A Leap in Time (3 page)

I’d aimed for the kitchen to make a cup of tea when a tiny movement caught my eye.

I turned slowly back, and there it was. Ever so slightly and subtly, the objects in the portrait were moving. The creek snaking the width of the painting flowed freely; the branches on the trees lining the road to the city swayed ever so slightly in the breeze; the clouds moved across the blue sky; birds chirped happily just as I’d heard them every dawn for the last week.

Oh holy heavens, what was happening? I stood there mesmerized. The images in the painting were actually moving.
Holy crap!

How can this be?

I took a deep breath, stepped back, and practically ran to the bathroom hoping not to vomit my dinner from the previous night. I splashed cold water on my face staring at myself in the mirror. My usual olive complexion looked ashen, my brown eyes stared blankly back; even my long chestnut brown hair hung limply over my shoulders. I looked like a ghost of myself. And yet I’ve never felt more alive and in the moment. My blood coursed excitedly through my veins creating a vibrating hum in my ears. What was happening in the living room was crazy and unexplainable, but it was happening. I saw it with my own two eyes. I splashed more water on my face.

Sounds of the rustling leaves and babbling creek still came from the living room. Like a coward, I stayed in the bathroom and busied myself with anything and everything to avoid going back out there. I even cleaned the toilet.

When the sounds stopped, I mustered the courage to go back to the living room for a second look. As expected, all had returned to normal and the possessed painting was lifeless once more.

I’d never been happier it was the weekend and I could laze in bed all day if I wanted to, analyzing and over-analyzing what I had just witnessed. I rarely reclined on the couch anymore in fear of something jumping at me from the painting.
Yup, you’ve completely lost it, Lexi.

Chapter Four

I spent most of Saturday in bed flipping through channels without actually watching anything. My mind was racing a million miles a minute desperate to make sense of the mindboggling scene that played out in front of my eyes earlier that day. The birds in the painting actually flew across the sky and disappeared, and then different birds emerged and left again. The creek by the tree was actually flowing. I’d seen the water moving with my own unblinking eyes. How could this be?

The store owner had declared this painting special. Could that mean he knew the objects took on a life of their own? Maybe the painter created special effects that looked like things were moving when they weren’t. That wasn’t so farfetched, was it?

Right off, I’d noticed the painting almost had an alter-personality—both dark and light. The painter had managed to capture two very different expressions in one painting, so the moving stuff wasn’t out of the realm of possibility.

More than ever, I needed to confront the painting again, and I needed to tell Kate and Charlotte. On the surface, everything was fine with us, but I knew they sensed my emotional distance. I couldn’t help but wonder if this was all happening for a reason. But why? Why me? For someone who often didn’t live in the present moment, I certainly had no desire to connect with someone who didn’t live in this life. No thanks! Dealing with people in real-time was tough enough.

If the mysterious sounds from the painting were actually the dead painter delivering a message, he was wasting his time on me. Maybe I should talk to Mrs. Ashton. She struck me as the kind of person who’d probably heard a weird story or two during her world travels.

Content with my plan of letting the girls in on my secret, I showered, dressed in leggings and oversize T-shirt.

The weather was unusually cool for April, but I wasn’t complaining. I actually wished we had a little more shift in seasons in southern California, but then again, we had mild temperatures during the months when most of the country was shivering with bitter cold and buried under feet of snow.

The aroma of the flowery body wash and shampoo wafting through the bathroom felt incredibly relaxing. Almost forgetting about the painting, I lingered in the shower far longer than I intended. During my post break-up with Mark, I took solace in the quietness of long hot showers where I tuned out the world. My peaceful state of mind was interrupted by the sound of my grumbling stomach. At least my appetite was back.

The Chinese food delivery from my favorite place down the street was at my door within fifteen minutes. Love the perk of being a frequent customer. I devoured my chicken kung pao and, before losing my nerve, I called Charlotte.

“Hi. How are you feeling?” I croaked. Honestly, why was I so nervous?

“Hey there, you sound a lot like my best friend Lexi.” I heard her smiling through the phone. “I was hoping to hear from you, stranger.” Her voice sounded raspy and tired.

