Sleeping Beauty

Author's Note: I'm really sorry for the delay; real life always seems to get in my way when it comes to updates. One reviewer asked me to update more frequently, as well as making the chapters longer. The lenght of the chapters depends on where it makes sense to end them; so there are very small chapters as well as very big ones. As for the updates... I know I used to update quite often, but I didn't have two jobs back then... plus university. So I hope you will forgive me and bear with me; I will try to update more often, but I need to sleep as well... :-P Anyway, to 'Only Me': I've taken your suggestions into consideration and I'll try to do my best.
Thank you all so much for your reviews! They're what keeps me going on.

I would also like to thank Greywing for her precious help in this chapter!

Disclaimer: See Prologue.

italics: thoughts

[translations]

Chapter 3 – The ‘Sleeping Beauty’ project

“Mr. Friser!” she called, as she pushed her way through the employees of the station, who were rushing through the corridors of the station’s building as if being chased by some unseen evil. Ah, Alice thought, New York life! She believed she enjoyed it, as an unrelenting careerist, but maybe she was just used to it. After all, it was all she’d ever known, having born and bred in this city.

The short man paused and turned around to face the red-head with a smile. He had always liked the spirited girl and would readily admit he loved her like a daughter. A close friend of her parents, he had offered her the place of a news reader from the very beginning (for she had a pretty face and eloquent speech, qualities well suited to the job, if you asked him), but Alice had insisted that she’d start from the beginning and rise to that place with her own means; which had, of course, raised his opinion of the young woman.

“My dear Alice, how do you find the world today?” he grinned, as he waited for her to catch up with him.

“Still spinning,” she answered out of breath and managed a grin of her own. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” he said and waved dismissively at her, knowing her concern over his broken leg.

“I told you to stay in your office! I can check on the departments of the station as well as you do,” she chided, earning a frustrated huff from the old man. “I could take care of some stuff!”

“Stuff and nonsense! I can’t run the station from my office, eh? A reporter of your caliber should know better!”

Just as she prepared herself to hear for yet another time the preaching about how hard he had worked and built the station on his own and kept it at the top all those years, they reached his office, and he only motioned for her to come in. She watched him sit on his chair with a groan which hardly hid the pain coming from his leg, but decided not to offer her help, since it infuriated him each and every time. “What do you think, do I look like an old man? Do you know how much work this body has gone through?” he would say and then he would start the usual preaching once again; one that Alice had learned by heart.

Mr. Friser leaned back at his chair and narrowed his eyes studying her face.

“You’re not sleeping well?” he asked in a fatherly tone, rubbing his chin in concern.

“I had a strange dream yesterday which kept me awake for the rest of the night.” And that was all that Alice would say on the matter.

“I hope that Logan is not causing any trouble…”

Alice chuckled and shook her head. She never understood why he had never liked Logan. Logan was, even from an objective point of view, one of the most social and agreeable persons one could meet, but Mr. Friser had eyed him with suspicion from the very beginning.

“Good,” the man continued. “’Cause if he does…”

“I know, he’ll have to answer to you,” she finished his sentence, laughing away the matter once more.

Mr. Friser’s face softened and he joined in her laughter. Alice twirled a strand of hair around her fingers, nervously wondering how she would tell him about the research she had in mind. After a couple of minutes, during which Mr. Friser gazed at her in open curiosity, she sighed, and opened her mouth to speak.

“I have this story…” she started.

“I figured as much,” Mr. Friser prodded her when she didn’t continue. “What about?”

“It’s a myth.”

Mr. Friser’s eyebrows rose at that. Well, that was interesting. He loved such stories and it was one of the reasons he liked Alice so much: she seemed to be the only one who shared his ‘thirst’ for idealism and romantic musings on human relationships, different cultures and traditions; on how human psyche and experience had shaped them. Which was why he thought a man like Logan was so wrong for her. He was too… modern for her. Alice’s qualities seemed to belong to the past, and he believed the lovely woman would only blossom next to one who could compliment and bring out these traits. Someone with different values than, say, Logan.

