by Keta Diablo
"Shit! Jeez."
The apparition’s voice sounded almost normal, earthly. Not to mention earthy. Colby wasn’t sure if he was hearing correctly, but it certainly looked like....
"Elizabeth." He breathed her name rather than spoke it, the tremors that passed over him giving him no control over his voice. His body felt leaden, as if he had become a statue with a mind yet unable to move.
* * *
She stared at him now, holding the dress up for modesty, unable to get it on in the dull light. "Listen pal, I don’t know who the hell you are or how you know my name, but you take one more step toward me and I’ll...I’ll...." ‘Shoot’ was the word that came to mind, considering the clothes he seemed to be wearing. She couldn’t quite make him out, but the Stetson was certainly evident. Instead, however, she settled for "Scream!"
"But...Elizabeth? Is it really you?"
No longer feeling particularly threatened by the lunatic at the door, Lizzie scrambled back into the dress, all the time sensing his gaze had not left her. Of course he’s staring at me! Wear one of these dang corsets and you must look ready to go. Geesh. As she fastened the last button, she looked across at him, frowned, and marched over, tripping on some implement as she went, so that she nearly sprawled at his feet.
He caught her.
"Elizabeth, tell me how this could be. Tell me...."
Lizzie removed herself from his arms—somewhat reluctantly when she got a good look at the chiseled jaw, aquiline nose, and enticing mouth—and attempted to look him in the eye. That was not easy on two counts, one because of his height, and two because she thought she might simply rip her stupid dress back off and offer herself unreservedly. Make love in a hayloft? She swallowed a deep breath and faced him, now trying not to sneeze in the dusty barn. "Listen, Mister, I don’t know how you know my name, or where you’ve taken me, but I better get some answers pretty damn quick, or I’ll be phoning the police pronto."
The cowboy stood there with a puzzled look on his face.
"First of all, who are you?" She placed her hands on her hips and tried to look like she meant business.
A crevice appeared between his brows. "Don’t you know me, Elizabeth?"
"Never seen you before in my life, and for goodness sake, can you please call me Lizzie? No one ever calls me ‘Elizabeth.’"
"I called you Elizabeth. You told me once you hated it when people called you, ‘Liz’ or ‘Lizzie’—it made you feel like they were talking down to you."
"Boy, that must have been in another life!"
"Darling, my darling. I don’t know how you can be standing here, alive and well, and I don’t understand how you can not know me. This is all so...confusing. And unnerving. How can you be here?"
"Mister, that’s exactly what I want to know. Look, first off, what’s your name?"
"Ah, Eliz...Lizzie." His hand came up and gently stroked her face.
It struck her as such an old-fashioned sort of response, she almost giggled but, liking it, she leaned into his work-worn hand for a moment before pulling back. "Name?"
"Colby Gates."
"And you know me how?"
"We are...were married."
The note of incredulity in his voice startled her. "We were married," she repeated. "We were married? Well, Colby Gates, you really are confusing me with someone else. I have never been married, nice as it might have been to a, well, nice gentleman like you. But, if you don’t mind, could you just lend me your cell phone, and I’ll give a friend a call to come pick me up."
The crevice again appeared between Colby’s brows. "I...I don’t understand some of the words you’re using. Cell phone?"
"Oh...now...come on. You have got to be kidding. Did Jason put you up to this charade? Corsets and Stetsons and a married past. Really?"
He grimaced and Lizzie could almost see a cloud pass through the sky blue of his eyes. "I...Elizabeth...Lizzie...I don’t know how this could be; I don’t understand this at all. But I know, as sure as God is in His Heaven, it is you, my wife. My late wife."
Lizzie felt quite touched by his words, by his sincerity, not to mention his very good looks. Even if this was a joke or set-up of Jason’s—after all, Jason was not the joking kind, retribution was more his style—this guy, this Colby he had chosen as his amanuensis, or actor, or whatever the hell he was, was pretty good—good and good-looking.
