Bobby tensed as the intruder approached. He couldn't see who was coming, but he had his makeshift club ready. Hank indicated that he had only spotted one person. Whoever it was, there wasn't time to run.
They would fight if necessary, but who could it be?
No one knew where they were, or at least, he hoped not. Their encounter yesterday had left him worried. Someone was after them. Whoever those men had been: bandits or soldiers, they had been looking specifically for him and his friends.
Bobby couldn't prove it, but he was sure. Last night, he had replayed those scant moments before they attacked over and over in his mind, trying to figure out who they were, and how they had found them so easily. He kept seeing that tracker's strange black eyes as the man stared directly at him.
There was no way that those men could have possibly tracked them in yesterday's weather. The downpour had washed out the tracks. Hank had sworn to Bobby that he had made sure that they couldn't be followed. The Ranger wasn't paranoid, but he was thorough. Hank never took chances he didn't have to, not with the lives of his friends. After Bobby and Hank had discussed the tracker's strange methods, they had concluded that he had had some other means, probably magic.
Magic.
It was the lifeblood of the world he knew as the Realm. Just the thought of it made Bobby's mind rebel against itself. He wasn't a child. There was no Santa Claus, no fairies, no Easter Bunny. The idea of real magic was something he wanted to forget. It was something that his training, the structure of his profession, tried to invalidate. He dealt in facts: cause and effect. But here, in this place, it was no fantasy, it was real. It was vast, powerful, and too dangerous to discount or ignore. He had seen its power countless times. It was fact.
Magic could kill.
How do you defend yourself against something that seemed to have few limitations? How do you stop something that shouldn't exist, that defies everything you know?
He prayed fervently they weren't facing that now, or they had no chance at all.
Bobby knew there was no alternative, but just waiting was making him nervous. A trickle of sweat ran slowly down into his eyes. The trees suddenly felt close, and the air stiflingly dense as he waited, shifting his grip on the club.
The young woman came into view, leading her horse. She was wearing a ragged, shabby looking dress of common homespun, dyed purple. Her face was hidden in an old blue hooded cloak, that was travelstained and more than a little frayed around the edges. She didn't seem to be carrying a weapon. Bobby relaxed a little. He couldn't see her face, but she looked like any one of the number of peasants they had encountered during their years in the Realm.
He heard Hank's voice call out, "That's far enough. Stop right there."
Hank emerged from the trees, holding his sword in front of him. His expression was stolid, but Bobby could tell that the Ranger was uncomfortable with the blade in his hands.
When she saw them, she froze in her tracks, unmoving.
"Who are you?" Hank demanded, "What do you want?"
She didn't answer, but Hank's challenge made her turn slowly to look at him. She held up her hands placatingly to indicate that she meant no harm, then she removed her hood.
Hank almost dropped his sword. Bobby's club fell from his fingers. Everyone stared in amazement: uncomprehending, unbelieving.
Bobby had experienced profound times in his life when the world seemed to stop, and every moment after was forever changed. It changed the day his childhood ended when Sheila had died. It changed again his wedding day, when he looked into Terri's eyes as he kissed his wife. It changed the day Anna was born.
The world had stopped again.
Whether by accident, chance, or some greater design, the morning suns had risen just enough to shine cheerfully through the large gaps the leafy canopy, driving away the oppressive gray gloom of the last few days. Everything seemed more alive, bathed in richer colors. The trees became vibrant, glistening with pearls of silver dew, and the leaves a dozen shades of living green, dappled in the bright yellow warmth of morning sunshine. Only the soft breeze whispering through the trees broke the silence, until the birds suddenly exploded into their waking song. All of it would be etched in his memory in every immutable detail, and he would it close to his heart, regardless of everything that ever followed after, for the rest of his life. Every sound, every sensation, all of it would be forever clear.
She stood there, looking exactly as he remembered her. The morning sunlight surrounded her, caressing her in its glow. She had always looked pale and wan in sunlight, fragile, but it turned her hair into a mane of warm autumn hues.
The sight of her was nothing less than a miracle.
Bobby blinked. He couldn't believe his eyes. It was as if the last twenty five years had been some kind of cruel joke. Like so many times, he was sure that she was going to vanish again in an instant.
"Sheila?" Hank whispered plaintively, in a lost, tortured voice filled with a desperate anguish. The sound of his broken voice brought the world back into focus.
"Hank?" Her voice was so soft that Bobby could barely hear it. Her gaze turned to Bobby instantly. He had cried out her name aloud without even realizing it.
Bobby started toward her as she stared at him. For a long moment, there was no sign that she recognized him at all.
"Bobby?" She stared up at him in questioning fear, her voice quivering.
