Page 1 of Beauty and the Baker
Chapter 1
August 1893
Charlie Stockton slowly opened his eyes before closing them again. He wasn’t sure where he was, just that he was lying on his belly in a bed that wasn’t his own.
He felt like he had woolen rags stuffed in his mouth. The insides of his cheeks were dry, and his tongue was scratchy. He swallowed. He didn’t even have enough spit to make a difference.
He tried to shift positions but groaned with every movement. It felt like his back was on fire.
Fire.
He didn’t want to think about that.
He tried to replace the thought of the flames licking his body with anything. He had no idea where he was, or what he was doing there; so, he started reciting what he knew.
Charles Harold Stockton.
Charlie for short.
Parents were Harold and Lydia Stockton.
His middle name came from his father.
Lydia died three years ago.
His younger sister was Cassandra.
He was in his twenties. Cassi had just turned nineteen.
He missed her birthday.
No pets.
His best friend was Ian Poole.
Ian’s family was from Dorset, England.
Ian called him “Pretty Boy,” on account of his dark Irish good looks.
Both families lived in a rundown tenement on the lower east side, which was owned by Mr. Weston.
Charlie gave a shudder thinking of the man responsible for his injuries. Cassandra was fortunate she was able to flee with their father. She didn’t have to endure what occurred after that fateful day in their apartment.
Charlie didn’t want to open his eyes again. The light was piercing. Instead he listened to the sounds around him. The window must be open as he could hear the birds outside and a soft breeze caressed his skin.
He could hear the sounds of shoes clacking against a wooden floor. The sound of metal against metal reached his ears. He heard the soft murmur of a woman’s voice, but he couldn’t decipher the words.
Perhaps if he just moved his head and not his whole body. He leaned up a little bit; just enough to turn his head to the other cheek, before placing it back down on the sheets.
The sheets were slightly damp, so either he was perspiring or drooling. Neither option sounded very appealing.
“Oh, you’re awake,” a voice chirped above him. “I’ll let the doctor know.”
“Wat- wat- ter,” Charlie said. His mouth was so dry he could barely speak. He opened one eye so he could look at the person with the bird-like voice.
He must be dreaming. She looked like an angel.
Or a bird.
