Chapter Seven: Deliverance

Juliana stared at the man lying next to her as the darkness in the bedroom began to lift, the only sound John's deep, quiet breathing. His face seemed peaceful, the lines of age more subtle in sleep. She found him strikingly beautiful.

Until she remembered the Reichsmarschall.

She sat up slowly, the covers he must have pulled over them in the night clutched around her.

Since Frank, the only other man she'd slept with had been Joe Blake. Juliana still loved Frank, but she might as well have lived ten lifetimes since Trudy had given her that film. While she'd been overjoyed to see him in Sabra, she'd also realized she was no longer in love with him. The life they'd share together had been blown apart, and she couldn't say she wanted it back even if it were possible. Frank had also changed, and in a world (or worlds) at war, they'd found and walked widely different paths.

The attraction between her and Joe had been present since their meeting in Cannon City, but her heart had still belonged to Frank. Admitting to her own desire for Joe made it easier to use their mutual attraction to get closer to him when he'd been working as a spy and a hitman in the JPS.

She'd thought that perhaps Joe would be a new focal point for herself and the world she tried so desperately to save. In the end, the Reich had ruined him. Whatever change he'd claimed she'd made in him had been snuffed out by brainwashing and torture. Even now, her heart still ached at the loss of a once-trusted friend, though she'd had no time to mourn him.

And behind her, the face of the man who had pushed Joe onto the path that had led to his inevitable death.

They aren't the same, she told herself.

But weren't they? They shared more than just a face. They had the same priorities. The same tendencies and capabilities. The same wife and children. The same mannerisms. They shared a remarkable intuition. Even his son remained the same in both worlds despite being raised in two different political systems. The only difference remained the cards they'd been dealt.

Juliana dropped her head in her hands. Had she really fallen for John Smith? She knew the man beside her to be sweet, polite, gentle, fair, attentive, compassionate, patient, understanding. And yet even the angel could still look a helpless, sobbing young boy in the eyes and shoot him point blank.

She watched the light grow outside her bedroom window, wondering about the state of her own sanity. She didn't belong in this world, and yet the amount of genuine human connection she'd gained in the last six months couldn't have been for nothing. Surely she wasn't meant to stay here in Bailey's Crossroads—to forsake her own timeline for—

What? For John? His kids? They had everything in this world, things that the alternate versions of themselves didn't even know they were missing. Thomas had a life, for God's sake! They didn't need her here. No matter what John said, they didn't need her.

So was it right to indulge these feelings that made no sense if it meant leaving him—leaving them all—in the end?

Rough fingertips against her bare arm drew Juliana's thoughts back to the present. She glanced over her shoulder to see him studying her through half-lidded eyes. She wanted to lie back down, curl into his side, and stay that way for hours.

"Do you regret it?" he asked softly.

She looked down at her hands, hesitating only when her gut response took her by surprise.

"No. Do you?"

Seconds ticked by before he rose to join her in a sitting position. He pushed her hair aside before wrapping one arm around her, the other lacing his fingers with hers where they sat in her lap. She leaned into him.

"No. Not at all."

In spite of her previous thoughts, which she knew to be valid, Juliana could only feel a fluttering of giddy relief. He pressed his lips to her cheek, then to her collarbone. They simply sat there, Juliana allowing John to hold her for a few blissful minutes.

His resigned sigh tickled her skin, made her shiver.

"As much as I would like to stay…I need to get home."

"What will you tell the kids?"

"Oh…I fell asleep at Randy's place after a few drinks."

Of course they didn't need to know about their father's sex life, but a larger question loomed beyond his whereabouts on New Year's Eve.

"I don't…regret. But I-I don't know…what…"

"Me neither," he said. "I suppose…we have a lot of…thinking…to do."

"Definitely…"

He held her a moment longer, kissing the top of her shoulder before he climbed out of the bed to dress. The instant he left her, she missed his touch and the feel of his body surrounding her. She wanted to call him back, but they had to get on with the day.

Having only put on her blue robe and house slippers, she stood by the front door with a now fully-clothed John. He checked his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys before turning back to her. So many unspoken thoughts left the air feeling heavy. He ran his hands over her arms, clasped her hands.

