With little preamble, I shall proceed. I am sure you've already noted that this story will progress at my own pace. Sometimes the urge to write just hits me and I will not force it if it will not come. Now, onward!

Chapter 4: Working Things Out

Damien woke the next morning with little drowsiness pulling him down. The warmth of the bed and a faint headache, if nothing else, called him to lie down again and fall into dark slumber once more. However, wanting to make a good impression, he decided to rise. He swiftly went through usual morning rituals of washing before pulling a new pair of pants out of one of his bags. He finished it off with a maroon work shirt and pulled his new sweater over his head to ward off the chill of the early morning.

Downstairs, breakfast was already in full swing. The smell of fresh coffee wafted past sleepy nostrils soon to also be assailed by the welcomed fragrance of frying bacon and eggs. Damien moved to sit but was quickly redirected.

"Not so fast there," Bill cordially stopped him. "Before anyone sits in this house, there is work to be done. Your first task of the day is to clean up the dishes from last night. And when we finish eating, you will take care of those dishes as well. Seeing as it is your first time, Marcel will help you figure out where everything goes. After that, you're on your own. Get used to it because no one serves anyone in this house."

Nodding with no verbal response, Damien stepped to the sink and started to fill it with hot tap water.

"The dish rags are in that drawer over there and the soap is under the sink. You can leave the clean dishes on the draining board next to the sink for now, but after breakfast I'll show you where to put everything away."

Dishes washed, table set and breakfast ready, everyone sat down to eat.

"Do you believe in saying grace?"

Damien looked up at Bill and wondered what the right answer would be to that question in this house. He had the feeling that he'd stopped believing in any kind of god a long time ago but he knew that many of the homes on the frontier revolved around a strict religious regimen. He decided to go with what he knew.

"I'm more a person of fact and science myself. I'm not opposed to following the customs of a household, especially one granting me sanctuary, but I must admit I haven't uttered a prayer or a blessing in a very long time."

"Well, not to offend anyone or anything, but that's more than fine with me. The last young man we had staying here wouldn't do anything without a personal consult from his 'god', if you know what I mean."

Damien looked a little baffled and turned to Marcel in question. She responded by making a discreet drinking motion and they both smirked in understanding. With that off color reference out of the way and the air cleared, they all took to eating with gusto.

Once dishes were done and put away with some confusion and bumping in to one another in the fairly small kitchen area, the young man looked to Bill for his next set of instructions. With his back turned, he missed the somewhat admiring look he was given by Marcel.

A warm flannel work jacket was thrust into his hands and he was ushered onto the front porch by Marcel's father.

"The first thing we have to get done this morning is disposing of the animals that were taken down last night. Now that's not going to take both of us and the other animals still need to be fed, so which job do you want?"

Without a second thought, the youth opted for taking care of last nights casualties. He figured it would probably take too long for the farmer to explain to him the where and how much of feeding all the livestock so it would probably be easier this way. He was wrong.

"Have you been around horses very much, son?"

"I think s--yeah. Yes, I have. I'm quite familiar with the handling of equines, both natural and cyborg." That uncanny other sense had kicked in again and guided him in his answer.

"Well, here's a pair of work gloves," they were promptly slapped into his open hand, "and there's a shovel in that shed over there. I'll bring out my horse. I want you to hitch him to the wagon, load up all the carcasses and burry them at the far end of the pasture across the main road by that bluff over there. You should see a large pile of stones out there and anywhere around that spot should be far enough away. All that meat is bound to attract unwanted attention so that's why we have to burry it so far away."

"And where are the…bodies?"

"Oh yeah, almost forgot that. They're in that shed over there where I told you the shovel was. I locked them up in there for the night 'cause I figured you wouldn't want to be handling that kind of job in the dark."

"Thanks for your consideration on that one." With that, they both set out in their separate directions and set to work.

