Ruby

Lizzie had fallen asleep in her own bed, wrapped up in her worn quilt and the excitement of the first date with her new beau. Rick had treated her to a lovely meal at a fine Italian restaurant before taking her to screening of a new horror movie, The Amityville Horror, much of which she had watched through her fingers. Later, at her doorstep, she had felt the wonderful rush of their first kiss.

She awoke to the memory of his lips on hers and the warmth of his body pressing close but, when she opened her eyes, her giddy delight quickly evaporated. This room was not hers. The bed upon which she lay and the pale peach quilt over her – both softer than her own – were unknown to her. As she pulled her hand to her face, a glint of light caught her eye; a golden band adorned her finger and, nestled next to it, a matching diamond ring.

Her first thought was to get out of bed, get out of the room and the building, and rush home. But she did not know where she was, or how she had gotten there. Was she a captive? Would she be allowed to leave so easily?

Realising she would be better to gather more information before she acted, Lizzie decided to stay put until she could make sense of things. She cast her eyes around the room and only then noticed that she was not alone in the bed. Beside her lay the shape of a person, the face hidden under the scrunched-up duvet. Barely able to breathe, Lizzie reached for the cover, took a tentative hold and gently eased it away from her companion.

The face was that of a man, one she guessed had been handsome in his day. His sculpted nose and strong cheekbones still spoke of the Adonis he had once been, but the bags under his eyes, the sagging jowls and the greying hair – all which placed him in his late sixties – told of the ravages that time had taken on this face.

His eyelids fluttered a few times, then opened. Eyes the colour and depth of the ocean slowly focused on her.

Lizzie’s breath caught in her chest.

The stranger screamed. In his mad scramble to flee from Lizzie, he scooted himself off the mattress and landed on the floor with a thud and a litany of colourful words.

The man’s reaction puzzled Lizzie. She had thought she had been brought here against her will; now she wondered if this man was also a pawn in somebody’s bizarre game. If this were true, then perhaps they could ally together; the enemy of my enemy being my friend, and all that.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked gingerly.

The man popped his head up and glared at Lizzie. His brow was creased in bewilderment.

‘Who are you?’ he shrieked. ‘What are you doing in my bed? Where’s Lizzie?’

‘So, this is your bed? Is this your home?’ she asked. When her brain caught up with ears, she added ‘Wait? “Lizzie”? I’m Lizzie.’

‘Tell me how you got in here and what you have done with my wife,’ the man said before Lizzie’s words breached his confusion. ‘What do you mean, you’re Lizzie?’

He leaned closer to her, his squinting eyes taking in her face. After a few moments, his jaw dropped in surprise.

‘It is you,’ he said in a whisper. ‘What-? How-?’ Unable to complete a question, he reached for her face.

Lizzie pulled back sharply. Though there was something familiar about his eyes, she had no idea who this man was. As he had admitted to recognising her, perhaps he was her kidnapper.

‘Who are you?’ she asked. ‘Did you bring me here?’

‘Lizzie, it’s me,’ he replied, as if that answered her question. ‘We came here together, do you not remember?’

Shaking her head, her voice quavering, she said, ‘I don’t know you. I don’t know where I am.’

The man pulled himself onto the bed, holding his hands up to show he intended her no harm.

‘We’re in Vegas, Lizzie. We came to celebrate our fortieth wedding anniversary.’

‘Anniversary?’ Her head felt light and her stomach rolled. ‘But I’m not married. I don’t know you. Please. Please, let me go.’

‘Lizzie, it’s me.’ He sounded scared, almost like he was begging her to believe him. ‘It’s Rick.’

Rick. From the night before. The first date, the first kiss.

Looking into the old man’s eyes, she saw the trace of the man, the boy, she had fallen asleep thinking of. The nose, the cheeks, even the chin that now sat atop a second – they all reminded her of the Rick she had spent the previous evening with. But the figure before her was decades older. He was older enough to be Rick’s – her Rick’s – grandfather.

‘It’s not true. It can’t be.’

Tears welled in her eyes, softening the face of the man before her, taking the years from him, and she knew that, somehow, it truly was Rick who sat before her.

’What happened to you? she asked. ‘Why do you look so old?’

Rick smiled sadly, and his own eyes glistened.

‘I’m not old,’ he said softly. ‘I’m only sixty-five. The lines on my face have been carved by the laughter and the pains of our years together. Do you not remember?’

‘But we only went out last night. We went to the movies. We saw-’

‘The original Amityville,’ he finished.

Part of Lizzie’s mind wondered why Rick would use the word ‘original’ for a film which has just been released. She let this thought disappear when Rick turned and picked something up from the bedside dresser. He touched the surface of the small object several times before turning it to her. Looking down, she saw an image of a couple on their wedding day. The man, handsome and dashing, was the Rick she remembered and his bride was…

…her.

‘We were married on April 4th, 1981.’

‘1981?’ Lizzie could not keep the disbelief from her voice. ‘But that’s two years from now.’

Rick touched the device a few more times. What Lizzie had thought had been a single framed photograph turned out to be a gadget which held more pictures. Rick showed her an image of a new-born baby.

‘You blessed us with Anthony in 1984.’ With more touches of his dancing fingers, Rick presented another baby, this time wrapped in pink. ‘And Cleo in 1985.’

Lizzie squeezed her eyes shut to stop seeing the life she had not yet lived.

‘This isn’t real,’ she muttered, ‘this can’t be real.’

‘We’ve had a wonderful life together, Lizzie. Why can’t you remember?’

‘That’s not me. I’m not a wife. I’m not a mother. I’m only nineteen.’

Silence filled the room.

When Rick spoke again, his voice was wracked with pain and guilt.

‘I thought it was just a joke.’

Lizzie looked at him. His chin rested on his sagging chest as he started dejectedly into his lap.

‘We were walking back from the show last night,’ he said quietly. ‘There was a street peddler, doing card tricks. This is Vegas; gambling and magic are everywhere. I though it was just another side show, a harmless distraction.’

Lizzie felt a knot of tension in her belly. As if her morning were not weird enough, she had an unnerving sense that Rick’s story would terrify her to the brink of madness.

‘We were both laughing, a little tipsy. When he offered us the bet, I thought it was a joke.’

‘What was it?’ Lizzie asked, heart in her mouth. ‘What did you bet?’

‘You don’t remember?’ Rick answered, his tears falling freely now. ’He offered you a lifetime’s happiness to guess the colour of the next card:

‘You lost.’