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“Excuse me, miss,” a man who’d bumped into me said before continuing on his path.
What made it more confounding was the accent he’d spoken with. I’d never traveled outside of Charleston and did not know where I was. The person who had spoken through the intercom also hadn’t sounded American. I took a chance and stopped an older woman passing me. As stupid as it might have sounded to her, I asked, “Where are we?”
“Are you okay?” the woman asked in that strange accent that sounded somewhat familiar, though too many things were happening at once for me to place it.
“Yes. I’m sorry. But I think my flight got mixed up. I don’t think I’m in the right place,” I said, somehow coming up with a plausible excuse.
“You’re in Edinburgh, my dear.”
I took another chance. “And that’s where?”
Though she eyed me strangely, she said, “Scotland.”
That was it. I nodded. “Thanks,” I said, and rushed off in no particular direction as I wrapped my head around the idea that I’d taken a step out of South Carolina in the United States and into Scotland with little or no effort at all.
The bag Mom had thrust at me weighed heavy on my shoulder, more than its physical weight. I didn’t know what to do. I glanced around, wondering what direction I should go while trying not to consider what a mistake I’d made by wanting to see an unobstructed view of the sunset just once in my life. It was my birthday.
My gaze bounced up and down and around while I racked my brain for clues Mom had drilled in my head over the years. That was when I saw it. Of all the signs everywhere in the airport, I’d zeroed in on one.
It was a large sign above me showing lush green grass and fertile gardens leading up to a breathtaking castle perched atop a hill. It was all white with upside-down cone-shaped turrets as if plucked out of a fairy tale.
Visit Alasdair Castle Today, it read.
From a place of knowing, deep inside me, I knew that was where I needed to go. And it wasn’t just because an arrow I hadn’t noticed before at the bottom right corner pointed to the words Tourist Rides This Way.
Plus, Fabian had mentioned a castle and Mom had said to trust him. If only I had trusted her, I wouldn’t be in this mess.
Part of me was convinced I was trapped in an elaborate dream as I blindly followed the way the arrow pointed. I stopped dead in my tracks with a family of five shifting around me to continue on their way. I muttered apologies. On instinct, I turned back. The sign I’d seen, castle, words and all, was gone. In its place was a sign about airport car service and I frowned.
What had Fabian said? Follow the signs. I moved forward, hoping I’d wake soon.
Before I got to the exit door, a man holding a sign with my name on it caught my attention. He noticed my interest and stepped forward. “Are you Elin Michaels?”
Unable to speak, I nodded.
“You must come with me, miss. There isn’t a lot of time.”
Stranger danger was a big thing in our household. It was one of the many things Mom drilled in my head. So why, when the man with the sign with my name on it said, “Come along,” did I take a step to follow? I paused long enough to once again recall Fabian’s words about following the signs.
What did I have to lose? I had no money, no phone, and no idea what to do next. Besides, it all had to be a dream, and in my gut, I felt no fear.
The man gingerly navigated the foot traffic as I zigzagged around people to keep up. Outside, the air was crisp as if it was late fall. Definitely not the summer heat of Charleston I’d just left.
The man stopped in front of the strangest car I’d ever seen. It was black and looked old and new at the same time. I giggled some, as it resembled a crude child’s drawing of a cloud on wheels with all its rounded edges.
“It’s a black cab,” he said, as if that should mean something to me. “Shall we be off?”
No immediate alarm bells sounded in my head. So I shrugged, having few options. He opened the door and I slid into the back seat. I crushed my bag to my chest as if it could ward off anything bad that might happen.
When he got in the driver’s side, which was on the right and not the left, it reminded me I was no longer in Charleston. Somewhere I recalled reading that not all countries drive on the right side of the road. He jutted the nose of the car away from the curb with a confidence I didn’t feel. I looked down at the bag I clutched and decided to inspect its contents.
