Title:
Going Home Again
Author:
Tipper
Disclaimer:
The characters and Four Corners aren't mine, though I suppose the modern
version of them are. MGM, Mirisch and
Trilogy are the brilliant ones. I'm
just trailing on the coat tails.
Length: Number of pages is 46 in Times New Roman
11, normal margins.
AU: Yeah, here's the trick. If you know my color schemes, you may sort of have guessed
already, but this is both OW (usually green) and my modern day NYC AU (usually purple). For those who don't know, in the NYC AU, all
you need to know here is that Ezra's a lawyer, Chris is a detective and Vin is
an apprentice detective. Otherwise, in the OW, they are who they are.
Notes: In answer to a challenge from Michelle on
the M7 challenge site. In essence, the
theme has to be supernatural and there has to be some otherworldly figure
involved. This story totally, totally,
totally got away from me. I'm just hoping it makes sense.
Description: When Chris sees a silver VW rolls into Four
Corners in 1876, you know something is very wrong. Involves Chris, Vin and Ezra.
Parts: One ... Two ... Three ... Four ... Five
____________________________
_________________________________
1876
It
was the sickening feeling in the bottom of your stomach; the shiver that runs
down your spine, the raising of the hairs on the back of your neck; the pure,
unadulterated, absolute certainty that something....
Something is very wrong.
For a man like Chris, such feelings were very rare.
He preferred to believe in what was real; what was right in front of his
face. It wasn't a choice that he made; this was just who he was.
He'd never had those odd moments when he felt something was wrong. There
was no tingling when Sarah and Adam were killed; no awareness when his father
had died or his mother passed; no forewarning when one of his men were hurt....He
was simply told and he had to deal with it.
Or
at least get blinding drunk.
And, truth be told, when he did get that sensation of something going wrong, it
was usually related to a prematurely moldy vegetable.
Grimacing, he rubbed the hairs down on the back of his neck and stood up,
looking vaguely around at the empty jail then back down at the paper he'd been
reading. His morning coffee still steamed, only a few sips taken from the
mug, and the headline he'd been reading - about events occurring hundreds of
miles away in the nation's capital - were hardly surprising or even that
interesting.
Laughter ran past the jail house, and the gunslinger looked outside. Picking up
the coffee, he took a few steps to reach the open door and leaned against the
frame, watching as Billy Travis, the two Greene boys and young David Potter
chased each other up the boardwalk. He gave a half smile and looked past
them to the rest of the town.
Everything looked ordinary.
He spotted JD and Josiah by the church, clearing away some more of the rotted
wood along the base near the back. He saw Mrs. Potter talking with a very
pregnant Sarah Weathers outside the mercantile, both women taking a break from
the store. Mr. Bucklin was painting a new sign to proclaim his grocery a
little further along, and Yosemite was banging away at something outside the
livery. He also spotted Ezra sitting in front of the saloon, feet up on
the post, reading something.
All perfectly ordinary.
Then he heard it.
The rattle of a stage rolling in.
Normally, this was not something that he would react to, but just then the
buzzing along his shoulder blades became more fierce. Grimacing, he
turned to look...
And dropped the coffee mug to the floor.
The stagecoach wasn't a stagecoach.
Chris felt his jaw drop as the bizarre contraption pulled up outside the
jail. It was made entirely of metal, painted a rather bright shade of
silver, and seemed to be moving entirely of its own volition. There were
no horses pulling it, and the wheels were made entirely of rubber - very fat
pieces of rubber. Without even considering what such things must have
cost to purchase, he took in the darkened glass...windows...that kept the
people
inside, his mind imaging that it must get very hot inside the metal and glass
interior. The only insignia the machine had was what looked liked two
letters on the front, atop a grill - VW. Was that the owner's name?
Whatever it was, it died upon coming to a stop. He vaguely wondered if it
was like a steam engine, but he couldn't figure out how so small a thing could
function like a train, especially considering the heat those engines
produced. Frowning, he stepped back into the shadows of the jail as the
doors opened.
And, had he been holding the cup still, he would have dropped it a second time.
_________________________________
2002
"Well,
this is the place," Ezra said, turning off the engine and looking over at
Chris in the passenger seat. "Not much to look at. Just another
small town in the middle of nowhere."
"Hmm," Chris shook his head and opened the door, grimacing at the hot
air outside invaded the air conditioned interior. "How many towns does
this make?"
"This is the sixth small town we've checked out today. It's called
Northfork. Not much more than a couple of gas stations, houses and some
farms...just like the last town."
"How many residents?" Vin yawned from the back seat, stretching and
blinking a few times. He'd been napping, the unfortunate consequence of
which was a serious crick in the neck.
"The sign said 1670," Ezra noted. Sighing, he opened his own
door and looked around. Most of the buildings looked to be about circa
1940, probably built in and around the war. The building they had stopped
in front of was the sheriff's office, and across the way was the town
hall. A lot of brick and concrete.
Vin got out behind him, slamming the rented Jetta's door and rubbing at the
back of his neck. Something about this town was bothering him, but he
couldn't figure out what.
"Well, time to meet another clerk," Vin said, walking over to the
town hall. Chris and Ezra sighed and followed, neither paying much attention to
their surroundings.
__________________________________
1876
The
gambler leaned back on the chair in front of the saloon, feet propped up on the
post, rocking himself slowly back and
forth on the chair’s back legs, and turned the page to the next chapter.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw spotted Vin walking towards him, and he
looked up to say hello.
And completely fell out of his chair.
Staggering
to his feet, he leaned against the saloon wall and watched dumfounded as three
apparitions looking an awful lot like Chris, Vin and...himself...walked
straight through the batwing doors into the saloon without stopping.
Roughly, he rubbed at his eyes and face, and when he looked up again, there was
no one there. That's when he saw the...thing, across the street.
"Nice fall there hoss," Buck laughed, coming up behind him and
clapping him on the shoulder, making the gambler jump. "Someone
should teach you how to lean back in a chair without falling backwards
sometimes."
Ezra glanced at the ladies man, who was still grinning as he picked Ezra's
chair up for him. After putting it back in place, he wiped his hands
together and smiled at the gambler.
"Buck...can you answer something for me?"
"Sure," he replied as the slightest evidence of concern for Ezra's
odd expression crossed his face.
"Can...can you see something in front of the jail?"
Buck looked over, taking in the plain clapboard building and the open
door. He saw Chris' silhouette inside,
watching them curiously from the shadows inside.
"Other than Chris, you mean?"
"Chris?" Ezra looked more carefully at the jail beyond, and saw that,
indeed, their leader was leaning against the doorframe. He hadn't seen
him before. Then he shook his head, looking at the silver thing
again. "No, I didn't mean Chris. Don't...don't worry about it,
Buck."
"Hope you didn't hit that head of yours in that fall, boy," Buck
laughed, patting Ezra on the sleeve and walking into the saloon. Ezra
gave a crooked smile and rested a hand on his nape. As far as he could
tell he hadn't hit his head...though that might have been a nice way of
explaining this away.
"I see it," a voice said softly behind him. Ezra gave a small
jump and turned to find Vin walking down the boardwalk to join him. The
tracker had a strange expression on his face.
"You see...what exactly?" Ezra prompted, hoping for
confirmation. Vin stared at him, then back at the thing.
"No idea. But it is painted silver and is covered in red road
dust. Wheels suggest it's a wagon or carriage of some kind."
He shrugged. Ezra sighed in relief, and nodded.
"Look," Vin said, arching an eyebrow.
Ezra looked back, and felt the urge to shout as Billy and the other children
ran headlong into the object...and passed right through it.
"Oh, wow," the gambler couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Chris sees it too."
"What?" Ezra saw Chris heading towards them from the jail,
"How can you tell?"
"He stepped around it."
Ezra gave a small smile and straightened up as Chris approached.
"You see them too?" the leader asked quietly, indicating the saloon
with his head. Ezra nodded. Vin frowned.
"See who?"
"He came late," Ezra explained to Chris. "He didn't see
them get out of the...wagon."
Chris nodded, then pushed his way through the batwing doors into the
saloon. Ezra and Vin followed, the
tracker's eyes widening as he saw the three apparitions leaning against the
bar.
___________________________
2002
"You're
looking for who?" The clerk sniffed and arched an eyebrow at the
three tired looking men leaning on her counter. She was a tall black woman, attractive, with large dark eyes.
"We're trying to find the family of a Miss Anita Kramer," Chris said.
"Unfortunately, we have reason to believe that she made the name Kramer up
to hide her real background from our client. Miss Kramer has disappeared, but if we can find her family, we
might be able to track her down and find out why she ran the night our client
was arrested."
"She
is potentially a material witness in a murder investigation, ma'am," Vin
added. "And, the fact is, we think
she may be in danger from whoever did do the killing."
The clerk arched a suspicious eyebrow.
"Look, if the other side finds her first, she's going to be in serious
trouble," Vin pressed. "They have the same clues we do, and
it's just a matter of time before they think to come looking for her here, as
we have."
The clerk frowned and looked again at their identifications. Then she
sighed.
"For some reason, I trust you boys. Don't know why, but I do."
"Thank
you," Ezra said, smiling. She
smiled back, finding his a hard one to ignore.
"Well,"
she said, "what do you know about this Anita Kramer and her family?"
"Well, we know that she came from around here somewhere based on some
things she told our client. We also know that Anita is definitely her
first name," Chris said, "and that she was named after her great
grandmother, another Anita."
"Great grandmother?" the clerk gave a bemused smile.
"We have a locket of hers," Vin said, reaching into his pocket for a
piece of paper. "Inside was a
photograph of a very pretty young woman dated 1892," he passed a photocopy
of the faded photograph across to the clerk.
"She's black," the clerk noted. Chris nodded.
"Yes, which we thought might help you narrow down the population. I
don't imagine there are too many black families living in these parts."
In response to that statement, the clerk just shrugged. "Actually, there
was a Seminole village established near here once a long time ago. We
have quite a few families living here descendant from those folk."
"The picture also had initials written on the back," Vin said,
bringing the woman's attention back to the photograph. "AW - FC
1879."
"AW...," the clerk looked at the picture, trying to recognize the
features. Then she shook her
head. "I can't think of any families around here who have last names
beginning with W, gentlemen."
"What about FC?" Ezra asked. "Might there be someone
around here with C as a last name?"
The clerk shrugged, "Sure, the Carters and the Chambers."
"Well, that's something," Ezra grinned. "We think Anita W
married FC, changing her name."
"Could we have their addresses, ma'am?" Vin asked.
The clerk was still frowning, "Sure, but, I'll tell you something, I think
you've got this wrong. The Carters are old and childless, and the
Chambers have only been here since the fifties."
Ezra's face fell.
"Looks like we're moving on to the next town," Chris muttered.
"No, wait," the clerk smiled. "What I meant when I said
you had it wrong was your assumption that FC was a person."
They looked at each other, then back at the clerk.
"This town is named Northfork now, but that's only been since about
1920. Before then, it was called Four
Corners. 'FC 1892' probably refers to Four Corners 1892."
Vin gave a tiny smile and looked at Ezra, who was looking at the picture again.
"But there is still no black family with the last name of W," Chris
said. "You told us that
already."
"True, but that doesn't mean there wasn't. As you said, she could
have married someone to change her name, or her daughter could have married, or
her daughter...." She shrugged.
"You wouldn't happen to have records going back that far, would you?"
Ezra asked. The clerk pursed her lips, and shook her head.
"No, not exactly. But we have something better. Hold
on." She disappeared into the back room, leaving the three men in
front.
"Four Corners," Vin said, testing the name on his tongue.
"You think this might be it?" Ezra asked.
"Even if it is, the family might not have stayed in this town. This
could be another hopeless lead. Just like visiting that family, the
Callahans, back in Eagle Bend."
"Eagleton," Ezra corrected.
"Really?" Chris said, then he frowned. "What did I
say."
"Eagle Bend."
"Huh," the detective frowned, walking over to look at an old town map
hanging on the wall. Looking closely, he noted that it did in fact say
"Four Corners 1875" in the corner beneath the cartographer's
signature. Looking more carefully, he
suddenly gave a small laugh.
"What?" Vin walked over, leaving Ezra to wait at the counter.
"Look at the name of the saloon."
Vin leaned in, squinting to make out the name, then laughed as well. Then
he looked at Ezra.
"Maybe you have ancestors here as well, Ezra. The saloon here is
marked 'the Standish Tavern.'"
