Arc II

Chapter XI

Pandora's

"You can tell much about what was, only from what it's left."

Diana Gabaldon — Dragonfly in Amber

"I know I shouldn't be doing this, but there's something that might help you understand," Aalem said as he broke the embrace slowly, careful not to startle the woman weeping in his arms. Alex swallowed, now that the young Edenian was giving her a moment to wipe her face and regain her composure; her curious eyes followed the boy as he stood up and made his way to the cowboy's wardrobe again where he began the intricate search for that treasured, private bounty he knew too well to pretend it wasn't there, within his reach, for him to grab and expose to the woman in need of something more than just mere gestures of sympathy. The mercenary had tried to murder her – Aalem knew he would have to go to extraordinary lengths for the crystal-like, fragile stability of the trio to be finally restored and even so, he still held some reservations about the potential success of his decision. She had seen an undressed Black – now it was time for her to see a truly naked Black.

"Bear with me," the kid let out clumsily, now that he was almost buried under a pile of old ponchos and battered trousers. After a few moments of struggle he finally emerged from the dark dwelling in the confines of Black's wardrobe; his features triumphant and radiant as he held a medium-sized wooden box between his proud hands.

He moved nearer the puzzled woman still sitting on Black's bed as he brushed off the dust from the box with careful hands,

"If he ever finds out that you got your hands on this –" he began as he raised an eyebrow anticipating the loyalty he was about to demand from Alex - "I had nothing to do with it." He handed her the box and she took it almost immediately. The intrigue, thick and constantly evolving, was making it hard for her to quiet the voices gathering inside her head. Her eyes inspected the cracks and the extensive damage reflected on the surface of the box; definitive signs and perpetual brands inflicted by the cruel mechanism behind a clock talking about the incessant passing of the years and the never-ending, ruthless pedagogy of time.

"Of course," she nodded solemnly as her fingers caressed the delicate surface. Loyalty demanded and loyalty assured, the contents of that box were about to open the gates to a mystery she had yet to discover; the bond between the Earthrealmer and the Edenian was now sealed by a tacit pact of mutual trust and treasured understanding.

Aalem nodded in silence as a warm and welcoming expression of gratitude set on his face – suddenly she wasn't that annoying little person anymore; now she was about to cross that fortified frontier separating those allowed into the mercenary's past and those who would die without even catching a glimpse of his true persona.

"I'll go now. You better do this on your own," the young Edenian suggested softly as he reached for the door, "are you going to be alright?" he asked with his right hand already touching the doorknob.

"I think so," Alex's quivering voice was somehow reassuring. She had exposed such profound sadness and turmoil it wasn't easy for the boy to leave her alone yet he knew, deep down, that those things waiting to be found inside Black's private Pandora's box could potentially redefine her perceptions and that moment – that crucial, unique moment was made for her eyes and her eyes only.

"I'll come back in a while, we have to leave everything as it was – otherwise, he'll notice," the boy sentenced before finally leaving the room.

She opened the box delicately; as if afraid it might break after all those years in secluded secrecy. Most of the papers Black had chosen to preserve were already ruined by the merciless passing of the years, making it almost impossible for Alex to read them. The ink, subjugated by time and its inclemency, was now a blurred pattern witnessing the extinguished existence of people and places that were long gone by now.

Her digits kept on searching through the contents of the box – even though she didn't even know what she was looking for she assumed that there would be something worth seeing, worth reading, worth finding; otherwise Aalem wouldn't have given her the chance to explore the cowboy's secret redoubt of memories worth keeping. Discovering nostalgia in Black was already a powerful, groundbreaking milestone per se yet she was certain that hidden under a thin layer of yesteryears' dust she would find something else.

She frowned, as her eyes adjusted to the yellowish light emanating from the torch – the antique touch of amber was perpetrating a luminous glow that added to the atmosphere: the past, unfolded before her eyes, was a sight of ancient smoke and legendary dust tearing apart the barrier of the frightening time-space continuum. She raised an eyebrow, as the first true valuable discovery of the evening appeared as an epiphany summoning all kinds of faith: there was a Bible in the box.

