Notes: While I was writing the scene with Jim, it suddenly occurred to me that I never had written in Arte thanking Coley for trying to save Jim. I'd thought about it before, but it didn't seem to fit in Chapter Five. I'm trying it here, but I wonder if I should put it in the other chapter even though it didn't seem to fit.

Chapter Eight

When Ray next awoke, he had no idea how long he had been sleeping. He raised half-off the pillow, his hair flopping messily over his right eye. Digging into it with his fingers, he brushed it out of the way.

"What time is it?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

The clock at the side of the bed answered his question. And it sent him bolting upright in alarm.

"How could I have slept that late?!" he exclaimed.

He nearly flew off the bed with the comforter still wrapped around him. In impatience he brushed it aside, hurrying to the closet.

"This is why I should always set the alarm," he muttered as he threw his clothes over his arm.

This past night he had not, both because he had forgot and perhaps because, subconsciously, he had just wanted to rest. Being tortured by Portman in his dreams had only reinforced that feeling and he had taken Coley's suggestion to heart. He really shouldn't need to constantly be around. The staff could handle opening the club for business without him there.

But he liked to be available anyway. This was his project, his desperate attempt to go straight after his years steeped in crime. It was nice to oversee everything, to watch it all continue coming together, piece by piece.

He paused as he set the clothes on the bed and moved to unbutton his pajamas. Would Coley still feel as amiable as he had the past night? Maybe he would have a different, more irritated image of what had happened now that morning had dawned.

. . . Or maybe not.

Ray blinked as he glanced across the room to the door. It was now locked. He had taught Coley how to lock and unlock doors with the cardkeys, so that he could leave his room and keep it perfectly private, if he wanted. Perhaps Coley had woken up some time ago and had gone to check on Ray. And, finding him still asleep, he had locked the door to keep anyone from bothering him.

Ray smiled. It was a nice thought, anyway.

xxxx

Coley wandered the back halls of the golf club, avoiding the guests and other staff members whenever possible. He could hear them talking and moving about in the various rooms and corridors. And although he wanted to explore his surroundings, he did not particularly want to have to explain his presence to a bewildered employee or end up roped into a conversation with a curious guest.

Well, he reflected, Ray had probably told his employees, if for no other reason than to make sure they knew Coley was welcome. And at least Mrs. Featherstone knew he was there. If she was an old gossip, she had probably spread it to everyone else by now. But that would likely make the guests all the more inquisitive, so it was all the more reason to stay away for now.

He had discovered that Ray had left him some fresh clothes, which he had been surprised by but had gratefully put on. They were comfortable, and overall not a great deal different from what he was used to, and that in itself was another surprise. He would have hated wearing a suit.

He kept his hat and bandanna, the latter mainly to hide the marks on his neck where Pinto had pulled the noose taut. He hoped they would fade before long, but until then he did not want there to be any chance of strangers noticing and asking questions he did not want to answer.

The room where Ray had brought him that first night sounded empty. He turned the knob, noiselessly pushing open the door. The lounge was devoid of other human life, but a silver fluffball quickly padded to him with a meow and rubbed against his leg.

"Crazy cat," he muttered.

He entered the room and wandered over to the patio doors, Jane right by his side. When he stopped to look out, he noted the series of cabins protruding from a wing attached to the main building.

"Your owner must be in one of those," he said. "What are you doing hanging around here?"

Jane leaped onto the small table near the doors and meowed again. Relenting, he reached over and patted her head.

"You've been pretty good," he muttered. "Crazy, but good."

And that had been a relief. He did not like when animals of any sort went wild and disrupted a place. He would have had her thrown out of his room if she had shown the slightest inclination towards such behavior.

Jane purred and closed her eyes in sheer bliss.

"I never would have believed it—Coley Rodman, friend of animals everywhere."

He spun to look to the door. Arte was moseying into the room, looking highly amused.

Coley grunted in annoyance. "Hardly."

"It's kind of hard to believe you when you have a kitty leaning into your hand," Arte smirked.

"This cat must have me mixed up with someone else," Coley said dryly. "Maybe I have a double running around who's on the right side of the law."

