Extra Luggage?
Sounds of merriment and joy surround us as the annual Western Fair rages on in Boulder, Colorado. My twin sister and I had agreed to compete in their new gun-drawing contest. I have on the traditional beige pants, a loose fitting shirt and a lilac vest that fits me rather snugly. I also adorn a simple revolver on a belt hanging on my right thigh. My sister here looks like any woman from the Wild West in her old-styled dress and lacy umbrella. Her hair is tied into a bun on top of her head, whereas mine swishes against my shoulders with each and every step I take. We both have mystical brown eyes with a tint of violet to them. We also stand at five feet eight, making us rather tall for the time.
While we're waiting for the contest to begin, which didn't start for at least another hour, we decide to go site seeing. Among the historic buildings, is an old sheriff's office with a single cell in the corner. I turn to my sister and say, "Well Miss Samantha, aren't you going to lock me up?"
"With pleasure." Taking the spare rope on the sheriff's desk, Sam ties my hands rather tightly behind my back. As she turns the key, I start to hear something. It seems to be a faint ticking sound. Very slow and steady at first, but then it grows faster and louder. "Sam it's a bomb!" She fumbles with the keys and jams one into the lock. The few people that were in here have fled, leaving just my sister and me. "Sam go, you can save yourself."
"No Alex, not a chance." Sam finally yanks the door open, along with my arm, but it is too late. An explosion goes off near the roof and we are caught in its wrath. The old looking pieces of wood smash down on me as I feel like I'm falling through layers of fog.
When my strength returns, I jolt up to see if Sam had gotten hurt. Then much to my surprise I find myself not in a hospital or even under the wood, but in an alleyway of the fair. Beside me is a newspaper with something most peculiar about it. The date reads August 18th, 1865. Can this date be real? No, this can't be real. That explosion must've put Sam and me into a coma or maybe we're dreaming. That's it! That's got to be it. There's no other option. Although this might be fun. Might as well play along. I wonder if Sam's in this dream. Through the throbbing of my head I manage to cry out, "Sam. Where are you?"
Then I hear a voice coming from…under me? "Same place you fell on her." I quickly roll off of her and she wonders the same thing I did when I first awoke. "Maybe we should look around first." As we stand to dust ourselves off, we see two figures waiting for us at the end of the alleyway and like me they have guns. They swagger over to us, like they own this land, until they're behind us. We turn to face them as they walk behind us. Somehow I knew these two look familiar and now I know why. They are Marc and James, two boys from our current college. However, now they seem to be staring at us like a ravenous cat would look at tuna. I feel the need to remind them of who we are from the weird expressions on their faces, "Marc! James! Come on guys don't you recognize us?"
Marc speaks up first, "I don't know how you know our names, but all you need to worry your little heads over is just how pretty you are. In fact, I'd say you're the prettiest things this side of the Mississippi River."
James speaks up next in that same arrogant voice, "Yeah and we've been hunting for twenty months."
Sam and I share the same confused look between us. Turning back to them and safely speak for the both of us, "You've been counting?"
Suavely they say simultaneously, "No, we've been hunting! Now if you were smart you'd follow us." They come up and grab our wrists and say smugly, "We just want to play."
Marc looks at me with my pants and gun as he says, "I see that you are no lady, so suppose you and I have a little competition. If you win, you walk scotch free…"
"And what if you win," I say jerking my wrist back.
"We get time with you."
With a reassuring look to Sam for support, I say, "I don't think so boys", hoping he will just give up and walk away.
I've never shot anyone! This guy must be serious, there's no laughter in his voice, but maybe he's drunk. Either way we're toast! I notice there's a problem though when James' hold increases on my partner. I start to go over when Marc pulls his gun on me.
A strong and reassuring voice then stops the aggressor in his tracks, "Now is that anyway to treat a lady?" Still trying to get away from this lunatic, I do not see who this unknown stranger is.
It must not have been the cops because the drunkard continues to talk back. "Now who in Sam Hill are you?"
"Names Jones and like I said, that ain't any way to treat a lady." The name Jones sparks a chain of familiarity, though I pay no heed to it now. As I turn I spot the strangers instantly, one with light hair and one with dark hair.
The two strangers step in front of us without taking their eyes off of the two fools in front of us. Sam and I are trying to look over their shoulders to see what is happening, but to no avail. The curly blonde has his arms folded over his chest and seems to waiting, but I am not sure for what.
The two staring Jones right in the eye also seem to sense that, but continue on, "This here business is between us and the ladies, so git."