Even though she wasn't certain the book was actually Black's its sole presence among his treasured mementos was a complete enigma. The thought of Black as a religious man felt foreign and almost unreal but Alex soon realized that the Bible itself wasn't the bigger prize: there were two photographs hidden inside the blue-covered book. The images, now too thin and grainy to be examined thoroughly, felt rough to the touch and seemed too fragile to be held by Alex's nervous fingers. The faces were mostly blurred but even so, she deduced those were Civil War pictures. There were names written down at the back of each photograph; Black's handwriting making it clear he wouldn't forget those moments:

"Ashworth, Bennie, Kid Rolland, Baker, Chapman, Cole and me. Brownsville, Texas. November 1863." A bunch of soldiers, all carrying weapons, were embracing each other. The overall image of their faces seemed somehow happy, maybe even joyful, but it was impossible to fully appreciate those visages or even recognize Black among his fellow comrades.

The vision of war was accompanied by the portrayal of love and tenderness as if they were counter measuring the blood and the gore of civil havoc with their souls.

"Nurse Anna-Marie Myers and me. Laredo, Texas. March 1864." A lovely young woman, straight dark hair about her shoulders, was gleefully smiling next to a soldier boy that looked an awful lot like Black. Their faces, more visible and distinguishable than the ones in the previous picture, were opening the window to a distant past Alex felt too foreign to completely appreciate it.

A man of nostalgia, religion, and love – that simply didn't sound like Black's description.

She sat on the floor with the box on her lap as she carefully inspected the young couple in the photograph. They both looked very young in the picture yet the dark haired lady looked even younger than the soldier – in her face, traces of the child she used to be were exposing an incipient adulthood, embroidered with the last laces of naiveté that the mayhem of war would definitely shred to pieces in no time. Their fingers were intertwined and the shared body language was showing a kind of proximity very similar to the one found in the early stages of a timid, new-born love affair. The spark in her eyes; the definitive way their youthful smiles were screaming of a caring, wholehearted affection was heartbreaking: that woman next to Black was the image of purity itself. After a moment of deep contemplation, Alex rolled her eyes and sighed, exasperated, as her mind couldn't quite understand how rummaging through Black's past was supposed to help her see the man under a different light. Yes, he had a past; but a past would always be a birthright for everyone. She scattered his memories on the floor, right next to her legs - besides unreadable pieces of paper, a lovely green hair ribbon, two train tickets – the date and destination too blurred to be read or maybe even interpreted - and the two photographs there was also a Derringer pistol, a Butterfield revolver, a rusted medium-sized knife and a brown box of cartridges, half-empty. Only when she reached the bottom of the box she understood why Aalem had shown it to her: there was another blue-covered book, slightly bigger than the Bible she had previously found. Its edges were burnt and most of its pages had clearly been consumed by the cruelty of fire yet the truth, evident and within reach for the first time, was beginning to show. The word "Diary" in capital letters and the name "Anna-Marie Myers" were written on the cover. Alex took the damaged book; the sandy texture of the paper making her fingers dusty – the words written on those pages that had miraculously survived the fire were almost unreadable by now yet the nurse's private journal was not what the young Edenian had in mind: safe inside the diary, almost intact in spite of everything, the letter was calling her on; summoning a past she wasn't sure she should be visiting yet it was so diaphanous, so inviting she couldn't help herself.

Carried by a tourbillion of questions and emotions, Alex unfolded the centurial piece of paper as her eager eyes traveled through the young nurse's perfect calligraphy:

Brenham,

March, 29th - 1865

Dear Mamma:

Now I can clearly see why you didn't want me to come here – it's the blood spilled and the smell of burnt flesh what should be keeping me up all night but, truth be told, none of those things could actually make me shed a tear right now. You see, as days go by, sensitivity is slowly leaving me; it's just as if death and horror have become part of this landscape, and there's nothing we can do about it.