He embraced her, and he felt her hug him back. She was crying. She wasn't a dream, she was flesh and blood. She didn't vanish, and he didn't wake up. Sheila was here.
"Bobby... I can't...breathe."
He immediately loosened his bearhug. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, begging forgiveness, as she took a deep breath.
"I've missed you so much," she whispered, tears glistening on her cheeks, her voice as comforting to him now as it had when he was small and afraid of the dark.
He was shaking, so afraid that he was dreaming and about to wake up. So many times he had dreamed of his sister. He had nightmares of her in pain, dying, leaving him behind: lost and alone. He always woke up, begging for that terrible day to somehow be undone, even offering his own life in exchange. He had always known it was an impossible wish. At last, he had been heard, and his heart shouted in joy.
"I love you, Bobby."
When she said those words, the same words she had always told him in the darkest moments of childhood, his iron resolve melted into nothing. He felt hot tears as they ran down his face, and he choked back a sob. There was too much to hold in completely. For an instant of eternity, there was nothing else, and no time had passed between him and his sister. They were a family again, and it was as if she had never left.
Everyone was crowded around them, but their eyes were focused on her. Eric simply stared, finally unable to say a word. Diana, whose feelings were always hidden behind a veneer of absolute confidence, was weeping freely as she embraced her childhood friend. Terri simply stood to one side, waiting. Like the others, she was crying, but she had that familiar smile on her face. Bobby pulled his wife close.
"Did you know?" he whispered.
Terri shook her head, and rested it against his shoulder. Bobby watched as Sheila gingerly returned Diana's hug, timid and uncertain.
When Sheila turned to Eric, the Cavalier back away, and Bobby heard the steely grinding slither as he drew his weapon. She quickly stepped back. She held her hands in front of her, but Eric was as hard as stone. Bobby felt his ire rise in reflex to the implied threat to his sister.
"Eric, what's wrong with you?" Diana demanded.
What was wrong with him?
Eric was his friend, but Bobby wasn't going to let Eric harm her, friend or not! Bobby let Terri go, and seized Eric's arm. Eric tried to shake him loose, but Bobby held him fast. Eric glared at him.
"How do we know she isn't a doppleganger or a shadow stalker?"
Everyone stopped at that instantly. Bobby looked at Eric's face, and paused. Eric was serious. Bobby had never seen Zinn's stalkers, but he had seen Venger shapeshift enough times. Bobby let go of his arm.
"You told me yourself," Eric grated harshly, "Sheila died! What's more likely? She somehow rose from the dead, or that that's an impostor?"
Eric's statement slapped her in the face. Her expression became profoundly wounded as she looked at them. Bobby knew why. He knew her too well not to. It was the realization that her friends didn't trust her. The most necessary thing in Sheila's world was the people she loved.
She wasn't looking at Eric or the others. Even though Eric was the one with the sword, she was staring at Bobby. She had seen his own hesitation, and that hurt her the most. Her eyes were filled a cacophony of raw emotions that seemed to run amok from one to another at random, on the verge of spilling over. What they reflected wrenched his heart.
Fear and confusion, but most of all, hurt. She was his sister. Somehow, he was absolutely sure.
"Eric, Hank and I never actually saw her die."
"But you told us there was no way she could have survived," Eric retorted, ignoring him and looking to Hank. The Ranger didn't answer. He seemed frozen, his expression was lost, strained. His eyes were haunted. He only looked at the young woman in front of them. It was obvious that he wanted to believe that she was his lost love, somehow returned.
"I don't suppose you would care to explain?" Eric demanded, directing his question toward her.
Unlike the sister Bobby remembered, Sheila didn't break down into tears, but seemed to slowly rally under Eric's verbal assault. She blinked, and steadied herself. Her jaw set, and her face became cold, expressionless, as her lips compressed into a thin line.
"It's me, Eric. I'm your friend."
"Prove it," he said acidly.
Her voice was laced with profound sorrow, but her expression didn't change. "Kareena...I don't know how she did it, but she healed me, saved my life."
"Kareena? Venger's sister? The blonde who tried to kill you years ago?" Eric was incredulous.
When Sheila saw the look on his face, she nodded, and her voice was heavy with guilt. "It's true...She gave her life to save mine, somehow. I was dying, and she took my place. I can't explain it any better than that. I begged her not to, but she felt that she owed me her life. I couldn't stop her, and she died."
Eric wasn't convinced. "And how could she do that? Not even Dungeon Master could heal Bobby when he was poisoned! You should know that."
"I remember!" she said irritably. "I was never so scared in my life! I stayed with him while you found the cure, the "Foot of a Yellow Dragon". I can't explain how she did it, Eric!"