"My partner and I are under the impression that these ladies were under distress, so it's only natural that we would come over to investigate the trouble," says the dark haired man with a suave voice that could talk his way out of anything.
The two men in front of Jones join in on a vigorous laughter that stops when they see the seriousness in Jones' eyes. That's when they too turn lethally serious, "So you think just because you're a gentlemen that you can waltz right into someone else's business? Well sir that ain't the case and now I'm gonna have to teach you a lesson."
The other yells gleefully at this, "Yeah, yeah. Shoot his index off. He won't be bothering us then."
In the time that Marc had only began to feel the metal of his trigger, a shot is heard from Mr. Jones' gun. With a seriousness and anger in his voice he speaks, "Now you can either get out of my face now or that bullet in your shoulder will have company."
"Y-yes sir!" They both scramble over themselves in their attempt to get out of this quick drawing gun's range.
The dark haired man's voice is a soothing one and well tuned, "Are you all right ladies?"
Doing my best not to blush, unsuccessfully might I add, I look up into my rescuer's face and am amazed. The dark brown hair hides the most poignant of brown eyes I have ever seen. His smile is gorgeous, the dimples on his cheeks are so child like and to tell the truth were we alone, I'd kiss him right here just to taste those soft lips of his. My goodness have I died and gone to heaven? Noticing that I haven't answered, I quickly recover with my words, "Why yes thanks to the two of you."
"It was our pleasure ma'am. No man should take advantage of a lady. No matter how pretty she may be." I look at my sister to see she's giving this stranger the same look I did to the dark haired man and I can see why. His curly blonde hair hangs about his granite blue eyes and his muscular form would woo any woman, including one so picky as my sister. Now I know I've died for we have angels looking over us.
"Why that was the finest shooting I've ever seen! You could whip the tails off the boys we've encountered. You should so enter that contest, but I suppose you all ready have haven't you?"
"Thank you ma'am, but tell me where is this contest," the blonde seems to talk with a certain kind of assertiveness.
"Its right down the street I think. I swear when you go into a fair, get a map, you get so lost in…here…Oh my gosh I've been so rude as to not ask the names of our rescuers."
"Well ma'am my name is Joshua Smith and there's my partner Thaddeus Jones." Both of them tip their hats at the mention of their name. He continues without missing a beat despite the silence, "May we at least take you to where you're staying. Mrs…"
"It's Miss…Miss Alexandria Lulson actually and this is my sister Sam. Of course Mr. Smith you can escort us, but we're not sure where anything else is anymore." The two gentlemen hold out their arms and escort us to a hotel where they get adjoining rooms and they even pay for our room too. Though my sister seems contented with this turn of events, something tells me that I should be weary of those two and it seems like I've seen them before and what about this time. There are no TVs and no radios, what could this be. I look at Sam and say "Maybe this isn't a dream; maybe we've actually gone back in time." With a moment's hesitations on those thoughts I conclude, "No, that can't be right. This is only a dream, that's it, only a dream." That's what I keep telling myself hoping that I will believe it. "Time travel isn't possible, is it?" I ask Sam. She looks around the room and shrugs as I walk over to the window and look out. The streetlights have disappeared. The ATM that used to be in front of the bank is gone. The street pavement is gone. I turn to Sam and say "Faced with all the overwhelming evidence what else could it be. If we did travel back, how do we get back home?" We stare at each other in disbelief as we both come the same conclusion; we are in the Wild West, the real Wild West. Sam sits down and leans her head back, with her eyes closed. This is how she thinks, I on the other hand pace. Tired of pacing, I decide that a drink at the local saloon ought to calm my nerves. Slipping quietly out of my room, I hear some whispering that I can make out to be Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith.
Jones starts off the conversation, "Heyes why can't we stay. No one even knows our names except for those two ladies." I plant myself against the door when I hear Mr. Jones call Mr. Smith "Heyes".
"I know Kid, but that's the problem. They're bound to recognize us sometime."
"And until then let's enjoy the town. I hear this town has a lot of dumb players with big wallets."
"Tempting as that sounds, you know the rule. A certain time in each town and then we move on." Why would they need to move on, it's not like they're wanted or anything, or are they?
"We can't just leave them here. You saw how helpless they were and the one with the gun isn't going to be able to help much. She shouldn't even be carrying a gun. One more day, that's all I'm asking." I'm not helpless…okay maybe a little, but I'm not totally helpless!
