He stepped from my dreams



  He stepped from my dreams

  Mark Stewart

  Copyright 2011: He stepped from my dreams by Mark Stewart. All rights reserved. No part of this story may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the author. This story is fictitious and a product of the author’s imagination. Resemblance to any actual person living or dead is purely coincidental.

  ELIZABETH squinted in the bright sunlight, slowly curling her fingers in the sand.

  “I’m alive,” she whispered. Struggling to a sitting position she looked around.

  “Hey you; sitting on the sand. Get off my island.”

  The girl turned her throbbing head in the direction of the voice. She could almost make out an image of a man. He looked to be marching up the beach towards her. She grinned at the man’s bright red shirt flapping in the cool breeze.

  “Get off my island,” called the man, pointing at the water’s edge. The man abruptly stopped, towering over the girl. His short shadow plunged her face into the shade. Elizabeth sensed his aggression. His deep frown above sand coloured eyebrows cementing the fact.

  “Get off my island,” the man hissed for the third time. “You’re trespassing on private property.”

  His words washed about Elizabeth’s brain causing her headache to sharpen. The throbbing in her ears sounded worse than a base drum.

  “You are poisoning my island. Kindly remove one’s self.”

  “Gee you’re rude.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I could say the same.”

  “Girlie, do not argue.”

  Scrambling to her feet she stood in front of the man, swaying. Elizabeth clapped a sandy hand over her mouth to muffle her giggles.

  “Why are you giggling?”

  Elizabeth looked deep into the man’s striking blue eyes. Her heart fluttered, her knees buckled. She felt the first pangs of love.

  “The words you speak sound funny.”

  “You snobby little brat, what do you know about English? Look at you, prancing around my island wearing no clothes.”

  “I’m not a snobby little brat. I’m not prancing around, I had been sitting. Furthermore, I have clothes on.”

  The man snickered. “You call your flimsy piece of material clothing?”

  Elizabeth used the remainder of her strength to place both hands on her hips, only to have them slip off.

  “Yes, I do. This dress is the cutting edge of fashion.”

  “I know about fashion. What is loved today is hated tomorrow.”

  “I can’t see a house, where do you live?” questioned Elizabeth, ignoring his comment. “Sand dunes and wild grass are the only things around here.”

  The man pointed a long piano finger behind him. “I live on the other side of the sand hill.”

  “Do you want to show me?”

  “No,” he snarled.

  “I’m Elizabeth Mcomb. You are?”

  “I’m no one important. Furthermore it is none of your business, Beth.”

  Elizabeth succeeded in placing her trembling hands onto her hips. “Beth is not my name.”

  “On my island, I do and say what I want.” The man glanced around him. “I cannot see your boat. Who brought you here?”

  Elizabeth lowered her gaze, watching loose sand move under her feet.

  “I fell overboard last night from my stepfather’s yacht.”

  “Judging by what you are wearing, I deduce your stepfather owns a large expensive yacht.”

  “It’s eighteen metres long.”

  “I repeat what I said before.”

  Elizabeth looked blank.

  “You are a snotty little rich.”

  “Hey,” barked Elizabeth interrupting the man’s comment. “I’m not. Besides, you called me a snobby little.”

  “Brat,” cut in the man. “You are a frustrating little child.”

  “I’m not a child. I’m nineteen and four months. How old are you?”

  “Twenty, if you really must know. Excuse me I have things to do. Your beauty has poisoned my mind long enough. You have permission to stay on the beach. Your stepfather, if he’s looking for you, will not be far away.”

  The man turned sharply on his heels, marching up the beach in large hurried strides.

  Elizabeth had to trot to keep up. “Don’t leave. My stepfather didn’t know I had been on his yacht. I stowed away hoping to see the new millennium in by kissing a stranger. Each night I dream a rich bachelor will carry me off into the sunset.”

  “A child’s romantic nonsense,” said the man, stooping to pick up a bulging calico bag.

  “It’s not nonsense. What’s the stuff you picked up?”

  “My things do not concern you.”

  “Stop walking so fast, I’ve a headache,” called Elizabeth, beginning to fall behind.

  The man grinned without breaking stride. “No doubt from too much champagne.”

  Elizabeth caught up to the mystery man at a door built into a sand hill. “You live here? Underground?”

  “I built my house in a natural valley between two sand hills then covered the roof using sand.”

  Elizabeth followed the man inside. The moment her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness she gasped. “I love this place. Everything’s neat and tidy. It has a table, chair, door, closet; certainly a man’s castle. There’s only one thing wrong. Your place is barren of a woman’s touch.”

