CHAPTER TEN

There was a dead silence in Lindsay's apartment as Callan paused for a moment in his story. Outside, a light rain began to fall. "So you were a British turncoat," Danny processed the information. "And you were in love with Laura."

"I was, to both accounts," Callan responded. He got off the couch and began to pace, looking at the painting. "You know, I met Defoe. Defoe was one of James's friends. Hell of an artist, as you can tell. I wonder how long that horse of ours stood there while he painted that fort."

"Maybe he was casing the place," Danny said, and then had to explain what "casing" meant to a confused Callan.

"It's possible, I suppose," Callan replied.

"So what happened next?" Lindsay asked quietly.

Callan turned to her. "I'm afraid James's battle did not go as planned," he said, returning his gaze to the painting...

New York, 1783

He cursed himself inwardly. I should have just let them hang me. I should not have been a coward. His actions from that night forward had not been those of a soldier. No, they'd been the reactions of a scared child, ignoring the oath he took to protect Britain's interests, willing to turn against his friends and comrades-in-arms just to save his own life. It was pathetic, really. But I didn't want to die. I want to live...and he thought of Laura. Perhaps...if tonight went as planned, he and Laura could start over. He could erase this time and start over. And wouldn't James and Paul be pleased with that, he thought.

Callan felt as though he'd only been outside the gate a moment before he heard the cracks and shifts in the trees, signifying that James and his companions had arrived. This is it. He could just make out James's silhouette.

And then the gate opened behind him, and someone stepped outside. "Callan-"

The crack of gunfire resounded in the quiet.

Callan saw the flash of the powder. He automatically brought both hands to his chest...and found nothing. Then he looked behind him at the half-opened gate.

Edward lay on the ground, one hand on his stomach. "No!" Callan cried. Suddenly the night became all-too real as he bent down next to his friend. Edward took his hand away and held it close to his face, looking confused as he studied it. His eyes drifted to his friend. "C-Callan?" he asked, sounding dazed and confused as he tried to figure out with his dying thoughts why he was on the ground and Callan was still alive.

"I'm so sorry," Callan whispered as Edward's head and body went limp.

And he barely had time to react as James stepped forward, Paul on his heels. "Where's the munitions shack?" James demanded.

Callan couldn't respond, the shock of Edward's death still fresh. He raised a hand shakily and pointed.

"Hey! What are you-" The voice came from the watchmen's tower in the corner of the fort. With one well-placed shot, Paul silenced the watchman. "Let's go get 'em, boys!" he yelled.

"Leave this one," James said, nodding to Callan as the Americans raged past and into the fort. Then the fort door swung shut, leaving Callan with Edward outside the fort.

Callan Doyle cried.

After what seemed like an eternity, a voice broke through the silence. "Callan."

He looked up to see Laura making her way through the trees. "Laura. What are you doing here...your brothers-"

"Cannot tell me what to do," Laura repeated to him stubbornly. She knelt down next to him. "I'm so sorry, Callan. So very sorry."

"I killed him," Callan said, gesturing to Edward. "I killed them all."

Laura had no response but to wrap her arms around him and kiss the top of his head. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.

The door burst open, and Paul Benjamin burst outside. His eyes found Callan, and he glared at him. "You," he hissed. "You..."

Paul collapsed to the ground, red staining the back of his homespun shirt.

Laura and Callan both jumped to their feet. "Paul!" Laura screamed. She reached for her brother, but Callan held her back. "No!" he said. "Come on, something went wrong. We need to get out of here." He wondered where James was.

And then James came outside. He looked at Callan. "You betrayed us," he hissed at the soldier.

"What?" Callan demanded. "I didn't!"

"No, James, it's not-"

He looked at his sister. "Laura? What are you doing here?" He returned his gaze to Callan. "Half of my men are dead, Doyle! We had everything...we had the element of surprise...we had the inside man..."

He raised his rifle and aimed it at Callan's forehead. "You set us up!"

"James, that's ridiculous!" Laura protested.

"Shut up, Laura!" James yelled back. "They knew we were coming!"

"How?" Callan said. "How can you prove this?"

"James, don't-" Laura stepped forward, but her brother silenced her with a glare.

"My brother's dead, Doyle! My friends are either dead or will be shortly! They were ready, too ready for them not to have known we were coming!" James took a step forward.

"James, I swear to you, I do not know what's going on," Callan said. "No one said anything to me!"

"Of course," James said. Callan saw his finger tighten on the trigger.

And then Laura stepped in front of him.

The rifle went off.

The tension in Lindsay's apartment was so thick it settled on the skin like a high humidity. Her fingers were dug into Danny's shoulders, which were also tense. The two detectives looked at the ghostly soldier as he finished his story. "Wow," was all Danny could muster.

"Do you know...I mean, did you ever find out who..." Lindsay couldn't form the words.

Callan sighed. "All I can imagine is that I may have been followed the night before when I went into town. Or any other time before that. I don't know." His face flushed. "We have established I was not a good soldier." He sighed. "I couldn't protect her. I lost everything that night." He looked up at the painting once again, the scene so much more peaceful than what he remembered. "James and I were both hanged by the British regiment. James for...well, for the attempt, and myself for being a traitor. I remember James swearing he was never going to forgive me. It didn't matter. I was not going to forgive myself, either."

He looked at Lindsay and bowed shortly. "Please, excuse me." With those words, he faded away, leaving the two detectives in silence.

Danny twisted so he was looking up at Lindsay. "That was quite the story," he said.

"And it doesn't really get us any closer to figuring out why Callan is still here." Lindsay sighed. "And, that's not the only mystery we've got to solve."

"We need to find out who attacked your buddy downstairs," Danny finished.

She nodded. "It's so sad," she said finally. "Everything."

Danny stood, pulling Lindsay from the chair and into a hug. "We'll get it all sorted out and put back," he promised. Then he brightened. "On the plus side, tomorrow night's the costume party at work."

Lindsay sighed as he kissed her on the forehead. "You okay?" he asked her.

She thought about it. "I think so," she said finally. "It's just a lot to process."

"Tomorrow morning, let's work on McLaren's case," Danny said. "Tomorrow night, we'll have fun at the party. And maybe, we'll just solve two mysteries at once while doin' it." He checked his watch. "Well, I should get goin'. You sure you're okay?"

She nodded. "Fine. I'm okay, I promise." She smiled. "Here. Before you go, I have something for your costume tomorrow." She disappeared into her room and returned with the required accessory.

He grinned. "You're serious about this?"

"I'm very sure," Lindsay replied. "In fact, I can't wait." She walked him to the door. "Don't forget to bring it to work with you tomorrow."

"I hope nobody sees it before the party. I'd have a hell of a time explainin' what I'm doin' with it."

She grinned. "It'll be so worth it, though," she said as he stepped into the hallway. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Author's Note: I know I told a few folks that the costume party was gonna be this chapter, it's next chapter, I swear, it's my reward for finishing the flashback. I can't wait to write some fun! because the past few chapters have been awfully tense. As always, constructive criticism is usually warranted and ALWAYS appreciated, please review!