Part Two

Crossroads

He had a headache.

Chris Larabee did not know how he could have a headache when his last memory was of going to bed with his wife Mary. However as awareness returned to him with slow deliberation, other things impressed itself upon his memory and only added to the confusion that was filtering into his consciousness. First and foremost, he was not in the last place he remembered. Instead of finding himself in bed with his wife of a few weeks, Chris now found himself inside the confines of what appeared to be a Mexican tavern. That in itself was somewhat of a contradiction because Chris had not been able to cross the border for almost five years and could not for the life of him imagine what he could be doing here, particularly when he had no memory of making the journey.

As the headache started to fate, other things bombarded his psyche with recognition, the sound of music playing in the background and the laughing voices of individuals engaging in a great deal of merriment. Lifting his head from the counter top where his head was rested, Chris surveyed his surroundings, feeling a tiny sliver of familiarity that imbedded itself in the mind like a splinter. A fat, greasy looking man whose clothes were almost as filthy as the glasses he was attempting to clean with a rag stared at him from the other side of the counter. He regarded Chris with nothing more than a slight snort before turning to another customer while chewing a thick cigar.

Chris blinked and continued his examination of the place, taking stock of the customers in the bar, some hidden in the darkened corners of the rooms, hands groping soft round curves in the dark that left tell tale evidence of what was happening in feminine titters. It was a seedy place, the kind one stopped at to be forgotten and certainly, no different from a hundred such waterholes that were scattered along the Mexican border. Most of the patrons were locals and the girls working in the establishment who sold more than drink with their alluring smiles and jet coloured hair, were seeking out potential candidates to buy them watered drinks.

He could not understand how he had come to be here as he rose from the bar stool, almost knocking over the half empty glass of tequila on the counter in front of him. He picked up the glass and took an experimental whiff of the liquid before turning away in revulsion. This was strong stuff, no wonder he had a headache. A part of him wondered if he was dreaming for the more he thought about it, the surer he became that he had been in bed with Mary at last recollection. How he had come to be in this place was a mystery he could not explain or fathom could take place without his knowledge at all. Not to mention, there was something about this place that was really bothering him and he could not for the life of him think what that was right now. The answer skirted on the edge of his awareness, close enough for him to be feel that it was there but not enough to grasp. It was almost maddening.

"Darling, you can take me anywhere." He heard a familiar voice break the relative quiet of his ruminations. It was followed by a decidedly feminine voice making a proposition in Spanish with a tone of seduction that had the power to cross any language barrier.

Buck.

Chris thought as he whirled around and searched for Buck. Why what he not surprised that whenever he woke up and found himself disorientated and confused, Buck was usually at the bottom of it? He stepped away from the bar and strode forward, listening closely for the sound of his friend's voice, wondering what Buck had landed him into this time and more importantly, how he had managed it at all. Leaving the bar, his eyes spotted a sort of dance floor where a trio of musicians was playing a lively number with less enthusiasm than the song itself.

A few people were dancing to the music and he was not surprised to see Buck Wilmington in the centre of it all, locking embraces and tongues for that matter with a rather fetching Spanish beauty. Buck always did have a soft spot for sultry looking Latin women.

"Buck." Chris put his hand on Buck's shoulder and interrupted the dance from becoming some a little more carnal than ought to be on this very public place.

Buck looked over his shoulder and burst into a wide grin, the young lady he was with was not so charitable and kept trying to turn his head back to her lips to continue their passionate exchange. "Chris, I thought you're going to get some sleep upstairs."

"Upstairs?" Chris looked at Buck as if he was crazy. "What the hell are you talking about and how did you get me here?" Chris demanded, unimpressed that he had somehow become embroiled in one more of Buck's crazy stunts. He took his marriage vows very seriously and had left all this kind of tomcatting firmly in Buck's lap or the appendage his old friend used to do his thinking.

Buck's eye brow knotted in confusion as his partner started kissing him again and driving the puzzlement from his attention for a few seconds. Chris frowned impatiently, allowing his friend enough time to break the kiss before Chris would start impressing his annoyance a little more acutely. As it was, he did not think he was in Four Corners any more, if the look of this place was anything to go by. Whether or not Mary knew he was here made no difference to Chris, he did not wish to be here especially when here appeared to be Mexico and Chris had very good reasons for not being in Mexico, ever since. .

Jesus Christ.

Chris froze and looked around the place and suddenly, the memory returned with the realization. He drifted away from Buck, his eyes studying the place in deeper scrutiny as the answer in the dark finally presented himself. What in God's name was he doing here? As he wandered through the establishment, nothing about it had changed. In fact, if a place could be frozen in time and memory than this seedy little bar on the edge of the border had achieved some measure of that accomplishment.

Chris' stomach knotted inside him as he moved through the place like a dreamer trapped in a nightmare from which he could not awake. This place had been one he had been trying to forget for the last five years It was from here that his life had turned a corner sharply and changed everything he was in a dance of fire. As Chris came to understand that he was in the very tavern that Buck had convinced him to stay the night that Sarah and Adam died, fury bubbled inside of him at the audacity of Buck to bring him back to this place. What the hell was Buck playing at? Chris did not know as he turned around and strode towards his friend, no make that ex-friend, he hoped Buck had damn good explanation for bringing him here.

"Buck, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Chris grabbed Buck by the shoulder and practically tore him from the warm embrace of the Mexican senorita he was well on his way to bedding. Just like that night, Chris thought with seething anger.

"Hey Chris!" Buck pulled away from him, staring at the gunslinger in rising annoyance at his behaviour, while trying not to let the man's abrupt manner get to him. "You know exactly what I'm doing!" He hissed.

"Explain it to me." Chris glared at him in icy coldness.

"Explain what?" Buck retorted with exasperation, wondering what was wrong with his friend. "I told you I wanted to stay the night. If you don't want to say then go home. I can ride back on my own okay?"

"What?" Chris exclaimed, becoming so confused that his anger was giving way to puzzlement. "Buck, if this is one of your practical jokes, I ain't laughing. Now how the hell did you get me away from Four Corners without me knowing?"

Now it was Buck's turn to be confused as the big man stared back at Chris with similar bewilderment. "Four Corners? What are you talking about? Have you been dipping into some of that rotgut they got serving on the cheap? Chris, you know better than to dip your beak into that stuff."