"Juliana… Last night was…a wonderful surprise. I didn't know I was still capable of…" He glanced around, as though searching for the right words somewhere within her apartment. "Well, you've brought so much back for me, and I don't take one bit of it for granted. It meant…so much—probably more than you'll ever know.

"But I…" He met her gaze, and she felt the weight of his words as clearly as she could see it in his eyes. "I expect nothing more. I know my presence has been difficult for you since we met. What you've given me is a gift, and I leave it in your hands now. Whatever you decide, I'll respect that."

What else could she do but embrace him? She had no words to counter him. He knew, but he didn't—couldn't—understand that everything going forward was a decision that only she could make. She both loved and hated his total acceptance because it made it impossible to choose.

The words wanted to leap from her tongue, but she held them back as John returned her embrace, holding her tightly to him. She felt safe there. Safe and loved and secure—as though if she stayed, he could take all her worries away. He kissed her temple before pulling back.

"Happy New Year, Juliana."

"Happy New Year, John."

x-X-x

She stood on the covered bridge, watching the ducks and geese in the early morning light that reflected off the reservoir. The seasons had changed, the flowers blooming here, there, and everywhere, and the sun had already begun to warm the cooled air around her.

A strong pair of arms wound around her, pulling her into the cradle of broad shoulders, and she knew without looking who they belonged to. He kissed her cheek, down her neck to her shoulders, and she heated more from his touch than from the dawn. She turned in his arms, gazing up into those eyes she'd come to know so well, and she smiled.

Wordlessly, he covered her mouth with his, and she swooned, drinking the sweetness from his lips. He stroked her hair, letting the locks flow through his fingers. She ran her hands up over his chest, circling her arms around his neck to pull him closer.

The tender emotions gave way to an increasing desire as he caressed every inch of her body. His seeking mouth was hot and persuasive, pulling the breath from her lungs and causing the sensual fire to pool and burn deep in her abdomen.

He lifted her, setting her upon the railing, stepping between her legs until she could feel his hardness rub against her loins. His mouth became as demanding as the ridge in his pants, but instead of terrifying her, it enthralled her. She loved the force, the power he kept contained, and she dared him with her each undulation of her hips to release it for her.

He pushed her until she was lying back on a bed, but she couldn't open her eyes, so lost in the pleasure of his kiss, his touch, the weight of his body over hers. Too impatient to remove their clothing, he only managed to undo his belt and lift her skirt. She cried out at the sudden jolt that shot up her spine as he thrust into her without hesitation.

His movements were rough, but not cruel or unpleasant. He commanded her body, and it obeyed every push, every stroke, every kiss, every squeeze—responding in whatever way he wanted—every way she needed. She clung to him, riding the pain as well as the pleasure, and wanting more.

"Come for me, Juliana," came the familiar persuasive purr that demanded a response. She could think of no reason to deny him. He always got what he wanted.

"Yes, John. Yes!"

Something exploded inside her, and she released a sharp, shuddering moan. He rode out her orgasm, and she was astounded he could pull another one from her so quickly.

"Again, Juliana. Again."

She shuddered out a second release, feeling as though her body would buckle, and she'd dissolve into the mattress beneath her.

He only drove deeper, more deliberately, and she could feel each powerful, pointed stroke that hit that sweet spot near her cervix.

"Again."

She climaxed a third time upon feeling him pour into her—so much she thought he'd surely staked his claim. Her legs held him in place while he allowed her to come down from her high.

"That's a good girl, Juliana," he purred against her ear, stroking up along her side, beneath her breast.

Her eyes fluttered open, seeking her angel, but her heart dropped into her stomach when she found the devil above her instead.

She shoves him away, now standing in the alley in which she'd killed George Dixon. Only it wasn't George who stared back at her in Nazi regalia: it was the Reichsmarschall.

Scrambling backward, she pointed the gun, tears streaming down her face.

"Juliana…" came the quiet plea as he held up his hands. "It's me."

"No! Shut up!"

"Juliana…"

"Get away from me!"

He took a step toward her. His pained, gentle eyes and face belonged to the man she'd come to know so well, but they were attached to the imposing body of the Reichsmarschall.

