Borderland ….
Meg's eyes opened to look at the sky again. The same, dumpling clouds passed by overhead but the air was different. Cold, fresh air filled her lungs. Instead of a brick building, barren trees shielded her. Sitting up, Meg took in several inches of snow on the ground, barren trees and flat ground as far as she could see. The cold hit her when she realized she'd been lying on a dry sand bank near a swiftly flowing creek. The lady Mountie got to her feet and began looking around for any clue as to where this place existed. In the distance she saw a small cabin, smoke curling up from the stone fireplace. The scent of damp earth and evergreens filled the air.
Slowly, Meg made her way across the creek, toward the cabin. It seemed to take forever arrive at the large, flat stone that served as a door step. She hadn't smelled woodsmoke since her training days at Depot. Wilderness training was standard, so Meg had sucked it up and done it.
Meg knocked on the heavy front door of the cabin. Shivering and irritated, she wanted someone to explain where the hell she was. The last time she'd checked, she had been walking down the street toward the consulate, sweat pooling around the elastic of her bra.
"Hello in there!" Meg beat the side of her fist on the door again. She nearly fell inside when it opened.
"What in the devil!" An older man with mostly white hair and rheumy blue eyes exclaimed.
"May I come in?" Meg rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself. The older man poked his head out the door and looked around at the woods and the creek nearby.
"What are you doing here?" He turned those blue eyes on her. They blazed as he peered closer at the young woman standing on his door step.
"I don't know, I was walking up the street toward the consulate and," Meg paused, what had happened next? "Anyway, the next thing I know, I'm looking up at the sky here. May I come inside, it's cold out here."
Reluctantly, the older man stepped aside to allow her inside. The cabin was one large room with a fireplace off to the right. An armchair sat in the center of the room, beside a rough hewn table. Meg headed for the fireplace first thing.
"I'm Inspector Margaret Thatcher." She stood warming herself, back to the fire. The older man closed the door and stepped slowly into the middle of the room. He wore a heavy sweater and a pair of khaki corduroy pants over heavy, leather boots. He appeared sturdy built and capable of taking care of himself.
"I'm Robert." He shook Meg's hand politely then stood beside her at the fire, hands clasped behind his back.
"Where am I exactly?" Meg cut to the chase.
"Oh, there's no name for this place, I call it 'Borderland'." Robert shrugged without looking at his guest.
"It's not Chicago, from the snow I would say I'm somewhere in the Northwest Territories. I'm not sure how that's possible though." Meg ran her hands through her hair, desperate to remember what had happened on the sidewalk outside the consulate.
"Not likely, miss, this is a place where worlds blur." Robert looked up from the flames to her face. He could see her struggle for some kind of explanation for her presence. The truth of the matter was, he didn't have one for her presence either, or his own for that matter. It was all an existential joke.
"Worlds just don't blur." Meg contended skeptically.
"They do when you've been around as long as I have, Inspector." Robert drew himself to his full height.
"How did you know I was an inspector?" Meg realized his slip up. Something about her host's bearing seemed familiar to Meg. The keen intelligence in his blue eyes reminded her of someone.
"I've seen you around." The older man turned his back on her, studying the flames at his feet.
"But I've never seen you before in my life." Meg's mind began to buzz with more questions.
"This isn't your life, Inspector." Robert answered gravely, turning to meet her gaze.
"That's preposterous." Meg stated, her dark eyes alive with suspicion and a touch of fear.
"Red suits you, Inspector." Robert pointed to the red maple leaf on the left side of her RCMP shirt.
Meg took a step away from the fire, away from Robert, away from the thoughts just rising to the surface.
"I'm not …. You couldn't be. You're Sergeant Robert Fraser, you're Fraser's father, his deceased father." Meg sat down in the arm chair, her face pale, hands shaking. "This is all a bad dream, I can't be dead." she leaned over, elbows on her knees, face in both palms, stomach rolling.
"As far as I know, Borderland isn't the afterlife." Robert continued to study the flames. They changed one way but stayed the same in others. "I've been here a year and a half, so I'm told." He offered for comfort. The heavy sigh accompanied with it didn't soothe his impatience or Meg's disbelief.
"Why am I here, with you? Shouldn't I have my own Borderland?" Meg looked at the bare cabin around her. Couldn't she have gone to the beach along the French Riviera?
"I'm no expert, you'll have to figure it out for yourself." Robert's tone grew testy.
"There's still so much left to do, I'm heading up the ranks, I'm young, attractive." She whirled around when she heard Robert snicker.
"That's all well and good, but what have you left behind, subordinates that fear and loathe you, no husband, no children, who have you helped along the way?" Robert pointed out, speaking from experience. He could trade hindsights and regrets with her all day long.
"I'm a public servant, I serve my country, with honor." Meg countered. Righteous indignation had begun to warm her from the inside out.
"Behind a desk, in Ottawa and Chicago, check again Missy." Robert hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He watched as Meg's eyes widened and her jaw clenched. Although he was, technically, a lower ranking officer, he's been with the Force longer than Meg had been alive, even at the time of his demise.
"I can see which parent Fraser takes after, and it's not you." Meg turned back around, seething. Robert threw back his head and laughed. No DNA test need be done to prove Benton was his son, everyone who knew them both could attest to that.
Meg didn't like being laughed at. To the elder Fraser, she was an arrogant, little girl pouting over being in the Borderland and how that disrupted her precious life. In Borderland, rank didn't matter.