  The stranger watched Elizabeth skim her gaze around the room. “If you are thirsty there is fresh water in the bucket on your left.”

  “What’s in the closet?” asked Beth, moving towards a small door on her right.

  “Do not open the door. The closet does not concern you.”

  “Either it’s your treasure, or you cleaned up and threw everything inside due to the fact you knew I’d come back here.”

  “You couldn’t be more further from the truth. I want you to respect my privacy. Do not even think about opening the closet door.”

  Elizabeth reached out her hand, curling her long thin fingers around the small door knob. The closet door easily swung open. “Oops,” she said with a sigh. “I love your treasure. You own amazing paintings. The way the artist made the brush flow over the canvas; the colours the artist used are excellent.”

  “Every painting is a reject.”

  “You’re wrong. They’re perfect.” Elizabeth’s jaw dropped open at reading the initials, ‘M.C.’ at the bottom right-hand corner. She looked up into the man’s blue eyes. “I’m guessing you’re Miles Churchill the famous painter aren’t you?”

  “Yes. I hid those paintings. They are an embarrassment.”

  “I strongly disagree. I know my knowledge of painting is limited, I believe if you try to sell these you’d get a fortune.”

  “What would you know about the art world?”

  “I’m studying to be a painter at Uni.” Elizabeth looked over the top of the painting, spying a door. “Miles, what’s in the room?”

  “Do not go in there.”

  Pushing the door open she said in an enticing voice. “Do you want to give me a guided tour of the bedroom? Come on, don’t be shy, I won’t bite.”

  “I do not believe in jumping into bed with just any woman.”

  “Me too,” replied Elizabeth. “Miles, do you believe in love at first sight?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t you get lonely? For a woman I mean.”

  Miles stepped close. He parted her sand covered blonde hair from her young face, smiling for the first time. “Sometimes,” he whispered, touching her cheek.

  Elizabeth smiled back, snuggling her head into his hand. “How do you cope?”

  “Come, I will show you.”

  Miles
took her by the hand. He led her along a narrow sandy track to a plateau on the next sand hill.

  “The plateau is the island’s highest point. This is my island’s secret. I knew when I found this place I had to own her.”

  Elizabeth stood, staring out over the land and the water. The warm sea breeze blew across her face. She gently squeezed Miles’ hand.

  “The view is magnificent. It takes your breath away.”

  “Three hundred and sixty degrees of ocean view. Up to now this has been the most amazing thing I have ever seen. To me, the ocean had great colours, beauty, and warmth. Now when I look at the ocean it has grown cloudy and cold.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Elizabeth, struggling to peel her gaze from the view.

  “Beth, you have not heard a word I have said.”

  “You have a helicopter.”

  “Yes I have,” said Miles. “You are good at changing the subject. Come, I will fly you home.”

  For the next two weeks, Elizabeth kept an eye on the sky. She saw the helicopter long before she heard it and ran to her stepfather’s private airstrip. She waited for the helicopter to land before sprinting towards the pilot’s door. She yelled over the helicopter’s reverberating throb.

  “It’s great to see you.”

  “I have missed you,” confessed Miles.

  “What brings you here? I thought you loved the solitude?”

  Miles climbed down from the helicopter then looked into Elizabeth’s eyes. “Thanks to you I sold a painting from my closet for twenty thousand dollars. Beth, I spent the money on a gift for you.” He knelt on one knee, looking up into the girl’s deep brown eyes.

  “What on earth are you up to?”

  “I know we met only two weeks ago. Inwardly I feel as though I have known you for years. I do believe in love at first sight.” He produced the gift, thrusting it upwards. “Beth, will you marry me? If you say yes then both of us will be lonely no longer.”

  Elizabeth frowned, reaching out her hand to open the red velvet box. For a long time, she didn’t reply.

  Miles lowered his gaze then stood. “I can tell your answer is no?” He turned to leave.

  “No,” said Elizabeth, forcefully.

  Miles looked over his shoulder. “I’m confused over your answer.”

  “I don’t want you to go. Yes, a thousand times yes. I will marry you.”

  Miles stretched out his arms, sweeping her into a bear hug. Elizabeth craned her neck so their lips could melt together. She suddenly pulled back, clutching at his hand. Her voice came in whispers.

  “Miles, my dream has come true.”

  “Both our dreams have come true,” he whispered.

  To the reader,

  Thank you for reading my short story: He stepped from my dreams. I certainly hoped you enjoyed it.

  Mark Stewart

  Email: [email protected]

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