"So you know how Bobby was cured. You'll have to do better than that. We aren't the only ones who knew about what happened. That doesn't prove anything. If you want to prove yourself, tell me something only Sheila would know."
"I – I don't know if I can. When I was...brought back, I lost a part of myself, Eric. It's strange." Her brows came closer together in an all too familiar way that they always did when she was concentrating. "I remember the Realm, but so much of everything else is just...gone."
Bobby sunk into despair, feeling like he had been kicked in the gut. Amnesia? She didn't remember their family? No, she knows us.
"Oh, how convenient. You know who we are, but you can't remember home. That's just what an impostor would say."
She looked at Eric bleakly, and for a brief moment, Bobby was afraid that his friend was right. She was an impostor, and that all of this was a lie.
"I remember a party. Someone startled you, and you tipped the cake off of the table. We laughed at you, and you looked so ridiculous, covered in chocolate frosting. I...I remember I felt awful about it, and tried to apologize, but you were impossible."
"Presto's birthday party," Diana said in amazement, "A few days before we were lost in the Realm."
"Satisfied?" Bobby demanded angrily.
"I'm sorry, Sheila," Eric said quietly as he sheathed his sword. "I had to be sure."
Bobby was angry, but when he saw the look on Eric's face, his fury waned. It was never easy for Eric to admit he was wrong or offer an apology, but this time the Cavalier's face was covered with honest regret.
"It's all right, Eric." Eric actually smiled, and she hugged him quickly.
She turned to Hank. He was standing apart from them. The Ranger's face was a mask of pure misery.
"Hank?" His anguished eyes glittered in recognition. She gently pulled him close. His tall frame shuddered at her touch.
"It is you, isn't it? Somehow, it is you."
"Yes, Hank," she said. "It's me."
"I'm sorry." Hank whispered in a wounded voice. He just kept repeating it, and wouldn't stop.
Bobby and the others watched in surprise as the Ranger's legendary, unflappable, unshakable self control simply crumbled, and he wept like a child in her arms.
"Hank, it's all right. You did what you had to do, what I asked you to do. It wasn't your fault." Sheila held him for several minutes, before gently disengaging herself. She took in a deep, ragged breath. When she spoke, her voice was raw with barely controlled emotions. "We have to get out of here. It's not safe. A man named Duncan is following you, and he has orders from Venger to kill all of you."
At that name, Bobby's temper flared. "We'll see about that. If Duncan wants a fight, I'll give him one!"
"Robert, this isn't the time to go charging off!" She was suddenly angry.
The sound of her voice, the tone, convinced him of who she was, more than anything! Regardless of all that had obviously happened to her, when she was angry, she still sounded exactly like their mother. She even stood the same way, with the same expression on her face.
He wasn't a child, and Sheila didn't have to baby him! Not anymore. He'd grown up a long time ago!
He stopped. Bobby found himself reacting defensively out of old habit. He was ashamed of himself. He was still acting like the angry little boy who wanted to defy his smothering older sister.
Sheila wasn't really angry. He could tell. She couldn't hide her feelings from him. Not from him. He knew her too well. No, she wasn't angry. She was afraid, and he was afraid for her.
She was trying to accept that she was seeing. She was seeing them again, grown up, all adults, changed after twenty five years. Somehow, she was managing not to fall apart completely. He had seen her do it before. She would grasp for anything that could help: love, false hope, forced cheer, and on rare occasions, even anger - anything that would help her hold herself together.
In spite of her determination, it was plain to see that Sheila was foundering. She was on the edge of an emotional crash. He could see it in her eyes.
As a boy, he had given her so much difficulty, but things weren't that simple anymore. He was a husband and a father. His wife and daughter had changed him, in countless ways that he couldn't number. He had learned fear. He had a family now, and with that love came the fear of losing them. He had nearly lost Terri and Anna once, because he refused to let go.
He'd lost Sheila once already. Not again. Never again.
Duncan could wait, for now.
He had seen her face down countless enemies in the Realm. The younger Bobby might have ignored his sister's fears, but they had spent five long years together in the Realm. He had seen firsthand that his sister was timid sometimes, but Sheila definitely wasn't a coward.
Duncan frightened her. She knew him?
"I don't want to fight, but you're suggesting we just run away? It won't solve the problem." he said, "He'll just keep following us."
"I'm suggesting that we haven't a much of a chance of fighting Duncan without someone getting hurt, or worse. You don't have your club?" she asked abruptly.
"No, we left our Weapons behind, back home," Eric muttered. "We all did. Like last time, this wasn't planned."