Ezra smiled and walked over to join them in order to see for himself. Chris, meanwhile, was taking a look at a
more recent map, comparing the two.
"Looks like most of the buildings are gone," Chris noted.
"Except the church. I think it's the same one."
"Must have been built well," Ezra noted absently.
"Or rebuilt well," Vin said.
"Well, if they were in service back then, they should have wedding and
funeral rolls," Chris said. "Why don't you go check it out
Vin."
"Me? Why not you?"
"Because I'm your boss," the detective replied simply. Vin
grimaced.
"Nice answer," the apprentice muttered as he walked to the
door. "If I get converted or baptized, I'm blaming you
Larabee," he called as the door shut behind him.
_____________________________________
1876
"Are
they ghosts, do you think?" the tracker asked, leaning forward on the
table.
Ezra shook his head, "Ghosts of us? Dressed like that?"
"Sure, why not," Vin shook his head. "I don't look much
different."
"Well I do. There's no color in that outfit - its all browns and whites
and blues. And, I'm sorry, but I can't imagine ever wearing... waist overalls.
Levi's no less. Not unless I were being punished for something," the
gambler replied. "And what is that
brown coat – leather?"
"I
think leather suits you," Vin replied, smiling.
"A
leather coat – clearly, whatever my future profession is, is doesn't pay
well. How the mighty have fallen."
He gave a short laugh, a tinge of the hysterical at the edge of it. It
was the only outward sign of just how much this was disturbing him, though he
was trying to keep the tone light.
Vin, though he smiled at Ezra's words, was equally bothered, hiding it by
putting all of his energy into trying to understand who the ghostly apparitions
were and what they wanted.
Chris simply sat back in his chair with a black expression and watched
them. The more he watched, the darker
the expression got, his upper lip twitching in anger and his eyes
smoldering. Ezra spotted the highly tensed jaw out of the corner of his
eye and edged a little closer to Vin.
"Wish I knew what they were saying," the gambler whispered after a
moment, looking at Vin. The tracker glanced back at him then returned to
watching the three men speaking to someone invisible behind the bar.
"Something about a woman being in a lot of trouble, and looking for her
great grandmother."
"You can hear them?" Ezra asked, surprised. Vin nodded, then
shrugged.
"Who's great grandmother?" Chris asked quietly, his tone bordering on
barely contained rage.
"Someone named Anita Kramer," Vin replied, glancing at the gunslinger
with a slightly worried gaze. "Sounds like they need her for some sort of
trial."
"A great grandmother!" Ezra laughed. "Hell, there wouldn't have
been anyone living out here that long ago."
"No, not then," Vin frowned, returning his gaze to the apparitions,
"Now."
Chris glanced at Vin. "What?" he hissed.
"The great grandmother...they have a picture of her...dated 1892."
"Six...sixteen years from now?" Ezra's voice actually squeaked a
little.
Vin nodded.
"Vin, are you implying that, what we are looking at, are men who are
existing at some time in the future?" The gambler's brow furrowed in
confusion. "But...but they are...aren't they us?"
Vin shook his head. "I'm just guessing, here, Ezra, based on what they're
saying. But this much I can tell you -- they're not us, Ezra. At
least not us now. I think...I think they may be people who look like us
sometime a long time from now. Maybe a hundred years or so."
"People who look like us?" Ezra shook his head, "But that
is insane. Even if it is possible to have doppelgangers in the future,
descendants perhaps, those three men are all three of us. Together. How is that
possible?"
Vin shrugged, "Maybe all our kids grow up together?"
Ezra stared at him, not hiding his disbelief. Vin rolled his eyes.
"Ezra, I don't know! But they're here, right? We can all see
them. We're seeing through time, Ezra! That folks who look like us
happen to be friends in the future don't seem so impossible in
comparison."
Ezra's eyes squinted imperceptibly as he listened to Vin, and, after a moment,
he shrugged.
"They're moving," Chris said quietly. Ezra refocused his
attention and sat up straighter, watching as the one who looked like Chris
walked to look at something in the air near where they sat. A few minutes
later, the one who looked like Vin joined him. Ezra frowned as he tried to
discern what was so interesting about the space they were looking at, then he
brightened. He looked at Vin, "Are they talking about my saloon?"
Vin nodded, and gave his own smile.
"And now the church," Chris agreed. "I can hear them now too.
Almost as if they're becoming clearer."
"They're also less ghostlike," Ezra noted. "More
substantial." It was true, almost as if, they longer these
apparitions stood in the saloon, the more real they were becoming.
"But why are they here?" Chris demanded angrily. "Oh, to hell
with this! I don't care!" Abruptly, he stood and, glaring at
the ghosts, he turned heel and left the saloon. Vin and Ezra watched him leave
with slightly stunned expressions.
"What was that about?" Ezra asked finally, looking at the tracker.
Vin shrugged, "Don't want to believe they're here, maybe?"
Ezra's eyes narrowed, "Are you implying that our unshakable Mr. Larabee
might actually have met with something that he was afraid of?"
Vin just arched an eyebrow, "Maybe." Then he looked around,
"Hey, hold on...where did the one that looks like me go?"
___________________________________________
The
wind blew through the frontier town with window-rattling strength, and most of
the Four Corners folk were now keeping their heads down. A storm seemed to be brewing out of nowhere,
though what kind of storm it would be was anyone’s guess. The sun still shone, though clouds were
moving across the sky with alarming speed, and who knew what the wind would
eventually bring.
Chris
strode rapidly away from the saloon, heading rather mindlessly towards the
church at the end of town, part of him simply wanting to get as far away from
the saloon as possible. As he
walked, the wind buffeted and blew at his long black duster, giving him almost
black wings. After a while, his steps
slowed and he came to a stop, staring at the dirt on the ground. He still
felt the wrongness of what was happening in the pit of his stomach, and it was
beginning to make him feel ill.
"Man, this town is quieter than a ghost town," Vin's voice said from
behind him.
Chris snorted, and was about to reply to what he thought was a joke when he
realized that the Vin that had spoken was not...Vin.
The Vin...from the future?...walked past him without seeing him, also headed
for the church. He seemed to be looking around as he slowly moved,
showing some of the same alertness that singled out the real Vin.
For
some reason, Chris found himself following the apparition, watching as the man
walked around objects Chris couldn't see, then came to a stop at the steps of
Josiah's church. As the gunslinger got
closer, he saw the apprentice detective walk gingerly up the stone steps and
lean over the stone banister to peer at the wall.
"Four Corners 1876. This plaque signifies the final resting place of
three men who fought and died for this town, and for whom this completed church
is dedicated. In loving memory, never to be forgotten...." The
man who looked like Vin leaned a little more and reached out with his hand to
brush at the wall, then he grunted. "Not to be forgotten, eh?"
he muttered, leaning back. "And the names have all be worn
off. Sad." He looked up at the church. "No use
puttin’ off the inevitable," he groaned. Pushing at the doors, he
made his way inside the church.
Chris stared at the blank wall where the future Vin had touched, his brow
furrowed. Three men who fought and died for this town...1876....
That was this year.
The tightness in his chest grew. Shaking off the sensation, he bounded up
the steps to the doors and pushed them open, determined now to get answers from
this ghost....
He would figure this out, damn it!
Shoving
open the church doors with a dark ferocity, Chris's angry frown turned to
surprise when he realized that the future Vin had spun around at the sound and
was now staring directly at him.
___________________________________________
___________________________________________
2002
"Place was pretty big, for a frontier town," the lawyer noted, still
looking at the map while Chris went back to the counter to wait for the
clerk. "Three livery stables, couple of boarding houses, blacksmith,
hardware store, grocer, mercantile, barber..." he tilted his head,
"And a newspaper."
"The Clarion," the clerk said, returning from the back room with a
box. "Still called that, though its merely a local rag now. It
used to have a wider circulation back in the last century, and the editor was
pretty influential, by all accounts.
She was a woman, too."
"Well, that is unusual," Ezra said, returning to the desk.
"Must have been quite a woman."
"Yes. After she died, her son took over the paper for a while.
Then, when he moved on, no one ran it for a long time. Last twenty years
or so, though, a new family moved in and started it up again. Does pretty
well, by all accounts." She took out a box cutter and cut through
the tape sealing the box.
"Those aren't records?"
"No, they're journals," the clerk said. "You're in luck,
as we just got them back from the Library of Congress. They scanned them
and put them online. They also restored them somewhat, but you still need
to be very careful with them."
"Journals," Chris peeked into the box and frowned at seeing about
twenty or so leather bound notebooks.
"A former slave who acted as healer for this town for well on forty years
wrote them. Sadly, he died childless, but he left his legacy by writing
these books. They're really amazing, though somewhat fantastic. You should
probably read them with a grain of salt." She pulled out the one on
top and gently opened it up.
"The first is dated...well, look at that," she gave a small
laugh. "May 7, 1876. That's, what...?"
"A week from today, 125 years ago," Ezra replied, smiling. He
took the book from her, and read the cover page. His eyebrows arched as
he took in the healer's name.
"Shame your Dr. Jackson isn't here," he said, looking at Chris.
The detective was
leaning on the counter, watching. "Look at the name of the
diarist."
"Nathan Jackson," Chris shrugged. "Common enough name."
Ezra sighed, "You are far too much of a realist sometimes, Mr.
Larabee."
"Yep."
"They run from 1876 to around 1916 or so,” the clerk continued. “Mr.
Jackson was probably in his seventies when he finally passed on.
Unfortunately, these are the closest things we have to records of the town
other that the old issues of the Clarion we have in the back. Real town
records didn't start up until 1920, when the town changed its name and became
'official.'" She tapped the first journal, "But, I reckon this
is all you'll need to find your AW. Mr. Jackson's journals are a real
history of this town. If there was an AW here, she'll be in there."
Ezra grinned and thanked her, taking the book and placing it back in the box.
"Is there somewhere we can read these?" he asked. The clerk
nodded and pointed to a side room. Thanking her, Ezra went to pick up the
box.
"Um, actually, I think maybe I'll go and do some reconnaissance,
Ezra," Chris said, standing. "If this is the right town, I
might just spot our girl out there wandering around."
"Chris...."
"Words are for lawyers, Ez. You have fun now."
Ezra snarled as the detective walked out of the clerk's office, then turned and
thanked the clerk again. She nodded.
"More interesting than working on the tax rolls," she said as he
lifted the box up off the counter and headed to the side room. "And
good luck," she called after him as he disappeared around the corner.
____________________________________________
1876
Ezra
stood up as Chris’s ghost walked past his table towards the outside.
"Go
ahead," the tracker said to him, "I'll stick with you."
The
gambler looked back at him, his eyes unreadable, then he nodded his
thanks. Truth be told, he really didn’t
want to watch "himself" anymore.
Ghosts, or whatever they were, were bad enough, but ghosts of
yourself? An unnatural chill touched
Ezra's bones at the thought, and he turned to follow the future Chris.
_____________________________________________
2002
Vin
jumped a mile as the church doors banged open behind him, turning to stare at
the empty town beyond them. Shaking his head, he gave a small laugh.
"Just the wind, Tanner," he said to himself, walking back to the
doors and closing them. "Man, I'm acting more nervous than cat in a
room full of rocking chairs." He laughed again and walked back down
the flagstone lining the aisle towards the alter at the other end, "Not to
mention that I'm talking to myself. Never a good sign."
He stopped again and turned around. For a moment, he thought he heard
Chris's voice say something about it being a good thing he was talking to
himself.
He looked again around the simple rustic church hall, frowning. With a
sigh, he continued his walk to the alter.
"Hello!" he called, looking towards the door he could see to a side
room, "Anyone here? Preacher?"
He reached the alter and walked past it. An old lectern stood off to one
side, the ancient wood polished to a dark shine. He touched it lightly as
he passed, and another shiver went up his spine. Stopping, he walked back
to the lectern and stepped up onto the dais to look behind it.
The inside was hollow, as expected, and contained shelving. A large bible
sat on one shelf, and, on the one below that, sat a ledger. Fighting his
curiosity, he ignored both volumes and tried to see why else the lectern had
given him the shivers. When no answers were forthcoming, he sighed and
stepped back down on the ground, and then to the door to the side room he could
see.
He knocked a few times, then tried the handle. It wasn't locked.
"Hello?" he called, leaning into the side room. "Father?
Reverend? Preacher?" He grinned, "Non-denominational male or
female religious icon?"