"Oh, she'd still be able to tell the difference," Arte replied, coming to stand by a fancy chair. "She likes you, Rodman."

"I don't know why." Coley crossed his arms. "What do you want, Gordon?" He observed the bloodshot condition of Arte's eyes. Apparently he had been awake for some time.

Arte shrugged. "I'm just exploring, same as I imagine you are." He sobered. "And I'm glad to see you're up. I didn't think you would be yet."

"I felt well enough. And I didn't want to lie in bed all day. It looks like you were even more impatient than me."

"Yes, wasn't I."

Coley could tell there was something more behind it. But he was the last person who would pry. If Arte did not want to say, then fine, whatever.

He glanced at Jane as she laid a paw on his hand. "Where's West?"

"Looking for Mr. Norman," Arte said. "Actually, I am, too. We need to ask him about proper transportation so we can go looking for a portal."

"Maybe the portal won't be visible," Coley said. "Maybe you'll just stumble into it and suddenly be back in 1874."

"Maybe," Arte agreed. "But it seems like there'd be some kind of energy, at least, and we'd feel it. An opening through time would surely generate a great deal of it."

"I wouldn't know about that. I never even thought about time travel before this happened." Coley watched Arte wander to the bookshelves and gaze in contemplation at the rows of volumes.

"Fortunately, or unfortunately, I have," said Arte. "Jim and I experienced it in the past. It was a strange experience, and that's hardly saying anything. We went backwards in time. Let me tell you, I much prefer going forward."

Coley smirked. "It doesn't really surprise me that you've time traveled before. It sounds just like the kind of outlandish adventure you'd have."

Arte turned to look at him, still standing by the table with an adoring silver Persian cat. It was an odd image any way he looked at it. At last he said, "You really are a mystery, Rodman, in more ways than one."

"Is that good or bad this time?" Coley returned.

Arte shrugged. "I'm not even sure. You're a vicious outlaw—or so I thought—with an above-average vocabulary, a seeming desire to go straight, and a cat following you around like you're the Pied Piper of Hamlin."

"I didn't ask for the cat," Coley countered. "I don't get it any more than you do."

"Maybe not, but you don't try to rout her away, either," Arte said with a funny smile.

"I will if she gets on my nerves."

"Sure, sure." Arte started back towards the door.

"And Gordon . . ."

Arte turned back, hearing the seriousness in Coley's tone.

"I do want to go straight. You can put that in your report . . . if you ever need to write it."

Arte nodded. "Of course."

He reached for the doorknob and then paused. "Rodman, I haven't known exactly how to say this. . . . I mean . . ." He threw his hands in the air. "How do I properly say thank you for trying to save Jim?"

"Especially when he wasn't in any real danger?" Coley responded wryly.

"We didn't know that. You didn't know that. But you dived right in there and . . ." Arte shook his head.

"You don't need to say anything," Coley told him.

"Maybe not, but I wanted you to know I appreciated the thought behind it."

"I don't even know what the thought was."

Arte smiled. "Well. Thank you anyway."

Again he moved to leave and again he hesitated. "Do you want to come with us to look for the portal?" he queried at last.

Coley frowned, considering the offer. He was still weakened and weary. He definitely did not want to go if they would be walking. But he doubted Arte would extend the invitation if that were the plan. Arte wanted to ask Ray about transportation, after all.

Aside from that, though, did he care that much whether or not a portal was found? He wanted to help Jim and Arte on their way if they intended to leave, but he was finding that he was not that eager to cross over himself. There was no guarantee that Arte's report would have the desired effect for him. And here he did not even have to worry about that. He was free; he could start over without going through any of those complications.

It was very tempting to linger. He had not made any certain decisions yet, of course, but as far as he was concerned the possibility was not out of the question. Above all else, right now he wanted to learn more about this time.

"I don't know," he said finally.

Arte seemed to understand. "It's fine if you don't," he said. "You should probably stay here and work on getting better."

Coley nodded. ". . . Thanks for asking, instead of ordering me to go along as your prisoner."

