She's From the Future Pt.I

"What the hell's a matter with you, m'boy?" he asked, the think crystal chandelier illuminating his face in a much harsher tone that usual.
"Excuse me¦" I muttered while throwing the heavy linen napkin beside my plate and sprinting towards the hallway.
Snatching my black suit jacket off the brass coat hanger I sped through the door, barely noticing my mother along with her faithful maidservant rushing after me. I knew it was a disgrace to them but I didn't care, I didn't even care about the gray rain falling on me from the heavens, most likely my punishment as a disrespectful son.
"Shh¦Lindy, calm down."
The black stallion was my pride and joy.
I saddled her and rode out of the manor, past the streets, into a meadow. The smell was intoxicating. Wet air slapped my face as I rode against the purple sky, releasing all my troubles into the streaks of water running off of us.
But then something caught my eye. Against the mellow shades of hay yellow and light green, there was an unearthly shade. It was bright, a vermilion color only seen in pages of exotic art.
I dismounted Lindy to approach cautiously, my hand pistol drawn at naval height.
She was definitely a woman. It was obvious by her long chestnut hair, the arch of her fair neck, and the way her bosom filled out her blouse¦if that's what you were to of called it. She was wearing the oddest clothes I had ever seen; trousers made out of a strange blue material and the vermilion belonging to a jacket that was unnaturally airy.
Not wanting to be responsible for her decease and because of my curiosity that I was known for I lifted her and placed her as gently as I could manage on Lindy. She stayed unconscious the entire way back to my estate.
One I arrived at the manor, my mother ran outside to see the point of my early return. She stopped suddenly at the view of the peculiar woman draped across my arms. She just stood there moving her mouth at me like a trout, exchanging no sound.
"Mother, just go get help!"
Finally inside the candlelit foyer, we laid the girl down on a sofa and placed wet linens across her face. It was the smell of alcohol that our maid drew under her nostrils that made her come to. A groan escaped her mouth as her eyes fluttered open revealing two deep blue pools. So big, so alone.
"What year is it?"
It was I who answered after the few moments of awkward silence, "It's 1824. June seventh if you would like to know as well."
She sat up sharply, her coat making a rippling noise. She tried to stand up but was only able to grab hold of an arm of the sofa and her head before sliding back down, all the while mumbling words only assumed as foul.
"Dear, you mustn't try to move. Rest, it shall make you feel stronger," assured mother, bringing her a glass of water.
"So does the lass have a name?" my father requested, walking into the room.
"It's Briana."
"Well that is quite a name," my mother replied, "I don't think I have heard that one before. I'm Mary. Pleased to meet you."
She nodded in recognition before asking, "Does my rescuer have a name?"
She caught me off guard. I was extremely attracted to her. "Oh¦my name is Henry."
"Henry¦Henry¦thank goodness¦"she turned and asked my parents, "Could I speak with him, alone?"
"Why, that is absurd!" my mother gasped. I was surprised myself.
"Please, it's dire."
They quietly excused themselves as I sat down in a chair across from her nervously.
"Shh¦don't ask anything. I know you're wondering about the clothes and the accent and why I was passed out in the middle of a field. This may be hard for you to understand, but I think you're trustworthy," she stood up and slowly paced across the creaking floorboards, "I'm from the future, almost two hundred years in the future. The college I was studying at, university actually, found an advancement in molecular genetics. I can see you're getting lost¦to make stories short we found a way to go back in time and¦.Brava! I'm here! But it's for a reason," she stopped and stared me in the eyes, casting a shadow of intimidation upon me, "I've come to save you."
"What? Save me? From what?"
"I can't. They're listening¦"
"Who's listening?"
She collapsed on a chair. Startled I jumped off my own and attempted to soothe her. She snapped her head back, her eyes slowly excreting tears as they focused on mine.