"Kid we have our own troubles remember? So we're leaving in the morning as planned. Now let's go talk to those girls, I have some questions for them." Realizing the conversation is over and hearing footsteps approaching, I run pass the door and to the stairs where I see them go into our room. Thank god for all those high school years in track.
Jumping down the stairs two at a time, I land in the lobby where I stop by the clerk's desk. "Is there some place where I can rent a horse and practice my shooting?"
"Why yes ma'am. If you ride out of town four miles west of here, there should be an arena and as for a horse, I'm sure you can rent one at the stables."
"Good. Can you have a message sent up to a room?"
The old clerk takes out some paper and a pen, "Why yes Ms. Lulson and which room would this be to?"
With a smile on my face I answer, "To room 204." I give a slight pause as he whips out a pen and paper, but then continue when he looks up at me expectantly, "Sam, I've rented a horse and am going out to the shooting arena four miles west of here. Should be back by nightfall. P.S. I've taken the sketchbook with me just so you know. Alex." After the clerk finishes writing; he calls over a messenger to run it up to the room.
Looking blankly at the ceiling I ponder, Now I wonder where Alex ran off to and those two guys. There must be some thing more to them than meets the eye. Though the blonde is such a hunk. No, I can't allow myself to think that way. Hearing a knock at the door, I sit up so fast that my head seems to spin. Wearily I call out, "Who is it?"
The dominating voice floats through the door like a bow to a violin's strings, "It's Mr. Jones and Mr. Smith."
Opening the door, I let them into our room; "Well what brings you to this room Mr. Jones?"
"Ma'am we have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."
"Of course not Mr. Jones. In fact I have a few questions for you as well. Sit down." They bring about two chairs and sit in them backwards as I sit all lady like (because of this stupid dress).
Mr. Smith starts off the conversation, "So how did you and Alex come to this town?"
Thinking of the best excuse in my head, as I can't even figure this out myself, I answer them with confidence beaming to conceal the lie at hand, "My sister and I traveled far to get here."
"How far ma'am?"
Mr. Jones seems to be very persistent in his interrogations, but I answer him just the same, "We came from New York, if that answers your question. I suppose you'd want to know why two city girls would want to be all the way out here."
"You read us like an open book Miss Lulson."
"Yes it seems I have a sort of talent for that Mr. Smith. Anyway my sister and I wanted to spend our vacation out in the country for once. You see, we're journalists, which has enhanced our ability to read people. However, women in jobs, like those of journalists, aren't always appreciated and it's a miracle that we even got their attention in the first place. The office we work at was short on men, or so they said, but we later came to find the reason for our employment was our unique ability to get people to tell us the truth and to draw accurate pictures of people by memory. It's gotten us in trouble on more than one occasion than I'd like to think about, but it's also helped us get out of trouble."
The two look at each other with a subtle horror in their eyes that I notice only when they seem to straighten up a bit. Giving them a strange look of my own, they regain the composure they had put on ever since we met them. Mr. Smith looks around before he asks, "I've only just noticed, but where's your sister?"
Still stuck in my train of thought, I don't answer them for several moments until they call out to me. "I apologize. As for Alex, she's probably in the saloon playing poker." I notice the curious spark in Mr. Smith's eye as I mentioned the complicated card game. "Yes she plays poker. Rather good too. She once won three thousand dollars in one game that lasted but fifteen minutes. Are you any good Mr. Smith?"
"Why yes? I can usually only win a thousand in a fifteen-minute game though. I'll have to play her some time."
"Well make sure your wallets aren't full, she'll empty them." Then almost as if on cue, there's a knock at the door. "That's probably her now." I'm disappointed to find a mere messenger as I pull open the door.
In a sort of whiny voice, the messenger addresses me, "Samantha?"
"Yes?"
"Here's your message!" The messenger hands over the piece of paper and runs down the hall as if having other chores to do.
Opening up the piece of paper, I notice it's from Alex. I quickly read it to myself before sharing the contents with the two gentlemen standing behind me. "It's from Alex. It reads: Sam, I've rented a horse and gone out to the shooting arena four miles west of here. Should be back by nightfall. P.S. I've taken the sketchbook with me just so you know. Alex." I walk over to the mattress of our bed and lift up my side. I search frantically for the simple black spiral notebook that we found earlier, but find no traces of it. "Darn it! She took it, she really took it. No worries though it was her turn anyway."
"What do you guys do with these sketchbooks?"