I wish you were here to hold me, to tell me everything's going to be alright. Guess he's right, after all, and I'm just a little girl playing nurse when I should be home, playing with my dolls and getting new dresses.

I have followed Erron to an abandoned liquor store a few miles away from the battlefront – the place is not a home, as you can surely imagine, but at least we are safe for now and all those haunting, agonizing screams from our fellow soldiers can't wake us up in the middle of the night anymore. This reality has become much too grim, Ma, and Erron's certain – the South is about to fall and we don't want to be here when that happens. He has plans for the future, you know? He says he's going to talk to his uncle and become a miner; I don't know if I like that idea but he's made it perfectly clear that he's not going back to Arroya when this is all over, he says there's nothing for him there besides the suffocating dust and his bitter memories. Though sometimes I doubt it, you know? – Maybe the memories are more suffocating than the dust…

I trust you haven't told Papa that I'm with child – I can't even bring myself to believe this yet and it pains me so much to know that he'll feel that I've brought disgrace and dishonor upon his name. I know this is not the way he would have wanted this to happen – an unmarried daughter, his only daughter, pregnant with the child of a soldier that he doesn't even know yet… I still haven't told Erron either, I just don't know how. Sometimes he's just so absorbed in his own world that he seems to be unreachable, it's like he's right here with me but long gone at the same time and it breaks my heart to know that he's still probably mourning his mother when I'm about to tell him that he's about to become a father… I'm afraid it might break him inside, it really frightens me to think that this lovely boy left his hometown and joined a war because he had nothing left to lose, he just wanted to die – but now the South will fall and things shall change; who knows everything we'll lose when that happens? And when the baby comes he's also going to lose that solitude he has treasured ever since joining this fight. I know he's not ready to become a father, he doesn't want to be ready, that's for sure – but what can I do? How am I supposed to force him into accepting this whole new life when he probably doesn't want to be a part of it?

Every night, when I'm about to sleep, I can hear your voice telling me that I shouldn't have followed him, that he didn't seem right for me but trust me, Ma, it was inevitable. I feel like air escapes me when he comes near me and I can't breathe, I cannot move, for he has become both the air in my lungs and the ground beneath my feet. I knew I loved him instantly and, truth be told, I know becoming a father is not what he wants – but all I can do is hope; hope that this child will make him come back down to me, hope that there will be a happy ending for us – once this war is over, once we're a family.

Please don't think less of me, Ma. I'm sure you know I would never do you wrong.

Please kiss Papa for me, I miss you both greatly.

Annie.

A man of nostalgia, religion, love – and a father.

The parental image of Black rocking his baby gently, tenderly in his arms was all she could see. His past was Medusa, she finally understood; it could turn him into stone the minute he dared look back.

But why did he have that letter? Perhaps Anna-Marie had changed her mind at the last minute, maybe sending that letter was not a good idea after all. The darker thought was simply too excruciatingly sad to be even considered: perhaps she never got the chance to send it.

Aalem entered the room to find Alex still sitting on the floor – a collection of mementos from Black's past was still scattered all around her. The woman had folded the letter again and placed it inside Annie's journal where it belonged yet her hands were still clinging to the blue-covered book, unable to let go.

"We should put everything back in its place," the boy suggested as he stood right behind her. His voice was timid; barely audible, as if frightened to startle her.

"I never thought of him as a man capable of sentimentalism," Alex let out after a few seconds in silence.

"He's not," Aalem answered as he kneeled beside her, his hands already collecting the western memorabilia and placing most pieces of Black's past back inside the box.

"Then why did he keep all this stuff?" She asked, not entirely rhetorically, as she finally handed him the journal.

"To remember, mostly. But also not to forget."

"Remember what? Forget about what? The events of a previous life that he clearly neglects; that he has evidently buried deep inside of him? People who have been dead for ages now? These things should not mean anything to him by now; or at least that's what he's been so adamantly trying to show the world: that he doesn't give a shit, that he doesn't have a past, that nothing truly reaches him," the coarseness of her voice, intrinsically related to the questions she was asking was blunt and certainly challenging yet she knew those unspoken answers were evident and undeniable: there was definitely more to him; he wasn't just a cold-hearted bandolero. He had colors, and shades and shadows and all those hues and tones were reverberating together inside the same chaotic prism.

