Again, thank you to D'Angelo's Son and Spots on a Pony for their input on Jeremy. Hopefully, I get his character right!
"What?" Artie's hand flew to his chest; he could feel his heart thumping wildly, the blood rushing through his body, the air in his lungs from panicked breathing. "Jeremy, that's not funny. I am very much alive right now."
"But, how?" Jeremy said. "It's not possible. I saw him… you die, I was there! You can't be Artemus Gordon!"
"I am Artemus Gordon!" Artie cried. "Jeremy, you have to believe me! I don't know how I got here, or what's going on, but I didn't die twelve years ago, and… Jeremy, what are you doing?"
Jeremy had walked over, and poked Artie on the arm. "You're solid!" he gasped. Jeremy looked at Artie, studying him hard before grabbing his arm and pulling up the sleeve to reveal an old scar.
"You were there when I got that;" Artie said quietly. "I pushed you out of the way of that Rebel's sword, and he gave that to me instead of you."
Jeremy traced the curved scar, lost in memory for a few moments before looking back at Artie. "Oh my God, it is you, Artemus."
"Umph!" Artie huffed as Jeremy threw his arms around him. "That's, oof, what I've been saying!"
"It is you, Artemus!" Jeremy repeated. "You're alive! I've missed you so much!" Jeremy pulled back; his eyes were wet from tears. "I don't know how or why you're here, but you have no idea how good it is to see you again."
"It's good to see you too;" Artie said. "Now Jeremy, where's Jim?"
"Jim who?" Jeremy asked.
"What do you mean 'Jim who?' Artie snapped. "Jim Weh…"
The parlor door burst open and a new man who was slightly familiar for some reason, strode in. "I'm ho-home!" the young man sang. He then noticed Artie, and turned a very light pink. "Oh, hello there. Jeremy, you didn't tell me we were having guests."
"I didn't know we were going to have guests, Henry;" Jeremy replied. "He just showed up."
Henry was in his late twenties with auburn hair and hazel eyes. He was long and lanky, and seemed more like a kid than a Secret Service agent.
Henry shrugged. "Oh, okay." He extended his hand and gave a short bow. "Henry M. Clarkin, at your service."
"Artemus Gordon;" Artie replied, taking Henry's hand. 'Henry Clarkin… I met him when I was last in Washington with Jim. But that was only a few months ago, and he was only a desk worker, not a field agent!'
"Artemus Gordon;" Henry repeated. "I've heard the name before, but I'm not exactly sure where…"
"Henry, he is part of the reason we are investigating this area;" Jeremy said quietly.
"I'm what?" Artie asked.
Henry's mouth dropped open in shock. "He's that Artemus Gordon? The one Jim West is trying to avenge? But I thought he was dead!"
"He is, was;" Jeremy replied. "But this man is Artemus Gordon. We're just not sure how he got here."
"The one that Jim West is… Jeremy, what is he talking about?" Artie asked.
Jeremy ignored Artie. "Is he there, Henry?"
"Sure is;" Henry replied. "And none the wiser. We should be able to get a jump on him in the morning, the weather is already turning."
As if to add to his point, rain began to fall outside the train car.
"Good. Looks like you'll be staying here tonight, Artemus;" Jeremy said. "Henry, it's your turn…"
"What was he going to say about Jim?" Artie snapped.
"Not now, Artemus."
"Now, Jeremy."
Jeremy closed his eyes and sighed. No one said anything for a few moments. "Fine, Artemus, but this won't be easy. You best sit down. Henry, can you fix us a pot of something? I think we'll need it."
"Right." Henry nodded, and headed for the galley.
Artie sat down and crossed his legs. "Well?"
Jeremy sighed again. "You know, sometimes I wish I could just forget the entire episode; but I can't. Here it goes…"
"Twelve years ago, the War ended;" Jeremy began. "It was probably two or three weeks after Appomattox, but there were some Rebels who wouldn't give up, you know that. Anyway, one night, we were camped in North Carolina. We were headed back to Washington…"
"Jeremy, I remember that;" Artie interrupted. "All that happened where or when I came from. Get to the point."
"Fine. Anyway, this group of Rebels came charging into camp. There were about fifteen, twenty of them; came out of nowhere. They didn't mean to harm us much, or so it seemed. Only half of them were armed with guns, and even they didn't have much ammunition. The rest had sticks. They probably were trying to scare us off and take our stuff, but that didn't happen. It was chaos. I didn't see the shooting per say, but I heard James scream 'Artie', and I saw you fall."
Artie nodded. Part of him wanted to beg Jeremy to stop, but it was overruled by the other part.
"Two men shot you at point blank range. Some how, James got a good look at them, but he didn't chase them down because you were injured. The fight ended soon after. My, how the superiors were surprised when we arrived in town the next day with several Rebels in tow.
"And one body?"
Jeremy again sighed sadly. "And one body. You died from your wounds during the night. We actually had to put a guard on James so he wouldn't run off after the rebels who had escaped, and the men who killed you. We stayed in town until the train to Washington came. Your funeral was the next week. And then this all started.
"James saw the killers at your funeral, towards the end thankfully. He ran after them, and lost them. James was ordered to stay in Washington while a search was sent out for the two. The search was diverted once Lincoln was assassinated, though.
"So James took up the search himself, against direct orders not to do so. Somehow, he tracked the men down. From what I heard, it was one hell of a fight. James killed one of them, and was pretty close to killing the other."
