The bus entered Mayberry at one in the afternoon. It's brakes hissed when it came to a stop. Three people exited the bus in front of Malcolm Merriweather, who was also the last passenger to exit for the Mayberry stop. He had a light backpack on his shoulder and the brown leather briefcase in his right hand. His left hand held the instructional note pad and his eyes were glued to it. Intermittently, he would look up and about to reacquaint himself with the Mayberry landscape. He decided to the left he must go, and he turned in that direction and began to walk. That is, until he saw two very familiar individuals on the sidewalk ahead of him. It was Andy and Barney. They were smiling and having a discussion, pointing at something in the distance that gave them quite a bit of joy.

Malcolm had no wish to be seen by them. His eyes darted to the left and right, searching for an avenue of escape, but it was too late, he had been spotted. "Malcolm?" it was Barney yelling out to him, "Malcolm Merriweather?" Malcolm pretended not hear and took his chances with turning to the left, this too was not fast enough, for Barney and Andy were now mere feet from him and he had no alternative but to acknowledge their presence.

He smiled widely, "Well, my. It's Andy Taylor and Barney Fife. I am absolutely chuffed to see you both, I am."

They each shook his hand and Andy said, "I'm not sure what that means, but it sure is good to see you."

Barney said, "You sure are a sight for sore eyes. What brings you back to Mayberry? Finally get some sense about you and decide to make it your home?"

All three laughed and Malcolm said, "No, no. I'm on a short vacation, wanted to drop through and give a hello. I won't be here long. On my way to other places."

Barney asked, "Oh yeah? What's your next stop?"

"My next stop?" Malcolm stammered, "My next stop is... it's... my next stop is Canada."

Andy exclaimed, "Canada? Mayberry to Canada? That's quite a jump."

Malcolm nodded in agreement, "Yes, well you know, it's such a lovely place. I just adore the people... here... and in Canada."

Andy said, "Well don't you be in too much of a hurry. Mayberry is always glad to have Malcolm Merriweather visit."

Malcolm mildly smiled and said, "Much obliged, Sherriff. Much obliged. You too Deputy. But I am terribly tired now and could take a good nap, long trip and all."

Barney said, "Oh sure. Traveling wears me out also."

"Yes," said Malcolm, "yes, and so. Well, so good to see you both. I'm sure I will see you again before I leave." With that, Malcolm was on his way.

Andy and Barney watched as he strolled down the sidewalk, "Yessir," said Andy, "Good to see ole' Malcolm. Makes it seem like old times."

Barney snickered, "Chuffed. Those Brits and their humor, it just kills me."

Andy agreed and said, "Well come on, Barn. We need to head up to Saddler's hill and make sure the moonshine is on schedule to be traded for the heroine coming in later." Barney frowned a bit and said, "Okay." The two of them began a walk toward the edge of town.

Malcolm double checked the address on the instructions he was given and knocked on the door of a three-story boarding house. Willie Gilbert answered the door and welcomed Malcolm inside. Once inside his room, Malcolm thanked Gilbert and locked the door after Gilbert had left. Glancing out the window, Malcolm knew the building across the way was the Mayberry motel. He placed the leather briefcase on the bed and opened it. The photograph of the target was lying atop all else; Malcolm gingerly lifted it and looked it over, "Who are you?" He grabbed the scope that was not yet attached to the rifle and looked out across the way. There was no one in the window that would eventually house his target. He looked at the photo again, "Poor guy." Malcolm then shook his head, "Snap out of it, soldier. This is how you get your life back."

With training that was almost reflexive, Malcolm pieced the rifle together and hoisted it to his shoulder. There was movement in the window away of the hotel. Malcolm stuck his eye to the scope fixed to the rifle. It was his target. An easy shot. He placed his finger over the trigger, but then noticed two other men in the room. They were suited in black had thick necks. Malcolm knew instantly what they were, "Bodyguards," he whispered, "who is this man?"

Malcolm lowered the rifle and placed it on the bed, and then he sat beside it. He rubbed his chin between his fingers and repeated, "Who could this be?"

The phone rang and startled Malcolm. He answered it. He knew the voice, it was the man who wore the glasses, "Why didn't you take the shot?"

Malcolm's heart dropped, "So, you're watching me?"

"Why didn't you take the shot? You had a clear shot."

"Why don't you shoot him yourself if you can see me?" Malcolm asked.

"Your job is to take the shot, kill the target. This is all you need to do. Finish the job, return to your home."

Malcolm raised his voice, "How do I know you aren't setting me up?"

"Here is what you do know. You have been asked to do a job, and if you don't do it, there is going to be a high price to pay."

Malcolm gulped and said, "I haven't done anything like this in a long time. You have to understand."

"Understand that your window of time to do this job is closing. Take the next shot." The phone was hung up by the man with glasses on the other end.

Malcolm hesitated and placed his own phone back on the hook. He placed the rifle back to his shoulder and propped it on the windowsill. Across the way, only a bodyguard was visible. Malcolm backed away from the scope for a second and rubbed his eye. He placed his finger back over the trigger and peered down the scope. The target was now in the cross hairs again. Malcolm tensed his finger over the trigger and took a deep breath, and then he could not find the target in the scope. He could not so much as even find the hotel. It was the soldier that had repeatedly visited so many of his nightmares he saw. The boy soldier, that was not quite at all a man, crying out for mercy, crying out in fear, knowing his life had been cut off before it had even had a chance to start.

Malcolm rubbed his eye again and stared back through the scope, still all he could see was the young bleeding soldier. Malcolm turned and sat on the floor by the window, his face white as chalk. Malcolm said to himself softly, "I'm not doing this. This is crazy."

Malcolm then stood, his back to the window, and gave a perfect salute with a click of his heels, "Chin up, soldier!" he said and attempted to raise his chin. It did not feel high enough. "Chin up, I said!" He turned his head and faced the window once more, "There is a tomorrow," and he grabbed the rifle, placing it to his shoulder. He whispered, "Chin up, ole boy. There is a tomorrow," and slowly lifted the scope to his eye. "I will have my life back."

There was no person in the window across the way; Malcolm whispered, "Come on, come on. Where are you?" A shadow appeared on the wall beyond; someone was only steps from the window. "Come on. Step over," his finger planted on the trigger, the stock rooted to his shoulder, his body tall and solid, he waited for the target. Still only a shadow that could step into the light or turn back the other direction. "Chin up you maggot."

The shadow moved towards the window; the target was in sight again. Malcolm smiled, "I have you," and he snugged the rifle to him one last time, index finger quivering with anticipation. His arm began to tremble, vision began to blur; was the view going to transform again into the dying soldier of long ago? He did not blink or rub his eye and it began to dry and itch and water. "I have you," he whispered to himself, and the vision cleared, target as detailed as fine print.

And he frowned. Malcolm lowered the gun. "There is a tomorrow," he said.

He began to disassemble the rifle. "All the luck in my life is gone, just gone." As Malcolm placed the last piece of the rifle back in the leather case, the phone rang. He did not answer it. He gathered his things and the leather briefcase.

He peeked out the door, scanning up and down the hallway; he even looked upward, just in case. Nothing and no one were what he saw and was filled with a tense suspicion he was being watched. How? He could not answer. He called down the hallway, "I know you see me. I know you hear me. Well hear this, I'm not doing it. Now leave me be. This is over."

There was no sound. Malcolm was sure that he had been heard. "If you want me, you'll have to catch me."