(1929: Yuma Arizona)
I sit upright with a jerk, gasping for breath. That makes sense; after all I was just screaming. I manage to shut up because all of a sudden the pain is gone. There's no fire; there's no torment.
My mind is so confused I barely understand what has happened. It sinks in. I'm not there anymore. I don't know what changed, what happened but I'm not in Hell anymore. I look around. This place looks familiar and yet strange at the same time. I'm back in Yuma.
I stagger to my feet and look at myself. Same clothes I was wearing before. At least the bloodstains are gone as are the tears that Doc Miller made trying to save me. I look around again. No one is here although I can see figures in the distance, among those strange new tall buildings and all the other stuff I don't recognize.
Pretty sure I'm back in Yuma. The sun is up but I'm not roasting so it's not summer. In fact I suspect it's late fall or even winter. It just has that feel. But compared to where I've just come from it's paradise.
There's a park nearby. I make my way there and sit down on a handy bench. A fountain splashes nearby and when the breeze is just right I can feel the water. It's wonderful. I sigh and begin to take stock.
I'm alive. I wasn't before. I was dead. I died after being shot by Wyatt Earp, accidentally, during a gunfight with my boyfriend's best friend. And after I died I went to Hell. I went straight to Hell; no judgment, no review of my life, no "Rosie you screwed it up". I don't think I DID screw up, other than being at the wrong place at the wrong time. I'm wasn't the innocent little Catholic girl in her white dress making her First Communion true but I don't think I had strayed that far. Wasn't I supposed to get a hearing or something? It doesn't seem fair.
On the same bench I'm sitting on someone has left a newspaper. I look it over and I know my eyes widen. It's 1929. January the 13th to be precise. 31 years have gone by.
I ponder. Why 31 years? Why am I back here anyway? Not that I'm complaining mind you. But is this temporary? Could I be cast back into Hell at any moment? And for the first time since 1897 my stomach is rumbling. I'm hungry. I check my purse, amazingly still with me. I have some money.
I stand and start to leave. On an impulse I turn back and pick up the paper. I need to know how the world has changed over the last 30 odd years and reading this might give me some clues.
A few hours later I know a lot more than I did but it only serves to let me know just how much more I do have to learn. And how much I need some things to sink in so I can grasp them. For starters, eating is a lot more expensive. I remember when meals like I just ate were a quarter. Now they're nearly a darned dollar.
I've read the newspaper practically front page to end page. It's folded now at the "Help Wanted" ads. I need a job. Coming back from the dead doesn't pay any bills or put food on the table. Or provide a table to put food on in fact.
I'm alone in the world. A discreet check of my old neighborhood, now almost unrecognizable with paved streets and street lights and most of the buildings I once knew torn down let me know that my family had long ago scattered to the winds. A search of the newspaper's morgue leads me to my mother's obituary and the cemetery where she is buried. There are things to finish first so it's nearly dark before I locate her grave and kneel beside it.
"I'm sorry Mama," I tell her. "I didn't want to leave you. I don't know why I came back. I don't know why I spent those years where I did. But I AM back and I've found a job and a place to live." A lump in my throat gets in the way for a moment. "I promised you once I was going to make something of myself. I'm going to keep that promise." I cross myself and begin to pray. That's alright isn't it? I was in Hell but my prayers for her still count don't they?
When I finish I get up and brush off my knees. Work starts early tomorrow so I need to get some sleep. First day of the rest of my life and all that. Maybe the bad times are behind me now.
(Present)
Doc is up and about so I head downstairs. Who has been messing with my stuff? Dolls? Jeremy? Someone else? They've been in my journal and it looks like its been opened to the formula notes so I'm pretty sure I know who. I feel a little hurt. Why didn't they just ask? I don't like that. I head voices from upstairs and I don't like that either. Not that I object to customers I mean but I know who that is and I don't want him here.
Up the stairs and glare at Doc's poker antagonist. "You're not supposed to be here Stevie." I switch my attention to Doc and look in his eyes without a word before going back downstairs. I hope he got the message. Both messages in fact. I don't want too many Revenants hanging around here. It draws Wynonna's attention and makes her think Revenant. I don't want that association coming up in here. I know Doc will protect me but better not to push things.
I also am trying to let him know that perhaps Stevie or some of his Revenant buddies are a little too interested in what's going on down here. They may be the ones sneaking in here. I realize that Doc caught my meaning as he offers to high card Stevie and the wager he suggests. Stevie DOES seem interested in what's down here. Too interested.
But we don't get an answer. The door bangs and I hear Stevie scream "The Heir!" Then the back door is slamming and we'll have to wait for another day for an answer.
I can't catch exactly what Wynonna says at first but I can tell she's excited. Really, REALLY excited. So is Doc. I all but run up the stairs to find out what's happening. Nicole is in the hospital? Bitten by one of the Widows? She's poisoned and she's dying? No, no, no, NO. That can't happen. Nicole is my friend and she's in love with Waverly who is even more of my friend. And I owe Nicole big time for kissing Waverly back when she got lost for a moment. Granted I clobbered Tucker but that was almost just as much for fun as much as saving Waverly. Okay not really but I did get a lot of satisfaction from smacking that creepy little shit.
Just as I reach the top of the stairs a completely random thought strikes me. What if my mysterious intruder is simply someone who thinks we're cooking illegal drugs? I mean we are but not like that. Someone may think we have a Meth lab down there. I almost thought that when Doc first tried to recruit me before he explained just what we would be cooking up. A challenge like that is why I took the position. Okay that and the protection.
Doc is flying upstairs to get his arsenal and coat. I make coffee quickly as Wynonna sits at the bar and shakes her head when I point at the machine and raise an eyebrow in question. As soon as it's done I put a top on the Styrofoam cup and set it in front of her.
"Black and chunky. Just like he likes it," I smile.
She doesn't smile back. Instead she puts Peacemaker on the bar. And the barrel is glowing and the muzzle is pointed at me.
"There it is."
She knows. Oh shit.
(Virginia City Nevada, 1938)
"Oh SHIT!"
I duck around the corner of a handy building as a bullet chips a large piece of several corner bricks and goes whining off into the distance.
"Damn you come back here!"
Come back? Yeah sure. A big man who suddenly stepped out in from of me and growled "Now I've got you Revenant". And he has this big-assed gun and the damn thing is glowing and he's pointing it at me. I'm going to turn around in head back towards him? I'm trying my best to imitate Jesse Owens, the runner from the last Olympics and set a world record myself.
Well now I know that the bad times certainly aren't behind me.
(To be continued)
(Of course January 13, 1929 is the date that Wyatt Earp died. In real life he had no children but we in the Wynonna Earp Universe know better.)