Still no one answered, and he sighed, walking the rest of the way into the
room. Actually, it was more of a wide corridor, and he could see another
doorway at the far end that probably led to the small room he noticed attached
to the back of the church. He was about to go and knock on that one when
he heard footsteps behind him in the church.
Walking back into the main room, he stopped. Chris was standing in front
of the alter, looking up through the red stained glass window. The sun
was pouring through it, coloring the man's face red and yellow.
"Chris?" Then he grinned, "Nice outfit cowboy! When
did you get time to change into that get-up?"
______________________________________________
2002
The
town seemed to shimmer at the edge of the detective's vision as he walked
outside, the heat playing tricks with the light. Chris grimaced slightly as he stood looking at the quiet town,
and he wondered vaguely where everyone was.
It was a Saturday, so folks should be home, but no one walked down this
main street; no one checked the stores.
Like
a ghost town.
Had
he known Vin had said the same thing not five minutes before, he would have
smiled.
Shrugging
slightly, he walked back to where they had parked the VW and peeked
inside. He frowned when he realized
that the glove compartment was still in the locked position – it meant Ezra had
left his gun in the car. Lawyer rarely
thought ahead, Chris thought snidely, fat lot of good it would do him
there. Turning, he considered going
back into the town hall to get the keys from the man, but, as the sun warmed
his skin, he changed his mind. He didn't
want to go inside again just yet.
Instead,
he started walking farther from the hall, in the opposite direction of the
church. There were more houses in this
direction. Maybe he'd get lucky.
______________________
1876
Ezra
watched as the "future" Chris looked inside the silver carriage and
then frowned. He wondered what the
apparition was looking at. Casually
walking across the dirt street, one hand vaguely holding onto his hat as the
wind grew in intensity around him, he stood next to Chris and looked inside.
His
lips parted slightly at the comfortable looking chairs, the wheel and all the
other strange looking mechanical items.
His head tilted a little as he realized there was also a colorful piece
of paper on the front seat with writing and lines on it...a map.
His
heart beating a little faster, he wished he could reach in and pick it up, and
his fingers even reached forward. What
did the world look like 100 years form now?
Were the towns the same? Was this still a territory? Was it a state? Did the United States even still exist?
He
stopped when he felt the glass of the window under his fingertips, and a tiny
gasp came from his mouth. Eyes wide
with wonder, he pressed his hand against the glass window, fingers splaying
across the smooth, warm surface.
Unable
to resist, he reached down and grabbed the door handle, pressing down on the
catch.
And
jumped a mile as the most horrible raucous whining nearly split his head
open. He fell backwards, eyes wide, as
the silver carriage beeped, honked and squealed, and his hat rolled away in the
dirt. His limbs were still shaking as
he somehow got back to his feet, vaguely wondering what the people walking
around the town must be thinking.
He
frowned as he realized that no one seemed to have noticed. Mrs. Travis was barely three feet away, her
hands holding fiercely on to a basket filled with fruits and vegetables she'd
just picked up from Bucklin's, and she walked right past him without even
seeing him. Her head was down, turned
away from the growing wind, but she couldn’t have missed his peculiar leap.
Frowning
even more, he considered sarcastically thanking her for her "concern"
at seeing him fall, but then thought the better of it. Did he really want to have his odd behavior
made more obvious? The frown lessened
into a grimace and he turned his head to see where the apparition of Chris had
gone.
And
froze.
Around
him, the wind had stopped.
_________________________
2002
Chris
had been walking away from the car when the alarm went off, surprising him as
well. Turning around, he took in the
empty street around the vehicle, frowning and wondering what the hell could
have set off the alarm. With a slight
shrug of the shoulder, he returned his gaze to the end of town and continued
walking.
_________________________
1876
Vin
sat opposite the future Ezra, slumped in the saloon chair. He'd watched as the man's face had blanched
as he obviously read the first few pages of the book the Clerk had given him,
and a few "My Gods" had emitted from his lips. Now Ezra's face was still as stone, and he
seemed to be rereading the same page over and over again – or at least Vin
hadn't seen his hands move to turn a page for a while.
"Damn,
I wish I knew what you were reading, Ez," the tracker muttered, shaking
his head.
"Mr.
Tanner," the future Ezra said, his body coming into stark focus as he
looked up, "I didn't hear you return," he smiled. Abruptly, his expression fell. "My God, what happened to you?"
Vin's
eyes widened, and he sat up perfectly straight in the chair. "You can see me?"
"You
look terrible! Like you've aged ten
years. And what are you wearing? Is that...fringe?" he said the last
word with such distaste, Vin almost laughed.
"You
can see me!" the tracker replied, smiling. "Can you hear me as well?"
"What?"
"I
asked...."
"Of
course, I can hear you. What did you
do, Vin? Raid the country western store
on your way to..." Ezra's words slowed down as he looked around
him,"...the...church? Oh Jesus
Christ...what the hell is going on here?"
Ezra stood up abruptly, the chair he'd been sitting in clattering to the
floor behind him. "Where the hell
am I?
"Why? What do you see?" Vin couldn't help the excitement in his
voice.
"The
walls! Where have the walls gone?"
"Walls?"
"Walls...painted
that sickly tapioca color all government buildings seem to favor...This
is...this is a room...a very large...very poorly lit room...." He was beginning to hyperventilate. Then his face screwed up, "And what is
that smell?"
Vin's
smile was one of wonder, "Wow!" he said. "You're here! You're
really here."
Ezra's
eyes took in the saloon, his chest heaving.
Inez watched him curiously from the bar, as if he'd suddenly appeared
out of nowhere, and several other patrons watched him as well. If Buck hadn't left to go and find JD, he's
probably have been staring as well.
"Everything
all right, Senor Standish?" Inez called, her eyebrows high as she took in
his odd clothes. Ezra stared at her.
"Senorita
Roscillos?" he asked, his voice strained.
"Si?"
His
mouth opened in shock, and his hand grabbed at the table to keep himself
upright. Vin was still smiling, looking
at Inez and then back at Ezra.
"They
can all see you! This is amazing!"
Ezra's
eyes locked on Vin's.
"Vincent
Tanner, what the hell is this? If you
slipped me something...."
Vin's
face registered a slight frown for the first time since the future Ezra had
appeared fully.
"Vincent? The name's just Vin, Ez. Not Vincent. You know that."
At
the statement, Ezra's eyes fell to the table, and his hand slammed down on the
empty tabletop.
"The
book...the book...I'm dreaming...that has to be it...Where has it
gone?...Where..." he looked around the floor, shaking his head. "This has to be a dream," he said
again, hoping to God it was true.
"No,
Ezra, you're not. This is real,"
Vin tried smiling again, and he stood to face him. Ezra simply stared back, taking in the sawed-off Winchester
strapped to the buckskin clad leg, the tanned skin, the confident stance.
"You're
not real," he hissed, meeting gray eyes with bright green ones. "You can't be real."
Vin
shook his head, "Ezra Standish, welcome to 1876."
_________________________________
1876/2002
As
he watched Vin disappear into the side room, the gunslinger began to realize
that this was a lost cause. The man who looked like Vin was no longer
talking to himself, which meant Chris had no way of learning what the hell he
was doing here. His fingers gripped themselves into annoyed fists, and he
looked vaguely out through the window above the alter, as if God could perhaps
provide him with answers.
"Chris? Nice outfit cowboy! When did you get the time to
change into that get-up?"
Chris's eyes widened, and he looked back at the future Vin. The man was
suddenly looking very solid, the grin on his face fading only slightly as he
realized the gunslinger wasn't smiling back at him.
"Seriously," Vin continued, "you've even got dust all over
you. What did you do, buy yourself a new coat then roll around in the
dirt or something?"
Chris just continued to watch the man, still wondering if he were imagining
this.
Vin's smile faded then completely, "Chris? You...you all right
there, pard?"
"Are you talking to me?" Chris replied, vaguely looking around him at
the empty church in case the man who looked like him had shown up.
"No, I'm interviewing the Indonesian girl's soccer team; Of course I'm
talking to you! What's with the outfit?"
Chris looked down at his duster, then lifted the hat in his hand and moved hang
it on the edge of one of Josiah's still in progress pews. Vin watched him
with confused eyes.
"You bought a hat too? You tired of your Mets cap?"
"Mets?"
"Okay," Vin shook his head, "You're acting mighty strange here,
Chris. What is it I'm missing here, huh?"
Chris smiled at the question, then laughed. "You're definitely not the
same man, though you're close. For one thing, you talk more. And
you have less confidence."
Vin gave a half smile, though his eyes remained narrowed. "You keep
talking like that, Chris, and I'm going to go get Ez to help me talk you down
from wherever you are...."
"Tell me, Vin Tanner...," Chris looked up at him, his eyes icy cold,
"It is Vin Tanner, isn't it?"
"What?"
"Nothing, nothing," Chris smiled was almost evil, "I'm just curious.
Is there some reason you're haunting my town?"
Vin's eyebrows shot up. "I’m sorry, but…did you just use the word
'haunting?'"
"What are you? Some sort of messenger? A ghost? Or are
you, as I truly want to believe, some really bad dream?"
Vin just stared at Chris, completely baffled. Then, as he looked more
closely, he realized that this man standing in front of him looked different in
more than just clothes. His face was dirty and more tanned, and there was
a faint scar on his neck. He also stood more stooped, and his teeth were
not as white. Bit by bit, the differences became clearer...and Vin took a
couple of steps back.
"Who are you," he hissed, eyebrows knitted together.
This time Chris laughed more openly, "Oh this is rich! You know who
I am Vin. It's you I'm not sure about. I don't know what you are,
and I really do want to know. Explain it to me." The last
sentence came out as a growl, and the gunslinger raised his hands as if he were
about to grab Vin's shirt. The detective jumped backwards and, without
conscious thought, pulled his gun.. Chris looked at it, then at Vin's
eyes, and shook his head.
"Can a ghost shoot a real person?" Chris asked.
"Stop it! I am not the ghost here!" Vin wrapped both hands
around the .357 magnum. "Now, who....No, what are you!"
Chris looked at him a moment longer, then, slowly, the anger on his face
softened. Slowly, it was replaced by an odd thoughtfulness.
"You're serious?" he asked.
Vin blinked, "I...what?"
Chris frowned, "You don't know what is going on here?"
Vin lowered the gun, completely confused now. "Obviously, no.
If this was some weird joke of yours, Chris, I ain't laughing."
Chris frowned, "So you're not a ghost. You're not some mistake come
back to haunt us? Or some messenger from the future returning to spell
our doom?"
Vin just looked at him, and shook his head. "Please...just...who are
you?"
"I'm Chris. Who are you?"
"Vin Tanner."
"Okay," Chris scratched at his head. "I figured you might
say that. Try this, when are you?"
"When?"
"The date, what is the date."
Vin blinked a few times, finally getting an inkling of what this man was
saying. "May...May 1."
"May 1...?"
"2002."
"Hell," Chris laughed and shook his head. Turning, he saw down
heavily in a pew and looked up at the half-finished ceiling. He could hear the roaring wind blowing
roughly across the newly shingled roof.
"What...what do you think the date is?" Vin asked tentatively.
"Well," Chris replied, looking back at him, "where I sit, it's
1876. May 1, 1876."
Vin gave a short laugh of disbelief, "Yeah, right! This is getting
old, Larabee. I don't know how you are doing this, but, right now, I'm
willing to believe that you've decided to play some seriously twisted practical
joke on me. Look, I'm sorry I drew on you, but you're spooking me.
Why don't you go frighten Ez, or something, eh?" He put the magnum
back and turned around, ignoring the prickling running up and down his spine.
"Maybe I will," Chris sighed, standing, watching as Vin's shoulder's
tensed slightly. Then the apprentice detective was walking back into the
side room and disappearing down the corridor.
The gunslinger walked back to the center of the aisle, his face a mask of
confusion. Vaguely, he looked again up
through the window to the dark gray sky beyond. There had to be a reason
for this, didn't there?
"Woah!" Vin's rang out of the side room, and Chris looked sharply
back to the door. "Now, now, now...hold on there, Miss...I...put the
rifle down now...."
Chris's featured hardened, and he drew his gun just in time to see the future
Vin back out of the doorway, his hands in the air. Forcing him back was a
young, rather pretty, black woman, her hands very steadily pointing a rifle
directly at his face. She wore a black t-shirt with the name VASSAR
across the chest, and what looked like men's denim jeans - though they were
obviously cut for a girl.
