Desired. Morgan Rice

and she started breathing harder. She wondered if she were dreaming, stuck in some sort of horrible limbo, or if she had truly awakened in some other time, and some other place.

      She reached up again, with both hands, and with all her might, pushed. It moved a fraction of an inch, just enough for her to slide a finger into the crack. She pushed again, with all her might, and the heavy stone lid moved further, with the sound of stone scraping against stone.

      She squeezed more fingers into the widening crack, and with all her might, shoved. This time, the lid came off.

      Caitlin sat up, breathing hard, looking all around. Her lungs gasped in the fresh air, and she braced herself at the light, raising her hands to her eyes. How long had she been in such darkness? she wondered.

      As she sat there, Shielding her eyes, she listened, bracing herself for any noise, for any movement. She remembered how rough her graveyard awakening had been in Italy, and this time, she didn’t want to leave anything to chance. She was prepared for anything, ready to defend herself against whatever villagers, or vampires – or whatever else – might be nearby.

      But this time, all was silence. She slowly pried open her eyes, and saw that she was, indeed, alone. As her eyes adjusted, she realized it wasn’t, actually, that bright in here. She was in a cavernous, stone room, with low, arched ceilings. It looked like the vault of a church. The room was lit only by the occasional burning candle. It must be night, she realized.

      Now that her eyes adjusted, she looked around carefully. She had been right: she’d been lying in a stone sarcophagus, in the corner of a stone room, in what appeared to be the crypt of a church. The room was empty, except for a few stone statues, and several other sarcophagi.

      Caitlin stepped out the sarcophagus. She stretched, testing all of her muscles. It felt good to stand again. She was grateful that she hadn’t awakened this time to a battle. At least she had a few quiet moments to collect herself.

      But she was still so disoriented. Her mind felt heavy, like she had awoken from a thousand year sleep. She also, immediately, felt a hunger pang.

      Where was she? she wondered again. What year was it?

      And more importantly, where was Caleb?

      She was crestfallen that he was not at her side.

      Caitlin surveyed the room, looking for a sign of him anywhere. But there was nothing. The other sarcophagi were all open and empty, and there was nowhere else he could be hiding.

      “Hello?” she called out. “Caleb?”

      She took a few tentative steps into the room, and saw a low, arched doorway, the only way in or out. She went to it and tried the knob. Unlocked, the door swung open easily.

      Before she left the room, she turned and surveyed her surroundings, making sure she hadn’t left anything she needed. She reached down and felt her necklace, still around her neck; she reached into her pockets, and was reassured to feel her journal, and the one, large key. It was all that she had left in the world, and it was all that she needed.

      As Caitlin exited, she proceeded down a long, arched stone hallway. She could think only of finding Caleb. Surely, he had gone back with her this time. Hadn’t he?

      And if he had, would he remember her this time? She could not possibly imagine having to go through all that again, having to search for him, and then having him not remember. No. She prayed that this time would be different. He was alive, she assured herself, and they had gone back together. They must have.

      But as she hurried down the corridor, and up a small flight of stone steps, she felt her pace increasing, and felt that familiar sinking feeling in her chest that he had not come back with her. After all, he had not awakened at her side, holding her hand, he was not there to reassure her. Did that mean he had not made the trip back? The pit in her stomach grew bigger.

      And what about Sam? He had been there, too. Why wasn’t there any sign of him?

      Caitlin finally reached the top of the staircase, opened another door, and stood there, amazed at the sight. She was standing in the main chapel of an extraordinary church. She had never seen such high ceilings, so much stained-glass, such an enormous, elaborate altar. The rows of pews stretched forever, and it looked like this place could hold thousands of people.

      Luckily, it was empty. Candles burned everywhere, but clearly, it was late. She was grateful for that: the last thing she wanted was to walk out into a crowd of thousands of people staring right at her.

      Caitlin walked slowly, right down the center of the isle, heading towards the exit. She was on the lookout for Caleb, for Sam, or maybe even for a priest. Someone like that priest in Assisi, who might welcome her, explain things to her. Who might tell her where she was, and when, and why.

      But there was no one. Caitlin seemed to be completely, utterly alone.

      Caitlin reached the huge, double doors, and braced herself to face whatever might be outside.

      As she opened them, she gasped. The night was lit up by street torches everywhere, and before her was a large crowd of people. They weren’t waiting to enter the church, but rather were milling around, in a large, open plaza. It was a busy, festive night scene, and as Caitlin felt the heat, she knew that it was summer. She was shocked by the sight of all these people, by their antiquated wardrobe, by their formality. Luckily, no one seemed to notice her. But she couldn’t take her eyes off of them.

      There were hundreds of people, most dressed formally, all clearly from another century. Among them were horses, carriages, street peddlers, artists, singers. It was a crowded, summer night scene, and it was overwhelming. She wondered what year it could be, and what place she could have possibly landed in. More importantly, as she scanned all the strange and foreign faces, she wondered if Caleb could be waiting among them.

      She scanned the crowd desperately, hoping, trying to convince herself that Caleb, or maybe Sam, could be among them. She looked every which way, but after several minutes, she realized they simply were not here.

      Caitlin took several steps out, into the square, and then turned and faced the church, hoping that perhaps she would recognize its façade, and that it would give her a hint as to where she was.

      It did. She was hardly an expert on architecture, or history, or churches, but some things she knew. Some places were so obvious, so etched into the public consciousness, that she was sure she could recognize them. And this was one of those.

      She was standing before the Notre Dame.

      She was in Paris.

      It was a place she could not mistake for any other. Its three huge front doors, ornately carved; the dozens of small statues above them; its elaborate façade reaching hundreds of feet into the sky. It was one of the most recognizable places on earth. She had seen it online before, many times. She couldn’t believe it: she was really in Paris.

      Caitlin had always wanted to go to Paris, had always begged her mother to take her. When she had a boyfriend once, in high school, she had always hoped he’d take her there. It was a place she had always dreamed of going, and it took her breath away that she was actually here. And in another century.

      Caitlin felt herself get jostled in the thickening crowd, and she suddenly looked down and took stock of her clothes. She was mortified to see that she was still dressed in the simple prison garb that Kyle had given her in the Colosseum in Rome. She wore a canvas tunic, rough against her skin, crudely cut, way too big for her, tied over her torso and legs with a piece of rope. Her hair was matted, unwashed, in her face. She looked like an escaped prisoner, or a vagabond.

      Feeling more anxious, Caitlin again looked for Caleb, for Sam, for anyone she recognized, anyone that could help her. She had never felt more alone, and she wanted nothing more than to lay her eyes on them, to know that she did not come back to this place by herself, to know that everything would be all right.

      But she recognized no one.

      Maybe I am the only one, she thought. Maybe I am really on my own again.

      The thought of it pierced her stomach like a knife. She wanted to curl up, to crawl back and hide