"Well. As I said, we really can't legally order you anywhere in this time and place," Arte said. "Besides, you're probably still not feeling that chipper. Mr. Norman seems to be taking good care of you. I imagine we can trust him to keep doing that." He headed into the hall. "I'd better find Jim."

Coley watched him go. He was certainly on better terms with Arte than when they had first started that investigation into the explosion at Justice. He idly wondered how it would be with Jim, since they had not interacted anywhere as much.

He had his chance to find out soon after leaving the lounge. As he headed down the hall, Jim suddenly appeared from the other direction.

"Rodman," Jim greeted with a slight nod. "You seem to be recovering well."

"Not badly." Coley jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Gordon's back there somewhere," he said. "He's looking for you."

"I'd better find him then." But Jim hesitated. "I guess I should thank you," he said at last.

"For what?" Coley grunted. "I didn't do anything for you that needed doing."

"Maybe not, but as far as you knew, you were saving my life when you tackled me away from that electrical beam. I promise that's going to get consideration in Arte's report."

"If you ever get back so he'll need to make his report," Coley said.

"Maybe we will." Jim paused again. "He was really quite worried about you."

"He told me." Coley could feel the suspicion and tension in the air. Neither of them was sure how to handle this conversation. And Jim was trying to figure out what he thought of Coley at all.

"It's possible that you've been trying to get into our good graces all this time, playing on our sympathies to help your own case," Jim said.

"It's possible," Coley agreed, guardedly.

At his feet, Jane meowed.

Jim glanced at her and then back at Coley. "But Arte isn't easy to fool," he said. "And he believes in you completely. That's more than enough to make me willing to consider your case. And aside from that, when you tried to save me, I felt that you were sincere. You seemed to genuinely not want Arte to suffer over something happening to me."

Coley shrugged. "The whole case was trying to find out what happened to you," he said. "If you'd croaked then, it would've been pointless."

"That's one way of looking at it." Jim studied his former enemy. "Another way is that you cared about human beings other than yourself.

"And either way, I just hope you've been honest with us. If you are trying to manipulate us, and you really have no intention of changing your ways, we'll find out about it eventually. And you'll wish you'd never tried it."

Coley looked Jim right in the eyes. "I've never lied to you or to Gordon on this case. I'm tired of running, West. I admit that. I want out. And when Gordon suggested he could do something to help me if I helped him, I realized it was the best deal I could make right then. Besides, I wanted to prove that I didn't try to blow you up.

"Maybe I've helped him to suit my own needs. I know that's at least partially true. But I never claimed I wasn't in it for myself. And until we ended up here, he never even said he could get me immunity, which is what I really want. Before that, as far as I knew, the most I could hope for was that he'd make sure I wouldn't be killed."

"You could have been killed protecting me, for all you knew," said Jim.

"I wasn't trying to get killed," Coley replied. "I thought the beam would miss both of us."

"I figured as much," Jim said. "If you had died, it would have kept haunting Arte."

"But not you?"

"It would have haunted me too." Jim peered at him. "Mainly because I'd be racking my brain trying to understand why you did it."

"I'm still trying to figure that one out myself," Coley grunted. "If you're hoping I can tell you, you're dead wrong."

"So that thing about it being pointless if I died wasn't really the reason," Jim said.

"It could have been," Coley said.

Jim's expression was impassive. ". . . Arte also said that you didn't go along with Dr. Kirby's plan to destroy entire towns and cities. And that you didn't kill him in cold blood."

"That's right." Coley did not waver or hesitate. "I wasn't going in for any mass murder. It was pointless and would've just turned out badly for me and the others. And about the doc, I meant to kill him; I realized he was a danger to all of us. But it ended up working out that I had to kill him in self-defense. He went nuts, West. He wanted to blindly shoot down everyone who'd barged in on his death work—me, Lafe, you, and who knows who else. He pulled a gun on me, fired, and I shot him."

Now Jim's eyes narrowed. He stared at Coley for a long moment, searching, not seeming to believe. But finally he leaned back. The tension eased. "I believe you, Rodman."

