A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

81. To have, to hold, to kill… her

Chapter 81: To have, to hold, to kill… her 14th November 1942

The wind whistled on a cold night, the November weather really beginning to kick in. It wasn't quite the grip of winter, but the nights were becoming colder and colder, the need for additional warmth for some being paramount. Sometimes a blanket or two extra on the bed was all that was available but it was enough when it was not quite freezing. Tucked up in bed, there were couples that could enjoy each other's warmth, settling into a night of sleep before a Saturday that would ensure plenty of rest for those who'd worked hard. There were those on their own too who could be safe and secure, drifting off into slumber ahead of the weekend.

Then there was James Maguire.

He should have been able to count himself as part of the second group, but once again, his night was not going to be so simple. He'd been disturbed on many nights since the second of Kurt's visits, John-Paul always coming with him too. At least two or three nights a week he'd wake up to taunts and to be told that he needed to kill again, the killer of Kurt's that he was. The victim was always the same, as was his answer, but they did not stop. That night was going to be no different, the second visit of the week after the Tuesday night where he was mocked thoroughly.

He knew they were there without them having to call his name out. As soon as he woke in the night, every night that he did, he knew why he'd woken. Some would wake with need of the toilet or for something to drink. Not James. He woke in the middle of the night to be able to talk to ghosts, ghosts that were sat upon his conscience.

Ignoring their presence at first, when neither of them said anything to him, he took a couple of moments to compose himself. There appeared to be an understanding between them, neither vision deciding to speak to him until he was ready. Swinging his legs out of the bed to the right side, he moved around to the front of the bed slowly, rubbing at his eyes. Before he'd woken, his sleep was a deep one, the Englishman tired from a long week at work. He didn't want to be kept too long in the early hours either, not when he had plans for the day. Sarah and Shane's wedding was finally going to take place, having been put back a couple of weeks due to factors that were very much outside of their control. Needing to be at the church by ten, suffering through a lengthy conversation at half past two with the ghosts of two men he'd killed was not helpful.

"Gentleman…". He finally engaged with them, arms crossed as he looked forward. "We meet again".

Kurt and John-Paul were stood together in front of his shut bedroom door, both of them matching James' stance but with smirks on their faces instead. It was to be expected with Kurt, but over the course of a number of visits it was becoming clear that in death, John-Paul was becoming just as vicious. It too was to be expected when he'd had his life cut short by an Englishman, the same man who'd audaciously decided to make a home in Derry, as well as friendships and a relationship with one of the young local women. The saving grace being that local woman was Erin Quinn, who polarised opinion, and frustrated the living daylights out of many, only softened the blow a little. James was still alive with a chance at life; he was not.

"You look tired James". Kurt commented. "Bad night?"

"Yes… no one would believe it, but I keep being interrupted in the night by two dead men". He drolly replied. "It is quite incredible really".

"Ye deserve a bad night… a lot of bad nights".

Where Kurt continued to be the man that James knew him as, an oddly comforting trait, the dead John-Paul continued to have an axe to grind. Only ever wishing the worst upon James, his comments were snarled and huffed, rather than eloquently harmonised. The Irishman didn't want to do anything other than hurt the Englishman in death, wanting him to understand how little of a hero he was. As he came off the worse in their battle at the peak of the Dona, he'd warned James that his nature would change. Proving to be correct after just a couple of months, he was vindicated to a point yet still wanted more. If James was going to take away his hope of a future, then the vision of the deceased traitor would ensure that his counterpart would have no future either. A future could not be deserved when he'd killed for her.

"I am sure you will be more than happy to ruin them". Taking his turn to huff, James turned his attention to the Irishman. "I have told you before, John-Paul, I regret having to kill you… but you left me with little choice".

"I left ye with little choice!?" He angrily questioned. "Ye still would have survived the war if ye'd have just surrendered! From what Kurt says, ye'd have done a lot better for yerself!"

"Survive to become a Nazi puppet". James shook his head. "I would have rather you slit my throat with that knife of yours than work for Hitler".

"You could have killed him". Kurt mused, chuckling away.

"Ye see James, ye did have a choice! You choose Erin fucking Quinn over what Kurt was offering. Ye've destroyed futures for one ye can't even have!"

James tried to not let them get to him… but John-Paul was not wrong. The collateral damage of his actions to get back home, to be with her, far outweighed the life he was now living without her. Unspeakable acts in other settings, that would have been nothing more than cold blooded murder, his honour was disgraced by them. Killing Kurt might have heightened that honour in his own eyes, but the deaths of John-Paul and Aisling only lowered it to depths he'd never seen before. After David's death, the initial guilt of being alive, surviving whilst locked away in Professor Molinari's mansion in Taranto, was the lowest he thought he could get but events after destroyed that thought. At every turn he denied being Kurt's killer, but he was just that, whether he liked it or not. He was a killer, who could only look for redemption if he looked forwards.

"You see, John-Paul…". Kurt began his monologue to his fellow dead man. "… James does not enjoy living without her. He knows what he did was wrong, but he will keep running".

"He's a coward".

"I AM NOT A COWARD!" A furious James bellowed. "Would a coward be responsible for the deaths of two… evil men… like you!"

"Evil!? I ain't fuckin' evil… I did what I had to, James. At least I had the guts!"

Classifying John-Paul as evil may not have been strictly true, but James was in no mood to get down to the specific details of the man's character. The fact that he was talking to two men who'd both died long before was more than ridiculous enough without getting bogged down in discrepancies. Another man, perhaps the James Maguire of before the fateful night in Taranto, would have shaken them from his mind, but that man was a very different man. There was still innocence to him then, a man that understood his duty and what it meant to his country for him to be giving up everything, who still had the resolve to forget his demons. He'd seen far too much, and experienced even more, to ever be that man again. Slowly but surely, he was losing the battle to the visions in his head, whilst having no one to turn to for help when he was so embarrassed by it.

"I did what I had to, as well!" He argued back though, showing that were was some fight left in his tortured body and mind. "You were… or are… a traitor, John-Paul. You sold your soul to create a life that you would not have deserved!"

"Would not have deserved!? I GAVE UP EVERYTHING! Just like you!"

"I never gave up my country, John-Paul… not like you".

There was a growl to his words, a taunt of his own to the traitorous man that stood before him. He might have committed questionable acts along the way, but not once did he forget which side that he was fighting for, even if the majority of his battles were for himself. His beliefs, his ideals and above all, his loyalty, could not be bought. John-Paul's could though, and had been, by the Nazi's that could have easily killed him. He'd sold out whole towns of resistance members who were trying to help him, because the Nazi could give him more in money than those fighting for their freedom could give him in spirit. He wanted an easier life, signing up to fight to be able to prevent the Nazi's from stopping him from having that life. By the time of his death, they'd become his only chance of it. With a soul that was sold, he was no more than a rotten traitor, as James labelled him.

"It doesn't matter, James". John-Paul argued back. "No matter who wins the war, yer still goin' to be a sad old hero, with nothin' left to fight for! Without this war yer just a pointless bank manager… replaceable".

"Now now, John-Paul". Stopping the man from going any further, Kurt kept grinning. "He is also the heir to the throne. We should be bowing to him".

"Stupid bastard doesn't want that throne through, does he?" He snorted. "All he wants is an ugly blonde bitch with no talent… fucking worthless she is, unless ye want yer shirt sewing".

"She is very ugly…".

The pair of them were trying to get a reaction from him, but James was fighting it. His beloved's reputation being sullied by the two of them did not go down well with him, not when he was so in love with her. She was the light in his life, still to that day even when she did not shine herself in front of him, a ray of beauty in an ever more depressing world. Any man who could not see that she was the most beautiful woman they'd ever set their eyes upon, must have been deluded. She was much more than that though, or at least had been, a kind soul that was a friend as well as a lover before the war. To value her as worthless was a sin, one that no man nor woman should have ever contemplated saying, let alone actually vocalising the thought. He was dealing with the extraordinary though, two dead men that enjoyed mocking him, and everyone involved in his life. They might have seen her to be worthless from the comfort of their vicious minds, but the truth was far from it. Erin was everything to James, mostly because she made life worth living. Without her, it was not as easy…

"She's not yer problem now is she though, James?" John-Paul laughed at him after putting the question across, Kurt too.

"I might not be by her side but that does not mean I do not care for her!"

"No it's that American fella… nasty bastard, so he is". Remark made, James frowned at the Irishman. "Didn't ye think so Kurt?"

"Yah!" He replied enthusiastically. "I thought that your American friends were your allies but… he is not an ally at all. He is not your friend".

"He's not Erin's either".

Scoffing and taunting, the two visions of his mind were continuing to pummel him, still searching for the reaction that they wanted… or that his conscience demanded. The men were not real, he kept telling himself, yet his conscience did not listen. It kept bringing them back to interrupt him in the night, to continue to belittle him and the life that he was left with. Self-loathing was not a pastime he'd engaged in previously, but James was now experiencing the most destructive bout of it. The enemies of his past were coming back to point out the flaws in his future, as well as reminding him that he was not the gentleman that he continued to try to be. He was fighting against the killer instinct inside himself, which was triggered in part because of the actions of the now dead men. He'd won when he killed them, but only now was he finding out the cost.

Lance being mentioned piqued his attention though, almost drowning out his feelings of sorrow and dejection. There was likely to be no truth in what he was telling himself or what they were conveying to him from inside, but he could not help but think about it. The words he'd exchanged with the Lieutenant were far from friendly when Erin's happiness was brought into the equation. A straight answer would have deflated him temporarily while he coped with knowing he was not to involve himself in her life any longer. He did not receive such an answer from the Yank though, instead left unconvinced about whether the young officer did have his best intentions for her after all. There was no need for him to have warded the Englishman off in the way he had done, not considering for a second how she might have felt. It was none of his business, he was told, without Lance truly saying that he loved and cared for her happiness and wellbeing. She was there to be looked after in his eyes, treated like the angel that she was, even if the same angel was more than capable of hurting him. The way that Lance acted made his heart race with worry, concerned that he perhaps was using her and didn't really love her at all. If James only knew how right he was…

"The Americans are going to help us to win this war". He decided to focus on the wider conflict, rather than his own battles. "They are our allies and friends".

