rooms, too, and the hotel Falcon Hall has a restaurant, though I'm afraid I can't recommend it," she sighed. "Tomorrow is our village fete. I hope to see you both there, and in the evening..." She fished around in the apron pockets again, pulled out two cards and handed one to each of them. "We have a barn dance and a barbecue, these are your complimentary tickets. There's a free supper, as much as you can eat. Drinks can be bought at the bar.

"Now," she led them out of the kitchen. "I think that's just about everything." She had paused in the wide hallway to gather her thoughts. "Oh, no, there is the attic." She reached up and pulled on a cord hanging from the ceiling. The cord released one of the sections and pulled down a steep wooden staircase. "Basically we just use this as a store for old furniture, but the attic window has a tremendous view, and there's a telescope..."

She was interrupted by the ringing of a mobile phone, another item she had secreted in the seemingly bottomless pockets of her apron. She gave them a wan smile of apology. "I'm sorry, dears." Then into the phone. "Hello?...I'm still at the cottage...Yes, well I shouldn't be very long now...Try not to get panicky Edna, it's not a crisis unless you make it one...All right, good-bye then, dear." She hung up.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, I'm going to have to love you and leave you, I'm afraid. The preparations for the fete have hit a bit of a sticky wicket so I'll have to leave you to explore the attic on your own. Now, I should warn you that whilst you're here we will have the odd power cut. Generally they only last for a couple of hours, so don't worry. Any other problems you might run across then, just pop up to the farm, that's Far Flat Head Farm."

"That's a pretty strange name, isn't it?" Bud asked her.

"Not really dear, just descriptive. It's the farm on the far flat headland." She was on her way out as she spoke, and the two of them followed.

"Oh!" She turned back halfway down the steps and pointed at the little bowl. "Don't forget the milk!"

With that she was off.

"What the hell's a 'sticky wicket'?" Coffey asked Bud.

"Damned if I know."

After he had finished his unpacking Bud looked for Coffey, he found him in the huge attic room. It was an amazing place, full of old furniture. The window, which neither of them had really noticed from the outside, was a large semi-circle. Though the glass was clear, there was a picture on it made up of small leaded panes. It was impossible to make out what the picture was at the moment though, as his friend had a section of the window open and was looking out through a large brass telescope that was bolted to the floor.

"Hey, this is some room." He walked over to his friend. "What's the view like?"

"Incredible." He relinquished the telescope so Bud could see it for himself. "Take a look." As he moved away, he felt a slight warm breeze through the open window; there was a trace of a scent on it. It was faint but beautiful, not flowers exactly, something more exotic. It lingered only for seconds, and then it was gone; it had drifted away on the breeze.

"Did you smell that?"

"What?" His friend was mesmerized by the view.

"Nothing, forget it."

He sat down on the wooden floor, his back resting against the cold plaster wall, and finished off the last of his now warm Coke. Maybe this was the right place to come after all. He had had his doubts when Bud first suggested coming to England. All he could imagine was London with its cramped busy streets, and endless shops and museums. This, though, was something completely different. He needed somewhere he could find a little peace. His last SEAL mission had been a disaster; he had lost half his team, and he just couldn't get it out of his head. The inquiry afterwards had exonerated him, everyone had gone to great lengths to tell him that it wasn't his fault, but that didn't make his men any less dead. It didn't keep away the nightmares either, or the daymares he had been having. His life had been in the toilet for the last four months. A breakdown, the doctors called it, stress related. They had welcomed him to the world of medication, so much so that at one point he felt like he was living inside a giant bubble. That had been the worst of it. The medication had lessened and his sense of reality had returned, well, more or less.

"Did I tell you I had a dream about you on the plane?" He asked Brigman. "About you and Lins."

"Me and Lins." Talk of his ex-wife always commanded Bud's full attention; he was crazy about her. "What happened?"

"You killed me." Coffey told him, setting down the bottle between long, levi-covered legs. "We were on this submersible drilling rig."

"That thing she's working on?"

"I guess." He wasn't really sure, or interested in what the ex-Mrs. Brigman was doing. He had never liked her. He thought her over-opinionated, and she thought he was a throwback to the Stone Age. But Bud loved her, even now, and spared Coffey no detail of her life. He thought he was able to tune out these monologues, but clearly some of it was getting through, or he wouldn't have know about the drilling rig. He shrugged. "Anyway I got a bad case of pressure sickness, and there were these aliens at the bottom of the sea,..."

"Aliens?" Bud, leaning on the telescope, started to laugh.

"Yea, well it was a dream, I didn't say it made much sense."

"So what happened?"

"I wanted to nuke the aliens, and you and Lindsey were trying to stop me. I was in a mini-sub, and you knocked me into this abyss, the pressure killed me."

"Me and Lins, we liked each other in this dream?"

"Pretty much. I guess that's why it was more of a nightmare than a dream." He cracked a too-infrequent smile.

"Yea, right." The glare Bud gave him was half-hearted. "You still having the other nightmares?" he asked him, more seriously.

"Sometimes," he told him. Bud was one of the few people he was able to talk to like this. They had been friends for a long time, seen each other at the best and worst they could be. "Not so often now though, and no more flashbacks, not for a couple of months now."

"Have they told you how long it will be before you're off medication altogether?"

"No." They didn't tell him anything much. "But I can cut down a little, if I find I'm coping."

"That's good then," Bud assured him. "Take things easy and you'll soon be back to your old self."

"I don't know if that's what I want," Coffey told him. "I think maybe I'm finished with the teams."

"Have the docs said that?" his friend asked him, clearly surprised by what he had said.

"No, but..."

"Then you're jumping to conclusions." Bud crouched down on the floor in front of him. "Wait and see what they have to say," he urged.

"It's not down to them, it's me," he confessed. "I don't know if I want to go back." It wasn't easy for him to admit.

Bud shook his head. "Don't jump, I'm telling you. Wait until the docs give you the all-clear and see how you feel then. That's the time to make the decision, not now man, you need to be crystal clear on this."

"Maybe so." He looked into the concerned face of his friend. Bud was always the voice of reason. "Forget about it for now."

"It's forgotten." His friend grinned. "Now going back to this dream, did Lins and me have any sex?"

"Ugh, no. It was a bad enough nightmare without that!"

Bud leaned back contentedly in his garden chair and patted a more than full belly. He was a man who loved his food, and the Flask and Falcon had proved to be the perfect place to indulge that love. Their dinner, served in the pub's fairy-lit beer garden, had been delicious and the portions were huge. Add to this the fact that, because of Coffey's alcohol ban, he had been forced to drink the whole of their complimentary carafe of very palatable house red himself, and he was a happy man indeed.

"Was everything all right for you gentlemen?" Their waitress asked them.

She was a fresh-faced twenty-year-old, with blonde hair, and cheerleader good looks. The tailored white shorts and strappy pink top she was wearing made him wish he were twenty years younger.

"The meal was delicious." Bud told her, smiling broadly.

"What about you sir?" Her big blue eyes fastened on Coffey and Bud saw her melt. A twenty-odd-year old might be a fantasy for him, but would prove no problem at all for his friend. "You didn't finish anything, I hope there was nothing wrong?"

"No," the green eyes almost smiled at her. "It was just fine, thank you."

"Can I get you anything else?"

"Coffee would be nice," he told her.

"And for you too sir?" She tore her eyes reluctantly away from Coffey and back to Bud.

"That'd be fine."

He watched her walk away, admiring the sway of her hips. "She likes you," he told his friend.

"Who?"

Was he really this detached or was it all an act? "The waitress."

"She's just a kid."

"You knew she was coming on to you though, right?" Bud asked him.

"I guess, I don't know."

"How come the twenty-year-olds never go for me?"

His friend grinned. "I thought you only had eyes for Lindsey?"

"At least I have eyes for someone. When's the last time you went out with a woman?"

"There was a girl..."

"A one-night stand doesn't count. I mean a girl whose name you can remember, a relationship."

"Relationships don't work when you're in the teams," his friend replied, on the defensive. "I told you that before."

"Maybe it's just what you need?" Bud offered.

"Yea, that's right. Maybe I don't have enough complications in my life right now!"

"Don't get testy!" Bud grinned at him. "Hold down the fort, I need to go and find the can."

The wine must have been a little stronger than he thought, or it was the pint of beer he'd tried earlier. Bud felt quite light-headed as he made his way through the crowded pub after finding the gents'. Now all he had to do was work out how he got back outside to the beer garden.

"Whoa!" He had turned a little too quickly and collided with someone who had just left the bar, knocking their drink to the floor. "Geez, I'm sorry." He turned and faced the prettiest pair of brown eyes he had seen in a long time.

"No harm done." She smiled at him before retrieving the empty glass from the floor.

Hell, she was pretty. Slim in her shorts and sleeveless shirt. Maybe in her late thirties, she had a young girlish face, an impression heightened by the fact that her hair was caught up in a pony tail. The big brown eyes were bright and friendly as she smiled at him.

"Let me get you another drink," he offered, barely able to take his eyes off her.

"There's no need, really. It wasn't a full one." Her smile never wavered for a second.

"No please, I insist. It was clumsy of me."

She gave him a nod. "Very well then. A gin and tonic."

He ordered the drink from one of the girls behind the bar and then turned back to her. "Bud Brigman," he told her, offering his hand.

"I'm Celia Jarvis," she returned, shaking it firmly. "You're an American, are you here on holiday?"

"Vacation, that's right." It was noisy in the pub and the two of them were virtually shouting at each other.

"With your family?" she asked him.

"No, I'm divorced. I'm here with a friend of mine. We're staying down the road at Heather Cottage. What about you, are you on holiday?"

"No," she shook her head. "I live here. How long are you staying?"

"Six weeks." The barmaid tapped him on the shoulder and he paid for the drink and handed it to her.

She smiled. "Thank you. You've picked a nice place to stay, Mrs. Innes keeps it nice. A little quiet though."

"So are you another farmer's wife? Not that you, I mean, you don't remind me of Mrs. Innes or anything," he struggled.

She shook her head, laughing. "No husband and no farm. I'm the local GP."

"The what?"

"The local doctor. What about you?" she asked him. "What do you do?"

"I'm an engineer. I work on drilling rigs," he told her.

"Your friend, too?"

"No, he's a Navy lieutenant."

"So isn't coming here a bit of a busman's holiday?" She considered what she'd said. "Like taking coals to Newcastle, ice to the Eskimos?" she offered.

"I know what you mean," he laughed. "I guess it is in a way, but..."

"It's in your blood. I know, my dad was a fisherman."

"Mine, too." He just couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

"Will you be going to the barbecue tomorrow, after the village fete?" she asked him, a blush creeping up her cheeks.

"We have tickets, so yea. I thought we might check out the fete too," he told her.

"I'm working during the day I'm afraid, so I'll miss the fete. You should enjoy it though, an awful lot of effort goes into it."

"Will you miss the barbecue, too?"

"Oh, no. I'm not working in the evening, and I have my ticket so I hope...I mean, I look forward to seeing you there, perhaps?"

"Yeah, yeah, that would be nice. I... erm... I better get back outside. It's been nice meeting you, Celia," he remembered.

She nodded and smiled. "Yes, and you, Bud."

Julie walked out into the beer garden with the coffee and mints for the Americans, and was pleased to see that the gorgeous one was on his own. The washed-out Levi's he was wearing fit him like a second skin, his plain T-shirt was loose and baggy, except for across the top of the chest and shoulders, where the white fabric stretched beautifully. She had the most incredible urge to knead those muscular shoulders. His face was nice, too. Maybe a little on the serious side, but she knew a few certain ways to bring a smile to the man's face. He had short red-blonde hair, and a face that had a lot of the little boy in it still, a pouting mouth that looked just ready for a deep, tonsil-tickling kiss.

Instead she gave him her best smile. "Your coffee, sir."

