I woke up at about 2:00 am in a cold sweat. I had been having a dream — I thought back through it: darkness, Magnus with blood running down his face, pressure on my neck, screams filling my ears, Lady Mairead’s bared teeth in a grin. These would not be easy images to get past.

Hayley was sleeping, mouth open at the other end of the couch, arm dangling off the side, slightly snoring. I pushed the heavy comforter down and crept quietly to my master bathroom. I peed, thinking about the chamber pot and Magnus joking about our frosted glass door. I had been so furious with Magnus at the castle, absolutely pissed, but his care and attention lacing my dress, his forehead pressed to mine, his oath to follow me into the woods and live in a tent outside my cottage… I had forgiven him. It was the everyday gestures that convinced me to. The simple conversation. And the truth — he was always and forever and would be — ever.

I groaned when I realized that there wasn’t any toilet paper. Whose job was it to do the restocking? Not mine. I was going to kill my mom.

I tiptoed through the dark house to the kitchen and ran my fingertips down the marble counter. It felt like it had only been a few days since my ass had been here, my legs spread before my husband. Just six days ago or something like that. Yet so much time, space, air, had passed through the house since then; the counter had long forgotten.

Just me. I remembered.

I poured a big glass of water, no ice because the dispenser would wake up Hayley, and leaned on the counter. I stared out across the dark room and a memory slammed into me.

It hit me hard like a punch to the gut.

The kind that knocks out your air with a gust. So forcefully that hyperventilation was soon to follow.

A memory that was clean and sure and unmistakable — and felt so terribly, unbelievably true.

I was living in Los Angeles, about two years ago. Braden and I were celebrating a big milestone — was it a hundred thousand followers, two hundred, or the half million mark? At the time it seemed important.

The show that day had been big. I had thrown my heart into it, a v-log about throwing an Oscars-watching party. I basically planned a party, orchestrated it, and scripted an episode interesting enough for people to want to tune in.

I gave Braden a list of things to buy, hoping to involve him in the plans, but he couldn’t find a few of the things, important things, and returned home without them. He said, “I figured you’d be able to work around it.”

And I took that as a compliment and did find a way, but really, by the time we uploaded the video, I was exhausted. Our witty repertoire during the video was mostly him being charming and funny, and me being harried and one step away from freaking out.

But after the upload of that video we were celebrating. The viewers thought we were delightful and everything else fell away. I forgave Braden because that was ‘the way he was,’ not interested in the details. He brought the fun to the team.

But what I really wanted to do was go to bed.

He wanted to go out and celebrate more.

He tweeted that he was going to take me to a fancy club in West Hollywood that night. Our fans thought that was so romantic.

So a bit later, after I rubbed some lip color on, glammed my eyes with a smoky look to mask my exhaustion, and slipped into a tiny black dress with glamorous sparkly high heels, I found myself sitting across from Braden in a very hip, three-thousand-dollar-a-table nightclub. There were about twelve other people with us, barely acquaintances, most of them beautiful models and gorgeous men I should have flirted with.

But I was really, really into Braden those days.

I made up for my exhaustion by drinking too much and eating my way through a lot of appetizers. At one point the models asked us to dance, and Braden practically dragged me to the dance floor. We danced in a big group, girls, beautiful girls gyrating all around us. It was awesome, sexy, and completely jealous-making and infuriating — such was a night out celebrating in Los Angeles. The cool thing was, we were making it. Braden and I were becoming the kind of people who were followed, who commanded expensive tables, who gyrated amongst beautiful women on dance floors. Who went out because their twitter followers might want to see them.

This was all good news—

We returned to our table. I was leaned to my left speaking to one of the very handsome men. His name was like Lucious or something which was exactly right. He had an Italian accent and kissable jawline. I laughed a sparkling laugh at something inane he said—

There was a small tap on my shoulder. “Pardon me, Madame?” The voice was low, rumbling, a bass that vibrated my insides.

I turned, looked up, and there was a man — his hair was light, though he could only be described as dark. He was handsome, actually very hot. In a way that made him seem commanding. All the other men at the table suddenly looked like too-young ‘pretty boys’. He seemed settled, intent, serious, and important.

I shifted to straighten my back. “Yes?”

“Madame, my name is Magnus Campbell. Would it be possible tae have a private word with ye?” He was wearing a dark linen shirt stretched across his broad shoulders with dark pants, adding to his overall darkness. He was definitely too mysterious to follow into an alley. I glanced across the table at Braden, sitting between two beautiful models, eyeing the stranger jealously.

“Um, no, I mean, why?”

He looked at me for a moment. His eyes intense — it was as if he was looking into me, talking to me, telling me something, like he knew me, down deep.

“Um… do we know each other?” I wasn’t sure what else to say.

He shook his head slowly. “Nae, of course…” He continued to look at me.

I glanced over at Braden who was beginning to glare.

The stranger said, “I have found ye on the computer.” He ran his hand through his hair, seeming nervous.