"I do not doubt for one minute that they are not, James". Kurt replied first. "Neither does John-Paul. But it is not the country that we are focused on. It is Lieutenant Hamilton".

"Aye, he's not lyin', James… that Lieutenant… he's something… he really is".

Narrowing his eyes at the men, a visibly unsettled James was trying not to force himself into asking what they meant. They were ghosts or his own conscience after all, they couldn't see anything more than he could. Then again, the conscience could often write stories of events that it did not know, which would be viewed as nothing more than freakish coincidences later. If that was what he was either being told or telling himself then there had to have been something more to it. He wanted to know, to protect Erin above anything else, yet at the same it was ridiculous. Listening to the voices in his head, he was falling off of a psychological cliff that could not be reclimbed without significant hardship. Spending much of his life in situations where he found himself to be mentally stronger than any opponent that challenged him, James was beginning to fall apart when set upon by his greatest nemesis. Himself.

"He is not you, James. That man could never be seen as a hero". Kurt spoke again, furthering his description of the American. "He has friends too… friends that will help him in his cause against you, if you are not careful. You are alone James… remember".

"I am not alone". He told them, voice quivering slightly. "I… I have my family and I have…".

"Charlene Kavanagh". The dead Irishman finished his sentence for him. "She loves you, so she does, James… and you don't love her".

"She is my friend, nothing more!"

"Now yes… but she wants more, James. She wants you where Erin does not… but even she cannot help you against the Lieutenant and his friends".

They'd accosted him about Charlene before, plying him with statements that he knew to be true. She'd been to visit him on his birthday, in the evening after he'd returned from the Mallon's, dressed up in her best. Ever the gentleman that he was trying to still be, the two ended up having dinner together, which she helped him to prepare, the two showing once more that they worked well as a team. On more than one occasion she'd purposefully brushed hands with him, and he'd caught her, though without saying a word. He was equally tight lipped when she deliberately angled her body into him, so that the two would touch. An accident she might have said it was, but he knew better immediately. Always able to tell that she wanted more, he would not ruin her by entering a relationship that he was not committed too. She deserved much better than him anyway, a former pilot whose closest acquaintances were the ghosts of two dead men. It was he, not Erin, that was worthless.

"Ye should be with her, James… ye'll be safe from the Yanks then". Giving out advice, John-Paul scratched at his chin. "She can give ye what ye want, James".

"What do I want?" He challenged the deceased man, even both of them when he then looked to Kurt. "If the two of you know me and my future so well, then what do I want!? Hmm… you don't know, do you? DO YOU!?"

"There is no need for you to shout James… you are amongst friends here". Kurt wryly told him, beginning to pace around. "We both know what you want… and you know it too. You want what Erin could not give you".

"And Charlene wants that too".

Giving in to his conscience's attacks was not what he wanted to do, but he was being obliterated in the mental mind games of the dead. There was no move that could defeat them, chess masters on an unfairly weighted board of emotion. He wanted a family; it might not have been his biggest wish, but it was one that he longed for. That was what he wanted to do when he got back to Derry, rekindle with Erin and begin a family of their own. Even if she had waited, it may not have been possible with the trauma she'd suffered from losing their child in the past, but there was at least hope. He no longer had her to have that future with. How his mind knew or why it told him, that Charlene was of the same mindset he did not know, manipulating his emotions again when he only wanted peace. Charlene would be able to find a man to have that family with, but it was not going to be him. For James, it could only be with Erin. His devotion knew no bounds.

"The American Lieutenant… he wants a child". Once again, Kurt appeared to speak of something he could not have known. "But not the responsibility. He's going to use her James… use your precious Erin to get what he wants and leave her with the shame… if she isn't weak again, of course…".

"She's just meat James… his meat that he'll toss aside when he's done…". Adding to the resentful comments, John-Paul showed no remorse.

They were angering him… challenging him again.

His blood boiled…

"I am jealous, I have to say, John-Paul. I remember telling James what I would do to her if I got to her first… that little body… so soft…".

And more…

"That's all she's good for anyway. Just a bit of meat for the boys… a fucking waste on everyone else…".

And more and more… hands fidgeting, heart pounding…

"You know… I can see her face… watching the pain as she realises that she is not useful for anything else… the humiliation…"

Too much…

"SHUT UP!" James roared, the glass panes of the window wobbling from the power. "YOU DO NOT SPEAK OF HER IN THAT WAY! YOU TREAT HER WITH RESPECT!"

Red in the face, James Maguire was shouting at the images of two dead that his mind conjured in front of him. Two dead man that were degrading the woman that he loved in front of him, to get the very response that they received. He was unnerved, rageous and teetering close to the edge of what made him become a killer, the image that he was constantly trying to distance himself from. The road behind him was littered with the deaths of those who'd tried to stop him from Italian sailors in Taranto, to Kurt to John-Paul… to perhaps even some others, but he still carried enough resolve to not think of those times. He'd not sank to his darkest hour it seemed, as the memories of what happened on the roads of Southern France appeared to be staying in his mental abyss where they belonged. To think of what happened there, was not wise at all.

There was one other too, another casualty of what happened when his valour was turned into a bloodthirsty need for justice, as well as to protect the woman that he so dearly loved. Something that the Nazi Doctor was very keen to remind him of.

Very keen.

"You speak of treating women with respect, James…". The Nazi sighed, almost tutting, shaking his head with slimmest of smirks slapped across his face. "But you are an unholy priest preaching to a church of sinners…".

"Unlike you, Doctor…". He spat, then turned to the Irishman. "And you, John-Paul, I am willing to treat a woman with the respect, decency and equality that she so deserves!"

"No ye don't". John-Paul laughed.

"You are only laughing at yourself, traitor!"

As soon as he finished, his attention returned to the Doctor, and James knew he'd made a mistake. He saw where the mistake would come from too, an almost perfect opening as the two images of his mind moved apart to allow for a space in front of the closed bedroom door. Kurt was grinning wildly again, just like he did before every session of torture in Rome or on the day he massacred Jews for sport in the Italian countryside.

"I think you have forgotten someone…".

He hadn't forgotten her, not when it was so soon since the night that she died. Another one to suffer directly because of him, dead by his hand when she, like John-Paul, was a traitor to the free world that he was fighting for.

Aisling.

And then there were three. Three visions of a murky past, bathed in death and the struggle for a life that no longer existed when he returned to the city he'd made his home.

"Respect… I felt that when ye shot me!"

Unlike the visions of the two men, she was not trying to shame or shun him. There was genuine upset in the vision, the young woman wailing for her life that was cut short. Appealing to the guiltier side of the conscience that assaulted him, James was left to rue his prior actions at that moment, blinking rapidly at her arrival. She materialised through the door, which was otherwise shut, flanked on either side by men who were far eviller than she was. Her loyalties may have been considered to be in the wrong place, but Aisling was not as cruel as the other two men. She could certainly dispense her own version of justice should push have to come to shove, but James prevented her from being able to do so when he killed her. He never wanted to have to kill her, nor did he want to have to kill anyone in an ideal world. Aisling's mistake was threatening the one person that he would do anything for, die for as he'd apparently proven to have done until he returned. That was why she had to die.

"You were a traitor too, Aisling". An unsteady James tried to reason his actions. "I… I never intended to… I never wanted to… to kill you… but you left me in a position that prompted me to".

"I did nothin'! All you had to do was keep yer mouth shut and ye'd have died a happy man! Ye just had to try to be smart didn't ye!"

"I did what was required!" He argued back once more. "You were a threat, not just to me but the rest of the city… the country! You threw in with his kind!"

Pointing at the Nazi Doctor to her right, James took a moment to glare at Kurt, who only laughed back at him. In life, he'd never met Aisling before, only ever hearing what she reported rather than being able to ask her in the flesh. She was the woman who brought him his precious advantage over James, news of his family and above all Erin, to torture him with repeatedly when he knew the Englishman would never risk her life. In the wider picture she was nothing more than a small time player in a much bigger game, yet in death she was of equal of value to either of the men she found herself stood in between. All three of them were victims of the man they were torturing, and whilst their contributions to the Axis cause varied respectively, they were all united in more than just ideology. Together, they were going to make sure that James could never outrun his past, not until he faced up to it one way or another.

"Aisling understood where the future was, James". Kurt growled. "Unlike you, she knew to be realistic with her future".

"Aye… I would have been a hero in time…". Aisling's voice was full of wonder, though it began to make James forget his regret of killing her. "You won't be, James. Yer just a murderer… that's all that ye are and that's all ye ever will be!"

"She knows too, James. Yer a fuckin' fraud!"

"You see James… everyone knows that all you are is a killer". Once again, Kurt lamented him. "Your destiny is to kill… your life is to take others away… that is what I made you into. My killer, James. My killer!"

He kept being told that he was a killer, but James did not want to see himself in that image. He was a gentleman not a murder, a mere victim of circumstance rather than a cold-blooded murderer. In that room, Kurt was the cold-blooded killer amongst them, not him. John-Paul and Aisling might not have been killers in their own right, but the former had contributed to many deaths during his time in France. The latter threatened the life of Erin Quinn, which was perhaps the greatest crime of all even compared to Kurt. At least it was in James' eyes when he loved the young woman, whose safety was not guaranteed with Aisling alive, so very, very much.

"It is not my destiny!" Finding resolve again, he shouted before turning away, not wishing to see their grinning faces. "I am not your killer Doctor… I am just a man who wishes to get on with his life, without having to put up with the likes of you. You should be dead… GONE! WHY DO YOU INSIST ON COMING BACK!?"

Temper lost, spittle flew out from between the gaps in the Englishman's teeth, as he spat the words out at them upon turning back again. The regret of killing Aisling evaporated when she stood there mocking him, so different to when she was as a mortal. It was not their right to come back into his life when he'd vanquished them all from the world. Dead men and women were supposed to stay dead, not conjured up by the pained minds of serving men that were having the memories of their duty blurred by the whimsical arguments of those whose lives they'd taken away. He'd rooted out evil, deceit and betrayal in killing them… it should have been enough. No closer to working out the truth about why they kept visiting him in the night, he was suffering again alone in a whirlwind of agony.

