A Walk With the Past

Chapter One

For two weeks he watched the sun rise over the River Avon from his room at the Arden Hotel. Tom went to rehearsals across the street at the Royal Shakespeare Company Theatre daily to tweak his upcoming performance in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.

Speaking of dreams, one had certainly come true for the actor when the RSC invited him to audition for their new production. He’d been on stage numerous times before, but to partake in the company of such learned and renowned thespians on a site with three generations of theatre dating back to eighteen seventy-nine was truly an honor. He was in the Bard’s hometown for crying out loud, and Tom was giddy with enthusiasm.

Yes, for two weeks now Tom rose early, greeted the dawn, and then went for his daily run along the river. At first he had to be careful to avoid being spotted by the alarming number of admirers encamped around the theatre just waiting for him to make an appearance. After Tom’s first precarious day of spending hours signing, posing, shaking hands, and getting crudely pawed at, the Company’s security team setup parameters and patrolled the immediate area of Stratford -upon-Avon to keep pending fanatics at bay.

That first day….

As he ran, his long legs stretching out and finding their own rhythm beneath him, Tom’s thoughts drifted back to that mysterious woman who all but disappeared on him.

Who was she?

Where had she gone?

Why did she leave?

And, above all, why could Tom simply not get her out of his mind?

He jogged down the Riverside Walkway behind the theatre heading back toward the hotel. Rounding the corner, the theatre was now on Tom’s left and he slowed down. Coming to a walk, and then a stop, Tom bent to rest his palms on his knees while his breathing stabilized. He looked up at the large, impressive structure, and the London native studied it with a newfound curiosity.

The Grade II listed building, reopened in 2010 after a three year renovation project, still retained much of the art deco features of its predecessor. Adjacent to the far right of the building stood the prominent Tower rising thirty-six meters above the River Avon. From its top, the western view overlooked Holy Trinity Church where Shakespeare was buried.

Tom walked around to the front of the drum-walled building; his imagination taking flight with ponderings of how this same property appeared to his beloved Inspirer all those centuries ago.

“The inside is what matters.”

The voice was soft but almost challenging, and distinctly feminine.

It spoke with purpose.

Tom attention snapped to the voice’s source… and there she was.

Standing just outside of the enormous glass doors of the theatre was the woman he’d seen in the crowd that first day in Stratford-upon-Avon.

She wore the same hat, the same dress, and the same leafy colored coat that complimented her haunting light green eyes.

Hungry to know just who this ethereal being was, Tom swallowed hard and prepared himself for what lie ahead.

A rustle of skirt that fell just enough above mid-calf to wet his whistle, and she was gone.

Tom looked around, confused and all of a sudden off kilter.

“What the hell?” he wondered aloud.

Tom heard a light tapping and turned to see the woman bidding him entrance from inside the Royal Shakespeare Theatre. The lady beckoned to him in the most subtle of ways, and Tom - despite his growling tummy and strong desire for coffee - followed her.

With a humbled head, the actor entered what seemed a shrine to him.

The theatre spared no expense when redoing itself; fed by the generous patronizing of wealthy art and stage lovers, and by-in-large families who had more money than they knew what to do with.

He crossed over the teak wood flooring in the reception area that was part of the original 1932 stage, and Tom hesitated before following the wandering young female any further.

“Who are you?” he required in a firm tone.

The woman, her hat angled to veil her slight smirk, halted on the steps to the second tier.

“A friend,” her nondescript English accent replied. “And I mean you no harm.”

The lady paused to trace gloved fingers over the opulent balustrade in a reminiscing manner. She cocked her head in such a way that Tom caught a glimpse of her intriguing face.

“Please,” she summoned him with one eye that shown out from under the hat with urgency. “I need your help.”

Tom was just about to say that he would be more than happy to assist her if she would only spare him a few answers to some burning questions, but when he opened his mouth the woman turned, took two steps up the staircase, and then vanished.

Tom rubbed at his eyes in disbelief. He climbed the stairs to where just seconds ago a woman was standing and speaking to him. Tom examined the area with a baffled expression, scanned the staircase wrapping up above him, and still found no trace of her.

Believing he was overworked, hungry for breakfast, and perhaps going a bit mad, the Englishman exited the theatre after one long glance back over his shoulder.