She set out the cups, allowing him a good long peek down her cleavage as she did so. She looked up finally into the most sexy green eyes, and a little smile that told her he knew just what she was doing.

"Is there anything else that you'd like this evening, sir?" She pursed her lips a little and smiled back at him. She knew she was going a bit over the top, but he was such a hunk, even with that mustache.

"It's been a long day...erm..." he reached out a long slender hand and adjusted the name tag that she wore pinned to her top. As he did so he let his fingers graze over her nipple. "...Julie," he read. He looked up into her eyes. "I think we'll just have the bill." Even his quiet voice was throaty and sexy.

"Of course, sir." She had had her bluff called and she knew it. She needed a cold shower, and for once the weather had nothing to do with it. "I'll bring that out to you in just a little while. Enjoy your coffee."

"I will, thank you."

She knew he was watching her rear as she walked slowly back the length of the garden, but she didn't care, it just felt so good.

Coffey was finding it difficult not to laugh as he watched the girl deliberately turn her walk down the garden into a catwalk strut. He had to admit she was attractive, sassy too, he had expected to get his face slapped there. Too young for him though, he reminded himself.

He stifled another yawn. It had been a very long day, that was the truth. He felt even more tired than usual. He knew that his meds made him tired, but he wasn't complaining. He was finally beginning to feel a whole lot better. More in control than he had been in a long time.

He caught that scent again, the one he had been able to smell earlier, back at the cottage. It was a little stronger here, but only a little. It was such an unusual smell, and yet there seemed to be something familiar about it, something...It had gone again. He shrugged his shoulders and took a drink of his coffee.

What the hell was keeping Bud? If he didn't get back soon he'd probably fall asleep in the chair.

Just at that moment he came back outside, hurrying to their table, a big smile on his broad face. He sat and gulped down some of his coffee.

"I was beginning to think I'd lost you."

"Yeah, sorry, I got talking and sort of lost track. Well, no, I didn't really lose track," he was laughing to himself.

"A woman, right?"

"Yeah." He looked up at his friend, genuinely surprised. "How did you know?"

"The glazed look, the grin, the mumbling and laughing to yourself. All clues if you know what you're looking for." Coffey told him sarcastically.

"Well, it's not as if it's impossible for me to meet a woman!"

"I know that," he said, trying hard to hide his grin.

"I bumped into her, literally. She has the cutest face. She's gonna be at the barbecue tomorrow. That's okay, isn't it? I mean, you don't mind?"

Coffey shook his head. He was about to reassure Bud when he saw the waitress approaching, returning with their bill.

"Julie!" He grinned at her and gave his knee a slap. Just as he expected the girl sat on it, slipping an arm around his shoulders.

"I thought you were feeling tired," she told him.

"I said it had been a long day. We never got 'round to talking about tomorrow, now did we?"

"Well, I'm working here at lunch time." Her fingers were playing with the back of his neck.

"But are you going to the barbecue?" he asked her.

"I wouldn't miss it," she laughed.

"Well, then neither would I!" He gently untangled her arm from around his neck.

"The bill?" Bud asked her, taking it from her unresisting fingers.

"I thought you said she was just a kid?" Bud plagued him as they walked home.

"I thought you only had eyes for Lindsey?" he regretted the words as soon as they were out. Bud had had way too much to drink and Coffey didn't feel like getting into it with him.

"Hey, that's not fair." Bud grabbed his arm.

He stopped. "I'm sorry, I'm not serious."

"I am!"

"Yeah, I know, I ought to know, okay?" The man had a sense of honour that, drunk or sober, he just couldn't fault.

He nodded. "You're not serious about the girl either, are you?"

"It was just a bit of fun."

"Do you think she knows that?"

"Take my word for it, Bud, that's one real bright girl."

"Well, we don't want to offend these people."

"We won't. I won't, okay? Can we go now?"

"Yeah, forget it," Bud slapped him on the back. "I just had too much to drink."

The cottage was like an oven. There was no air conditioning in the place, but then Coffey realized, it wasn't something that they usually needed. He opened the French windows of his bedroom, but the windows only opened into the sun lounge, so it didn't make that much difference to the temperature.

He brought his tablets and glass of water out with him into the darkened sun lounge to take. He stood there in just his undershorts and stared out of the window. It was so quiet here. To the right was a stretch of woodland he had yet to explore, and ahead the sea, and the spectacular stretch of coastline. Even at night, it was an incredible sight. The ruined castle, though distant, was still visible, clearly floodlit. The coast roads, too, could clearly be seen with their strings of street lights, gem-like against the blackness. The lighthouse was pulsing out its beam at regular intervals. There was the odd light out at sea, too, just visible, trawlers probably. Closer to home, he could see the nearby farms lit up. Everything was peaceful. He swallowed his tablets, washing them down with a drink of water.

He padded, barefoot, back into his bedroom. He could faintly hear Bud snoring in his room, and he was grateful that the walls were so thick in this place. He stripped off his pants and climbed into bed. The cotton sheets at least felt cool, and he stretched out comfortably. He was asleep within a couple of minutes.

The man was good to look at. He had silky-looking skin that disguised the hardness of the tautly-muscled body beneath. She liked to look at him, at his short red-blonde hair, and his face that still betrayed the young boy he had once been. His lips fascinated her. They looked so soft, were shaped so finely, and the tiny crease that crossed the center of his bottom lip was tantalizing. She didn't like the hair above his lips, it seemed out of place with his features, he would be better without it.

She had become preoccupied with watching him today. She had seen him arrive at the cottage with his blue-eyed friend and look around. Sometimes she had been close enough to hear his sing-song voice, but he had been all but oblivious to her presence. Later she had seen him at the inn. The way that the girl had sat on his knee, the way her fingers with their brightly-painted nails had touched the back of his neck, insinuated themselves beneath his clothes so that she could caress the flesh on his shoulders. All this had stayed in her mind, she had been envious of the girl, and it had brought her to this.

She stood by his bedside and watched him sleeping. He lay on his back, only his loins were covered by the sheet that had tangled around him on this hot night. A sheen of perspiration lightly covered his body. She watched the rise and fall of his chest and found herself kneeling down, right beside the bed. His face was only inches away from hers. She could smell soap on him.and mint from the cleaning of his teeth.

It was pleasurable, being this close. She could almost touch him. Perhaps she could do that without waking him up. Touch him softly like the girl had. No, she shouldn't, it was wrong for her to be here like this.

Perhaps just once.

She reached out a tentative hand to touch his chest, his left breast, just below the nipple. She allowed her fingers to skim over his flesh. It felt just as wonderful as she had imagined it would, but what made it better was the little sigh he gave. He must have felt her touch and liked it.

She reached out again, and this time touched the muscular plains of his stomach, this time the sigh was deeper, and he squirmed a little beneath her fingertips.

She had done it! Done what she had yearned to do, and now she should leave. It was so wrong that she was here.

He had felt pleasure from her touch though, how could that be a bad thing? She could please him in all kinds of ways, far better than the girl from the inn could.

Without thinking, she touched his lips with her fingertip, fascinated by how silky they felt.

His eyes suddenly opened, and just for a moment, as they went wide, he saw her. But by the time he had turned on the lamp by his bedside, she had disappeared from his sight.

"Who's there!" he demanded. He climbed out of bed, heedless of his nudity, and crossed the room to the French windows. He was tense, coiled like an animal ready to defend its territory, as he moved cautiously into the sun room. He was clearly surprised to find no one there. Fear and uncertainty had replaced his earlier bravado. He began putting on lights, rattling doors and windows to check that they were locked.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bud asked as he stepped out into the sun room.

He found Coffey stark naked. He was breathing heavily, trying all the locks.

"Someone was in my room," he rasped. "A woman."

"What?" Bud relaxed a little.

She was right beside my bed. I saw her."

"Where did she go?"

"I was certain she came out here," Coffey told him. "How the hell did she get out?"

"What did she look like?"

"I...I don't know." His chest was heaving and Bud knew he was upset. He shook his head. "It was a dream, wasn't it?"

"Looks that way."

"I swear it seemed so real," he told Bud earnestly.

"I know, so let's not dismiss it until we've taken a good look 'round, okay?"

His friend nodded.

She watched from outside as the two men moved from room to room, turning on the lights and looking around. After another talk with his friend, he eventually returned to his room. He looked into the sun room, as though to convince himself that there was no one there.

She hadn't meant to frighten him.

He sat down on the edge of the bed for awhile, his head in his hands, but after a while he rubbed his face with splayed fingers. He climbed back into bed, pulling the sheet over him. He reached out then to turn off the bedside lamp, then hesitated, his hand was clearly shaking. He didn't turn it off.

She waited for a while, watched him finally drift off to sleep, before she left.

The next morning, Coffey had risen very early. He was sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen taking a drink when a bleary-eyed Bud came in. Coffey looked up at him slowly as he entered, waiting for the comments he knew his friend would make on seeing what he had done.

"Holy shit!" Bud blurted out.

He had shaved off his mustache, something he had adamantly refused to do in the past.

"You shaved it off!" Bud took another look at him and shook his head, laughing. "I can't believe that you did that, man."

"Will you get over it?"

"I can't, you've had that godamned walrus on your lip since, geez, I don't know how long."

Coffey glared at his friend. "Yea, so it was time for a change, will you drop it now?" The truth was it was beginning to bother him. He'd had an overwhelming urge to shave off his mustache since he'd first woken up that morning, but now he'd done it, it didn't seem to make any sense.

"How are you feeling?" Bud asked his friend, seeing the strange expression on his face. Losing the mustache had made him look younger, but it did nothing to disguise the fact that he didn't look like he'd had very much sleep.

"Okay, I guess. I went for a run to clear my head." He poured himself another glass of fresh orange juice from the carton in front of him. "I'm sorry about last night."

"Forget it. Do you think it was a dream?"

"I know it had to be, but it seemed so real. I could have sworn she was there. I felt her touch my lips, I opened my eyes and just for a second I saw her, locked eyes with her. Then she seemed to move back, away from me real fast, out through the windows, but when I went out to the sun room there was no one there."

"What did she look like? I mean was it the waitress from the pub, maybe?"

"No," he shook his head. "I know it wasn't her. I didn't really see her clearly, just eyes, dark hair, a vague shape. It was so fast."

"Not an alien, then?"

To Bud's relief, he grinned. It was only a small one, but he was grateful it was there.

"Fuck you, Brigman."

"Right back at you. Now, have you eaten breakfast?" He opened the fridge door, checking out the contents.

"Not yet."

"Good, I have an urge for ham and eggs," he confessed.

"After all you ate last night!"

"We're on vacation, remember?"

"You planning to live till the end of it?"

The fete was surprisingly large. There was a jumble of stalls, selling everything from eggs to jewelry. Table top games and those of the coconut-shy variety. There were fairground rides, too, on the outer edges of the village green. Everything was centered around a roped-off show ring that displayed a marching band, sheep dog displays, and a fancy dress parade. It was all entertaining and very good-natured, packed with candy floss and balloon-wielding children.

Bud enjoyed this sort of thing, the noise, the crowds, and the atmosphere. He was having a thoroughly good time. He knew it wasn't really Coffey's thing. His normal idea of entertainment, at least when he was well, was to climb something, trek somewhere, or fling himself down some treacherous stretch of water in a flimsy boat. He was by nature a quiet man, softly spoken as a rule. He was opinionated though, and difficult to sway from his beliefs. That's why he and Lindsey had always hit it off so badly, the two of them were like opposing forces. She was in your face with her opinions, loud and mocking of Coffey's conservatism.

He grinned to himself, and was about to comment on one particular argument between his friend and his ex-wife when he saw the expression on Coffey's face. He looked almost dazed, completely out of it.

"Hey! Are you okay?" he asked him, concerned at what he saw.

"Yeah... No! I guess maybe I'm over-tired after last night, you know?"