"Well we'll ride out somewhere. Practice whatever we want for a bit and then on a break we'll sketch whatever gives us inspiration. Sometimes Alex sketches scenery, but she really loves to draw people, especially their faces. I don't know why, but she does." As I go on with my speech, I notice the two men start to look a little pale. "You boys all right? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Would you excuse us Miss Lulson?"
"Most certainly." As the two men go out into the hall and close the door behind them, I press myself to the door's edge. Even though they are whispering, I can still make out their words.
"Heyes you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"If you're thinking we had better go get Alex before she turns those pictures in, then yes."
"The minute those pictures hit our posters, is the minute we leave the country."
"I know."
"And then we can just kiss our amnesty good bye."
"I know that Kid, but there's gotta be a way out of this." After a sigh and a few moments to think, Mr. "Smith" speaks once more. "I'll go get her. You stay with Sam and don't leave until you see me riding back into town. I'll try and get the sketchbook and I'll try to think of something from there."
"Good luck Heyes." Jumping to my feet, I lay back down on the bed pretending to read the complimentary paper. "My partner has some business to take care of, so it'll just be you and me."
Perfect. With that partner of his out of the way, I can finally get some answers. "So Mr. Jones do you play poker?"
"No ma'am. I'm an expert on firearms you might say."
"So you're a lawmen?" A short spurt of laughter bursts from the curious man, but he soon turns it into a series of coughs.
"Sorry, a cold, I'm afraid."
A cold in the middle of summer? Who are you Mr. Jones? What are you hiding? "Yes, well maybe some food will help."
As I go towards the door, he grabs my arm gently and leads me back to my chair, "I only need your company Miss Lulson?"
"You can call me Sam Mr. Jones, but I'm rather curious about your life being a journalist and all. Tell me what was your childhood like."
"Well I grew up on a farm and did what any other boy did. I fished, swung from vines, etc…"
"Surely you had friends."
"Why yes? Joshua is my only friend and has been ever since childhood."
Now we're getting somewhere. "That's too bad, to grow up with only one friend."
"Actually it wasn't like that. Joshua and me have been each other's only family ever since our folks died."
Jackpot! I plaster the concern countenance on my face as I talk in a slower and more comfortable manner, "I'm so sorry. How old were you?"
"Ten I think…I try not to remember."
"I bet, so you've been alone. No womanly/motherly figure was there to comfort you?" This technique always works, but only if the right answer is given.
"Actually there was one young lady that took care of us for a while, but we were taken away from her and sent to an orphanage. Apparently, society disapproves of a young and single woman raising two young boys going onto being young men." This is going to be even easier than I thought. "I'm sorry Miss Lulson, I don't wish to bore you with my tale."
"No, it's just that. Your tale reminds me of our, that is my sister and my, past."
"Tell me about it." With a smile on my face, I begin the tale that would most certainly assure my entry to more secrets of his life. Maybe I'll find out about the nickname Kid.
Walking out into the sun, I make my way down to the stables where they'd have extra horses for sure. Half an hour and two dollars later, I spur out of town on a regal chestnut with a simple saddle towards the shooting arena. Arriving to the sounds of gunshots, I take a place among the gunslingers. As nightfall approaches, all others have left leaving only me to shoot at the same beaten up target. After the only souls left are my horse and me, I stop my shooting and look out to the now rising moon. Then out of the corner of my eye, I see a mysterious figure approaching. With the speed of an Olympic sprinter at the signal shot of the starting gun, I draw my gun and lock onto the target ahead of me. I gasp, but am not surprised, when I see who's staring down the barrel of my gun, a certain Mr. "Smith" or should I call him Mr. Heyes?
"Didn't expect you so soon," I say still holding the gun to his forehead. When he tries to calmly remove the barrels from his face, I snap at him combined with the subtle cocking of the gun. "I wouldn't do that."
With a sort of uncomfortable chuckle Heyes smiles and tries to talk his way from this situation, "Now take it easy. Why don't you lower that gun, so we can talk?"
Ignoring this talk, though seven hours ago a line like that would've worked; I hold the gun right between his eyes. Now that I know he lies, I can no longer trust him. "When were you going to tell us who you really are or were we going to have to figure it out ourselves?"
"Miss Lulson you must've hit your head! My partner and I never lied to you or your sister and if you would just calmly take the gun down, maybe we could talk civilized."
"This is the only way to get through to a liar, isn't it, Mr. 'Smith'?" An even stupider confused look spreads across Smith's countenance as he tries to lie to me, but is unsuccessful, and is met by my anger in the form of a slap from my left hand.
