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Enjoy the next chapter!

"Tell me what happened, Alfred."

"Tell you what-! The guy sauntered in like he owned the place! He hauled off and broke a guard's nose, and for what? To blow some smoke in my face? Threaten me? Smirk till his heart was content?"

"Alfred, tell me something useful here, at least. What did he look like?"

"He… He was early twenties, blonde, tall. I don't know, it was dark. The jerk stole my glasses!"

"Alfred. Pull yourself together. The only way for us to catch this guy is to get a description out so that the police can catch him if they see him around the city before he has a chance to leave town."

"Yeah, I know." Alfred's pacing had only quickened during the conversation, which had been going on for ten minutes at least, with neither side was getting anywhere. Alfred was growing more and more frazzled as the conversation went on, and Lincoln was, in turn, growing more and more irritated with Alfred.

"Try for a physical description that is actually usable, please," Lincoln sighed as he removed his glasses from his nose. "Start from the very beginning. Think. What did the man look like?"

"Alright, alright." Alfred ran his fingers through his hair and took a deep breath. "He was about as tall as I am, maybe an inch or two under six feet. His hair was blonde, and it was smoothed back. Not short, but not long either. He's muscular, but not bulky. About the same as me. I… I don't remember much else."

"Is that the best you can come up with?"

"Yeah, that's the best I can come up with, what else do you want from me?" Alfred's voice was strained, his hands thrown up over his head. "I wish I could tell you more, but he was with me for all of thirty seconds, this is all I have."

Lincoln scribbled something on a sheet of paper, folded it, and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll give this to the police, and they'll be on the lookout for Samuel Lee Jones."

"It's not-!" Alfred clenched his fists and slammed them down on Lincoln's desk, making Lincoln jump. "Don't call him that! That rebel traitor is not my brother!"

Lincoln's voice was cold. "Alfred. Calm down."

"Calm down?" Alfred screamed. "Calm down? The personification of the Confederacy just walked right through the front door! And you're telling me to calm down?" With a sweep of his arm, everything on Lincoln's desk were swept away. Pens clattered to the ground, inkwells shattered, documents and letters flew across the room. Lincoln only stared Alfred in the eyes.

"Our country is falling apart! My own people are ready to murder each other in the streets!" Alfred gripped Lincoln's desk, his knuckles white. With ease, he flipped the massive oaken desk to the side. The crash was deafening. Every drawer fell out of the desk and onto the floor, their vomiting their contents onto the beige carpet. Lincoln didn't move from his chair. Alfred stood tall before him, his arms and shoulders rigid. His voice was quiet, but it shook with rage. His eyes burned with passion. "And you have the gall to tell me… To calm down?"

The silence that followed was thicker than the blood that boiled in Alfred's veins. The two men only stared each other down, neither willing to break the gaze. Alfred's eyes were flames of fire, Lincoln's eyes slivers of steel. Two men of iron wills, at a stalemate.

Lincoln was the one to break the silence. "Alfred, I am going to tell you something now that I know that you are not going to like, but I ask you to listen to me as a friend. Can you do that?" Alfred clenched his jaw, but his eyes softened slightly. After a moment, he nodded his head.

"Alfred," Lincoln continued, his fingers folded, "This war will leave a bloody stain on the history of this country, if not on the world as a whole. I beg you to look at it through the eyes of reason, and be prepared to view it through hindsight. With that said, the world will look at us after this is over and point the finger of blame at us, at you. I want you to be able to not be ashamed of what you had to do to bring this country back together. History will pin everything to me and my presidency, but I know that you must carry on after I am dead and gone. You bear the weight of everything that happens in this war, to this country, to the American people. I don't want you to carry more than you absolutely must. I can't sit back and watch it destroy you. Do you understand?"

Alfred nodded. He understood clearly enough. His rage had ebbed to nothing, and he could finally see that Lincoln had his back in this. He wasn't alone in the pain that this war was bringing. He had a friend who felt it too.

-x-x-x-

Samuel had finally moved to Richmond, Virginia, where the new Confederate States of America had established its capital. The states were enjoying their newfound freedom from the Union quite exhilarating, and they all felt the need to express their feelings to him at every waking moment. Samuel was just glad to be out of Marion's house and out from under her thumb. Besides, being at her plantation reminded him too much of Eli. He may have changed in nearly every way since that day, but that didn't mean that he had forgotten. Still, he would find himself lying awake until the early hours of the morning, thinking about what would have happened if he hadn't locked the door. If he hadn't smoked that cigarette. If he hadn't fled. If he had done nothing in the first place, and just let Marion sell Eli.