"When Jim puts his mind to something, he usually follows through;" Artie said. "So then…"
"Quit interrupting me and I'll get there!" Jeremy snapped. Henry returned with three cups of steaming tea. He quietly passed them out, and then took a seat off to the side.
"Don't mind me;" he added.
"Where was I?" Jeremy continued. "Oh, right. The man survived because a search party looking for John Wilkes Booth came across the scene and broke the fight up, sort of. James got so mad at them he began shooting at the party. He injured several, including the Command and Second in Command. The Second in Command later died from his wounds, as did a private. James West got away, but they caught the man who was still alive. From what I heard, they arrested him to protect him from James, but he apparently escaped about two years ago."
"My God;" Artie gasped.
"Now James West is wanted for murder, desertion, insubordination, robbery, and probably a few other things too. That's why Henry and I are here, to bring in James T. West."
"He's been sighted in this area the last few weeks;" Henry added. "So Jer and I have been sent in to investigate. He doesn't have many options left; he's been running for twelve years."
"I'm sorry, Artemus;" Jeremy said softly. "I know you and James were close friends, but not that close. He was so upset; it was like he was someone else. You would have thought you had been friends for more than three years."
"James West a wanted man;" Artie muttered. He stared into his drink, and finally took a sip. "And all because of me…"
"Artemus…"
"I remember that raid, Jeremy;" Artie continued. "But I wasn't the one who was shot, it was Jim, and he didn't die. Nearly did, but he didn't die. It's like I'm in another reality… where I don't exist… And I can't remember how I got here! I can't remember anything!"
"Another reality?" Henry said. "Not possible."
"Actually, it is;" Artie said. "I've been in another reality before; I think. Jeeze, how many times must I get killed and live to tell the tale?"
"What?" Jeremy and Henry asked, but Artie just waved them off.
"Never mind, you wouldn't understand;" he said. "Look, would you mind giving me a minute…?" Artie suddenly felt tired; tired, confused, hurt, scared, and lost.
"Sure Artemus;" Jeremy said. "You can go in my room down the hall if you want."
Artie stood up. "Thanks;" he said quickly, and left.
"Hey, that's my—" Henry began to say, but Jeremy shot him a look. "Room;" Henry finished quietly as the door closed.
Artie fell onto his bed that wasn't really his bed. "Oh Jim;" he said. "What the hell is going on?"
Tears started to streak down his cheeks. Now he knew why the parlor had seemed different: it wasn't his and Jim's parlor, it was Jeremy's and Henry's. Everything was so similar, but so different. He felt at home, but it wasn't home.
He was "dead"; and Jim was a wanted man.
"What happened to me?" Artie whispered. "Why can't I remember?"
Artie awoke to the sound of the Wanderer's whistle, and the lingering smell of the dinner he slept through. 'Jim can't cook… oh;' he thought as he sat up and reality came crashing back. Reality… what was reality at this point? Artie wasn't sure.
The night was turning grey with the approaching dawn; the rain from the night before had moved on. Artie climbed out of the bed, and looked out into the hall. He crept to the door to the parlor, and peered in. Henry was sprawled out across a couch, and Jeremy was no where to be seen; though his location was given away by the snore that came from Jim's room.
'No, Jeremy's room now;' Artie corrected. He quietly opened the door the rest of the way, and made his way over to a table where a map of the area was spread out. A green dot showed the Wanderer's current location, and a town about ten miles from the train was circled in red, with a telegraph message tacked to the map below the town.
"West sighted, investigate claim, and search area."
Artie gave a quiet sigh. He needed answers, ones that only Jim could give him. With his mind made up, he quickly sketched out the map, and exited the parlor. He then reentered, and darted into the galley.
'Riding on an empty stomach is never a good idea;' Artie told himself. He opened a cupboard, and found a loaf of bread. He then took two apples from the bowl, and a canteen. He would find water later.
'If this Jeremy is anything like the other Jeremy;' Artie thought. 'Then he should have… Ah!'
Sure enough, the third bedroom Artie used as a closet for all his disguises was used for the same purpose as Jeremy. Artie quietly began shifting through the clothes, picking out a few for himself, and for Jim. He searched the rest for loose change in the pockets, and came away with about $35.
He then turned to the shelves with various fake beards, mustaches, wigs, and makeup. He quickly grabbed some makeup, two wigs, a beard, and a mustache, and stuffed them into his bag.
With the costumes and makeup selected, Artie darted into the small room he used as a lab; which Jeremy used for the same purpose as well. Artie selected several chemical concoctions and gadgets, adding them (carefully) to his bag before leaving.
He activated two gas pellets, and tossed one in the parlor near Henry, and the other into Jeremy's room. 'That should buy me a few extra hours;' Artie though.
With his supplies ready, Artie crept down the hall and out the door. He jumped over the gap between the two cars, and entered the stable car. The two horses looked up, puzzled and sleepy. Artie half expected to see Blackjack and Mesa, but instead the horses were a young gray mare and a brown male.
"Morning boys and girls;" Artie whispered. He walked over to the gray mare, who looked back with a questioning eye.
"Hey, sweetie;" Artie said, putting her bridle on. "Mind giving me a lift… Luna?" Her name was inscribed on the bridle.
Luna snorted, but obliged as Artie led her out and saddled her. Once he was done and had his bags ready to go, he opened the door, and led her down the ramp.
"C'mon, Luna girl;" he said, nudging her into a fast paced walk. "Let's go find Jim."
He had to find Jim. As much as he was thankful to Jeremy and Henry for helping him; something told Artie they couldn't do much else. The answers to his questions were with Jim, but he had to find him first.