"Maybe you ought to go back to the cottage, take a cat nap or something?" he suggested.

"What about you?"

"Well, I might finish looking 'round the fete, then I wanted to go and take a look at the church over there. I was reading about it last night. You know, the original tower dates back to fifteen-"

"Whatever." Coffey cut him off. "Seems like a good idea. I'll see you back at the cottage later."

Julia caught sight of the two Americans as they both bought raffle tickets from Mrs. Innes. She smiled. The hunky one had shaved off his mustache. He looked even better now, if that were possible.

He wore white shorts and a blue and white T-shirt. She wondered what he looked like without them. With a bit of luck, tonight she might get to find out.

"He's not for you, Julia."

The voice, though soft, startled her, and she turned to see its owner. He leaned against a nearby tree. He was around six feet tall and his build was slim though, in its own way, as physically attractive as the more muscular American. His thick, auburn hair hung in waves down to his shoulders. There was an air of sadness about his long, pale face, but his features were beautiful, especially the large, moist green eyes.

"I know who you are," she told him, unable to keep her nervousness from her voice.

He came to stand directly behind her, his cool hand moved her hair back behind her left ear, and his fingers caressed her cheek.

"Did your mother tell you I would be coming?"

His touch had sent waves of excitement through her body.

"She told me about you," she admitted, a little breathlessly.

"Then you'll know that the American doesn't matter anymore. He's not what you're looking for."

A kiss, planted just below her ear, sent feelings through her that were so intense that she thought she might faint.

"Come," he urged her, taking her hand in his. "It's time that we talked."

The long walk back to the cottage was a real pleasure, and Coffey was beginning to feel quite invigorated. The narrow lane snaked around and about, and in places it afforded some quite incredible views of the sea and the coastline with its towering cliffs. It was quiet, too, unlike the fete which had seemed so loud, and so crowded. He had never been a great lover of crowds, and his dislike had become a little more acute since he had become ill. Here he could hear nothing but the sound of the birds and insects, a tractor working somewhere off in the distance, and the occasional muted sounds from the fete. The village seemed to be deserted, everyone at the fete.

Well, maybe not everyone. He caught sight of a woman walking ahead of him. Just glimpses of her, really, between the trees, as the road curved around in front of him. It was her dress that made her stand out so clearly. It was a shimmering yellow. Other than the dress, and the fact that she seemed to have very long dark hair, and a tantalizingly pleasant figure, he couldn't make out any of her features. He toyed with the idea of jogging to catch her up, but realized that this was a woman alone, and in a lonely place, so she might not appreciate it.

He did quicken his pace a little though, and by the time he reached the gate to the cottage she was only ten yards or so ahead. Her figure, from the back at least, was very pleasant. The dress she wore was fairly short, and revealed long shapely legs that were lightly tanned to a gilded peach. She seemed quite tall.

He ached to see what she looked like from the front.

"Good afternoon!" he called out to her, hating himself for doing it as soon as the words were out.

She turned slowly and looked back at him. She was perfect. Her face with its delicate features, and astonishing feline eyes, seemed to sear itself into his mind. She smiled at him and then turned back, walking on without ever saying a word.

Coffey watched her until a dip in the road took her out of his sight.

Celia Jarvis mechanically tidied up her desk, filing away various reports and letters. Her receptionist had already left for the day, eager to join her family at the village celebrations, and Celia, house calls and surgery finished, didn't want to be too long before she could lock up here and go get herself ready upstairs.

She had been thinking about the American, Bud Brigman, on and off for most of the day. He had seemed so nice, so friendly. He even had a friendly kind of face. Very round and jovial with that close-cropped blonde hair, going pretty thin on top, but that didn't matter. He was good looking, and his light blue eyes were gorgeous. She hoped he'd be there at the dance tonight, she got the impression last night that he was interested, she hoped she hadn't misread the signals. No, she hadn't, she wasn't that out of touch with the dating game. He would be there she decided, and a little extra effort wouldn't go amiss.

She was so engrossed with her thoughts that she barely heard the timid tap on her office door. It opened slowly, just a little.

"Dr. Jarvis?"

The voice startled her, but she recognized the face.

"I was just about to lock up for the day, Julie. Do you want to make an appointment?"

"I, erm, I,..."

The girl's hair, she realized, was disheveled, mascara tears smudged a dirty face. She went over to the door.

"Come on inside," she urged her.

She was in a dreadful mess. Her shorts were filthy, as were her legs, and her knees were badly grazed. She was holding together what had once been a white blouse that seemed to have been ripped to shreds in places. On her face were a couple of deep scratches, and a nasty-looking bruise was already coming out.

"Whatever happened, Julie, did you fall?" she asked her, as she guided her over to the examination couch to sit down. The girl was trembling, and trying not to cry.

"I went into a ditch, there were brambles everywhere." She released the front of her blouse allowing it to fall open, and Celia saw the wicked looking cuts and deep scratches on the girl's chest and breasts.

"I can clean these up for you, don't worry," she reassured her. "You'll be as good as new in no time at all."

She collected together the things she wanted, as Julie slipped off the remnants of her blouse, holding what was left of it in front of her to modestly cover her breasts.

"How did you fall?" Celia asked her as she cleaned up her face, hoping to distract her from the pain the antiseptic would cause her.

"I was frightened." The girl began to sob.

"Frightened of what?"

"I went with him, but I was afraid."

"Went with who?" Had someone tried to hurt this girl?

Julie didn't answer her question directly, she was clearly lost in the events. "I wanted to go with him, but I didn't know what was going to happen. I was frightened, so I ran away."

"Did someone chase you?"

"No, at least I don't think he did. I just wanted to get away, but the woods wouldn't let me, they were so thick. They were closing in, trying to stop me from leaving, I know they were. There were nettles and brambles everywhere I turned." She was crying now. "Do you think he was angry? You shouldn't make him angry. Mum said I would meet him someday, I shouldn't have run away."

"Your mum knew this man?" Susan Bloome had committed suicide eighteen months earlier, leaving Julie and her five siblings. There was no father, in fact it was pretty clear that no one man had been responsible for her children. Susan had been a tragic case. A truly beautiful woman, but badly flawed. She had been in and out of mental institutions her entire life. Julie, her eldest at twenty-one, was a little wild, but she had not seemed to share any of her mothers problems, other than a very healthy interest in men. But this, it all seemed a little strange.

"Do you know this man's name, Julie?" she asked her.

Julie locked eyes with her suddenly. "Of course I do."

"What is it?"

"No! I can't tell you that, and you mustn't tell him yours. My mum's always known it, you see, and he's always know mine."

"All right, Julie, all right. This man, did he do anything to frighten you, did he try to touch you in any way you didn't like, or hurt you in any way."

"No, I was just afraid. He's so beautiful, you see, that it makes you afraid."

Celia finished tending to her cuts and bruises and then nipped upstairs to find her something to wear in place of her blouse. She drove her home and gave her a couple of sedatives to take, instructing her brother Adam to keep a wary eye on her.

She made a note to pop in on Julie tomorrow. She had a feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.

Thoughts of the girl in the yellow dress had perked Coffey up quite a bit. He decided that taking a nap could come later, the cottage was hot anyway, so instead he decided to explore the property's wood.

There was a sign attached to one of the trees. A name, long faded and now unreadable, had been carved on it by hand, together with what might have been a butterfly, no, maybe a bat, it was hard to say. High above the sign in the same tree was a huge owl or bat box.

As soon as he entered the woods, he could smell that elusive scent he had noticed so many times before. It was a wonderful smell, and it was quite strong here, it almost seemed to linger in the still air. As he moved deeper inside the trees and the undergrowth became quite dense, it was surprisingly cool and moist. Tendrils of sweet-smelling honeysuckle threaded their way through the tree trunks and up into the canopy. Oddly enough he couldn't hear any birdsong, but he had probably frightened them away. This place of shade had an earthy, moist smell to it, and it was cool enough to make him shiver after being in the hot sunshine.

The path through the wood didn't appear to be used that often, and in places it was difficult to negotiate, with raised tree roots, some of which were as thick as his leg. In fact, for a while he was so busy concentrating on keeping his footing that he had no opportunity to look around him. When he did look up, it seemed he had startled a mass of butterflies. They moved so fast he could barely see them, he was left only with a glance of these beautiful winged creatures, some larger than others, in wonderful iridescent colors. Shades of blue, green, and yellow, the same yellow as the girls dress. The thought of the beautiful girl, coupled with an awareness of that wonderful scent, made him suddenly erect and he groaned.

The butterflies had vanished and he quickened his pace. He was eager to get to the end of the path. He felt as though there was something there he needed to see, almost as if something was going to happen.

The woodland thinned suddenly and, to his disappointment, there was nothing to see at the end other than a large grassy, flat-topped mound, and a patch of meadowland.

The sun felt very fierce after leaving the cool shade of the woods, and he felt hot, a little disoriented. The world seemed to tilt suddenly.

"Are you all right?" A man's voice asked him, so close that it startled him. "You look a little dizzy."

The man had come up silently behind him, which perturbed Coffey more than he would care to admit.

"I, erm..." his head was spinning. "...I'll be fine in just a minute."

His vision was a little blurred, but the man appeared young, with long, auburn hair, bright eyes. His voice was soft and concerned, and he had a strange accent.

"You need to sit down." The man took his arm. "Not here though," he said softly. "This wouldn't be a good place for you, right now. Come, out of the sun."

He led him away from the mound and onto a path that seemed to skirt the woodland. There was a fallen tree beside the path, and the younger man helped him to sit down there, in the shade. He didn't sit with him, but crouched comfortably in front of him.

"Any better?" he asked.

He managed to focus his eyes on the stranger. He had a long, pale, serious face, with stunning eyes that were filled with light and fanned by thick lashes. There was something about him, something familiar, but he couldn't place what it was.

"I feel pretty shaky, everything's spinning."

"Sit still, it will pass if you let it." He had an authoritative way about him. He reached out a hand and felt Coffey's brow, his palm felt very cool. "You're one of the Americans from Heather Cottage."

"That's right." He fought to relax and keep his breathing even. "How did you know?"

The man smiled into his eyes. "There are few secrets in such a small place."

"Do you live here?"

"At times. Do you think you can stand?"

He nodded, and the man rose with fluid grace to his feet, then reached out to help him .A sudden fragment of memory played itself over in his mind. He remembered falling when he was a kid, of someone reaching out a hand to grasp his arm...

The younger man had a surprisingly strong grip and yanked him easily to his feet.

"This path leads back to the cottage," he told him.

Coffey felt unsteady, but they walked slowly. "I don't know what's wrong, I felt fine a few moments ago."

"Perhaps the sun, or perhaps you're more tired than you thought, who can say?" His voice with its strange accent had a compelling quality.

"Maybe you're right." He did feel tired again. "Can you, can you smell a kind of perfume smell, like cloves, and..."

"Probably the wildflowers," his companion told him.

They hardly seemed to walk any distance at all before they were back at the cottage again. As they approached the door, the younger man crouched down at the side of the steps.

He held up two halves of the little bowl for a swaying Coffey to see. "It's broken."

"Yeah." He was getting a headache.

"How did it happen?"

"Bud, he'd had one drink too many last night, I guess. He stood on the damned thing. Still haven't seen the cat."

"No, you wouldn't." The man stood up. "Do you have your key?"

He nodded, fished it out of his pocket and fumbled around near the lock for a while, before a cool hand came down over his and guided his actions.

"Listen, thanks, I..." They were standing in his room he realized. How? He didn't remember coming in or...

"You have nothing to thank me for," the man told him. "Lie down now, get some sleep. I will leave you now, but we will meet again."

He barely had the energy to acknowledge what he said, let alone show the man out.

"Hey!" Bud Brigman shook his friends shoulder to wake him.

To his surprise, Coffey's eyes snapped open, and he seemed to come fully awake straight away. Bud hoped that this was a good sign, that he was on his way to getting back to his normal self.