The 'what if's never led anywhere, and always left Samuel feeling empty and numb. Despite this, he could never keep Eli off of his mind for long. His face would creep into his mind in the middle of a conversation, or he would hear his rolling laugh in his ears while he laughed himself.

Everything that the states had instilled in his mind made Samuel shake the memory of Eli away and dismiss him as nothing more than a slave of no consequence. However, deep down, below everything that the states had beaten down inside of him, lay the memory of a friend. The only true friend that Samuel had. And the knowledge that it was his fault that that friend was dead.

"Samuel!"

A voice jerked Samuel out of his thoughts, and he turned to face the man who spoke. Samuel smiled when he saw him. "President Davis! So glad that you're here!" Samuel stood from his chair in the parlor and shook the hand of Jefferson Davis, the new president of the Confederacy. "I trust that your trip here was alright?"

"Indeed son, it was. I must say that I am quite impressed with how the war effort is coming along thus far."

"I am as well, but one mustn't underestimate the strength and determination of Southern men and women when they get an idea going."

"That is very true, young man, and I'll see you in the meeting." Davis clapped Samuel on the shoulder before turning and walking toward the dining room, where a room full of Southern generals all stood to their feet to welcome the President.

Samuel sighed, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and sipped it from a glittering crystal glass as he watched people trickle slowly into the dining room. He had learned quickly that he hated dealing with politicians. He was much better suited to the idea of carrying a gun and being ready to shoot it than talking and arguing about the policies surrounding it. His own gun was upstairs in his room on the bedside table, along with a box of bullets and his holster.

Someone inside of the dining room called for everyone to take a seat around the table, and Samuel sighed as he downed the remainder of what was in his glass. Here we go, he thought to himself as he walked into the dining room and took his seat beside Jefferson Davis at the head of the table. His throat and stomach burned pleasantly from the whiskey.

"Gentlemen," Davis announced, "War is at hand! I have hand-picked you to be the men who will lead the armies of this glorious country to victory and freedom! Rally your men to the flag of Dixie, and we will surely show those Yankees the grit and strength of the South!"

A rumble of agreement rolled through the room, but Samuel was silent.

"This," Davis said with a sweep of his arm, "This is Samuel Lee Jones, the personification of these Confederate States of America. He will be consulting with you concerning positions and strategy, and he will also be feeding what information he can." Samuel nodded to the men surrounding the table, who returned the gesture. "Samuel, do you wish to address the generals?"

Samuel nodded again, and stood slowly from his chair. He waited a moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke.

"Gentlemen," he said quietly, "I wish as much as you that this war didn't have to happen, but it does. We all know what that means, and we have to be prepared, so that is what we must stress to everyone. Preparedness. Train your men as proficiently as you can in this short time period, and be ready to take the fight to our enemies. Our enemies are not stupid, and they have more resources and manpower than we do, but we cannot let that affect how we wage this war. We must be mindful of this, but we have an advantage: We're fighting for our land, our families, and our possessions, on our own territory. We're on the defensive. Invading enemies can only last so long before they lose their motivation, and if our drive to protect can outlast their drive to purloin, then we will be sure to come out of this fight as the victors. Motivate your men. Give them something to fight for until the very end. Fuel the fire in their hearts into an unquenchable inferno. This war will change the course of history. Let's make sure the tide turns in our favor."

A murmur of approval filtered through the room, and Samuel sat down again. Davis immediately began to discuss where the next battle would be, and troop numbers needed to get a solid start on the war. Samuel quickly grew bored since this meeting could have gone on just fine without him, and busied himself by tracing the grain of the massive oaken table with his finger. No one was paying him any attention, and no one asked for his opinion, so he was content to stay quiet and mind his own business until this meeting would adjourn. After about three quarters of an hour, everyone began to leave, and Samuel rose to his feet and shook the hands of the generals as they left. Davis was the last to leave. He smiled at Samuel, who smiled back, and left without another word. Samuel was left alone in the dining room. He sighed and slipped down into a chair, his head in his hands.

I'm not ready to do this. I'm not ready to lead a country into war.

His hands began to shake. A knot formed in his throat.

I can't do this.

Fingernails dug into his scalp. His breathing became ragged.

I can't have blood on my hands.

Sweat beaded on his brow. The room began to shrink, then spin.

I'm not ready… I can't… I don't want…

Something inside of him stirred, and a voice in his mind spoke. It was his voice, but not his at the same time. It was darker, more sinister. It was a voice brimming with rage.

You had better learn quick, then.

Hope you enjoyed this new chapter! Don't forget to check out our new tumblr page, and please feel free to leave a review for us!

Much love as always,

Harley and Amanda