Instinct took over me; I began to do what I had done at Culloden to try to keep away from the Redcoats—stay low to the ground and attempt to sneak away, and take my chances back in the house.

But the Redcoats had already been rushing over towards me at the sight of my torch's light. There were three of them.

"Oi!" one of them said, as he spotted me, holding a lantern over me. "What are you doing down there, Boy?"

"It's just one of the Highlanders," another said, in dismissal. "I'll wager he thought that light was one of those will-o-the-wisps his folk keep talking about. You'd best get back to your ranks before the colonel sees you!"

I looked up, utterly confused. They weren't taking me prisoner?

"What?" I asked, flatly.

"Your ranks!" he said. "With the other Highlanders! Go on, then; we're expected to outflank the rebels, but we can't do that if we're not in ranks! Forget about those crazy wisps of yours!"

"Where's your weapon? What kind of rubbish uniform is that?" the third Redcoat asked, snickering at my longcoat. "Where did you get that, Boy?"

"What seems to be the trouble?" another voice said—one that sounded horribly familiar to me.

"Colonel!" the three Redcoats exclaimed, saluting. "We saw an odd light, Sir. Found this Highlander out of ranks, trying to chase it!"

"Get back into your ranks," the Redcoat colonel said. "I'll deal with him."

"Yes, Sir," the three of them said, running off to join the others.

I still stayed where I was, hardly daring to breathe. Wasn't I just as much a rebel as the Colonists? Why were they talking to me as though my people were on the same side as them? And why was the colonel's voice so familiar to me?

"You, Highlander!" the colonel quipped at me. "What is the meaning of this fancy dress you're wearing? What's your name?"

"Ah… I… I was…"

"Speak up, Boy! I asked for your name!"

"James Robert McCrimmon!" I yelped. "Piper to the McClarens!"

I wasn't sure what I expected in response, but a dead silence wasn't it. I looked up in time to see the Redcoat colonel holding his lantern over me to see my face.

"It can't be…"

By now, I was very confused. But as the colonel drew his face closer to get a better look at me, he brought himself closer to his lantern-light, allowing me to see his face. It was a face that had aged considerably since I had last seen him, but once I had taken a good look, I soon placed both the face and the voice that belong to it.

"Lieutenant Ffinch!?" I blurted out. "What are ye doing here!?"

"I should ask you the same question!" he quipped back. "And it's colonel now, if you please!"

"Oh, my apologies!" I snarled, standing up now. "As if I have better things to do than remember the rank of the murderous Redcoat—"

"Will you be quiet!?" Ffinch hissed at me. "You'll draw attention to us!"

"Don' ye tell me what t' do!" I snarled back at him. "I see ye're still doing what ye do best—brutally destroying people who only want their freedom!"

"The rebel Colonists are behaving just as badly as you Jacobites did; I am under orders to deal with them—"

"Och, orders! Orders! Just like ye were under orders to kill me!?" Involuntarily, I placed a hand up to protect my neck. "What are ye going to do now, eh? Finish what ye tried to start!?"

"McCrimmon, I have no quarrel with you!" Ffinch said, waving a hand at me in dismissal. "Either join the ranks of the Highlanders here, or leave me in peace!"

"No quarrel, eh? Well, I've got plenty of unfinished business with ye!" I hissed, glancing around to make sure we weren't attracting anyone else. No one seemed to be bothered enough to check up on us, thank goodness.

"Unfinished business with me?" Ffinch asked, incredulously. "McCrimmon, I let you and your merry band of madmen go!"

"After ye tried to kill us, and only because Polly had yer identity disc," I reminded him. "And it was either ye or one of yer men who killed the Laird's son, Alexander McLaren! As they were yer men, I hold ye responsible as his killer!"

"Killer!?" Ffinch exclaimed. "That was thirty years ago!"

"And that makes it alright now!?" I quipped back, silently registering that it meant that I was somewhere in the year 1776. "And besides, it may be thirty years for ye, but it's only been five for me—and I don' care how long has passed; ye still murdered my friend!"

"Five years…?" He held the lantern closer to me, and I could see his eyes widen in fear. "Oh, God, what witchcraft is this!?"

"It's nae witchcraft; it's…" I trailed off, and then smirked. "It's retribution for the blood ye spilled thirty years ago, and the blood ye're aboot to spill now. For choosing the wrong side and now allowing people to be free."

"Is that so?" Ffinch asked, and I was slightly shaken to see that he was smirking now. "Then it looks as though your own people will have to face retribution for choosing the wrong side, this time."

"Wha…?"

