CHAPTER TWO:A STRANGER IN THE NIGHT.
Following the noise wasn't that hard given the fact that it came with reckless abandon like it was a stray animal in the cottage. Duncan lowered his weapon, giving up on his search for it seemed noone was in the cottage except them.
There was a screech on the outside door, low but sharp enough for him to hear. Trailing the noise one more time, he let the Polo stick he'd found behind a door lead the way to outside. Where he was surprised to find a stranger who looked so out of place standing in the middle of his family's garden.
Pale skin stark and glowing against the screaming black of the night was a boy who looked about his age give or take a year that he was sure he'd never seen before. In fact the strange boy looked so out of place decked out in a silky red collared shirt, a slim waistcoat with a tail and tan breaches neatly tucked into white knee high socks and shiny leather dress shoes. The whole ensemble made for a fine Halloween costume of a forgotten time of regency in the eighteenth century.
An era his history teacher had threatened his class with a test come next Friday. Duncan almost groaned at the memory of school and his rate of inadequate studying.
Wind ruffled the leaves with a new wave of coolness and from the distance, he heard crows caw twice. Before he held the polo stick tighter and held it up over his left shoulder slowly walking towards the dark haired stranger. As though he was advancing towards dangerous prey. "Hey!" Duncan called.
The stranger looked too absorbed in nature he didn't even flinch as he continued to hold his face up. To face the moon, eyes closed visibly taking in the cool breeze of the night.
"Hey!" Duncan yelled from across the moonlit garden.
No response.
"Ayo!" he tried again, starting to get annoyed with the foreign sense of fear growing inside of him.
Should anything happen to them, noone knew of their whereabouts. His family wouldn't certainly think of searching the cottage for he was not allowed to use it in the first place.
He aimed the stick higher above his head and shoulders which seemed to draw the stranger's unfazed attention. The stranger merely looked at him with narrowed cold blue eyes and a pale face with the perfect bone structure under its pristinely constructed attractive features. Handsomely complimented by long hair so dark it matched the midnight and was held together by a neatly tied red ribbon at the back of his head.
"This is private property, I could get you arrested, who're you?" Duncan almost cried as he pointed the stick at the stranger who was now walking toward him. One foot in front of the other, hands folded behind his back. The only way Duncan could describe the stranger's walk was gentlemen but in a bazillion centuries ago way. "Hey! Stay there don't come near me!!" Duncan kept jutting the polo stick in his hands as he pointed it to the strange boy, a bit dramatic sure, but he was just in fear.
The stranger reached him, coming in closer into his personal space as if something was making him move. The stranger lowered the stick and then tentatively ran his freezing knuckles down Duncan's cheek and bare neck. "You are real." He said in a misty whisper tone almost as if he was speaking to himself. Eyes so blue it was as if they were glowing and spearing right into the dark of the night as he stared back up at the moon. "Tell me what year is it??"
Duncan held his breath at the cold feel of the stranger's knuckles on him. He also couldn't help the heat that rose to his cheeks suddenly realizing he was shirtless from his earlier makeout session with Peyton.
The stranger pulled his hands away and fixed them in his pockets, face lifting to fully face the bright moon. "The older the moon the brighter it shines." he said, a smile working on his rosy lips. "The year is 1915 is it not?"
Duncan frowned, finding the stranger very odd, for plenty more reasons than just his lack of personal space. He didn't work too hard to deduct that it was hard drugs or street narcotics make this guy hug such an old and miserably old tone on his millennial tongue.
"Bruh, it's 2023 why are you speaking like we are in the 1800s? Noone does that, not even on Halloween."
The stranger's sanguine gaze fell on him. It was firm, brilliantly blue and as unreadable as it was cold. "Take me to the Sinclairs this very instance." he demanded, having taken two steps back, hands going back to fold behind his back.
"The Sinclairs? Who do you think you are?"
The stranger frowned, but only slightly taking his cold gaze back to the moon "Two thousand and twenty three? Hmm"
"What's going on?" Peyton's voice rang out from the door startling his date.
"Don't move he could be dangerous!" Duncan warned, pointing the stick. "I think he's high on something!"
There was the noise of incoming cars despite them being in the middle of the private forest.
"Casper" the stranger breathed, his voice filled with obvious hope. Then he fixed the lapels of his 1800s opulent red coat taking assured steps towards Peyton. "Casp...," he said again, now stood in front of Peyton.
Peyton frowned but Duncan could tell Peyton was intrigued, which annoyed him a little.
"You don't remember me." Hurt emotion filled the stranger's voice. "May I?" he asked, politely holding Peyton's hand up.
Peyton gave a curt nod and the stranger lifted it to his pink lips kissing the inside of it on the wrist. Softly rubbed the sides of the wrist then gave it another kiss sensually trailing up to kiss the inside of the soft palm, then left a wet kiss on the palm itself eyes closed.