"Sheila, Duncan told us that Dungeon Master wanted to see us. Duncan said that his last student could lead us there. We were all his pupils once. Can you take us to him?" Hank said it slowly, carefully. Either he didn't trust his own voice, or was embarrassed at his own outburst.
"If Dungeon Master wants to talk to you, he can find you," she said uncharitably.
Bobby looked at her, surprised at the vehemence in her voice. "Sis, he's the fastest way we know to get home. Duncan said that Dungeon Master is dying. Could it be true?"
Sheila's voice softened, but her face was oddly pained at Bobby's use of the familial nickname. "Duncan is many things, but he is not a liar," she answered in her quiet voice.
"Wait a second. You know him?" Eric asked.
She nodded. "I did, a long time ago. He's one of Presto's family. He wasn't always the man he is now," she said sadly. "I didn't know about Dungeon Master," she whispered. "All right." She sighed softly. "I know where we can find him." She seemed oddly reluctant to admit the fact. "But we have to go. Now."
He watched her as Sheila and Eric readied the horses. There were no scars on her arms from the many cuts. There was no sign of the deep gash that had opened one cheek to the bone. Even if there were no scars on her arms, her face would have permanently marred, but there was nothing. It was as if it had never happened at all.
That sight alone was an anodyne to lifetime of terrible nightmares.
"It's her," Hank said quietly. "It's really her."
Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder, and nodded at his lifelong friend. For the first time in twenty five years, he actually saw Hank smile, or at least, something approaching one. Hank didn't smile, not really, not anymore. Not even on his wedding day, when he had married Nora. Bobby hadn't seen Hank smile since before they had returned from the Realm. Not since before the day that they thought that they had lost Sheila.
Hank's shoulders were a little straighter. Bobby didn't have to ask. Bobby understood exactly how he felt. Sheila's death had been a terrible burden to carry, one that they had both borne for so long that the tremendous weight of it had become part of who they were. It had changed them both, and not always for the better.
Now, that was gone, at last. Perhaps they had both been granted a slim chance at absolution.
It was a remote chance, but because she was alive, there was hope. The burden of watching her die was gone, but the guilt of leaving her behind was still there: raw, unhealed, and as sharp as a knife. It sickened his heart. Sheila had forgiven them, but would they ever forgive themselves? He didn't know, and he saw the same question on Hank's face, as the Ranger's eyes followed his sister's every move.
He still loved her.
Bobby remembered how he and his friends had not aged during their time in the Realm. Evidently, that still held true. Sheila hadn't changed at all, not the slightest bit during the passing years. She was still sixteen. Her pale complexion had never tanned. She still had a handful of freckles scattered across her cheeks. The only visible sign that any time had passed was her hair. It was still a fiery red-orange, but the length was longer now, past her shoulders, and held back out of her eyes with a black barrette.
He watched as Sheila doublechecked Eric's work on the last of the horses. They were conversing animatedly. He hadn't heard what they had been saying, but Sheila threw up her hands.
"You're still impossible," she told him irritably. She didn't shout, but it was loud enough to carry. The remark hadn't any real venom. "Never mind, I need to check Terri's arm before we leave."
"I still can't believe it," Hank was saying. "How this is possible? How could she have survived that?"
Bobby shrugged. They both already knew the answer. "Magic. The impossible isn't impossible, with magic."
Fresh guilt surged up, and Bobby couldn't force it down. He should have known.
His heart had never really believed she was gone. It had told him the truth, when everything else had told him it was impossible. He didn't understand how. She should be dead. She had been dying. He had been so certain of it! She had been certain.
Sis, I'm sorry! I should have come back for you. I should have brought you home. I left you here all alone! I abandoned you!
Bobby was sure Hank was having similar thoughts, but he knew what they were thinking was impossible.
Impossible. He kept using that word, and it was a slap in the face. He was consumed with self doubt, but he knew the facts, the certainties of his own life. Or at least, he thought he had.
No one else had ever disappeared while riding the Dungeons and Dragons ride, and of those who did, only Presto and his sister had never returned. No one else had vanished without a trace in the twenty five years since. Ever.
The day before he proposed to Terri, he had ridden it alone. By then, it was barely more than an aged wreck. The red paint had long since peeled off the car in spots, the vinyl seats were faded and torn, but he had never been so frightened in his life! He had avoided the park since the day he returned home. After the disappearance of their only daughter, his parents had been only too happy to oblige his wish.
Nothing happened.
He had simply emerged from the other side. There had been no vortex to another world. His wild hope didn't happen. Sheila didn't reappear. The doorway had been closed, apparently forever.