"We come back because you still have not learnt, James". Leading them yet again, Kurt was delivering the harsh lesson. "You are a killer, a brilliant killer with an advantage over every man in your country… and most in the world. The son of the King… you have been a weapon since the moment you were born and now you know how to kill. You accuse us of haunting you but we are trying to help you!"

"How can you help me when you mock me at every turn!?" He fairly argued in reply.

"To make ye see beyond her". John-Paul added, taking a step forward, leaving James in no doubt with whom she was.

"Erin's holdin' ye back, James". Aisling joined in too, an axis of evil, fitting for the three of them. "Kill her and ye'll be free. The world is yers! You have so much power and ye don't realise it! KILL HER!"

"Do it James!" Kurt egged him on too. "Fulfil your destiny and KILL HER!"

"DESTINY CAN BE CHANGED!" He yelled back, fists clenched, taking a step forward of his own, to almost become level with Kurt and John-Paul, only Aisling left in front of him. "You cannot predict that I would kill her, when I love her!"

His passionate defence would have most likely saw her knees buckle if she was there to see it, Erin being softer at the core than she sometimes portrayed. If she dared to visit him at such a time in the night, to watch him fight his demons when all she would see was a man shouting into the dark corners of his room, then there would have been a chance at reconciliation. She wouldn't have allowed him to stay as broken as he was. She was not there though, neither was anyone else, his passions falling upon deaf ears. Instead they fell upon dead ears, watching the ghosts of his past parade around in front of him, trying to dictate the future he had, which they'd been denied because of him. They showed him no mercy in death, just as he showed them none in life. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.

The destiny that they spoke of was one that he did not agree with, but that did not perturb the ghosts of his conscience. Whether he liked the path that he was on was not their problem, their problem being that he was becoming clouded by his own judgements, stuck in the overhanging branches of the trees that lined the path. For him to see his efforts in the future was not something that they should have showed him, yet there was no other way. If James would not accept that he was the killer that they all knew him to be, then the extent of the lives that he would take would have to be visualised. During his time in France, he should have understood the man that he'd become but in true British style, he'd fought against it when the odds were so against him. Those odds would be turned back in the favour of fate that night.

"Let us show you".

"No! GET OUT OF MY HEAD, DOCTOR!" James shouted, smacking the sides of his mind in desperation to remove their presence. "GET OUT!"

"Ye have to learn James… the future cannot be changed, yer destiny is to conquer!" John-Paul shouted at him, almost cackling by the end.

"NO!"

Suddenly, the rest of his bedroom that he could see in front of him previously was gone, remodelled into a different location altogether. Aisling joined Kurt to his left, the three ghosts taking a step back behind him to allow him to view his destiny unhindered. From behind his back, they could laugh together, knowing that they would when all of them knew what his destiny was. If they knew then so did his conscience that conjured their images up, the young banker telling himself that he was going to do whatever it was that they were going to show him. The tone that the Nazi and the Irishman spoke to him in told him that it was going to be far from the dream of family that he wished for. Erin was not going to feature in that future at all, not when they'd taunted him about killing her just moments earlier, believing her to be holding him back. There may have been some truth in the matter when he could not stop loving her, but her rejection of his love did not mean that she needed to be harmed… far from it. She needed to be cared for, especially when even the dead told him to be wary of Lieutenant Hamilton.

The scene was not familiar to him, but where it was taking place was. He'd not stood in the hall at the side of the church very often yet knew instantly that was where he was. All around him were turned backs, some suited and some in dresses, some old and some young. It was a celebration of sorts, decorations adorning the edges of the hall that were not there usually. Oddly there was sound too, James able to hear the mutterings of conversations without being able to pick up on their intricacies. Vaguely recognising one of the turned backs as his cousin's, Michelle's presence was one that began to make him wonder just what the occasion was. Her dress was white… perhaps it was her wedding day? Michelle marrying was a surprise to an extent when he thought her not to be the marrying type, but there must have been a lucky man out there. In the next second, he appeared to be moving forward, or the scene was moving towards him, another group coming into view ahead of him. It was then that he saw her, in a blue dress, one that did not suit her at all, almost suffocating her body. It made her no less beautiful though, it never would.

Erin.

She was there… she was his destiny. That was before he realised the catch, because more than anything that he knew when the scene was conjured by his conscience, he knew there was a catch.

In this case, the catch was a knife. A knife in his right hand that he saw when he looked down, that disappeared almost as quickly as he saw it. Jolting his head back up to see in front of him, the giggles of the three ghostly visions behind him began to fill his ears. They said they were there to show him his destiny for his own good but were clearly sickly satisfied by making him watch the man that he really was, not the one he pretended to still be. He stopped moving forward, and only then did the real horror begin. To his right, a figure strode into view, carrying the very knife that he'd been holding just a seconds before. The knife that was not real, for he did not keep knives in his bedroom.

When he caught the eyes of the man holding it, it was then that he realised that they really were trying to get him to understand that he was a killer.

He held the knife.

He was the one advancing through circles of others, towards the woman that he loved. The killer, whose eyes betrayed the instincts that saw him end the lives of those stood behind him. Fire was in those eyes, the raging fires of hell where he dispatched those at his mercy to their damnation. Erin was the only target of that man, following the instructions that the three of them were giving him. Kurt's killer off to claim another victim.

"It will be done, James…". Kurt whispered. "Sooner than you think…".

"She has to die, ye slimy wee English bastard". John-Paul did too, but with an additional grunt. "She was weak and yer stronger than her".

"Erin's worthless James… look at ye… ye know that… ye know ye have to". Joining in, Aisling did not withhold any venom. "That man there is the man that will rule the world. That's yer potential… yer destiny!"

It was not, but he could not find the words to shout. Paralysed with fear, the setting was far too real for him. People in the circles around him would catch his eye from time to time, smiling to him as if he really was there. Perhaps he was… perhaps he'd been awake for longer than he thought and was at the church ready to kill. He couldn't have been though. He just couldn't. Bedroom… that's where he was, his bedroom. Not at church or anywhere else, it really was just a vision. Too real though, it was far too real for him to relax. Especially when his greatest nemesis wielded a knife, heading for his beloved with only one intention. To end her life in front of all those around them in the church, to start the true path to power that his conscience kept telling him was possible, and if not already, inevitable.

"James?". She spoke his name, fear evident in her voice.

The version of himself that he was watching did not respond, he only moved closer, the knife being gripped ever tighter. The lust for blood was in his eyes, and the real James could only look on in fear at his apparent destiny, that he did not want to experience. If his destiny was to kill her, he was better off dead.

"No… no I would never do this!"

"But ye are doin' it James". John-Paul snickered. "You'll kill her, fella".

Unable to deny the truth that was playing out in front of him, he was fidgeting again, hands unable to stay still, heart pounding. He was never going to be comfortable when he saw Erin in pain, even if it was just a vision of an event that had not happened, and if he had his way, would never happen. He would never hurt her, he loved far too much to lay a finger on her. However, when he did not know the point in the future that the vision was taking place in, James knew he could not say that the destiny would not happen. There were many events of his past that he did not want to happen, but they'd occurred anyway thanks to fate. If fate and destiny were saying that he would one day be responsible for Erin's death, he could not disprove the theory. The mental strength he held was vast but not unbreakable.

"James… what are ye doin'!"

"James! James!"

"No!"

"James no… no please…". She began to back away, as he began to raise the knife. "JAMES! I'M SORRY! PLEASE!"

"NO! NO STOP THIS!"

"JAMES!"

"JAMES!"

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Rushing forward, the mortal James could not take it anymore. Intending to tackle the version of himself that he saw in front of him, he dived at the unsuspecting man. He was not going to allow Erin to be harmed, not when he loved her so much. If anything ever happened to her, and he failed to protect her from whatever harm that befell her, he would never forgive himself. He'd already failed her once by not being there when she lost their child, an absence that he regretted. It was after all one of the reasons why they were no longer together, Erin moving on without him when all he brought her was pain. No man, real or not, was going to harm her if he could stop them though. Except, so caught up in his belief that he was her loving protector, he'd forgotten that the man he was watching was not real. It was a version of himself that did not yet exist or if it did, he did not acknowledge it. His destiny wasn't there to be literally tackled.

BANG!"

Having leapt forward, his head bounced off of the bedroom door, stopping him dead in his tracks. A muscular man like him could have gone through the door with any additional velocity, but it was just enough to only leave a mark where his head hit it. Crying out in pain, he immediately realised how much of a fool he was, for acting so recklessly when there was no danger at all. He was back in his bedroom, not viewing the scene of her death like he had been moments earlier. Although he might have showed himself what he already knew, that he cared for her so much, he'd also given into his mental demons. They'd shown him a future that he did not want to live, and he'd taken it as reality, trying to stop himself from killing Erin whenever it was that he was going to. Showing such resolve once was not easy, and he would not be on the outside looking in if the situation was to come true. He'd hold the knife, his conscience in control of him. Killing her was not outside of his skillset either. After all, he'd killed before and, when the path his conscience laid out for him appeared to be bathed in blood and terror, it appeared he would kill again.

He would cry again too.

Cry because he did not want to be the man that his conscience was telling him he would become… because he was nothing more than a broken man, who spent nights talking to the ghosts that he'd taken the lives of, in a never-ending spiral of sorrow that would not break.

They were gone when he finally turned to them, his back against the door, his knees up to his chin. Yet they'd be back, he knew they'd be back.

James wasn't going to be able to take much more… not after that.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

His screams filled the air, of a night where sleep was hard to come by…

---

The day finally came for Shane and Sarah, who'd been very much patient after their engagement a couple of months prior. They were supposed to have tied the knot already, but a mix up thanks to Father Peter's incredibly poor planning meant the wedding was pushed back a couple of weeks. Both Sarah and her sister were absolutely raging, with only Gerry able to stop the two of them from committing a sin by murdering the Priest. He apologised profusely, though neglected to explain that he realised he was double booking anyway, but because he was having relations with the bride to be of the other wedding, his arm was rather twisted. He couldn't exactly let her down when she'd told she was interested in continuing said relations even after she was married. The firefighter could wait a million years if it was so required though, because whenever the day did come, he would be marrying the second love of his life.

