Eilean Donan, September 2021
This would be the place where she’d die.
Bryanna’s stomach twisted at the sight of the Eilean Donan castle, which looked almost black against the granite sky. There it was again, in her mind, the image that had haunted her ever since she was sixteen.
Her limp body in the arms of a tall, broad-shouldered man dressed in a homespun tunic that reached the middle of his thighs, a sword on his hips, long, muscular legs in something like breeches, long, dark hair waving in the wind as he carried her. But as many times as she dreamed of him, she couldn’t see his face.
“’Xcuse me, do you mind?” an angry voice said, and a large man brushed past her, pushing her with his shoulder.
She staggered from the impact, bumped into her sister, and grabbed her sleeve. Around them, people spoke Chinese, Russian, Italian, and French, the mixture of voices a lulling noise. The museum had reduced their hours because of recent disappearances within the castle, and undaunted tourists were trying to squeeze in during the open hours.
Including Bryanna Fitzpatrick and her family.
“Hey!” Pamela Fitzpatrick cried after the man. “That was rude, sir!” She turned to Bryanna and put her hand on her shoulder. “Are you all right, honey?”
Mom’s sweet face was flushed in outrage. Cold wind blew the scent of the loch into Bryanna’s face and threw a lock of her mom’s strawberry-blond hair into her eyes. Bryanna’s own honey-colored mane was dancing all around her in the wind, and Mom tucked her hair behind her ear. She reminded Bryanna of a mother hen. Being a nurse, she always cared for people, especially her diabetic daughter.
Bryanna flashed a smile she didn’t feel. “I’m fine, Mom.”
“You look pale suddenly.” Mom pushed her gently towards the stone fence along the bridge. “Here, let’s measure your glucose. Get your kit out.”
Kris, Bryanna’s older sister, turned to them. “Do you need help?”
She was another strawberry blonde, taller and prettier than Bryanna.
Also healthier. And she lived in her own apartment, had a better-paying job, and a boyfriend. Yes, Bryanna loved teaching music to kids, but her insulin alone cost her half of her monthly paycheck.
“I’m fine,” said Bryanna, but opened her purse nonetheless. It would be easier not to argue with Mom. “Just taking in the beauty, that’s all.”
She wished she could tell her mom and Kris about her visions. About the Highlander with long, raven hair, battle wounds, and a bloodied medieval tunic. About other visions that had come true, things like how she’d get diabetes at the age of sixteen, which was her first vision ever. Her dad having a heart attack and dying. Dreaming of the music teacher in her old school deciding to move to another state and leaving a job opening that wouldn’t be advertised anywhere.
But she never told anyone. They’d think she was crazy at best.
At worst, they’d tell her going to Eilean Donan was a bad idea after all and drag her away. And she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if that happened. Visiting Scotland had been Mom’s dream. She and Dad had been here for their honeymoon, and today was the five-year anniversary of Dad’s death.
They all missed him, and it had been especially hard on Mom. So no, Bryanna couldn’t ruin it for her. She had to go through with this, visions or no visions.
Besides, what if this vision had been wrong? After all, where would she encounter a Highlander in a medieval costume and a bloodied sword?
“Come on,” Mom said, helping her to place the new lancet into the kit and insert the new testing strip. Bryanna pricked her ring finger at the side where it hurt less and pressed out a drop of blood, then wiped it away with a clean tissue to avoid alcohol dilution. Then she squeezed more of her blood onto the strip. The electronic screen flashed 135 mg/dL.
Mom tsk-tsked and rummaged in the pocket of her red jacket. “A little high for my liking. Do you want your insulin shot?”
Bryanna put everything back into her purse. She knew her mom worried, but she was tired of being fussed over. “Thanks, Mom. But I’m fine. No need for insulin.”
Mom sighed and pinched her lips in that way she did when she was worried, but Kris put her arm through Bryanna’s. “You have your insulin pens, right?”
Bryanna clapped a hand on her over-the-shoulder purse. “Always.”
Just in case, she had taken three with her. Of course, she wouldn’t need that many just for a museum visit, but she had learned it was always better to be overprepared.
As the three of them joined the crowd of people trailing down the bridge, Bryanna wished she could just stop and let the beauty of the Highlands take her breath away.
Greenish-brown mountains surrounded them, the seaweed floated on the dirty blue surface of the loch like flecks of rust, and even the blue sky seemed to be muted here. She’d never been abroad before—heck, she’d never been out of Illinois—so just breathing this foreign scent of loch and sea, and grass and algae, should excite her to the core.
Instead, with every step that she took towards the castle, dread weighed in the pit of her stomach. The gorgeous gray-brown walls didn’t seem like they contained adventure. It felt like a death sentence waited for her behind them.
The crowd passed through the gate and entered a dark courtyard that was surrounded by buildings and walls from all sides, and she had an odd sense that she was at the bottom of a deep well. Inside the main keep, the narrow corridor in front of her blurred and swam.
Her glucose level must be rising still, she thought, willing the sudden nausea to go away. She was so tired. She needed to do another test, but she didn’t want to worry her mom again…
Eyes bright with emotion, Mom was cooing as they turned left and followed the crowd into the Billeting Room. “Aw, it looks just like on our honeymoon!” and “Look, look, your dad really admired that sword…” and then, squeezing Bryanna’s hand, “He would have loved to be here with us.”
Had Bryanna believed her dream that night five years ago, had she told him to go to the doctor and check his blood pressure, he might still be alive.
But she had dismissed that dream. She was afraid to tell anyone about her premonitions, especially since not every dream came true. She was already a burden to her parents with her diabetes and the medical expenses—how could she make them worry about her mental health, too?
Her dizziness pulsed within her head, making her mind blurry, sluggish, filled with custard…
Custard… No. She wanted a big glass of water.
Great, now she was thirsty, too. Definitely the signs of hyperglycemia. But how could it hit her so unexpectedly when she was fine just a few minutes ago, on the bridge? The Billeting Room was packed with people, and, leaving Mom and Kris, Bryanna staggered towards the nearest wall so that she could hold on to something. Maybe she should ask one of the museum workers for help. But just as she was about to raise her hand to get the attention of a woman, someone else called her and she went in the other direction.
As Bryanna plastered herself against the rough surface between two paintings, the headache kicked in. She needed to do a test, which, most likely, would show that her glucose was way too high, and then she’d need her insulin. She needed to find a bathroom or something.
She couldn’t see Mom and Kris above all those heads. She’d just text them from the bathroom. Slowly, she made her way through the crowd of people back into the hall. There was a door at the end of it, perhaps to the restroom.
Thankfully, there were fewer people in the hall. Her vision blurry, she saw some sort of a sign on the door, and, assuming it was the restroom—it didn’t even matter if it was ladies or gents at this point—she opened the door and descended the narrow stone stairs illuminated by a dull yellow bulb. Her palm on the wall, she carefully stepped down the stairs. The air here was much more humid, which made her even more thirsty.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw a large underground space and, even though it was hard to see in the poor light, she thought there were several doors.
“One of those must be the restroom,” she muttered as she walked down the hall towards one of the doors.
As she opened the door, coldness seeped into her, and the scent of something grassy and lavender-like. Probably air freshener, she thought as she stepped inside. But as the door closed behind her with a thump, she saw no stalls or sinks. The same dull electrical light illuminated an arched ceiling, packed-dirt floor, rough walls, and a pile of crumbled rocks to her right.
She blinked and shook her head. She was clearly in the wrong room.
She turned to walk out and gasped in surprise...