Now Chris was really starting to get upset. "I ain't drunk and this little joke of yours has gone far enough. I don't appreciate being brought back to this place of all places Buck.. You know I don't go south ever since Sarah and Adam died."

Buck Wilmington stared at Chris blankly. "Chris, Sarah and Adam are fine. They're at home." His anger had faded away because he was now worried that there was really something wrong with Chris. All thoughts of the young lady behind him were forgotten as Buck saw Chris' face change from annoyance and anger to something he could not define.

"Buck, that's not funny." Chris swallowed, wondering how Buck of all people could be toying with him like this. If it were not for the years behind them, Chris would have already shot him for the insult. "This whole thing isn't funny. I don't know how you got me back here and I don't care but I'm heading out to Four Corners, you can stay here if you like and continue this little game of yours."

"Like hell you are." Buck grabbed his arm to stop him. "You're not going anywhere. You're sick in the head, Chris and I'm getting you home right now to Sarah."

"STOP SAYING THAT!" Chris exploded, wrenching free from Buck. "She's dead! She's been dead for five years. She and Adam! Why do you keep saying that they're alive?"

"Because she was fine this morning!" Buck answered sharply. "She was fine this morning when we left to get the horses! Don't you remember?"

Chris blinked and started to understand on some level what was happening, even though he could not fathom much else beyond that deduction. Suddenly, only one question burned in his mind and its answer would explain everything, as much as any of this could be, he supposed.

"Buck what year is this?"

Buck's eyes widened with the question and was about to offer another babble of confusion when he saw the hard expression on Chris' face and realized that he was serious being answered. "What its always been," Buck replied after a moment. "1875."

1875.

It was impossible. Chris struggled to find some evidence that this was apart of some elaborate joke on Buck's part but as he stared at the man's eyes, Chris knew without doubt that Buck was completely serious about his answer and sincerely believed this unimaginable date was exactly what it was.

However, that notion soon eclipsed another thought that had the power to paralyze just as completely. If Buck was telling the truth and through some freak of nature which he could not even begin to explain, Chris was truly back in the year 1875 then he would have no idea of anything that had transpired in the last five years because none of it had happened.

And this was the night that Sarah and Adam would die.

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

Although her new husband was difficult to rouse out of sleep before midday, Mary Larabee still found it impossible to sleep in to those kinds of hours. Her body clock, possessing a will of its own would immediately awaken her at the predestined time. No matter how much she wished to linger alongside Chris' warmth and snuggle up to him for the rest of the morning, she would find herself getting restless after a few minutes and the need to get the day started would become overwhelming. As a mother, newspaper editor and now wife, Mary found there were hardly enough hours to fit all of it in to her day and sometimes, she wondered if it would be simpler if she gave up one or two of these roles. Or at the very least, do as Chris suggested and get some help to do some of her household chores. Somehow, the idea of turning to someone else to manage her responsibilities was something that Mary could not abide.

As always, she woke up to the sun peeking through the curtains of her window. Mary rubbed the sleep out of her eyes as she started to climb out of her bed, running through the list of things she had to do when suddenly, she noticed she was wearing a nightgown. For a moment, she paused at the sight of the white cotton dress over her body when she distinctively remembered discarding it last night. Considering the intensity of their sexual intimacy at the present time, it seemed somewhat redundant wearing something that would be stripped moments after she was alone with him. Not that this was a bad thing, Mary thought with a smile but somehow, she could not understand how she had come to wear this garment.

She supposed she must have put it on, she decided after a moment and promptly brushed away the thought since it mattered little whether or not she was dressed in her night gown since she was getting up and would have to wear something anyway. Leaning over the tangle of sheets, she felt Chris' warm body still sleeping and found herself chuckling to hear that he snored slightly. Funny, she had not remembered him displaying this particular characteristic before today. Mary was about to press her lips against his in a gentle kiss when suddenly she made a most startling discovery that almost made her fall out of the bed.

It was not Chris lying there. It was Stephen.

For a moment, she merely stared in absolute shock at Stephen Travis who was slumbering most fitfully as if he had always been there. All she could do was remain trapped in place, her mind frozen with shock as her eyes took in the sight of him. He looked no different that the last time she had seen him, that terrible night she had gone visiting and left him alone with Billy. Her heart pounded in her chest as she moved to touch him, almost afraid that he would disappear if she made contact because he was an apparition that would disappear when she woke up from this dream.

It had to be a dream. It was the only explanation that Mary could wrap her mind around. She remained seated on the mattress, her legs folded as she stared at her husband and father of her child. Mary found herself melting in regret, knowing that he was gone and she would wake up from this dream soon enough but for the moment, allowed herself to feel the joy of seeing him again, even in this limited fashion.

Strange how many things returned to her after so many years, the way his chest would rise and fall as he slept, how he liked to remain on his side, with his feet sticking out from under the sheets cause he could never stand them being covered up. With a slight smile, she remembered how many midnight arguments that had caused during the winter when Mary would complain that his habit was keeping her toes in perpetual freezing. Her fingers touched his warm skin and gently ran the course of his side, moving over his ribs and waist in its downward descent.

It even felt the same and the discovery almost brought her to tears, even though her eyes were already glistening with emotion. She found herself snuggling next to him, her arms sliding over his body as she held him close to her for as long as this dream continued. Mary continued holding Stephen as the tears came and she was visited by memories of their life together. A life gone forever by one greedy landowner's bullet. God, how she had lived for him all her life. When he had died, Mary had thought she would go to, there were moments when she had actually considered ending it all because being without him was unimaginable. Then she would remember Billy and tell herself that her son was all that was left of Stephen. To die was to abandon Billy and in turn that would mean abandoning Stephen and Mary could never do that.

How could she forget the young man who used to show her that the nights can sparkle even when there was not a cloud in the sky? He who gave Mary her first corsage, who said it was perfectly all right that she wanted to be a journalist.

Everything she became from the day she ventured out into the world had Stephen's influence. She wondered what he would have thought about the woman that was left in his wake of his death. Mary liked to think he would have been proud of what she had managed to accomplish.

Suddenly he stirred under her touch, rubbing himself against her body as he started to come out of his sleep. Languidly, he turned around and met her gaze, staring into her blue grey eyes with the same intensity that Mary marveled by the acuity of this particular fantasy in her mind. He seemed so real, she thought as she smiled at him.

"Good morning." He whispered with a smile and met her lips with his own.

