"Do you think me and Lucy ever went skiing?" James asked one afternoon from behind Audrey's desk. With Troubled activity intensified and the Guard particularly testy, she and Nathan were working two cases simultaneously. Since they had missed family dinner James had shown up at the station with lunch.

She shook her head as she considered it. From her perch on Nathan's desk she was perfectly poised to steal his fries, even though she had a pile of her own. "Lucy showed up in the spring and was gone before the end of the summer, right? Would any slopes be open then?"

"Doubtful," Nathan answered, swatting her hand away halfheartedly. "Most slopes in Maine close in March. There's a place in Vermont that stays open till April."

She persisted in her burglary, popping a fry into her mouth.

James frowned. "That can't be it. I didn't come to Haven until May."

Something was obviously bothering him, and Audrey turned from Nathan's lunch to focus on her son. "Why do you ask?"

"I keep having this dream of me and Lucy skiing. It's so vivid I thought it might be a memory. It's weird, though. Looked like this place in Colorado I used to go to when I was a kid. But that doesn't make sense. Must be a dream after all."

She concentrated hard, searching for some corresponding memory, but she didn't think she'd ever been skiing and Lucy was just as distant as she usually was. But there was something about his story that clicked. There was no way they'd actually been in Colorado together. But in Haven things were rarely what they appeared.

"Maybe it does make sense," she realized. "Oh my God."

"Not following, Parker."

"Me either."

She looked at her boys, intoxicated by the way the revelation built up inside her, the clues falling so perfectly into place. "Vince was upset when I said James came out of the Barn hating me. He said it didn't make sense, and I was just so mad at him I didn't work it out – but it didn't. The couple in the Barn wouldn't wipe my memories when I first go in. Even if time moves quicker in the Barn, whoever I'd become would notice something was up when I didn't age for years. Easier to give me a new identity right before they let me out. When Howard came to my apartment in Boston to tell me to look for Lester in Haven – that was probably my first real memory as Audrey. Prudence said her and Howard could make the Barn show them things. They'd pretend to go walking in the woods. If James and I were skiing in Colorado—"

"We were together in the Barn," James finished.

Audrey nodded, breathless. "I think we were." The thought of spending so many years with her son flooded her with warmth. She'd been trying to connect with him since he came back to Haven, but there was an awkward distance she wasn't sure how to breach. But if they'd done it once before, surely they could do it again.

"I want those memories back," James declared. "If I'm dreaming about them they can't be gone."

"Sometimes a trigger helps. A place or an object tied to the memory," Audrey suggested.

"We haven't found anything like that yet. And we don't have time to go to Colorado. What about therapy? There are supposed to be ways to recover lost memories, right?"

At the mention of therapy Nathan grabbed her hand. She closed her eyes and tried to fight off the wave of sadness that assailed her as the image of Claire Callahan's curious face filled her mind. No doubt that woman would have been ecstatic at the solution they'd discovered to end the Troubles. She'd been very vocal about her wish to see Nathan and Audrey get together. She would have demanded to be a bridesmaid for sure.

"What did I say?" James asked, noticing her distress.

"Audrey had a therapist that was helping her remember," Nathan answered carefully. "She died."

"Seems to happen a lot in this town. Why are you both looking at me like that?"

Audrey wished she could save James from the truth, but she couldn't lie. It would be a disservice to Claire's memory, and to James as well. He was strong enough to hear this. She'd hated every time someone hid the truth from her. Even if it was supposedly for her own good.

"Arla killed her to get close to me," Audrey admitted.

James internalized pain the way his father did, and Audrey watched him shut down. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing she did was your fault," Nathan assured, fierce and protective, the natural counterpart to her mama bear.

"She was trying to get me back, wasn't she?"

The most terrible, twisted part of it all was that was exactly it. Arla hadn't been motivated by hate or revenge – she'd been driven by love. "She was sick," Audrey quantified. "Her Trouble made her desperate and unhinged. I hate what she did. Claire was a friend. But blame won't bring anyone back. Not her. Not those she killed."

"You're right. Nothing can bring them back," James said darkly.

"We don't have to let the Troubles take this too." She hopped off the desk and crossed in font of James where he was hunched in her chair, trying to disappear. The need to comfort him was stronger than her wish to stay far away from anything that reminded her of her dead friend. "I want to remember. Claire would have wanted me to. We should go to whoever replaced her. I'm sure there's someone dealing with all these Troubled people. That's a lot of unresolved psychosis."

"Are you sure?" Nathan asked from behind her, and she understood better now his hesitation. He had his own fears.

"I can do it, Nathan." She looked at James. "We can do it. Are you with me?"

Their eyes locked, and she was shocked at how familiar they seemed. But they weren't Nathan's eyes – not exactly.

"Yeah," he finally consented. "Let's get our missing years back."


It took two days to get an appointment with Doctor Julie Bishop, the no-longer-so-new department shrink, despite how much Audrey blustered and threatened. Apparently because her Trouble wasn't life threatening to herself or others, she wasn't a priority. While practically she understood the logic of that, it irritated her to no end.