“You will laugh when I tell you… But I really want to look into it.” She laughed nervously and shook her head.

“I really doubt that, Alice. Your stories never were a laughing matter.”

She sighed and started worrying her lip. She attacked the stray strand of hair once more, as if it was the cause of her uncomfortable state. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, but could still not relax. Finally, deciding she was acting ridiculously, she sat up straight and took a deep breath.

“Ok, here it goes: there’s a myth I’d heard in Germany when I was around 8 and I heard it again yesterday from a girl who has a French grandmother.” She hesitated once more but continued, as Mr. Friser waited patiently. “If I remember correctly, it’s about a man who fell in eternal sleep in some castle in a forest and waits for a woman to wake him up or something like that,” she finished, intentionally living certain details out.

“That sounds like the ‘Sleeping Beauty’,” he said frowning.

“Yes! Exactly! That’s what I thought too!” she exclaimed excitedly, seeming to come alive with a strange fire. “I told the children of my friends the story of ‘Sleeping Beauty’ and that girl told me I had told it wrong… that her Grandmother knew the true story…” she trailed off recollecting their conversation in her mind.

“So what are you saying, that maybe that myth was the source of Perrault’s fairy tale?”

Alice raised her eyebrows and shrugged.

“It’s very possible, I mean Perrault was European and the myth seems to belong to European folklore…” She sighed and leaned towards her boss. “I want to find out where the myth originated. I want to travel in Europe and see if this person was a historical figure and if the said castle exists.”

Mr. Friser tapped his fingers thoughtfully. If the suggestion had come from any other person than Alice, he would have refused. But Alice seemed genuinely excited about this venture, and he knew, from experience, that it always resulted in a very good story. He would have to give it a second thought.

“Look, I know it sounds crazy…” Alice said suddenly afraid that the man would air his doubts. “But I have a feeling it all started from somewhere. I mean… you know about Dracula! He was an actual person and people’s exaggerations turned him into a vampire! Maybe there’s some truth in that myth…” she rambled on, speaking aloud the flying thoughts in her mind.

Actually, what she really wanted to do, was to make sure that there was some logical explanation and that her imagination was just playing tricks on her. Mr. Friser gave her a long look and then nodded, slowly at first, then with more vigor.

“Yes. Yes, it’s possible. Uh-huh,” he said mostly to himself than Alice. “Do you know where to begin?”

“I have an idea…” was her cryptic answer and Mr. Friser could only nod.

***************************************************************************

Alice stepped on the porch of the house at the address she had been given and looked around her. Her eyes lingered on the beautiful garden and the multi-colored flowers that seemed to have been taken good care of. She sighed, squaring her shoulders. She didn’t know why the meeting unsettled her so much. She had taken hundreds of such interviews in her career as a reporter and from much more important people. She raised her hand and knocked, hearing the shuffling behind the door after a few moments.

The door opened with a creaking sound and an elderly lady appeared behind it. Alice noticed immediately the elegance in her stature and appearance, but was not surprised; it seemed a natural thing with the French.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a slightly French accent and smiled at Alice.

“My name is Alice Green. I am a friend of John and Marisa…” Alice trailed off as she saw the smile of recognition on the woman’s face. “I am a reporter and I’m covering a story about a fairy tale I heard you are familiar with from your grand-daughter Louise.”

The old woman’s eyes brightened at the mention of the girl and she laughed merrily.

“Ah, ma petite Louise!” she exclaimed and Alice smiled; she always prided in her ability to learn foreign languages with ease. “Please, come in!” [Ah, my little Louise!]

Alice stepped into the house as the woman closed the door behind her and halted to look around at the decoration. There were so many pictures of people on the wall… Some were old, some were recent… but all held a certain value and amount of memories with them that were accessible only to their owner.