"Stephen." Mary replied, unable to keep the emotion from her voice as she reached for his cheek and caressed his cheek. "I love you so much. You'll never forget that will you?"

He noticed she was crying and immediately returned her sorrow filled gaze with one of puzzlement. "Mary, darling what's wrong?" He asked, propping himself up on one elbow.

"I just miss you so much." She replied, deciding it was necessary to say all this before she awoke from this dream and he was lost to her again.

"I haven't gone anywhere." He pointed out, starting to think that his wife might have just roused herself from a nightmare and had not quite grasped the notion that she was awake. "I'm not going anywhere love." He enclosed her hand with his palm and started showing the delicate hand with soft kisses

"You will," she swallowed, astonished by how real all this felt. "You'll disappear one day and leave me alone to raise Billy myself."

"Mary." He said with a little more determination to convince her that he was very much alive. "Listen to me, I am alive and I'm not going anywhere." He responded. "I've got too much to do today to do something as inconvenient as dying. I've got to write a letter to dad and see about getting a proper sheriff in this town. That idiot we've got at the jailhouse is useless, not to mention the editorial I'm meant to write for the paper."

Mary stared at him and started to believe that he might be telling the truth. After all, if this was a dream then it was certainly the most realistic one she had ever had in her life. The smell of him, the way the light was shining in her eyes and the familiarity of the setting had a substance to it that was steeped in reality, not in the dream world. It was impossible though, she told herself defiantly, unable to believe that this could be real, not matter how much she might want it to be. Stephen had died because she had stood at his funeral wanting to die with him. The agony in her heart had been too acute and too horrible to be anything but real.

"God I think you're right." She managed to say and reacted by throwing her arms around him and pulling him to her in the warmest embrace she could manage. Mary could tell that he was surprised by the intensity of the embrace but said nothing about it, choosing instead to return it with equal fervor.

"Of course I am." He smiled when he parted from her. "Now come on Mrs. Travis," he grinned climbing out of bed. "We've got work to do today."

"Yes," Mary nodded mutely, uncertain of anything at this moment and playing along until she could better understand what was going on. Although she had accepted that she was not having some vivid dream and the possibility that this might be real was gaining momentum, Mary still wanted to know how it could have happened. If Stephen was here, what has happened to the rest of her life? With a sinking feeling, she realized with almost shame that she had not thought about Chris. What has happened to Chris?

No sooner than the thought had crossed her mind, she heard the sound of gunfire exploding in the air. Both Stephen and Mary jumped together in shock at the sudden eruption of noise. It was hard to tell how many shots there were because it appeared more than one person was firing at the same time. Judging by the noises, it was not coming from too far away from the house.

"Get down!" Stephen ordered as he scrambled to the window.

Mary rolled off the bed and landed on the floor away from the window, taking shelter from the gunfire by its structure. "Stephen, be careful!" She called out. Now that she had him back again, she did not want to lose him to a stray bullet. She wondered why they were not in the house out of town and then recalled that they had talked about moving closer to town and the paper.

"I'm fine." Stephen replied, peering cautiously out the window at what was transpiring in the town below. Four Corners was never the safest place in the world and at times like this, he wondered what he was still doing here. Sense would dictate that he should take his family away from the Territory, back to the safety of the East where there was some semblance of law and order.

"Damn drunks," the newspaper man frowned. He watched the men riding up and down the street, drunk and rowdy, firing their guns in the air and generally scaring the hell out of people because they were so liquored up that they hardly knew what time of day it was, let alone held any sense. "Its those damn Texans that came off the trail yesterday," he told Mary, flinching at the sound of a breaking window somewhere too close for comfort. "I knew they were going to be trouble."

"Texans?" Mary's thought quickly, something about this whole scene having a measure of familiarity to it, she could not place for an instant as she lay cowering behind her bed.

Then it came to her. Texans! The ones who rode into town to get medical attention for their trail boss. The man who would die because Nathan Jackson had not been able to cure the gangrene that had rotted away his body beyond the ability of any healing that Nathan could administer. With a start she realized that the antics of those men had began on the morning of Nathan's lynching just like this. Eventually, the liquor would make them so dangerous that they would lay the blame for their leader's death on the healer who had tried to save him.

"Stephen," she had to ask. "Did Mr. Hennessy get a new store clerk this week?"

"He did," Stephen looked over his shoulder at the strangeness of that request. "I ran into him yesterday, quiet enough fellow. Used to be a buffalo hunter, I think. I fail to see the relevance of the question." He retorted before another window was shattered somewhere nearby and drove the thought from his mind completely.

Mary took a deep breath, confirming her suspicions what day this was. If Vin Tanner was here and Nathan was about to be lynched sometime today, that could only mean one thing. .

Chris Larabee was at this moment, riding into Four Corners.

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

Vin Tanner did not know where the hell he was.

The last thing he remembered was sleeping it off after Alex had made it up to him most spectacularly for the embarrassment he had to endure in Sweet Water before waking up in the middle of nowhere. It was more the mystery of how he had arrived here at this point in time that concerned him more than where he actually was. Vin had woken up to the sound of Peso's familiar nickering, wondering what the hell his horse was doing in Alex's bedroom when he found himself in the folds of his bedroll with the stars above his head.

If this was not enough to alarm the most reasonable of men, when Vin took the time to examine those very stars, he saw that there appeared to some difference as to their positioning. While the difference was slight, it was enough to know that he was some distance from Four Corners. Considering that he had no idea how he had come to be where he was, let alone how he had been brought here without slightest hint that he had been moved was quite disturbing. However, it was not just his sudden change of location that was so disconcerting. The weather was inordinately warm for winter and it was on further investigation of the terrain around him that Vin discovered that it was not all winter, it was early spring.

Even through the darkness, he could see traces of spring growth through the illumination of the camp fire in the surrounding area. Vin could not understand what was happening. Judging by the campfire and the gear that he had strewn before the fire for use, it looked as if he had been out on the trail for sometime. Yet he knew that only a short time ago, he was with Alex. He could still remember the heat of her body against his as he wrapped his arms around in the wake of their love making. Her scent was still fresh in his nostrils.

Deciding that he was not going to stay around here to find out, the tracker decided to break camp. He quickly got to his feet and started packing his gear, trying to understand what lapse of memory could have possibly explained what had happened to him. Peso seemed oblivious to his confusion even though the sight of the horse was comforting to its owners in ways that could not be explained. At least, Peso being here meant that he was not completely mad.