Finding Sarah was a surprise after the death of his first wife, but Shane knew marrying her was the right decision to make. He could have been like James, albeit Erin was still alive in the other man's scenario, moping for a future he could not live. Before his transfer from Belfast to Derry he had done, an initial reaction of despair that came with the territory when experiencing such a loss, but he did not allow it to continue. Although they may have met in less than ideal circumstances when injuring each other, love could often blossom from such strange incidents. A happy accident in many ways, that Saturday would confirm it was the happiest of all. Closure was there for the both of them, him for a new chapter to begin in the eyes of the Lord and for her, the end of the time of her life without a reliable man at her side. Orla's father was a distant memory of times long ago, one that she did not revisit very often, not now with Shane at her side. Sarah McCool was to become Sarah Devaux, adding a continental flavour to a very unique woman.

During the week, the family all rallied around to make sure that everything was ready for the big day. Showing a significant amount of goodwill and generosity, she'd only had to work the first two days of the week before being allowed the rest of it to prepare. Shane wasn't allowed such luxuries in such an important job, but he would not be expected back at work until Monday at least. At the McCool and Quinn houses, without either of them present, the decorations that would line the church were being made. Even Erin, still affected by her Autumnal moods, put her efforts into helping out too. Mary, Anna, Gerry, Joe and Orla were all sacrificing the little free time they had in order to ensure that everything would be perfect on the day. Sarah deserved as much, as did Shane, throughout the week stopping at nothing to complete everything that was needed. Anna's organisational abilities rather saved them too, ordering the family around to maximise efficiency in a manner that no other six year old would ever be able to. She was even able to stop Mary panicking when she decreed that they would have to call in additional help. Dragging Michelle and Clare in wouldn't have been that much of a problem in her youngest's minds, but efficiency would certainly go down. When pressed for time already, they couldn't afford to lose anymore.

By the time that Saturday morning did roll around though, worries were vanishing from an organisational perspective. The family were all at the church at the crack of dawn, sans Mary who stayed with her sister at home to help her get ready for the big day. Joined by the Devlin's, including a surprisingly enthusiastic Sean who was more than happy to get stuck in, they decorated the church marvellously. When there was a war raging around the world, they could hardly afford the finest, but the makeshift decorations enhanced the vibrancy of the place. Church could often be devoid of any colour but for Sarah's wedding it was alive, royal blue and emerald green lining the aisles as well as the outer walls, flowers cut by Uncle Colm himself being present throughout. To make it a special day was the aim, and they were certainly managing it.

The wedding was scheduled to start at around quarter past ten, the first of three on the day for the priest, who only arrived at around half past nine. Quite where he'd crawled out from they did not know, though Michelle was bound to have some form of speculation for the community when she kept her ear firmly to the ground. By that time some of the first guests were already arriving, as well as Shane himself, having arrived with his friends. His best man was chosen from amongst them, all of them serving firefighters back in Belfast, who would have to leave rather rapidly afterwards in order to be back for their night shift. Although the morning might have been theirs for the wedding, the war did not stop for Shane and Sarah. There were other attendees too who would have to return to work, though no one in the close family was burdened with such pressure. No one who was at least fully accepted into the family that was.

One of Mary's biggest gripes about the wedding was one that she could do little about without causing a civil war at home, especially as it would have undone her husband's fine work of a month prior. Earlier that week, although she hadn't gone down to the docks to meet him, Erin made her mother aware that Lance was back from his training exercises. In no uncertain terms she told her that he would be attending the wedding with her as her guest, as well as any friends that he wanted to bring with him. Mary didn't want the Lieutenant there, or anywhere near her daughter for that matter when she trusted him so little, but there was nothing she could do to stop her. Revelling from knowing the position that her Ma was in, Erin spent the rest of the week gloating about it, only stopping when her Da told her that she'd done so enough. They weren't to ruin Sarah's big day by arguing about Lance, a statement reinforced by Joe too, though privately so that Gerry didn't think he was being supportive. When trying to stop arguments about one prick, he wasn't about to indulge another.

Spotting her fella walking in when she turned around, after having finished a conversation with her Da, Erin practically ran to him. She was so excited to see him, having only seen him very briefly during one of her lunch breaks in the week. Running to the docks and back on the day, she'd invited him to the wedding at the weekend if he could make it, which her fella said that he could. Even if he couldn't, she knew he would have found a way to convince his Captain that it was important for him to be there, even if he couldn't take his friends with him. He loved her so much that he would do anything for her. That was the image in her mind, on the other end of the scale from the reality of the situation that was hidden from her. The fact that he found her disgusting and would never ever hold any feelings of true love for her. Sticking to his plan, as well as the wager he held with his fellow officers, Lance had managed to rope his best friend Lieutenant Baker, as well as Lieutenant Commander Reeves into joining him. The three them were all wearing their naval uniforms, bright white coats standing out against the sunny background on what was a cold morning.

"God damn, she looks excited". Lance sighed, already regretting his decision to attend.

"You dragged us out here for this shit, Lancey boy, it's on you". Reeves commented in a snigger, matched by Baker.

The third man didn't have time to comment before Erin was close, aiming herself like a projectile and firing herself into Lance's arms. Slightly taken aback by the force that she arrived with, he almost struggled to hold her until he steadied himself after a second. The excitement of the day was clearly getting to her already, as well as her apparent delight at seeing him, a feeling not shared mutually. For the Yank, he needed to just get through the day in order to advance his plan. He'd decided not to take her to task about what he wanted when she'd visited earlier in the week, realising she wouldn't be around for long enough that day for it to go any further anyway. The day of the wedding wasn't going to be the day to conduct relations earlier, but he was going to make sure they spoke of it later on. He wanted the child off of her, and if he didn't have to resort to ungentlemanly measures, then he would not do so. Time was ticking though, and with the training exercises completed, he had more of an idea of just how much time he had left.

"Lance!" She cried out his name, holding on tight. "Ye look so handsome!"

A glowing comment, he didn't disagree with her when he thought so too himself. There weren't too many better-looking men back home than him in his eyes, not that his friend Lieutenant Baker would agree. He wasn't a bad looking man by any means, just not as good as he thought. Appreciating her comment was not a level he would stoop to when he cared little for what she thought of him, neither was he going to start appreciating the way she was clinging to him. Baker and Reeves were doing their best to not burst out laughing when she stayed there in his arms for what felt like a minute. Their friend's ridiculous plan was even more stupid when the chosen woman for it was so attached to him, when the whole point of it was to not have any attachment.

Eventually, to the Lieutenant's relief, she did loosen her grip on him, feet planted firmly back onto the floor.

"What do ye think?" She asked, running her hands along her dress. "I made it myself a couple of weeks ago, so I did".

One of the advantages of working at the factory, and developing her skills, was that Erin was very much able to make her own dresses. When there was spare stock at work going unused then Meyler was happy to look the other way if she wanted to use some of it. Her dress was turquoise, hugging her figure rather than being loose fitting. For November it was probably best to be when it was cold, but it did also squeeze the living daylights out of her torso. She hadn't meant to make it as tight fitting as she did but thought he would appreciate it more as it showed off her body to him. It was not exactly the right message when she was worried about the physical side of their relationship, yet at the same time it made her more confident in being around him. One day she was going to have to give her body to him if they were to be together, so there was nothing wrong with her showing it off a little first to give him a preview.

"You did a very good job, Erin". He remarked, grinning. "I can see why they send you our broken shirts".

"Aye, I'm pretty good". She snorted.

Turning her attentions away from her fella for a moment, she took in the presence of his friends. The more the merrier was the message as far as the family were concerned, knowing that Sarah would appreciate a fully stacked out church of guests, even if she didn't know half of them. There were a lot of people that she didn't know that were there, many of the old gossips from Sunday mass ensuring that they did not miss any of the weddings that day. Father Peter actively encouraged the support too, though many families like the Quinn's, the Mallon's and even the Devlin's stayed away. Although he might have been looking forward to Sarah's wedding, Sean couldn't stand dragging himself to others each weekend. He was far happier skulking around the church at night, helping out with keeping the place in good shape, than he was with sitting on the back row for a wedding of a couple of people he did not know.

"Thank ye for coming fellas. It's real good of ye to".

Deferring to the senior officer, Baker was going to leave it to Reeves to answer. Internally growling at having to speak to a woman who was not worth the time of the day for him, he was going to have to say something. He could have offended her deeply, to attempt to cause a division between her and Lance in order to win the bet, but he decided not to be so callous. Whilst being unable to complete his plan was frustrating Lance as much as it was, he was more than happy to allow the show to continue for a little while longer.

"No need to mention it, Miss Quinn. We can't stay for much longer after, but it was the least we could do".

"The place looks nice". Baker deflected into making a comment about the church. "I ain't seen a church with so much colour before".

"Ach well, me Aunt Sarah's a colourful character, so she is. It'll suit her".

Lance remembered the woman, mostly thanks to the fact he happened to be there in the Quinn's back garden when Shane proposed. She certainly did seem quite colourful from what he'd seen, though a lot of the Irish appeared to be. He might not have seen his future there, but he could see why many would. There was a spirit to the city of Derry that he did not see back home, a real sense of community as opposed to multiple families living separately from each other with little distance between them back home. He wouldn't miss too many things about the city where he was stationed when they did finally set out to complete their combat duties, but he would miss the spirit.

"Do you know where we're sittin', Erin?" Lance enquired with her, her hands having found their way into his.

"Aye… just here to the left".

They were only a couple of rows from the back themselves, but it suited the American officers. At the end of the ceremony it meant that they could get away, Reeves and Baker at least, without too much fuss. Lance had the authority to stay longer than they did, securing shore leave from the Captain who was very much understanding when his Lieutenant put on his best act. Telling the Captain how much it meant to Erin to have him there was not a lie, but it was not a truth that he could stomach either. Convincing his superior should have been a difficult task and would have been for any other man. Lance was a talented manipulator though, leaving him able to talk his Captain into allowing him to stay for almost the entire day. He would have to be back by nine o'clock that night, but that was time enough.

