Chapter 3: Redeemed

Suddenly, Desmond was atop a horse and his clothes and face had changed. Rather than a white hoodie, he wore a light blue dress shirt and brown coat with a marshal's badge on it. A bandolier was around his chest and a rifle was on his back, a pistol on his belt. His hair was now much longer and he was wearing a hat that reminded him of the guy in the Crocodile Dundee. The white emptiness had turned itself into a dry, barren, Mexican landscape, the sun slowly setting to his left and a large river to his right.

He'd officially entered his ancestor's body and as he took on Jack's memories he found out that he was riding to meet the man he'd been searching for for years. The man who killed his father. Desmond then noticed an old man at the riverside duck hunting like his buddy said he was. As Jack dismounted his horse, Desmond heard Jack's thoughts as he decided this was the time to just sit back and watch his memories unfold.

"There he is." Marston thought to himself as he steadily walked to the old man. "After all these years my father will finally get justice." he thought again as his teeth clenched with hate. He was about six feet from the man who's name was Ross when Jack finally spoke up.

"Excuse me, you Edgar Ross?", he asked him.

Ross looked over, his shotgun in one arm and replied, unsurely "Do I know you?".

"Pardon me for startling you sir, I have a message for you." He took a step closer. "I'm Jack Marston, you knew my father." Ross laughed as he put down his shotgun , realizing who this boy was.

"I see," the former government agent said as he snickered, "I remember your father.".

"I've come for you Ross!" Jack shouted as he took another step. Ross laughed again, this time a little harder, before replying

"And you, boy, have sure as shit found me!"

"You killed my father!" Marston yelled, his voice burning with hate.

Ross was serious now. He replied, "You father killed himself with the life he led!"

"You killed him, I saw you!", insisted Jack.

"You keep saying that.", replied Ross sarcastically.

"You sent him to do your dirty work. Then you shot him like a dog!" Marston told Ross, almost to his face now.

"And I'll shoot you like one too, you little piece of trash!Now get outta here before I kill you as well!"

"I ain't going nowhere old man!" the young man of 19 assured him.

The two men then took a few steps back, their hands inches away from their guns. Tension broke out over the riverside as the moment Jack had been waiting for and playing over and over in his head for three years had come. He'd been careful to bring his father's old pistol. The one this man had given him. Jack though it fitting that the man who killed his father be hoisted by his own baton. They gazed at each other as their hands now twitched towards their guns. "If it weren't for those damn ducks", Desmond thought to himself, "this would be a pretty badass setting".

"DRAW!", yelled Ross. Suddenly, Jack's world went bright orange as time slowed to him. Dead-Eye vision. A trait inherited by the men of the Marston family since his grandfather came to this country from Scotland, according to his late father. "It's kinda like Eagle Vision", Desmond thought to himself, "If John was an Assassin then that would explain it." Jack used this gift to pull his gun, take his aim, and empty his clip in the old man's direction before he'd even drawn his gun. Blood splattered everywhere as the bullets hit is body. They propelled his dead body into the river where any evidence would be washed away. No one would be able to connect Jack to the crime.

Jack pondered this fact to himself as he watched the old man's blood spread throughout the water. He then looked at his father's gun and holstered it as he whispered,

"That was for you, Pa.". At long last, with the death of Edgar Ross, John Marston was at last laid to rest and his memory redeemed. "It's all over." Jack thought to himself when a grizzly voice from behind him said, "That was some nice shooting, Tex." Jack quickly looked up the small hill to see the setting sun and a man behind it. He was wearing a clean white shirt with a black tie, vest, and pants with a gun on his belt, all under a white cloak, the hood of which shadowed the man's face.