Chapter Ten

"He's so heavy," Audra said as she and her mother carried the suited boy from the kitchen to the table in the parlor. She had his legs, and Victoria had a firm grip on his shoulders.

"Just a few more steps," Victoria gritted out.

"Why can't Silas or one of the ranch hands do this? My arms are sore."

Victoria ignored her daughter's complaints and gently laid the boy's head down so it wouldn't bang hard on the walnut furniture. "This is women's work." She arranged his hands, folding them over his lap. The boy looked at peace except he was unnaturally pale. Next, she combed his hair, pulling it slightly over his forehead and patting it into place. She shook her head at the gold earring in the boy's ear. "Must be part gypsy," she said under her breath, removing it from his ear and pocketing it in her apron. "This won't do for Christian burial."

The Barkley's houseguest emerged from the hallway, rubbing her eyes. "Mrs. Barkley?" she asked in lightly accented English.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Juliette," Victoria said. "He didn't survive."

Juliette Marcelle looked down at Lucky, smoothing out the sleeve of his suit coat. Her eyes filled with tears.

Victoria gave her a quick hug, aware that Juliette was still grieving the untimely death of her parents. They'd been in Sacramento on business when tragedy struck. Both had been killed in an armed robbery at the hotel. Juliette had been in her room with a headache, declining dinner that evening. She'd decided to stay in California after their funeral, determined to earn a living as a governess. With her education and command of English, Italian, and her native French, she'd probably be hired by one of Stockton's wealthiest families. Jarrod had heard Juliette's sad tale and offered to help her find employment. She'd been invited to stay with the Barkley's while she interviewed for a position.

Juliette and Audra had had great fun, filling the house with their lively laughter and pranks. Victoria had noticed Heath's interest in the girl. It was probably why he'd neglected his ranch duties in favor of hanging around the house. Juliette was petite and had a brunette beauty unusual in this part of the West. She definitely stood out from the local girls in terms of manners and refinement, yet she seemed adaptable and hadn't complained once about the living conditions at the ranch. In fact, she’d rolled up her sleeves and assisted the other women in the house.

Juliette made a sign of the cross over her bosom and then repeated the gesture over Lucky's heart. "Poor boy," she said. "How sad." She looked up abruptly at Nick's noisy entrance into the room.

Nick was disheveled, his uncombed hair on end, and his eyes bleary and bloodshot. "Where's Jarrod?" His feet were uncertain, and he pitched forward, barely catching himself before he fell against the table. "Wha....what's this?"

"Nick," Victoria said. "Now, this is not your fault."

Nick's eyes widened when he saw the dead body dressed in Heath's best suit. He fell back, one shaking hand extended. "No!" he shouted, hopping up and tearing through the room, away from the corpse.

"Nick!" Victoria called after him. "Come back here! It's not what you think!"

Nick's trailing cry was followed by a harsh slamming of the door.

Victoria stood still in shock. What did Nick think? That it was Heath? Or did he feel responsible for Lucky's death. The look on his face chilled her. She'd never seen her son like this -- wild, terrified, out of his mind. She came to her senses when she heard a commotion outside. There was shouting -- two men raising their voices and the sounds of a protesting horse.

Victoria raced from the house in time to see an angry ranch hand waving his fist at Nick, who had grabbed his horse, straddling it carelessly and riding it hard and fast. She caught her skirts, lifting them so she could run to the ranch hand. "What happened?" she asked, out of breath. "Where's he headed?"

"I don't know, Mrs. Barkley." The man frowned. "He knocked me off my horse, didn’t say a word. He ain't treatin' her right. I don't dig my heels into Annabelle like that. He's crazy or somethin'."

Victoria watched her son in the distance. He was barely a speck now. She had to handle this herself. Her instincts were screaming at her. Time was of the essence! "Saddle me up," she said. She pushed at the simple man's back. "Now!"

***

Nick was molded to the racing horse, his lean, muscular body instinctively moving with hers, yet his mind taking him down a tortuous path. His brown hair flew away from his shocked face, and his eyes squinted in the fierce wind. Flashes of his good times with Heath assaulted him -- joking on the ranch, working side by side, watching each other's backs in town and during that time in jail. Desperation, fear and shame twisted in him like barbs, tearing his guts out. "Noooo!!!" he screamed at the hot sun, waving his fist at the universe.

Other images rose up in his mind, Heath's bloody body, his leg torn up, Nick digging into him with a knife, hearing his screams. Nick's heart rose in his throat. I killed him! I killed Heath!

Annabelle's eyes were huge and frightened, her mouth in a grimace, soaking wet with sweat. Nick continued to dig his heels into her sides, and she obeyed, running with all her might.

