Vancouver had been his home for the past thirteen years, ever since his mother had passed away in a tragic accident. His father had been so distraught by her sudden passing that he had packed his two young children up and travelled as far away as he could get from Nova Scotia (and with any luck, the bad memories). But it was no use. It didn't matter that they were over four thousand kilometres away. The painful remembrances would always find a way back into his father's troubled mind. And so he drank to excess and fought with anyone who even looked at him funny.

The beatings started when he was just eleven years old. Though his father had tried to strike his sister, he would never allow it, distracting the brute like a bull and bringing the onslaught onto himself. For years he retreated into the corners of his own mind, in order to cope with his situation. He never fought back, it was not in his nature. As such, he remained a very quiet, reserved individual. Needless to say, William and Susannah's adolescent years had been less than nurturing. Murdoch prayed every single day that Harry simply wouldn't return home from his evening binges at the local pub, that someone would just kill him during one of his skirmishes. Then when he was fourteen, his prayers were finally answered. But not in the way that he had expected. His father simply disappeared. The few mounties involved in keeping the peace didn't have a very high opinion of Harry and so the most miniscule of searches was conducted. As a result, Murdoch never knew what had become of his father, and sad as it is to say, he didn't care in the slightest. He was just glad that the terror had finally come to an end.

Shortly after this, the siblings were taken in at the orphanage. It was run by a bunch of stern but fair Catholic nuns. It was here that Murdoch had access to a rather large supply of books that were recently donated by a charitable individual (one who had passed away). The man had apparently been a purveyor of all knowledge and as such the collection covered a wide variety of topics. Murdoch devoured it all. He knew that they would be let go in a few years time and expected to fend for themselves because space was limited. If he was to have any hope of getting a decent job, he thought it best if he knew as much as possible about everything.

When he was seventeen he officially became the man of the house (though really he had been for years even though Harry had still been around) and so it was up to him to fully provide for both of them. Though he was just a teenager, he had the mind of a very intelligent adult. Because of this, he was able to persuade Sergeant Major Michael Jackson to take him on as a new recruit, even though he wasn't technically old enough. In the ensuing months he learned to shoot and ride as well as the rest of them, as though he had been born to the role, impressing some but annoying most.

More than one young lady was quite smitten with him. His handsome features only seemed to be accentuated by the bold red of his uniform, especially when he was astride his own lovely horse, showing off his impressive lassoing skills (as he caught the occasional criminal, not because he was performing for them). As such, they followed him around like a bunch of lovesick puppies, oohing and ahhing over every little thing he did. But it was no matter. Murdoch had no interest in them. In fact, he found them to be quite tiresome and wished they would leave him alone and let him do his job in peace. He would have arrested them if they ever really got in his way, but as of yet, they had kept their distance. Besides which, he was slightly afraid of what would happen to him if he descended from his horse in order to do so. Would they all attack him in a wild frenzy, as if they were cougars and he was an injured deer?

With the exception of his mother and sister, the opposite sex had always mystified him. A lot of the time he couldn't make heads or tails out of their words. There always seemed to be hidden meaning behind everything they said. As such, he rarely mingled with them at the various church functions every few weeks, preferring to keep to himself. One may wonder why he went in the first place. Partly, he considered it his duty as a good Catholic boy, but mostly it was so he could keep an eye on his sister. Just like him, she was admired by many (as she had the singing voice of an angel) and Murdoch often worried about her, even within the confines of the church. It was no wonder he felt this way, she was all he had left. If anything bad ever befell her and he could have done something to stop it, he would never forgive himself. And so it was that he kept an eye on Susannah whenever he could (which was unfortunately not very often given all of his patrol duties).

Within four years he had risen through the ranks and found himself one of, if not thee youngest Sergeant in NWMP (Northwest Mounted Police) history. Almost as soon as he acquired his new status, he was met with his first solo case, and it was proving to be a most puzzling one. To make matters worse, his protege, Constable Jackson, was quite incompetent and only seemed to halt the investigation, even when Murdoch gave him as little to do as possible. He would have tried to get rid of the slightly older, rotund man except that he was the son of Murdoch's superior and as such, his hands were tied.