"You just wanted to bait me into saying all of that," Coley said in irritation.

"I wanted to hear it right from you, to see if you'd tell it the same to me as you did to Arte." Jim nodded to himself. "And as far as I can tell, you did."

"So you're satisfied?"

"Probably as much as I can be." Jim peered at him. "We've heard a lot about you, Rodman, both before we met you and after. I wonder how much of it was fact and how much was fiction."

"I couldn't say, without knowing what you heard. I've committed more than a few crimes in my time. But you know as well as I do that outlaws like me get built up a lot in legends."

"I know," Jim agreed. "And not just outlaws." He crossed one hand over the other. "I've been surprised many times by what I've heard about myself."

"Well, there you go." Coley moved to go past him.

Jim stepped aside to let him pass. "One more thing. Do you know where Mr. Norman is?"

"The last I knew, he was sleeping," Coley said over his shoulder.

"Do you happen to know where his room is?"

"Yeah. But don't worry; I'm sure he'll come and find you when he's up."

"We need to get going, Rodman." Jim frowned.

"You can wait a little longer."

Coley clearly had no intention of directing Jim to Ray's room. Jim watched him go and then turned away, continuing his original journey down the corridor.

Coley seemed to be trying to return Ray's kindness by not allowing anyone to interfere with Ray's sleep. And Jim supposed they could wait for another hour or so. He did want to find Arte.

xxxx

Pinto was lying in bed, his arms behind his head as he stared up at the ceiling.

He had been awake for some time, mulling over the past night in his mind. He was good at figuring things out, but the solution to this puzzle continued to elude him.

He had always understood Lucrece. She was hard and she was cold and she was an efficient businesswoman. She detested illogic, in-fighting, and stupidity.

And yet, last night she had behaved in a completely illogical way. Pinto standing by that dresser in the hall had upset her to no end. She had admitted blaming him for dying and yelling at him for it. And then she had calmed, embracing him as she never had before.

With any other woman, emotional creatures that they were, and so darned unable to say what they really meant, Pinto might be inclined to say she was showing that she loved him. But with Lucrece, who had never loved him or anyone else . . . was it possible?

He had long ago accepted that his feelings would never be reciprocated. Yet, even though he liked that she was hard and cold and different from all other women he had known, he had wished that she would be warm just with him if no one else.

He had wished that she would care.

If there was any possibility it could be true, he could picture Lucrece balking at said truth. And most likely she would be trying to deny it more to herself than to anyone else. Having seen how such feelings could backfire and be used against people, she would esteem personally caring about anyone as being a weakness in herself and want no part of it.

Maybe it was a weakness, but it was one he wanted her to have where he was concerned. He wanted to see her eyes light up when he entered a room. He wanted to know that he meant more than a useful board member and an entertaining pastime. He wanted the assurance that she would not tire of him someday while he would still care about her and want to be with her.

Perhaps he would have to pay closer attention to the way she behaved around him. If this possible caring wasn't just his imagination, he wanted to know.

Then he would have to figure out how to convince her it wasn't just his imagination.

He pushed himself up. It was time to start another day of looking for the rest of the board members. Cyril might or might not be joining them; either he had crashed on the couch once the footage of the big fire ended or he was wide awake, psyched up by so many hours of watching his favorite thing.

Or the footage hadn't ended and he was still watching it. Lucrece would see to it that he came with them anyway, though, in that case.

He grabbed his hat and headed out of the room and downstairs. Cyril was staring at the screen, wide-eyed. The flames leaped and danced as the firefighters called instructions to each other, desperate to quell the furious blaze.

Pinto shook his head in disbelief. "Still goin' strong, is it?"

"It is amazing!" Cyril exclaimed. "It is better than any of those sports. I only wish I could be right there. I would start more fires so those men couldn't keep trying to extinguish this thing of beauty. They would be too busy trying to keep from being consumed!"

"But that would get you in the public eye, Cyril," Pinto pointed out. "And that wouldn't be good for any of us right now."

Cyril shrugged. "The fire should be preserved and protected. I wouldn't be caught."