"Who's here with you!" she demanded, looking around him into the main
church. "I heard you talking to someone! Where are they?"
Vin's mouth opened, then shut. Turning, he saw Chris pointing an old
fashioned gun at the girl. Larabee seemed to be as puzzled about this as
he was. She growled, and poked Vin in the chest so that he stepped back
some more.
"I said, where are they!"
"You...you don't see anyone here?" he asked stupidly.
"Would I be asking you my question if I did?"
"Oh wow," Vin muttered.
________________________________________________
2002
The
gambler blinked, rubbed his eyes, and shook his head. Something had to be wrong here.
Where had the town gone?
He
was looking at a paved street, a pair of yellow lines painted down the center,
and more carriages like the silver one sat on the sides. The buildings were all completely different,
larger, many made of stone. Large glass
windows reflected the sun, and someone had planted trees into stone
sidewalks.
It
was...very wrong.
Swallowing,
Ezra tripped forward, choosing to follow the now very solid seeming Chris
Larabee doppelganger as he walked away from him. He opened his mouth to call him, then shut it.
Was
he the ghost now?
His
mind spun, the blood pulsing behind his ears.
Turning, he looked behind him and saw that Four Corners had
disappeared. Mrs. Potter had walked by
without seeing him, perhaps because she hadn't seen him. He was no longer there....
Was
this real?
He
picked up the pace, trying to catch up with the familiar face, even if it
wasn't his Chris Larabee. Soon he was
jogging. The man in front of him had
walked over to one side of the street, and was looking vaguely through store
windows. If he heard Ezra coming up
behind him, he gave no sign.
Just
then, out of the corner of his eye, Ezra saw something that made the situation
feel even worse.
From
out of a side street on the other side of the road, three men appeared, dressed
in black and carrying what looked like shotguns and guns. The Chris he was following was still
walking, oblivious to the threat.
Ezra
started running.
The
men saw Chris, smiled, and raised their weapons.
"Chris!"
Ezra shouted. "Behind you!"
Chris
turned in his direction, obviously hearing the shout, then twisted further to
look behind him just as the first bullets rang out.
__________________________
___________________________
1876
The
lawyer closed his eyes, counted to three, then looked at Vin again. The tracker was smiling at him, clearly
amused.
"Could...could
you repeat that?" Ezra asked weakly, blinking a few times and still
gripping the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping him
standing.
"I
said," Vin grinned, "Welcome to 1876. Tell me, what year did you come from exactly?"
Ezra
continued to blink rapidly, and shook his head.
"I
think I heard you say 125 years from now, "Vin continued. "That's,
what...?" the tracker frowned, trying to work out the math.
"2002,"
Ezra replied, still acting dazed.
"You know, for a dream, this place is amazingly real. I can even feel the roughness of this table
– OW!" The lawyer pulled his hand up from the edge, eyes widening at the
site of blood welling up around the tiny thorn that had stuck itself in his
forefinger.
Vin
shook his head, "Not a dream, Ez.
Not sure what it is, but it's not a dream."
"Of...of
course it is," the lawyer whispered as he stared at his finger. "Maybe...maybe we got into a car
accident. We never actually reached
Northfork, and I never really read the first few pages of that journal. I'm lying in a coma in the hospital,
listening to you read me a western...."
"Not
a dream," Vin inisisted again.
"This is real, Ez. You're
bleeding, for God's sake!"
"This
is a dream," Ezra said more loudly, "this table, the journals, this
town, all of it….because it is impossible that seven men with the same names as
those with which I work in New York could have existed at the same time in the
same place in 1876."
"Seven
men?" Vin's excitement grew.
"You mean you work with Buck, Nate, Josiah, and JD too? This is amazing!”
"And
it’s not just them," Ezra continued, looking up again at the saloon, and
at the senorita behind the bar. She was
still throwing him curious glances as she served her other customers. Vin's eyes widened as he took in Ezra's
meaning.
"So
you see," the lawyer finished, looking again at his hand, feeling the
pulsing of his blood around the tiny but painful piece of wood, "this must
be a dream."
"Well
then," Vin said, grinning again, "It's my dream, 'cause this is
reality and it's you that's appeared in it.
From wherever you came from. 125
years from now, I think you said. Even
if you're not real, want to tell me what happens in the future
anyhow?" the tracker's eyes fairly
sparkled as he watched the lawyer's grimaced reaction to the comment.
"125
years...." Ezra repeated, gently pulling the thorn from his finger. Suddenly, as if the sun had just risen, his
expression shifted from confused to downright terrified. Vin's grin fell at the change, recognizing
the expression from his own Ezra – he made it when one of them was in trouble. The lawyer touched the table again, where
the book had been.
"1876...,"
he repeated, he looked up at Vin with startlingly familiar green eyes,
"When?"
Vin's
brow furrowed, "You just said...."
"No,
no, the day? What day is it?"
"Uh...Tuesday?"
"The
date you foul apparition! What date
is it?"
"I
am not an apparition," Vin countered.
Ezra
frowned darkly at him, then shoved past him to the bar, stopping in front of
Inez.
"Senorita
Roscillos, please, what is the date?"
"May
1," she replied, she said, her face clearly bewildered. "Querido, what...?"
But,
before she could finish her question, Ezra was running for the doors. Vin tipped his hat at Inez, then ran out
after him.
The
tracker found the lawyer stopped dead in his tracks on the boardwalk in front
of the saloon, his eyes wide as he looked around the frontier town. The wind was screaming now, and the sun was
broken into patches as the clouds thickened overhead. Folks were packing up and heading indoors.
"This
is Four Corners," Vin supplied, trying to be helpful. "Over there is the jail, the hotel, the
Clarion," he pointed out each structure as he named them.
"The
church," Ezra said quickly, "Where is the...?" he turned his
head to the left, answering his own question as he saw the nearly-completed
structure.
"Is
it really the same?" Vin asked.
"I overheard you talking to your Chris and Vin about it."
Ezra
didn't answer, still lost in his own world.
He took a couple steps in that direction, then stopped. His eyes were fixed on two women making
their way towards the church, one of them very pregnant.
"Where
is...where is your healer? Mr.
Jackson?"
"Nate? Left town about an hour ago to check up on a
sick family over in the direction of Eagle Bend."
"Eagle...Bend,"
Ezra repeated the town's name, Chris's voice echoing in his head.
"Ez,
what's the matter?" Vin asked seriously.
The tone of his voice finally got the lawyer to look at him, as if
really seeing him for the first time.
"Your
Mr. Jackson wrote journals of his time here, in this town. He began the first one week from today, its
purpose to chronicle what happened today."
"Today?"
"On
May 1, while Mr. Jackson was tending to a family outside of town, a large gang
of outlaws entered the town to rob the bank.
Or rather, they were already here, having arrived one at a time over the
course of the week." He looked
around him, "According to Mr. Jackson, they took their opportunity when a
severe storm abruptly blew through without warning, which apparently trapped
the town’s lead protector, a Mr. Chris Larabee, with a Sarah Weathers and a
Gloria Potter in the church when the roof caved in after a lightning bolt set
it ablaze.” He looked up at the
lowering sky as he spoke, his voice rising with the wind. “As the robbery commenced, Mr. Vin Tanner
was shot in the shoulder protecting…me, I guess." The lawyer swallowed, realizing for the
first time that his gun was still locked in the glove compartment of a car he
could no longer see. "And, though the outlaws were eventually taken down,
Buck Wilmington, JD Dunne and Josiah Sanchez were all killed in the ensuing
melee."
____________________________________
1876/2002
"Who
are you?" the girl hissed, staring down the rifle at Vin's face where they
stood near the alter. "What do you want?"
"Miss
Kramer?" Vin replied, his voice taut.
A ripple of consternation crossed her face before it was replaced again
by anger.
"I
said who are you? Did Palasco's goons
send you?"
"No,
Palasco did not send us. We're working
for Steven Leeds. He needs your
help."
Her
face frowned, "Steve? What do you
mean, working for him?"
"I'm
a detective. Steven's lawyers hired me
and my friend to help track you down."
"Lawyers?"
"Ezra
Standish and Josiah Sanchez."
"They're
lawyers?” This was Chris that said
that, and Vin turned around to look at him.
Chris shook his head and gave a small smile.
"Why
would Steve need lawyers?" Anita asked.
Vin
turned back to the girl pointing that rifle in his face. "Miss Kramer, I don't know if you are
aware of this, but Steven has been arrested for the murder of your
roommate."
Anita’s
eyes widened, and her gun lowered slightly.
"Murder? Alicia? Alicia's...she's dead?"
Vin
frowned, "You didn't know?"
"No,
I....." Her eyes dropped, and, in that moment, Vin reached up and grabbed
the barrel of the rifle, roughly shoving to one side. With a small gasp, she let him, her fingers falling from the
stock and trigger lifelessly.
"She's
really dead?" she whispered, searching his eyes. "I...I didn't know they'd kill her. She wasn't who they were after...." Her hand went to her mouth, "Oh
God...Alicia...." She started to shake.
"I'm
sorry." Vin didn't know what else to say.
Anita
continued to shake, and she wrapped her arms around herself. "And they think Steve killed her? That's crazy! He loved Alicia!"
"Yeah,
but they found him standing over the body with the knife. No matter how you look at it, that looks
bad, even if they haven't figured out motive yet. And with you missing, there is no one who can back him up."
"Oh
God," she shut her eyes and fell sideways, sitting down hard on the nearby
pew.
"Anita,"
Vin said, resting a hand lightly on her arm, "I need to know what
happened."
She
shook her head.
"Please,"
he whispered.
At
that same moment, the doors of the church banged open roughly, startling both
Vin and Chris. The two men looked towards the doors, just in time to see a very
pregnant black woman stumble inside supported by another older woman. The older woman had to work to close the
doors behind her against the incredible wind blowing up outside.
“Mrs.
Potter, Mrs. Weathers, what are you doing here?” Chris demanded brusquely, as
the two women turned to look at him.
“Not
that it is your business,” Sarah Weathers replied, her voice taking on a slight
edge of defensiveness as she touched her swollen belly. “But I came to pray for
the baby. Though now this wind has
blown up…we may stay here until it has done.”
“The
weather just turned awful, Mr. Larabee,” Mrs. Potter added. “All of a sudden, it was as if the world
were turned upside down.”
“And
what are you doing here, Mr. Larabee?” Sarah asked, her tone challenging.
“Now
Sarah, remember we saw Josiah at the hardware store with Mr. Wilmington,’ Mrs.
Potter interjected, touching Sarah on the arm to calm her. “Perhaps Chris is going to help them with
the church?” She looked at the
gunslinger for confirmation.
“Ah…yes,”
Chris replied, a strange look on his face.
“That’s right. Uh, you two…go
ahead.” He backed away, moving to stand
next to the apprentice detective.
“Thank
you kindly for your permission,” Sarah said sarcastically. Holding her head high, she walked forward
and, with Mrs. Potter’s help, sat carefully down on one of the front pews. Then Gloria walked over to Chris, indicating
that he lean over so she could say something.
“Sarah’s
late, Mr. Larabee, and she’s a mite temperamental as a result,” she
whispered. Chris nodded and offered a
weak smile at the young black woman, who scowled back.
Vin
frowned, seeing the newcomers, and realizing with some amazement that they
couldn’t see him. When he looked back
at Anita Kramer, he found her watching him curiously, her head turning with
confusion to the doors of the church.
"What
is it?" Anita asked Vin, looking up at him. "Do you hear something? Is there someone else here?"
"No...nothing,"
Vin replied. "It's just you and me."
She nodded, sighing slightly, and put her head in her hands.
Just
then, everyone in the church jumped as gunshots exploded outside, echoing
through the church, at the same time that a thunderous boom rang down from
above.
“What
was that?” Sarah and Anita asked at the same time, their voices identical.
“Fire!”
Gloria screamed, pointing upwards.
_____________________________________
2002
Chris
barely had time to think as he felt Ezra barrel into him, knocking him down
just as the bullets whizzed overhead.
"Move, move!" he heard Ezra shout, "the alley!"
Shaking his head, Chris got to his feet and kept low, jogging the few steps
that allowed him entrance to the alleyway. Ezra fell in behind him,
rolling the last few feet, and hugged the wall down low. In a fluid
motion, Ezra had drawn a gun from some kind of holster strapped to his leg and
was firing up the street.