It did not take Vin very long to have everything packed onto his saddle again, although he was still very confused. He did not recognize the terrain, at least not in the dark and felt very disorientated by the fact that he did not know where he was. For a man accustomed, to being able to find paths where none existed, being lost like this was very unsettling. After Vin had killed the fire of his campsite, he mounted Peso and started riding back towards the direction of Four Corners, using only the stars to guide him.

He had not ridden very far when he realized that even for a spring night, the weather was unusually warm. Vin came to the realization that the temperature was higher than what was normally experienced in the general area of Four Corners and that part of the territory. Also, as Peso progressed across the darkened landscape, Vin was able to tell that there was none of the rocky and hilly terrain of the terrain. Everything before and after them was flat. He had thought the Texas Panhandles was flatter than a tack but this place was not much better.

Vin recalled travelling terrain like this once before and was suddenly visited by a terrible idea that somehow he had been transported back to Texas. He could not even begin to imagine how this happened to him and was right now more focused with getting back to Four Corners so he could figure it out with the company of friends who might know what was going on. He doubted however, that any explanation was ever going to be simple. Still, the heat did feel like Texas weather and that was a problem. In this state, he was still wanted for murder and Vin had no intention of facing that particular thorn in his side until he knew what had transpired tonight.

As Vin continued along the track, certain features of the land began to take on a familiar shape, sparking memories that he might have come across this way at some other point in time. Suddenly, Vin began to feel very uneasy the further away from the campsite he got until finally, in the distance, the deepening mystery presented itself in the form of a farm house, in the distance. Upon seeing the place did Vin realize where he was and that was enough to scare the hell out of him. For a moment, he remained mounted on the horse, staring into the abandoned home on the flat plain. At least he assumed it was abandoned because there was no light in the window and he heard no sound that animals might have been stabled in the barn.

That of course did not mean anything, Vin decided. On the night he had first stumbled across this place, he had not heard any sounds of life. This was most likely because Eli Joe had stolen what livestock that could be converted into money and killed the rest out of sheer spite. Vin felt his heart pound in his chest as some morbid fascination at how the homestead had fared since his last visit, prompted him to ride onto the property. History repeating itself, Vin thought to himself as he rode past the fence, finding the break that would take him past the boundary line. Back then, he had told himself that investigating was not a good idea and the same reminder rung true even now, and like before he ignored the advice.

If he had just kept going, he would never have found the body and in turn, would never have been foolish enough to take it back to Tuscosa in some misguided notion that the corpse in fact, belonged to Eli Joe. He would be a free man, without mark or fear of the law and he would have been free to marry Alex, instead of keeping their relationship in stalemate because he was a fugitive. Still, it was pointless to tear himself apart over things he could not change because he had taken the body back to Tuscosa and he was a fugitive.

Everything appeared to be the same, the quiet, the foreboding atmosphere that he was reaching a crossroads in his life and would eventually take the wrong turn. It was all there, thickening the air like something he could cut through with a knife. Despite himself, he felt a slight shudder of uneasiness ran down his spine and knew that it was nerves, deja vu and the madness that had thrust him here in this place where only a few hours ago, he had been sharing the bed of the woman he loved. He could not understand it any more than that strange circumstance and as Vin regarded the moon in the night sky, that looked almost red instead of its usual luminescent colour, he knew something was afoot that was beyond the explanation of man. The Indians used to tell him about the spirit world and how the dead sometimes walked among the living. At this moment, he could feel those spectral visitors most profoundly.

He neared the house and recalled that he had found the body lying face down in the water through for the horses, riddled with bullets. At the time, Vin had believed that one of Eli Joe's associates had done the outlaw in, having studied enough about the bounty he had sought to claim to learn that the man was not only devious but a notorious double crosser. Unfortunately, even Vin had underestimated just how devious Eli Joe was capable of being when he concocted the trail to rid himself of his persistent hunter. There were moments when the tracker wondered how if he had known what lay ahead, would he have continued the chase?

Vin neared the house and saw the water through under the moonlight. From a distance all he saw was its darkened shape and the moon bouncing of the reflection of the water. As he approached, he heard Peso pause a moment, as if the horse was deciding whether or not it ought to proceed.

"What is it boy?" Vin asked, running his hand against the animal's flank, attempting to soothe the distress it was obviously feeling by its hesitation to continue. Only after a few seconds of gentle cajoling, Vin managed to induce Peso to continue and wondered what was it about this place that disturbed his horse so much. Peso had behaved with the same dislike during their last visit here.

"Don't worry," Vin muttered. "We'll be out of here soon enough."

The horse neighed in response, sounding almost relieved by the tone of his master's voice. Peso was normally a reliable animal; having endured trials that would make most horses buck and threw its rider off. However, Vin knew he had achieved a kinship with the gelding and he liked to think that Peso valued him just as deeply.

It was only until they were a few feet away from the water through, did Vin see what had upset Peso earlier on. The body lay in almost the exact position as the one Vin had come across all those years ago. For a moment, the tracker thought someone was playing an extremely nasty trick on him and if it were not for the fact that Eli Joe was dead, Vin would have almost believed that the outlaw was behind this. Feeling his breath hollow in his throat, Vin dismounted Peso even though baser instincts were telling him to leave. He did not need the trouble of another death being attributed to him. If they thought that he was a murderer with multiple deaths on his conscience, he could just forget about clearing his name right now or ever marrying Alex.

However, he was compelled to look at the victim lying prone in the water through, headfirst. As Vin approached it, he felt like he was seeing a replay of events that had transpired before. All this seemed too familiar and yet he knew it was impossible. From behind, the corpse looked almost identical. Bullet wounds in the back of the old, dark coat, the same light coloured pants with a patch on one leg and the boots with a strap missing on one side. It was as if someone had taken a picture of this scene from straight out of his mind and recreated it

Vin pulled the body backwards, grunting slightly at the bulk of it. Once it was upright, it fell towards Vin, spraying the tracker in water Vin knew contained blood. Jumping away in revulsion, the man's head lolled backwards, offering Vin a full view of his face.

"Jesus Christ." Vin exclaimed, knowing the visage of the man before him anywhere. It was impossible. Vin had seen them bury him! He had ridden almost three days back to Tuscosa with the corpse and it had been this man here! Yet there could be no mistake about the body or the man it had been.