Conventional methods of investigation were getting him nowhere. No one seemed to know anything about what had happened to the deceased. And so Murdoch was forced to try something completely new, something no one there had ever heard of before or really even understood. Murdoch took the fingermarks of everyone he had spoken to, (by using a little ink and paper) and using his magnifying glass, compared them to those found at the scene of the crime (specifically those found on the murder weapon). It wasn't long before he found a match. However, when he went to Major Jackson with this information, he was met with extreme resistance (and Murdoch quickly learned, confusion).

"What the devil are you going on about man!" exclaimed the Major. He waved the piece of paper around. "What does this little smudge have to do with anything?"

"As I've tried to explain, sir," replied Murdoch calmly, even though he was quite thrilled with his discovery, "that little fingermark is proof of Simpson's guilt." The major looked at him uncomprehending so he continued. "I've been doing some reading and come across a very interesting technique in the scientific journal Nature. Dr. Henry Faulds proposed a method of obtaining a persons fingermarks with ink in order to compare them to those left behind on inanimate objects. I have done the same thing with this case and have concluded that Simpson is the murderer."

The Major narrowed his eyes at that. "And what exactly is a fingermark, Murdoch?"

He realized then that in his excitement, he had forgotten to explain the essentials.

"Our finger tips have a natural oil on the surface and when we touch things, that oil is left behind in a specific pattern dictated by the ridges. This pattern is unique to everyone."

Jackson looked incredulous. "What do you mean, everyone? How could they be different for everyone?"

Murdoch felt quite inept at answering this basic question.

"Well, sir, I don't know exactly, but-"

The Major laughed. "You want me to grant an arrest when you don't even fully understand your own evidence?"

Trying to salvage the situation, he said, "The question isn't why the fingermarks are different, sir, but rather that they are."

"According to who?"

"There are many who have noticed this phenomenon over the years, sir, and if you simply took the time to look yourself, you'd see-"

"I don't want to hear anymore about this nonsense, Murdoch!"

"But, sir!" he exclaimed, finally losing his temper.

"That's an order, Sergeant!"

Without another word, Murdoch stormed out of there.

This sort of confrontation eventually became quite common place for the two men. So much so that the Major threatened to have him removed from the NWMP if he didn't desist in what he considered to be extremely 'delusional' behaviour. Murdoch half thought of quitting himself. He was tired of being treated like an imbecile. The problem was that he needed the money in order to support both him and his sister, and since NWMP didn't pay much and the cost of living was expensive here, they were only ever getting by, so there was no way he had time to find another job and start all over. Not unless they moved somewhere else. But again, they had to have the money in order to do so.

Then one day, this ceased to be an issue. Susannah had informed him that she was going to become a nun, specifically a cloistered nun.

"Are you sure?" he asked his nineteen year old sister slowly. "Once you go down that road, there is no turning back."

"I'm sure, William," she responded in her quiet manner. "In fact, I believe I've always known that this was God's plan for me."

"Why have you never said anything before?"

She looked away. "I suppose I didn't want to leave you alone. Not after everything we've been through together. Not after everything you've done for me."

He took her hand in his. "Susannah, look at me." She did so hesitatingly as tears had started to form. "I don't want you to think that you owe me anything. I did what I thought was right, what any decent brother would have done. I did my duty, nothing more. But you have your own life to live and I would never want to stand in the way of that. Of course I will be sad to see you go-"

At this she threw her arms around him and started to sob. Murdoch teared up as well and simply stroked her hair gently just like he used to do as a boy when Harry had frightened her.

"It took a lot of courage to finally tell me this, sister. I'm proud of you."

Eventually she calmed down and pulled away slightly, staring into his chocolate coloured eyes. It seemed like she had something else to say but after another few seconds she simply smiled weakly and headed to her room. Already her self imposed exile had begun.

With his sister gone, he was able to save some money up and was free to leave. But something stopped him, or rather, someone. During what was supposed to have been his last shift, (before handing in his resignation) he came across a stunning sight. A young woman had just struck a man hard enough to make him fall over and she was now swearing at him quite profusely and most unladylike. A small crowd had gathered. Quickly he rode over to investigate further, Constable Jackson failing to keep up.

"What seems to be the matter?" he called as he approached.

The woman turned around to face Murdoch and he was again stunned. This time by her beauty.

"You sure took your time getting here constable!"

Rather than correct her, he said with some difficulty as his throat had gone dry, "Terribly sorry, miss. But now that I am here, can someone tell me what happened?"