"I… I would have sat with ye but…". Erin hesitated for a moment, fidgeting. "Mammy said I couldn't and Daddy said I shouldn't… ye know, cause a scene".

"That's understandable, you should be with your family". Her Lieutenant replied, a warm smile upon his face. "We'll see you after, don't worry".

"Aye… ye will. I best go".

Standing up on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his cheek, much to the concealed amusement of his friends and fellow officers. Baker and Reeves could have howled with laughter when they saw the flash of disdain across the young man's face, Lance hating having her show him affection when he did not care for her at all. She was not in the slightest attractive, not that she needed to be for his plan, making his stomach churn with nausea whenever she kissed him. Knowing how uncomfortable it was for him, his friends thought it to be just as entertaining as any of the new pictures they were shown from back home. For him, it was very much a case of 'frankly my dear, I don't give a damn'.

Erin dashed off just as quickly as she arrived, running back to her father's side where the final preparations were being made. In the absence of his wife, Gerry was rather running the show that morning, much to Joe's annoyance. Using his position as de-facto leader of the day, the southerner placed his father in-law in charge of his brother. Joe's main task was to make sure that none of the guests required medical assistance or a coffin after listening to Colm rabbiting on about pointless nonsense or the Nazi's, as he occasionally did. The last thing that they wanted was for the day to be ruined by talk of Hitler. They were, naturally, seated on the front row as a family, how it should have been even if Erin did not fully agree. Orla and Marie would join the Quinn's on the front row too, a true family lineup at the front of the church.

"Oink Oink!" Baker muttered.

"Johnny!" Lance growled. "Come on man, someone might hear you!"

"Relax Lancey boy…". Reeves put an arm around his shoulder. "Johnny can't help it if she looks like a little piggy… but don't you worry, it's only you who's gonna make her squeal!"

Rolling his eyes at a predicament of his own making, Lieutenant Hamilton didn't join in with the sniggering of his colleagues. She might have been perfect for what he needed, a woman to carry a child to continue his bloodline, a child that he did not have to care for, but she did not arouse him in the slightest. As much as he hated her, her mother was arguably more attractive, a thought he refused to entertain for more than the fleeting second it popped into his mind. The three of them were all going to have to put up with her being around for the short term at least, when they wouldn't be heading out to battle just yet. The silver lining to the cloud was that Reeves, Baker and the rest of his friends would have to suffer her company too. They wouldn't be asking Anna back onto the ship though; she was far too smart for them all.

"Who the fuck is that?"

Baker had turned his head back to the entrance, and his comment enticed both Lance and the Lieutenant Commander to turn too. There was a new arrival at the church as the clock struck ten, one that appeared to have a unique power. A place of worship that had been the hub of conversation just mere seconds earlier, was left almost silent by the arrival of the man in the doorway. There was only one man in the entire city who could command such a response, somewhat ironically when any man of a similar background would have faced the vocal protests of the whole community for just being there.

That… was James Maguire.

"Fuck…". Lance whispered out, mostly so the old ladies didn't hear him in the now silenced church.

"Is that?" Reeves asked, his question laced with implication.

"Yep… that's him".

"Lance…". An equally startled Baker muttered. "He's… well I mean look at him".

"Oh Lancey Boy, he's way more better-lookin' than you boy".

Lance knew he was and hated the Englishman even more for it. A man with a scar across his face shouldn't have been so good-looking but it gave him a rougher appeal, contrasting perfectly with his gentlemanly nature. He didn't need his friends to tell him that he could not hold a candle to the Englishman, who was rugged yet handsome, smartly dressed but with no arrogance about him. He silenced the room because of those looks, many of the women around becoming dreamy-eyed as they watched him walk down the centre aisle. If Erin was even the slightest bit attracted to him still, the American knew he could not compete with the pilot. James was simply superior in every possible way.

"Look at all those badges…". Baker said quietly, voice still kept low to keep in line with the general hush around the church. "What rank is he!?"

Drawn immediately to the sleeve of the Englishman, the Americans were in awe. They'd seen officers of an incredibly high rank before they'd left, men with more badges on their sleeves than brain cells in the minds of some. James was different though, as he always was, a young man wearing a uniform that signified a rank that was wholly out of place for someone of his age. He shouldn't have been the rank that he was when he was twenty two years old, especially when he'd only actually had around a year's experience as a pilot in the Fleet Air Arm. The majority of the rest of his war was fought trying to return home, an act that he did not need to be reminded of.

He would have to pass the Americans on his way to his own seat, which was further up than there's. Martin and Deirdre were already in situ waiting for him, as well as Michelle, who was running late that morning, so much so that her parents left her behind. They'd not even seen which dress she was going to wear by the time they left, leaving Deirdre to wonder whether or not she would be administering the wooden spoon later on. Moving to the end of the aisle, swapping positions with Lieutenant Baker, Lance was going to make sure that if anything was said, it was said to him. James was a threat to his plan and wanting to show his fellow officers that he meant business, he was going to be the one to take charge of any conversation. James, spotting the change, almost couldn't resist. His distrust in the American remained.. enhanced if anything by the ghosts of his conscience.

"Lieutenant Hamilton". Coming to a stop, James nodded as he addressed him. "How good of you to make it".

"James…". He replied warily.

Baker and Reeves could see the tension between the two, neither of them now laughing. The two of them could see immediately why the Englishman could be a problem to their friend. As well as being a lot better-looking in Reeves' opinion, there was also a vast muscular difference between the two. That alone didn't guarantee that in a battle, James would be superior, but the retired pilot had combat experience that Lance did not. The silence that he'd commanded, which was now gone, was spectacular too, a man with clear influence that would not be an easy man to be rid of. They didn't even know the half of it, nor did the majority of the rest of Derry. James was the heir to the throne of the whole of Britain… he was no ordinary opponent.

"Who are your friends?"

Quicker to cut through the tense air, James took mental command of the situation, something else that he was well versed in. He might have been struggling to win mind games against the ghosts of his past, but in that past against some of those ghosts when they were mortal, he'd achieved victory. His survival and subsequent escape from Rome relied heavily upon his mental capacity, turning the tide against Kurt to force him into mistakes that eventually led to his death at the end of Mary's wooden spoon. If the Yanks thought they were smart or authoritative then they were wrong, and when Lance threatened as much as James thought he did, there were going to be many more battles ahead.

Going along with the introductions, in the hope it might force the Englishman into moving on from them, Lance's blood boiled inside. Luckily, from the front of the church, Erin hadn't seen a thing.

"This is my best friend, Lieutenant Baker…". He introduced the lesser ranked man first, Baker dipping his head in a greeting. "And Lieutenant Commander Reeves".

"Mr Baker… Mr Reeves… it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance". The gentlemanly mask went up as James introduced himself.

"Gentleman, this is Ja-".

"Vice Air Admiral James Maguire, Fleet Air Arm".

Brutally cutting Lance off as he tried to pass him off as nothing more than an ordinary citizen, which according to the records of the Fleet Air Arm, he now was, James solidified his control. He didn't miss the fiery look that the Lieutenant sent his way, nor did he care that one was given. Showing his dominance over the inexperienced officer, the Englishman was also making a point to his friends to. Revealing his rank to them, even though he'd retired at it, showed them what he'd managed to achieve in such a short space of time. Whether or not they were threats to Erin too he could not say, but if they were then he was going to leave a first impression on them that would make them at the least hesitant in the future. Yet remaining the gentleman that he still tried to be, his arm was extended out, hand ready to shake either of the American officers. Both Baker and Reeves complied with the gesture, much to Lance's annoyance.

"I am afraid I cannot stay to talk, gentleman, but I am sure we will cross paths again". James spoke to them all, indicating his departure. "Goodbye for now".

All three of them offered mutterings of a departing gesture as they watched the Vice Air Admiral walk off towards the row that he was on. Sporting a navy blue jacket, as well as a cap, James was wearing the full uniform that day. At times in the Med, he wore a light fitting version of it, as well as shorts, due to the intensity of the heat that he faced. His presence in the centre aisle was still turning heads, plenty of men and women alike commenting on how well presented that he was. A scarred man both mentally and physically, he was still a finely dressed young man that appeared to be as devilishly attractive as he was when he'd first arrived in the city. One woman that did find him attractive but was not present was Charlene, who'd not been invited to the wedding nor decided to go anyway. Although she was beginning to gain control over her feelings for the Englishman, being around him in such a setting for so long would drive her stir crazy. She'd never be in Sarah's position with him… a sad but very much true fact.

Approaching his Aunt and Uncle, the two of them were waiting with wide smiles on their faces. He'd not seen too much of them since his birthday, other than one Saturday evening when they decided to visit, once again without Michelle. She was at the Devlin's that particular night they visited, to the complete fury of the patriarch of that particular household, allowing them to make the trip out into the country. Appreciating their care for him once more, the three of them made conversation for a good couple of hours, Kathy being the main discussion point. Deirdre's regret of not having made true peace with her sister in the flesh was one that would stay with her forever, but through James she could at least understand the woman Kathy had become. Although he couldn't be completely honest with all the details that he knew, James could make an inspiring tale that featured elements of the truth along with fabrications. His mother deserved to have some sort of mythical status as a legend, for she would never be allowed to be remembered as a hero by the public. It could not be risked.

"Deirdre…". James addressed her first. "You look beautiful this morning… as you do every morning".

Shaking her head lightly at his praise, she was quite immune to his charm thanks to their familial ties. There were other women who'd practically collapse if her nephew told them that they were beautiful or at least have a complete mental breakdown as they tried to comprehend it. She'd made the effort that morning though, as Sarah's friend, to dress to her best. Martin too, finely attired as well as having his hair, or what was left of it, slicked back similarly to how James normally had his.

"Aye well beauty does run in the family". She commented dryly in return after a couple of seconds. "Look at you… that uniform really suits ye".

"A special occasion called for special attire. I cannot say that I will find much use for it outside of a wedding like this".