It was Jess Kincaid.

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

"Doctor Styles." A very unfamiliar voice called.

Alexandra Styles stirred in her sleep and found that where she was doing it was not very comfortable. She raised her head from the hard surface and found herself lying against a desk. For a moment, she wondered if Vin was playing some kind of joke on her for making him walk through Sweet Water smelling like rose water, carrying material that was clearly for a lady's dress. However, as clarity returned to the young woman, she realized that she was not all in her office.

It looked for all intensive purposes like her office because she could see many of her personal items in the room, her father's books, some trinkets she had picked up when she was travelling with him across the globe and her medical degrees were framed on the wall. Whatever this place was, it definitely was her office.

"Doctor Styles." The voice repeated and Alex found herself staring wide eyed at a rather matronly woman, wearing the unmistakable uniform of a nurse.

"Yes?" Alex answered almost meekly because she was very confused and when she was confused had learnt it was best to keep quiet until her bearings could be regained.

"Its almost time." The woman reminded, looking at Alex as if she had imparted some knowledge that the doctor should already know instead of looking bewildered. "You asked me to give you a reminder." She continued, hoping that this little bit of information would go some way to alleviating the blank expression on the young woman's face.

"Time for what?" Alex asked.

"Surgery, Doctor." The nurse was starting to get worry lines on her face as she regarded Alex as unfit to be let anywhere near a patient.

"Of course," Alex nodded, "I'm sorry." She quickly responded. "I'm just waking up."

That seemed to pacify her because she broke into an understanding smile. "They'll be expecting you in ten minutes." She answered before withdrawing from the room once again.

Alex watched her silhouette disappear through the frosted glass on her office door before releasing a sigh of relief at the woman's departure and content that she was finally alone. Once she had the room to herself, Alex jumped out of her chair and took closer examination of where she was. As observed earlier, this was definitely her office even though every logical sense in Alex's body was telling her that this was impossible. Her last memory was of falling asleep in Vin's arms, not this fantasy that appeared frighteningly real around her. Alex moved to the window and looked outside. She wrestled with the notion that she might dreaming upon seeing what lay beyond it.

However, this felt too real to be a dream, even if her mind had decreed that what she was experiencing was impossible. Outside, her office overlooked a park, more precisely a hospital park because patients were being pushed around by nurses, people in robes were wandering about enjoying the manicured beauty of the greenery around them. The day outside seemed idyllic as well and the heat of the sun, told Alex that this was not winter in Four Corners but summer some place else. In the distance, above the tree line, she could see buildings that ran off into the horizon, some that even towered over the fashionable double storied structures that was common to the town. Wherever this place was that she now found herself, it was a city.

Returning to her so called desk to see if there was anything that might explain how this could be, Alex shifted through the papers and writing implements long enough to note that she was definitely in a hospital. There enough files of case histories and diagnostic sheets to indicate that if this reality was anything to go by, she had a great many patients. However, what caught her attention most was some hospital stationery that had her hand writing scribbled on it. The writing itself was incidental, for it was notes on a particular case of heart disease. It was the printing that was emblazoned across the sheet of paper that captured her interest the most.

BOSTON MERCY HOSPITAL

Boston?

This was Boston? Alex thought frantically and immediately went to the window to see for herself even though she had done so only a short time ago. With this knowledge in hand, Alex who had never been to the city before, studied what was before her and knew that as insane as it must be, the city beyond this lush park could be Boston. Stunned, Alex decided she had to get out of this place, so that she could gather her thoughts. At the moment, she had no idea what was happening, beyond the fact that suddenly, she was a doctor in a big city hospital once who in about ten minutes would have to perform surgery.

Is that what she had always wanted?

When that realization hit her, Alex paused long enough to wonder if this was not indeed some dream she was having since it had granted her most deepest wish. All her life this is what she had wished for, to be recognized as a doctor and to be treated with the respect every other physician was given without second thought because they were men. If she was to suspend her belief at the impossibility of the situation to actually consider that she might be exactly where she appeared to be then her entire life the last year would be meaningless. She would never have gone to Four Corners, she would never have started her practice there and she would have never have met Vin.

Vin Tanner would never have even known she existed.

If there was one thing that could spoil the sweetness of this whole dream or reality, whatever this was, it was knowing that the tracker was not in her life.

The whole idea that their lives had gone on divergent paths was enough to send genuine fear running through her in unrelenting waves. She could not live without him and the truth of the matter, she refused to. The months she shared with him, good times and bad were moments she would not trade for anything. It was surprising how quickly she was able to make this choice when once upon a time, her career would have meant everything to her. Still, she had no idea that any of this was real, so she was not inclined to make decisions on anything until she knew for certain what was going on.

Deciding she could not stay in this room indefinitely because someone was bound to come looking for her eventually, Alex chose to make an exit. She peered out the door through the crack of an opening and saw the corridor outside to be indicative of a busy city hospital. People were moving up and down the corridors, some were patients, others were doctors and nurses but the general atmosphere beyond this room was energetic to say the least.

Alex stepped out into it gingerly, raising no suspicion of anyone as she blended into the main body of people moving away from her office. She glanced on the door and saw her name painted neatly in black against the glass which more or less confirmed that this was indeed her office.

ALEXANDER STYLES

SURGEON

If this was a dream, it was a very convincing one, she frowned, wondering if there was anything else that could be thrown at her to make this fantasy any more appealing. She walked through the corridors, looking quite the tourist as she stared wide eyed at everything, while wrestling with the greater problem of how she had been transported across the country to find herself in this place. There was still a part of her that was convinced she was still in her house in Four Corners, asleep and this was nothing more than the product of an over active imagination.

The detail was perfect if it was imagination for she could smell the acrid stench of hospital disinfectant in her nostrils as she wandered through the halls of the building, passing by wards and examination rooms.

"Doctor Styles!" The nurse that had informed her about the surgery she was required to perform called out to her across the crowded room.

Oh hell. Alex swore under her breath, remembering that this little scenario required her to play the part of a surgeon who was due in an operating theater. As much as the idea intrigued her, Alex was in no condition to be cutting into anyone in her state of mind, real or imagined. She quickly made up an excuse in her head as she went to meet the woman.

"I'm sorry Nurse," Alex quickly apologized as the woman frowned at her in disapproval for not being where she was meant to be at this point. "I'm feeling a little under the weather, could you please have some one sit in for me?"