After a moment of complete silence, she stood up and finally cooperated with the young Edenian. She opened the wardrobe and they put everything back into place.

"To remember what his life could have been like," Aalem let out without making eye-contact, "and to make sure he never forgets the ones who made him the man he is today," the young boy went on as he reflected upon his employer's most intimate raison d'être as he gathered all ponchos and trousers and started folding them carefully.

And what kind of a man is that?

Her eyes inspected the boy – there were just too many questions waiting to be answered; too many riddles waiting to be solved: each one of the objects inside Black's box had its own tale to tell.

"I know the whole story but I won't tell you, it's not my secret to share. I merely showed you that he's not the man you think he is but I can't be sure if he'll ever trust you with his story; now you have to choose: stop now and accept the simple fact that there's more to him than meets the eye or keep digging. But if you are going to keep digging all I can do is warn you: it doesn't have a happy ending," the boy shook his head, an expression of penitent sorrow set on his face. He eyed the woman briefly, as he moved closer to the wardrobe, his hands and forearms busy with the cowboy's clothes. Alex took one last look at the box; now that it was about to be buried in the banality of clothes and accessories: opening that box had just been like peering through a magnifying glass pointed directly at a very distant past, she reflected. An ellipsis of time and space, connecting an Earthrealm she had never seen with the one she missed so dearly.

She took a step back, still moved by the tiny pieces of a mysterious story she had just begun unveiling. The truth, ignited and evident, hit her hard as a rock: the mercenary was still a stranger to her and she was, equally, a stranger to him - they didn't really know anything about each other. She had tended to his wounds, he had played her on multiple occasions, he had clearly desired her body, she had hurt him, he had freed her, she had followed him, he had tried to murder her and kiss her almost simultaneously, she had seen him naked, now they were sharing a cabin in the mountains – yet they didn't truly know anything about each other.

"Comfort for him may have come a little too late," she pondered, her weakened voiced was almost whispering those words letter by letter as her eyes witnessed the cruel closing of those doors, forever secluding that lovely boy who had left his hometown and joined a war because he had nothing left to lose from the coward bastard who had tried to end her life while she was asleep. Everything in between the lovely boy and the cruel bastard was a muted parenthesis.

"Who said comfort ever came?" Aalem mused out loud as he grabbed her by the shoulder and started to walk towards the door and the woman groaned slightly as the young Edenian's careless touch suddenly brushed the back of her shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. How is it?" The boy asked, ashamed and partially embarrassed at his own clumsiness.

"It's fine, it's… it's really nothing." She began, conciliatorily. "It's just a scratch."

"I hope it doesn't leave your skin marked for good," the boy said, a sheepishly raised eyebrow exposing his genuine concern.

"I hope it does," Alex contradicted him, "to remember, mostly. To make sure I don't forget," the tone of her voice was softer than before as she echoed his words. "Why don't you go now and relieve Black from his surveillance duties? The man didn't get any sleep last night and it's a long way to the palace," she patted his shoulder gently, reassuring the boy that she was alright. "Tell him to come over, maybe rest for a while, I'll make dinner for the three of us." The sweet, caring thoughtfulness of her speech was covering her true intentions: she really wanted the boy to leave; she truly wanted to be left alone so her mind could be free to wander through Black's past with no curious eyes flickering nearby. The boy nodded, as he reached for the cabin's front door:

"You didn't think he was always like this, did you?" The question was honest, and honesty was all the boy was demanding from her.

Alex shrugged timidly as she struggled to find the right words to say.

Aalem noticed her fruitless effort and nodded quietly as he finally obeyed and left the cabin – she was alone again, her restless mind re-reading the mental copy of the letter she had forged with her tired neurons. The image of Black as a caring, gentle man in his twenties seemed somewhat surreal to her, the sole picture of his arms rocking a baby to sleep was enough to make her blood boil with questions and speculations that only Black himself could put to rest.