"Juliana…"

"Stay away!"

"Juliana, please…" He took another step.

Bang.

Blood poured out onto the pavement beneath him. She dropped to her knees beside the body, unable to stop the tears and not knowing whether they were from relief or devastation.

x-X-x

Juliana sat on the sofa in the dark at 2:00 AM, a steaming cup of tea warming her fingers, calming her nerves. The shaking and crying had mercifully stopped, but she couldn't return to bed. She even found herself afraid to meditate. She could barely stomach the tea, and any thoughts of eating made her ill.

The image of a coin with two faces spun in her mind, round and round, never stopping. She waited for its movement to slow, but it challenged her. Only she could stop the motion, but she couldn't muster the courage to find out which way it would land.

Returning to work at the library that day proved a blessing, a way to distract from her confused, distressing thoughts. She busied herself with book returns and balance sheets, grateful that not many people sought to visit the library on only the second day of the year.

"I'm heading out for the day."

Juliana jumped, turned to Cynthia.

"Oh. Ok."

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's fine."

The other woman frowned in concern. "Are you alright? You seem a little…not yourself."

"I just didn't sleep well. Nothing to worry about." She forced a smile.

Cynthia didn't seem convinced. "Ok… Well, I'll see you on Monday then."

Monday. She had another day off tomorrow. Shaking her head, she returned to work.

The following day, Juliana attempted to meditate. Upon entering the meditation plane, she was met by the Reichsmarschall. He turned toward her slowly, the threat, the malice clear in his hard, unmerciful gaze. He pulled a gun from his coat, raised it.

Juliana stepped back, wanting to run, but unable to make herself move fast enough.

Bang.

Not keen to revisit such horrific visions, she abandoned her meditation and busied herself with cleaning.

She'd kept up with her apartment well enough, but after several months, a deeper clean was warranted. She turned on the radio while she worked, loosely contemplating how some of the music remained the same as in her own world, but others were completely unique to this one.

Her heart leapt into her throat as the phone rang, loud and piercing above the radio. She stared at it, not daring to move. It rang and rang and rang…and then it stopped.

Her shoulders dropped as she let out a breath. She returned to cleaning the kitchen sink. She didn't want to talk today, didn't want to think. She didn't want to be connected to this world while she still battled with her own mind.

For the next several days, she focused almost exclusively on work, housework, and her research, continuing to ignore the phone. She did take time to meditate, thankful to not experience any distressing visions. She also had no further nightmares, but that first one kept her feeling rattled and unsteady.

Friday, she scanned the aisles of books, reordering any that were misplaced, losing herself in the numbers that remained meaningless outside the Dewey Decimal System. A light clearing of a throat startled her.

"Juliana?"

Half afraid to know which face she would see, she turned around.

"John."

Hands in his pockets, he appraised her with a look of concern, brows furrowed, his lips turned down.

"Are you okay?"

Returning her attention to the task at hand, she said, "Yeah. Why?"

"Well…you haven't been answering your phone. Even Russ—he came into the store yesterday, said it wasn't like you."

"I've just been busy."

"Cynthia says you've been acting strange this week."

She slammed a book down on the shelf, rounding on him. "I guess that's the plight of a small town. Everyone gossips about you."

"It's not gossip, we're just… Well, we care about you."

"Maybe I wanted to be left alone."

He dropped his head. "I'm sorry. I… With what happened on New Year's, I didn't want your withdrawal to be because of me."

Juliana deflated, leaned against the shelf. "It's not you, John, it's…"

What? How could she explain?

His face grew clouded, dark. He turned away. "It's because I remind you of him," he said bitterly, and she could hear the resentment directed toward himself.

Impulsively, she stepped in front of him, hands on his arms, forcing him to look her in the eyes.

"No—I shouldn't have told you that. Look, my problems aren't your problems. Ok? I did what I did on New Year's because of who you are. John, you've been so patient with me. I just need you to be patient a little longer while I figure things out—and please, please don't ever stop being you."

He glanced off to the side, his shoulders falling. "I wish I knew what it was about me… I would change it."

