(Note: This is the second chapter of yet another serial…  The first chapter is here (Note2 – if you read the first version on my last story, Timeless, you may want to read the second take as there were a few changes))

Michael glanced over at the man next to him. The man had finally came up with “Alexander, but my friends call me Alex”, but nobody believed it, and nobody could imagine calling him “Alex”.

Michael still wasn’t sure why he had invited this stranger to stay with him.  The guy was just plain strange.  But he obviously had no place else to go.  And the police were still searching for some sign of who he was.

The police said that there were no records on Alexander Karios any place in any country.  Fingerprints came back as nothing. No military, criminal or missing person records seemed to fit.

The landscape became more wooded as they drove. Alexander spoke for the first time since they got in the car. “We’re leaving the moors?”

Michael glanced at him again.

“Yes. Rachel and I were just out exploring today.  We don’t live there.”

Alexander nodded.

There were no signs of any type of trauma.  No bumps or bruises. Nothing to give a reason for lost memories. And the lost memories were very odd too.  The constable thought Alexander was lying and really hadn’t lost any memories.  The doctor wasn’t so sure, but wouldn’t rule it out.

The examining doctor took Michael to the side as he was getting ready to take Alexander away.

“When we were testing him, I asked who he thought was Prime Minister. He started with Margret Thatcher.  When I shook my head, he said John Major.  He then started naming them, the first five quite familiar, but the next five… He stopped, asked if he went too far.  When I nodded, he asked the date. ‘2019,’ he said. ‘That would be Theresa May, right? Oh no, this is Brexit time, isn’t it?’ He seemed almost amused. He then mentioned Trump and Putin, as if talking to himself.  Very odd.”

Michael glanced over at his passenger again.

“When are you from?”

“Where? Oh, London I guess.  Yeah, I know my accent is off.  Is it getting better yet?”

Michael didn’t say anything but concentrated on driving.

About five minutes later, Alexander spoke again.

“Take the next left.”  He pointed to sign.

The road they turned on was little more than a small country lane.  A wall, perhaps a half a dozen feet tall and made from large well shaped stones ran on the right side.

“Stop up there,” Alexander said, pointing to a pull off next to the wall.  As they got closer Michael could tell that it was a gate.

“Do you know this place?” Michael asked.

“No.”

Two stones, more than a dozen feet apart, towered over the gate.  They had intricate carvings of plants and strange faces.

Alexander got out of the car and started to lightly touch one of the huge gate-stones. Michael hung back.  There was something forbidding about the stones, something that screamed, “Stay Out!” The gate itself, strongly built of oak and iron, stood partially open. Not open from neglect, but open as if someone had just entered and yet had not taken the time to totally shut the gate yet.

“Do you remember this place?” Michael asked, with a shiver.

“No.  As I said, I’ve never been here before.  But it draws at you, doesn’t it?”

The gate opened slightly farther. An old man stepped out.

“Oh, there you are.  I was expecting you.”

Alexander smiled and walked up to the man.  “Alexander Karios, at your service,” he said, sticking his hand out.

“Edward Tempson.” The two shook hands. “Can you join me for dinner?  Oh, drat, not tonight.  Can you come back tomorrow?  Fourish?  And your friend here is welcome as well, as is his female friend. What, did you say Michael and Rachel?  Fine.  I’ll expect the three of you tomorrow.  Have a great evening!”

The man shut the gate.  Michael could her the latch of it locking.

“How did he know my name?” Michael asked Alexander as they go back in the car.

Alexander shrugged.  “Don’t know.  But he is timeless….” He turned and watched out of the window, not volunteering any more information.

He shook his head as he pulled back onto the main road.

How was he going to explain this odd invitation to Rachel?

***

Written for Sue Vincent‘s #write photo prompt.  See this week’s prompt here.

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