Disapproval quickly melted into concern as the elderly woman, whose name Alex did not even know, studied her with deep scrutiny upon being imparted this new information. "You do look rather pale." She agreed and then nodded firmly. "You let me take care of it Doctor Styles, I'm sure Doctor Harris will be happy to take over."

"Thank you." Alex turned to leave.

"Shall I have someone sent for a cab?" She asked before Alex could gain any distance. "I gather you will want to go home."

Home? Where the hell did she live? Alex turned to her, trying to hide her confusion once again. "Of course," she smiled faintly. "I would appreciate that."

"Well you get some rest and we will see you when you are feeling better." The woman said warmly and Alex only wished she had a nurse like that in Four Corners.

This was too strange, Alex shook her head as she started towards the main entrance of the building, really needing to be away from this place right now. She knew she was not crazy and she was starting to believe that this was no dream and everything before was real and not some trick, her mind was playing upon her. She waded through the bodies moving past her as she tried to leave, feeling somewhat overwhelmed by how real they felt as she brushed past them.

"Alex!" Someone called her name over the drone of voices.

Oh what now? Alex groaned as she tried to see who it was that was seeking her out now. For a place she had never been before, it seemed everyone and their dog knew where to find her.

Alex turned around to the voice and stopped short. Her eyes widened in absolute astonishment at the impossibility of what she was seeing but for once she really did not care. He looked exactly the same, wearing the favourite dark suit that he always wore no matter what the occasion. For a moment, Alex's heart stopped beating in her chest as he approached her, wearing a smile on his face that she had come to know so well. The emotion overtook Alex as he reached her and the only word that was able to escape her lips made no sense to him but all the world to her.

"Daddy."

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

The alarm clock that tore through the air with its shrill sound almost made Ezra Standish go for his gun and shoot it. Instead, he raised his head long enough to grab the object and fling it away from him, where it continued to make itself heard, despite the distance between itself and its master. Ezra swore, using words not at all proper for the southern gentleman that he was and staggered out of bed, trying to make it stop so he could go back to sleep. He stumbled out of his bed, feeling the effects of last night's libations most profoundly in his head and deciding that whoever had opted to put this whole device in his room was going to die when he got his hands on them.

Crossing the floor, still half asleep, Ezra paid no attention to his surroundings as he followed the sound of the relentless clock, ringing its purpose through the air and his sanity. It rested against the far corner of the room, lying face down but still determined to wake its master, no matter what the consequences to itself. Ezra bend over and picked up the metal object, still ringing so loudly that Ezra was tempted to go the more satisfying way of flinging it out of the window instead of doing the intelligent thing by turning it off.

Window? What window?

It was at this point that Ezra came to the realization that he did not have a window in his room above the saloon and really looked at where he was. What he saw made him forget the alarm clock completely as he dropped it from his hand and let it ring without registering the sound. Ezra stared in absolute amazement at his new surroundings, which was by far not the place he had retired to last night. For starters the room was bigger, a lot bigger. With polished wooden floor and expensive rugs covering parts of it, he saw expensive draperies and what he was certain were authentic Edwardian pieces of furniture furnishing the place. The windows were of the French variety, offering a picturesque view of the garden beyond. It was well tended, with hedges trimmed into shapes of animals by a gardener who was at this moment, doing some fine pruning.

"Good morning Mr. Standish." The man waved to him as Ezra was standing by the window.

Ezra could manage nothing more than a confused wave in return as he continued his observations out of the man's view. The heat of the air told Ezra immediately where he was, or at least gave the gambler a general idea of where he might be. From the humidity of the air and the familiar heat that made the nightshirt he was wearing remain plastered to his back, he knew he was somewhere in the south, possibly New Orleans, perhaps even Charleston. Having come to this conclusion, the next logical step was trying to understand how this could even happen at all.

He knew that he had gone to bed in a saloon last night in Four Corners and other than one brief period of wakefulness where it was necessary to carry out some bodily functions, nothing unusual had taken place. However, it would appear that something was a miss because he was not only not anywhere in Four Corners, but he was dressed in a nightshirt where it was his habit to wear as little as possible to bed. As Ezra examined himself for any more surprises, he suddenly caught sight of a glint of gold on his left finger.

Upon closer examination, Ezra came to the frightening conclusion that the bauble on his finger, with its simple design and no stone setting of any kind, was a wedding ring. He had no idea what was worse, the fact that he had no idea how he had come to be here or the fact that the wearer of THE matching ring to the one he wore belonged to his wife. Maybe he was dreaming. Of course, Ezra nodded to himself, because that would explain everything wouldn't it? He had finally been driven delirious by the cheap whiskey he had become accustomed to drinking since taking up residence in Four Corners.

Suddenly, the door swung open and a woman walked into the room far enough to pause at the doorway and meet his gaze, with her hands on her hips. "Really Ezra," she huffed as she walked towards him.

"Annabelle?" Ezra found himself exclaiming, remembering the girl from his youth.

She had been quite the beauty with dark auburn curls and sapphire coloured eyes whom had apparently grown up to become a striking young woman. When he had been left at one of the many relatives that Maude could find who would take him, for a time he and Annabelle had been the closest of friends. As close any seven years old could be of course. Even though she looked a world away from that child, he could recognize the gentle beauty of that face anywhere.

"Yes dear," she said paying more attention to the clock ringing at his feet to his startled expression. Leaning down, she picked up the offending object and promptly turned it off, silencing it for at least twenty four hours. "Now Ezra, I know you're all giddy from winning your latest case but its just one case. You're still have to go to work today."

"Work?" Ezra stammered.

"I know you want to relax after the verdict yesterday, but you are expected." She said planting a firm kiss on his cheek. "Now, I'll lay your clothes out while you go downstairs, Olive has breakfast waiting for you." She continued her rambling as she walked to a cupboard and pulled it open, revealing a wardrobe of clothes that appeared to be his. "Incidentally, you are very busy at work today in case Elizabeth asks. She's still determined to spend the day at the office with you. I'm sure she'll get over it in a few days, she's just wants to see what her father does all day."

Father? He was a father?

Ezra tried to hide his shock but this was getting too much for him. He had no idea what was going on, what he was doing winning cases, he assumed that meant legal cases, which led him to the conclusion that Annabelle believed he was a lawyer and he apparently had a daughter named Elizabeth. He was still staring at her in a mixture of shock and disbelief at his whole situation when she huffed in annoyance at his still standing where he was, not making one move to follow any of her instructions.