"Bud?" he seemed quite surprised.

He grinned. "Who were you expecting?"

"Well, I could've sworn–" he shook his head to clear it. "When did you get back?"

"Hours ago." He had looked in on his friend and found him sound asleep, so he'd left him to get some rest. "I thought I'd better wake you if you're still planning on going to the barbecue. You feeling okay now?"

"To tell you the truth I feel much better. Have I got time for a shower before we leave?"

He nodded. "If you move fast."

Ten minutes later Bud laughed as he heard the sound of singing coming from Coffey's shower.

An open-sided marquee had been erected on the village green to accommodate the barn dance. The place was already packed and lively by the time Bud and Coffey arrived. The locals were a pretty friendly bunch, and they made up most of the crowd, with just a scattering of guests from the hotel and the other odd properties in the area that were rented out to visitors. As the only two foreign holiday-makers, they were afforded extra attention, and soon struck up conversations with a number of the locals.

Hiram found himself holding two pint glasses of dark-colored beer, topped with a thick, creamy-looking head. Two of the local farmers, Bill and Eddy, had both insisted on buying them a drink, and the beer was in their hands before they had time to refuse.

"Bud, you're gonna have to drink this stuff, I can't risk mixing this with the meds, besides," he curled up his face, "it's not even chilled."

"This is British beer, they don't really drink it chilled. They only chill their 'lite' beers." His friend took a long drink of one of his own pints, which left him with a froth-covered top lip. "It doesn't taste too bad, I guess you could get used to it."

"Then you'd better start now, man, because I can't drink these, and you were the one who was going on last night about not offending the locals."

"I don't know if I can drink four of them," Bud confessed. "This is pretty strong stuff." He attempted to imitate some of the locals and down about half a pint in one long gulp, but he looked like he was going to choke.

Coffey laughed at him.

"Something wrong?"

He turned to see a pretty-looking woman with soft, brown, shoulder-length hair. She can't have been much younger than he was, but she had a girlish face, emphasized by the doe-brown eyes and smattering of freckles across her nose.

"Celia!"

Bud blushed down to his roots, his face lit by a puppyish gin. Coffey inwardly groaned, this had all the signs of one of his friend's major crushes.

"Hi Bud." She smiled right back at him, her expression just as enthusiastic as his. "What's wrong," she asked again.

"Nothing really. I was just trying to work out how I could drink these two pints and Coffey's, too. Oh," he remembered his manners. "Celia Jarvis, this is Hiram Coffey," he introduced them.

She held out a hand to him and then realized that he didn't have an empty one.

"Don't you like it?" she asked him.

"Well, these two guys at the bar bought them for us before we had a chance to refuse. I can't drink it, I'm taking tablets that don't mix with alcohol."

"I understand, and you don't want to offend anyone." She nodded. "Which two guys bought them for you?"

"Bill and Eddy over there." Bud nodded at the two men who were watching, and they both smiled back.

"May I?" She took a pint out of Coffey's hand and tasted it for herself. She shook her head sadly at the two locals. "I might have guessed, this is Old Peculiar. Drink this if you're not used to it and you'll end up flat on your back." She shouted over to the two laughing men. "Nice one, Bill, don't you have an appointment for me to look at your hemorrhoids next week?"

The local stopped laughing and paled a little, which his friend found even funnier.

"They don't really mean any harm," she told them. "They just get a little juvenile at times. Why don't you both go and find a table, and I'll buy a round of drinks for us? What would you like?" she asked Coffey.

He grinned at her, more than a little impressed. "A Coke would be fine."

"Bud?"

"A bottle of lite beer." He grinned. "Thanks."

The two of them found a table away from the bar.

"Well, what do you think?" Bud asked him.

"She's feisty, I'll give her that. But you're gonna sit here and drool half the night. That's what I think."

"No, I mean it. She's pretty though, right?"

"Yea."

"Do you like her?"

"I don't know, I've barely spoken to her, and neither have you, when you stop and think about it. So just take it slowly, huh?"

"Sheesh." Bud stroked his hand over his balding pate down to his forehead. "Yea, you're right." He grinned. "You seem to have perked up since this morning."

"To tell you the truth I feel great," he drawled. "This morning's a bit of a blur. I can vaguely remember walking back to the cottage, laying in bed, my head pounding, and that's it."

"Is that all right? Losing time like that seems pretty strange." His friend was clearly concerned.

"I lost days when I was in the hospital, so this doesn't worry me. Besides I must have needed the sleep, and it seems to have done the trick."

"Maybe you should talk to Celia about it."

"Why?"

"She's the local doctor, and what's the harm in making sure that everything's all right?"

"I'm fine, I told you. I feel great now."

"Coffey, you can't remember parts of this morning!"

"It's nothing to make a fuss about! I don't want-" He shut up quickly as Celia came to the table and put down the drinks. He glared over at Bud to keep quiet, and Bud glared right back at him.

The girl hesitantly passed out the drinks.

"Have I done something?" she asked. "If I'm intruding, then I can go."

"You just caught us having a difference of opinion," Coffey told her, but the smile he gave her must have looked a little grim.

"About me?" she asked as she slowly took a seat.

"No," he told her.

"Well, actually yes," Bud insisted.

"Shit!" He glared at him, mortified that he would do this.

"My friend has been having a few problems with his nerves lately, and this morning he lost a few hours. All I did was suggest that he spoke to you about it."

"How do you feel now?" she asked him.

"Great," he admitted.

"Well, you look okay."

He nodded at Bud. "I told you."

The doctor placed a hand gently on his arm and he turned to look at her. "But it won't hurt to make sure."

He sighed, defeated. "I guess."

"I'll pop 'round to the cottage tomorrow morning, okay?"

He nodded. "Yea, okay."

Despite a shaky start, it was a good evening. Celia was good, lively company, and so were the other locals. They ate, drank, and were even convinced to dance. Coffey found he had scored a major hit with Mrs. Innes and the ladies of the women's institute, once they discovered he could waltz, fox-trot, and quick step with the best of them. He did draw the line at the tango, some of the village matrons were not what you might call "lightweights," and he didn't want a back strain to add to his woes. The bar maid Julie never showed up, but that didn't really bother him. All in all he had a pretty good time, and the whole thing finally broke up at around two in the morning.

The man had arrived home very late with his friend, and the two of them had been laughing and joking. His friend had had a great deal to drink. She watched as the lights in the cottage came on, listened to the sounds they made as they settled down. He opened the window of his room out onto the sun room, laughing a little to himself as he did so, then he went to bed.

She waited until she was sure that he was asleep before moving closer. He slept so deeply and peacefully tonight. Almost unconsciously, she moved beside the bed to watch him. She had been found out, she was almost certain of that, and it frightened her. Today, though he had seen her, looked at her with pleasure in his eyes.

She reached out and brushed the red-blonde hair from his forehead very gently. It was wrong to stay, and it was best that she be cautious. She looked at his soft mouth with its pouting silken lips. She bent close, feeling his gentle breathing on her face. She allowed her tongue to touch his bottom lip, and to her surprise his lips parted. She kissed him, and on some unconscious plain he kissed her back. Just a small soft kiss, but it left her wanting more, wanting to give him pleasure.

He had never felt caresses like these. A cool body seemed to be in bed beside him. Arms held him, soft breasts teased him. It was a perfect dream, so real and yet so strange. He could feel lips kissing him, fingers caressing him, the tongue that explored him. His whole body was so intensely aroused that it bordered on the threshold of pain. He was unable to move, or touch, or see, but his body was electrified, coaxed to the limits of what was tolerable. A part of him was afraid, so afraid that it wanted to wake up, but when that part neared the surface, it was soothed with pleasure. He was the victim of his dream, unable to take part, unable to resist what was happening to him, and more than a little afraid of a promise, an unspoken promise of things to come, unimaginable things.

The Hiram Coffey that Celia had met last night was not the same man she found at Heather Cottage this morning. He looked drawn and tired as he sat in the kitchen, listening to Bud's enthusiastic plans for the day, whilst pushing cereal around the bowl with his spoon.

"How about we spend some time lazing about on the beach," Bud asked him. "It 's a real hot one this morning."

"I don't know, whatever," he offered.

"What about you, Celia? Are you working, or would you like to join us?"

"Sounds like a nice enough way to spend the day." She smiled into the baby-blue eyes. "First things first though, eh?" She placed a hand on Coffey's shoulder. "Why don't we go through to your room and see how you're doing, okay?"

"Sure," he nodded.

He was a cooperative patient as she gave him a basic examination, in fact, he was cooperative to a degree that she found disturbing. There was something about the way he responded to her that seemed childlike, almost fearful in a way.

Clearly he was normally an extremely fit and healthy man, but he was very run down and tired. There was no sign of any marks, bruises, or injuries on his body, yet time after time she had felt him wince at the softest touch, though each time she questioned him about it, he denied that he had felt any pain.

"How are you eating?" she asked him. He sat on the edge of the bed, and she came to sit beside him after washing her hands.

"I don't have much of an appetite, to be honest," he confessed.

"What about sleeping?"

"The more I sleep, the more tired I seem to become, and I have these dreams." He shook his head slowly.

"Nightmares?"

"Sometimes, but not always. They're just so real. The other night I dreamt that there was someone in here with me. I woke Bud up, searching the cottage. Last night, I-;" he blushed a little. "I had this dream that was…" he was very hesitant.

"Was what?" she urged him gently.

He looked down at his hands. "It was like the ultimate wet dream, but there was something about it, I couldn't get out of it, I..." he looked up at her, clearly disturbed by the memory. "I've been having dreams since the breakdown, but not like these. These don't seem like dreams at all."

"Have you kept up with your medication?" she asked him.

"Yea."

"And were you taking the same medication before you came here?"

"Exactly."

"Okay. Now tell me about this missing time."

He nodded. "That was yesterday. I went to the fete with Bud. I felt really confused that morning, maybe because of the bad night I'd had."

"In what way did you feel confused?"

He raised his hand to touch his upper lip. It was a self-conscious gesture on his part, but it drew her attention to his surprisingly fragile hands.

"It makes no sense, really. When I woke up that morning, I had to shave off my mustache, it was all I could think about. Once I'd done it though, I didn't know why, it seemed like it was the last thing I had wanted to do. Shit, this sounds crazy even to me!"

Celia squeezed his shoulder gently. "Tell me about the rest of the day, the fete."

He nodded obediently. "We went, but I felt so tired. I couldn't get my head around things. Bud suggested I go back to the cottage while he took a look around the village. I can remember setting off, walking, and I felt good, better. Then..." he wrung his hands awkwardly. "Then everything is blank until I remember being here, in bed, my head pounding. That's it."

"Have you been having headaches?"

"Not really."

"Last night you seemed fine," she told him.

"I was, I felt great. I'm scared," he told her. "I don't want to go back to how I was a few months ago." He had told her all about his breakdown as she had examined him.

"It's possible that your journey might be the cause of all this, your troubled sleep, everything. Your body is very tired and you need to get some rest. I'm going to suggest that you let me give you a sedative, something stronger, to help you to relax."

"When, tonight?"

"No, now."

"No beach, huh?"

"Not today," she smiled at him.

"What about Bud?"

"I think I might be able to talk him into staying here today, keeping an eye on you."

"Not much fun for him."

"No, but I thought he might like it if I came over and cooked dinner for the three of us."

He laughed a little, more like his normal self. "Yea, I guess he would."

"And what about you?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"That's settled, then. Now I want you to come and lie down beneath the sheet for me."

"How is he?" Bud asked her anxiously as she rejoined him in the kitchen a few minutes later.

"Not too good. I've given him a strong sedative so he'll probably sleep for a while. He needs to rest, really rest."

"Oh geez, should I see about arranging a flight home?" he asked her.

