Once upon a time there was a girl who for many years started many stories and finished none. So one day, when she actually did complete a story - beginning, middle and end - she became afraid that if she ever left one unfinished again, she would return to her old pattern of unfinished tales. This paranoia drove her to finish every story she started - even chain stories started with other people.

This was a chain story started with a now-defunct group and retrieved from the discard pile and finished by the Sirens. Because some of the authors who started it had no part in finishing it, their writing does not appear here, but some of their ideas are integral to the plot, so, where applicable, credit has been given them at the end of the chapter.

The room faded in a soft, misty haze of pleasure, the hot trail of Amelia's lips along his flesh the only reality except for the soft counterpoint of the rumble of voices from the saloon below, the faint smell of alcohol and tobacco wafting up through the floorboards and the jangling of harness and the clop of horse hooves from the street under the open window. He felt Amelia's fingers on the buttons of his shirt, releasing them, felt her rest one hand delicately on his chest, over his heart. The world stopped for a minute as she raised her head to look deep into his eyes. A faint warning bell rang far in the back of his mind and he hesitated, curling his hand around her wrist.

"Amelia - "

"Hush…" she lowered her head and brushed his mouth lightly with her lips and a faint buzzing filled his ears - not unpleasant, but slightly masking the outside noises. The room about him faded still further, swimming a little around him. The smell of her hair and perfume filled his senses and he closed his eyes, hoping to concentrate on that sweet scent, to stop the rocking, faintly disturbing, of the walls around him. Her hand moved deeper into his shirt, brushing lightly against him, and he felt the rush of her warm breath on his ear this time. The alarm in his mind was growing louder, but his head felt heavy and his body oddly detached, slow to respond. He frowned faintly. He felt drunk - that was it - but he'd only had two beers, with Amelia. Not nearly enough to make him drunk. Part of his brain was puzzling it idly while the other part was swept up in the steady course Amelia's lush mouth was burning across his jaw…faintly, under the buzzing in his ears, he heard the town clock strike and counted mistily along…one…two…three…four…Amelia continued her unhurried progress towards his mouth…five…six…seven…he frowned unconsciously…eight? Was it really…? Nine! He pushed himself abruptly into sitting position, grabbing Amelia by the shoulders to prevent her precipitous tumble to the floor.

"Adam!" she said plaintively.

Adam took a deep breath, then another, not looking at her, trying to chase the errant thought that had flashed through his mind. "Nine o'clock?" he said blankly.

Amelia leaned in to him. "So what? Even YOUR Pa can't have a curfew for you." She bent her head to him.

Adam evaded her gently, trying to focus, his head a leaden weight. "No, I was supposed to be home by - I was supposed to -" It hovered there, just out of his reach and he rubbed his forehead impatiently. Never mind. It would come to him on the road. He had to get back to the ranch. "I have to go." He lifted her carefully off his lap and placed her on her feet.

"Go!" Amelia looked indignant as he pushed himself up from the bed. "Adam - " she trailed a hand coaxingly down his shoulder and clasped his hand for a minute, hanging on. She smiled slowly into his face. "Please stay," she whispered.

Adam tottered, unexpectedly unbalanced by her clasp. "Can't," he answered uncertainly, wishing he could remember why. "Late - " He saw his hat on the peg by the door and reached for it, swayed suddenly and caught himself on the door lintel. He shook his head a little to clear it. He felt so strange. From two little…he fumbled for the knob, his hand missing and skinning his knuckles unexpectedly against the door frame instead. He leaned heavily against it, breathing hard. "Amelia, I - "

Amelia was watching him, her gaze speculative and expectant.

Adam's eyes widened at the look in hers, suddenly suspicious. "What did you - ?" His knees gave way abruptly beneath him and he clutched at the bedpost to slow his fall. Amelia was there at once, helping him to sit on the side of the bed, prying his hat gently from his hand.

"Adam, I think you're unwell," she said sweetly. "I think you'd better stay right here for now."

"No, I - " his tongue was suddenly thick in his mouth, stumbling his speech. "You - " He lurched forward in an effort to rise, kept falling.

She just managed to get herself under him and stop his face down tumble to the floor. She held him slumped against her for a moment, stroking the back of his head gently, before easing him back onto the bed and studying his upturned face for a moment. He didn't move, and after a minute she allowed herself a little smile.

"I'm sorry," she said brightly. "But it will wear off after a while. And I really can't have you leaving just yet."

Carla Keehn is the original creator of the names for Amelia and David Fairchild, and the idea of Adam in Amelia's room.