Shaking his head again, Chris drew his own weapon and started firing over
Ezra's head in the same direction. He noticed with some surprise that one
of the shooters was already down, while the other two had taken up positions
behind some parked cars.
"Damn it," Ezra muttered, backing himself into the alley and leaning
on the wall. He dug some bullets out of the pocket in his coat and
reloaded his Remington.
Chris fired off a few more rounds, then looked down at the man near his feet.
"Where did you find the gun? I thought I saw that yours was still in the
car."
Ezra glanced up at him, arching an eyebrow. "The car? Is that what
it is called? How interesting! Is that short for carriage?"
"What?"
Gunshots exploded again, pinging off the corner of the building they were
hiding behind. Chris shot off a few more rounds.
"How many of them are there," the detective demanded then, thinking
he might have to put in a new clip soon. "Did you see?"
"I only saw three, but there may be more. If any decide to come down
behind us, we could be in serious trouble."
"And we're not now?" Chris smiled.
"Not as of yet, Mr. Larabee. Do you think there may be others?"
Chris looked at the man again, "Maybe. I don't know. If I'm
right and it really is Mick Palasco we're up against, there could be a good
number. This girl must really know something."
"Then we should find ourselves a more defensible position."
Ezra looked down the alley, then stood up. He glanced at Chris,
"Coming?"
"Uh...yeah," the detective replied, watching as Ezra started lithely
running down the street, the tails of his red coat flying.
What
was the man wearing?
They reached the corner, and Ezra ducked down and checked both ways. Smiling he looked up at Chris, ignoring the
strange look the man was giving him. Now was not the time to explain,
even if he could.
"Look, perhaps we can get in behind them? If we head down here and
back up that alley..." he pointed to a couple buildings down. Chris
nodded.
"Sounds like a plan," the detective agreed. Ezra grinned,
flashing his gold tooth, then headed off. Chris shook off the odd feeling
running down his spine and followed. Soon they were quietly pacing their
way up the next alleyway.
Ezra ducked down and peered around the corner. From here, he could see
that the two gunmen were still watching the alley they had left, using the cars
as cover in order to get closer. Now, however, they had their backs to
the gambler and detective. Chris smiled.
"All right, Ezra. You stay here. I'll take care of these
guys."
"What, alone? Why?"
Chris gave him an amused look, "Are you kidding? Christ, Ezra, put a
gun in your hand and you think you're John Wayne. You just stay
down." Chris slipped out of the alleyway.
Ezra gave a tiny smile, shook his head, and followed him.
Coming up behind the nearest gunman, Chris got up behind him and whistled. The assassin turned around, bringing his gun
around with him, never even flinching at the discovery they their prey had
gotten behind him. Growling, Chris tackled him, knocking the
semi-automatic from his hand, and delivered a few good punches to the man's
face.
The other one heard the sounds of the fight and turned, only to find Ezra
Standish's Remington in his face.
"I'd drop it if I were you," the gambler hissed. The man
grimaced, lowered his gun to the ground, then jumped forward to tackle the
smaller man. Ezra laughed and jumped sideways, bringing the butt of his
gun down across the back of the gunman's head. He went down like a stone.
"Ezra, on your right!" Chris yelled suddenly, looking up just in time
to see another gunman appear from out the alleyway they'd been hiding in.
To his amazement, Ezra just spun around and shot, never missing a beat. Then, in the same breath, he turned again
and pointed his gun behind Chris, letting off another shot. The detective
fell back into the car and looked behind him, eyes wide. A fourth man who
had been coming up from behind slipped downwards, the shot to his chest dead
center.
Ezra tilted his head, and, looking around him again, made sure there were no
more threats. Chris jogged over from where he was standing and came up
next to the gambler just in time to see Ezra pop open the revolver in his hand
and empty it of spent shells. He pulled some more bullets from a breast
pocket and smiled up at Chris as he reloaded.
"Think that's it?" he asked, his tone curious.
"Ezra...you just shot two...," Chris paused, remembering the first
man, "no...three men dead."
Ezra grimaced, "Yes, my apologies for that. However, we still have
two, right? You should be able to get some answers from them."
"Your apologies?" Chris's eyes were beyond huge, "Ezra...I
repeat, you shot them dead! You once told me you'd never even shot at
someone before you shot at that kid back at your office. How can you be
so callous?" He shook his head, then looked at the man in front of him
more carefully. "More to the point, how the hell did you learn to
shoot like that? And what the hell are you wearing?"
Ezra licked his lips, considering how to answer that long string of
questions. Then he shook his head, making a decision.
"Well, um, first of all, these
clothes were purchased from one of the local establishments. Sort of a
joke, see? Probably seem a little old fashioned to you, I suppose.
Um..."
"You bought them? When? When did you have the time?"
Ezra
grinned, "Uh...". Chris raised an eyebrow, his irritation
showing on his face, then, suddenly, his gaze switched to something behind
Ezra.
"Down!" he yelled, shoving the gambler to the ground just as more
gunshots echoed down the street. The detective grunted in pain as a bullet
impacted his shoulder, and he fell down next to Ezra. The gambler had pressed
his back against the car they were hiding against, holding his gun in both
hands and looking worriedly at over at him. Propping himself up against
the same car, Chris gripped his shoulder and nodded to indicate he was all
right. With a dark look, Ezra then turned and listened with growing horror to
the
rapid gunshots.
They weren't ceasing.
"What the hell?" he hissed. How the hell did anyone shoot that
fast? Not even gatling guns were that fast....
"Machine guns," Chris said back. "Damn it. Who the hell brings
machine guns to a backwater town like this? Just to grab one girl?"
"Ma...machine guns?" Ezra repeated, listening to the never ending
slew of bullets breaking the glass and hitting everything around them with
abandon. A literal shower of
bullets...that was the way it looked to him. My God, he thought, how the
hell do you stop something that can do that?
__________________________________
1876
Vin
just stared dumbfounded at the lawyer, not sure what to think. “All of them? But how?”
“Mr.
Jackson wrote his missive based upon witness accounts, which were not clear,
not surprisingly.” The lawyer shivered
as a fierce blast of cold air raked itself through town. “But, I believe all three men were shot in
the back. Mr. Sanchez and Mr.
Wilmington were running to get to the church, I assume, to rescue Mr. Larabee
and the women. Mr. Dunne likewise,
though I get the impression that he came from the jail. The other two were apparently in…” he looked
around, then pointed, “the hardware store.”
“Did…does…did
the book say who the robbers were?”
“No. They were gone by the time Mr. Jackson
returned,” Ezra replied. “The only
consensus was that leader was tall with a moustache, and that there were ten
men all together. With your help, Mr. Larabee’s and, I suppose, mine, Mr.
Jackson did go after them.
Unfortunately, a week later, Mr. Jackson returned alone. I have no idea what happened to Mr. Larabee,
you or me. He wrote in his journal that
he needed to start a new chapter in his life, and that was why he wanted to
write a chronicle of the town beginning with what happened today.” He shook his
head despondently. “I’m afraid, Mr. Tanner, that was as far as I got in the
journal.”
Vin
frowned, “How much time?”
“I…I
don’t know. But it all begins when
lightening strikes the roof of the church.”
Vin
looked up, grimacing at the black clouds filling the sky. It suddenly felt like dusk as opposed to
mid-morning.
“All
right. We can stop this. Have you got a gun?”
“My
gun,” Ezra’s brow creased, “No, I left it in the car. Which has disappeared.”
Vin
followed the lawyer’s gaze, and realized that the silver object had indeed
disappeared. “Car, huh. Like a train car,” he nodded, liking the
word. “Look, we need to get you a
weapon. Go find JD, get a gun from
him. If he asks why you don't have
yours, just…lie or something. I’ll go
get Chris out of that church and see if I can’t figure out where my Ezra Standish
went.”
“Vin,
wait!” the lawyer stepped forward, “Get the women out too. When the roof comes down, Sarah Weathers
loses her baby and dies from the blood loss.”
“Oh,
this just keeps getting better,” Vin scowled, glancing both ways along the
street before running headlong towards the church. The lawyer just stood still and stared up at the sky.
A
flash of light off a rifle barrel brought his eyes to the hotel opposite, and
his mouth opened in surprise. The rifle
trailed Vin’s movements, though the shooter didn’t seem inclined to fire…yet.
Ezra’s
eyes narrowed, and he ran across to the double doors of the hotel.
JD
came from around the corner, where he’d been standing not five feet from Ezra
and Vin, listening to their conversation.
He swallowed harshly and looked up at the clouds. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but when he
heard Ezra say his name the first time, he’d stopped.
Gripping
his hands into fists, he had half a mind to run. He didn’t want to die.
Looking
over at the church, he was just in time to see the lightening hit the roof.
__________________________________
1876/2002
“No
Chris!” Vin yelled, as Chris ran for the front. “There are gunshots outside!
Sounds like a machine gun!”
“A
what?” Larabee skidded to a halt, “Vin,
the roof is on fire, we have to get out of here!” He stopped when he realized he could hear shots as well – and
frowned when he recognized the barking of Vin's Winchester out there.
“Chris,
who are you yelling at! Vin’s not here,” Gloria yelled, helping Sarah to her
feet.
“Stop!
Stay there!” Chris ordered them, hand raised.
He looked back at Vin, "The roof is on fire here – we have to risk
it."
“Who’s
Chris?” Anita asked Vin. “What’s going on!”
“Yeah,
but who knows what’s going on out there!” Vin replied, ignoring the woman and
looking up at the roof. He could almost
see the flames, like a strange dream, as they licked at the rafters above his
head without burning them. Still
sitting down, Anita recoiled slightly as he appeared to talk to thin air.
The
roof creaked, and Chris jumped backwards, just as a whole chunk fell almost
dead in the center of the aisle. Sarah
gasped as Gloria screamed – had Chris not ordered them to stop, they would have
been right under it.
“The
back room!” Vin yelled, “I read on a plaque that the whole back room is
original, roof and all.”
“Get
in the back room,” Chris said, moving forward to help Gloria with Sarah.
“You’ll be safe there.”
“What’s
going on!” Anita whined again, standing up and grabbing Vin’s arm. “Are you crazy?! There’s no one here! Who are you talking to.”
Vin
just hushed her, listening more intently to the rapid firing shots
outside. She moaned and covered her
ears.
“Get
to the back room,” he hissed, patting her arm softly, “hide.”
She
just stared at him, then, eyes wide, hands still over her ears, "What's
happening? Is he here? Palasco?"
Vin
watched as Chris got Gloria Potter and Sarah Weathers through the door, then
looked back at her.
"Yeah,
probably. You need to hide. Take the rifle," he handed the weapon
back to her, and watched her walk back through the doors. As he followed her through, he flinched and
turned to see the burning roof of the church come down behind him.
The
fact that the roof was also still there above his head was giving him a
headache.
___________________________________________
2002
"Does
that thing ever stop?" the gambler hissed, looking up at the destruction
the
machine gun was causing with amazed eyes. Chris glanced at him, finally
letting go his hurt arm to pick up his gun again. With a strange
fascination, Ezra watched as the detective released his spent clip and, pulling
another one from his jacket pocket, replaced it.
"How...how many bullets does that hold?" he asked. Chris looked
at him, and shook his head.
"More n' six," came the simple reply.
"Huh," Ezra grunted, looking down at his Remington.
Just then, the hail of bullets stopped, and both the gambler and the detective
took a breath in relief.
"Christopher Larabee!" a man's voice shouted, "Ezra Standish!"
"That's Mick Palasco's voice," Chris told Ezra, surprised.
"He's here himself. He must be
seriously desperate not to let this girl go."
"You have one minute to throw out your guns!" Mick shouted.
"Is he joking?" Chris hissed. Taking in a deep breath, he
shouted back, "Now why would we do that, Mick?!"
"I am sure, Mr. Larabee, that you are aware we have you pinned down. However, I am equally aware, from the fact
that three of my men are dead and two are unconscious, that you are not the
type to give up easily. Nevertheless, I assume that you are also
reasonable."
Chris arched an eyebrow at Ezra, who shrugged.
"Explain!" Chris shouted.
"We do not want to kill you, Mr. Larabee. We simply want to know
where you have stashed the girl. She was not at her relatives, but, all
evidence showed that she had been there this morning. Therefore, logic
suggests that you must have gotten to her first....We want her."