She tried to tamper down her moodiness when she walked into Claire's old office, both her boys right behind her. There was a new desk chair and different portraits on the walls, but the other furniture was that same and that stung. But she struggled not to flinch, not wanting James to feel any guiltier about something she was determined not to blame him for.

Miss Bishop rose when they entered and extended a perfectly manicured hand. "The infamous Audrey Parker. I read your file this morning. It was fascinating."

"Not fascinating enough to bump up my appointment," she snapped. She didn't like the thought of someone else pawing through Claire's observations on her; didn't think that was quite ethical either.

The woman seemed utterly unfazed by her tone. "Considering how unstable this town has been, it was lucky I could fit you in this week." She smoothed her hands down her crisp pantsuit, each long strand of platinum blond hair perfectly in place. "Please have a seat. Though I'm a bit confused. I thought the appointment was for two of you."

"Nathan stays," Audrey insisted, clamping onto Nathan's hand. "There's nothing we could say that he can't hear."

The woman peered over her thick black frames. "That's highly irregular."

"Everything in this town is highly irregular. Isn't it your job to deal with it?"

Nathan snorted softly beside her, and she wheeled on him. "Watch it mister. Maybe I will send you away."

"Relax, Parker," he said gently. She was ready to scold him for being condescending when he tilted his head towards James. "You're making a scene in front of the kid." Though he managed to keep a straight face, James didn't, and his laughter broke the ice.

"I hate shrinks," she said petulantly, sinking down onto the couch.

"Your file did indicate your reluctance to engage with the psychoanalytic process."

"Stop telling me what was in my file!" she demanded. "Do you know what happened to the woman you replaced? What really happened, not what the Herald said?"

"I am aware," she said softly. "And I understand how revisiting this process could be traumatic for you. So I imagine whatever drove you to seek my assistance must be important. So let's get to that, shall we? What brings you here?"

Audrey huffed a deep breath and tried to relax. "I have these past lives – as you apparently already know. Claire helped me remember one once. With hypnotherapy. There's something else I need to remember."

"Why did you book a double appointment?"

"Because this is James Cogan. We're missing the same memories."

"The Colorado Kid," Dr. Bishop recalled. "Your son."

Audrey looked at him with a wavering smile. "Yes."

"He was alive after all," she stated, her wonder bleeding through.

"Obviously," Audrey said with an eye roll.

"How it that possible?"

"We were both together in the Barn for twenty-seven years before I became Audrey. We need you to work your hypnosis magic and help us remember."

"Hypnosis is a questionable therapeutic technique. There's strong evidence most reports of past lives are fabricated under suggestion."

"Have you seen the things your patients can do?" Audrey demanded. "This is Haven. We don't have to make up past lives."

"I can show you my birth certificate from 1955, if that helps," James quipped.

Doctor Bishop smiled back at him. "That won't be necessary. I was ethically obligated to tell you that. Now that I have, we can begin."

"Wait, don't you have to look it up on the internet or something?" Audrey asked. Claire had been so proud of her three days of research when Audrey had finally chosen to come to her.

The shrink's condescending look made Audrey hate her just a little. "No. I'm familiar with the basic theory."

"So we're starting like, right now?"

"Unless you would like to make another appointment. I may have an opening at the end of next week."

The fear was irrational. She wanted to remember the life she had with her son. With Nathan at her side she didn't fear pain – he would get her to a hospital if it came to that. But there was something about the thought of Lucy that was terrifying. They had always scared her, these past lives of hers, since the moment she realized the scar on her foot meant Lucy wasn't her mother at all. Because as often as Nathan had reassured her he knew who she was, the truth was she didn't know, and she didn't particularly want to. She just wanted to be Audrey Parker, and she was terrified that accepting the others meant she would lose part of that.

"You can still back out of this," Nathan said softly, his hand brushing lightly over hers, and she wanted to tell him, "Let's go home."

But she looked up at James and he was watching her closely. It felt like a test, and she knew what she had to do to pass.

She could not forsake her past lives, because it was only through them she had any claim on him.

If she was to be his mother, then she must accept that she was Sarah.

If she was to be his confidante, then she must accept that she was Lucy.

"We need to do this, Nathan. For our family." If they were alone she would have kissed him to chase away the terror that flashed in his eyes. He knew who she was, but he was terrified of losing that.

Instead she squeezed his hand and turned to the doctor. "How do we start?"

They rearranged the furniture so James and Audrey were both lying on couches. Nathan dragged a chair between them so he could hold both their hands. Audrey cut off Bishop's protests. "You can't make him leave," she said fondly, temporarily glad for Nathan's stubbornness. "He'll be more of a distraction if you try."

She hid it well, but Audrey decided the psychiatrist was just as annoyed by her as Audrey was by the good doctor, and that made her feel a little better.

"There's a chance she'll go into seizures," Nathan warned. "There's some sort of block on the memories."

"If there appears to be a threat to their health I'll pull them out immediately. The hypnotic process should soften some of the shock of the memories' return."

Audrey looked at James before they began. He was doing a fair job pretending the way Nathan was clutching his hand wasn't awkward, especially since the woman probably hadn't put together that Nathan was his father.

"You ready?" she asked, even though he didn't seem half as nervous as she felt.

"Let's do this, Luce."

