Free Etched by Eliza Dean

it.  He was there, on the other side, pressing his own hand to hers.  And suddenly she was at the Bailey’s, sitting across from Emma who was flipping over her tarot cards.  The woman in a white robe, blindfolded with two swords crossed over her chest, the softest light can blind those who have spent an eternity in darkness. Then she remembered the feeling of strong but gentle hands holding her head and embracing her. 
    In her cloudy state, Susanna lifted her hand and held it behind her, “Are you here?”
    “Yes,” he answered, his fingers hesitantly reached for hers.  Susanna wound her fingers between his and drew his hand close to her face, “Am I dreaming?”
    The man didn’t make a sound, but his fingers lightly traced hers, his thumb slowly rubbing the inside of her palm.
    “ If you’re a ghost, how can I feel you?” she whispered, barely aware of what she was saying.  His hand left hers and pressed against the side of her face, without hesitation she turned into it and he cupped it around her cheek, “I’m flesh and blood,” he answered, his thumb stroking the side of her face, “Rest Susanna,” he commanded gently.  And she obeyed. 
     
    The distant sound of birds and the occasional call from the sheep penetrated Susanna’s sleep and she opened her eyes hesitantly and blinked a few times.  The light was pouring into the room from the open blinds, the clouds now gone and all but forgotten. 
    She turned her head and felt the pain but not near as debilitating as it had been.  Her body was indeed sore but she risked it by rolling to her side to sit up, hoping she had the strength.  Her head was spinning as she made the transition and she sat still for several seconds before opening her eyes again.  The fire was still roaring, the wood beside it stacked and full.  There was also a full glass of water and a plate full of bread beside her.  She immediately turned to look around the room but no one was there. 
    “Hello?” she called out, the sound of her own voice causing her to wince in pain.
    Nothing. 
    She took a piece of the bread, knowing that she needed something in her stomach and sipped on the water.  She saw her phone sitting on the bricks by the fireplace and she reached for it.  4:15 p.m.
    “Oh my God, I’ve slept all day,” she murmured. 
    She ran her hand over the back of her head and felt the knot there along with a small cut.  She rose from the floor slowly, ensuring her balance, and walked to the bathroom. 
    “Hello?” she called again.
    She looked at her appearance in the mirror and cringed. She reached for a brush and gently ran it over her hair in an effort to return it to some sort of normalcy.  After brushing her teeth and putting on some lips gloss, she almost felt human again.  She looked over to the claw foot tub and noticed her wool socks lying across the edge.  She looked down at her feet and wiggled her toes now encased in a brand new pair of white socks. 
    Her brows creased and she left the bathroom and went into the bedroom, “Hello?” she called a third time, “Is there anyone here?”
    No answer.
    Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders , she went to the kitchen to get some orange juice.  As she shut the fridge door, she looked at the counter and noticed her bottle of medicine sitting there open with a knife sitting on the counter next to the broken lid.  She picked it up and studied it, confused.  She looked inside, knowing that she had ten pills when she left home.  After counting them quickly, she placed nine of them back in the bottle.  She slid the bottle across the counter and toyed with the broken lid. 
    “Strange,” she whispered. 
    She was remembering fragments of the previous night, she knew someone was there, his voice was not at all clear at the moment but she did recall him speaking to her.  Was it Mr. Bailey?  Could she have been imagining someone else?  She went to the sink to wash her hands and as she threaded her