Retired as he was, there was no need for him to even be wearing the uniform that day. Serving officers would understandably have to wear their best, like the American officers were behind him, but James was no longer a serving officer. He was not representing the Fleet Air Arm in any capacity, official or non, he was simply there as a family friend. Using the slight pause after he finished speaking, he glanced up to find a waiting Shane at the altar, nodding to him after the firefighter caught his eye too. He didn't seem as nervous as the banker expected him to be, but then again, he'd forgotten that it was the man's second attempt at marriage. Michelle gave him some more of that story from what she'd found out through Orla, albeit some of the details were vague if not completely made up. That was not a surprise when it came to his cousin nor Orla.

"Is Michelle not joining us?" He enquired, finally taking his position on the row next to his Aunt.

"She'll be here…". Deirdre sighed. "Her time keeping skills have left a lot to be desired this mornin', I tell ye!"

"Love…". Martin warned her softly. "I'm sure she's just trying to look her best for the day. Ye know what Michelle's like".

They all knew what she was like, James nodding to agree with his Uncle too. She was a show stealer when she wanted to be, with good looks that could very much achieve such a feat. There were a lot of lads in Derry that almost foamed at the mouth when they saw Michelle, some of them having been able to live out a wild fantasy with her. Those days of hers were long in the past, her relationship with Clint stopping her from continuing her previously deviant behaviour. A calmer, mature young woman stood in her place, one that was looking ahead to the next chapter of her life despite her previous worries about commitment. The American that she'd found was gradually erasing those fears, even if a future with him would be a terribly complicated matter…

Zoning out once more for a moment, James' attention turned to the Devlin's, who were a row further up than them on the right hand side. There were others on the row too, some of Shane's friends at the far end, as well as an additional member of the family. A very much temporary one. James' plan to convince his employee Jamie to act as Clare's fella had worked, though at some cost to himself. The young fella was very much reluctant to agree to the task without any financial incentive, having protested quite strongly that he did not find the diminutive blonde attractive. What he did find attractive was the money that James offered him to act as that man, at least until the end of the year, if not further. He was stood at the end of the aisle that they were on, next to Clare who was finally at some sort of peace. Her gratitude to Jamie knew no bounds, keeping her Da in check and buying her a lot of time in order to rethink the future. She was indebted to James too, his plan not being perfect when it meant resorting to bribery, but it was better than the chaotic one that Michelle made, which ended up with the death of the Bishop's nephew.

The church appeared to go silent again a few seconds later. James could not be the cause a second time around which meant someone else had to, most likely someone who'd just arrived. His Aunt and Uncle were equally confused, the three sharing looks of confusion before looking over their shoulders to see what was going on. Martin and Deirdre couldn't quite see right to the back, but positioned on the end of their row, James very much could. The show stealer he'd thought about just a minute before was doing exactly that, which also left the organist at the front very confused. Suddenly the entrance music for the wedding started to be played, those who were sat suddenly rising to their feet. Father Peter soon told the man to cut it out though, because it was not Sarah that appeared at the end of the aisle… it was Michelle. Her mother was going to kill her.

Catching the funny looks of many a churchgoer, she'd made a decision on which dress she was going to wear, and it was a poor one. From their position at the back, the American officers began to snigger when they saw her, though they were not the only ones. There were a few confused children too, who immediately asked their parents about the woman walking down the aisle, to have their parents explain that she was not the one who was getting married. It was understandable that they would be confused though, exactly how it was understandable that there were some in the church who were completely outraged. Michelle noticed the growing tension around her when murmurings of conversation did not return, covering the last few steps to the row her family were stood on, very quickly indeed. Not that she was going to get an easy time from them…

"Michelle! What on earth are ye doin!?" Martin seethed a whisper at her, as they all shuffled up to accommodate her.

"What!?"

"What do ye mean, what!?" Deirdre took over. "Yer wearing a white dress to a wedding! Sarah's gettin' married, not you!"

Michelle really had made a mistake. There were a lot of items of clothing that she could have gotten away with to wear that morning, but not a white dress. The white dress was something reserved for the bride not one of the guests. The organist was understandably confused, just as much as Shane was quite annoyed, because from distance it looked as if Sarah had arrived. She would have been a couple of minutes early if she had done, but instead it was Michelle's arrival that was serenaded. Deirdre had on many an occasion thought about ripping into her, but none more so than that morning at the church. Of all of the questionable deeds that her parents knew of, she'd gone and topped it by wearing a white dress to a wedding when she was not the bride. It was embarrassing for the family, to say the least.

"It's a cracker dress, so it is! What does it matter if it's white or not!" She argued, snarling at her mother.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Michelle!" Deirdre argued back. "What were ye thinkin'!"

"Yer mother's right". Martin interjected before she could reply, doing so calmly. "Ye can't be wearin' a white dress to a wedding, as a guest!"

"So what do I just take it off and stand here in me bra and knickers?" She responded, aiming the question at them both, over the silent James. "You's need to calm down, it's fine!"

"It's not fine Michelle! We'll be havin' words later, ye can be sure of it!"

When Deirdre Mallon told her daughter they'd be having words, they definitely would be having words. There were only a few minutes left before the wedding begun, and Deirdre was going to have to calm down very rapidly. She was absolutely Jack the Ripping at her daughter for her insolent, ignorant behaviour. An apology to Shane would have to come at some point, though she was wise enough to know she would be doing it on Michelle's behalf. Stubbornly not listening to what her parents thought of her attire, she was proud of herself for the effort she'd made. Finding the chance to dress herself up so well did not come along too often thanks to the war, a rare one being taken. In her mind she looked absolutely stunning regardless of whether she was wearing the right colour dress, a radiant warmth to her on what was a cold November morning.

"Yer quiet". After a minute of cooling off, Michelle turned to her cousin. "And ye look well… Christ… really well".

"Taking in the experience, Michelle… and thank you. Despite… well, you know, you do look rather stunning this morning".

She was also immune to his charm, though only just. It did make her question whether God existed sometimes, it being James that was. Why did the Lord have to go out and make such a handsome fella both English and a member of her family? If he wasn't tied down by either of those connotations, then she would have been all over him from the minute that she saw him. As much as it felt odd to think it when they were related, he was without doubt the best-looking man in Derry. She was unable to think of anyone who got remotely close, from a sample size that was hardly small when she knew just about every fella, one way or another.

"Full of compliments as usual". She laughed, swatting his arm. "Come on James, it's not that bad… the white dress".

"You are correct, Michelle, there is nothing wrong with the dress. If anything, you are attracting a lot of attention from everyone else in here… though I would cast doubt on whether they are paying you compliments".

"Catch yourself on…". She started, before pausing to realise that perhaps he was right, and she did not quite know what to say. "… they… they're… they're probably talkin' shite about yer wee cap!"

Nobody in the church was making any such comment about James, all eyes very much firmly fixed on Michelle. His cap, which he was going to have to take off before Sarah walked down the aisle, was far from an eyesore. It was another reminder to all of those in the church that he was a high-ranking officer, as well as an astute gentleman. The insignia of the Fleet Air Arm proudly inscribed on its peak, he was honoured to be able to wear it to such an event. James was the greatest officer that the branch, and possibly the whole of the country, had ever seen and wearing his full regalia, allowed him to feel like one again. He might not have missed the conflict, or the suffering that the war brought, but he did miss being in command. Although he was now the manager at the bank, it was not the same as leading the 815 Naval Air Squadron.

Luckily, he didn't have to dwell on that past for long as the entrance music soon started up again. This time without the confusion of having Michelle stood there.

On the arm of her father, Sarah McCool was ready to walk down the aisle, to marry the man that she loved.

---

The wedding ceremony progressed without any issues, other than the few choice looks that Michelle received. Fortunately for everyone involved, James was sat next to her for the full service, able to calm her down when she threatened to poke the eyes out of the next person who looked at her. Deirdre managed to withhold her rage too, though it was only a temporary measure until they returned home that night, where she would tear shreds out of her daughter. Martin would join in too, although he didn't really need to when his wife would have a lot to say. Michelle was going to learn the hard way, and if that meant bringing the wooden spoon in to assist her than Deirdre was not bothered.

Whilst he was sat down next to Michelle throughout the ceremony, attempting to calm her down, something dawned upon James. He'd told himself before he went out that morning that he would attempt to forget the events of the night, doing so masterfully until his subconscious caught him off guard when he started to relax. Thinking back to his dreams of the night, he remembered a peculiarity from them which he would have done instantly, had he not been in the process of repressing such memories. Michelle was wearing a white dress in the horrific scene that was played before him, which he assumed was the scene of her own wedding. His mind jumped to wondering whether it was going to be later that day, until he shook off the thought as an absurd one. The ghosts of his conscience would lose if it was meant to be, because he would not submit to his apparent destiny as Erin's killer.

After the ceremony finished, a reception was being held in the church hall, another part of the vision that James quickly shook off. The hall was decorated like it was in that vision, though it was always going to be when the occasion called for it. A lot of the attendees at the ceremony did not stay for the reception, which was only meant to be for close friends and relatives. A couple of the old gossipers attempted to intrude, but Joe was very quick to send them on their way, Maureen Malarkey being one of them. When the two of them locked eyes, Mary was worried that an almighty row would erupt but Joe kept his cool and ejected her without too much fuss. The same could not be said for everyone when it came to fuss…

Lance didn't stay for too much of the reception, mostly because he was bored out of his mind, returning to ship hours before the deadline that the Captain had set him without speaking to Erin about what he wanted to. Before he could go though, Michelle took him task when Erin was out of earshot, laying into him. From afar, James was trying to work out what was going on by reading their lips, though he already thought he knew the answer. Despite serving upon the same ship as the Lieutenant, her fella Clint was not granted the same leave. Unlike the three Americans that did attend the wedding, he was not an officer, but when they were allowed the amount of shore leave that they were, she was fuming that Clint was not allowed just one day. As much as she didn't like it, she understood why he could not have the same privileges when he was of a lower rank, yet he didn't seem to have any freedom at all. Defending himself stoutly, the Lieutenant told her that there was little he could do when he did not command Clint's section, permission needed from the officer in charge of his section for him to be able to attend. Michelle didn't believe him at first but eventually let the issue go, before she stormed off outside to smoke and calm down. It wouldn't have been an event in their sphere without some sort of drama playing out.