The horse that Bill brought out to Damien was a very large black natural animal with white on the muzzle and fetlocks. Its hooves were the size of dinner plates and its neck was arched in a very grand bow. "He's getting on in years, but he gets the job done."

Damien patted the great beasts head affectionately as he was handed the halter. "What's his name?"

Bill smiled to himself in silent reminiscing before a short chuckle left his frame. "Well, this here is Old Joe. He's had the temperament of an old man since he was a foal. He may look mean, but he's a gentle giant." With that, the farmer turned his back and strode off to his own tasks.

With deft efficiency Damien harnessed Joe to the old four wheeled hay wagon and set to the unpleasant work of moving all the carcasses into the back. Before long, rivulets of sweat trickled between his shoulder blades and wetted the back of his neck, dampening his hair. Starting to feel the discomfort of it, he began to remove his flannel and his sweater. With a little bit of deliberation, he decided to remove his other shirt as well and just stick to wearing the flannel.

Unbeknownst to him, Marcel took more than slight interest from a window upstairs where she was just collecting the laundry. "Now that would be a man worth getting to know."

Back outside, Damien had already replaced the necessary clothing and loaded the shovel next to the driver's seat in the wagon and had started to head out to the instructed location to dispose of the animals.

The ground where the spade he wielded struck the earth with a dull thud was like driving into cement and it jarred his back and shoulders with each blow. Soon he was panting but still persistently attending to his work. Finally the ground started to give and he found that if he planted the spade tip then jumped on it with his full wait that he could actually get it to cleave the earth somewhat cleanly. Soon uncomfortably hot as the damp of the morning was wearing off and the sun had broken over the trees on the horizon, Damien found himself once more removing his jacket.

'Well hello there, stud muffin. Whoo!'

"Oh no, not you again."

'You know, I think this whole experience is good for you. You might be able to attract a nice woman for yourself…or man. You're not into men, are you? Because there's noth-'

"QUIET!"

'All I meant was even I've never seen you this exposed outside of bathing before. If anyone else catches sight of you, you're probably in for a few admirers. Not to mention Marcel…'

"Well, we shouldn't have to worry about that, should we? Or should I say 'I'? There doesn't seem to be anyone else around for miles and the house is way too far away for anyone to see anything more than a white spec in the distance, now will you leave me alone? Please?!"

'I don't think I've every heard you use such polite speech with me either. Usually it's just, "Silence!"'

"Fine then, if you prefer that, SILENCE!!!"

'No need to shout! Like I said before, someone's going to think you're crazy or something, out here all alone and talking to yourself.'

Damien was throwing more and more effort into his shoveling just as he was trying harder and harder to convince himself he wasn't going crazy and arguing with a voice in his head. He decided that if he was going nuts then he'd at least enjoy himself by indulging in a little shouting. And why not?

"Well it still doesn't matter, because there's still NOBODY HE-"

"Who are you talking to? I could hear you yelling half way across the pasture!"

This sudden interruption caused him to pause mid-scoop and slowly turn his head to see Marcel standing behind him, smiling politely. Heat rushed to his face and he suddenly felt very naked on top of being extremely mortified at his behavior.

"I just came out here to bring you a thermos of water and I heard you talking and yelling—I thought you might be trying to scare something off, but then you didn't seem very aware of what was going on around you. What were you doing?" She crossed her arms and gave him a sideways teasing look.

He planted the spade in a loose pile of dirt and slowly removed his gloves. He grasped frantically for any excuse in his mind and was surprised to discover the sizeable hole he had already dug. An idea suddenly popped into his head.

"You were sort of right. I was keeping the bears away. I've heard that making noise ensures that they don't stumble upon you by accident and gives them no reason to attack you." He gave her his first real smile and hoped that his explanation would be bought. It seemed to work.

"Well, anyway, here's your water. I also wanted to tell you that dad doesn't have much for you to do after you're done here and I have to work later. I was wondering if you wanted to accompany me into town this afternoon. You can't just sit at home all night; you'll get bored."

