Witness

I spent my first two days in Holmes Chapel locked in my eerily sparse new home.

The hours passed slowly as I read and re-read the small collection of literature I brought with me, stared at the ceiling, and carefully dissected every inch of the home. I managed to survive on the food I bought for the plane ride – a bag of Chex Mix, a Clif Bar and the remaining three Crème Savers at the bottom of the bag. I counted down the days until the Internet man would come and install my Wi-Fi so I could at least have some form of entertainment. But when he finally did arrive, I was too nervous to answer the door. As a matter of fact, I was paralyzed with fear, starfishing on my living room floor.

Needless to say, it was going well.

Not to mention the fact that I’d spotted the talkative boy from the plane across the way, Harry. Something about the thought of running into him left me with a crippling sense of anxiety.

Probably because I told him I was moving to London and he’d clearly seen me take my bags into a house in Holmes Chapel. But I could be wrong about that.

On the third day I arose, completely out of food and hard pressed for entertainment. “Shit,” I muttered, burying my head under my lone pillow on my standard-grade mattress.

My bed was the focal point of my room, seeing as it was the only thing in it anymore. I’d unpacked my suitcase into my closet, stacking the shelves with my modest clothing collection, lining the floor with my shoes and reading material. Along with my toiletries, that was literally all I had.

While trailing my eyes across the selection of books, my sights snapped back to something of interest: my running shoes. All shades of neon and perfectly broken in, they called my name, begging to be used. I was a runner in New York, trailing my way through Central Park for hours until my feet screamed for me to take them home. I hadn’t ran since August 21st. It was September 5th.

Running would require me leaving the house. As would getting some sort of sustenance. I didn’t even know where to buy food in Holmes Chapel, much less whether or not I would be a complete and utter nuisance running around the streets. There was hardly enough room for cars as it is. There was hardly enough room for cars in New York, too, but that was because of all the taxis. The cruel irony was next to hysterical in my fit of hunger.

“Fucking fine,” I grumbled to myself, rolling out of bed and pulling on my running gear. I could have sighed stepping into my running shoes; it felt like stepping into my old life somehow, like if I closed my eyes and just started running I could be in Central Park.

After a little preparation to greet the outside world – like brushing my teeth and hair and actually washing my face for the first time in days – I bounded down the stairs to the front door. My new house was certainly narrow, with a reasonable kitchen and living room downstairs and a set of bedrooms upstairs, bathrooms on each floor to suit a small family. It felt huge for just me, especially in it’s completely empty state, and walking around it made me want to get outside even more. Even if my hand shook uncontrollably as I placed it on the door handle.

I was greeted with the shocked, sheepish face of my dear friend Harry, standing right on my doorstep with a box in his hand. The sight of him sucked the wind right out of me, causing me to gasp in fear. I hadn’t been expecting anyone and the sight of him was enough to make my blood run cold. Once my pulse calmed down I mustered a weak smile to match the one he was giving me.

He looked great, as expected, with his lip caught gently between his teeth and his hair as flawlessly disheveled as ever. Behind the large box that he was clearly not struggling with he wore a casual pair of dark jeans and boots, the outline of a dark grey t-shirt peeking out around the edges. I couldn’t help but think that Thomas rather liked grey shirts, once upon a time.

“These have been sitting on your doorstep for a couple days now,” Harry mumbled awkwardly in his slow inflection, gesturing to the boxes at his feet as well as the one in his hands. “I thought I would try to see if you were home to bring them in, otherwise I was going to bring them to mine for safe keeping. It’s supposed to rain tonight.”

My initial instinct was to tell him to drop that box and run – there could be a bomb inside, or it could be some sort of sick puzzle sent by Damien to torture me until he could find me. But then my sights landed on a sticker of a red poppy posted to the side of the box in his hand and my heart was immediately at ease. They were some of my belongings, sent by the O.E.O.

“Oh,” I hummed breathlessly. “Thank you.”

“Do you, uh, want help bringing them in?” he offered.

“Yeah,” I replied before I really thought about it. “That would be great.”

Soon enough I was opening the door to my totally creepy and empty home to a complete stranger – a handsome stranger at that – who was going to probably think I was a psycho. “It’s a little empty in here,” he observed, setting the first of the boxes down in the entryway. “But I suppose you did just move to Holmes Chapel.”

A hot rush of blush came to my cheeks entirely against my will. “Yeah, about that,” I muttered, rubbing at the back of my neck. “I’m sorry I lied to you. About moving to London. I’m uh… a pretty private person.”

He moved the next box in from the doorway, his biceps flexing with the weight. “Not a problem,” he replied. “I wouldn’t expect you to disclose private information to a total stranger. But it does seem that we are neighbors now, Lilia.”

I had to admit – I loved the way he said my new name. Despite the fact that I had yet to hear anyone else say it before, I doubted that it would sound better than the way the three short syllables rolled off his tongue. I tucked a box next to the ones he brought in, releasing a soft grunt at the weight of it.

“I suppose we are,” I agreed, watching him grab the last box – the biggest of them all.

“But not all the time,” he disclosed, his voice strained from the weight. “That’s my mom’s house; I’m just visiting. I actually live in London, unlike someone else in this room.”

I laughed sheepishly. “I’d like to visit London sometime.”

“I’d love to host you sometime,” he countered with a grin. “But since we can’t get to London, right now, how about I show you around town? I can’t imagine there’s much to do in here.”

“I was actually about to go on a run,” I mumbled, and only when the words left my mouth did I realize how stupid they sounded in the open air. There was an attractive man on my doorstep offering to show me around town and my response was that I had to go running? I could practically hear Amelia yelling at me from Manhattan.