There was something familiar about the nickname that stuck with her as Doctor Bishop began the calming exercises. Garland had called her that.

Surely these deep breathing exercises were meant to bore her to death.

"Think back to the Barn," Doctor Bishop finally instructed.

Loss that cut through her heart like the smoke in her lungs. The look on Nathan's face as she turned from him was crushing her. Now everything was on fire. There was Duke – frantic – but where was James?

"Now think back to the first time you were there together."

Failure. She'd meant to save herself and she'd gotten them both killed.

The barn was pearly white, harshly sterile like an operating room. But where was the patient?

"James! James!" she called, terrified at the thought of being along in this emptiness.

"He can't hear you." Suddenly Howard was there, smug, and she'd never hated him so intensely. She attempted to muster her composure and could not manage it.

"You bastard! You told me the Barn would bring him back."

He was unperturbed by her outburst. "The Barn will heal him, yes. But these things take time."

"How much time?"

Howard shrugged. "Time is somewhat relative here."

"How long?" she demanded.

"I don't know."

She wanted to hit something, break it, but there was nothing to destroy. The Barn was empty around her. She was going to go mad here.

"I want to see him."

"Then look."

But she had already searched this room, and there was nothing. She crossed her arms. "I have."

"The Barn is your home now. It will take you wherever you wish – except out."

He looked pointedly off to her right, and she followed his gaze. A door had appeared.

Not bothering to say goodbye, she pulled it open.

This room was still white, but it showed traces of habitation. There was a window – though nothing outside it – and a vase of lilies on a small table. Beside the table - James.

He wasn't breathing though. She touched his forehead, grabbed his hand, but he was just as cold as when she'd identified him at the morgue, when she'd kissed his forehead before they'd closed his casket and when Garland had handed him to Howard minutes – hours? – ago.

"Damn it!" Her voice was too loud in the silence, but it didn't startle him awake. She felt the hot tears burn behind her eyes. She'd cried more in the past week than she had her entire life and she hated that.

She didn't know how long she stood beside him stupidly blinking back tears before she absently wished for a chair.

A chair waited for her, as if it had been there all along.

"Stupid town," she muttered, sinking into it. It was a deceptively comfortable chair. "Damn supernatural mind reading Barn."

James would have laughed at her crossness. But James was dead and she was alone here and the injustice of it all made her so tired.

Eventually she laid her head down and slept.

She woke to someone tugging on her hair. "Where are we?" James asked hoarsely.

She jolted upright. He looked pallid and exhausted, but he was conscious and as alive as anyone could be in this purgatory. The relief made her lightheaded.

"Were you crying?" he asked incredulously.

She scowled and scrubbed at her face but her tears had dried. Her makeup must have run and given her away.

"You were dead," she snapped, but it galled her how much she'd cared.

He frowned and found the pulse at his wrist. "I'm not now though – right?"

"Nope. You're as alive as I am, anyway."

"You're not making much sense again, Luce."

Her heart leapt at the nickname. She'd never expected to hear anyone call her that again. "We're in the Barn."

She watched his face crumble as he worked out exactly what he'd lost with his resurrection. "Oh."

"Like I said, you were dead. Taking you with me was the only way to bring you back to life."

"So we're stuck here for twenty-seven years?"

She wanted to snap that she'd be more than stuck. She'd be gone. But he'd been having a pretty rough day already. And unlike herself, he had people he'd left behind. "That seems to be the pattern," she said with a heavy sigh.

Pain made him look younger, and she had a strange urge to gather him in her arms to calm him down.

"Hate to keep Arla waiting that long."

She must not have been able to hide her disgust at that name. Most people had just seen a woman – the wrong woman, mind – but Lucy had seen exactly how she'd stitched herself up in someone else's skin.

"When you get back, you need to stay away from her."

"What are you talking about? She's my wife."

Someone softer might have lied to him, to save him from twenty-seven years of a terrible truth. But Lucy had never believed in mollycoddling, and not even the damn warmness that swelled in her when she looked at this cherub-eyed boy who was almost the same damn age as her would change that.

"Your girl's Troubled, and it's not a kind one."

"What are you talking about? Arla's not even from Haven."

"Musta had a relative or two that was."

"That's crazy."

But he was too defensive, too fast, as if he'd always suspected something lurked in her. In a simpler time he just hadn't known that Haven could let it out.

"When she heard you were dead her skin slid right off."

"Oh God."

She didn't let herself dwell on the horror stealing over him. She just pressed onward, trusting the truth to liberate them all somehow. No one else in this town understood its value. "So she took someone else's and wore it like a coat. She killed a woman, and she wanted me to take her with us so you could be together in the Barn, but I wouldn't."

"You should have helped her!" She had never expected James to shout at her. "Isn't it what you do - help these people? She'd just lost her husband, and you abandoned her."

"Sometimes people are beyond saving. Like Holloway. She'd killed someone and she wasn't even sorry."

"She needed me! I could have calmed her down. She wouldn't have done it again. You forgave others for killing when they didn't mean it."

But there had been something lacking in Arla that had frightened her – remorse. She'd had to protect him from that. "She meant it, James."

"Get the hell away from me," he snarled, and she'd wanted to object, but suddenly she was back in the empty hallway and the door to his room was gone.