James found himself engaged in many conversations to begin with, from his Aunt and Uncle to even one with Colm, though he timed it perfectly with the need to go to the toilet so it didn't last too long. By the time he returned from the loo, Colm had moved onto someone else. Eventually though, as some impromptu dancing begun in the hall, he was left to his own devices at the side of the room. With only a solitary glass of water for company, he was left to cast his eye over proceedings, watching as Clare attempted to continue the ruse with her Da by dancing with Jamie. The two of them nearly made each other fall over it was so poor, both of them arguably having two left feet, made worse by Clare cacking it whenever they get close to each other. Sean was satisfied though, the most important part of it all, James smiling when he saw how happy the man was. It might not have been the most ideal situation, but his friend was much happier with her Da off her back, for what was only a small dent in his finances… and his employee's dignity, not that he was too bothered about that.

Momentarily taking his cap off, he ran a hand through his slicked back hair, sighing. He didn't want to think about it too much, but as he looked around to see couples together, he realised just how alone he was. There was no one there by his side anymore, no one for him to dance with or hold hands with unlike many of the others in attendance. In his greatest dreams he would have already been a married man, a ring on his finger with hopefully a child on the way. The future he pictured during his many hours of torture and confinement, the dream that kept him fighting on through the horrors he experienced. That future was not there anymore, not with the only person that he could have ever lived it with. Erin moved on without him, but he was not able to move on without her. There was no one else that measured up to her standard in his eyes.

Realising he was lost in his thoughts about her, when it was far from the appropriate time to be, he sobered up just in time when Joe appeared just in front of him. For once, he was a strange sight to behold. The father of the bride's most important duty was giving her away during the ceremony, but Mary had roped him into another one during the reception after. A large cake was made especially for the occasion, a lovely lemon cake that James had already enjoyed a piece of thanks to Anna, who halved her slice with him. When there was quite a lot of it left, Joe was left to distribute it out around the crowd, to see if anyone wanted anymore of it. Orla certainly was keen on finishing it off, as well as her little Marie who seemed to have inherited the sweet tooth of her mother, though they were strictly told they could not have anymore or they'd both be sick. It was to James that Joe went next, cake ready to be cut and offered.

"Alright there son". Joe enquired, his brows slightly furrowed.

"Yes… Yes I am quite alright, thank you, Joe". He replied, before taking a sip of his water. "You have my congratulations, I cannot imagine how proud you are of Sarah".

"Aye". He grinned widely, a most uncommon sight for Joe. "I never thought it'd happen but… well that Shane… he's a prick but he's our prick now, so he is".

Chuckling at the comment, James found it amusing how Joe accepted other men into his family. During his time of acceptance, which wasn't officially over though it most definitely was not the same, he'd only found hostility with Joe for around thirty seconds. For whatever reason, Shane and Gerry could not escape his ire, the latter having been subjected to abuse for so many years. Without having him say it, James knew that the man held soft spots for them both in reality, otherwise they would have been nowhere near his family. He seemed to enjoy keeping them on their toes with his nasty comments, but it was all part of the special extension of love that he offered. It was tough love, but it was still just that.

"I did not ever think I would see you as a waiter". James joked, earning himself an eye roll. "I suppose we all have to do what we must to win this war".

"Watch it son, I might just throw this cake all over ye!"

The threat was not a serious one, the two laughing together about it. Mary would kill him if the cake went to waste anyway, and a death in the family was to be avoided on Sarah's wedding day. The bride and groom were enjoying themselves with a wee dance of their own, taking centre stage of those dancing, the two very much in love. They were having to keep the noise down somewhat though, as the next wedding was taking place in the main part of the church, which would not feature a reception there after. There was a meagre turn out for that one, a younger couple being married with only a crowd of their immediate family and a few gossips for company.

"What do ye make of Lance, then?"

Joe looked James directly in the eye as he asked the question, a demand being issued rather than an opinion sought. Having witnessed their earlier exchange when the Englishman arrived at the church, as he was heading out to meet Sarah, he knew that they knew each other better than just the day that the Englishman returned. He'd also had little time to talk to James since the young man came back from captivity, not that he'd spoken to him that much during his prior spell in the city. He held a great admiration for the fella though, a lot more so than he did the American. Hating the Yanks as much as his daughter was not a description that could be pinned upon Joe, but his levels of trust were not high where they were concerned.

"I think it is clear that he makes Erin happy". James answered carefully, in a tone that was gentlemanly rather than honest. "I cannot say that I dislike him when he does".

"Really?" Joe, unconvinced, raised an eyebrow in reply.

"Of course. As long as Erin is safe and happy, then what complaint can I make about him? Unless you know something that I do not?"

Teetering on a dangerous cliff edge, James was prepared to when he knew how much Joe respected him. There was a wry smile across the older man's face, which the Englishman tried to interpret, not that he would get a straight answer. Joe was far too long in the tooth to be fooled so easily, able to tell that James was being diplomatic in order to hide away his true feelings on the matter. It was a very English trait too, one which couldn't be helped even if his mother was Irish. Growing up in London clearly rubbed off on the young man, who was one of the best Englishman that there was out there. As much as he wanted James to tell him what he truly thought, he could appreciate his hesitation.

"I don't know anything, son but… these Yanks… they've caused a lot of trouble since they got here". Joe mused, sighing. "Nearly been here a year and they've done nothin' to get this war won!"

"They do need to be trained first, Joe". James reasoned with him.

"Aye but look at you! You were off on duty after a couple of months! I tell ye, there's something about them…".

Far from the only person, not just in his family, that thought that way, Joe's thoughts were not entirely unproven. There were new mothers in the city that birthed the bastard children of American sailors, some of whom were off fighting for their country, with no intention of returning to sort out the mess they'd left behind. Families were seeing their reputations destroyed because of it, with many of the children being taken away from some of the young mothers, who were not seen so frequently anymore. For some there was even the prospect of joining a convent in order for their family to live through the devastating comments of the community that turned against them. Some of the Yanks stood by their women, but they were very much in the minority. The last thing that Joe wanted, was for Erin to fall victim to such a despicable fella… and he already had his misgivings about Lance.

"I understand". James stated bluntly, to Joe's surprise. "I am inclined to agree that there does seem to be something… strange… about their behaviour".

"That Lance fella too?"

"Yes, but I cannot say anything because I understand how it would look".

"Ye can tell me, son". Joe urged him, his voice getting gruffer by the second. "I want to know… I won't have that bastard ruinin' Erin's life!"

"I… I cannot work out why but… his presence makes me feel uncomfortable. His demeanour… it just does not seem quite right".

To have Joe on his side was a blessing, but between the two of them there was little that could be done when Erin was in love with the fella. Acutely aware that his own misgivings could easily be brushed off as jealousy when Lance was living the life that he was supposed to be, tangible evidence was hard to come by. Everything came back to the night of Aisling's party though, when the two properly met for the first time. His avoidance of saying that he would treat Erin correctly still perturbed the Englishman, who did not like it at all. It was far from a difficult question to have to answer but the Yank managed to by delivering a warning off his own. Although it was obvious why he did not want James to interfere in his life with Erin, the banker couldn't help but feel there was more to it than that. Especially when the ghosts of his conscience were inclined to agree…

"Ye think he'll do something?" Joe pressed on, beginning to growl if anything. "If you think he will then we need to…".

"We cannot do anything, Joe". James interrupted him, speaking honestly this time. "Erin loves him and we cannot say for certain that he is in any way a danger to her. All you can do as her Grandfather is keep a watchful eye over her".

"And you?"

That was a question he was still trying to work out himself, having put it across several times. What was he going to do in the future? One day, Lance was going to have to go off to fight but he was not going to just muscle in when the other man was away. From what he'd seen, Erin didn't want to know him anyway, making it impossible to force such a relationship if their connection was truly lost. It burned too brightly his end, difficulties being found in trying to negotiate day to day life in the city when he did not know when he might next run into her. Moving away was fanciful thinking when there was a war on, as well as when the Ulster bank needed him, but after the war was won, he did not have to stay. There was nothing for him in London anymore, apart from the father and family he would never be able to acknowledge properly, but a start afresh somewhere in the country was not out of the question. Derry was surprisingly welcoming to him, making it a harsh decision when he'd enjoyed the respect he'd commanded. However, other than his immediate family, who'd lived just fine for years before without him, there was little else to keep him there. Only Erin, who did not want him in her life anymore.

"DA! DA!"

Mary's voice was the one that they heard, before Joe turned to follow James' eyeline, where he found an approaching Mary. She was rushing over at almost a jog, with a look of worry on her face that made both men frown. Quickly glancing around, James tried to find Erin in amongst the various groups but he could not, instantly making him worry that there was something up with her. He tried not show the concern across his face, but inside he was already beginning to worry. The love that he held for her was that overpowering, it could turn him inside out within the blink of an eye. He and Joe moved forward in unison, James leaving his glass behind, well away from the wall where they were, almost towards the centre of the hall as she came to a stop.

"What's up, love?" Joe queried with her.

"Ye need to come with me, now!" She frantically announced, before turning her attention to the Englishman. "I like yer cap, James".

Blindsided by the compliment, he wished Michelle was there to hear the praise it was receiving after she'd harshly critiqued it. He even blushed slightly, a very rare reaction from the usually unflappable young gentleman. The young gentleman that everyone around him knew that was…

"Thank you, Mrs Quinn. Is… Is everything alright?"

"Don't worry yerself son, it's my Da who I need". Mary told him softly, putting his mind at ease.

"Why? Ye've already got me serving cake like a butler, what else do ye want out of me!? Beethoven's fifth!?"

Ignoring her Da's rather flamboyant and exaggerated argument against her, Mary did not care what he thought. There was a family emergency on the day of her sister's wedding, one that he was going to have to fix rather than anyone else.

"Colm's got some young girl cornered so he has, talking about the strawberry shortage of May twenty eight… the poor girl's wastin' away!"

"Oh Christ, not the feckin' strawberry shortage! Alright, where is he?"

"I'll take ye to him".

James didn't want to know about the strawberry shortage, having been on the end of Colm's conversations before. It was not a position he was interested in taking up again. He did feel for the poor girl, whoever she was, who was most likely having what was a joyous day ruined by the fella going on and on when it was not necessary. He couldn't help being such a boring fella, but his failure to recognise it was quite astounding. As he went to chuckle about the situation, he suddenly found his empty hands full, two objects thrusted into a hand respectively from Joe, who'd turned back around to face him.

