Chapter 3

If my legs felt like rubber before, now they felt like the raw sap from the rubber tree that made the rubber. As I stood in front of the colonel, feeling as naked as a newborn even though I was fully covered, I thought I might collapse. Why didn't he say anything? He just sat there behind a sort of desk, looking at me through half closed eyes. An intimidation tactic, no doubt, and it was working...very well.

"Sir?" I ventured a question. "May I at least know why I'm being detained here? I've done nothing wrong."

"I'll be the one to decide that," he snapped and then continued to stare at me, his gaze roaming quizzically up and down my figure. When he finally spoke again, I jumped. "What's your name?"

"L-L-Laura. Laura Hanson."

A small smile spread across his face and he let out a barely audible sigh. Relief? "So I'm not losing my mind after all." He chuckled, and stood, coming toward me with slow, deliberate steps. "I am still a little confused, Miss Hanson, about your attire. We took you for a young boy."

I glanced down at my jeans and flannel shirt. "Oh, right. See, women where I come from wear these kinds of clothes all the time." I reminded myself that I was just in a camp of re-enactors...crazy re-enactors...but somehow I didn't feel any better. The key word was crazy. This man, though devilishly handsome, was nothing short of crazy.

"Where exactly are you from?" He pulled his hands behind his back and glared down at me, standing so close I could feel the heat of his breath on my face.

"You wouldn't believe me anyway." I shrugged, and looked to the ground.

"Try me." He spoke in a voice so soft I had to look up. Yet the softness was deceptive, for there was no such gentleness in his expression.

"Very well. I come from a different time period. From the future. Three centuries future, to be exact, although we are still at the beginning of the 2000s, so it hasn't been exactly three hundred years yet. But the 1700s, 1800s, and even the 1900s have all passed." I realized I was babbling, and snapped my mouth shut.

The colonel stepped back, both eyebrows arched, a sardonic grin spreading across his face. "Three centuries future?"

I offered him a shaky smile and looked back down. "I said you wouldn't believe me."

"So...women in the future will dress like men. How about this war? Who wins?"

"Uh-you won't like my answer, and at this point in the game, you probably won't believe that, either."

He snorted out a laugh. "You don't expect me to believe you disorganized, lazy, ungrateful bunch of colonials are going to win. It is easier for me to believe you have traveled back in time."

An involuntary laugh–likely because of my nervousness–bubbled out of my mouth. "You know, you should go to Hollywood. Whoever you are, you're a very good actor. I almost believe you're an 18th century British soldier."

"Officer. Green Dragoons. And why wouldn't you believe that I am such, since that is what I am?"

I suddenly became tired of the game. This was just too freaky. I wanted rather to sit over a cup of coffee and have a good laugh, together with this handsome man, about all that had happened so far. "All right, you're really good, but this has gone far enough. I'd really like to go find some normal people, now. You know, from the current year?"

With a shake of my head and one last lingering gaze at the "colonel", I turned to exit the tent.

A vice-like hand clamped down on my arm, whirling me back around to face him.

"Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in, Miss Hanson? Don't ever walk away from me unless I give you permission to do so." He drew his lips into a tight, thin line. As he breathed through his nose, I had the impression of a mad bull ready to charge. At least he was wearing the red, not me.

"Please, Colonel, or whatever your name is. It's been fun, but I'd really like to get back to the farm. Uncle Dave is probably up by now, and worried about me."

"Are you a spy, Miss Hanson? Or just a common horse thief?" He grabbed my other arm, squeezing with such force that involuntary tears sprung to my eyes.

"Ow! Now you're hurting me." I tried to pull away, but his fingers just tightened further.

"I'll do more than that, my dear. If you have lived in this area for eleven years, then you know who I am. But in case you've forgotten--maybe your little close encounter with death erased important facts from your mind–allow me to refresh your memory. You Americans call me The Butcher." He paused, I suppose to let that information sink in. "And do you know why I am called that?"

"Uh...when you're not re-enacting, you work in a meat market?"

"Do you think this is some sort of joke?" His nose was almost touching mine. The angry flash in his eyes was no act.

I bit back the words, yes, I do think it's a joke, but not a very good one, and shook my head.

"No, sir. I'm sorry." Bits and pieces of oddities ran through my mind. The wierd weather, the quick changes in temperature, the wind, and that suffocating cloud. The paved road turned into dirt. For that matter, that old time fence that I knew Uncle Dave had never put up around his house. Could it be–? But no. It wasn't possible. I must have fallen off of Shadow and hit my head. Had I died and gone—? Nah. This wasn't bad enough to be--and certainly not pleasant. And since I didn't believe in that in between place...There were several options. I had traveled back in time. Unlikely. I had fallen and hit my head, and was lying somewhere unconscious, and having this very odd experience but only in my head. Possible. I was still in bed, and this was one really wacked out dream. It all felt too real to be a dream. The re-enactor theory I had already begun to discard.

"Miss Hanson, are you even listening to me?" The colonel's voice pulled me back to my current predicament.

"I'm sorry. I didn't hear you. I'm trying to figure this out." My head began to throb. So that was it. I had fallen off Shadow, hit my head, and now I was about to wake up. The tent began to spin. The ground beneath my feet pitched as if I stood on the deck of a clipper ship in the middle of a storm. I blinked, trying to clear my vision, but the colonel became one big red and green blur. "Uncle Dave, I'm sorry." I gasped. "I'll try to come out of this."