She didn't know how long it took to find him again. It might have been years. The Barn gave her anything she wanted – food and a soft bed in a room that reminded her of her very first apartment, a library of all her favorite books – except for the single thing she wanted most. His desire to stay hidden must have been stronger than her will to find him.

Or maybe the Barn just liked him more. Wouldn't that be the story of her life.


One day a door appeared, right in her bedroom. Eternally curious, she opened it.

She was on a familiar beach in an unfamiliar time, the warm sea air making her feel more alive than she had in ages, but even as the smell and spray assaulted her she knew it wasn't real.

There was a couple on the beach and the woman was her, except she wasn't. Her red hair was perfectly styled in tight curls from a stricter era. She wore a dress and a flirtatious smile, and Lucy approved of neither.

But it was the man sitting beside Sarah who captured Lucy's attention. As much as her mind protested she couldn't ignore the way her heart quickened at his appearance. He was undeniably handsome – tall, bright eyes, strong cheekbones. Soft spoken and smartly dressed. Familiar.

Because he was James' father, she told herself, but that was a lie and she knew it. It rankled.

James was on the beach too, beside her, and though there were similarities between the two men they didn't look all that much alike.

"I've watched this over and over. He knew her before they met."

James's voice startled her; it had been so long since she heard it. Surprised they were speaking, she turned away from Nathan to look at James, but he was staring at his parents with a wistfulness that made her sick.

"Well isn't that romantic," she spat. "I'm sure whoever I am in the future will really appreciate how he went back in time to sleep with a different version of her."

"If this hadn't happened I wouldn't have been born," he said indignantly. She could tell he was still angry and she knew she shouldn't push him, but she ignored her instinct and blundered on.

"So I'm glad it did. But don't hold this up as some epic love story. If they are together in the future, he's not faithful."

"He loves her," James insisted. "I've been in love. I know what it feels like. The way he looked at her when they first met – the way he's looking at her right now – that's love."

She thought it sad that this was what he'd been doing all this time – turning this twisted little soap opera into a fairy tale. Her father had left her mother for another woman when Lucy was three years old, and the former Mrs. Ripley had been sure to bring her daughter up with a firm understanding of the realities of lust.

It was unfortunate no one had given Sarah that lesson, and whoever came next was going to forget. "He's looking at her like that because he can feel her."

Finally James turned to her. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because he can't feel anything else. That's his Trouble."

"You've met him," James marveled with the same wonder he'd displayed when he'd told her she was his mother.

She sighed, but it was impossible not to remember. "Once. He's Garland's boy. His mother died a couple months ago." That was relative now, but she had no other point of reference. They might have been here decades. Or it could only have been weeks. "Garland was a mess. Said the kid was inconsolable. Couldn't sleep through the night. His Trouble kicked in and he just went numb."

"That's awful."

"Yeah." It truly had been. The kid had been curled in on himself, shaking, until something had compelled her to sit down next to him and draw him into her side. She'd just gone to bring Garland a casserole. She still couldn't explain what had driven her to ask about the boy – why she'd gone to see him, and why afterwards it had been so hard to pull herself away.

"You cared about him."

Lucy scowled at the accusation. "He was just a kid."

"But there was a connection. You'd have to touch him to know that he could feel you. Why?"

"I just wanted him to stop crying." It had seemed like a miracle when he had. His hysteria had been choking her, as if she'd finally found a Trouble she wasn't immune to. But as soon as she'd wrapped her arms around him he'd gone quiet and still, and she'd known before she left the house that she was going to ask Vince to fix this.

"Sure," James said, but Lucy could tell that he didn't believe her.

"Are you still mad at me?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Yes," he answered, but he just sounded tired.

"Can't be too mad if the Barn let me find you."

He shrugged, and she snuck one last glance at the couple behind them. They were locked in a heated kiss, and Lucy blushed and looked away. The beach dissolved around them, and they were back to whiteness.

They needed a distraction. She'd been alone with her thoughts too long.

"If you were back in Colorado, what would you do to blow off steam?"

"I'd go skiing," he answered.

"I've never been skiing," she told him. "Think you could teach me?"

He hesitated, and she was shocked by how much that hurt. "We have the time," she added, trying to turn it into a joke.

He smirked at her as their surroundings morphed into a formidable mountain. "Try to keep up."


Turned out she was pretty good at skiing once she got a handle on it. She appreciated the thrill of the wind in her face as she barreled downward, leaving her boredom and despair behind. Even the rides up on the lift were exhilarating as she took in the beauty of her surroundings. She'd always loved New England winters, and Colorado was magnificent. She wondered if it truly looked like this, or if what she saw was enhanced by James's nostalgia.

When they got tired, they went to a ski lodge.

Its desertedness made her unsettled, like they were the last two survivors at the end of the world, but it didn't stop there from being a roaring fire and two cups of coffee. Hers was laced with something stronger, and she drank deep and settled into the armchair. She'd led a busy, productive life, but there had been few moments of comfort, and none that she could share with James. It was nice to think that he'd been different. He'd had a contented childhood, even if it had been a lie.

The silence was comfortable, the company more important than conversation, but eventually James spoke.

"How did I die?" he asked.

