The Quotidian Timeline
Next day, June 23rd – Bellaton Estate, Dene, Surrey
In the evening, Nate and his family returned to Bellaton. Emin remained by Aria’s side. Nate planned to collapse on his bed. He came to regret turning his phone on. Over two hundred messages flashed, and he closed his eyes, letting the phone fall on the floor.
A knock on the door.
“Come to the Orangerie. Cabby is organising a pool gathering,” said Miles.
An irresistible plan for the Bellaton youth. The Orangerie. The indoor pool beneath Uncle Gare’s wing of the mansion was an exquisite work of art that reminded them of happy times.
“Sure, I’ll come soon,” said Nate.
Miles closed the door behind him, and Nate delayed a while. He shifted his gaze to his antique train set taking precedence over his childhood toys. His long walking closet.
His mind was in chaos, despite everything being as it always was.
He opened a case and took out his classic guitar, hoping for a respite. It rained out, and he played his guitar whilst the heavy drops tapped his window.
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He stopped.
Silence.
He changed his mind about the Orangerie that night. Placing the guitar on the floor, he curled on his bed until he sank into a deep sleep.
***
A sharp crack of lightning, and Aksel howling, woke Nate up. Seeking solace, he headed to the Orangerie, still shaken.
On his way, he searched for Aksel.
He wasn’t indoors.
Stepping outside, he slipped.
His legs were lead weights!
Aksel and Tierra howled.
“Aksy, Tierra!” he shouted, covering his face from the wind. Facing the manor, he called for Cabernathy.
The mud made it difficult for him to catch his breath, and he struggled to wipe it away from his face.
The parterre was spiralling.
***
Between timelines
Midnight
Despite his best efforts, Nate failed to grasp a statue.
He slumped. The desperate cries of Aksel and Tierra continued as he forced himself up again. But even Bellaton blurred.
Nate’s hands moved in jerks as the ground shifted under his feet. He lost his balance as he was being swallowed into a vacuum of mud.
“What is going on?” he said, bursting into tears.
“Miles! Cabby! Auntie Jade!”
The door handle slipped from his grasp, swirling like a whirlpool of mud.
I must be dreaming!
He willed himself awake to no avail. Veering and twisting, then compressing and stretching in lanky strands.
Coming apart. Reconstituting.
I am dying!
A potent force squeezed and stretched him again.
Until he fell on a bed.