Chris gave a short laugh, running a hand through his hair. "You're
crazy, Mick! We don't...."
Ezra whacked him in his hurt shoulder, causing Chris to gasp in pain and grip
it before he could finish the sentence.
"What makes you think we would give her up!" Ezra shouted, one hand
still touching Chris's arm. The detective angrily drew his arm out of the
grip.
"What the hell are you doing!" the detective hissed at him. "You
know full well we don't have the girl!"
Ezra
just shook his head at him in response.
"We are willing to let you go in return for her deliverance," came
Mick's reply
"Not good enough!" Ezra replied, watching the detective’s livid face
darken even farther. "You assume you have the upper hand, sir, but I
wouldn't be so sure. We did not come alone, for one thing."
"I thought you might say that,” Mick sneered. “I was wondering, gentlemen,
if you noticed how quiet this town was?"
Ezra frowned, while next to him the detective grimaced as his thoughts of
earlier came back to him.
"Because, you see, Mr. Larabee," Mick continued, "we have the
sheriff, his deputies, and quite a few more townsfolk locked up in the
sheriff's office, and I have placed several payloads of dynamite around it and
the town hall. Should you not deliver the girl to me, I will detonate
them. All I need to do is hit one little button." Had they been
able to see him, they would have seen Palasco lift up a remote detonator in his
hand, the smile on his face perfectly evil.
"This guy can't be for real," Chris muttered.
"Can he do that?" Ezra asked.
The detective ignored him, and squinted at something. "Look,"
he said, pointing.
Ezra turned. In one of the few shop windows that hadn't been shattered,
they could see the reflection of a tall man standing on the other side of the
road, holding something up in his hand. Two men stood to his right and left
holding black objects that, probably, were the "machine guns."
"We need to get that detonator out of his hand," Chris said.
"That little thing? That’s the
detonator?” Ezra’s eyebrows shot up.
Chris just gave him a look.
“Larabee, what is your answer? Will you come quietly?" Mick yelled.
"Or do I start exploding buildings?"
Chris sighed, looking at the reflection, "Listen, Standish, I realize this
is not something you have much experience with, but I need you to focus right
now. You're...well, you're obviously better with a gun than I thought you
were, but this has just escalated to something far bigger than you and
me. We could die here, and we probably will if we want to save this
town." Chris was watching him carefully.
Ezra grinned, "Yeah, well, so what else is new?" He shrugged,
ignoring the furrowed brow of the future Chris Larabee and looking at the
reflection. "Listen, I have a
plan. If all we have to do is take down the miscreant I can see in the
shop window there and his friends, and get that tiny little metal thing out of
his hand, I think that's doable."
"Ezra, this isn't a joke...."
"Mr. Larabee," Ezra shifted into a squatting position, "At this
moment in time, I need you to trust me on something. I need you to trust
that, however incomprehensible it may seem, I have indeed been in a position
like this before...many times...and I do have some experience with these sort
of standoffs. Now, give me your gun."
Chris just stared at him.
"Your gun, sirrah."
"Ezra...."
"Give me your gun, or I will take it. Understand?"
The slightest smile crossed Chris's lips at the threat, then he shook his
head. "You're crazy."
"No, I'm a gambler, and a damn good one. Now give me your gun."
Chris shook his head, "Tell me your plan first."
Ezra sighed, "You wouldn't believe me.
All you need to know is that, when the time comes, I want you to jump
the man to Palasco's right. Okay?"
Chris stared hard at the man kneeling next to him for a moment, as if searching
for something.
“Please,”
Ezra whispered, “trust me.”
The
detective sighed, and shook his head as if he thought he must be mad to do so,
but, nevertheless, slowly gave the gambler his gun.
“Thank
you,” Ezra replied, grabbing it from the detective’s hands. With a slightly awkward motion, he released
the clip from Chris's the same way he had seen the detective do a moment ago,
then dumped the bullets out of his own Remington. Chris had returned to gripping his bleeding arm, and watched the
gambler with narrowed eyes.
What
had he been thinking? Ezra was going to
get them both killed!
"Here are the guns!" Ezra shouted, taking both his Remington in hand
and Chris's and tossing them out over the top of the car they were hiding
behind. "And we're coming out!"
__________________________________
1876
“The
church!” someone screamed, pointing. JD
fell back against the outer wall of the saloon as the fire exploded across the
newly shingled roof from the force of the lightening bolt, and watched dumbly
as Buck and Josiah run out of the hardware store to see. The fire spread quickly, finding the
flammable stuff Josiah had used to set the shingles, and soon the steeple was
engulfed.
At
the same time, the sound of a single gunshot echoed out of the hotel, from the
second floor.
Vin,
just a few feet from the church steps, backed up as he part of the roof
suddenly collapsed into the church, and yelled Chris’s name.
“Vin?” Josiah called, heading towards him at
a jog. The tracker turned, then rapidly
drew his mare’s leg.
“Josiah!
Buck!” he yelled, raising the weapon up, “Duck!”
The
preacher and the ladies man didn’t even think, they just fell to the dirt,
following the order without question.
Vin fired three times over their heads, his expression stony.
JD
gasped as he saw two men fall not twenty feet from where he was, both with
rifles that, a moment before, had been pointed at his friends’ backs. He hadn’t even seen them!
Bullets
exploded out of other hidden places, aimed at the three men down near the
church. Still hugging the wall, the kid
tried to find their sources. One seemed
to be on the balcony over the livery, and another from somewhere above his head
– one of the rented rooms in the saloon.
Both
Josiah and Buck got back to their feet, weapons out, and sought cover. Vin glanced once more at the church, then,
frowning, started running as gunshots pelted the ground around his feet.
The
kid pulled his twin colts and fired upwards at an outlaw he'd spotted shooting
at Vin from the balcony over the hardware store. The gunman jerked and swung around to fire back at JD.
Before
he could, Buck took him down from where he was now safely behind cover in front
of the grocer’s.
More
gunfire echoed from the hotel room, and with a steeled jaw, JD ran across the
street to get up there. Bullets touched
the ground around him, and he saw Josiah aim at something above and behind his
head from his cover in front of the hardware store.
A
dark smile touched his face as he heard someone cry out in pain behind him.
The
bullets stopped chasing him.
He
burst into the hotel, trusting now that the others would be all right.
He
had to find Ezra.
Or
whoever that was that looked like Ezra.
_____________________________________
_____________________________________
1876/2000
As
Vin came into the room, he was surprised to see Anita helping Sarah Weathers
become more comfortable on the small cot in the room. The pregnant woman smiled at her before breaking into a fit of
coughing, then groaning and riding out what looked like a wave of pain. She shook off Anita’s question of whether
she was all right and smiled again.
“Vin,
thank goodness you’re here!” Gloria said, reaching over to take his arm. “What’s going on out there? We can hear gunshots! And the roof! Are we going to die in here?”
The
apprentice detective just stared at her.
“You can see me?” he whispered.
“You
know these people?” Anita asked, glancing only momentarily away from
Sarah. “I found them in here. I don’t know how they got in,” she looked up
at Chris, and instinctively backed up a step.
The gunslinger gave her a curious stare, then went back to fighting with
the window. Try as he might, he
couldn’t get it open.
Not
that he really wanted to. The world was
going crazy outside. One window showed
the storm, the rain shaking the storm windows and the wind whistling in through
the cracks. The other window showed
bright sunshine pouring down on more objects like the one he had seen the
apparitions arrive in, and houses and buildings made of stone, brick and stucco.
“What
is going on?” Anita asked plaintively.
Vin
looked at her, then at Chris. The
gunslinger shook his head.
“I
don’t know, but, these people will not harm you, Miss Kramer,” the apprentice
replied. “Trust me.”
She
frowned, but accepted his word, “And…and the weather? And why do I smell smoke?
And the gunshots….”
Sarah
Weathers suddenly cried out in pain, grabbing at her belly.
“No,
no, no, not now!” the former slave hissed.
“Oh
lord!” Gloria hustled over, taking her arm. “Sarah?”
“I’m
all right,” the pregnant woman said, gritting her teeth. “This isn’t happening now, I won’t let it!”
“You’ve
gone into labor?” Chris asked, his eyes bright. He looked over at Vin, then returned to fighting with the
windows.
“No,
I’ve not,” Sarah replied, then grimaced, “I’ve not!” she swore, more for
herself than for the others.
“Oh
Heaven’s above,” Mrs. Potter shook her head, “And with Mr. Jackson out of
town!”
“Jackson?”
This brought Anita’s head up. “Russell
Jackson?”
Gloria
shook her head, “Nathan Jackson,” she said.
“I
don’t know him,” Anita replied, clearly puzzled. “Who is he?”
“Our
healer,” Gloria replied.
“Healer,”
Anita’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Ma’am, this woman needs a doctor, not a healer.”
“My
name is Gloria Potter, young woman,” Gloria replied, “And I’ll have you know
that Mr. Jackson is one of the best….”
Sarah
cried out again, doubling over. Gloria
instantly returned her attention to her friend.
“Oh
dear, oh dear, just keep breathing.” she rubbed Sarah’s back and looked up at
the others, “I don’t…I don’t know what to do.
I’m not a midwife.”
“Can
we get her to a hospital?” Anita asked, looking at Vin. The apprentice had shut the door and was
stuffing his coat to seal the cracks to stop the smoke.
“First
we need to get one of these damn windows open,” Chris muttered, giving up with
a grunt of disgust as he couldn’t move any of them. With a growl, he picked up a chair and threw it at one of them.
Nothing
happened. It just passed right through
the window without breaking it. As if
the window weren’t really there.
Gloria
Potter gave a gasp and stumbled back into the wardrobe. “What is going on,” she hissed. “Mr. Larabee, what is happening here?”
“Shit,”
Vin whispered, looking back at the door behind him. Smoke still curled out from anywhere it could. Chris just leaned against the wall and
rested his forehead against it, hiding his face. Gloria looked back just as Sarah gave another groan of pain.
“The
contractions are too close together,” Anita said, looking at her watch. Shutting her eyes, she sighed and opened
them again, suddenly appearing much older. “Okay…okay…we’re going to have to do
this here. Is there any water in that
basin?” She pointed to a washbasin on a
small dresser off to one side. “And
blankets. See if we can find blankets.”
Vin
went over to the wardrobe behind Gloria and opened it. Inside were some old ponchos, a serape
and…blankets. Grabbing them all, he
carried them over to the bed. Gloria
looked inside the basin, and nodded to say it was full.
“What
are you going to do?” the older woman asked.
“Deliver
her baby,” Anita replied, shaking her head.
“It’s been a while, but I have done it before. Then we can figure out how we’re going to get out of here.”
“You…you
are a midwife?”
“No,”
she laughed, walking over to the basin and looking at the soap next to it. Picking it up, she back to clean her hands,
“I’m…I was a doctor.”
Gloria
frowned, “But you’re just a girl and…your black!”
Anita
just gave her a strange look, and shook her head. “Thank you for pointing out the obvious. Listen, Mrs. Potter, my real name is Dr.
Anita Jackson, and I'm 33 years old.
I’ve been in witness protection for almost five years, living in New
York. I came back here after I learned
that my cover had been compromised.”
She looked at Vin, her eyes tearing slightly. “I never meant for Alicia or Steve to get hurt.”
“I
know,” Vin said.
“Jackson?”
Chris said, looking at the woman speculatively.
“I’m
sorry,” Gloria was shaking her head, “but that was all gibberish to me. Mr. Tanner, can you explain it,
please?"
“Uh…no,”
Vin gave a crooked smile. “But if she
says she’s a doctor, I’d believe her, Ma’am.”
Gloria
frowned, and looked back at the girl in the black shirt. “I’m very confused,” she said.
“Aren’t
we all,” Chris said. Backing away from
the windows. “But, I think the best
thing to do now is let this woman take care of Mrs. Weathers.”
Gloria
looked skeptical, but nodded.
“Okay,”
Anita said, wiping her hands on the towel next to the basin, “time for a
miracle.”
________________________________
2002
Ezra
stood slowly, then reached down to help Chris up as well. The detective
grunted, his arm still smarting. The gambler gave him a nod and walked
around the vehicle, his arms raised, as one of the men with machine guns jogged
out to pick up the discarded weapons.
Mick gave a small laugh, "Nice outfit, lawyer. Something out of the
old west, eh?"