"You didn't figure it out when we were asking you to rejoin the ranks of the other Highlanders?" Ffinch asked. "A lot has changed in thirty years. Your people—the children of the rebels who gave us so much trouble thirty years ago, are now joining us when we face Washington's troops."

"No…" I said, refusing to believe it. "No; my people are proud! After what ye did to us, we would ne'er… sell oot!"

"There are Highlanders now part of the British Army; you are behind the times, clearly. I don't know where you've been these thirty years, but it is clear you are quite out of touch with the affairs of the people you glorify so much." Ffinch smirked. "I can show them to you, if you think I'm lying. There might even be people you know—among the older ones, of course. Though you'll have to explain how it is you came to be here, barely aged. I'm still curious about that."

I didn't reply; I didn't know what to say. I could tell from his smug tone that he wasn't lying, even if I didn't want to admit it.

"I suggest you leave, McCrimmon, if you don't want to get involved in this inevitable battle," Ffinch continued. "You clearly ended up here by accident; you are not enrolled in our army, and I know you wouldn't join the rebels for fear of facing your own people. I would tell you to return home… but it's clear that you don't belong there."

If he hadn't said that last sentence, I probably would have left and continued with my quest of trying to find a way to reach the Doctor. But then he said that last sentence… My blood had still not simmered down, and my temper got the better of me when I heard him say that. Before I could stop myself, I swung my right arm around until my fist connected with his chin, sending him to the ground.

It was only a split-second later that I fully realized what I had done—punched a Redcoat colonel when there were dozens upon dozens of Redcoats only yards away. I turned tail and ran, and Ffinch got up and was now pursuing me; he may not have had a quarrel with me before we started talking, but he certainly did now.

I could hear him barking orders at the other Redcoats, telling them to stay in their ranks—that he would deal with me on his own. I wasn't about to let that happen; I headed for the place where I knew I would find shelter—back to the demon house. From my short time inside of it since arriving in 1776, it still seemed abandoned, and now that I knew how to stop the angel statue from attacking, I figured that I would be safer in there.

When I entered the house, however, the angel statue was gone. Though I was puzzled, I didn't stop to question my good fortune. I turned to face the front door now, drawing my knife and holding it out as Ffinch entered.

"McCrimmon—"

"No," I said, holding my knife up. "I am through listening to ye. I don' need t' hear yer insults!"

"You know so little," Ffinch snarled. "You're still just a stupid, brash child!"

"I know more than ye'll e'er know!" I shot back. "I know what lies beyond this Earth, beyond the stars, and across the vast expanses of this galaxy! I know aboot motor cars and aeroplanes and electricity!" I flicked my torch on and off a few times to prove my point. "I know aboot computers and telephones and things ye'd ne'er dream of! …And I also know that e'en though ye'll get Washington to retreat in this battle, the Colonists will still win their freedom! The Americans will win, and they'll build buildings that reach the sky, right where the battle will be fought!"

"Oh, you know, do you?" Ffinch sneered. "You can see the future?"

"No," I admitted. "The Doctor taught me, in one of my lessons. Though he ne'er did mention that my people chose the wrong side."

"The Doctor? That Doctor von Wer fellow is here, too!? I might have known!"

"He's nae here, but I'll see to it that he will be. I got separated from him and ended up in 1776. No matter, though; he'll find a way to find me. Somehow. And he'll teach ye a lesson or two, as well," I vowed. "He's nae like us; he's a man from the stars, and compared t' him… ye're nothing!"

"Are you quite certain he's not here already?" Ffinch scoffed. "Because those things appear to be akin to some enchantment he'd be using."

"What things?" I asked.

Ffinch silently glanced upward. Following his gaze, I could see the number of ghost lights hovering over us. There were a dozen—again, far fewer than the number that had been there back in 1920, but they seemed to be changing their position from above the both of us to above Ffinch.

"Get oot of here," I said, quietly. "Tell the others that ye dealt with me—that I attacked and ye killed me or something; tell them whate'er ye want!"

"What are you going on about?"

"Just go," I hissed.

Part of me was wondering why I wanted him to go. After all the grief he had given me, and after murdering my friend, you'd have thought I'd have been perfectly fine with letting the ghost lights have their way with him.

"Is this another trick—like the light in your hand?" Ffinch scoffed. "I'd humor you, but I don't have time for this. You're right; I might as well go back—"

He had taken one step backwards, and the ghost lights all swooped at him, surrounding him. He yelled and tried to bat them away with his hands, and then clutched at his head as the mind probing began.

I stood there like a fool for a moment. There was a time when I would've reveled in the schadenfreude of the same man who had once tried to hang me now being tormented by the spirits here. But that was what I was five years ago.

Besides that, I knew the Doctor wouldn't approve of me doing nothing.