“My name is Charlotte De Jacque,” the woman said and motioned for Alice to sit on the couch. “Would you like a cup of coffee? I was just making some.”

The wonderful smell had already reached the nose of Alice and she nodded. She didn’t like coffee in general, but she had a feeling she would need a strong dose of caffeine to make it through the interview. Plus, she could tell by the smell that it was original French coffee AND vanilla flavored. Who could say no?

“Yes please.”

Alice had the opportunity to look around the cozy house as Charlotte prepared their coffee. The decoration style resembled more closely a European house than an American one. Her travels due to her job had enabled Alice to recognize aspects of the different cultures everywhere she went, and that house gave out the imposing air of the Old Continent.

She had always loved Europe. She had been visiting it since she was a small child, those summers that her family visited her cousin’s, and she had fallen in love with it immediately. There was something so distinctively different from the U.S. there, something that spoke of ancient empires, centuries of history and great deeds. And it was a feeling she had only felt in China, having itself a history that was thousands of years old. The ancient civilizations made her so excited; traditions, folklore, myths… They strangely made her body buzz with life. But she could only share this passion with Mr. Friser. Logan always made fun of her and told her she lived in her own little world. “Why bother with the past, when there is future?” he always told her. She never answered, though, because she knew he would not understand. Sometimes she could not understand it herself, this thirst for times past. But it was there: waving its arms at her to pay attention and listen to it; something she rarely did, of course, because her New York reality did not allow it.

“Here you are,” Charlotte said placing the tray on the table in front of Alice, which made her snap out of her thoughts.

“Thank you Mrs. De Jacque”, she said and smiled, pouring some milk and sugar in her coffee.

“Please, call me Charlotte,” the lady said once more in her French accent and waved her hand dismissively at her formal tone.

“Charlotte,” Alice echoed, stirring absent-mindedly the contents in her cup.

“So… What fairy tale would you like to know about?”

Alice took a sip from the heavy-scented coffee and put down her cup. Her heart started its wild race again at the mention of the myth. She cleared her throat and took out her recorder.

“You don’t mind…?’ she asked motioning towards the recorder and Charlotte only shook her head. “Alright… Louise told me you know the true story of the ‘Sleeping Beauty’…”

Charlotte’s eyes twinkled at that and she smiled nodding knowingly.

“Ah, oui… ‘Le Prince Enchanté’,” she said, her voice taking the tone of a story-teller. “The…-“

“…Enchanted Prince,” Alice finished for her in amazement. She frowned. That elf in her dream never told her he was a Prince… What elf?? her rational mind chided her. There are no elves!! It was just one of your stupid dreams!

“Okay…” she said taking a deep breath. “Let’s start from the beginning: before you tell me the story, I suppose you heard it from someone else?”

“Yes, I was told the story when I was a child in my village,” she said and her eyes took the dark hue of longing. “When I was still in France… it seems only like a memory after all those years…”

Alice was soon mesmerized by the French accent of the woman and leaned into her palm to hear her story.

“I was born in a small village in Lorraine, called Château-Salins. I passed all my childhood there and my first years as a young woman. But I wasn’t happy with my village life… My dream was to become an actress and not the wife of some farmer! So I ran away and after many, many obstacles and efforts, I arrived in America; the land of opportunities. I never became an actress of course, but I met my husband Roger and made a wonderful family,” she laughed at the last comment, Alice joining her.

The woman sighed and looked at the wall with the pictures, seeming deep in recollection.

“There was an old woman in the village, who gathered the children every Friday evening around her fireplace for story-telling. I learned the story from her, as Louisa learned the story from me.”

Alice nodded at that and waited for the woman to continue.