"Ezra!" She grabbed an unfamiliar robe and pushed it into his hands. "Get going! You're going to be late!"

Ezra could find nothing to say to counter her statement before she was ushering him towards the door. The gambler could not shake his confounded state of mind even when he found himself outside the bedroom in the hall. Unconsciously, he slipped on the robe she had thrust into his hands, trying to decided what madness was responsible for any of this. This was J.D.'s fault, he thought to himself as he walked down the hall way of what appeared to be a rather expensive house. If J.D. had not started talking about secret dreams, Ezra would not having the dream he was at this moment Although, he supposed with a faint smile, it was as close to detail as what he used to imagine as a child, even to having Annabelle as his wife.

When he had been a child, inflicted upon the relatives Maude Standish had conned into taking him, Ezra had dreamed of one thing amidst their cruel jibes and long held beliefs that he would turn out just as nefarious as his mother. He had endured their dislike, knowing full well that he was tolerated simply because the freakish nature of things had allowed him to be their kin. They raised him out of familial obligation even though they were certain he would end up to be a grifter like his mother. Ezra remembered bearing their insults, vowing to himself that one day, he would show them all. For as long as he could remember, he wanted to be someone who had made good and was respected.

He supposed this qualified. A wife, a child, a home that looked quite impressive and career as a lawyer, which was in a roundabout way as close to a honest profession as he could get. Ezra wandered down the halls, moving through this home that was supposed to be his, unable to deny that he had impeccable taste if it was indeed it was his pace of residence. It was the kind of abode he always dreamed of having, perfection in every domestic aspect of it, from the paintings on the wall to the sunny disposition of the rooms he passed.

Making his way down the stairs, Ezra admired the marble finish of the floor he was descending and even more aware of the voices that were emanating from the rooms below. It was almost with caution that he stepped onto the main floor of the house, letting his gaze sweep across the front hall and the adjoining parlour. As he continued his journey to the dining room, he paused at a table with a number of silver framed pictures on it. It was almost with fascination that he saw himself within those pictures, looking nothing like himself, gambler, scoundrel or con man. Instead, the man Annabelle knew as her husband was surprisingly conservative, resembling the very picture of respectability.

The picture revealed Mr. and Mrs. Ezra Standish on their wedding day. Annabelle seemed ethereal in her wedding gown while the Ezra in the picture seemed similarly happy.

"Papa!" A little girl with dark blond hair bounded out of the adjoining room and ran straight into him, wrapping her arms around him.

The only thing Ezra could say was a muted hello.

If the child noticed his discomfiture, she did not make mention of it. Instead, she launched into a lengthy diatribe regarding what she wanted to do today, that someone named Davey had thrown up all over himself and when could she come with him to work because she could help him in the office. Ezra hardly heard a word she said because he was too busy trying to keep himself from hyperventilating at the idea that he had a child and one who had the same hair as Maude and stared at him in total adoration with his own eyes. Looking at her though, Ezra knew without a doubt that she was his because there was almost nothing of Annabelle in her face and everything of him.

"Olive's made you breakfast papa!" She exclaimed, taking his hand and towing towards the dining room. Ezra was too fascinated by the child to stop her from puling him along as they made progress to the next room.

The dining room was like the rest of the house, a picture perfect depiction of what his dream home would be like. Inviting aromas of toast and hot coffee filtered through the air as Elizabeth tugged him to the head of the table.

"Good morning Mr. Standish." Olive, a portly Creole greeted as she continued to feed the baby in its high chair next to the table. The child had some purplish substance smeared over much of his face and gurgled in amusement each time Olive tried unsuccessfully to induce him to eat. "He's a little testy today." She frowned at the child. "He just doesn't like his fruit."

"Who does?" Ezra mused as he sat down, wishing the coffee in front of him was anything but that. At the moment, the only thing that would soothe the gambler's frantic state of mind was a stiff drink. The respectable lawyer and family man Ezra Standish probably did not engage in such behaviour so the gambler that he was would just have to tolerate the steaming cup of coffee laid before him.

Elizabeth took her place next to him while the child, no his son, Ezra reminded himself and had to pause at the notion. He leaned closer and looked at the happy face smiling at Olive's attempts to feed it.

Despite himself, even Ezra's jaded self was somewhat touched by the simplistic joy in the child's face as his blue eyes twinkled with familiarity Ezra knew so well. His son looked very much like Maude and Ezra felt a sudden surge of interest in wanting to know where his mother was placed in this supposedly idyllic and impossible reality he had stumbled into. Ezra was still unprepared to believe that this was anything more than just the dream it had to be, just as he had yet to decide whether or not it was a good or a bad one.

If this was not a dream, despite every instinct that told him that at this moment, he was not in any dreamscape but a world as real and tangible as any he had walked through, was he meant to stay in this life? He could not even imagine himself being father to these children, even though the smile that Elizabeth flashed him whenever she looked up long enough from her breakfast was very inviting. Through all this, Ezra had not even thought of Julia and he felt guilty of that since any future that even remotely resembled this would have to involve her. Where was she while he was living this perfect existence?

The truth was, even if he wanted to find her, Ezra knew that he would have a difficult time of it. Julia had come to Four Corners under false pretenses, the reason for which he could not prise from her no matter how close they were. He understood that there would always be a part of her that he could not breach, a secret place where she kept things that were too private even for him to know.

He knew that her name was not Pemberton and she did not come from Pennsylvania. All he knew was that she had fled wherever she did come from and would not wish to be found, if she even knew who he was.

Somehow, Ezra had to find her.

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

Where Julia Pemberton happened to be at this moment, could quite literally be described as a personal hell.

It was somewhat ironic when one thought of how she had wished for this for so long. However, thinking something and actually have it in possession were two different things altogether and at this moment, that point had never been driven home more acutely. How she had come to be here, Julia had no idea but the fact of it was, she was here and no matter how many times she may remind herself that this was a terrible nightmare, sent to torment her for past sins, she knew that it was tragically real.

Julia was at a funeral.