Realizing that I'm serious in my accusations, Heyes releases his pleading smile and replaces it with his threatening glance. "I'm telling you we never lied to you."
"You really want to take this path. Tell me the truth now or tell me the truth when I hand you over to the sheriff. So what'll it be Mr. Heyes?"
He releases a sigh of frustration as he talks, "There's been a terrible mistake. I'm not Heyes. If I were, you wouldn't be holding that gun right now. It's rumored that Heyes could talk his way out of a tiger's belly and if I was Heyes where's my partner what's-his-name? Besides you wont turn us in."
Realizing that he has called my bluff, I lower my gun back into its holster and turn from him. "How can you be so sure of that?"
"Well to be honest, I wasn't too sure. But I had a feeling that you were bluffing. Besides I like you and think that you are an honorable woman. Am I wrong?"
"No. But the way I figure it, if you need to lie to two ladies about a name, then you must have something important to hide." Heyes looked into my eyes and the same blushing thoughts came to my mind. "I thought I could trust you, but then I overheard your conversation back at the hotel."
"So you were invading our privacy?"
"Well you were speaking loud enough. I suppose you came for the sketchbook didn't you?"
"How did you know?"
"I told Sam that I took it, so she'd tell you about it and that way one of you was bound to come this way looking for it, since you're obviously concerned about keeping your identity secret."
Heyes pushes his hat back and smiles at me "What do mean?"
I step closer to him and lean in to whisper, "I know your name is Hannibal Heyes and your partner is Kid Curry."
As I step back Heyes starts to deny this statement until he looks at my face. "Ok, you win. I am Heyes and my partner is Kid Curry." I am surprised, and in a little disbelief, at how quickly he admitted this.
Heyes pulls back from our stance and looks to our horses, "I'll get the horses ready."
I turn from him, relieved to be looking down at the black notebook where I can express my troubles without any critics. Picking up the sketchbook, I drift through a few of its pages while Heyes gets the horses ready. The image that strikes me most is a simple close up portrait of the two men. Tearing the rest of the pictures out and stuffing them neatly into my pockets, I walk over to Heyes where I gladly swipe my horse's reins from his hand. Climbing into my saddle, I spur my horse into a dead gallop through the night.
The moon hits its high point as Heyes and I come trotting back into town. Walking down the street to greet us are Sam and Mr. Curry. Jumping off my horse, I run into my sister's arms. When we're back in our hotel room, I begin to pace on my friendly piece of floor.
Sam soon becomes annoyed at my insistent pacing, "Okay Alex you walk by me one more time and I'll throw you out the window."
"Sam, do you remember that documentary that we saw about the old west. Doesn't it seem strange that all the things we learned about the old west are true? Remember the two famous outlaws Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry that the documentary talked about?"
"Yeah so…"
"How one had dark brown hair and one had blonde hair. How one could draw faster than any other in the west. How one could make five pat hands out of twenty-five cards. How they were on a quest for amnesty and changed their names while doing so."
"Yeah, so."
"Go a little faster." When Sam finally recognizes what I'm talking about, I continue. "Yes, those two are Heyes and Curry. Heyes finally admitted it to me."
"So they've lied us?"
"Yes."
"Wait, I heard them talking outside our door just as you did."
"You see I knew they lied and when Heyes tried to deny it…"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold on. What do you mean when he tried to deny…it…? Oh you mean when he went after you."
"Yes and he didn't take the pictures of them that we have in our sketchbook. Now we have suitable blackmail if we choose."
"Speaking of which Alex, we should split the pictures in case they get smart and try to take them."
"All ready covered." Taking two folded pieces of paper out of my vest pockets, I hand one to Sam and stash the other back in my pocket. "That one is of Curry, I'll carry Heyes' picture."
"Yeah cause you love him."
"Excuse me? I heard that."
"Well I said it loud enough." As I try to chase Sam down, she chants to me just like when we were kids. "You want to date him. You want to kiss him. You want to marrryyyyy him."
"Shut up! Shut Up! Shut Uuuuuppppp!"
The rest of the night goes by uneventfully; even the two outlaws don't try to sneak into our room to steal those pictures. As the morning wears on to early afternoon, the both of us go down to the local saloon. Sam looks at me the entire way and at the end, she whispers; "Now we've gone back time, so no screwing up. I like the future how it is."
"Sam. I think I can handle this."