Bobby had stopped at the park gate, and whispered a silent goodbye. Terri was out there, and his future was waiting for him. He would ask her to marry him. The past would remain in the park where it belonged. Sheila was gone. That day had proved it, finally, once and for all, but no matter what he did, she continued to haunt his dreams.
He had never told anyone about his impromptu visit to the park, not even Terri. It was something Bobby didn't want to share, but Hank needed to know, or the Ranger would keep punishing himself.
"I know what you are thinking. You're thinking, 'I should have come back.' Hank, I rode the Dungeons and Dragons once, after we came back," he said at last. "Nothing happened, Hank. There was no way back here."
Hank turned to him in surprise. "For god's sake, Bobby. Why?"
"I've never told anyone, but after my parents died, Terri and I broke up." From the expression on his face, Bobby could tell that Hank had always believed what everyone else had. They all thought that he and Terri were a "fairytale couple" that never had problems. Bobby grimaced, but continued. "We were having a rough time then, and money was always a problem. We were both under a lot of stress already, but when Mom and Dad died in the accident, I lost it. We had a huge argument, and I thought, 'Sheila is gone, Mom and Dad are gone, and now I've got nothing left to lose.' So, I went to the park, and did it. It didn't work. I don't know why. I certainly wanted it to at the time, but when it didn't, it made me realize that Terri was really all I had left, and I couldn't run away."
Hank nodded slowly.
Bobby watched as Sheila started to wrap Terri's arm with cloth from her saddlebag. The concerned and tender expression on her face had immediately put Terri at ease. He had seen that look countless times when he had come home with so much as a bruise.
What did she remember, and what should he tell her? What would be best if she remembered on her own? What if she asked about Mom and Dad? Did she even remember them? Time flowed differently here in the Realm. How long had it been for her? Duncan had mentioned at least...one hundred years?!
Duncan was frustrated. The location spells hadn't worked. He had to fall back on tracking them without magic, and the Ranger had made that as difficult as possible. Someone else was helping them, protecting them! The woman – Terri – had somehow warded them. He hadn't considered that as a possibility. It annoyed him, and annoyance was not usually part of his emotional lexicon. This, however...this new development explained much, but was even more disconcerting.
He bent down to examine a set of footprints more closely. They were small. The width of the stride and placement suggested a woman. Terri had a boot heel that left an impression. The Acrobat had a wrapped fur boot, but these had no distinctive tread pattern. Probably some kind of flat leather sole, with no heel. Too small to be one of the men.
Since he had met them, he had become intimately familiar with each. He had studied their faces, their speech, their habits, their footprints, even their mannerisms. Someone else had joined them, and he wondered who it was.
Just the same, he knew he was very close, as he examined the earth. They had been walking the horses, and weren't moving fast enough. He would have them by tomorrow.
It was a race, and only a question of time now before he won.
It was getting late. The sunlight was starting to vanish into twilight, but Sheila didn't stop.
They were walking the horses. Sheila herself barely made a sound. Her footfalls were soft, almost completely silent, apparently more from some deeply ingrained habit, than a deliberate attempt at stealth. If she was that quiet without effort, Bobby had the feeling that if she really wanted to, she could have gotten past even Hank.
Sheila was leading them around the village, keeping their distance, while Hank was making sure any signs of their passing were erased or muddled. Bobby looked longingly at the warm yellow lights coming from the village center, when Eric finally broke the silent pall that had fallen on all of them.
Everyone was on edge from looking over their shoulder all day, expecting to see their pursuers behind, catching up. Nerves were jangled, and tempers were frayed. Sheila had spoken little since they had left the forest that morning, and started across a plain that stretched to the horizon. She had shrugged on an impenetrable armor of silence.
Bobby had tried talking to her, but she didn't say a word.
All of them had so many questions, but Sheila adamantly refused to talk about anything. She wouldn't even speak to him. They had left her be, but Bobby worried as he trudged on. If she needed silence to work things out, then all he could do was wait. She would be able to hold it all in for only so long.
"Why bother going through all this trouble to just go around the village?" Eric muttered to no one in particular.
Sheila surprised everyone by answering.
"You stand out, Eric," she said. "You can't go running around in armor without someone remembering it. You all do, really. The weave of your clothes is too fine, or your appearance is too," she paused and glanced at Diana's outfit, "striking not to catch someone's memory. If we were to pass through the village where everyone knows everyone else, a gold double or a free ale is all it would take, and any one of the villagers would be happy to tell Duncan which way you went," she said archly.
Bobby had to admit Sheila that had a point. That explained his sister's shabby outfit. She wanted to pass unnoticed, and draw as little attention as possible. It implied a level of forethought and experience he had never considered.