"You can see for yourself they're picking up everything," Pinto said. "Those overhead pictures of the fire catch it all. The close-ups, too."

Cyril sighed. "Too true."

Suddenly he leaped up, jabbing a finger at the screen. "Pinto, look!"

Pinto raised an eyebrow and leaned over. "Well, I'll be." He smirked. "Is that Brutus hidin' behind that tree?"

Cyril gave an enthusiastic nod. "Maybe he thinks I started the fire and he is looking for me there!"

"That's not completely impossible," Pinto admitted. "I'll go tell Lucrece. Looks like you'll get your wish of being able to go up there."

Cyril grinned wildly.

"Just remember—don't really start any fires," Pinto cautioned as he headed out of the room. "Lucrece wouldn't like it."

"I know," Cyril said, waving him off. Until he came back with Miss Posey, Cyril had every intention of staying right there, not missing a moment of the action.

Pinto shook his head. Cyril was already addicted to the television set. Lucrece probably wasn't going to like that, either.

xxxx

Terrance Clay stared at his strange customer in disbelief. The man was already on his third sandwich, and judging from how ravenously he was making it disappear, a fourth did not seem out of the question.

"If I said you have a healthy appetite, it would be an understatement," Clay declared.

Sergei looked at him over the edge of the sandwich. "So?"

"I'm just impressed, is all," Clay said. "You make me wonder if I should have turned my restaurant and grill into an all-you-can-eat buffet."

Sergei shrugged. "I like to eat."

"Yes, I can certainly see that." Clay leaned on the counter. "You're giving me some good business to start the day. You don't happen to have any friends who like to eat as much as you do, by any chance?"

"Not as much," Sergei said. "But they like to eat too."

"Well, I hope you'll send them around."

"When I find them."

Clay raised an eyebrow. "They're lost?"

"No," Sergei insisted. "I just do not know where they are." He started to get up. "I want three sandwiches to take with me."

Clay blinked. "Take-out isn't something I generally offer. But, since you've been a very profitable customer, I'll make an exception." He smiled and straightened. "All the same, or different?"

"Different." Sergei looked at the menu. "This, this, and this."

"Very well! And that will bring your total bill to this." Clay scribbled out the check and passed it across the counter.

Sergei frowned at it. "Your prices are high."

"You pay for what you get," Clay answered. "Are you satisfied with what you've gotten so far?"

Sergei considered the question and finally nodded. "Yes."

"Then the price is worth it. I'll be back with your sandwiches before you know it."

Sergei dug into his money pouch when Clay went into the kitchen. Removing several coin pieces, he counted them out and set them on the counter. As Clay returned, Sergei got up and pushed them across. "Here."

Clay glanced at the coins as he handed over the paper bag. "Dollar pieces! I haven't seen those in a while. Most people these days pay with plastic."

Sergei gave him a blank look. "Plastic?"

But now Clay was not listening. As he took a closer look at the coins, his jaw dropped. "My good man!" he gasped. "You've overpaid me!"

Sergei tensed. "I give exactly what paper says."

Clay shook his head. "These coins are from the 1870s!" he exclaimed. "How in the world did they end up with you? Why, just one of these coins would be enough to pay for at least . . . I don't know how many sandwiches!"

Sergei's eyes grew dreamy. "You speak the truth?"

"Yes indeed!" Clay pushed the coins back towards him. "You'd better check your wallet again, my friend. A few crisp bills from the 2000s will be just fine, thank you."

Sergei took all the coins back but one. "Keep this," he instructed. "I'll be back later with a much bigger order."

Clay gaped. "But . . ."

"It is still good money, isn't it?" Sergei demanded.

Clay shook his head dazedly. "It isn't standard currency any more, but I suppose I could take it to a coin dealer. . . ."

"Good. You take it! I come back." Sergei started to leave but then paused. "But I order six more sandwiches to take right now."

"S-Six?" Clay tried to force himself back to the present. "O-Of course. What kind would you like?"

Sergei grabbed the menu again in glee.

He had been bewildered when he had first realized that he was in a different time and place.

Now, however, he knew he was going to love it here.