"No, not yet. The journey may have been what set this off in the first place. We'll see what a few days enforced rest will do." She smiled at the anxious man. "Try not to worry. I have one more house call to make, and something to arrange, then if you'll have me, I'd like to come back, spend the afternoon with you, maybe make the three of us some dinner?" she offered.

"Really?" he smiled into her eyes. "I kind of like the sound of that."

"Good." She returned the broad smile with one of her own. "Let me get off then and I'll be back as soon as I can. Look in on Coffey now and then."

He nodded and leant forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. "I'll do that, hurry back."

Wild horses wouldn't keep her away any longer than she had to be.

Celia parked her car outside the cottage that the Bloomes had rented from Far Flat Head Farm for generations and got out. It was a nice place. The Bloome boys worked for Mrs.. Innes and she knew that she was more than generous in letting them have the Tide Cottage for meager rent. They kept it nicely though, the garden, the paint work, it was always in fine trim.

She walked down the little path and knocked on the door. Her mind drifted to Bud Brigman, that kiss. It was something to contemplate, it had potential. The thought of those bright blue eyes made her smile.

No one was answering. She tried the door, but found it locked. She took the path around to the back door, but had no luck there either. She tried peering through the windows but the heavy lace curtains made it impossible to see inside. That was odd. Julie should be in, and she expected at least one of the others to be home.

She looked around, unsure what to do next. There was a man watching her from the other side of the road. He was leaning against the wall of the post office, arms folded across his chest. She couldn't help being struck by how attractive he was, in a different sort of way. He had long, auburn hair that was down to his shoulders, and a long, pale face that she could only have described as beautiful. Rude as it was, she just found herself rooted to the spot staring back at him. He was tall, slender, but there was still a power about his body, it was almost cat-like. There was something wrong about his clothes, and she couldn't decide what it was. He wore a long, creamy white shirt in some thin fabric outside his trousers, nothing wrong in that, but... She didn't seem to be able to focus on what it was.

Celia was about to cross over the road to speak to him when a blue Toyota pick up pulled up beside her. Mrs. Innes climbed out. Celia liked her very much. She was a kind, thoughtful woman with a good word for everyone, and that wonderful smile. Oddly, she wasn't one of Celia's patients, whoever she went to was out of the area. She seemed a fit old dear though, always on the go and, to be honest, she couldn't remember ever seeing her with as much as a sniffle.

"Hello, Celia dear, how are you?"

"I'm fine," she gave her a smile back.

"Did you enjoy yourself last night at the barbeque? You certainly had some very handsome company in Mr. Brigman."

"I did," she admitted. "I had a wonderful time. So did you, if I'm any judge."

The older woman laughed. "It's a long time since I danced with such a heartbreaker as Mr. Coffey, I can tell you." She laughed. "A little young for me, though. I hope you're not going to let Mr. Brigman slip through your fingers?"

"To be honest, I plan to spend some time with him when I've finished today. I wanted to catch Julie, but I can't seem to get an answer."

"You won't dear, there's no one there, they've gone."

"Gone?"

"They left first thing this morning. They've gone to live with a cousin in York. I was quite surprised when young Adam told me that they were leaving."

"You mean they've gone for good? I saw Julie yesterday, she never said anything about it."

"How odd. It's been planned for a while though, I'm surprised she didn't say something."

"Yes, that's strange." Celia's eyes drifted to the young man standing over the road.

Mrs. Innes followed her gaze and gave a sudden affectionate smile, waving at the young man who smiled back.

"Do you know him?" she asked, curious.

"Oh yes, dear, he's a regular visitor," she assured her. "Well, as they say, I'm afraid that I must love you and leave you. Marjorie has invited me for tea and a chat, she gets herself into a bit of a tizzy if I'm late. Enjoy the rest of your day, my dear."

She nodded. "I certainly plan to do my best."

She watched her climb back into the truck and set off at break-neck speed down the road, giving her a parting wave.

Well, she had wasted enough time here. She was amazed that neither Julie nor her brother Adam had said anything to her yesterday about leaving. Oh well. Her eyes wandered over the road again to the young man. He gave her a nod before moving from his position against the wall of the post office, vaulting easily over the fence next door, and walking off into the wood. Celia stared after him for a moment before getting back into her car.

She drove back to her house and made a few phone calls, arranging cover for herself for the next few days. She wondered if she was doing the right thing. She liked being with Bud, but holiday romances were not her thing, particularly when it wasn't even her holiday. He was so nice though, plus she was worried about his friend, Coffey. She wanted to keep an eye on him. Was that for medical reasons, or was she being unethical, was there more to it than that? He was undeniably attractive, but not her type, Bud was her type, wasn't he?

Someone was touching him!

Coffey shot upright in bed, startled and afraid.

"It's all right!" Hands grasped his shoulders and he looked up into soft brown eyes. He recognized Celia then. "Lie back down," she told him. "I didn't mean to startle you."

He lay down slowly and she released her hold on his shoulders.

"Try and relax," she told him, giving him a gentle smile. She picked up his hand and took his pulse.

"Was I dreaming or something?" He couldn't remember.

"Not that I know of. I just came in to see if you were sleeping. I must have startled you when I touched you."

"How long have I been asleep?" He felt totally disoriented.

"A good eight hours." She leaned closer, and one hand cupped his chin whilst the other raised each eyelid in turn as she looked into his eyes. Her touch was incredibly gentle. "Dinner's nearly ready," she told him. "Do you think you could get up for a while, try and eat something?"

He nodded. "I'll give it a try."

"Good." She had a great smile. "Take it slowly sitting up, and getting up, you're going to feel a little woozy for a while."

"I remember woozy," he told her. He slowly pulled himself around a little until he was sat on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor.

"Here, I think we need to put these on you."

She helped him to slip on his T-shirt and shorts, more or less dressing him, in fact.

"Are you ready to stand?" she asked him.

"Yep." He got to his feet, a little shaky, but she steadied him.

"I need the bathroom," he told her.

"Do you think you can go solo?"

"I- I don't know." He didn't think so, the ground seemed to be coming up to meet him.

"Not to worry."

She walked him to the bathroom and supported him whilst he did what he had to and washed his hands. She dampened a face cloth and used it to wipe his face and neck, it woke him up a little.

"I feel like a kid," he told her.

"You'll be fine, don't worry about it. We just need to make sure you get lots of sleep, and some food inside you over the next few days, then you can really enjoy the rest of your holiday. Come on, let's see if you can stomach my cooking," she laughed.

She walked him out to the sun room where they had set up the table. Bud took over from her and helped him get settled into a chair.

"How are you feeling?" Bud asked him as he took his own seat.

"Better, now I'm sitting down," he admitted.

"Celia thinks you'll be fine after you've had plenty of rest," Bud assured him. "She's fixed things so she can hang around for the next few days."

He smiled at his friend. "That'll be a hardship for you."

He grinned back. "I think I can cope."

The food was really good, and he did his best to eat what he could and to join in the conversation, but by the time they reached dessert he was flagging.

"I think perhaps we should have left you where you were," Celia told him as she gently took the spoon from his unresisting hand. "Are you ready to go back to bed?"

"Please." Ready was an understatement.

Bud helped him back to his bedroom. Celia had gone ahead and remade the bed for him.

"Can you manage?" Bud asked her.

"We'll be fine."

"Okay," he squeezed Coffey's shoulder as he sat on the edge of the bed. "See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight."

"Do you need the bathroom again?" Celia asked him.

"No, I'm okay."

"Let's slip these things off and get you comfortable then."

She helped him with the T-shirt, and then once he was lying down, she helped him with his pants.

"I should be embarrassed," he told her.

"No, you shouldn't." She was filling a hypodermic. "Roll over onto your side for me, like you did this morning."

He did as she said. "I don't like needles."

"I don't know anyone who does," she told him, as she carefully swabbed a spot at the top of his right buttock. "But you're hardly going to feel this at all, I promise."

She was right, he didn't really feel it. He turned onto his back and looked up at her.

"Was that so bad?" she asked him.

"Guess not." He smiled at her.

"Do you want me to stay until you drop off?"

He nodded. "Please. Won't be long, I feel kinda heavy."

"You'll be fine," She stroked the hair back from his brow. "Just relax."

He meant to tell her what a nice bedside manner she had, but he didn't think he got around to it before he floated off into sleep.

Other than to go to the bathroom, he wasn't allowed to get up the next day. Bud helped him out with the embarrassing stuff, and stayed with him whilst he had a little breakfast. Celia came in a little later with her medical bag and checked him over carefully.

"Will I live?" he asked her, as she removed the thermometer from his mouth and checked his temperature.

She smiled. "I think maybe you have a couple more good years left in you."

"Glad to hear it. Is this an early house call, or did you spend the night here?"

She raised an eyebrow and waggled the thermometer at him. "Do you think I ought to confirm the reading by inserting this somewhere else?"

"Sorry, Doc."

"I should think so. Now, tell me how you're feeling."

"Just tired."

"Good. Close your eyes then and get some sleep now."

He felt so hot it was impossible to sleep. He was sticky and uncomfortable, unable to stop tossing and turning.

"It's cooler in the woods," a soft female voice whispered to him.

He opened his eyes and saw a girl in a yellow dress sat beside him on the bed.

"Who are you?" He was sure he had seen her before, but he couldn't remember, things were fuzzy.

"We've met before, but they're making it hard for you to remember."

"I'm trying, but I can't." His head was throbbing with the effort.

"The woods are nice and cool, and we can be alone."

"Alone?" he knew he was dreaming.

"I can make you feel so much better, if you let me. I could cool you down. Touch me," she urged him. "Feel how cool I am."

She took his hand and guided it beneath her dress. Her skin was velvety to touch, smooth, and so cool.

"Touch me. I want you to."

He felt a perfect breast beneath his palm and he explored it with his fingertips.

The girl gave a groan of pleasure. "I need you," she told him. Her face moved down so close to his. "I need to please you, you want me to, don't you?"

"I- I..." He was so confused, unable to think, his body was burning.

She was moving back the sheet that covered him. "Want me!" she told him.

Her touch seared him, sent him over the edge. He was fighting his drug-weakened body for control, fighting so hard that his heart was pounding, he was fighting for breath.

Coffey sat up suddenly, gasping for air. He must have cried out because Bud was there quickly, shouting for Celia. She was close behind him, her medical bag in her hand. Bud moved aside for her.

"It's all right, it's all right," she told Coffey. "Just relax."

He was pulling air into his lungs. "I couldn't breath!"

"You're fine now. Lay back, try to relax." She held onto his shoulders and guided him down to the bed. "My god, you're burning up," she told him. "Bud, could you make me an ice pack of some kind?"

"Coming up!" He left the room.

"Lie back now," she told Coffey. "Try and breathe evenly." She pulled the stethoscope from her bag. "Just relax and let me listen, you're going to be all right."

His breathing was a little overexcited, but his heart was racing, and his body was rigid with tension. She checked his blood pressure, that too was high, but slowly coming down.

"I was dreaming!" he told her.

"I know. We heard you cry out. Can you remember the dream?"

"No! Please, I don't want to be here." He tried to sit up and Celia pushed him back down again.

"Ssh," she told him. "Lay still and relax now, there's nothing to be afraid of."

Bud returned with two towel-wrapped ice packs.

"Rub down his chest and shoulders with that one," she instructed him. The other one she lay over his forehead whilst she popped the thermometer in his mouth.

He was calming down rapidly now. After a few moments she checked his temperature, then returned the thermometer to his mouth.

"Could you get him a cool drink of water? No ice, though."

Bud nodded. "I'll see to it."

She took over the cooling of his body with the ice pack, happy when she checked and saw that his temperature was finally coming down. She moved back the bed sheet to wipe over his abdomen. To her surprise, she saw he had a massive erection.

"Oh god, I'm sorry," he stammered at her.

