Page 19 of Welcome to Gothic
He coughed. “Not even death.” His gaze shifted and looked beyond her. “Not even the fog...”
“No!” She put her arms around him and rocked him.
And just like that, he was gone. Dead in her arms.
Someone took Wendy by the elbows and lifted her away.
“No!” This couldn’t be happening. Not to them. Not to him. Not to Hugh.
People swarmed around her, shouting, but that sound faded.
They faded.
Hugh’s figure was vanishing in the mist.
Wendy couldn’t hear. Or see. She tried to call out, but she could barely breathe.
The fog closed in...
Chapter Ten
Wendy opened her eyes. She lifted her head. She was sprawled facedown in a theater trunk.
Right. She’d been rummaging in this theater trunk when something hit her in the back of the head and sent her back to...
Fists up, she leaped out of the trunk onto her feet. Hadsomeonehit her? She stood, stance firm, breathing hard, ready to counterattack... whoever.
Yet she was alone behind the plywood wall that separated the stage from Minnie and Mabel’s shop. The only sound was the creaking of a heavy-duty sisal rope with a knot tied at the end... Like the one she’d used to swing across the stage and into Hugh’s arms.
She put her hand to the back of her head and found the giant lump. Sure. Something had hit her. The rope had broken free from the restraints that, for seventy-some-odd years, held it above the stage. The knot smacked her, knocked her unconscious, and ever since, she’d been having a dream about this place, this theater, in 1940, and an actor who was her dream lover.
Only... it hadn’t felt like a dream.
Wendy closed her eyes against the crushing sense of loss. Tears leaked out.
Hugh. Hugh Capel.
She had met him. They talked. She discovered he had suffered pain, like her. He said they were soul mates. And he died.
Great story, Wendy. You made it all up out of some fantasy you wished would come true. How sad was that, that the life you’ve built in Gothic is so barren of love youhave todream a man who is strong and brave and wounded enough to understand your own broken bits?
More—she spread her hands and looked down at herself—how had she managed to get into this outfit? This cream silk with its soiled hem and the wrinkled marks where she’d held a child called Hazel?
She had to get out of here, get back to real life. She needed to be back in the Vintage Gothic Encore Clothing Shop with Minnie and Mabel, showing them the props she’d found and bargaining with them for the cheapest price. When she’d come backstage, she’d been Bendy Wendy, business owner. Now she was brokenhearted because a man who she loved, a man who never existed... had died in her arms.
She gathered her full shopping bag and dragged it toward the stairs that led down into the shop. At the bottom of the steps, she found the door closed with the giant iron key in the lock. She turned the key, opened the door and stepped out into the shop—and blinked. The big room was bright with sunshine and reality.
Painful, boring, loveless reality.
The last of the tourists shuffled out of the shop, laughing and comparing their purchases, heading for the tour bus, not knowing how Wendy had found love in what seemed like a few hours.
“That was quick. Very efficient!” Minnie bustled over. “I see you found an outfit to play with. It looks good on you.”
Wendy rubbed her forehead. “The fog...”
“Is gone.” Mabel stood beaming. “It’s turned into a lovely day. And look at you. That outfit was custom made for you!”
Remembering Beatrice and her needle and thread, Wendy wanted to say,Ifyou only knew.