"Aalem said you suggested I rest a little," Black surprised her – the inquisitive eyes of the wolf dwelling in him staring at her impatiently. "How thoughtful of you," the irony encysted in his words, in perfect concordance with the raised eyebrow, was cold and uncomfortable; as if he knew she was actually trying to find a way to get rid of them both, even if only momentarily, to be free to venture herself into his confusing past once more. Black walked straight to his bedchamber and Alex followed him – her intentions barely hidden by a gesture of honest preoccupation.

"I was wondering, coming back to the list…" she began with her hands resting on the doorframe, "there are some things I need in order to complete my new medical kit, but I don't know if they can be acquired here in Outworld."

"With some time and patience almost anything can be acquired here in Outworld," he retorted nonchalantly, as he sat on his bed and took off his boots.

"These are simple things though, nothing complicated. Syringes, for example. Cannulas, needles, a stethoscope… I used to have my kit but it's long gone, you know?"

"Just add them to the list and give me some time to gather all you need. And close the door as you come out," He commanded harshly.

Alex, with her lips pressed tight, took a deep breath and grinned bitterly at him before going to the kitchen – that cold-hearted bastard had successfully gotten under her skin once again. She rested her forearms on the counter as she retraced the events of the previous night in her mind, his aggressiveness and his unleashed demons now shinning under the lights and shadows cast by Annie's letter and their picture together: her innocent face was calling her on; the way he had one of his arms around the young nurse's waist – the complicity; the cruel adoration that lies deep within any tragic love story - it was all too complex, too complicated to be understood.

Would Annie be able to look at him now with the same devotion in her eyes as she did back then? If she knew the things he was capable of; if she knew the man he had become – would she still love him as she had clearly loved him back then?

The woman was so caught up in the mercenary's shadowed past that she didn't hear his footsteps approaching her - "I really can't sleep," Black said, his baritone voice had successfully surprised her once more as he walked up to her. "I hate it when this happens; it's like I can only sleep at certain hours and if I don't I just go on and on, you know?" He scratched his forehead as he leaned his weary bones against the nearest wall.

"It's called sleeping cycle, and yours has clearly been altered," she explained as she turned around to face him, "your age doesn't help either."

"Oh, really? How so?" He asked, the fake curiosity in his eyes reaching out to the woman as he crossed his arms over his bare chest.

"As you get older, you sleep more lightly and get less deep sleep. Aging is also linked to shorter time spans of sleep, although studies show you still need as much sleep as when you were younger," she concluded. "Although none of the books I read on the subject talked about bicentennial people."

He frowned, displeased.

"This is the second time you assume I'm 200 years old. I'm barely 173," he raised an eyebrow gallantly as a timid chuckle escaped his lips.

"173 years old and you still remember your age? You're a living miracle," she mocked him, as she lowered her eyes breaking eye contact. "I bet some of my teachers would pay millions to have you for a day or two and study you."

"That's good money…"

Even though he was practically laughing at himself the woman was lost right in front of his eyes: their conversation had unexpectedly reopened a door she had presumed locked.

"See? That's one of the things I miss from Earthrealm the most," Alex paused, her unfocused eyes were accompanying her musings. "Studying and researching, and spending time at the library," she had forgotten the reason why she had chosen to stick with him no matter what: she wanted him to help her get back home.

"On a more personal scale; I also miss my family, my friends, my boyfriend – in case I still have one; it's been so long I don't even know anymore," she sighed as she recalled all those faces, all her beloved, treasured ones hidden inside her inner Pandora's Box.

"You and I remember Earthrealm very differently," the cowboy expressed with a voice softer than ever.

"What do you miss about it?"

He shook his head as a frown took over his face once again.

"Come on… There must be something you miss," she was smiling suddenly, her eyes seeing the vivid images of all those faces and places she was hoping to see again someday.