"Forget it, don't be upset." She purposely left the ice pack on his belly, knowing that the proximity of so much cold would soon dampen his ardor. She might have been flattered by what had happened, but she suspected that it had more to do with his dream than it had with her.

Coffey fought to stay focused on what Celia was telling him, fought to stay calm and behave the way she wanted. Stay calm, and be quiet, listen, and smile, it was the only way to stop her from sticking that damn needle in him. He mustn't let her do that any more.

She kept telling him that it was just a sedative, that it would help him, but he knew that she was lying. Celia and Bud were pretending to be his friends, drugging him to keep him here, away from the woods, away from...

"...much better," she was saying to him. "Do you feel like getting up for a while today?"

"No more injections?" He couldn't keep the note of hope out of his voice.

"You meant it when you said you didn't like needles, didn't you?" she smiled at him. "No, there's no need, you've been fine for the past couple of days, you've been resting, and no more nightmares."

"No, none."

"Good, you can stay on your normal medication."

"That's great." He smiled broadly, and meant it.

"So, are you going to get out of that bed?"

He nodded. "Yea, I thought maybe I'd bring myself 'round a little. I might take a shower and have a shave."

"Good idea, take your time there's no rush," she assured him. "I'll leave you in peace, then. Hey, maybe we could have a barbeque later this afternoon, what do you think?"

He nodded, gave her the broadest grin he could muster. "Sounds like a great idea to me."

He thought she would never leave. He got out of bed and went into the bathroom, turning on the shower so as not to arouse any suspicions. He knew that something was going to happen. All the while Celia had been talking, the scent had been filling his room, getting stronger and stronger. He felt suddenly apprehensive. An expectant, not entirely pleasant, shiver ran down his spine.

"You've been waiting for me." Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He turned around to find her standing behind him, he tensed, his mouth suddenly dry.

"Come." She opened her arms to him.

He hesitated, there was something, something not right, something..."

"You're afraid," she said sadly. "They have made you afraid of me. I should leave."

"N–no." He didn't want her to go, he was confused, unable to think straight. "Please!"

She took a step closer towards him, and Coffey had to fight against his instincts not to move back.

"Why are you so afraid of me?" she asked him. "I love you. All I want is for the two of us to be together. I want you so much, don't you want me, too?"

He nodded. "Together, the two of us," he told her.

"That's right." She smiled. "Trust me," she told him. "There's nothing to be afraid of if you trust me."

He breathed in her wonderful scent. The way she looked at him, it felt as though her eyes were burning into his soul.

"You do trust me, don't you?" she asked him.

Coffey nodded slowly. He loved her, he trusted her completely.

"Show me," she asked him. Her glance went behind him to the open shower stall. Only the hot water was turned on. She moved closer and, taking his arm, guided him towards the shower.

"Prove to me that you're not afraid, prove to me that you trust me. Hold your hand beneath the water. There's nothing to fear, nothing at all."

Without looking away from her eyes, Coffey reached out his hand, holding it beneath the steaming spray. There was no burning, no pain. He held it there calmly.

"Take your hand out," she told him after a few moments. "Look at it."

He looked, it was completely unmarked, no redness, no blisters, nothing. He smiled at her. "I don't know why I was afraid."

"Your friends," she explained to him. "They were filling you with doubts. They don't want you to be happy, as I do. I can please you in ways that you cannot begin to imagine, and all I ask in return is that you love me. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"It's all I want," Coffey told her. Just to please her, he could think of nothing else.

"Come." She took his hand and led him back to the bedroom, guiding him to sit down at the foot of the bed. She stroked back his hair and planted a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Close your eyes," she told him.

"No, please, let me look at you," he begged her.

She came to kneel between his legs. "Close them."

Reluctantly, he did as she said. Closing his eyes brought back a little fear, that nagging sense of doubt. He fought it, fought to keep his eyes closed, to remain still and calm.

The brush of her fingers up the inside of his thigh made him gasp loudly. He waited, the muscles in his legs tensed so much that they began to tremble. He was so aroused he could scarcely breathe.

Bud felt relieved that Coffey was feeling better, looking forward to getting up. He had been worried over the past few days. He couldn't help feeling partly responsible for his friend's condition, after all he had been the one to drag him here, refusing to take 'no' for an answer. Celia had seemed pleased today though, convinced he was more or less over it.

He just thanked god for Celia, he didn't know how he would have handled all this without her. He was crazy about her, and he was pretty certain she felt the same way about him.

She could cook, too, he reflected, as he watched her marinade the steaks for their barbeque. Lins had never been able to cook anything worth a damn. Shit, he hadn't thought about the ex-Mrs. Brigman in days, he smiled.

"What are you grinning at?" she asked him. "You look like the cat that got the cream."

He laughed, in a way that was pretty much how he felt. "I was just thinking that I liked watching you work."

"Ha, you do, do you? Well, it's time you did something for a change. It sounds like Coffey's in the shower, would you take him some towels? I washed them all and forgot to put them back. They're over there."

He nodded, seeing the neat stack of towels. "Any particular shade of pink?" he asked laughing. "Or doesn't it matter?"

Mrs. Innes clearly liked the colour pink, everything was pink, the furnishings, the towels, the bedding, even the soap.

He heard Celia giggle. "I don't see Coffey being the fussy type."

"No, maybe not." He grabbed up a bath sheet and a smaller one. "What time are we going to eat?" he asked her.

"Is that all you can think about, eating?" she asked him.

"Not all," he told her, nipping her bottom as he went past with the towels. Whatever it was she threw at his retreating back missed him.

Bud was laughing as he opened the door to Coffey's room, but the laughter died in his throat.

Coffey was totally naked, sprawled half on, half off the bed. His body was writhing, but whether it was in pleasure or agony Bud couldn't decide. Something, someone, was kneeling over him. What the hell was it? It was almost like a flickering image. One minute he saw a beautiful woman in a yellow dress, and the next, a strange figure, not human, not animal, but there was no mistaking its large yellow wings.

It raised its head, huge eyes catching sight of him, and it hissed like a cat.

"What the fuck!"

As soon as he spoke Coffey moved, and the thing took on the unmistakably solid form of a woman.

"Bud?" His friend looked dazed and confused. There were bite marks on his chest and abdomen, in places the skin was broken and he bled, he was covered in nasty-looking scratches.

"Coffey, move away from her," Bud told him.

"Whaat?"

"He doesn't want you to be with me, he doesn't want you to be happy," the woman creature told him.

"I love her," Coffey told him. "I want to be with her."

"What ever you're seeing, it's not what she is. You need to move right away from her, over here, come on."

"No!" Coffey leapt up off the bed, his eyes were wild, barely focused but filled with anger.

"We need to go to the wood," the woman told him. "We'll be safe there, we can be together."

"You've got to listen to me, please. You mustn't go with her!" They were already edging towards the French windows. Bud was certain that if they made it to the wood he would never see his friend again. He sensed that Celia had come up behind him. "Coffey, you mustn't go outside, you mustn't leave the cottage with her," he said, hoping that Celia would take the hint and go around the other way to stop them.

"We're leaving," his friend told him. "Try to stop me, Virgil, and I'll kill you."

They made a dash for the French windows and Bud ran after them, reaching the sun room just in time to see Coffey push Celia out of his way.

Bud scooped her up and the two of them ran out after them. They were half way towards the wood, he had to do something!

"Lt. Coffey, stop!" he barked.

However the creature was controlling him, it was not ingrained as deeply as years of Navy training. It brought him up short, but Bud didn't stop running, he barreled into his friend, knocking him to the floor. He tried to land a punch, knock him out if he could, but Coffey recovered too quickly for him, and it was Bud who found himself caught hard with a punch to the jaw.

Celia watched in horror as the two men rolled around on the grass, fighting, punching and kicking at each other for all they were worth. She had overheard almost all of the conversation Coffey and Bud had had in the bedroom, and she had taken the hint, attempted to stop them from leaving. But she hadn't been quick enough to lock the door, and she wasn't strong enough to stop Coffey. Now she didn't know what to do. She looked over at the woman in the yellow dress and her heart almost missed a beat.

She could see through her, or rather into her. The image of the woman was almost like one of those holograms, and it seemed to be losing energy. Inside it was another creature entirely. A female thing with huge cat-like eyes, claw-like fingers and nails, a strangely-boned face, and sharp-pointed ears. The creature was totally naked, with large, gossamer yellow wings.

"Get away from here!" Celia told it, moving towards it.

Its lip curled back, and it hissed at her, but it retreated a little, and the image of the woman in the yellow dress faded altogether.

Celia looked around for something, anything, to use as a weapon to drive it away. She found one, a stout bamboo garden cane. She pulled it out and advanced on the creature.

"No!" Coffey saw her and was frantically kicking and punching at Bud to get away from him, to protect whatever it was he thought he was protecting.

"Stay away from her!" he warned, walking towards her.

"Celia, be careful." Bud staggered to his feet. "He doesn't know what he's doing."

She saw Coffey approaching, saw Bud about to launch himself on him again, when the sound of a vehicle hurtling down the drive distracted them all.

It was Mrs. Innes in her pickup, reinforcements of a kind.

The older woman dashed out of the truck as soon as it came to a halt, rushing up to Celia.

"It's all right dear, don't worry, we made it in time. I'm so sorry about this, it's all my fault!"

"What? What are you talking about?" Celia asked her.

"There, dear," she pointed towards the woods. "See?"

A figure emerged from the trees, and Celia recognised him. It was the young man she had seen near Julie Bloome's house. The female creature had seen him, too, and cowered, clearly terrified. He walked straight up to it, his face serene, but his eyes, his eyes were blazing. He grabbed her neck in one hand and began to speak to her quickly, his words too faint for Celia to hear. Then the strangest thing happened. As soon as he stopped speaking ,the creature seemed to disappear in what looked like a shower of golden pollen.

There was a scream of rage from Coffey. He ran at the younger man, who had his back turned. He seemed to turn slowly, almost casually.

Celia could see Coffey's expression as he came to a sudden stop. All the rage and anger seemed to just drain out of him. He stood perfectly still, breathing rapidly. He was covered in bites, scratches, and angry red marks that would soon become bruises, and his hand, it looked like it had been scalded.

The auburn-haired man walked up to him. He reached out a hand and gently stroked his hair.

Something seemed to break inside Coffey. He was sobbing quietly, and he moved into the other man's arms.

He held him gently, talking to him very quietly, his mouth right beside his ear. One hand gently stroked his hair as Coffey buried his face in the other man's neck. It was almost as though they had known each other for years, as though Coffey found his comfort familiar.

Celia snapped herself out of it. "I'll go and get my bag."

"No dear, wait a minute," Mrs. Innes urged her.

"He needs help." Bud told the woman, coming up beside them. He didn't look too good himself.

"I know he needs help, dear, but not from you, not this time. You must let him go with this man, and the two of you must come back to the farm with me."

"He needs medical attention, urgently," Celia told her. "And the police need to be contacted,"

"You mustn't fear for him," the young man spoke up. He turned to face them and Celia was struck by the incredible beauty of his face, with the liquid green eyes. His voice was soft and lilting, and he spoke with an accent she couldn't identify.

"Coffey must come with me now," he told them, still holding him gently. "Just for a while. He won't be harmed. You must go with Mrs. Innes to her farm, wait for him there. Do you understand?"

Bud nodded. "That seems like the best idea, if you're sure."

"We'll wait at Mrs. Innes' house," Celia told him. "You'll bring him back there?"

"As soon as I can," he promised them.

Celia had every faith in him.

They watched him take Coffey's arm and lead him off into the woods, before securing the cottage and then squashing into the front of Mrs. Innes' pickup.

Coffey lay in the short grass, squinting up at the most perfect blue sky he thought he had ever seen. He could smell the sea, hear the gulls screeching loudly overhead. How had he got here?

"Oh god!" Bud, he had been trying to kill Bud, Celia! What had he done?