From the corner of my eye, I see the two men sitting at the corner table. They smile and wave us over. Curry smiles at Sam as she sits down, "Morning ladies."
"Morning. Mr. Jones, Mr. Smith."
"So you going to be hanging around town for long?"
"Actually ma'am we planned on in a couple of hours."
"Well the gun-drawing contest occurs in that time frame and we hoped that maybe you and Alex, Mr. Jones, could enter the contest together."
"I'm sorry Sam, but my partner and I have to get going." A short pause follows Kid's statement. Why did he call Sam, well, Sam? Men of this time didn't do such things without permission from the woman. The same look on my face is reflected in Mr. Heyes' face as well and in interest of getting through this moment, and asking about it later, I speak up.
"We were afraid you'd say that."
"So we have a proposition." Sam seems unmoved by Mr. Curry's statement.
"What kind of proposition?"
"One that'll keep us from mentioning you to the sheriff."
"Why do you say that we would care about being mentioned?" As we take the folded pieces of paper from our pockets, I notice them grow pale.
"Now unless you want these in the hands of your own sheriff in Wyoming, then you'll do as we say."
"Now liven up, I thought this town had dumb players with big wallets. We'll be back and then we'll tell you for sure what you'll be doing. Enjoy your breakfast."
We finish our breakfast, before they can say anything, and take a surveillance walk around the town while the boys engage in poker. We're walking through the main street, when a flash of color catches my eye. Turning to the colors, I see a gypsy's booth. "Think we should try it Sam?"
"After all of this, I'm willing to go on a limb here."
As we approach, the gypsy looks up and speaks in an eerie voice, like she's calling out to us, "Ah yes the Lulson twins. May I see your hand Alex?" Hesitantly, I place my hand in her outstretched palm and wince as she pulls it close to her face.
"Interesting, interesting. You've traveled very far to get here, haven't you?"
"Why yes, we've come from New York."
"You miss your home on the boardwalk don't you? With all the different sun rises on the coast and the sea's waves slashing against the shore. You miss your dog Danny. Do not fret, there is a way to get home."
Pushing my hand further into her vision, I loose the cool that I had kept until this point, "How, how do we get home?"
"You will find the answers in the draining heat of yonder noon." With a nod of thanks, I pull my hand from her grasp and walk away from her. I get but only twenty feet away when she blurts out, "I also see you returning home with some extra luggage."
Freezing in my tracks, I think: Extra Luggage? "Thank you." Returning back to the saloon, we find the two men enjoying a beer and take a seat at their table. "Hello boys. I bet you're wondering about that job. All you have to do is protect us for one week, maybe even less, when we'll be gone."
"Doesn't sound too bad."
"Yeah, but Mr. Jones and I can't stay around town for another week."
"Why is that Mr. Smith?"
"Ladies…"
"Enough Heyes." Curry stares at me then at Heyes. "Let's put it this way, we know your names aren't Smith and Jones. If you don't help us, those pictures might just grow legs."
In a hushed voice that causes Sam and myself to lean in closer so we can hear him, Heyes continues, "What pictures?"
"The ones we have safely tucked away. You two are the two notorious outlaws Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry. Those pictures would look fine on your wanted posters."
In an even quieter volume, he goes on, "We were offered an amnesty last year. If we remain law-abiding citizens for long enough, we've been promised our slates to be wiped clean. However I don't think you will do anything with those drawings"
Heyes and I stare at each other. Trying to determine who is bluffing. Without breaking my glare I say, "Fine, you win. We would not use the pictures against you. But I am asking you as a favor, please help us."
Curry speaks for the first time since sitting down. "Heyes and I will stay and help you." Heyes looks at Curry and then at me and nods.
"Now see that wasn't that bad. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a gun-drawing contest to get to." I stand to leave and am followed by Heyes and Curry. "What are you doing?"
"Like you said, I have the best shooting in the west. I figure I'll enter just to see you at work." Saddling up their horses, I notice that we have only have their horses as a mode of transportation. We decide to just pair off on the horses, I decide to go with Heyes and Sam goes with Curry. The banner advertising the contest brings itself into view as well as the shots echo in my head. Pulling up to the registration, I enter my info and wait for the contest to begin. Soon after, I hear the announcer scream for the contestants to pull up to the starting line. The rules are simple. Each contestant will be judged on how fast he or she draws their gun and how accurate their shot is. The first three rounds Mr. Curry and I breeze through without difficulty. As the finals wear on, things start getting tougher. The targets all seem to be a blur and it's hard to concentrate. The competition gnaws through three of the final five until it's just Mr. Curry and myself. The last shot is here at last and I'm not nervous. Maybe it's the heat that's making me feel a bit woozy. Taking off my hat, I wipe my brow with my sweat-saturated bandanna, but it doesn't help.