They had ridden hard for most of the day, and everyone was already exhausted. Sheila had moved over the uneven ground with the ease, and the calm air of someone who had traveled in this way for years. He had thought that he was in reasonable shape before returning to the Realm, but he had been badly mistaken. Their time here in the Realm had sorely tested him, and the others. He thought that he had finally started to acclimate, but they hadn't ridden horses. Everyone, even Diana, had difficulty keeping up with Sheila. She didn't seem to tire at all, and had to slow down so they could keep up.
Bobby carefully concealed his annoyance. He envied her. She was still young, and had reserves of energy he had long since lost.
"Sheila, slow down, will you? Some of us are getting old," Bobby had meant it as a joke, but when he saw the pain in her eyes, his grin disappeared. He moved forward, until he had caught up with her.
"Sorry, Sis. What's the matter? I didn't mean anything. I was just kidding."
"It's nothing," she said in a melancholy voice.
"Uh huh," he said doubtfully. "I'm not a little boy anymore, Sheila. I've learned a few things since then."
Suddenly, she just exploded. "That's just it, isn't it? You're not. I still see the little boy when I think of you. I've missed so much of your life. I wasn't there to see you grow up. I wanted to be. It's not fair!" She sighed then, looking at him briefly before turning her gaze back ahead. There was nothing but pain in her once soft eyes, and her voice lowered to a bitter whisper. "I wasn't there to see you get married."
"How did you...?" She hadn't given him a chance to tell her.
"Terri told me," she said, cutting him off, her voice suddenly taking on a newly sharpened edge. "Even if she hadn't, I saw your wedding rings."
"Sis..."
Sheila stopped in her tracks. "Bobby, just stop it, will you?! Don't call me that anymore! I'm nobody!" She yelled at him with a sudden vehemence. She stared at him for a long moment, and her entire body was shaking in anger. She looked away, turned her back to him. "I haven't been your sister for a very long time," she said in a quiet voice filled with hopeless despair. "I don't even know if you still like to be called 'Bobby.' Please, just don't call me 'Sis' anymore. You have no idea how painful it is."
"Sheila..." Bobby paused in shock.
"No! I just can't talk about this right now. I won't! I need to focus on what's important."
She turned back toward him. Her face was a bleak, impassive mask. She quickly wiped away the trails of tears from her eyes. Her anger was gone, leaving her voice cold, chillingly empty. "We are being followed, and I can't afford to be distracted," she said finally. "I can't let my feelings get in the way. Neither can you. You should get back into single file. It's easier to cover our trail if it isn't side by side." She pulled forward, giving him room to get back into line, ending the conversation.
Terri squeezed his hand as she so often did when he was troubled, to remind him that she was there. Bobby glanced at his wife, and then stared at Sheila's back for a long time.
She looked the same, but she was very different now. They were more alike than he had ever thought. He couldn't believe what she had said to him. She couldn't have meant it. He had seen it in himself far too many times. Sheila was hurt, angry, and could no longer contain her frustration. She wasn't herself right now.
The Sheila he remembered had been so much different. He was the hothead, always angry. She had always been the reverse. She worried constantly, but she had been the center of his life during his childhood. She had had a serene calm, and a way of reassuring him, making his life seem manageable, instead of overwhelming, first at home, and then in the Realm. He was closer to her than his own parents. Their parents had always been working, so she had taken care of him. Not only had she been his sister, but she had taken on the role of mother, friend, and confidante. It was her, not their mother, who had most often dried his tears. It was her. She was the one who had tended the cuts and bruises, and tucked him in at night. It was Sheila who always told him that things would be all right.
He desperately wished he could get that reassurance right now. When she moved, made a gesture, or even stood still, she still reminded distinctly him of their mother, but there was something else, something he had never seen in her before. He had blamed himself, sometimes Hank, for her apparent death. For the last twenty five years, he had had a void in his soul where she had been, filled with loss and pain. As much pain as he had carried, he realized her losses were more severe.
He had had his parents, and then, his own family to sustain him. She had lost everyone.
It was humbling, and devastating at the same time. He wanted to tell her that they were a family again, and that everything would work out, but he really wasn't certain it would.
He was afraid that he didn't know her anymore. This angry girl was someone he had never met.
Their first five years in the Realm had changed her, but in a positive way. Through everything that happened to her, to all of them then, she had remained true to herself. Events left their mark on him and the others, but not her. If anything, the Realm had deepened her caring nature, and made her more self confident. It had strengthened her resolve to help others, and to protect the people she loved.