"It's not that I don't want to tell you. I just don't know how. Nothing I could say would make any sense…"

"You don't have to tell me. I'm not asking. But it hurts me, Juliana…to know that you feel something for me, but also seeing you wrestle with whatever he did to you… And there's not a damn thing I can do to help you."

"You're wrong." He met her eyes again. "I trust you, John. If I didn't, that night never would have happened. Please trust that I am and will be okay. But I need time to think."

He chewed on her words, nodded. "I trust you."

"Please tell Russ, and anyone else who asks, that I'm fine. No need to worry."

"We'll worry anyway."

She took a step back, gave a small smile. "Thank you, John."

"I'll, umm…I'll let you get back to work. When you're ready, I'll be around."

They shared a look of mutual understanding before he turned to leave. Juliana watched after him, then resumed her previous task.

Later that evening, she meditated again for an hour or so. This time, her efforts were rewarded with a new vision. She rose from her mat with purpose, heading to her bedroom and finding her book on the I Ching. Drawing the lines in the corresponding journal, she looked up the meaning of the message.

Hexagram 40: Deliverance. Clarity after a storm. Forgiveness after conflict. Healing after a wound. The resolution of a difficult situation. A signal of renewal and change.

Juliana had spent the last week avoiding, hiding, too afraid to confront and stop that spinning coin. She'd said she needed time to think, but she'd been denying her fear.

John's visit to the library had made her cowardice clear. When presented with the choice to focus on either the good or the ugly, she'd actively, instinctively chosen to look toward the goodness. The coin had been tabled. As Hawthorne had put it, she had a natural, unwavering willingness to bet on the best in people, even John Smith.

x-X-x

When next she entered the meditation plane, she came face-to-face with the Reichsmarschall once more. His eyes burned with a black hatred that had previously petrified her. Now, she stood her ground as he pulled the pistol from his coat.

She met those eyes, stepping toward him rather than away, until her forehead rested against the muzzle of the gun.

She held his gaze, daring him to make a choice, knowing before he did which way he would choose. They stood there for an eternity.

Finally, his expression changed to one of confusion, then resignation. Slowly, he lowered his weapon. It fell from his grasp, dissolving into the shifting sands of the meditation plane.

As Juliana returned to her body and opened her eyes, she felt weightless and unafraid.

x-X-x

The cold January air didn't bother Juliana. She wore the scarf from Thomas along with her other winter clothing as she stood in the archway of the gazebo in the park, waiting. She felt that fluttering again as John walked up the path toward her, hands in his coat pockets.

Juliana turned to John as he reached her. She couldn't read his expression that morning, no doubt because he was uncertain what she would say. She managed to glimpse a flash of hope before he stuffed it away.

"I guess you've, uh…had time to think?"

"I have. And you?"

He nodded, glancing at his feet. "Yes."

She thought he'd likely prepared himself for whatever she decided, and she found his complete acceptance refreshingly endearing.

"First, I…want to thank you, John. For giving me the space I needed, and for checking on me at the library."

He looked puzzled.

"I needed that, too."

"Oh," he said, though the furrow of his brows evidenced his continued confusion.

Juliana had thought carefully about what she would say, given that her time in this world remained limited. However, she couldn't ignore where and with whom she'd found herself, nor could she ignore her growing feelings toward John. She'd ended up at his mercy for a reason.

"I said I have no regrets, but that doesn't mean I'm fearless. All that time I spent by myself, I had to choose whether I would let my past dictate my future. Instead, I chose to look forward, toward hope." She met his eyes. "I chose to believe in you."

His own hope and relief returned, but he kept them at bay, as though waiting for the other shoe to drop. Juliana bit her lip.

"I'm not sure how things will play out between us, or how much I have to give. But for now, whatever I have…I'd like to share it with you."

"Are you sure, Juliana?" he said quietly. "I don't want to be a constant reminder, and I can't change, no matter how much I want to—"

She stepped closer, sliding her arms up over his shoulders. She smiled. "I don't want you to change. I want you to be exactly who you are, and help me put the past behind me."

She watched several thoughts and emotions play across his face as he allowed her words to settle. He met her eyes again, and she could see and feel the love and devotion within them. She tried not to think too far into a future.

"Does that mean I can kiss you?"