"Alex, are you all right?" Voices run together, but I can still make out the tone of my unique sister's voice. Slowly I nod my head yes as the final round begins. Tension fills the air and as the targets are pulled into position and the announcer yells for us to get to the starting line.
"Good luck Mr. Jones."
"Likewise Miss Lulson."
Silence envelops the area as the announcer counts down to the shot that would determine the winner. The voice slows to slow motion and yet I'm completely aware of where the normal flow of time is. "Ready…GO!" Whipping my gun from its holster, I trigger the shot from the gun and unfortunately I heard Mr. Jones' shot at least a half a second before mine. The measurers confirm their dimensions with the coordinator of the event and relay it to the announcer. The voice becomes more distant with every word until the darkness closes in around my vision and a bottomless pit of nothingness appears under my feet, which I feel like I'm falling into.
A hazy image awaits me as I open my eyes to the ceiling of the sheriff's office that we started in at the beginning of all this mess. "Whoever thought we'd be stuck here together." I know that voice, but I don't believe it. Sure enough, as I turn to the voice, I see Heyes and his surprisingly sexy grin. His white teeth sparkle like stars, though the only light that's on is the pale moonlight shinning through the musty window. Letting out an uncomfortable chuckle, I try to look away but am met with his breath-swiping gaze. He stands from his chair, without releasing his stare on me, and waltzes up to me. Each step he makes is a stroke on the violin and every second that he looks at me is another breath stowed and released into the cool bark of a woodland flute. Together they serenade a classical worthy of Mozart's ear. "No. I can never look at you again."
"You can and I'll look at you too." Locking one arm behind my waist and one hand cradling my face, he brings his face to my own. Just close enough to taste my sweet victory, but too far away to fully appreciate it. Going the extra inch to reach his face, I touch his soft lips and am shocked on how real this feels. On how I can undergo the surreal experience of our lips sashaying over each other's, like two ice dancers telling a story with their graceful movements, can be a complete enigma to me.
Then a slow and creeping sound appears in my ears. As I'm contemplating this unusual sound, I feel every part of this room grow cold as ice. My breath is visible as Heyes pulls away from me and levitates above the ground. Gray shadows form three dimensional characteristics and fashion themselves to their master's body floating above them. Heyes has been transformed to a grim reaper. What's going on? Wait a minute, that fortune lady said I'd find my way home this afternoon in my…dreams! One corpse like finger raises from the now unrecognizable Heyes toward the floor. Upon closer examination, I notice the cold originating from the beneath the floor. I pull and pull at the planks until they yield to my power and reveal a swirling purple fog, the same one that we fell through to get here. I reach out to touch it, hoping that I'd be able to get home. No such luck happens, as I feel nothing occur to the nerves on my hand that I dipped into the solution, but I feel a more chilling sensation when I retract my hand. It moves fast from my head, to my feet and everything in between. The occurrence leaves me dripping with ice and shivering from the cold, but does bring the light flooding in to dispel the darkness.
I bolt up shouting, "Ah! Ah! Sam!" Taking a deep breath from the cold still on me, I reach for the nearest piece of fabric as to wipe my eyes. I pull the offered towel from Sam's hand and look at all of them, "Which one of you dumped that ice…cold…water…on me?" With each passing pause, I grow louder just to see the reactions on their faces.
"That'd be me. When you didn't wake up, I ran and got a pitcher, which proved quite useful for waking you. You see you've been out for three hours." I turn and just my luck, the one that dumped the water on me was Mr. Heyes himself.
"Well now I'm fine. Sam, I found how to get out of here…Wait, did I win?"
Kid looks away as he mumbles, "By a half an inch and a half of a second."
I turn to Curry, stick my tongue out and say "I won! Are you going to leave town now?"
"No, we're going to see you off just to make sure those pictures of yours don't grow legs."
"Why how thoughtful of you Mr. Heyes."
"Yes very, now can my sister and I have a moment alone please?" As they exit and Sam makes sure they don't stick around by the door as she sits by me on the bed. "Okay so how do we get back home?"
"How do you know I know?"