It didn't even occur to her to lie. "You were murdered."

"By who?" he asked, his alarm almost comical given the circumstances.

"Thought you could tell me."

He narrowed his eyes and shook his head. "I was down on the beach. My plane left in a couple of hours. I was staring at the ocean, and I heard someone walk up behind me. I turned around and all I could see was this arm coming toward me with that maze tattoo. And then – nothing."

"Then you died," she finished. Once upon a time she'd be raring to solve the mystery. But there were hundreds of men in town with that tattoo. With only their memories to play in, they'd probably never narrow it down to just one.

She wouldn't remember if they did, anyway.

"Guess so. Glad I don't remember that part."

She took another drink, letting the chocolate and the alcohol steady here. "It was my fault," she confessed.

"There's the Lucy I know, making everything about you."

There was no bitterness in his tone. He was teasing her – which must mean she was forgiven. Strange how it had taken so long for him to get over her leaving Arla behind, but he seemed unconcerned that she'd gotten him killed.

"The Guard wanted me to go into the Barn," she explained. "They knew I wouldn't stay away if I heard you were dead."

"Guess they were right, huh?"

"I'm sorry, James." She'd never thought much of Arla, honestly, but he'd had a whole life beyond this place and he'd lost it because of her.

"Coulda been worse. Coulda been murdered and not resurrected by a supernatural barn."

She scoffed but he just smiled at her over his cup of hot chocolate. "No use fretting over what can't be changed. I'm here now. Might as well make the most of it."

"That what you decided all that time you were mad at me?"

"Yeah," he said softly. There was no explanation for the way his approval calmed and settled her. They'd only known each other a few months.

He was the only one she had to talk to. Surely that had something to do with it.

There were so many things she wanted to tell someone. Now seemed as good a time as ever to start. "Simon Crocker came after me once I was back." James knew how erratic the man had been. He'd been the one who insisted she tell Garland. Not that a restraining order had been much help.

"How'd you stop him?"

For a second she was back on that dock, the stench of death thicker than the filth of the sea, and she was afraid the Barn would intervene and James would see it too. But the lodge remained. "I killed him." She closed her eyes and tried to imagine a better outcome. "Right in front of his kid."

"You were protecting yourself." His absolution felt too easy. She hadn't earned it.

"Simon said one day it would be me and Duke in a standoff. That seems to be part of the pattern, doesn't it?"

"Duke seemed like a good kid."

"Simon was a kid once too. He was ranting about his Trouble and the hunger. He was half-crazed – but I almost believed him. Maybe it is inevitable. Maybe Duke can't change what he has to do any more than I can."

"I like to think the universe still has a few surprises."

"What evidence do you have of that?"

"Well, my father was born after I was. That seems like something new." He said it casually, but she knew the affectation was orchestrated to make her feel better.

Damned if it didn't help, just a little.

She rolled her eyes and reached for her coat.

"Ready to hit the slopes again?"


She dreamt of fathers and sons, terrible legacies and patterns that could not be broken, and always woke to a vision of prominent cheekbones and bright blue eyes.

She blamed the Barn for getting in her head, stirring up all the thoughts she couldn't quite work out while she was awake and mixing them with memories that weren't her own.

She'd always striven for control. So when she was awake she chose what the Barn made her see.

First it was Sarah's standoff with Roy Crocker. Lucy had read about it in Sarah's journal, but it was an entirely different experience to witness firsthand. Sarah's horror afterward seemed genuine, but Lucy recognized the rush of self-preservation that made her pull the trigger.

But they weren't alone. Once again she had a witness, and once again it was Duke. The universe must have an awful sense of humor. Sarah hadn't realized the significance of the man in the middle of their showdown, but Roy had said his name and Lucy could see a glimmer of the boy she was so fond of in the ponytailed man. He was sad and serious, but he wasn't angry at her. He offered her advice before she sent him home, even though he'd just watched her gun down his grandfather. She didn't understand how confirmation of the cycle could give her hope that it would be broken, but there was something reassuring in the way he looked at her. He knew her, just like Nathan did. And he didn't hate her, even though he had every right to.

Watching that first memory was like peeking inside Pandora's box. She'd never been able to let a mystery rest. Much as she tried to pretend otherwise, Sarah's handsome stranger – the descendent of Prudence's unfaithful love – was the biggest mystery of her complicated life. She'd figured out Prudence's sob story and the cause of the Troubles, but she couldn't fathom how this one man could be the solution to it all. She fought the urge for a long time, but one day when James was elsewhere she had the Barn show her Nathan's time with Sarah.

He was in Haven for less than thirty-six hours, and she scrutinized every one of them. James was right – there was foreknowledge there when Sarah dragged him out by his ear and he called her incredible. She watched their picnic on the beach over and over – the way he turned away after Sarah offered herself and how he came back. Only once did she allow herself to watch what happened after – how they stumbled toward her car and got unconscionably familiar. She was surely right about the lust. Lucy could see it play across his face every time Sarah touched him. He was a man starved for affection and Sarah was more than willing to give it to him, and Lucy was simultaneously shocked and intrigued by that willingness. But there was a reverence in his actions that gave even the cynic within her pause.