"Okay, look," she said at last, "is there someplace we can go and sort this out? Quite honestly, I’m bushed. My boyfriend—you probably know him anyway, Jason—knocked me out and...."
"Boyfriend?"
"Oh! I do beg your pardon. What year are we pretending this to be now?"
Colby raised a brow in what looked like slight irritation. "It’s 1897."
"Ah! Of course! 1897. That would explain a whole raft of things. No cell phones. In fact, no phones—"
"Well, there are telephones, but not here."
"I see." Lizzie shook her head as if she would go along with this whole pretense. "And so I can’t phone a friend to collect me in their car because, of course, there are no cars."
"Well." Colby hesitated. "I’m afraid I have no idea what a ‘car’ is other than the car of a railroad train but, yes, there aren’t any. Or do you mean automobiles? We have them—"
"But not here," Lizzie finished for him. Unable to help herself, she burst out laughing. Jason had really done a good job, and this Colby fellow was a really good actor. He stayed in his part throughout, gave nothing away.
"Okay, listen...." She tried to take in a breath but the corset was really biting into her now. "Is there someplace we can go, is there someplace I can go and get the hell out of this corset or whatever the heck you call it, and then perhaps you can give me a cup of tea or something, and we can sort this out?"
"Elizabeth, there is something you should know." His voice was strained, hesitant.
"There’s a lot I should know, Colby Gates, but what specific item do you have in mind?"
"I’m married. I remarried."
Lizzie covered her eyes with her hands and sighed with the weight of the universe on her shoulders. "Okay, listen. Really. I don’t want to intrude on you and your wife, I don’t want to be part of this ridiculous farce anymore, and I sure as hell don’t want anything more to do with Jason Beeme. Just let me go home, all right? Let me go home? Please? Pretty please?"
Colby blew out a breath and shook his head. "Elizabeth. Lizzie. I have no idea who Jason Beeme is, and this ‘farce’ as you call it, it puzzles me as well. I don’t know how you are here; I only know what I’ve told you. We were married, happily married—very happily married and then...."
"And then? What?"
"You...died."
"I died. I’m dead. I see." Hysteria was now setting in, and Lizzie couldn’t help the small giggle that escaped. "I’m dead, but I’m here, is that it?"
"Yes."
"Soooo, like, if I’m dead, but I’m here, I’m a ghost?" This made her laugh out loud.
Colby didn’t answer. It was as if he hadn’t thought that at all, purely been confused as much as she by the situation. He seemed to mull this over now.
"Am I now a ghost as far as you are concerned?"
His "yes" came out almost as a breath.
"Hmm. Well, I’m not a ghost, you’re not a cowboy, and this, for sure, isn’t 1887."
"Ninety-seven," he corrected her.
She looked him in the eye, nose to nose. "I don’t give a good flying...you-know-what, what year you think it is. I want to go home, and I want to go home now, so just let’s stop playing around with this shit and—"
"You never used to use such language."
"Mister! Colby! Please stop! The year is 2016 and I can say whatever the hell I please. Women are liberated. We’re free."
"But...it isn’t ladylike."
"Well, excuse me! ‘Ladylike’! Okay, I’ve had enough now. Take me home, please." She rubbed her face with exasperation; this whole sham was un-be-lieve-able.
"Elizabeth...Lizzie...you are home, you know that. Only now...now—"
"You’re married."
"Yes."
"Well, good for you. I’m glad. I hope you’ll both be very happy. So, just take me to my apartment on Washington Avenue in St. Louis."
"I...."
She thought he was gagging as he rubbed his forehead.
"Lizzie: you’re in Wyoming. We’re on a ranch near Buffalo, Wyoming. You’re miles from St. Louis."
Lizzie could feel her eyes grow big; she thought they might pop out of her head. "Wyoming? Boy, Jason really did a job on me. Brother, how long was I out?"
Colby shook his head. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. As I said, I don’t know a Jason, I can only tell you it’s 1897, you’re in Wyoming, you’re my wife—or were my wife—before you...you...died."