She was dressed in black, in clothes she did not recognize, sitting on the front row of seat in the cemetery near the church she had visited so many times in her youth, bored out of her mind while some sermonizing moron told the congregation how they ought to live. She sat there alone, well not exactly alone even though she might as well be, surrounded by relatives who had no more feeling for her than she had for them. At first, she had merely gaped at them, wondering how she had come to be in her present circumstances and after finally deducing that this was no dream and that she was where she was, remembered why she disliked them so.

All stared at her with open resentment, dislike oozing out of every orifice in their body as if it were something that could be seen, like a mist drifting through the air. Clad in black, they seemed as if they were sitting in judgement of her but in truth, Julia knew now and always did that they craved everything that she was. The rest of the chairs were taken up by people she also knew from her past in Philadelphia, all of which from the select circle of highborn elite that dominate the society pages. She was born into their ilk even though from the moment she had learnt to tell the difference, Julia had abhorred everything that they were.

The minister droned his words, also the pastor whom had been present for her christening, so she was told, speaking in depth of a man none of them knew better than Julia herself. She had thought that after the circumstances that had forced her to flee her home in the dead of night, his power to touch her heart would have little or no effect. However, knowing that he was dead and gone, had coaxed a well of sorrow to spring forth from nowhere to grip her soul with unbelievable anguish. Sitting here by herself, Julia wanted to weep but she was too proud to let any of her family see that she was in pain. Julia had never been able to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry, not even when she was a child and was suffering from a skinned knee.

More than anything, she wished Ezra was here because only Ezra could offer her the solace that she needed to feel something close to feeling better. She knew she was sure as hell not going to get any sympathy from the cretins who had despised her all her life. Julia knew that much of their hostility came from her father's attention to her. She had been the only child of a woman he had never stopped loving until the day he died. When she was old enough to tell the difference, Julia had wondered whether that was the only reason that her father had loved her so much, because she was a reminder. It was half the reason why she had been driven to find love and devotion from men who wanted her for herself, not because she was the living memory of someone else.

In her wanton affection with her numerous lovers, they had all craved her flesh but at least it was her flesh they wanted, not her mother's. Her relatives, be they uncles and aunts or cousins, had despised her for her freedom, knowing that with a slight pout of her lips or a whispered promise, she could charm any man that came into her sights. The ones she actively set out to acquire, never had a chance of resistance. Her father had probably heard the stories but he had never spoken a word to her about it. He had loved her unconditionally, probably ignoring everything that was ever said because she was his Julia.

Despite herself, Julia felt the tears that had been content to glisten in her eyes rolled down her cheek as the pastor ended his sermon and the mourners began filing towards the coffin, preparing to make their final farewell to the person lying within its polished wood confines. Julia ignored the family, seeing no wish to join them. She would make her own good byes to her father as she grappled with why she was forced to endure this dream, even though it had every substance of being something that was mired in reality not the imagination of her night's slumber. Of course, if this was real then Julia had to admit to being unsurprised by the fact that her father might have passed on following her abrupt departure from his life.

She had been so angry when she had chosen to leave home. All her life she had wanted to determine her own fate and when he had arranged the marriage that would see her the wife of Roderick Packard, it was more than she could stand. She felt betrayed that he could do such a thing to her, marry her off to someone she could barely stomach, let alone conceive of marrying, to play breeding cow in his golden stable. How could papa not see why she had hated it so much?

Because she never told him.

Following her arrival in Four Corners, much of Julia's life had changed. She had been given freedom on a scale that was totally alien to her. Not only was she free to determine her own fate, she had been allowed the chance to be the person she always wanted to be, without having to worry about what convention dictated.

Julia had learnt a whole new way of existing that did not require her to be beautiful or to seduce men to get what she wanted. She had met a man who knew more about the con than she ever would and saw right through her and hardly care that she was scheming wanton with an ego the size of the Grand Canyon, which more or less matched his own. Julia loved Ezra and she did know where he was in this reality, but she had to find him.

Julia remained where she was seated, until the service was over and the mourners had departed, making their way back to the house where no doubt a wake was being held for the passing of her father. Only then, did she rise from her seat and walk slowly towards the coffin, surrounded by flowers and wreaths. Julia could not see inside the coffin and it was just as well, she did not think she could stand seeing Donald Avery dead. Although her anger at him had not withered away, she still loved him and she missed him. There were many times when she was in Four Corners, that Julia had contemplated writing him a note to tell her that she was safe at least, because she knew that silence would be more painful to him than knowing that she no longer wanted anything to do with him.

She paused in front of the wooden coffin of polished wood and wiped the tears from her eyes, before she ran her fingers along its smooth surface as if this was as good as she could get to touching him herself. The wood was cold as it was winter in Philadelphia and the snow was not far from falling down on this cemetery with its pristine lawns and well tended grave stones.

"I'm sorry papa," Julia found herself saying because she should have told him this before she had left or before he had died. In either case, she was doing it now. "I should have told you about how I really felt. I should have told you that I didn't want to marry him. Maybe we could have worked something out instead of me running away like some spoilt child."

She paused, feeling another wave of emotion choking the voice out of her throat for a moment. "I was angry and I was foolish and you know me, I run when I should think. I said I hated you papa, I don't. I never did. I just hate what you did." She whispered.

"Miss Avery." A voice called out behind her.

Julia jumped with surprise as the sudden eruption of sound startled her to no end. Turning around, she found herself facing the man that had caused all this trouble. Roderick Packard was standing before him in all his coarse glory, trying to look sympathetic when all she could see was his blatant lust for her.

It made her skin crawl.

"Roderick Packard." Julia whispered.

"You have heard of me," he smiled, pulling his lips back in a smile. "I knew your father."

"I know." Julia responded, wondering how much worse this nightmare was going to get. Was it not bad enough that she was forced to witness her father's demise. Did she have to endure this too?

"With your father's passing, you seem to have come into a great deal of money," Packard continued, unaware that everything he said made her wanted to run for her life because she absolutely despised him near her. "Before his demise, he spoke to me at length about how you might manage it, if he should become ill."

"I see." Julia replied, wondering where this was going.

"You are aware that you have inherited his entire estate, do you not?"

Julia blinked. She knew that he had a great deal of money and that it should be rightfully hers, instead of falling under the control of the man she would marry. Julia had never concerned herself with how much that actually was. "I know papa was wealthy and that he left me a trust." She lied because she had no wish to discuss such things with Packard.

"Madam," Packard said with genuine surprise. "Your father was a little more than wealthy, he has died leaving you in excess 2 million dollars."

TO BE CONTINUED