She watched the way he'd praised Sarah's intuition, worried for her safety and succumbed to her kisses. One day she found herself wishing it had been herself in that car with his weight settled over her, whispering admirations in her ear – and as soon as she caught herself she left the scene and vowed never to return.

Because she was not Sarah Vernon. The nurse's actions had become familiar, as one could memorize the moves of an actor on the screen. But no matter how many times she went through the memories Lucy never felt like she had lived them herself.

She had only one real memory of Sarah, and that had come to her long before she'd known of the Barn. She'd dreamt once of a twin whispering promises to a baby, her tears leaving drops on his precious face. She'd kissed the boy before handing him to a couple and turning away, and woke to an incredible sadness.

James came to town the next day with a letter and a journal and an unbelievable story, and she'd realized the sadness had never left her.


They got bored, so she took him on a safari.

She'd gone right after college, scraping together every dollar she had saved for the plane ticket and a bag full of film and got there practically penniless with only the vaguest of plans. She met up with a group headed into the savannah and bartered passage to accompany them. She'd made friends with their guide, an enormous man with a beautifully deep voice who taught her Swahili and more about photography than any of her professors.

It had been the best month of her life.

They were the only ones in Africa now though, so she drove the jeep, regaling James with stories from her unencumbered youth as the grasslands passed them by. He was amazed at the very first zebra, but she knew that was amateur stuff and kept on going. She stopped eventually to show him elephants and ostriches, a family of giraffes, and a dozing cheetah. She snapped a few photos, the prospect of developing them exciting when she'd been distracted from her passion and profession for so long.

There was unlimited film here, and she didn't have to sell anything to get it.

They happened upon a pride of lions, just as her caravan had years ago, and from a distance she set up her tripod.

"Johnny told me that most people get out here and waste the experience." The man's real name had been unpronounceable to her western tongue. He'd laughed so hard every time she tried. "They're so excited to be someplace new they miss the beauty of it because they're too busy snapping away. The photos aren't worth it anyway." Through her lens she watched the king of the jungle play with his little prince, but the angle was poor and she pulled back. "He taught me how important it was to wait for the perfect shot."

"Shame you didn't take your own advice."

He was watching the lions, feigning nonchalance, but it was an act and she knew it. He was sly and this was a challenge.

"What are you talking about?"

He turned to her and she could not read the look on his face. "We had a plan. We found out about Nathan. All you had to do was go into that Barn and wait, and next time you could end all this."

"It's not the same!" she insisted, seeing the parallel he found but rejecting it. "No matter how long I have to wait to take a photo it's still me who will develop it. But I'm going to die in here, and whoever walks out won't be me at all! Excuse me for not wanting to sacrifice myself for this damn town. I'm all for helping when I can, but why do I have to lay down and die? I'm not Prudence! It wasn't my stupid little fling that got this town cursed. Lucy Ripley really exists, and I didn't ask for my memories to be implanted in someone else's body. Besides, it was a terrible plan. All the next me has to do is fall in love with some jerk's descendent and get married? Are you kidding me? Haven isn't a fairy tale. It's more like a Hitchcock movie."

She'd wanted to say such things for so long and never dared. Everyone in that town was more concerned with their salvation than her well-being. She couldn't blame them, but she knew she'd find no sympathy, not even from Garland. But there was no use hiding her selfishness now. Not like it had helped much anyway.

She held her chin up, waiting for his reaction to her outburst, her blazing eyes daring him to judge her just like Simon had.

"You're wrong about dying in here," he said quietly. Apparently her irritation wasn't catching. "You won't be gone completely."

"How can you possibly know that?"

"You wouldn't have come back to save me if there wasn't a bit of Sarah in you."

He was fishing, and the fact that he needed to tightened something in her chest. He'd tracked her across the country and she'd given up her life to bring his back and they spent most of their time together now, saying everything but what needed to be said and they both knew why, but they only voiced it in the abstract. Even now that was all she could manage. Keep it clinical. Keep it detached.

She hadn't been detached when she'd been bawling at his bedside.

"That's biological. Mothers protect their offspring. This body gave birth to you, even if that wasn't me. But all this love nonsense … What's to say my next incarnation will want to have anything to do with Nathan Wuornos? Is she going to have to marry him, just to make this stop, like I had to go into the Barn? Damn, sorry I'm missing that."

He was so damn calm, and her stomach was churning. "Just because you've never been in love doesn't mean it doesn't exist."

"You want to make a case that it does, after what your wife did?" she spat, regretting the words as soon as they were out of her mouth. The instinct to lash out was inescapable, but she hated herself for hurting him.

"Even imperfect people fall in love. That doesn't make it unreal."

"But is it worth it?"

"Yes." His lack of hesitation made her pause. "Knowing what Arla did – even knowing why she did it – I wouldn't take back our time together even if I could. Love – it's like this force coming over you that makes someone else more important than yourself. And knowing they feel the same way about you – it's the most wonderful feeling in the world. The way Nathan looked at Sarah, that's how he felt. I'm sure of it. That's the way he's going to look at you. And you'll understand."

"It won't be me," she insisted, practically sick with the unfairness of it. Why was he making her want what she could never have?

There was surely something cruel about love.