"Look after these would ye… I can't be cutting cake while I'm doing that".

Before he had any time to complain, Joe was gone, following Mary to the other end of the hall where Colm must have been. The banker couldn't see all the way to the back of the hall, so he decided not to follow them with his eyes, instead looking the other way to see who else was around him. Left with a sizeable amount of lemon cake in his possession, his primary concern was a divebomb attack from Orla, who might try her luck when he had the cake rather than her Granda. Marie might also try to sweeten her way to a slice of lemon cake, but James was not going to let them when he could tell they'd eat so much they'd make themselves sick. It wasn't just the cake that was in his hand though.

That was when he knew where he was.

When he could no longer just shake off the coincidences.

In his right hand was a knife, one that was lined with the crumbs of lemon cake but was still sharpened enough to be a deadly weapon.

Cold sweat began to pour off of his forehead after just a couple of seconds, panic setting in as all of the coincidences he'd tried to ignore were coming back to remind of the visions of the prior night. The church hall was decorated in the exact same fashion as it was in the vision he was allowed to see, groups mingling together exactly how they had been during it. He wasn't stood in the same position as he had been as a witness in the night, but he knew where he was stood and that made it worse. He was stood where the version of himself that he did not want to see was, holding a knife, with only one destination in mind. Slowly, he looked up, and saw what he hadn't been able to a couple of minutes earlier.

A group of three were just a few metres away from him, two men with their back turned to him and one woman. Unlike the dream, he could tell who the men were, his uncle Martin and Gerry Quinn. And the woman… the woman was Erin.

His destiny was unravelling in front of his very eyes.

He was the killer, not the bystander, the man who was setting out to end the life of Erin Quinn in order to continue along the road of ultimate power. Kurt's killer.

A cold shiver ran through his body as another thought assaulted his mind. If he was stood where the killer was, with the knife, then there might be others stood where he had been in the night. Tilting his head whilst shaking, the fear of the situation he was in beginning to overcome his natural defences, James found to his horror, that the thought was correct. They were meant to be the ghosts of his conscience that came out to play at night, but there they were in the day, all three of them, ready to torment him again. To anyone watching the young Englishman, it looked as if he was staring off into the distance but to James… he was looking at the nightmares of his past.

Aisling. John-Paul. Kurt. A full house.

"Your destiny awaits you, James". Kurt whispered, forcing James to turn his head away, squinting.

"Go on James!" John-Paul urged him. "She's all that stands between you and the world, fella!"

"Do it James! Make her pay for her weakness!"

Joining in on the condemnation of the young woman that he loved, Aisling's words cut into him, the pilot struggling to function. He didn't want to kill her, didn't believe in the destiny, yet there were so many signs that told him that he was going to. Everything was the same as what he'd seen in the night, except he was the murderer James Maguire, not the gentleman. Glancing down at the knife in his right hand, he was fighting the murmurings of his conscience that told him how just it was for him to carry the weapon. It felt comfortable, the handle gripped to his palm, even when his body was pouring cold sweat out of every orifice. His heartrate was increasing too, an irresistible march once again being drummed around his body, the weight of the world crushing his poor burdened shoulders.

He loved her but… it felt right.

Suddenly, his legs were in agreement. James moved forward, the knife entering a vice-like grip in his hand as he strode forward. The movement was not as confident as it was in his vision but then neither was he. Erin was his beloved, the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, but she was not going to live that life with him. Her path was veering off to a different course, to a road that he did not have a part on, that was laced with the danger of Lance, who was not a good man at all. They'd even warned him that themselves, to goad him into taking her life when she could not see it. He wasn't able to see his own eyes, but they were transfixed in the same way they had been in the moments before he'd shot Aisling dead. The killer instinct within James was alive and well.

"KILL HER!" They whispered the taunts at him.

James continued to step forward.

"KILL HER!"

One step…

"KILL HER! KILL HER!"

Another…

"KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!"

They were chanting at him to do it, urging him on to fulfil the very destiny that was shown to him during the night. Purposefully, they'd not told him that he would be experiencing it just a few hours later, to ensure that he would comply when the time came. Erin Quinn's crimes to the world, the loss of the child and her cold, dismissive behaviour of the Englishman upon his return would be answered for. She would die by his hand, allowing James to begin a quest to rule the world, his weakness no longer holding him back. A man always had to face his fears, the difference for James being he would end the life of his, to begin the start of his own future. She'd failed him, the thoughts that he'd never for one moment considered ran through his mind; she was the failure, not him. He might not have been there, but it should not have mattered. It was Erin that abandoned their future, therefore she would have to deal with the consequences of her actions. The knife was brought up higher… ready to be plunged into her. Repeatedly.

"KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!"

The voices egged him on from where they stood, though James would not turn to them. He would not indulge them anymore than he already was. He was trying to fight back to, the better side of his conscience forcing images of their summer together back into his mind. The number of thoughts he was balancing on his mind would have been enough to break most men, but his pain threshold was incomparably high. She was the woman he'd seen a future for, who he'd loved so dearly, trying to remind himself desperately as he fought off the thoughts of the voices in his head, of the ghosts of his past. They were louder than the positive thoughts of love…

He would do it… he would act as destiny commanded.

Erin was going to die.

"KILL HER! KILL HER! KILL HER!"

It was then that she saw him, over her Da's shoulder, advancing slowly towards their little huddle. She could she the knife in his hand, but it didn't concern Erin at all. It was just James after all. What did make her frown was how pale he looked, a colour that made him look as if he'd just seen a ghost. He'd happened to have seen three, not that she knew, his skin a deathly tone of white that did not belong on the skin of a human being. She couldn't quite make out the sweat that was pouring off of his forehead, but it was there alright, some of it beginning to trickle into his eyes. Martin was rambling on about something, that she hadn't been that interested in anyway, which left the young Quinn in the position to cut him off, to address her former fella's appearance.

"James?" She questioned.

As she called his name, Martin stopped, joining Gerry in pivoting around to find the Englishman almost alongside them. The knife was raised just above the objection in his other hand, but there was a soulless look about the man that was concerning. The two of them saw how pale he was too, which was unlike James, who was often so full of colour. He'd stopped moving, as if he wanted to say something to them all, though he only made eye contact with Erin. If it could even be considered eye contact, when he looked so dead behind the eyes. Both men were worried in an instant, though they too did not count the knife as anything out of the ordinary when accompanied by the object in his left hand.

James did indeed have something to say to Erin.

One last word before he did it.

Before he made the first cut.

"Cake?"

The saviour of the hour, was the lemon cake in his left hand. Seconds before she'd called out to him, he looked down to his left to see the cake there. The cake that reminded him that if he was going to kill her, then he was not just cutting off one piece… he would be destroying his whole life. He was not on a crazed power trip like the ghosts of his conscience told him that he was, there was no rush for glory that began with her death. Erin was his life, her existence being worth him living for so long, the place she occupied in his heart making her too valuable to just remove. Killing her would only make him break himself… it would not mend the past nor would it dictate the future. There was no future without her being alive in it, and even though that future was bleak when they were not together, there was always hope… hope that one day, she would come back to him.

He could not do it.

He would not kill her.

"No… no I'm grand thanks". She replied, frowning tightly still. "Are ye alright?"

"Ye… yes… yes I'm fine, thank you". He responded without being very convincing at all. "Are… are you?"

"Aye".

"Did Joe rope ye into serving that cake to people, son?"

Gerry broke up what he could see was an awkward conversation, doing do subtly but deliberately. It was the first time he'd seen the two interact after he'd intervened with Erin, and though he was glad that she hadn't ignored him like when she had on his birthday, he was still struck by how tense it was. For once it was not on Erin's part but James', the young man appearing to be unwell if his colour was anything to go by.

"Yes… yes he… he appointed me rather suddenly". James replied, shaking slightly which did not go unnoticed. "Would you excuse me a moment?"

"Are ye sure yer alright James?" Martin questioned, a tone laced with concern.

"I am perfectly fine, Martin. I just need a moment's air".

Allowing James on his way, Martin shared perplexed looks with both Gerry and Erin. None of them could quite work out what was wrong with the Englishman, although it was starting to get quite warm in the church hall despite it being a cold day. Soon enough Martin went back to what he was saying though, James' odd display almost immediately forgotten. Apart from at the back of Erin's mind, where she registered it. She didn't quite know why, nor did she think about why she was going to remember it but if she went into her conscience for the answer then it would tell her what she was not sure she could hear. That she still cared about him a lot… far too much for someone who her Da said she didn't even have to be friends with. Deep down the buried feelings of their magical summer together were still there burning away, the embers never truly fading away.

For James though, examinations of his conscience were not so calm.

As soon as he'd found a spot to leave the lemon cake and the knife, he bolted out of the church hall into the cold. Avoiding the second wedding which was just finishing, as well as getting involved in any conversations in the hall, he went around to the side of the building, finding himself a spot that even cruelly brought back memories. He'd surprised Erin there before, the morning after they'd first made love, when she'd made up with Clare after an argument they'd had about him. He'd held her so tightly that morning, never wishing to let go. Over three years later, he could not even get the smallest fingertip of a grip on her to make him feel complete again.

He'd very nearly killed her that morning.

A thought he couldn't quite believe he'd actually had. The reality hit him harder than the nip of the unkind air, that bit at everything else around him.

Sliding down the wall, he covered his mouth so that nobody could hear his screams of agony and anguish, the sorrowful terror that was tearing him apart mentally. The ghosts of his conscience might have been wrong about his destiny, but they'd driven him so close to committing what would have been a cold-blooded killing. There were at least reasons behind the deaths of the three figures of his past that haunted him, but there was no justification beyond jealousy if he'd killed her. Erin might have sometimes deserved a reminder of who she was; she did not deserve death, by his hand or anyone else's.

His knees were up to his head, his cap having fallen to the floor beside him as he buried himself away from the world.

A world that was a net, closing around his lone fish in the wider ocean.

James Maguire… falling apart.