"I can't tell you anymore. I'm sorry¦they're listening¦I've already told you too much¦"
A knock on the door interrupted our discussion. Briana grabbed my forearm sharply, showing even more of her fears.
"Henry dear, is everything all right in there?" mother's muffled voice sank into the air.
"Just peachy. I think Miss Briana should get some rest," I walked over to the door and opened it, "perhaps in the guest chamber?"
"Brilliant idea¦Bridgett, what's wrong?"
"Briana¦."
She gently leaded Briana to the guest room all the while chatting about tea and bed warmers.
I in the meantime made my way to our library. It was a large room, with hundreds of books towering to the high ceiling. I pulled out all of the books I could find dealing with science and time travel. They were all rubbish. I had been concealed in the room a long amount of time trying to figure out anything to do with what the mysterious girl had said. The candle that had previously been in full glory was now just a little more than a pile of wax on the table.
The next morning I woke up with my face pressed to one of the many notebooks of Da Vinci. I wiped the saliva off my face and proceeded towards the door. Something caught my eye.
On the desk, on top of the mound of texts, was a light piece of parchment folded in half. I approached cautiously, as if it might combust at any given moment. I snatched it up and started to read:
Henry,
I'm sorry for scaring you last night. Meet me in the field.
Briana
I anxiously washed my face and did not bother to change. I arrived at the meadow a mere ten minutes later.
There she was, sitting on the ground doing what appeared to be writing in a journal of some sort.
"Nice dress,"
She didn't even look up at me.
"You're mom lent it to me."
"I received your letter."
"Obviously."
"So why is it that we're here?"
"To apologize to you," she finally glanced up, "and to warn you again."
I kicked the ground and grunted, "I don't understand why you're not telling me who 'they' are!"
She calmly closed the notebook and stood up, "Have you thought that maybe I'm trying to help you? Even if they weren't eavesdropping, even if I could tell you, it'd do more harm to you¦and the rest of us if you knew."
Then she fled. She picked up her skirts and ran from me barefooted across the grasses. She left me standing there again in confusion.
About a month later our good friend Professor Freeman was there. I suspected my mother may have sent for him to see if the cold my father had was indeed minuscule. I pulled him aside.
"John, I've known you a long time, and I can trust you with anything, right?"
"Well of course you can," he was nervous. He always fooled with his glasses when he was under pressure.
"That girl in there¦she's not from around here¦not even from Europe¦"
"Oh she's from the Americas? I have many questions to ask," he started walking towards the closed door, "like if the Incas actually consumed their victims that the sacrificed and if¦"
I lunged, pulling him back before he could request any stupid answers.
"No, you fool! She's from the future, not America!"
"Don't be absurd, man," he didn't believe me. All that time together, and he only thought of me as a lunatic.
He basically ran off our property, afraid of whom I'd transformed into for a split second. I lied down on the couch and put my head on my hands.
Something cold touched my scalp. I jumped.
"You should've known he wouldn't believe you," she cooed, still stroking my hair, "no one will believe you."
"Then how do I know that I can trust you?"
She avoided the question, "You have really nice blonde hair."
"Will you answer me?"
"You can't trust me. You're right. But then how do I know that every night you write in a journal, no matter what. You're twenty three years old and still terrified of your father. In my time, people already have there own families at your age."
She sat down on my lap, pulling out the hand that she held behind her back throughout our conversation. In it was my notebook. The only difference was that it looked weathered, older.
She opened it and began reading aloud, "July nineteenth, 1825. Father is very sick. We thought it was only a slight cold. John came over but avoided me, only to diagnose father with pneumonia. He keeps coughing rapidly. I don't know whether to rejoice or to weep over him¦"
"Wait, that's in a week!"
She grinned, "Mmhmm."
"My father is going to die and you're smiling!"
She slowly dragged her index finger down the side of my face while continuing her daunting voice saying, "In the future the disease isn't fatal. Since I happened to have your diary, I packed the antidote for my little trip."