“I’m sorry. I’m here. Are you feeling okay? Do you need anything?” I braced myself for the arsenal of questions and talked myself out of any defensive feelings that might come up. “I’m sorry Char. I’ve just been so busy with work and I haven’t been sleeping well—”

“Why not?” And there was my lawyer friend Charlotte, jumping at the first opening. Geez.

“No reason. Just stressed I guess.” Great, now I sounded guilty.

“Lexi, are you seeing Mark again?”

I smiled. “I promise it’s nothing to do with
him
. It’s actually about my apartment. I want to tell you everything, but I think we should wait for Kate too so I can tell you guys at the same time.”

“Fine. We’ll be there at seven.” Just like that, the wheels were in motion.

Charlotte and Kate knocked on my door at seven sharp. I even managed to freshen up with some lip-gloss and a little mascara. Just because I felt like the dead didn’t mean I had to look that way.

“Hey, you two. Come in.” I smiled at them.

Seeing them standing at my door looking so anxious and worried warmed my heart. Charlotte wore her long silky blonde hair in a high ponytail that brushed her shoulders with every movement. She looked almost childlike with her bangs swept casually over her perfectly arched eyebrows, her usually blue sparkling eyes glassy; she’d been sick. Even her leggings and sweatshirt matched her pale pink flip-flops. How does she do it? I smiled admiringly at my Southern belle bestie pulling her in for a hug.

“All right, all right, enough with the hugs. Now what the hell is going on, Lexi?” Kate chimed in her usual straight to the point approach. She threw herself on the sofa playfully, propping her feet on the coffee table, ready for an explanation. She was still in her work clothes, hair pulled neatly into a low bun at the nape of her neck. She looked every bit of the professional banker in her striped black pant suit.

I opened a bottle of Pinot noir just before they arrived and had set out glasses and snacks on the coffee table knowing that once we started talking, I wouldn’t want to stop to get snacks.

It would probably be a long night while we caught up. I hadn’t realized how much I missed them. Being around them gave me a feeling of comfort and security that I felt deep in my bones.

“That’s new. It’s very pretty,” Kate said, breaking the silence. She was, of course, referencing the painting. She missed nothing.

“Oh, I love it. It’s exactly what this place needed. More art, maybe some plants to warm things up,” chimed Charlotte.

“Ha ha. Okay. I can take a hint. I know the place needs a lot, but I’m working on it. Baby steps.” I poured wine.

Kate eyed me impatiently. “So, what’s going on with the apartment?”

“Have a glass of wine first. You’re going to need it for what I’m about to tell you.” I couldn’t help but laugh at the look of alarm on their faces.

Two and a half bottles of wine, and Chinese takeout later, Charlotte and Kate were completely in the know. The three of us sat in silence for a while. I’m not sure if it was the wine kicking in, or the shock of my story that left us speechless staring at the painting as if expecting it to speak on command.

“What? So, you’re saying the painting comes to life.” Charlotte hadn’t moved her attention from the painting.

“Lexi, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been under a lot of stress lately. Sometimes exhaustion can contribute to hallucinations, which is totally normal given how difficult the breakup was on you,” Kate said.

“Let’s assume that what you’re saying is true. Then what?” Charlotte was trying desperately to stay calm, but losing ground, her pale complexion turning beet red with frustration.

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” I confessed, feeling under attack.

Kate reclined on the couch, her head on the armrest. She kicked off her black heels then fidgeted anxiously with her hair, unfastening it and letting the fiery red tresses fan out on the arm of the couch as if that was the source of distress in the room and not my outlandish story. Our heated banter went on for what seemed like hours before we came to an agreement.

“At four-thirty, we’ll all wake up to observe the painting together. Until then, there’s no point arguing about it anymore. Besides, it’s getting late and we’re all tired. Let’s turn in, okay?” I knew full well that Kate would be sound asleep before I even finished my sentence. With all the wine we’d consumed, it was a guarantee that she’d sleep through anything. In college, we teased her about being such a heavy sleeper. A part of me was always envious because I was the complete opposite; the slightest noise woke me, which meant never sleeping in at the dorm because someone somewhere was always making a ruckus.