He nodded his thanks before drinking deeply of the proffered thermos. He was parched and he hadn't even noticed. Had he always been this susceptible to suggestion?

"Anyway, I'll give you a shout from the road when lunch is ready. Don't work too hard." She gave him a parting wave even as her feet were carrying her in the opposite direction, back to the farmhouse.

"Thanks for the warning. Jackass," he muttered under his breath. He wasn't expecting any answer from his head on that one, so he replaced his gloves and once again got back to shoveling.

Some time later, he had finished covering the carcasses and was headed back to the yard. He left the wagon by the barn and unhitched Joe. He led the horse over to the trough and let him drink for a while before taking him into the barn. Damien hung up the tack and closed Joe in a free stall. He made sure the horse had some hay in his feed trough and fetched a curry comb from a nearby shelf. He then quietly began to groom the horse, brushing his black coat until it was sleek and shiny in the dim light. He stood beside the animal and petted him, marveling and the familiarity of the actions he tended. He was soon brought out of his reverie by quiet footsteps falling in the straw.

"You work pretty fast," Bill nodded to him in approval as he noted that the horse had already been thoroughly taken care of. "Frankly, I wasn't too sure how much help you'd be. You didn't really look up to the heavy work I'd need you doing but I think that you've more than proven yourself. Lunch is ready in the house if you want to go get cleaned up." The farmer then turned away and made his own way to the farmhouse.

"Thank you, sir," Damien said quietly, even though he knew the man was already out of earshot.

After everyone had eaten and the dishes were cleaned and put away, Marcel got ready for work and went to fetch their strange guest who had been quiet in his room for the last half an hour. She pushed open the well worn door which opened silently on well-oiled hinges. Before her on the bed lay the young stranger. He was on top of the bed clothes and in a fresh pair of pants but still wearing his relatively clean maroon shirt from that morning. He appeared to be dozing softly in the early afternoon light filtering through the thin curtains. He looked so peaceful that she hated to rouse him, but she had promised so she crept to his bedside and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

His eyes snapped open in a flash while the rest of him remained perfectly still. Marcel found it terribly eerie but she didn't comment on it.

"Are you ready to go yet?"

"Hmmm?" He still seemed to be mildly disoriented.

"I asked earlier if you would come into town with me?" she prompted.

"Oh yes, of course. Just give me a minute. I need to brush my hair first."

"Trust me, you look just fine." She threw a wink at him and fairly bounced out of the room.

Almost into town, Damien made to speak. "So how does your father feel about you working so late? Did I ask you that already?"

"Yeah, you did. Like I said before, he worries like all fathers are prone to, but he knows I can take care of myself."

They continued on in silence and Damien took note of how the long coat he wore swirled around him in the fairly strong wind that had kicked up that afternoon. He thought about how he must look to other people when they saw him. He knew he was tall, pale and dark featured. Did he look threatening to them? Dangerous? Did he look…sexy?

He quickly batted that thought away when the voice in his head piped up, 'you look like sex on two legs, my demented friend.'

"Do you read at all?" Marcel asked him somewhat shyly. Books out here were something of a rare commodity since the rise and fall of some of the most brilliant technology the world had ever seen became commonplace. Even rarer was the occurrence of literacy on a wide scale in the frontier towns, especially the less than wealthy ones.

"If you're asking can I read, then the answer is yes. Do I read for pleasure? I don't think I've ever really had much time for it."

She looked at him askance and shot straight for the heart. "You answer a lot of questions with 'I think.' What do you know? Are you in trouble or something that you have to reform your identity? I can't help but feel you're hiding something. I don't really want to pry or anything, but you can talk to me if you want to."

He evaded her questions with a simple answer. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks." He wore a faint look of displeasure on his face and was sinking swiftly into a dark mood. Marcel decided to pull him out of it and redirect him to what she wanted to know for in the first place.