“The story is about a Prince who met a beautiful woman in a forest and fell in love with her. They promised to each other eternal love, but the Prince had to leave to protect his country in a war far away… When the war ended, he went back to the forest to find her and take her to his castle as his wife, but she had disappeared. He looked everywhere for her, but nobody had seen her. Only a farmer had found the necklace she always wore; the necklace he had given her as a token of his love. The Prince then assumed that she was dead and locked himself in his castle in endless grief. But a kind fairy felt sorry for him and told him that his love was not dead. So she cast a spell on him that put him into a deep sleep and there he still waits until the woman he loves comes back and wakes him up…”

The old woman’s voice trailed off and she looked up at Alice. She frowned as she saw her pale face and touched her arm.

“Are you okay, my dear?” she asked in concern and Alice blinked.

“I’m… I’m fine,” she answered in a shaky voice and rubbed her temples. The thoughts in her mind followed one another so quickly, that she hardly had time to register all. The elf in her dream told her it was that forest where they had met for the first time… And that he wasn’t able to find her… Dammit, the facts agree! she thought feeling panic rise in her once more and willed herself to calm down. It’s a coincidence, she told herself. A COINCIDENCE.

“Do you… um… does the story say where that castle was?”

“Oh, I do not remember…” Charlotte tapped her chin thoughtfully for some minutes, but shook her head in the end. “No. I am sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Alice said sighing. She felt relief at not hearing the name ‘Germany’, but also disappointment at not being able to find out.

“Do you know if there was really such a Prince… or if there is some castle that is said to belong to him?”

“Oh, it is only a myth my dear! I don’t know if it has any truth in it, but I doubt it,” Charlotte replied laughing and took a sip from her coffee.

Again the mix of relief and disappointment. Alice stopped her recorder and put it in her bag. She thanked the old woman for the coffee and the chat and slowly made her way to her car.

It was a long way back to New York and Alice had more time than she wished to think of what Charlotte had told her. Some facts of the story agreed with what she had seen in her dream, true. But it was only a dream! Nothing more than a creation of her subconscious! Science and psychology had proved that much! Then why was she so upset about the whole thing? It was just a silly myth, like all the others she had investigated in her career and would probably have some sort of historical background to support it. Why the fast beating of her heart? Why the trembling hands?

Why in the world the butterflies in her stomach for a freaking creature that existed nowhere but her dream??

She took a deep breath. She needed to calm down. It was just a dream that had affected her in the wrong way. Was it not the incident of the previous day with Louise, she was sure she would have enjoyed her dream immensely. I mean, come on, admit it Alice. The man was GORGEOUS! an amused voice commented in her head and she had to smile at that. Gorgeous was truly an understatement. Hell, even his voice was amazing!! She bit her lip. That’s nice, she thought her mood suddenly becoming sarcastic. I am fantasizing about a non-existent man… It would be at least understandable if she didn’t have a boyfriend. But she had Logan and she was happy with him… wasn’t she? Okay, maybe they didn’t share the same opinion on some matters. But he was a man she could lean on… a man she could marry…

Her stomach announced its opposition to her last thought, clenching painfully. She could find no reason why she shouldn’t marry Logan, and yet it looked so wrong! Her mind always came up with all those logical arguments on why she should marry him, but her heart seemed to have a different opinion. She loved him… or maybe she didn’t? Maybe all she felt was not the kind of love that would sweep you off your feet and make you want to spend the rest of your life with someone… Yes, she was sure about that. Her love for Logan was nothing of the passionate sort. But she didn’t believe in those kinds of things! That kind of love was reserved for the past, in her opinion. Modern times demanded a companion you could lean on and find comfort with in your stressful life. Those things she could have with Logan. But was that what true love is? Would she ever find the kind of love she saw in the movies? The kind of love who would make a knight die for his lady? The kind of love who would make a Prince wait in eternal sleep for the return of his beloved?

She frowned. Is this what this thing is all about?? That deep inside I’m not happy with Logan and my subconscious decided to make me aware of it in what I dream of?!

She groaned. How wonderful. As if her life was not already complicated.

She turned on the radio as her car got stuck in the usual New York traffic. She never realised how quickly time passed while occupied with her thoughts, until she saw her house coming into view; she really needed a good night’s sleep.

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