“Perfect,” he chimed, his grin widening. “I’ll go with you. That’ll be perfect. Just let me change.”

And in the time it takes to blink he was back on my doorstep in a pair of sweat pants and neon sneakers to match mine. “Ready?”

“Ready?” Thomas greeted at the front door of my apartment with a light kiss.

“I was born ready,” I teased, wiggling the set of tickets to Yankee Stadium for that night, August 19th. This was my chance to win him back, to prove to him that all my doubts could be outweighed by one night of fun, just the two of us. That the six months we’d spent together hadn’t been a total waste.

“Be safe you two!” Amelia called from the depths of our apartment.

The Yankees lost. Two days later, I left Thomas’s brownstone in tears, having just gotten my heart kicked to the curb. Two halves of an hour later, Damien Trask came into my life. And nothing ever since was the same.

“Sure,” I mumbled, shaking the thought from my head so hard my ponytail swung around my shoulders. Harry jerked his head in the direction of the street and I followed.

We established a pace fairly quickly, the adrenaline of having my feet in motion again sending shivers up my spine. I was surprised at how fast we fell in time, Harry motioning for me to follow him. We weren’t far from downtown, just a couple of blocks, so the jog over there was short.

“What brings you to the lovely Holmes Chapel then, Lilia?” he questioned, still able to maintain an even level of breathing despite our fast pace. I realized then he must be a seasoned runner, or at least be in good physical condition beneath all those clothes.

Not that I was thinking about what was beneath his clothes.

“I got bored of Richmond,” I replied, not really knowing whether or not Richmond, Virginia was a particularly boring place. “Wanted to try living in the idyllic British countryside for a while.”

As pretentious as it sounds, idyllic really was the best word to describe Holmes Chapel.

“Well, you couldn’t have picked a better place,” he responded, motioning to move onto the sidewalk that developed as we reached downtown. “Our village has a number of thrilling features, including the pub here on your right.”

That would be my future place of employment, but I dare not disclose that to Harry. The off-white walls contrasted with the red signage, reading ‘Old Red Lion.’ I simply couldn’t wait to see what kind of crowd that place drew on the weekend. I prayed that the people of Holmes Chapel would be kind to the strange American girl suddenly working at their pub. Only two more days until I could have that cherished experience under my belt!

“And the church,” with its yard spattered in red-orange Indian Paintbrush, still in late summer bloom.

“The supermarket and the pizzeria, and the chemist, oddly enough,” Harry listed as we ran past all the storefronts. Though he covered it with a joking tone, there was an underlying sense of pride in his voice. I could sense it as we passed the tiny little library and the bakery.

“I used to work here,” he hummed, nodding his head in the direction of the bakery.

“You? A baker?” I replied in disbelief.

“Hey,” he cried in defense. “You hardly even know me, don’t be so quick to judge! I happen to be a man of many talents!”

If only I’d known then just how many.

At the idea of food, my stomach began to grumble. I then realized how terrible of an idea it was to run without any sort of sustainable food in my stomach, slowing to a complete halt as Harry carried on.

“Forget this,” I called after him. “I’m starving. Let’s get something to eat.”

“But the bakery is closed today,” he responded, turning back around to return to me. I couldn’t help but smile at the sight of him, his broad chest apparent through the fabric of his t-shirt.

“Lucky for us, there’s still two other restaurants in town!” I teased. That was going to take some getting used to.

Harry laughed his rich, filling laugh. “It certainly isn’t Richmond, Virginia,”

“It certainly isn’t,” I replied as we began our grueling trek back into the heart of town. But actually, though – what was Richmond, Virginia even like? I decided that once I finally got my Wi-Fi installed I would have to do some research.

He took me to the fish and chip shop, insisting that I have some authentic British food on my first excursion out of my house. Furthermore, he insisted on paying, and I couldn’t help but notice that his wallet was filled with high-end credit cards.

We chatted for a while over lunch, picking at our French fries (an idiom for which Harry teased me mercilessly) and sipping at our sodas. He made me laugh until my sides split, a trait that men didn’t often exhibit with me. I tried to talk about myself as little as possible, apprehensive of lying again. Harry stuck pretty closely to the subject of his hometown, telling me stories of his childhood growing up in the countryside.

“I’d like to see you again,” he hummed when he dropped me at my door, full lips wrapping around the straw of his to-go cup of soda.

“Won’t you be needing to return to London soon?” I questioned, hopeful that the answer would be no. It was kind of nice not being entirely alone.

“Not when I’m developing such a good reason to stay.”

I felt that same rush of deep pink come to my cheeks, a small smile developing on my lips. He turned to walk away, eyes set on his white row house across the street. But as he trotted down the sidewalk through my assortment of plants that I would eventually have to care for, I felt the need to say something more.

“Harry, wait!” I called after him, leaning in my doorway.

He glanced back at me, clever smile lighting up his face. “Yes?”

I sighed. “Thank you for getting me out of the house. I really needed that.”

His grin only grew from there. “I’ll be back tomorrow, then.”

Perhaps having a friend wouldn’t be a bad thing.

But that night, as I lay awake the way I was increasingly getting used to, I thought of Thomas and how I missed him. It had been so abrupt, as all of it had, and I wished more than anything that I could have a chance to say something to him – to say anything to him. But just as the darkest thoughts came to my mind, they were replaced with Harry’s smiling face, green eyes dancing with mischief. And that was the thought I fell asleep to.