He tried to sit up, but a hand came down firmly on his chest and pushed him back down into the grass.

"Be still."

The owner of the voice and the hand looked down at him. He had long, auburn hair, and his pale, angelic face had perfect features. The eyes though, the green eyes, they were so intense, so filled with light.

"Who are you?"

"A friend, if you decide you want me to be. Do you remember what was happening?" He had a strange, soft voice.

"Bud, I have to go find him." He struggled to get up but the hand that pushed him down again was astonishingly powerful.

"You didn't really hurt anyone, your friends are fine."

"I was trying to kill him. What the hell was I doing?"

"You were trying to have sex." The man smiled down at him.

"That girl!" he remembered.

"Not a girl, not really. She was what you might call a sprite or a nymph."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" This guy was crazier than he was.

"The girl in the yellow dress. Think about her, the way she looked. You can if you try."

He'd seen her that day walking down the lane. He'd called out to her and she'd turned. He remembered her face, her eyes. Her eyes!

"That first night in the cottage, it wasn't a dream!"

"No," he said simply. "And the yellow of her dress?"

"Like the butterf- no, no, that's not what I saw." Tiny people, had he seen strange tiny people with wings? "No! Let go of me, let me go!"

The man released him and he sat up, wrapping his arms around his knees, he hugged himself.

"What the hell happened? I don't remember anymore."

"You can remember." The man gently stroked his hair. "You just can't accept what you saw."

"I'm going fucking insane."

"No. Look at me," he said quietly. "Look."

Coffey looked up at him. "How can any of this be real?"

"Am I real? You can see me, feel me, am I real?"

The hand that had stroked his hair eased the knots of tension in his neck.

"I guess, yea."

"Do you remember when you were a boy, just a couple of days after your seventh birthday. You went on a camping trip with the Ranger Scouts. Do you remember that?"

It had been the first time he had stopped away from home. His mom didn't want him to go, she thought he was too young, but his dad said he would have a great time, he had convinced her, and Coffey had so wanted to go.

"How did you know about that?"

"You went on a trek through the woods, and you fell behind the others because you'd been watching all those rabbits. You looked for the others, but you couldn't find them."

"You, you found me," Coffey remembered.

"You were so frightened, but you didn't know what to do because your mom had told you never to talk to strangers. That was quite a dilemma for a seven-year-old."

"You said that you would walk with me, and lead me back to the others, but we didn't have to talk, and then I wouldn't get into trouble with Mom. We caught up to them on the trail, and you weren't there anymore. I couldn't remember you," he realised.

"Am I real, Hiram Coffey?"

"How could you be there then, you were the same as you are now?"

"I'm different, not like you. My people have been here much longer than yours."

"Who are you?" Coffey asked him. "What are you?"

"I have many names, and so do my people. They know us by different names everywhere we go. If I tell you my name, then you'll never forget it, never forget me, again. You'll see me, and you'll see my kind whenever they are near."

"What does that mean?" he asked him. "I don't understand."

"We've met many times, you just can't remember, but those memories are starting to come back. I can take them away again. I can wipe away the memories of all that happened here, give you other false memories to replace them, if that's what you want."

"How?"

He smiled. "You'd call it magic, I prefer the term 'enchantment.' My people have used enchantment to remain hidden from most of you for centuries.

"I can take you back to your friends. They're waiting for you. Mrs. Innes took them to her farm. I can take away your memories, give you new ones, your friends, too, and it will be as though none of this ever happened."

"But it did happen," Coffey realised. "It's all true."

"Painful, though. You already have painful memories of the men who were killed."

"Can you take those away?" he asked bitterly.

"Do you want me to?"

"No, that wouldn't be right."

"Is it right that you think of them the way you do?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can remember what happened, you know that there was nothing you could have done that would have prevented those men from dying, don't you?"

"They were my men. I was responsible for them!" he pleaded.

"But you weren't responsible for their deaths, you know that, don't you?"

Tears welled up in his eyes, ran down his cheeks, he couldn't stop them. "I know."

The man's arms slipped around him, held him. Held him for a long time while he cried out all the grief he'd been holding inside these past months. Grief not just for his men, but for himself."

He couldn't tell how long they'd been sat there like that before he was able to bring himself around a little. He wiped at his eyes and then a sudden realisation hit him.

"I'm not wearing any clothes."

"No."

"Shit."

"No one can see."

"Someone could walk along the cliff top."

"No one will want to walk this way. But if it will make you more comfortable, we can return to the cottage."

He fought the part of him that was reluctant to move at all.

"How do I know if you're fucking around with my mind?"

"You don't." He let go of Coffey and got to his feet, offering him his hand.

Coffey reached out his own hand and then looked at it in horror. It was burned, scalded, covered in huge blisters. He remembered holding it under the shower.

"The only thing I'm doing to your mind is taking a way the pain you'd be feeling from that." He grabbed Coffey's arm and helped him to his feet.

He allowed himself to be pulled up and winced as the movement brought a sharp pain to his ribs. He looked down to see that he was covered in bites, bruises, and scratches.

"How did I get all these?"

"Your friend landed a punch or two."

"What about the others?"

His companion smiled. "Those you must attribute to spirited foreplay."

He groaned. "I can't believe how much I wanted her."

"She made you want what she wanted you to see. Usually she wouldn't have the power, the patience, or the desire. The heat wave brought about those things."

"What happened to her?" He could remember the man grabbing her, then she disappeared.

"She's gone."

"You killed her?"

"No," he laughed. "She's gone back to how she should be, the way you saw the others."

Like a butterfly. He couldn't believe it. They were walking back towards the cottage, and Coffey saw the mound, and the woods.

"I don't think I want to walk through there."

"There's nothing waiting for you in there, but if you're afraid we can walk 'round."

"If I'm afraid?" The bastard was daring him. "You know I'm scared shitless, don't you?"

The other raised his eyebrows in question and then held out a hand for him to take. He was a lieutenant in the SEALS, for pete's sake.

"Oh, shit." He took the offered hand.

The wood wasn't like he remembered. It was cool and pleasant. A path had been mown through the grass, and the footing was easy. There was no wild-looking creature waiting for him, and he saw nothing that looked like a butterfly, but he could hear and see the birds.

"I don't understand this."

"You saw a place that was wild before. An enchanted place where she exists and you do not. Now you see a place where you exist and she does not."

"Which is the real one?"

"The one you want to be in."

They emerged at the cottage.

"Are you coming inside?" Coffey asked him.

He nodded.

Coffey emerged from the bedroom a few minutes later having dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. He'd cleaned himself up a little, surprised and more than a little embarrassed by the mess he was in. He found the man sat in a peacock chair in the sun room, looking out to sea.

"I need to get some treatment for this hand. I may not be able to feel anything, but it's a bad burn."

"Come and sit down," his companion told him. Coffey sat on the cane stool in front of him. "Give me your hand."

He did as he was asked, reluctant, but curious all the same. He held it between hands that were strangely cool. Coffey looked up at him, about to speak until he saw the look of concentration on his face. A sudden wave of white hot pain shot through his hand, and he pulled it away from the other man's grasp. When he looked at it, there wasn't a mark on it.

"Is this real?" he asked him. There were no blisters, no pain, nothing.

"Its not an illusion this time."

"How did you do that?"

"I don't know. I can do many things, but I can't explain why, or how."

"I remembered something, whilst I was changing. You've been here before, you brought me back here after I walked through the woods."

He nodded. "You were in need of a little help."

"Why? Why do you help me? I get the sense that you've helped me out before. I don't remember details, but I'm right, aren't I?"

"We've met many times before. I've helped you once or twice, but not too much, you can take care of yourself most of the time."

"Why is it we've met so many times?"

"I've watched you grow up, and I've waited to see if you were ready."

"Ready for what?"

"A friendship, if you want one, now that you're ready to understand, to accept the existence of...other things."

"Why do you want me as a friend?"

"I always have, ever since I met that seven-year-old boy who showed so much courage when he was so afraid. I knew he'd grow up to be someone I wanted to know."

"Are you going to tell me your name?"

"Do you want me to? That's for you to decide."

"I told you my name when I was a kid, didn't I?"

Again the slight nod.

"Every time I've seen you before, have you always looked the same? The way you do now?"

"Why do you ask?"

"Have you?" He needed an answer.

"Why?"

"Because I–I have some memories that don't seem right to me, and I need to know if they're real."

"I don't change my appearance."

"I had a feeling you were gonna say that." He rubbed his hands through his hair. "Do you have many friends like me?"

"No, Felicia is a friend, she has been for many years."

"Felicia?"

"Mrs. Innes."

"She knows about you?"

"We've know each other since she was ten years old."

"This is just as friends, right?"

"No, we became lovers when she was seventeen, we were together until she fell in love with Edgar Innes six years later."

"You and Mrs. Innes were lovers," he shook his head, that wasn't something he could get his head around.

His companion smiled. "Come with me." He stood up and went inside the house. Pulling down the steps to the attic he climbed up, and Coffey followed him. He went to the back of the room, behind the old furniture. He was looking for something. He pulled an object out from an old tea chest, and made his way back to where Coffey was watching him. He handed him a photograph in an ornate silver frame. It was old, sepia-coloured, but the image was clear enough.

"Felicia." The man told him fondly.

She'd been beautiful, really beautiful. Posed there, smiling, in the floaty dress, she reminded him of a silent movie star.

"She was beautiful."

"Yes. She still is in her way."

"Weren't you hurt when she married?"

"No, why should I be? She was happy, and we remained friends." He took the photo from his hands and stood it on one of the tables. "It's time you decided what you want." He sat down on the shabby old sofa. "Sit, listen to what I have to say."

Coffey sat beside him. Every time he looked at the man there were vague stirrings, memories, feelings that still remained elusive.

"Once you accept my friendship, once I tell you my name, there is no going back. We won't be hidden from you anymore, you will see us. Not everyone can accept that, the sight. It becomes too much for them. Do not accept my offer lightly."

"What's the alternative?"

"You will forget. You and your friends will forget everything that happened here. The memories I give you will be pleasant, and you will never see me again."

"I want my own memories, real memories."

"Are you certain?"

"Positive."

"Do you want friendship?"

"I don't know what that means," he confessed. He was devastated by his own emotions, afraid of being this vulnerable. Were his feelings real, or just planted there?

"It means no more than you want it to mean. Are you afraid that I'm doing this simply to seduce you? I wouldn't have to tell you my name to achieve that." He stared at Coffey. "I can't deny that I have feelings for you, but its not my feelings that worry you, is it?"

He shook his head. "Every time I look at you, it stirs memories in me, and feelings I think I may have had about you for a long time now. Maybe it explains some things."

"What do you feel now?"

"Confused, afraid," he admitted. "I'm still not even sure what happened to me."

"You shouldn't feel afraid. I owe you an explanation of the past few days, perhaps it will help. The last time we spoke to each other, before you came here, was in the gardens of the hospital."

"You were there?"

"Several times. Think back to the gardens, the seat near the apple tree."

The words opened a door for him, and he remembered being sat there in the late spring sunshine. "I was feeling better. I told you about Bud suggesting that we came to England for a vacation. You said I should come."

He nodded. "I helped Bud along in his choice of location, and arranged things with Felicia. The weather is something that I regret I cannot arrange. The heat wave, and the effect of it on my people, caused unforeseen problems. A rash of incidents occurred that needed to be smoothed over. I had to be away from here when I didn't want to be, and I asked far too much of Felicia in keeping an eye on you.

"The sprite, nymph, faerie, whatever you care to call her, must have been drawn to you from the moment you arrived, she became obsessed with you, and wanted to pull you through into her reality. She came to you, spoke to you in your dreams, weakened your grip on this reality. You were fortunate that the woman, Celia, became involved and was able to help."

"The strong sedatives, they stopped me from hearing her."