Frustrated and angry—both at myself and at Ffinch, I strode over to him, taking him by the arm.

"The moment ye get oot of this demon house, ye'll be fine!" I said, as he continued to cringe. "I told ye t' leave!"

"They… don't affect you!?" he gasped, wincing more as the ghosts probed further into his memories.

"They would, but the Doctor put up a barrier in my mind to protect me," I said. "Och, just hold on; ye're nae very far from the door…"

He wouldn't move, so I sighed and began to push him backwards towards the doorway. He stopped cringing for a moment to look at something over my shoulder, and his eyes widened in fear.

"What is that!?" he demanded.

"Just get oot of the house, and ye won' have t' worry aboot whate'er is in here!" I said, getting exasperated now.

"It's right behind you!"

"I told ye, the ghosts won' hurt me!" I said. "Just back away five more steps and ye'll be free of all this—"

Ffinch suddenly grabbed my arm and threw me aside and towards the floor. I cursed as I hit the floor, and turned around to glare angrily at him.

And then he vanished right in front of my eyes; the angel statue was right behind the spot where Ffinch had stood. The statue had an unnerving smile on its face, and I knew, somehow, it was taunting me.

The wisps swirled around me, briefly, before giving up on me again as I got to my feet, staring down the statue.

"What did ye do t' him?" I asked. "Where did ye take him!?"

Of course, the thing didn't answer me. Giving up, I now backed out of the room, hoping I could find a mirror or other reflective surface so that I could force the thing to look at its own reflection, hoping that would stop it from moving.

I shuffled awkwardly into the kitchen, and it was there that I tripped over something and stumbled backwards.

Sitting up, I quickly turned the torch on to make sure that the statue wouldn't try to sneak upon me again. After it was clear that it was going to wait for me in front of the door, I turned the torchlight beam down to see what I had tripped over.

It was a man in a Redcoat uniform, but the uniform was worn and old now, and the wearer had grown even older, his hair long and unkempt, and wearing a grizzled beard.

"Ffinch…?" I asked, horrified.

The old man stirred, looking up at me.

"McCrimmon…?" he asked, quietly.

"What happened to ye?" I asked, holding him up now as I looked around to make sure that the statue wouldn't return.

"Sent… back in time. They wouldn't let me leave the house…"

"The wisps? Or the statue?"

"All of them…" Ffinch wheezed. "Statue brought me food and water… I just grew older here."

"How long?" I asked.

"Twenty years, I think?" he said, wheezing again. "Don't… have much time…"

"Look, just shut up," I said. "I told ye; the Doctor will get here once I find a way to let him know I'm in 1776. He'll find a way to help ye, too. Ye just conserve yer strength in the meantime."

"No… No, it's no use…" Ffinch said. "I need to let you know… In the cellar…"

"Shush!" I ordered again, but he ignored me.

"There's something… not of this world in that cellar. A void of… lights and colors… Could barely move… Some sort of magic…"

"Whate'er it is, it's nae magic; it must be the time disruption the Doctor was talking aboot!"

"The ghosts can't leave…"

"Aye, I know."

"…Because of it. They hate it; it… restricts them…"

I stared at him.

"Are ye sure?" I asked. "The time disruption is why the ghosts cannae leave?" That was when the realization of Ffinch's situation struck me. "Ffinch, ye have to hold on! If ye die here, ye'll join them—the other ghosts!"

Finch slightly shook his head.

"Too late…"

"But the Doctor will find a way!" I said. "If ye just hold on until he gets here…" But Ffinch was already going slack in my arms. "Ffinch!"

The sick irony of this situation was not lost on me; this was the man who had played a direct role in the death of my best friend, Alexander, and had almost executed me, the Laird, the Doctor, and Ben. During the days following Culloden, I'd have killed Ffinch without a second thought. But here I was, pleading with him to live.

Ffinch looked up at me; he couldn't speak, but I could read his lips—

"Was she happy?"

It took me a moment, but I realized that he was referring to Polly.

"Aye," I said, with a firm nod. "She and Ben went on their own way some time ago, but… I'm sure they're happy."

That was all Ffinch needed to hear; his eyes closed soon after, and he did not awaken again. His breathing stilled, and, a moment later, a ghost light emerged from his still form and began hovering around me. And it was then that a second horrifying realization came to my mind.

"It was ye…!" I gasped, staring from his body to his spirit. "Ye were the ghost light pestering me in 1920, when I was there with the Doctor! Ye were trying t' warn me aboot the angel statue! …Just like ye did back there in the drawing room…"

The harsh realization that it should have been me and not him to be sent further back in time came crashing down on my shoulders. And I was still trapped in 1776 with no way of letting the Doctor know that.