When Sheila reacted to the world now, there was a wariness that was unmistakably apparent. When she did finally speak, her default tone was slightly cynical, and indifferent. She was like Eric, but without the sarcasm. The unending hope, the sense of wonder, the effervescent optimism, that unshakable innocence, the openness, her gentle warmth: all of it had been stripped away. It was everything that made her who she had been, that had given her such strength of heart. Now, it was absent, gone, as if it had never been.
The Sheila he knew was always truthful, always open. It was a personality trait that she had carried to extremes. Bobby had spent years learning to read the person sitting across the negotiating table. The more he spoke to her, the more he had the feeling that she hadn't told him the truth. If she had actually lied to him, he should have been able to tell. Sheila wouldn't have been able to hide it. Not from him. It worried him when he realized that he was no longer certain.
He was convinced that what she little she had said wasn't the truth, or at least, not all of it. She reminded him far too much of Dungeon Master.
The comparison angered him, but he kept it to himself. Sheila had always protected him. He had been a little boy then, and hadn't been ready for the full reality of life. He knew she had omitted or "exaggerated" things to do that, but she had never lied to him before.
Hadn't she?
Just that sudden doubt seemed to be ripping apart the foundations of everything he had always known to be immutable. The sun came up in the east, he could never get hit homerun to left field as a boy, Anna utterly despised dark chocolate, and Sheila had never lied to him.
He remembered her smile. The smile that had been like the sun coming up. It had been simple, honest, and pure. It was joy, love and warmth, somehow combined, a smile that could brighten even his darkest moment. Her smile was gone too, and he found that he missed that most of all.
All of it was so out of place, and she wasn't the Sheila he remembered. Things were so completely wrong! She was his older sister. The strangeness of the situation reminded him that Sheila was seven years older than himself. He was thirty three years old! She should be forty! Right now, if they were back home, she might have been mistaken for a younger sister or worse, his own daughter. That thought brought even more confusion.
Anna. How much time had passed on Earth in the weeks that they had been here? Was she all right?
Those were questions he couldn't answer. The worries for his sister, his daughter, and Terri were already draining his resources. Terri still wasn't sleeping well. Her injury and the strain of forced travel was clearly showing on her face. He was used to being able to handle anything that came up, and now he didn't know what to do. He couldn't reassure himself or Terri, and fears ate at him like vitriol.
Sheila rested with her back against an old oak tree. There was no sign of Duncan or his men.
It was late, too dark to go further, when they had stopped for the night to rest near a small cluster of solitary trees on the plains that defined this part of the Realm. She hadn't passed this way in decades.
Her knees were pulled up under her chin, and she was lost in thought. She glanced up at the stars. They were scattered diamonds across the night sky. She would gaze at them for hours at a time, when she was alone, to keep her fear at bay. Looking at them had helped. In some small way, they were company, and so she wasn't completely alone. They were unchanging, always there: untainted, and untouchable. Ageless.
Right now, she felt her age. Her youthful face and apparent litheness was a lie. She was old, far older than anyone would ever believe. At this moment, her mood was dark, and pensive. She was hurt, angry and very afraid.
She had stopped caring about the world a long time ago, or at least, that is what she told herself. The world wanted nothing less than to see her and everyone like her either dead or ground down under someone else's boot heel. She had seen how the Realm really worked, and it was obvious and simple. Those who could, did. Mages used magic to their own ends. Warlords used their armies. The unfortunates caught in the middle were always nothing more than fodder for their ambitions.
She took care of herself, protected herself, trusted only herself. If getting by meant stealing, then that that was what she did. Killing had always been abhorrent, even to her, but she wouldn't wait for, or give someone a chance to kill her, either. If things got too bad, there was always another place to go, just over the horizon. Life revolved around protecting one's own self interest, and she had learned to accept that.
Their presence changed everything.
Somehow, they were back here in the Realm. Dungeon Master had sworn to her that this day would never come, that this was not possible. Seeing them again was the final act of betrayal.
Did he lie to me? No, he wouldn't lie. That wasn't his way. He would go to unheard of lengths to obscure the truth sometimes, to manipulate people, but he would never lie outright, not even to me. It was far more likely that something else had happened to make this possible, something that even he didn't know about.
Hank, Diana, Eric...Bobby.
Seeing them again felt like someone was slowly tearing her heart out. She didn't know these people! They had changed, grown old...while she remained the same. Always the same.
She had lost so much, and now in her misery, she knew she was doing what she had done to others many times over the years. She was pushing them away. Caring about someone, then slowly losing them was too painful. It was better not to feel at all.
She was even pushing her own brother away, the one person she knew she loved more than anyone else. She had failed him. She wanted to have been a part of his life, to have watched him grow up. She wanted to be his sister again. Her brother, the little boy, was gone. She was too late. Many years too late. She knew what she truly wanted.