Lizzie felt the breath was being pressed out of her, and if she didn’t get out of this barn, and out of the corset soon, she would, indeed, die for real. "Okay," she said giving in, "I’m dead. But this corset is killing me, so can we go some place and let me take it off? Maybe your wife could help?"
"Sylvia is visiting her aunt over in Kelly. She won’t be back for a few days."
"How convenient!" Ha! One less actor to deal with.
"I’ll take you into the house and we can sort out things there." He offered his hand, which she took, looking up into his pale eyes, and let him lead her out of the barn into chill air. The sun was laying its colors on the horizon and she figured it must be late afternoon, wherever she was.
"So, I’m dead," she said conversationally.
"Well, you were. You seem very much alive at the moment, I have to say, but that’s quite impossible." He stopped.
Lizzie glanced over at what was no doubt the house, a log structure of good proportion, with a lantern lit and glowing through a window. The last rays of the sun elongated their shadows, and for a moment, she tried to breathe in the cool air deeply.
"Impossible," she whispered. "To be here like this." She turned to him, the attraction so great suddenly she wished this wasn’t all some huge act laid on to fool her. "So, I’m dead," she repeated once more.
"Yes. I think so." There was a depth of sadness in his voice she couldn’t fathom.
"And how did I die, may I ask?"
Colby Gates stood stock still beside her and let her hand go. He turned to her in the fading light, and Lizzie saw him swallow hard as he removed his Stetson and brushed an invisible speck from its brim before replacing it on his head. Then he looked her in the eye.
"I shot you."
Chapter Three
Colby watched as the woman he loved whistled out a long breath from between the lips he had so often kissed. Even now, desire for her welled up in him like a sudden storm, unbidden, until he thought she must hear his beating heart.
At last, Lizzie said, "Really. I need to get out of this get-up. I can’t think straight, and your story is just getting weirder by the moment. Please?"
He sighed, letting go of pent-up longing to once again hold her in his arms. "Yes," he said at last. "Come this way."
He led her into the house and then to the bedroom that had once been theirs, desire for her burning within him, flamed by memories of how much they had shared, how they had loved, been soulmates since childhood until her death.
"Do you need help?" he offered.
"Ha! No, thanks. I think I can manage."
He stood as she glanced around the bedroom, her gaze lighting on the lovely hand-wrought furnishings, the carved bed with dainty white eyelet lace pillows, the double-door linen press, and the.... "Holy smoke!" she gasped. "My mirror!"
Colby glanced from her to the mahogany cheval mirror and back again. "So, you do remember some things," he said heartening. "If you remember the mirror I gave you...."
She turned to him, her face scrunched with misunderstanding. "You gave me?" she snorted. "I just bought that in an antique shop in St. Louis where I work. It came in today, or whatever day it was, and I begged my friend Neetie—the shop owner—to let me buy it from her. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?"
"Of course...." Colby scratched his head and considered this. "I bought it for you, of course I think it’s beautiful. You loved it, thought it the best gift ever."
"Well, this time I bought it for myself. Then Jason went and smashed me into it...."
Colby held his head for a minute. This was going ’round and ’round and he ached, ached with longing for her, ached with this story she kept weaving, things she said, language she used that was so alien to him. "Look," he practically moaned, "I’ll go make some tea for you and get myself something stronger if you don’t mind; you get out of that corset if it’s bothering you, and we’ll try to sort out who we are, and where we are, and what’s happening. Is that all right?"
"Nothing I’d like more."
Colby pulled the bedroom door shut behind him and put a kettle on the cook stove before reaching up for his whiskey. Was she play-acting? She used these made-up words, cursed like one of the hands, and genuinely seemed puzzled. Two-thousand-sixteen, she had said! What must that be like, that year? Not simply another century, another millennium, a foreign country to him, a place he could not envisage.
The bedroom door creaked open, and she stood, head peeping out, somewhat embarrassed. "Ummm, you, Colby, husband dearest? This stupid get-up you have me in, this corset, a few of the hooks in the front are too tight for me to undo. Would you mind?"