"Old west," the gambler repeated, then nodded, "Yes, I guess it is," he agreed,
walking forward. Chris followed behind, his face bleak. He held his
arm close to his side, hoping the black leather of his jacket hid some of his
injury.
"I knew we winged him," one of Mick's gunmen said gleefully.
Chris frowned -- so much for that idea -- and moved to “cover” the man on the
right per Ezra's instruction.
"This weapon is odd," the one on the right said, picking up and
looking at Ezra's Remington. "It's old fashioned. Looks like it
could blow up in your hand if it weren't taken care of."
"My actual weapon is unfortunately still in the...car...we arrived
in," Ezra said, walking forward so that he was about two feet from the
other two men and lowering his arms to his sides. "That one came
with the outfit."
"Serious?" the gunman asked. "Neat," he lifted it to
his eye and sighted down it in the direction of Chris then towards a shop
window.
“Throw
it away,” Mick ordered, turned to look at his man.
In
that moment, Ezra acted, engaging the derringer and brining up his right hand
with the speed of a rattlesnake.
Mick gasped in shock as Ezra shot him directly between the eyes. The detonator
skittered out of Mick's lifeless hand as he fell across the sidewalk, the
"button" never depressed.
The
man to his left, completely taken off guard, was still working to re-engage the
machine gun when Ezra's second bullet caught him in the chest. The weapon
fell from his hands, never having been reset.
Chris,
trying not to react too sharply to Ezra’s actions as he saw Mick fall, attacked
the man holding Ezra’s Remington, getting a solid cut across the man's
jaw. The gunman lost his hold on Ezra's gun, but somehow got enough
ground under him to move back and come up with the machine gun back in both
hands.
A gunshot sent the gunman backwards, and a second, and a third, and the machine
gun shot uselessly across the road as the final man fell down.
Dead.
Ezra sighed, smiled, and blew the smoke off the top of the colt in his left
hand.
Chris whirled on him, seeing the new gun in his left hand, and the derringer in
his right.
"Three guns?!" he gasped. "What the hell! How...?
What...? You're outfitted like a god damned arsenal!"
Ezra smiled and slid the colt back in his shoulder holster. Then he
shoved the derringer back up his sleeve. "Did you see where he
dropped my Remington?" the gambler asked curiously, looking around him.
Chris just continued to breathe, looking at the dead men on the ground, then at
the men they'd felled earlier. It was like some scene out of a movie.
"I don't believe this," he said, shaking his head.
"Told
you that you wouldn't," the gambler replied, shrugging.
"And
I really don't believe you," Chris added, his eyes hardening as he looked
at Ezra. "What just happened
here?"
Ezra's eyes lifted up from where he had spotted his Remington, the green eyes
pure as they met the confused darker green one's of the detective.
"What
I get paid to do, Mr. Larabee," he said softly, picking up the gun and
holstering it, "I protected the town. Now, shall we see about
freeing those people?"
In the
background, Neither man saw the one that Chris had knocked out earlier come
round, dark eyes focusing on the two men arguing not far away. His hand felt down his leg, and he smiled
upon finding his ankle holster untouched.
_____________________________________
1876
JD
ran up the stairs, just in time to see a man literally come flying out of the
second floor room and into the corridor wall.
He landed on top of another man, also unconscious.
“Ezra?”
he called, stepping over the two bodies and glancing into the room, his guns
ready.
He
was just in time to see Ezra deliver a fantastic flying roundhouse kick to a
tall man with a moustache, the man thrown backwards into the wall. The gun in
the man’s hand fell to the ground, its owner out cold as his head impacted the
unyielding wood.
Ezra
grinned and wiped a hand across his chin, wiping away some of the rainwater and
sweat pouring in through the open windows.
As a floorboard creaked under JD's foot, the lawyer dropped into some
sort of odd stance, his hands raised before him, then stood up and grinned as
he recognized the figure.
“JD
Dunne! Look at you, you fit right in!”
JD
arched an eyebrow at the odd comment and walked the rest of the way into the
room.
“Damn,
Ez, did you do all this?” he walked into the room, to find three men lying
sprawled in various states of unconsciousness, while furniture, lamps, vases
and other items lay strewn or broken about the room. The lawyer grinned, and wiped his hands together.
“Yes,
well,” he shrugged, “I don’t think any of these gentlemen have seen a Jackie
Chan movie. I thus had the element of
surprise.”
JD
just raised an eyebrow, “huh?”
“Nothing,
nothing, just a form of ...uh...entertainment I saw in New York once.”
“Oh,”
the kid knelt down next to the moustached man, “so how did you do it? I mean, without a gun?”
Ezra
shrugged, “Years of training to achieve a black belt, and then years of
competition and, admittedly, even some practical use.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, "the
last being not the best of memories."
JD
stared at him, looking understandably bewildered. “Okay,” he muttered, shaking his head. He peered again at the moustached man, “You know, I’ve seen this
one before. He’s wanted for theft and
murder, I think. Name’s…”
“Palasco?”
Ezra smiled. “Michael Palasco?”
JD
shook his head, “Nah, something else, I think.”
“Yes
well, it’s probably something like that,” Ezra shook his head, and looked out
the window. “Are the others all right?”
“Yeah,”
JD answered. “Church’s roof caved in
though.” He looked up at Ezra, and saw
that the man’s expression had gone from a smirk to worried again.
“Did…did
everyone get out?” he asked.
JD
lowered his eyes and gave a small shrug.
“Can
you take care of this, Mr. Dunne?” Ezra asked, looking around him.
“Yeah. I’ll throw their guns away, then get someone
downstairs to help me take ‘em to the jail.”
“Thank
you, JD,” the lawyer replied, “I’ll be right back to help, I promise.”
“Yeah,
yeah…,” JD stood up as Ezra pushed past him to the door. “Ez?”
“Yes?”
the lawyer stopped just inside the door.
“Could
you teach me to fight like this?”
Ezra
smiled, nodded, then disappeared down the hall.
________________________________
1876/2002
Sarah
Weathers cradled her daughter closely, unable to believe her luck. She looked up at the young woman in front of
her, and smiled.
“Thank
you, Anita,” Sarah whispered as she lifted the baby higher in her arms. “Thank you so much.”
“No
Problem.”
"Yes!"
Chris said, as he finally got one of the windows open. "I'm going for
help," he called, jumping out the window to the soggy dirt ground
below. Soon he was out of sight.
“I’ll
see if we can get out the front,” Vin said, removing his coat from the
door. No smoke came through. Opening it gingerly, he looked at the
pristine white walls of the side room.
Nodding back at Anita, he disappeared through.
The
doctor frowned, and turned back to Sarah and Gloria. “You’ll be all right for a few minutes?” she asked.
“Yes,
thank you,” Mrs. Potter said. “You did
an amazing thing, my dear.”
Anita
grinned, and went out after Vin.
Sarah
looked down at the tiny baby, and cuddled her even closer. "Anita...," she said, "I like
that name." Gloria smiled and
nodded.
_________________________________
1876
The
tracker stood up and walked out, his sharp eyes looking for any other
threats. All in all, he guessed there
to be about five men out here. That
meant five were still missing.
The
sky was still moving rapidly, and, as quickly as it had come, the storm was
disappearing. The rain was barely a
strong mist now, and patches of blue sky were appearing in places.
“Mr.
Tanner!” Ezra came out of the hotel doors and ran towards him. “Vin, are you and the others all right?”
The
tracker nodded, “Yeah.” He looked over
where Josiah and Buck were talking together, both men looking towards the
church. The tracker didn’t want to turn
around. “How does it look?” he asked
Ezra, as the lawyer also looked past him to the church.
“The…rain
has put out the fire. But the roof is gone,
along with the steeple that was atop it.”
“Are
you…are you sure Chris was in there? And Mrs. Weathers and Mrs. Potter.”
Ezra
grimaced, "According to the journal, yes.
The three people were found near the front doors, obviously having been
caught in the process of trying to get out, unconscious beneath the
rubble. Mr. Larabee and Mrs. Potter
will be fine, but Mrs. Weathers...."
He stopped.
“Well,”
Vin stared in the direction of the town, “we've only got five men accounted for
here, of the robbers. That means there
are still five out there. Did you get a
gun?”
“Oh,”
Ezra shook his head, “The other five are unconscious back in the hotel, on the
second floor. Mr. Dunne is looking
after them. And no, I never did find a
gun.”
Vin
raised an eyebrow, “JD took all of them?”
Ezra
gave a crooked smile, then shrugged. “Actually, no, that was me. I think the idea of someone fighting without
a weapon in his hand except for the objects he finds in a hotel room may have
confused them. I saw them up there, and
brushing my hair forward to hide my face, I pretended to be room service. They assumed I was harmless until it was too
late.”
Vin
just regarded him with disbelief, and the lawyer smiled more broadly.
“Nice
to know I have that effect on you in this time as well as in my own.”
“Huh,”
the tracker shook his head.
“Perhaps
we should check out the church?” Ezra said then, more softly. Vin swallowed, and nodded. Buck and Josiah were headed in the same
direction.
“Mr.
Wilmington!” Ezra called, stopping the ladies man.
“Yeah?”
he replied, looking Ezra up and down.
“Nice outfit, Ezra. You lose a
bet?”
“Now
is not the time, Mr. Wilmington. Could
you please go and assist Mr. Dunne over in the hotel? He has his hands full with five more of these…miscreants,” he
waved at the ones lying dead on the wet ground. Buck looked at Vin with a questioning glance, and the tracker
nodded. With a snort, the ladies man
turned around and jogged towards the hotel.
“My
church,” Josiah said sadly, also joining them. “What a mess.”
“There
were people inside,” Vin whispered.
“What?”
“Chris,
Mrs. Weathers and Mrs. Potter.”
“Oh
my good God,” the preacher covered his mouth.
“Yeah,”
the tracker finally turned to look, and then lowered his head. The rain stopped.
At that
same moment, the sound of a baby wailing burst loudly from the church.
Or
rather, from the room behind it.
Sunlight
burst through to illuminate the wreckage, as Chris Larabee appeared jogging
around the church from the back.
At
the same time, the outlaw that had fallen from balcony over the hardware store
groaned and rolled over, his hand reaching for his gun. Groggily, his hands grabbed the wet metal
and he turned and aimed at the small group of men standing about ten feet away.
__________________________
2002
As
Anita walked back into the main church, she found Vin looking up at the ceiling
vaguely.
“Something
interesting about the roof?” she asked, causing him to jump.
“No,
just…it’s a nice roof.”
“Okay,
whatever you say,” she smiled and watched as he headed for the doors. He listened at them a moment, then risked
opening one.
Sunlight
poured into the cool hall.
“Well?”
she asked.
“We’ll
wait a few moments. Why don’t you go
check on them again.”
She
nodded, and headed back to the room. He
shook his head as she left, then jerked, startled, as he heard her scream his
name, her voice echoing through the church.
The apprentice instantly ran back to the back room. Anita was walking the tiny room in circles
and sticking her head out the open windows, clearly searching.
“They’re
gone!” she said, looking back at him.
“How is that possible? And where
did they go?”
Vin
stared at the empty bed, which was still neatly made, and at the sink attached
to the wall where the dresser had been, and the now obviously antique wardrobe.
“Home?”
he suggested weakly, smiling at her.
_________________________________
2002
“We're
not moving until I get an explanation.
A real one,” Chris Larabee said leaning against a nearby car and staring
hard at the gambler. “Who are you? Because you are sure as hell not my Ezra.”
The
gambler gave a crooked grin, and rubbed at his head. Then he sighed.
“I….”
A
gunshot rang out with a “BANG!” and Ezra’s eyes widened as he flinched at the
noise.
Chris
pushed him aside and grabbed one of the machine guns, firing in the direction
of the member of Palasco’s group he had thought he’d knocked out. The man recoiled from the shots, and fell to
the ground like a puppet.
“Christ,”
the detective breathed. “This is never ending. One of us had better handcuff the other one
before he comes round. And, then we'll
get that sheriff....”
He
turned and looked at where the gambler had fallen.
“No!” he fell to his knees next to the prone
figure, tipping him on his side. The gambler
blinked up at him groggily, the green eyes laced with pain, blood pooling out
from the wound on his back, staining the red jacket. “Hold on!” the detective yelled, pulling off his jacket and
pressing his hard against the wound.
“I’ll get you to a hospital!
Just hold on!”
“I…,”
Ezra smiled up at Chris, “I would…have liked…to have ridden in a car.”