"Toothpicks," he finally confessed, nodding quietly to himself with a sign of serene self-assurance after being silent for a moment filled with what seemed to be deep meditation. "And dogs," he proceeded, his eyes brightened up as his words escaped his lips, "I miss having a dog around." His lips curled up slowly, "I got Reptile but… it's just… not the same, you know?" His broad smile was ominous yet calm – that was, finally, a genuine Black.

"What brought you here, Black?" She dared ask him as she moved nearer. Her interrogation seemed somewhat familiar as she recalled it: it was the same question that she had asked him some time ago; the unexpected lighthearted moment they were sharing had somehow triggered it, retrieved it; it had helped it resurface yet its meaning had changed, mutating those words into something new: it wasn't that unscrupulous, poisonous dagger she had thrown at him back then; now it was a softened but luminous beacon in a tunnel that had been dark for far too long. He smirked, his eyes never leaving hers, as he wondered what to answer – it had been so long he himself wasn't even sure what to reply.

Suddenly her expression changed as an idea set on her mind surreptitiously - inspired by Annie's letter the thought was strong and clear: it had a weight of its own. She took a step back and tapped her fingers fervently on the counter as she fully shaped the idea inside her brain; then she looked back at Black and said:

"I wonder, now that we've talked about how almost everything can be brought to Outworld, how about things going the other way around?"

A puzzled Black felt relieved that the woman had somehow put that heavy question in the backburner yet he was intrigued by her sullen, intricate proposal.

"I know you said you wouldn't help me get back home – but what about a letter? I could write a letter to my family to let them know I'm okay, to…"

"And what would you write, exactly?" Black stopped her train of thought, interrupting all her outspoken elucubrations.

"I would tell them that I'm fine; that…" Alex paused, as she realized the mercenary had a point: what could she possibly say to them? "I don't know now, but if you give me some time I'm sure I will be able to come up with some…"

"No." His blunt denial interrupted her again. "Why would you do that to your family?" Black questioned her as he frowned. "Image I said yes; imagine I agree to deliver this letter; what would you write? I'm alive – what for? Do you really want them to go through the struggle of a fruitless search? Or maybe you could just write I'm in a different realm right now – best case scenario they'll think you've joined a cult."

As painful as it was to acknowledge; deep down she knew he was right.

"Do they even know you're here? Did you even say goodbye to them or did you just disappear one day? Did you came here by yourself, was it even your decision?" Black went on, the frowny face still there; the preaching tone contaminating his speech was making all of her answers and possibilities seem dubious.

"Why the sudden interest?" He finally asked.

"Sudden interest? I've been trying to get back home ever since I set foot on this place – I have told you, you know about this. The fact that you've been distracting me never truly made me forget what I needed you for in the first place," her shaky voice replied – the man was getting on her nerves again.

Black opened his mouth to retort that last comment but the incessant bumping and knocking on the door startled them both; it wasn't the safe code they used for signaling the others to open up – it was a desperate sound, louder than usual, more chaotic than usual. They rushed their way to the cabin's entrance and Black, with his shoulder glued to the doorframe and his pistol ready to shoot, opened the door slowly – Aalem's body fell down against the door; his tunic covered in his own blood: a dagger, driven into the young Edenian's chest, was all they could see. Alex kneeled down before the boy and checked for vital signs – he was still alive. Black placed his gun back in its holder and helped her lift the young Edenian's body. They placed him on the table and the boy struggled, as he tried to speak.

"Don't talk now, buddy," Alex said softly as Aalem tried to mumble something barely audible to her ears. She began tending to his wound as Black ran back to his bedroom to get dressed - then he took off, resolute: he was going to find the attacker out in the wilderness, blindly, and he was going to make him pay.

Unable to speak, the kid reached out for Alex. The tight fist slowly gave up until the smooth palm of his hand – the third Pandora's box of the day – was now exposing the tormenting, sinister sight responsible for freezing the blood running through her veins almost immediately: resting against his olive skin there was one of the unevenly shaped golden coins Black had given Harry at the beginning of this nightmare. The metal, now partially coated by Aalem's blood, was shining mercilessly in front of her bewildered eyes.