"Because you mumbled 'Sam I found the fog' in your sleep. When we supposedly came to this place, I felt like I was falling through some purple fog. Plus you said it about three minutes ago"
"Well we need to make it to the sheriff's office and rip up the floorboards. The portal is just underneath."
"You mean it's been there all that time?" With a nod of confirmation from me, she continues, "I'm confused on what did you dream. You kept tossing and turning and talking about stopping something and also something about the grim reaper."
Calmly I explain the dream to my attentive colleague and watch her reaction when I tell her about the kiss. "Why does the kiss part sound so familiar to you?"
"It reminds me of…"
"You kissed Heyes? Oh…"
"Relax! Not Heyes…"
"But it was Curry, wasn't it?"
"It was the only way to learn about his childhood if I played the 'I'm so lost and hopeless' as well as the 'Oh how'd you survive childhood without parental love' card and follow up with the 'I'm so sorry, can I do anything to help' card. I tell you it works wonders on men."
"T.M.I. Sam."
"Well your dream wasn't exactly G rated either."
"Let's forget this argument and get some rest for tonight. We attack the sheriff's office at ten 'til midnight, giving us enough time to render the sheriff useless, find the portal and go through."
"Great, but."
"One thing still troubles me though."
"What?"
"That extra baggage thing."
"I wouldn't worry, now rest up. I'll tell the boys everything."
"But Sam…Thanks. You've been such a big sister to me." Laying my head down onto the pillow, I close my eyes and dream on the event of passage through time.
"It's 11:45! WAKE UP!"
The soothing voice that Sam portrays wakes me from my gentle slumber rather harshly, if it can be done. "P.M.?" Not believing it, I pull the pillowcase over my head where it's ripped from my head the next minute.
"P.M.!" I spring from my bed and hobble into my boots and slap on my gun. Throwing open the window, I look out onto the resting town. No one is awake, perfect for our plans. Slipping down the gutter pipe, I land onto the street next to Sam. Making our way to the sheriff's office, we see no trace of Heyes or Curry. Stepping into the old building, a small chuckle escapes us as we see the sheriff tied up in his own cell. "All right boys we know you're here. Come out now." From behind the door the two outlaws creep by our side and chuckle at their work. The sheriff isn't so amused.
11:55 reads the clock on the sheriff's wall and yet I hear nothing. I walk towards the cell and hear the noise I'm looking for, a small and faint ticking sound. I usher Sam over to confirm the sound, which she does, and have the sheriff taken out. I feel around for some loose floorboards and find some underneath the bench. Using the best of my strength, I rip the boards up one by one until I find what I think I'm looking for. Instead of foundation, a swirling mist of purple smoke rages under the floor. Gusts of ferocious wind burst from the portal. I look back at Heyes and release my smile at the thought of him never finding out about my dream. I hear you say your goodbyes and look at me, expecting me to do the same.
"Well this is goodbye."
"What do you mean? What is this?"
"This gentlemen will get us home. I'm just sorry we'll never see you again. Farewell."
"We'll miss you boys." The gentlemen give a nod and I think: That's it? I get over my urge to hug him and…Whoa! All this over one dream? I'll be glad to get out of here. Shaking my head of these thoughts, I turn to Sam.
"Ready. How about on three?"
"One…Two…"Before we can say three, the swirling vortex at our feet releases a weird sounding moan and then the vortex's winds change direction. They don't blow out, but are now sucking in everything it can as if in its final moments of existence it wants to get everything it can. We too succumb to the power and fall through the fog.
I awaken to the deafening silence of the sheriff's office. It is day and the roof is broken from the explosion that happened in our time. I open my eyes to see Sam. Getting up slowly, I stumble over to the sheriff's desk. There sitting on the wood is a fake paper with the date August 18th 2015. "We're back! Ha, ha, ha! Sam! Sam!" Looking around, I don't seem to find Sam. "Sam?" Then I walk backwards into an unknown force and fall over the feet of Sam. "Sam we're back."
Smiling we stand and leap into each other's arms. "Yes! I got to say for a while there, I thought we weren't going to get back."
"I know. I'm glad to get back though, so I'm finally away from that guy Heyes. It seemed that he was messing with my head and that gypsy…whoa what's wrong?" Sam has pulled from our hug and looks with an alien look of terror over my shoulder.
"I just figured out the meaning behind the gypsy's saying 'extra luggage'."
"You can't possibly…."
"Oh can't I?" She takes my head and forces its gaze to the sheriff's cell where there lays two unconscious figures, blissfully unaware of their place in time.