“I’ll get her a blanket and pillow. You can bunk with me.” I got up slowly, anticipating my head to spin, but was pleasantly surprised when I felt okay. I didn’t need a hangover on top of everything else that was going on.

Charlotte and I drifted off almost as soon as our heads rested on the pillows. My body must have developed an internal clock because my eyes popped open at four-thirty with a surprising alertness despite having only slept a couple of hours.

I lay there a few minutes listening. As odd as it was, there was a level of comfort in knowing what to expect: chirping birds, a babbling creek and occasional horses trotting by. I slowly got out of bed and gently shook Charlotte shoulder. Surprisingly, she was on her feet instantly, eager to prove that I had imagined the whole thing.

Kate was still on the couch in the same position we left her. I didn’t need to tiptoe around her. This girl could sleep through a rocket ship blasting off. I called her name a few times while Charlotte nudged her arm.

With both girls behind me, gaping at the magical painting, I inched closer, determined not to blink or run. Having Charlotte and Kate here lent reassurance and courage to face anything the painting could dish out.

I leaned in the same way Mrs. Ashton had, my face inches from the painting. As it did every morning, the sky began shifting and changing whenever the sun dipped from around the clouds. There weren’t as many birds this morning. Or maybe their tweets were masked by the commotion coming up the road.
Holy hell!
And there they were, as real as if they stood in front of me, a caravan of men slumped on horseback, tired and dusty looking, dressed in brown togas and laced-up brown leather sandals. Others rode in carriages tied behind the horses, all making their way toward the city of Pompeii.

I wondered if the people could see me. Would they think I’m a giant looking into their world? Years ago, I read Gulliver’s Travels for school and was awestruck by the idea of Gulliver stumbling upon a whole new world where he was a giant surrounded by a teeny tiny world. Impulsively, I reached my hand to touch the painting, curious about the feel of this fantasy world under my fingertips.

I’d barely made contact with it when a slight current of an electric shock shot up my arm.

Suddenly I was being sucked forward. Darkness all around. I fell. Down. Down.

I don’t know how long I fell, but as these things inevitably happen, I came to an abrupt and jolting stop. The bright, unrelenting sunshine made me blink several times.

What just happened? One minute I was standing in my living room in front of the painting and the next minute I was sitting in my pajamas beside a creek with my back braced against an Italian alder tree. I blinked repeatedly, as if blinking would somehow explain this. No. No explanation was needed. It was clear. Somehow, by some irrational, incomprehensible explanation, I’d morphed from my living room in Los Angeles to ancient Pompeii.
Holy hell!

I had become a subject in my own painting. My stomach flipped. I was doubled over within seconds vomiting everything from the night before and probably yesterday too. The after-effects left me physically drained and scared. Why did I have to touch that damn painting?

I scanned my surroundings, making sure no one noticed my unexpected arrival. The last thing I needed right now was to be taken prisoner—in my pajamas no less. I could just imagine the spectacle that would surround that!

The thought of being imprisoned here sent another wave of nausea through my body, doubling me over again. As I sat there, every gladiator movie raced through my mind along with every scene where a woman was whipped, beaten, or raped. Terrifying. Would someone mistake me for a runaway slave and punish me? Or worse, enslave me? Before my panic sent me reeling again, I lowered myself against the trunk. Despite my grim situation, I felt grateful for the shade and the trunk’s protection from the road. The cool breeze settled my queasiness.

“Don’t panic, don’t panic.” The words came out of my mouth, but really, they provided no comfort at all. The only comfort I needed was to know that I was heading home immediately…and before I was discovered.

This turn of events wasn’t what I had expected at all. The thought made me chuckle. What had I expected? That the ghost of the painter would fly around my apartment? Maybe, in the widest stretch of my imagination. But never did I think I would end up inside the portrait…in Pompeii, Italy.

If this was a dream, it was a brilliant one because it was so vivid. I felt very present both emotionally and physically. I could smell the poppies, hear the coos of mourning doves, and feel the heat of the sun. I was feeling like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. Any moment Toto would shoot through the tall grass and leap into my arms. But no, this wasn’t a dream.