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The Night of the Unsolved Mysteries
A Wild Wild West story
By Deana
Tag to the episode, 'Lord of Limbo'. It's one of my favorite episodes, but there were a lot of plot holes, so I decided to explain them!
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As soon as Colonel Falk left, Artie sat next to Jim, plopping his head back against the couch. "What a rough couple of days. I'm exhausted," he said.
"You look it," said Jim. "Going to bed early?"
"I should, the way I feel," Artie said, around a huge yawn. "But I don't know if I'll be able to sleep."
"Why not?"
Artie sighed, and seemed like he didn't know where to begin. "When I was in limbo," he said, with a shrug. "I wasn't myself."
Jim crossed his arms. "You certainly weren't!"
"After we came back, a lot of what happened seemed distant, like a dream," Artie continued. "But the more I think about it, the more I remember." He looked at Jim. "Jack Maitland was my great-grandfather."
Jim sat up, having not expected that. "You're kidding!"
Artie shook his head. "No...and I'm the spitting image of him."
"That's incredible," said Jim. "So we really were in the past…it wasn't just some trick."
Artie nodded.
"I was wondering why you thought you were someone else, while I was still me," said Jim.
"After I disappeared from the show," said Artie. "I was in blackness, surrounded by mist, like in the room of Vautrain's house. I was there for a long time...probably because he didn't know what to do with me, considering that he'd originally wanted to kidnap you. He must've not planned to bring me back to reality, so he sent me into the past to live my great-grandfather's life."
"How did he know who your ancestors were?" Jim challenged.
Artie shrugged. "I haven't been able to figure that one out either. For that matter, how did he figure out who you were? He was half-dead at the time, five years ago…you didn't give him your name…I imagine that once he decided to get revenge on you and found out who you were, he looked into both of our lives and learned who knows what."
Jim nodded.
"Either way," said Artie. "After he dropped me into the past, I was there the whole time, until you showed up. I really had no idea who you were."
Jim nodded. "I noticed that."
Artemus smiled slightly, before it vanished and he covered his eyes with one hand. "I can't believe that I tried to duel you to the death..."
Jim reached over and nudged his arm. "Forget about that, Artie. Every time someone tries to pit us against each other, it never succeeds, and it never will: it's not meant to."
Artie lowered his hand and looked at him. "Well...that's profound, especially for you, Jim."
Jim laughed.
"Now if only you could explain how I had a bullet in me in the past, but not in the present...and how I'm alive right now," Artie said.
Jim was quiet for a minute, remembering Artemus dying in his arms.
Now it was Artie's turn to reach out to his friend. "Sorry, Jim, I shouldn't've brought that up."
Jim sighed before standing and going over to the cabinet on the far wall. He grabbed the decanter of brandy and brought it back to the couch, pouring a generous amount into two glasses and handing one to his friend.
They drank it in silence for a minute, until Jim spoke again. "I can't explain that, Artie. Maybe it's because it really was your great-grandfather, and your mind was simply inhabiting his body."
"Except that I didn't have my own mind...or I would've known you," said Artie.
"Plus, you spoke with an accent…" said Jim. "Something that sounded half English and half southern."
Artie nodded. "I know. Later, though, like I said to you, I felt like we'd done all that before…fought together…"
Jim nodded back. "Which was your mind coming to the surface."
Artie was silent for a few seconds. "Jim…my great-grandfather didn't take that bullet. He lived to be eighty-five. He wasn't killed in a duel."
Jim's eyes suddenly opened wider. "We didn't change history?" His face suddenly brightened. "That must mean that you weren't dead after all...just unconscious."
Artemus held his tongue. He'd been dead. But if Jim felt better thinking otherwise, then he wouldn't dream of contradicting him. He suddenly thought of something else. "It still could've been my body that took that bullet. I felt the impact, felt the pain..." His hand unconsciously strayed to his midsection. "For whatever reason, injuries sustained while we were in limbo did not come back with us. Remember, Jim, when Vautrain's house was blasted just before we left—"
Jim put his glass on the table. "That's right, you hurt your shoulder."
Artie shook his head. "You have no idea. It was broken."
Jim's eyebrows raised.
Artie nodded. "Hurt as much as the bullet wound." He stared at the brandy that remained in his glass, swirling it around in his left hand...the arm with the 'broken' shoulder.
"And you feel nothing from either place?" Jim said, gesturing first to Artie's midsection and then to his arm.
"Well, that's the funny thing," said Artie, taking another drink and putting the glass down. "I didn't at first, both times that we returned to reality, but now, once in a while I get a twinge. It's probably not real, just me remembering what it felt like."
Jim shrugged, before shaking his head. "I guess we'll never know. But one thing's for sure...Vautrain is gone. There was no trace of him in that house, which means that he died in the past."
"Did he?" Artemus said.
"You don't think so?"
"What if he transported himself to another time?" Artie said. "He didn't need to be in that room in order to do it...he did it to me while we were at the show."
Jim was speechless for a second. "That's right, he did. Then we might see him again someday."
"I don't think he'll come after us, if that's what you're thinking," Artie said. "He let us go, in the end. He must've finally realized that his quest for revenge was unfounded. Maybe he didn't transport himself away...when he found that he'd failed, he would've rather just die than continue living with no legs."
"It's possible," said Jim.
Artie sighed. "These mysteries will remain unsolved, Jim…we lived it, it's over, and we're alive and well. I suppose we should simply be thankful and not dwell on it."
"Here, here," said Jim. He picked up his glass of brandy, handed Artie his, and they clicked them together before drinking the rest.
Putting the empty glasses back down, they were quiet for a second, until Artie broke the silence with a yawn. He squirmed on the couch as if to get more comfortable, and Jim stood, taking the brandy back to the cabinet and the dirty glasses into the galley. When he returned, Artie was stretched out, fast asleep...his right hand resting right over where the bullet wound had been.
Jim looked away, chilled at the sight as he again remembered when Artie had 'died' in his arms. He was unconscious, not dead, he reminded himself, preferring to believe that theory instead.
Leaving the room, Jim went into Artie's compartment and pulled the blanket off his bed, bringing it back and covering his friend with it.
Artemus stirred slightly. "Jim?" he mumbled, sleepily, without opening his eyes.
"Everything's fine, Artie. Go to sleep."
Artie dropped right off again, saying nothing more.
Not tired yet himself, Jim went and retrieved a pack of cards and brought it back, sitting on the floor near the couch and using the coffee table to play solitaire, content to be in his friend's company, whether Artie was asleep or not…because by some miracle that they'd never be able to explain or understand, he was alive.
THE END