He couldn’t help his mouth turning up into a small smile, remembering the number of times he had undone her corset prior to some precious and wild time together, passionate love-making during which she let herself go, and became everything he wanted her to be. He strode over to her, grinning.
"All right, look, you needn’t think this is so damn funny. Where I come from, people undress each other all the time."
He lifted a brow, amusement puckering his mouth. "Really?"
"Yes. And you’d be surprised, you here in eighteen-whatever-year, how we all lay about practically undressed on beaches and...and...."
His hands lay on her naked shoulders for a moment, obviously having an effect on her train of thought. He felt the familiar fine skin beneath his hand, the warmth of her body, and looked into those hazel eyes to which he had so often fallen victim—their depths, their flashes of color changing with the light. His hand moved to the long silky hair, a deep brown that showed glints of copper. Lizzie glanced up, her brow wrinkled. Was she remembering, too? Was her body telling her what he knew to be true, that she loved him, had always loved him?
"Who are you?" he whispered. "Two-thousand-sixteen? Elizabeth, oh, Lizzie...."
As he bent toward her, brushing her lips with his, she seemed to snap awake.
"Okay, look, just get me out of this thing and give me a shirt maybe, a pair of jeans, something I can be comfortable in. This, this is just screwy, this whole thing."
Colby snapped the last hook and eye undone and, as he did, Lizzie gasped and turned to hold the corset against her before she ended up standing there bare-breasted with just the pair of bloomers on. She faced the mirror.
Her mouth hung open.
She gasped.
"Where am I?"
Colby shook his head. "Buffalo, Wyoming, I told you."
"No, no! Look!"
He came up behind her and looked in the mirror. Where the two of them should have been, Colby’s reflection came back alone.
Lizzie extended her hand and waved it in front of the mirror. Nothing.
Colby took her by the shoulders and moved her in front of him. The mirror showed him alone, his hands in midair like a begging puppy.
"What the...? Oh, my God! I’m a ghost!"
* * *
Seated at the table, one of his long and large shirts hung on her miniscule frame, the length coming down about mid-thigh, and the bloomers finishing her attire. She turned the tea cup in her hands, admiring the delicate pattern. "Okay—
"
"‘Okay’? You don’t hear that word much out here."
Lizzie glanced up at him, his lanky lean frame comfortably resting against what she took to be a worktop near the sink. He still had his Stetson on and she could see shaggy light brown hair in need of a cut. She gave a little guffaw. "Well, you will. You will; it’s, like, the most common word in the English language."
Colby knocked back a swig of his whiskey. "I see. Well, times change I guess, and 2016 is a ways off." He pivoted to put his empty glass down and gazed back at her. "So, what have we got?"
"What we’ve ‘got’ is something quite unbelievable, I suppose." She gathered herself into the kitchen chair, legs folded under her. "But if we accept the unbelievable, what we actually have is that somehow I’ve managed to time travel back to an earlier life of mine in some sort of parallel universe that is still going on. Only now, I’m a ghost of that person I was—your wife—whom, for some reason unbeknownst to me, you shot! Great! Were we in love at all?"
Colby pulled out the chair opposite her and slid the length of his body into it. "We were very much in love, Lizzie—more than you can imagine. I would have laid down my own life for you, but that was not to be."
"Oh, how tender!" Sarcasm was evident, and she noted his puckered mouth. "Do tell."
"We grew up on adjoining ranches; your family owned the next one over, the Lazy A, my dad had homesteaded this, the Double Bar X. I don’t think there was ever a doubt in either of our minds we’d marry when we grew up: we were soulmates, if you like."
Lizzie sat upright in her chair. "Children?"
"No. I’m afraid we hadn’t as yet been blessed. But it wasn’t for lack of trying." The corners of his mouth turned up, and Lizzie thought it was the most kissable mouth she had ever seen on a man.
"Well. I guess that’s all very well and good." Her voice was much lower, quieter now. "No kids to cry over my dead body."