The man on the ground (one Trevor Sandhill, a well to do business man with a penchant for inappropriate behaviour) started to get up and shouted, "This harpy assaulted me! That's what!"

The woman turned to face him again, scowled and clenched her fists. "Don't pretend like you didn't deserve it! You pig!"

"How dare you talk to me like that! Do you know who I am?"

"Yes I do! You're a big..." she poked his chest, "fat..." she poked it again, this time harder, "pig!"

Mr. Sandhill was absolutely livid and it was only a matter of time before he struck her. Murdoch dismounted with ease and hurriedly separated them, having his partner hold her back if necessary.

"Now, sir, please tell me what happened here."

The woman huffed loudly. "Of course you only want to hear his version of events! All you men are the same!"

He ignored that comment and continued to wait for Mr. Sandhill's testimony.

"Well, Sergeant, I was going about my day, minding my own business, when I saw that this young lady was clearly lost and in need of directions. I simply tried to help her and then she attacked me!"

"That's a bald faced lie!" she shrieked from behind Jackson.

"Why would she do that?" he enquired politely.

"I have no idea," he said smugly.

"Thank you, sir," Murdoch said. Then he turned his back on Mr. Sandhill and stared into the lovely but angry eyes of the stranger. "If you'd be so kind as to come with me miss-"

"You can't be serious! You're going to arrest me?! Without even hearing my side of the story?!"

Murdoch didn't say anything and instead lightly took her arm, leaving Jackson to tend to both of their horses. She resisted at first but then sighed and let herself be led away. Once they had gone a few blocks he stopped abruptly and released her arm. She looked at him inquiringly.

"I suggest you stay away from that part of town for the duration of your stay here. Mr. Sandhill is likely to try something again, given the slightest chance."

The woman raised her eyebrows at that. "You knew this whole time, didn't you?"

"Of course, miss. This isn't exactly the first complaint against him."

Her expression softened for a second and then she frowned. "So you just let him go around doing as he pleases?!"

Murdoch looked apologetic. "I'm afraid it's out of my hands. There is no law against getting a little too...familiar with the opposite sex. Even if I did arrest him for indecent behaviour, he'd just walk free within the hour. Believe me, I have tried...on more than one occasion."

"But that's ridiculous!"

He nodded once. "I agree completely."

She sized him up then and said, "You're awfully young to be a Sergeant. You can't be more than twenty-five!"

"Indeed," he said smiling for the first time. "I am twenty-three. And how old are you?"

The woman made an incredulous face at him. "Don't you know better than to ask a lady that?"

"Ah," said Murdoch embarrassed, "apparently not."

She laughed at his expression, the sound like music to his ears.

"Well, Sergeant, luckily for you, I don't consider myself much of a lady. I've just turned twenty one and in fact, that is the reason I am here." He raised an eyebrow at that in confusion. "What I meant to say is that this is a sort of last hurrah before I cross the border in order to further my studies."

"Studies?"

"I'm going to be a doctor."

She said it as if it were a common statement, as if it were the most natural thing in the world and not highly unlikely.

"I see."

"You don't think I can do it, do you?"

"Statistically speaking-"

"Oh what rubbish! Statistics be damned!"

"You didn't let me finish, miss. What I was going to say is that, yes, it is very unlikely that you will succeed, but given the little I have seen of you," -he smiled- "I believe you might just beat the odds."

She genuinely smiled at him and his heart beat a little faster.

"I'm Julia," she said, holding out her hand, "Julia Ogden."

He took it and said, "Sergeant William Murdoch, at your service."

They looked at each other closely then and he got lost in her bluish green eyes so that it was a complete shock to him when he heard someone clearing their throat nearby. Murdoch blinked a few times, noticed Julia doing the same, realized he was still holding her hand, dropped it hastily and glanced over his shoulder to find Jackson grinning at him stupidly.

Murdoch cleared his throat and said, "Well, I must be off." He hopped on his saddle. "Take care now." And assuming he didn't see her again for whatever reason, he said, "Good luck with your studies."

"Thank you, Sergeant."

Then he whipped his horse sideways and continued his beat, all the while unable to think of anything other than her. For the first time in a long time, he felt a change was coming, one that filled him with trepidation...and hope.