He nodded. "Once they stopped, you were open to her influence. I knew something was wrong, but I was more concerned that Julie, the girl from the inn, would see you with me, tell you things before you were ready. She knows my name. The whole of her family do. Her late mother was one of those unfortunate people attuned to both worlds, but unable to exist in either."

"Julie disappeared."

"Only as far as a cousin's home in York. I've arranged that she and her brothers have a better life there.

"So, that's the story." He reached out and stroked Coffey's cheek with his fingertips. "There is nothing for you ever to fear." He brought his face so close. "Nothing at all."

The powerful kiss took Coffey's breath away. He had never felt anything so intense, so passionate.

He pulled away, broke the kiss to stare into Coffey's eyes, though his fingertips continued to rub gently against his nipple through the thin fabric of his top.

"Did that make things any clearer for you?"

"I think so."

He smiled. "I was looking for total clarity."

"Then perhaps you should try that again?" Coffey urged him, breathing deeply.

"First things first."

He moved his mouth right up to Coffey's ear and whispered his name.

"No fireworks, no specters?" he whispered back

"You think not?" he pulled back, and let him look at him. It was the same face, the same hair, but changed, there was an ethereal quality to his features only hinted at before, a beauty that was clearly more than human. "Nothing is the same. I assure you. Now, there was a matter of clarity."

The electrifying kiss came again, and with it an overwhelming feeling of completion.

They sat there on the sofa in the attic, and spoke for an hour or more. Coffey's memories of his past encounters kept resurfacing all the time, and with the memories came floods of questions.

"Its time for us to go. Your friends are very anxious about you."

"Are you coming with me?" Coffey asked him.

"As far as the farm. Once you're there, Felicia will help you. Trust her to arrange things."

He nodded. In truth he didn't want to go, he had too many questions, and he didn't want to be alone any more. Alone, was that what he had been all this time? "When will I see you again?" he asked.

"Tomorrow. When the rain stops take a walk along the beach, I'll find you."

"You'll be lucky. I'll probably be under lock and key in a mental hospital by tomorrow."

The comment earned him a broad smile. "Everything will be resolved, I promise you. Now, let's leave before the storm begins."

The loud steady tick of a grandfather clock was probably the most irritating sound Bud Brigman had ever heard, he decided. He got up from his chair and started pacing again. His ribs and his jaw hurt like hell, and it wasn't helping his disposition, he knew. Celia had taken a look at him, and cleaned up his cuts and bruises. She couldn't do anything for the muddle in his head though, he got the impression she had one of her own. He knew that his impatience must be driving Celia and Mrs. Innes mad, but he couldn't help it, he had to do something. He looked out of the farmhouse window, and stared off down the driveway towards the gates. He was so hot! Why the hell didn't these people have air conditioning?

A fork of lightening split the darkened sky in front of him, followed almost immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it rattled Mrs.. Innes' collection of china. The heavens opened with a force of rain so heavy, it was bouncing back three feet off the driveway.

"Where the hell is he?" Bud demanded. "I can't believe I just let him go off with that guy!"

"He'll be fine dear, don't worry." Mrs.. Innes assured him, looking up from the knitting that had occupied her for the past few hours.

"How can you be so sure? He wasn't even wearing any fu–" he stopped himself. "He didn't have any clothes on."

"No, but he does now!" Celia, who had been sat by the window almost the whole time, pointed down the drive.

Coffey, now dressed in jeans and T-shirt, was walking up the drive in the pouring rain. The stranger was with him. Coffey was drenched, Celia noticed, but the other man didn't look wet. They stopped about fifteen yards away from the house. The stranger was talking to him, and Coffey was listening intently, both men seemed relaxed and friendly. When his companion had finished talking, he gave his shoulder a squeeze before turning and walking back down the drive. Coffey watched him for a moment or two before continuing up to the farmhouse.

Bud had the door open before he even reached the porch.

"Thank god you're back," Bud told him, staring intently into his friends face for any signs of the madness that had been there before. He could see none. "Are you all right?" he asked him.

"I'm pretty wet," his friend grinned. "That's one hell of a storm out there."

"I'll get you a towel dear." Mrs.. Innes told him.

"That'd be great, thanks."

"Apart from being wet how do you feel?" Celia asked him as she came to stand beside Bud.

"I'm fine. I kinda remember what I was doing," he blushed a little. "I just couldn't stop myself. Are you hurt?" he asked Bud.

Bud rubbed his jaw and smiled at his friend, more grateful to have him back than he would ever admit. "You landed a couple of good ones, no harm done though."

"Celia, did I touch you?"

"Only to push me away. I wasn't hurt," she assured him.

"Here you are dear." Mrs.. Innes handed Coffey a fluffy pink towel. "Get yourself dry."

He grinned broadly at her. "Thanks, I'm dripping all over your floor."

"Not to worry," she told him smiling back.

Bud took Celia's arm and led her over to sit at the table, giving his friend a little space to dry off. He had to admit that Coffey certainly seemed okay now, but none of this made any sense, and he needed some answers.

"Where did you go with that guy?" he asked him as he handed the towel back, with his thanks, to Mrs. Innes. "What happened to you?"

Coffey shrugged. "Not a lot really. We just sat and talked about some stuff, got acquainted," he glanced at Mrs. Innes. "It's hard to explain really."

"Why don't I make us a nice cup of tea, and then we can all sit down and discuss it?" Mrs. Innes suggested. "Come along, dear," she took Coffey's arm. "You can give me a hand." She led him off towards the kitchen at the rear of the house.

"But..." Bud's words trailed of as Celia squeezed his leg.

"Take it easy, Bud," she said quietly. "Mrs. Innes is doing the right thing. It may not be wise to crowd him just now."

"He seems fine though, doesn't he?"

"I don't want to take any chances, to be honest. I think we might have to consider having him admitted to hospital."

"Oh god, not again!" Bud was in despair. He knew she was probably right, but that didn't make contemplating it any easier.

"Don't worry. We'll have our drink of tea, see how lucid he is, see if he'll let me examine him, and then we'll take things from there, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay."

Coffey looked around Mrs. Innes' kitchen amazed at the collection of faerie memorabilia she had hung from the dark, oak beams. You could have spent hours in here, just looking at it all. Even one of the windows had a fairie depicted in the stained glass.

"I've seen that before," he told her.

"Yes, you have, the attic window at the cottage is a duplicate of this one."

So it was. "This stuff is all to do with them, isn't it?" he asked her.

"That's right, dear. I've been collecting it since I was a girl."

"He told me that I had to trust you, that you'd know what to do."

She smiled at him. "Did you tell him your name, dear?"

"He already knew it, he knew everything about me," Coffey told her.

"Ah, then he's probably been waiting for you. Did he tell you anything?"

"He told me his name. That's important, isn't it?" he asked her.

"That's wonderful news, dear, believe me." She was laying out biscuits on a little tea plate and handed one to him.

"I don't really understand all of it," he admitted, trying the biscuit.

"I know, it's a little strange at first, but don't worry. Good things will start to happen very soon, and he'll be there to guide you, answer all your questions. He'll take very good care of you."

"What about Bud and Celia? Bud and I have been friends for a long time, but I can't see him buying any of this, and there are things that, well, they're even a surprise to me. Do you know what I mean?"

She smiled broadly. "I have a pretty good idea. Don't worry, there are ways around these things."

"And the rest of it? Celia's going to want to have me committed after all that's happened in the last week. Can't say I'd blame her."

"Yes, it has all been unfortunate. I feel responsible for most of that. You see he told me you'd be coming to the cottage, that I was to keep an eye on you. I've been so busy though. I should have realized that this heat would bring some of his 'children' shall we call them, out from hiding. I should have taken more precautions, made sure the cottage was better protected from them. I'm really very sorry."

He shrugged. "No real harm done. I'm still reeling from most of this. He knows so much about me."

"You'll have told him, yourself. You'll have seen him many times before, my love, you've probably known him since you were a child. It's easier to see them when you're a child, there's less of a barrier before our eyes. He has the power to make you forget your encounters with him until he knows you're ready."

"Shame he couldn't help with Bud and Celia. I just don't know what to do."

"Don't worry about that, dear. It's all in hand. The tea will take care of it."

"The tea!" He watched her stir the pot. "It won't harm them will it?"

She laughed. "Of course not. A couple of sips and they won't remember anything except what we tell them. It kept my late husband in the dark, so to speak, through over sixty years of married life."

"Sixty years! But how old...Sorry, I shouldn't ask you that, should I?"

"In normal circumstances, no, but in this case I'll make an exception. The terrible truth is that I just passed a hundred and six."

"What!" He couldn't believe it.

She nodded. "Our 'association' shall we call it, tends to keep us in our prime a little longer than usual. I'm afraid I am now a bona fide member of the criminal fraternity, having had to purchase a forged birth certificate some years ago. The parish records still show the original date of course, you'd be amazed at the number of concerned vicars that have called on me, fortunately they all left happy men."

"After some tea?" he asked her, laughing.

She nodded happily. "You're getting the idea."

"What if they don't like tea?" he asked her.

She pointed to his hand. "It's in the biscuits."

He almost choked.

She patted him on the back, laughing happily. "It's all right, dear, you're immune to its effects."

He brought himself under control. "Does this mean I have to start serving tea and baking?"

"Hardly, but you'll keep a stock of it for emergencies, and there are other things that you can do, you'll see. Now, lets have a chat to Bud and Celia shall we? Be a good boy and carry that tray in for me."

"Yes ma'am."

Celia Jarvis walked Hiram Coffey out of her surgery. He had been her last patient of the day.

"I'll give you a letter to take back with you to confirm what I've said, but it's clear you really don't need to be taking the medication anymore. You did the right thing talking to me about it."

He smiled at her. "Thanks, Celia."

"No problem, I-"

She was interrupted by the barking of a car horn as Bud Brigman pulled up to the curb beside them. He grinned his huge grin at Celia.

"Hi, sexy. How's our boy doing?"

"Absolutely great. No more pills."

"You see," Bud told his friend. "I told you that coming here would do the trick, didn't I?"

Coffey grinned. "I should never have doubted you."

"Now, what say the three of us hit the town tonight to celebrate?"

"Well, I'm game." Celia decided.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Coffey told them. He gave Celia a squeeze on the shoulders. "You two decide where we're going, I'll be back in a couple of minutes."

They watched him sprint across the road towards a man who was sat on the wall beside the tea shop. Neither of them had ever seen him before, but Coffey clearly knew him. The two of them chatted away for quite a while before Coffey kind of took his hand, before leaving him and running back over the road.

"Who was that?" Bud asked him, as he rejoined them.

"Just someone I met a few days ago when I was out jogging."

"I can't say I've ever seen him around here before," Celia decided.

""No," Coffey grinned. "He's just a visitor."

Epilogue

On the third week of his holiday, Hiram Coffey won the British lottery. His win came after the jackpot had not been won for four consecutive weeks, rolling over to more than £30,000,000, the largest jackpot ever.

On returning to the U.S., he retired from the Navy and started an adventure holiday company that went from strength to strength. He bought Heather cottage from his good friend Mrs. Innes, who was a regular visitor to his ranch in Montana, until her death twenty years later. There were rumors in Bent Rigg Village about the old woman's true age, but some of the parish records were destroyed when a candle set fire to a stack of records, during one of the village's regular and unfathomable power cuts. No one really pursued the matter after that.

Bud Brigman and Celia Jarvis kept in contact after Bud returned to the U.S., and their romance blossomed. The two of them were married a little over a year after they first met, and reared four lovely daughters. They remained friends with Coffey, who helped Bud start up his own successful engineering business. They, too, spent many happy holidays at Coffey's Montana home, so happy in fact, that at times events seemed something of a blur.

Coffey never married, and kept his private life very private. His ranch hands would often see him in the company of a man with a pale complexion, and long, auburn hair.

Oddly enough there were never any rumors.

THE END