"What the fuck!" Duncan's eyes bulged, mouth agape completely scandalized and filled with second hand embarrassment for the stranger, "Yo man, are you alright up there?" he tapped the side of his left temple. "What did you take? do you know him?" now he asked both boys before him.
Peyton shook his head, at a loss for words. He looked flush with a feather light infatuation just like the time he'd once met Levi Sterling a pop star and claimed him the same way other cheerleaders had claimed the pop sensation as their dream boyfriend.
Duncan shook his head flabbergasted at both of them. First at Peyton for being so easy to impress and then at the stranger for his disregard for simple and proper social behaviour.
He was clearly hitting on Peyton!
They could have both been homophobes! What had the tall guy taken or smoked really? The stranger gave a curt bow, smiled and finally introduced himself to Peyton as though Duncan's presence did not even matter to him. "I'm Harold Sinclair. The last son of Thermos and Genevierre Sinclair. I wonder if any memory of me has eased its way into your conscious mind?"
"Peyton." the name was supplied with a flirty rasp and Cupid struck eyes.
Duncan rolled his eyes, playing with the stick in his hands.
"Peyton," the delusional stranger repeated with a perfect belt dropping smile, "Peyton Crowler?"
Peyton shook his head, but he was growing more flushed and flustered which annoyed Duncan, already he hated the stranger, even more when he wondered how he even knew Peyton.
Leaves scrunched behind them, horror of all horrors Duncan's parents emerged from the bushes, along with the entire Sinclair family of five.
As usual the Sinclairs were dressed in Louboutin red coats, emotionless dazzling blue eyes and before they said anything they all fixed blue glares at the Evertons.
"That's Peyton, Duncan's special friend." his dad Mr Everton explained to the stranger. "Duncan is our son, we have two children."
"Both of them aren't supposed to be here." his mother added, almost apologetically facing the stoic Sinclairs. She turned and along with his dad they gave curt bows and a curtsy to the stranger before they threw their son a cutting deathly gaze.
Peyton was still coming down from his flush with scuffled clothes and too busy staring at his feet to have noticed anything. Duncan saw it all and his forehead wrinkled with questions, his parents were acting so odd a curtsy to a teenager no less. What was that?
"Harold! Dear beloved brother finally you join us."
For the first time in Duncan's entire life with all the time he had spent with the Sinclairs that was the first time he heard Harriet Sinclair's voice carry any emotion at all. The girl was only twenty-one and noone had ever succeeded in befriending or dating her in the past two years the Sinclairs had laid their roots in the town they owned. The girl was as frigid as the long sleek dark hair that was pulled into a punishing ponytail on top of her head. She never smiled, not with teeth anyway and she certainly never giggled but here she was doing all that in the arms of the mysterious Harold who was now kissing her forehead and temples.
The shock was enough to make Duncan's jaw drop "What's going on? Who is he?" he asked. To noone in particular.
Peyton nudged him "Shhh"
Antony Sinclair at twenty-seven years old was publicly acknowledged to be the most responsible Sinclair of the two sons. Ahead of his older brother Ernest Sinclair whom at twenty-nine was the town's favorite tall, rich and handsome generous playboy.
Duncan's older sister usually joked in whispers that the two brothers didn't like each other like brothers should and even if that were true it seemed Harold was equally beloved by them both. As they hurried to share him in a long, visibly emotional tight hug, that sunk Harriet underneath all their bodies.
Mrs Sinclair led herself to the door, Mr Sinclair right behind her stopped and said "He's our son, the family's last born ask your parents." she eyed a shy Peyton from the corner of her eye--which was oddly free of any make up and said "This changes nothing Evertons, you are all dismissed."
"We apologize, Duncan here knows better than to..." his father tried to apologize. His apologetic tone and his parents passive behaviour when around the Sinclairs always made him feel uneasy.
Plenty times he'd asked why they treated the Sinclairs in that way, plenty times his questions had gone without answers but each time he saw them metaphorically bow down to the Sinclairs it made his skin crawl. Especially when the Sinclairs would dismiss his parents, their noses up in the air as if they were above them and everyone else in more ways than wealth.
It made his skin crawl, and on that night there was no exception or change when he watched the Sinclairs ignore his father's apology and close the door in their faces. He wanted to do something, anything to give his parents honour but like always he held back his words on the back of his tongue. His fists clenched and his jaw tightened.
"Here" Duncan's parents gave their son and his date blue coats to cover themselves with "Make sure you get Peyton home safe." Mrs Everton said.
"Why are you acting like that...what's goi..."
"Get Peyton home, we'll discuss it all later at home." His father said with a sharp tone that bore no room for argument as he led his wife toward their own limo.
"So he's a Sinclair huh?" Peyton asked slipping into their own car.
That's right who was he?
VOTE|COMMENT|FOLLOW|SHARE