"Anyway, there's a small shop in town I thought you might be interested in if you wanted to get some reading material. They have quite a collection and now that you're here and you're going to have some extra time on your hands, I thought you might want to check it out."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Come on, I'll show you." She led him to a small shop front and pushed open the door. A small bell jingled merrily as they entered a dark and somewhat dusty room. The door seemed to shut out a lot of the afternoon sunlight but sporadically placed bare bulbs illuminated the assortment of strange and antiquated merchandise within. With a start, he noted that the same man who had sold him his clothing the night before stood behind the counter. It was the same shop.

"Hello again there, stranger. Hey Marcel! What can I get you fine folks today?"

"Hi Monty! I was hoping that you could show Damien here some of the books you've collected. He says he can read and he needs something to kill some time while he's here."

"No problem, little lady. Right this way, sir."

The spry old man quickly guided them through the rows of tailored clothing, past the tables heaped with junk that Damien hadn't noticed upon his first visit due to his singular goal at the time, and through a dusty patterned curtain hanging in a low doorway. The youth actually had to stoop slightly to enter.

"Now did our reader have anything in mind?"

"Not really. I just came to look. I don't even know if I'll buy anything yet."

"Oh, never mind this buying nonsense. For Marcel, I'll make you a deal. If you see anything that interests you, I'll lend it to you for a small deposit. When you're done, you bring that book back and borrow another or just get your deposit back. Simple, huh?"

He gave his slightly sad smile and nodded his head. "That's sounds great. I really appreciate that you'd do something like that for someone you hardly know." In fact, he was completely taken aback at all of the polite treatment he had received since the previous evening. He must have been treated rather nastily in the past to be blown away when he was treated with general common decency. Maybe he was a criminal or on the run from something?

Once Damien was comfortably ensconced in row after row of dusty but well kept tombs, Monty voiced a chilling piece of friendly gossip that all small towns are known for.

"I heard you had some trouble with wolves at your farm last night. That true?"

Marcel turned towards the old man and smiled politely. "My dad says they were werewolves actually, and I'm sure whatever you heard has been embellished beyond that fact."

Monty laughed at that and wiped his glasses on an old handkerchief he had produced from his vest pocket. "I'm sure you're right, Miss Marcel. The latest gossip was that you were all torn apart in your sleep or some such rubbish so I'll agree that it might have been stretched a little in the telling."

"We did lose some livestock, but I'd say that's a far cry from the crazed misfortune you heard."

Meanwhile, Damien listened to the conversation and though he had no reason to make any connection, he couldn't help but think that somehow the werewolf attack at the farm had been his fault. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, he selected a book at random and held it up. "I'll take this one, please."

"Well right this way and I'll get that signed out for you. In a bit of a hurry are you?"

"No, but I don't want to make Marcel late for work. What kind of guest would that make me?"

Monty nodded in agreement and preceded them once more from the back room.

Transaction completed, the pair once again made their way out into the sunshine. The young man stopped to turn his face towards the sun and take a deep breath of warm air.

"What was that all about?"

"What do you mean?"

"That quick exit!"

Damien looked at the dust at his boots a little guiltily and mumbled his response in the opposite direction.

"I didn't quite catch that," Marcel stepped closer and swung him to face her.

"I don't like small spaces, alright? I felt closed in in there and I had to get out." People passed them on the street. Some averted their eyes and walked quicker, not wanting to intrude, while others stopped to more openly gape at the pale handsome youth. Marcel smiled quickly and resumed walking.

"Ok, I'll leave you alone now. I should probably get to work anyway. My shift starts soon. And no doubt everyone's going to want to know about the handsome stranger staying on our farm…or how we were torn apart by wolves in our sleep!" With that, she kept walking and left him standing there to collect his dignity. He heard whispers behind his back from a couple of women passing by.

"What?!" he shot them in exasperation.

They just giggled and quickened their pace. After that, he started making his way around to get a feel for the layout of the town. It seemed an old habit he wouldn't be losing any time soon, but he figured it had probably served him well in the past.