"Did you ever have the Barn show you Prudence?"

"Why would I?" she bristled, recoiling at the idea.

"Because I've never seen you run from a mystery."

She'd never even considered it. It had been hard enough to bring herself to watch Sarah. She didn't like seeing her features on someone else. And Prudence was the cause of all this mess.

"What would that accomplish, exactly? Think it would make me ready to die? If I see how kind and wonderful Prudence was, I'll just give up Lucy Ripley and be ready to become her next puppet?"

"She's a lot like you. Spunky – which wasn't very appreciated in the sixteen hundreds. Smart and inquisitive and independent. They were all like that, everyone the Barn showed me."

"Why did you watch that?"

"I wanted to know where I came from," he said softly. "I wanted some idea who you might be when we leave here."

"I won't be anyone." She didn't wipe the tears away. Let him see. He deserved to feel bad about making her cry.

"You're more than Lucy Ripley. She's a part of you. But she's not all that's in there."

"What if I want her to be?" she asked, finally honest about the one thought that had consumed her ever since Vince and Dave had confirmed that she'd been Sarah.

"Then you're out of luck. You can rage about this, but you can't change it. Just like I can't change what Arla did or the fact the Cogans will think I'm dead for twenty-seven years."

"I don't want to go," she admitted.

"I'll always remember you," he promised. "No matter who you become and what she thinks of me, I'll always remember Lucy Ripley. And I'll be glad we got to spend this time together."

It was still an awful situation. But there was something about his earnestness that made her feel a little better.

Lucy had always wanted to leave a legacy. She'd been thinking a Pulitzer prize. But this might just do.


They were back on the slopes one day when the mountain disappeared and the sudden change of momentum sent her stumbling into a pile of hay.

It was the first time the place had ever looked like a barn.

She pulled herself off the ground and scowled at the couple standing a few feet away, but their appearance chilled her like she'd been dumped in a snowbank in her underwear.

"It's not time yet," she snapped. Surely it hadn't been three years, let alone nearly thirty.

"Just about dear." The woman was surprisingly beautiful; her descendants had not inherited those looks. She looked like she could be in her mid-forties, but something about her felt older.

"Today we leave the Barn to find you a new identity," the man said. He might have been Dave's father, though he had more hair and no glasses.

She crossed her arms and tried to sound braver than she felt. "I'm not ready to change."

"You always have been before," Mrs. Teagues remarked.

"Well this time I'm not. I'll go back to Haven. Do this all over again, as many times as I need to. I don't want to be someone else."

"That isn't your choice to make." Suddenly Howard was at her side for the first time since she'd arrived. The Barn had been helping her keep away from him, but she'd let her guard down. He sounded almost sad, and she was reminded how he'd been Prudence's only company, hundreds of years ago, and she'd been his. But she felt nothing but distrust for this man. She'd never had Prudence's compassion. "Prudence decided to change. So change you must."

She turned to the couple, appalled by this gnawing weakness that made her beg but unable to overcome it. "Please."

"There's nothing we can do." The woman's voice was kind but there was no hope in it. "We must abide by the rules of the Barn, or we'll lose our place in it."

They wouldn't sacrifice their never-ending lives for hers.

That shouldn't have shocked her. She didn't want to sacrifice her life for this damn town.

"What about James?" she asked. "Will he become someone else too?"

"There's no call for that," Howard said. "He's made no deals. He'll stay James Cogan. But he won't be allowed to remember his time here."

The hopelessness choked her, just like it had when Garland had called to say James was dead. He'd kept it at bay during their time together. But good things never lasted. Her mother had taught her that too.

She'd teach him, except he wouldn't even remember the lesson.

"He'll forget me."

"That's what Prudence wanted."

It was just one more reason to hate her.

"Stay away from me," she hissed, stumbling back. She tried to will herself back to the slopes, back to her s—James, but the Barn didn't shift.

"We have a question for you," the man said. "That's why you were summoned."

"Who do you want to be?" the woman asked.

"Is that supposed to be a philosophical question?" she spat. "I want to be me."

"Sarah wanted to be you." The woman's voice froze her heart. The cold seeped outward, immobilizing her. Sarah had been loved and blessed and a mother and— "She asked us to find an investigator. Someone who wasn't afraid of the truth. A woman who was strong and brave and cunning."

"We thought you were a journalist, coming out of the newspaper office," Mr. Teagues admitted. "Didn't notice the camera till we were back in the Barn."

"Don't lie to the girl," his wife chided. "We saw the camera. We just didn't know what it was."

"You'll let me pick the kind of person to take my place?"

"Yes."

She only took a few moments to consider. "She should be a detective." She thought of Garland and the son likely to grow up following in his footsteps. "A police officer. Tough. Plucky. No romantic delusions. Someone without any detachments who's used to being alone."

The Teagues looked at her with pity, but there was something calculating in Howard's stare that worried her.

"Aren't I allowed to be bitter?" she covered. "Besides, it's silly for her to have attachments that aren't real anyway."

But secretly she hoped that maybe her successor would be smart enough to escape this trap that was made for her.

Or maybe she'd find what she'd been looking for.

"Can I go back to James now?"

"You best say your goodbyes," Howard advised as the Barn faded away.