I decided to help. “Are you a fan of my videos?”

“Aye, I am a fan of ye.” He removed an envelope from his pocket, red, square, thick, sealed. “I have heard ye are from Amelia Island?”

“I am. Are you from there?” I wanted to kick myself. Clearly he wasn’t from Amelia Island; he was from Scotland or something. But his whole intense thing made the music, the crowds, my logic fall away.

One of the models to my far right leaned forward and giggled. “Is he a stalker? Are you being stalker-ed?” She giggled and immediately stopped caring, returning to the conversation at the other end of the table.

The stranger looked uncomfortable. He shifted his gaze down to the envelope and then back to me. “I have a message for a woman who lives on Amelia Island. I was wondering if ye would deliver it for me?”

Braden leaned across the table. “A message — why don’t you just mail it?” He asked me, “Is this guy bothering you?”

I said, “Come on, Braden, he’s not bothering me, he just—“ I asked the stranger, “Why don’t you just mail it?”

“I daena have a way tae send it tae her. Tis verra important. I have lost her.”

The model from my right returned to our conversation again. “Is this like those mixed connections things?”

Another model clapped her hands. “Oh my god, I love those! Are you in love with someone, and you don’t know how to find her? This is so awesome!”

By this time the whole table gave the stranger their full attention.

“Tis much like that.”

I said, “But I’m not going back to Amelia Island any time soon. Are you expecting me to search for her for you? I’m not sure I—“

“Nae, I will keep searching. I was thinking ye could keep this letter, and when ye go back tae Amelia island, if ye met her…”

“It might be at least a year before I go back. I really think the internet will be faster.”

He shook his head slowly. “I am nae looking for faster. I would like ye tae keep this letter inside your undergarment drawer, just in case ye meet her. Then please give it tae her.”

The model to my right giggled. “Your undergarment drawer!”

I looked around the table, then back at the stranger. “Well, this is definitely mysterious. Okay, I’ll hold on to the letter for you until I return to Amelia Island. Hopefully I’ll meet her for you, but also it won’t matter because you’ll have already found her, right?”

“Aye. I am trying verra hard tae get tae her.” He stood still, not moving, looking down at the envelope in his hands.

“What’s her name?”

He handed me the envelope. In an old fashioned cursive with fanciful curves and lines, it read, Mrs. Magnus Campbell.

I laughed. “She’s your wife, or your mother?”

“My wife.”

“Now hold on a moment, am I getting in the middle of something? Does she not want to be found?”

“She loves me verra much and wants me tae find her.”

The model to my right giggled and said, “It’s so romantic! So like a year from now his wife has a stranger come up to her with a love letter from her husband — it’s like a time machine, a message from the past—“

“Oh my god, Magnus is looking for me. Hayley! Wake up Hayley!” I rushed to the couch tripping over my shoes and dropped to my knees beside Hayley’s face. “Wake up.”

“Wha—huh? What time is it?”

“Two-twenty in the morning. Hayley, I have a new memory. It’s the weirdest feeling in the world, like brain damage just occurred and something that never happened to me just appeared in my brain. It happened to me, now — oh my god, it’s so weird.”

“First, slow down, let me wrap my brain around how early it is.” Hayley smacked her lips together and yawned. Then she pulled herself to a sitting position, yawned again, nabbed her old beer on the coffee table and took a swig. Then grimaced. “That tastes terrible, be a sweetie and get me a new one.”

I jumped up, rushed to the refrigerator, grabbed a beer, unscrewed the top, and brought it to her. “Like two years ago or something I went out to dinner with Braden, we were celebrating something, and this all one hundred percent happened, all of it. But just now I was thinking about that day, I don’t know why, I mean I haven’t thought about that day in forever because it was so lame and uneventful—“

Hayley said, “Girlfriend you are manic, are you okay?”

“Guess who walked into the night club — two years ago in Los Angeles? Just guess…”

Hayley’s eyes were wide. “Magnus?”

I nodded vigorously. “Magnus showed up. He was in normal clothes, and he said he was trying to get to someone, his wife. He gave me a letter to give to his wife if I ever met her. Hayley, he gave me a letter! Oh my god, he’s alive. You were right. He’s alive. He’s not here. He’s not in this time. He’s stuck in two years ago Los Angeles or something — which is not good, not good at all.”

“So where’s the letter?”

“Will you come with me to the storage unit?”

“At two in the morning?”

“Hayley, look at me, I’m about to run there on sheer manic excitement, help me. I’m going to burst if I don’t go find it.”

“Okay sweetie, definitely. I went to bed a lot earlier than anybody should go to bed on a Saturday night, plus, I did not drink enough. Grab some beers for the job. That’s a good girl. You driving or me?”

“Me!” I grabbed my bag, the keys, and raced out the door. I came back a second later. “What’s taking you so long?”

“I have to pee! The letter’s been in a box for two years, it will still be there—“

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, come on Hayley this is too — Magnus is alive!”