She smiled, leaned in so that their noses nearly touched. "You can do whatever you want. I trust you, John."

No more hesitation, his lips covered hers, soft and sweet and full of grateful understanding. He wrapped his arms around her, and Juliana found herself quickly warmed in spite of the chilly winter air.

x-X-x

"Heil Himmler!" The sound of the salute echoed off the stone walls.

"Dr. Mengele," said the Fuhrer. "I trust you have important updates if you called me all the way here from Berlin."

"Yes, Mien Fuhrer. I thought you and the Reichsmarschall would like to see our progress in person."

They were gathered at the entrance of Die Nebenwelt, a group of non-uniformed men standing at attention before the portal in organized rows. John hoped these updates would be promising, but quick. The less time he spent in the company of Himmler, the better.

"Well, get on with it then," said the Fuhrer, no doubt taking a gamble on the amount of time he could be away from his oxygen machine after suffering the wound to his lung. The walk through the long hallways had already taken a toll on his breathing, but the stubborn old bullfrog had refused a wheelchair.

"Of course, Sir. You see these men here? We have found that they do not exist in this other world, and can therefore travel freely and safely between the worlds."

"Ah, this is excellent news! Eh, Smith?"

"Yes, Mein Fuhrer."

"Is this all of them?"

"We are still conducting more research, as we have several volunteers interested in our program, but this is our first group of travelers, ready for their orders."

"A step closer to complete expansion," Himmler breathed. "We've achieved so much in only a few short months. I congratulate you, Dr. Mengele."

"Thank you, Mien Fuhrer," said the doctor with a sharp bow of his head. Then he turned to gather up a few files to present to Himmler. "This is all the intelligence we've gathered on the United States in the alt-world. Much has already been shared with you, of course, but now we may review it with the intent to set clear objectives for our spies."

John listened, as he must, as Himmler and Dr. Mengele discussed at length the Reich's priorities when it came to conquering this other world, sharing his thoughts when asked. They decided to focus their efforts on sabotaging the United States' nuclear arms program, as well as their space program, a logical first step by all accounts.

"You want these men to go?" said Mengele, circling a group of names hand-picked by the Fuhrer himself.

"Yes, they are most promising men and will do well, I think."

"I couldn't agree more, Sir."

"I'll draw up the orders and get them to you for the official approval immediately, Mien Fuhrer," said John.

"See that you do, Smith."

All men present gave a collective "Heil Himmler" as the squat, elderly man left the room. Once he'd gone, John turned to Mengele.

"Doctor, can I get a copy of the names of the men who have not been assigned a task by the Fuhrer?"

"Of course, Reichsmarschall. I trust you have your own plans in the other world?"

"You could say that."

The other man looked curious, but knew better than to pry.

"I'll write up the orders for those who have missions in the alt-world, and you can bring me the list when you're finished."

John remained at Lackawanna for a few days, coordinating and debriefing the teams for their missions in the alt world. He had also carefully examined the remaining men in the program, deciding that a quiet, but effective young recruit would best serve his own personal agenda.

"Ah, Agent Campbell," he said as the young man entered the small room that contained little more than a metal table on which John had scattered some files and reports. "It's nice to meet you more formally."

He saluted the Reichsmarschall. "Same to you, Sir."

"I, umm… I imagine you may have been disappointed not to have been one of the first sent into the alt-world. Am I correct?"

"Yes, Sir. I have been there once, but I am curious to learn more about it. It's…fascinating."

John nodded and stood, gathering a few papers. "Well, Agent Campbell, I'm glad you feel that way. It seems you're in luck, because I have a special assignment in mind for you."

"Sir?"

He rounded the table, handing the young man his written orders. He shoved his hands into his pockets as Agent Campbell flipped through them.

"You see, I've been aware for some time that another version of my family exists in this…alternate world. I would like you to track them down and report your findings directly to me."

The young man appeared a little puzzled, but did not argue or ask any questions. "It would be my honor, Sir."

"Good. I trust you have everything you need ready to go?"

"Yes, Reichsmarschall."

"Then you might want to get your rest. You will leave with the first team tomorrow morning."

"Thank you, Sir." He clicked his heels. "Heil Himmler!"

"Heil Himmler."