She materialized in a snowbank, and she was still protesting the cold when James hovered over her, offering a gloved hand.

"Where did you go?" he asked, scared, and for the first time in her life she understood why people lied to spare other's feelings.

She couldn't bring herself to do it though.

"I was with Howard – and the couple that's going to take my memories. It's almost time."

"It can't have been years!"

"It can outside, I guess."

She was shocked when his arms came around her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been embraced. "It's going to be okay. I'll miss you, but I'll be seeing you again soon. And when you fall head over heels in love with my father, I look forward to saying 'I told you so.'"

She snorted into his shoulder. "Don't hold your breath," she sassed, but it took all the strength she had left not to cry.

"I'll always remember you, Lucy," he promised, and it was like he was running her through with his ski pole.

She didn't acknowledge his statement. But she didn't correct him either.


It wasn't long before James faded without warning, leaving her with the other inhabitants of the Barn. She hadn't said goodbye, but she wouldn't beg for the chance now. There was no use anyway – neither of them would remember it.

Now the last memory of him she'd have was the way he looked barreling down the slope ahead of her, at peace with this cruel world, strong and hopeful despite all he had lost.

She wondered what he'd think when he came out of the Barn and found the world had moved on without him. She worried most about the way he wouldn't remember her warnings about Arla. It was one of so many things she couldn't change. He'd have to fend for himself now.

The Barn was white again, like the blank slate it represented, and she was sad that she'd die in this emptiness, when she'd always loved color.

Rainbows spiraled across the walls, soothing her until they settled into a sunset over the savannah. She could smell the grass, feel the sun on her skin.

The Barn would remember her, even when she was gone.

There was a brunette lying unconscious in the grass. She had a ponytail and a fancy suit. "She's not a lawyer, is she?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the notion.

"FBI Agent," Mr. Teagues said, stumbling slightly over the letters.

That would aggravate Garland for sure.

"Let's get this over—" But Mr. Teagues doesn't wait for her to finish her sentence. He grabbed her hand, and she tried to hang onto the memory of her son's face as everything else faded away.


Once again she woke to blue eyes hovering over her, but this time Nathan wasn't the man she needed. "James," she gasped, searching for him wildly, still gripped in Lucy's final wave of panic. Gone again and so much she'd never told him.

But he wasn't gone. "Mom!" he cried, suddenly at her side and pulling her into his arms. She clutched her hands around his neck and held on. Her sweet boy.

"My son," she said shakily, and she felt it more strongly than she ever had before, the maternal affection surging through her without any protest from her mind about its illogicality. She was Sarah and Lucy and Audrey and James Cogan was her son.

Once the memories began to settle she pulled back slightly, swiping at her damp eyes. "I couldn't bring myself to say it. But I felt it, every day."

"I forgot you," he said contritely, and all she wanted to do was absolve him.

"It's okay," she said, squeezing his arm. "I forgot myself." She thought about all she had learned, and couldn't help but smirk. "Lucy was a piece of work."

He smiled back. "That she was."

"Everything okay?" Nathan asked. He was standing awkwardly to the side, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him closer.

"Is now." She smiled at him, trying to ease the worry contracting his brows. "We've been waiting for you for a long time."

He examined them both, and she had no idea what was going through his head. "Hope I lived up to expectations," he said dryly.

"Well, Lucy's expectations were pretty low," James quipped. "Told you so, by the way."

She barked out a laugh before linking hands with Nathan, her thumb rubbing a soothing pattern across his skin. "She was jealous," she explained. All of Lucy's actions and intentions were suddenly so clear. The memories before the Barn weren't easily accessible, but she understood who the woman had been. "Didn't like that the women before and after her got to be in love, and she was stuck in the middle."

"She told me she didn't believe in love," James pointed out. Audrey was so glad she suddenly knew his favorite food and sports team and the way he'd wanted to be an astronaut when he was seven.

"She was lying." She squeezed Nathan's hand and he squeezed back. As she looked at him she felt that powerful swell of protectiveness that James had told Lucy about, her love for him so strong it was almost an entity in itself. But she was finally willing to admit that Nathan wasn't the first to inspire it in her. "She was just afraid that accepting who she'd been and who she'd become meant she'd lose who she was right then. I understand the feeling."

It was hard to fault Lucy when the thought of losing Nathan to another version of herself was so terrifying. Audrey Parker may have gone into the Barn with a little less prompting, but only because she thought she was saving Nathan.

"That's very interesting," Dr. Bishop proclaimed. Audrey had completely forgotten she was there. "I'd like to explore the way you come to terms with your past lives now that you've begun to remember them."

Audrey stood, shaking her head at that decidedly unappealing thought. "Think I'll just take my boys to dinner instead."

She would have to work all this out, but she didn't need some stranger passing judgment when she had a son and a fiancé to listen. The very idea of that recent development still thrilled her, and she swiped her finger against the place where his wedding band would soon rest as she pulled him to the door.

"Sorry, doc," James called from behind her. "But thanks for the help."

There was no doubt in her mind that Lucy would be proud.


So sorry for the delay, guys. Thanks for all the feedback and the support for last chapter. We'll get back to the wedding stuff next chapter.