“What? No, Ezra, no! Vin!” Larabee looked up,
for the first time realizing that he hadn’t seen the apprentice detective since
he’d sent him to the church. “Vin!”
He
got up and looked towards the church, then turned again to look at Ezra.
The
gambler had vanished.
__________________________________
1876
“Chris!”
Vin laughed, “Hell Chris, we thought…the roof, we thought…You’re all right!”
“Yes,
but I need help. Sarah Weathers…wait a
minute, what the hell happened here?
And how is he here?” He looked
around at the men lying on the ground, then at Ezra, clearly recognizing that
he was not the gambler.
The
lawyer shook his head, indicating he had no idea.
“Ezra
here’s the hero of the hour, Chris,” Vin said.
“Arrived just in time to prevent…well, let’s just say it’s a good thing
he’s here. What’s going on with Sarah?”
“She
had her baby,” Chris replied, still looking skeptically at Ezra. “She and Mrs. Potter are trapped in your
back room, Josiah.”
“Then,
we’d best rescue them,” the preacher grinned, relief all over his face. “Imagine, a birth in the midst of all this,”
he indicated the church and the town with a wave. “He never ceases to amaze me,” he added, looking upwards. Then he started running towards the back of
the church.
“I’ll
go with you,” Chris yelled at the preacher's retreating back, then turned to
point at Ezra. “And you and I are going
to talk later!”
“Whatever
you say,” Ezra smiled, raising his hands in submission. Chris growled, nodded, then turned and
started running to catch up with Josiah, who had already disappeared around the
side.
“What
an amazing...,” Vin said, rubbing at his neck as he turned to look at the lawyer
again. His sentence was cut off as a
single gunshot rang out, causing Chris to stop in his tracks near the front of
the church and turn around.
Ezra
staggered forward into Vin, letting the tracker catch him. At the same time, Chris pulled his peacemaker
and took the last outlaw down before he could fire again.
“Ezra!”
Vin felt the lawyer slip downwards in his grasp, and he clutched him
tightly. “No!” Chris was already running back to them.
Ezra
collapsed to his knees, then sank all the way down as Vin continued to try and
hold him. The tracker tipped him on his
side, and pressed his hand against the wound on the man’s back, trying to use
the lawyer's leather coat as a psuedo bandage.
Ezra hissed, trying to get away from the pain, but Vin held on. The lawyer breathed hard, and met Vin's eyes
with his own.
“Vin,”
he whispered, “Was I…was I really a hero?”
“Yes,
Ezra, yes…you really were."
The
lawyer smiled, and shut his eyes.
Vin's
breath caught in his throat, and he shook his head. "Oh hell, don’t die Ezra.
Not now.”
But
Ezra had stopped breathing. Vin pulled
him into a tight embrace, just for a moment.
Then, gently, he set him down on his back and stood up, turning to look
at Chris. The gunslinger met his gaze,
his jaw tense.
"I
don't understand this day," he said to the tracker, "none of
it." He looked back down to the
ground. Suddenly, his eyes widened,
which caused Vin to look behind him as well.
Ezra
was gone.
______________________________
______________________________
2002
“Vin!”
Chris bellowed again, running towards the church. “Vin!”
He
saw the church doors open, and Vin stuck his head out. The apprentice detective said something to
someone inside, then jogged down the steps.
“Chris,
what’s the matter?”
“Where
the hell have you been?”
“What?”
"Where
the hell have you been!" Chris shouted again, grabbing his arm. Vin flinched and backed out of the grip.
“Chris…I…look,
something very weird just happened inside that church,” Vin said, looking at
detective with a worried frown, “But, I found the girl. I think we should grab Ez and….”
"We
can't."
"What,
why not?" Vin looked at the town
hall, "All we need is to find...."
“Ezra’s
dead,” Chris said.
That
stopped Vin in his tracks.
“What?”
he asked, his voice incredibly soft.
“He’s
dead. Shot in the back. After he…Christ.” The detective put a hand
to his face, and Vin realized there were actually tears in the man’s eyes.
“If
he’s dead,” Vin said, thoroughly confused, “then who is that?” he pointed at something
behind Chris.
The
detective twisted around, his mouth dropping open.
Walking
out of the town hall, looking a little groggy but still very much alive, was
Ezra Standish. He was wearing the same
outfit he had arrived in – jeans and a leather coat. The red coat was nowhere to be seen.
“Ezra!”
Chris yelled, causing the lawyer to cringe.
He ran across to the hall and grabbed the other man's arms in his as if
he were going to hug him, grinning madly.
Then, just as quickly, the smile fell and he shoved Ezra away from him.
“What the hell is going on here!” he yelled at the town. Ezra staggered backwards, putting a hand to
his forehead.
"Please
don't yell," he whispered.
"You
okay?" Vin asked, taking his arm and helping the lawyer to sit down on the
hall's steps.
“Mr.
Tanner?” the lawyer said, looking up at his face. “What year is it?”
Vin
grinned, eyes bright with understanding, “2002.”
“Thank
God.”
Chris
was pacing, looking at Ezra and then back where the bodies of Palasco and his
men were still very much visible. He
was muttering to himself. Vin looked up
at him, seeing his shoulder for the first time.
"Chris,
you're hurt."
The
detective shook his head at him, clearly not bothered by that fact, and strode
away, headed towards the sheriff's office.
"Should
we go with him?" Ezra asked, still trying to get over the pain in his
head. He felt like he had a massive
hangover.
"Probably.
Come on," the apprentice said, helping Ezra to his feet. Soon, the two
were trying to catch up with the blond man.
Ezra only stopped for a moment to smile at the silver Jetta as they went
past, then up into the sheriff's office.
Inside,
they found almost twenty people stuffed into four sets of cells. Chris was already working on getting them
out. They were all talking and shouting
at the detective, clearly looking for answers.
One, a tall black man, was demanding to know whether they had seen his
daughter...Anita.
"She's
safe," Vin promised him. "Who
are you?"
"Russell
Jackson, I'm the sheriff," he replied.
"But that low life Palasco is out there. He threw us all in here, and we heard all that gunfire...."
"Palasco
is dead," Chris replied as he unlocked the first cell, having found the
keys in the desk, "and so are all his men, except one cretin whom I've
handcuffed to a bike stand."
"Thank
God for that," another woman said.
"Who
are you?" someone else asked.
"And is anyone else hurt?"
"I'm
a detective ma'am," Chris replied.
"We came here hoping to find Anita before Palasco did. We succeeded. And," he looked over at Ezra, who had sat down and buried
his head in his hands, "no...no one else is hurt."
"A
miracle," the woman replied.
"You boys must have been sent from heaven."
Chris
smiled, and Vin shook his head.
"You
know, they look sort of familiar," an older woman said, looking at
them. "Have you been here
before?"
"No,"
all three men replied simultaneously, their voices clear. She flinched.
"Well,
okay then."
"We
need to get everything that has happened written down," Russell Jackson
said. "Carla, could you do
that? I want to go and make sure that
they are telling the truth when they say my daughter is safe."
"Sure,
I just need to go to my office."
"Carla
is our town clerk," the sheriff said to Chris. "She'll help us...."
"She's
the clerk?" Vin asked, surprised.
"But then...who is over in the town hall?"
"The
hall?" Carla laughed, "Why no one, I should hope. Place has been abandoned for years. We really should rebuild it, but...."
"Chris,"
Ezra's voice was soft as he looked up at the ceiling, "I'd really, really
like to leave now. Can we do this over
the phone? Preferably from 42nd
street?"
"Mister,
I really don't think that that's such a good idea," Carla said. "After what happened...."
"Father?"
a woman's voice asked from the doorway.
"Are you all right?"
Dr.
Anita Jackson pushed through the front door and into the room, her eyes
watery. Chris stood up straighter, but
didn't do anything as she jumped into her father's arms. The room quieted, until Vin finally cleared his
throat.
"Dr.
Jackson," he said, "I believe this is yours. I forgot to give it to you
earlier."
The
girl looked back at him, then smiled as she took the locket from his hand.
"My
locket," she said. "This has
my great-grandmother's picture in it."
She smiled, opening it.
"We
hoped it would help us track you down," Vin said. "But we never did find out what her
name was."
"Anita,"
the doctor replied, "Anita Weathers."
"She
married my grandfather, Obediah Jackson," Russell added. "He was one of the first black doctors
in this area of the country – followed in his father's footsteps, this town's
first healer."
"Nathan
Jackson," Ezra said, smiling crookedly.
"Yes,
how did you...."
"Chris,"
Ezra interrupted, burying his head again, "I...really...want to
leave. Please."
"Um,
I think perhaps I should get my friend to...to a...to somewhere else,"
Chris said, picking up Ezra by the arm from his chair. "And we should get Miss Kramer...I
mean, Dr. Jackson here to somewhere safe.
I'll stay for a few moments to help you deal with what you are going to
find outside, but then I think we need to find Ezra a motel." He handed the still groggy lawyer to Vin,
"Put him in the car."
Vin
nodded, taking Ezra's arm as Ezra reached into his pocket for the VW's keys.
As
they opened the doors onto the bright sunny day, Vin stopped, halting Ezra's
forward momentum.
"Jesus
Christ," the apprentice said. Ezra
looked up, and frowned at the site of the boarded up town hall across the
street. Then he simply shrugged and
went down the rest of the steps, unlocking the car as he did so. Opening the back door, the lawyer crawled
onto the warm back seat and curled himself into a ball. In moments, he was fast asleep.
Vin
stayed on the steps, staring at the town hall. His eyes glanced across the different windows, until they came to
a rest at one on the upper left that wasn't boarded up.
The
black woman who had helped them before was leaning on sill, watching him. She waved a handkerchief, then, like the
ghost she was, faded into nothing as he watched.
"Thank
you," he heard her whisper in his ears, "again."
___________________________________
1876
Ezra
stumbled out of the saloon, blinking up at the sky, then started walking slowly
over to where he saw Vin and Chris standing down near the church. He waved weakly as Vin called his name, and
nodded as both men suddenly accosted him, patting his back and his head, as if
they'd lost him somewhere. Vin even
almost hugged him.
And,
from the second floor of the saloon, a black woman watched the three men. She leaned on the sill, smiling.
For
a moment, she felt the tracker's eyes on her, and she waved her handkerchief at
him. He looked a bit puzzled, but
nodded back.
"Thank
you," she whispered to him.
And,
the ghost of Nathan Jackson's mother faded away, happy to know that her family
was going to be okay.
_________________________________
The
End
You
might describe this as the story that got away. A word of advice to anyone wanting to write a short story – never
break your protagonists up. Three story
lines at once, in two and a half different time periods is really, really,
really, really difficult to contain.
This went through many revisions since it kept twisting worse than puppy
trying to get out of being given a bath, so, if it is just completely
messed....
Sorry.
Oh,
but if one of the sources of confusion is that I said in the beginning that
Nathan was childless, you might also have noticed that Sarah and her baby were
also supposed to die in the reality in which he wrote about in those journals.
Obviously, because of his "mother's" intervention, Sarah doesn't die,
and the others don't die or leave Four Corners and...Nathan does become a daddy
(somehow) of a lovely boy whom he names after his father. Young Obediah and Sarah Weather's daughter
Anita eventually marry....
By
the way, I got the name Anita from a real person. Anita Hemmings was an African-American woman who passed herself
off as white in order to attend Vassar college, from which she graduated in
1897. She was (unofficially of course)
the first African-American graduate of the college, about forty years before
the college actually opened its doors to African-Americans. After she graduated, she married Dr. Andrew
Jackson Love in New York City, a graduate of the historically blacks-only
Meharry Medical College in Tennessee (though he said his alma mater was
Harvard. Like his wife, he passed
himself off as white in order to maintain his practice). I learned this from an article in my college
quarterly. To learn more, historian F.
James Davis wrote a book called Who is Black? about the subject, and
Hemmings great-granddaughter, Julian Sim is currently writing a book about her
family. She also wrote an article in
the periodical American Heritage called "Fading to White,"
published in February/March 1999. Also,
in the late 1920s, Nella Larson published two novels as part of the Harlem
Renaissance called Quicksand (1927) and Passing (1929) both of
which apparently deal with the psychology of "racial passing."
I
know all that is off topic, but, if your interested in history, I thought some
of you might be curious. I just
couldn't resist using her first name after seeing that she married someone who
had the name Jackson and who was a doctor.
Meg