Chapter 7

San Francisco, CA - 2022

Halona drifted off, enveloped in a cozy fog. The cool water was soothing, and her thoughts wandered to him - his dark hair in a long braid, his warm brown eyes, and his comforting hands on her skin. He was her safe haven. But was he real or just a figment of a drug-induced dream? She couldn't tell if her feelings were genuine or just a side effect of whatever she'd taken.

Either way, it spelled trouble. She was either losing it from whatever happened during those years she was missing or these were actual memories. And if they were memories, that could only mean one thing: she was going off the deep end.

She'd faced this before, and someone had tried to warn her. A shiver ran through her as a sharp memory sliced through the haze of booze and despair clouding her mind.

She turned around, offering a smile to the familiar general store clerk as she finished their conversation. The wooden floorboards creaked as she shifted her weight, a chill running down her spine. Taking a deep breath, she caught the scent of freshly ground coffee mingling with the earthier smells of flour and dried beans. Her eyes locked onto a stranger weaving through the sacks of goods piled throughout the store.

She recalled overhearing Jimmy and Buck's hushed conversation about a bounty hunter who had ridden into town. Jimmy had mentioned keeping an eye on him. Now, as the gunslinger's long strides quickly ate up the space between them, Halona felt her heart begin to race.

"Can I help you, sir?" The clerk's voice carried a hint of wariness as the man reached the counter, a strange look in his eye.

"Yeah," the older man grumbled, his voice rough like sandpaper. He rummaged through his pocket, producing a crumpled-up list. "Everything on here, and a pound of salted pork."

The clerk glanced over the list and nodded, her glasses slipping down her nose. "It'll be a few minutes."

"No hurry, ma'am." The man turned his gaze to Halona, standing a few feet away. His eyes, the color of wheat, seemed to pierce right through her. "Have we met before?"

"Excuse me?" Halona took a step back, her pulse quickening. The floorboards creaked again under her shifting weight.

"There's somethin' 'bout you." He looked her over, his eyes narrowing. The smell of leather and horse sweat clung to him, a stark contrast to the store's homier scents.

"Is that so?" Halona suppressed a smile, nearly choking on a giggle. She'd heard some bad pickup lines in her life, but this one might be the worst. It wasn't just the line but the intrusive way his gaze raked over her.

"Mind tellin' your friend I'll be back in an hour for my supplies." The man pulled out a silver medallion, quickly grabbing her hand and pressing the cold metal into her palm. The sudden contact made her flinch. "I'll be havin' a drink at the saloon if you want to join me."

Halona stood frozen as the strange man tipped his hat and walked out of the store, the bell above the door jingling as he left. She opened her fingers and looked down at the silver medallion, worn and dinged with age. Her mouth gaped open as she saw the enamel flecks in the flag behind the words '9/11 We will never forget!'. She glanced back up, watching the man disappear into the saloon across the dusty street.

Her heart raced as she briskly crossed the road, dodging a passing wagon. He was right; she had felt the pull. As soon as he opened the door to the general store, she felt drawn to him. She hadn't understood it until she saw the familiar keychain she now clenched tightly in her hand.

She pushed past the saloon doors, the heavy thud echoing behind her. The smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke assaulted her nostrils. Her eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light as she scanned the room, the low murmur of conversation punctuated by the occasional clink of glasses. Spotting the stranger in the corner, she made her way through the mostly empty tables to where he sat.

"Thought I'd see you again." The man looked up and smiled, sipping his whiskey. The amber liquid caught the light as he leaned back and tipped over the other glass, pouring her a drink. He watched her place the keychain on the table. "So, where were you when the first tower was hit?"

Halona breathed deeply and sat down across from him, the worn leather of the chair creaking beneath her. "I was four."

"I had just enlisted the week prior." He laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Talk about bad luck, right?"

"How did you get here?" She leaned closer, never taking her eyes off his.

"Was heading out on my second deployment in '05. Fell asleep in the barracks," he cleared his throat, "and woke up in a field in 1845."

"You've been here over twenty years?" Halona looked at him, feeling a wave of hopelessness wash over her.

"Well, if you've found a way home," he chuckled, "you be sure and let me know."

"Yeah." She shook her head, laughing along with him, though there was no real humor in it. "How did you know?" Halona asked. "In the general store, how did you know?"

"You didn't feel that inside you?" He poured himself another drink, the liquid gurgling as it filled the glass. "Inside, it's like someone is scratchin' on the back of your ribs."

"I feel it." She nodded. "But how did you know what it meant?"

"Met a woman years ago. She was visiting, like us. But she was born in the past and had moved forward."

"Where is she now?" Halona held her breath, intently waiting for his answer.

"Locked her up in the nut house." He said solemnly, his eyes distant.

Halona finished the last sip of her whiskey, the burn in her throat matching the ache in her chest. She gave a solemn nod, understanding what he meant. His words reconfirmed that she had to blend into this harsh reality, as it was her new life now whether she liked it or not. A wave of sadness came over her as she wondered if finding another 'visitor' as he called it was more comforting or disheartening. If there really was no way back home, she would have to live in the present moment and plan for her future here.

She studied the grizzled man's creased and weathered face, noting the small scar above his left eyebrow. "I'm Halona Blackwater," she said in almost a whisper, holding her hand out.

The man's jaw tightened slightly, a muscle twitching beneath the stubble on his cheek. "Lieutenant Colonel Todd Madison." He reached over the table and shook her hand, his calloused palm rough against hers.