The sun was already getting low in the sky. Damien hadn't been paying attention to the passing of time as he explored the small collection of window fronts or other small things of interest that captured his attention. So it's no surprise that he almost walked into the three men that stepped out the door of a building right into his path.

"Well, if it ain't the pretty boy." Jason and his cronies sneered at him and moved to fully block his path. "You know you should really watch where you're walking or someone's liable to get hurt." Even though the man stood about half a head shorter than the youth, he didn't feel he'd have much of a problem pushing him around. He decided that he should have some fun with the man before he let him go.

"So where are you headed? Someone lookin' as appealing as you shouldn't be walking around without an escort."

Damien scowled at the man in his path before trying to step around him without either replying or putting his fist through the man's face.

"Now hold on there a minute, I don't believe we got an answer out of you yet." The smirk fell from his face and was replaced by a challenging scowl. "Who do you think you are? You think you're better than me?"

Damien exhaled carefully and chose his words carefully, "I'd tell you my name if I thought you'd any right to it or that you'd actually use it. But seeing as that doesn't seem likely, I thought I'd just keep my mouth shut. Now if you'll excuse me…" he gave them a grimace of a smile and tried to move forward once more. This time he was met with physical resistance.

Jason stepped right in front of him and gave him a good push. Damien stumbled back a couple of steps and re-evaluated. It looked like he wasn't going to get through this one until some inane point was made by the group of loudmouths in front of him or until a more violent confrontation took place.

"Fine. I'll bite. What do you want?"

"What do I want? I don't want nothin' from a turd like you, pretty boy. Here I thought we'd have a nice friendly conversation about, I don't know, Marcel maybe. Then, you don't give me nothin' but lip. I don't take kindly to that."

"I think I see what you think this is about. There's nothing to it. This isn't my business and from what she's told me, she isn't your business, so the way I see it, we have nothing more to talk about."

Jason did not react well to this little piece of news. He turned around and made it look like he was about to talk to his buddies but before anything was said he whipped around and his fist was already sailing into Damien's jaw. In the seconds that followed, Damien found himself on his knees with his arms twisted behind his back and a hand in his hair at the nape of his neck.

"Now you look here, boy," Jason now had the look of fowl intent in his cold eyes and it was directed straight at the youth at his feet. "Marcel and I got along just fine before you strolled in last night and one day, I fully intend to make her my wife."

Not really thinking terribly smart at the moment, there was no censuring what came out of the youth's mouth next. "Marcel doesn't even like you and there's about a snowball's chance in hell that she would ever marry you." That comment bought him another punch in the face and a knee to the midsection. Damien spit out a mouthful of blood from where he'd bitten his cheek on the first punch and glared at Jason from his position on the ground. On instinct, the corner of his lips peeled back and he bared his teeth at his instigator.

"Maybe we should make it where you ain't quite so pretty. Mess ya up real good." Jason's fist tightened in Damien's hair and the other hand came up to stroke his cheek with surprising gentleness. Damien tensed further but there was really nothing he could do about his current situation. "Na, maybe we'll put that pretty mouth of yours to another use."

A feeling of dread rose up in the pit of his stomach and he could feel his eyes start to sting. Had he ever felt this helpless before? His sudden renewed struggles brought Jason out of his gentle stroking and earned Damien one more punch to the stomach before he was thrown to the ground.

"Maybe we'll save that pleasure for another day. In the meantime, pretty boy, stay away from Marcel." Jason and his cronies threw their heads back and roared with laughter before kicking dirt at him and walking away.

The shaken youth picked up his book which had been dropped during the confrontation and as best he could, beat the dust off himself. His eyes still burned but he fought off the feeling, focusing on the pain in his face and torso instead. After the work he had done today and the fight just now, he was going to be really sore tomorrow.

Sweating, angry and embarrassed, Damien wiped the blood from his chin and started making his way homeward. He didn't much feel like explaining what happened to Bill so he just snuck into the house, straight up to his room and went to bed.