I want my life back! I want to be myself again!
She knew she might as well wish to stop the suns in the sky. The life she wanted so desperately was impossible. The day she had almost died had done more than changed the course of her life. It hadn't just parted her from her friends and family. It had taken her soul. She still had her feelings, but her memories, her soul, had been left in tatters.
Damn it!
She was trying again to remember something, anything, of who she had been, to help fill that empty chasm, but everything except the Realm was gone. She could never explain why she remembered most of their time in the Realm clearly, even that awful first day, but almost nothing of her life before that. Even Dungeon Master didn't know why her memory loss was so selective.
Having feelings, but no memories explain them was maddening! It was like déjà vu. She knew it was there, but she couldn't grasp it, couldn't hold on to it. All that she had were disjointed fragments, moments of time that meant nothing. They might as well have belonged to someone else.
She was broken, only half of a person, empty and incomplete. It was out of her control. She felt like a marionette, with someone else pulling her strings, unseen. She was a puppet, given the semblance of life, but not one that felt as if it was truly her own. It tormented her relentlessly without mercy.
Part of her wanted to run over there, yell their names, hug them, hold them close, and never let go. But she couldn't let her guard down. She didn't want Bobby to see how broken she truly was. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want any of them hurt, because of her. She had to be careful. If she wasn't, she would hurt Bobby even worse. Perhaps, it was already too late.
There was only one hurt worse than losing someone you love. Getting that someone back: shattered, changed beyond recognition, and then spending the rest of your life wondering if there was something that you could have done differently - something, no matter insignificant, that would have made a difference.
It was better that her friends remember Sheila for who she had been, not for who she had become. She wanted them to keep the Sheila they remembered, the one Bobby loved. The one she saw in his eyes every time he looked at her.
She herself didn't even use that name anymore. It didn't feel like it belonged to her any longer.
I don't remember. Sheila is dead, and I'm nothing more than a wretched thief. Why hurt them any worse than they already have been? Somehow, I'll make sure they are safe, and if there is a way: to get them home.
Home. The word had no meaning, no memory.
I don't have one anymore.
She sobbed quietly to herself.
Dungeon Master owed her nothing, but he did owe the others. Dying or not, and even if it was the last thing she ever did, she was going make sure that that scheming old man made good on his debt.
What if he told them? No, it doesn't matter. Once they are safe, it doesn't matter what happens to me. At least, it will finally be over.
Duncan. His name was another wound that had never healed.
He was another obstacle in the way. She had tried so hard to forget that she had ever known him at all. She desperately wanted to. She knew she couldn't run away any longer. She had to keep these last few loved ones safe, regardless of what had happened to her. She would have to choose between them. She would have to face the past one last time.
There was one certain way to deal with him.
Her family and friends were all she had left. She wouldn't let them go, not without a fight. She knew that they would never approve. She couldn't think of another way. If they hated her after this, then so be it. At least, Bobby would be safe. Duncan would never give up.
Not yet, but I can change that.
She shoved her doubts aside. Terri was keeping watch. Bobby and the others were finally sleeping.
It was time.
She looked at glanced at Bobby one last time, then retrieved her crossbow, and a few other items from her belongings. Leaving the rest behind, she easily avoided Terri, and slipped silently away into the night.
The sun was rising behind her, shining down into the camp. She was a short distance away, holding the loaded crossbow pointed squarely at his Duncan's back. All she had to do was pull the trigger a fraction of an inch, and then that monster would be out of her life, finally and forever. The chainmail armor he was wearing would be absolutely no protection. At this range, the broad, hardened steel point would easily punch through armor, even plate.
Her entire body was still trembling, and she broke out in a cold sweat.
This was a form of justice, if nothing else. She had more than enough reasons to kill him, any of which would never be considered revenge.
She told herself that this wasn't the same as the day when Hank fired an arrow at Venger in the Graveyard, the arrow that would have ended the archmage's life. At least Venger had a twisted code of morals. Duncan had killed countless people for little or no reason. He wasn't a man, he was nothing more than an unfeeling weapon. If he knew she was here, he would kill even her without hesitation. Even her.
She wasn't the girl who had held Uni that day, the girl who turned away in horror when Hank fired at Venger. Not anymore. She knew if she did this, there would be no going back. If Bobby ever found out, he would never forgive her. He would never look at her the same ever again.
She had thought that she could outrun Duncan, but she had sensed his presence as he had gotten ever closer. There were no alternatives left. Until Duncan was dead, Bobby would never be safe. She lost so much already, but if Bobby's hate was the price she had to pay, then she would just have to learn to live with it.
She took aim, and willed her hand to pull the release.