Nick's mind screamed. I can't live with this! Heath was his best friend. They were so close. How could he be dead? It didn't feel right. Nothing felt right -- it never would again! My fault, my fault! Oh God, no!!

Nick's face slackened, and his eyes became dull and trance-like, his mind dipping and losing touch with reality. His hands became jelly on the reins, and the horse sensed the change in her rider. There was a stand of trees in the distance, Oak Meadows, and she ran in that direction to find some comfort in the shade. Nick was no longer guiding her, just hanging on, his body in sync with hers but his mind elsewhere.

Nick's vision turned red, filled with blood, his brother's spilled blood. He was dirty, contaminated. It was his fault. He was the boss. He'd failed. He was supposed to do the right thing. Every harsh word he'd ever spoken to his younger brother accused him, brought him further into a black hole that he couldn’t escape. It was his fault. He couldn't live with it. Another man's blood on his hands, on his heart, his conscience. He was a murderer! His words had killed Heath as sure as if his sharp tongue were a rifle aimed at his brother's heart. Nothing would ever be the same.

Annabelle stopped under a large tree, panting hard and shaking her head as she whinnied. Nick held the reins to his face, desperate to escape this intense pain that consumed his heart. He breathed in the leather scent and then slid off of the saddle. He yelled sharply when a branch waved in his direction, convinced it was his brother's spirit, come back to take him away.

"I didn't mean to!" he insisted, backing into the horse with a grunt. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, boy! I'm not good enough to be the boss!!" The branches waved at him, restless in the morning breezes. Nick slapped the horse's flank, on top of a length of rope, formed in a lasso. An idea floated into his confused mind as his fingers curled around the rope.

"I'm gonna make it right!" he called out to his departed brother. "It's gonna be okay, Heath. I promise. It's gonna be better. Don't worry, little brother! I'm comin' after ya! I'm gonna save ya!" Nick made a keening sound of despair in his throat as he looped the rope upon a large, overhead branch. His fingers trembled so badly he had a hard time tying the knot. Tears of frustration sprang from his hazel eyes, and he mumbled, "Come on, come on!" Then finally -- it was ready. The breezes picked up again, and he stared at the movement in the trees. "Don't go!" he cried. "Please! Wait for me! I'm comin'."

Nick hoisted himself back onto the horse. He stared wild-eyed around him, lost in the dark greenery, the deep shadows and murmuring, rustling leaves. "I’m no good," he said as he pulled the noose around his neck and tightened it. "I can't be the boss any more," he whispered as he kicked Annabelle with furied heels, his hands gripping the rope tight to support his weight as she raced off without her rider. Nick trembled once and let go, his body snapping down sharply, swaying left and right beneath the large oak tree.

***

Victoria urged her horse on when she saw Annabelle racing toward her, without a rider. The horse was running from a stand of trees, and Victoria screamed, "NICK!" What was her son doing? Why had the horse left? Fear consumed every cell in her body. Something hideous had happened! "NICHOLAS!"

"NO!" Victoria shouted when she rode close enough to see the spectacle before her -- her son, hanging from a tree. Her life. Her son. He was hanging! All she could do was see the devastation, the lifelessness, the waste. She stopped her horse and jumped off. "NICK!" she cried, grabbing hold of his dangling legs. "Don't do this! Don't go! Nick. Son!" She could hardly think, hardly comprehend what was happening to her, only that her life was being cut off.

Victoria jumped back with a shout when a gunshot roared behind her, above her head. She held her head and ducked as the stench of gunpowder and burnt rope filled the air. Nick came crashing to the ground with a loud thud, from nearly ten feet in the air. He fell on his side, and he lay with his arms and legs splayed away from his body. The noose was tight on his neck; his eyes were closed, and his tongue was hanging from his mouth. The sound of harsh choking activated his mother and the ranch hand who'd followed her. The man dropped his rifle to the ground and ran to Nick's side.

Both Victoria and the man wrestled with the noose, finally extricating it from Nick's neck, which was bruised, bloodied, and torn in places. "Oh my God," Victoria kept saying.

"He's still alive," the ranch hand said. "Good Lord musta been lookin' after him."

Victoria sank to her knees, cradling her son's head in her lap. "Nick. Can you hear me? Nick, wake up, son."

"He's gotta bump on his head," the ranch hand said, pointing. "Musta got it when he fell. It's bloody."

Victoria felt for the knot above Nick's ear, on the left side. "As long as he's breathing," she said. "We have hope."

"I can place him on my horse," the man offered.

"No. Lay him across my horse. I'll ride back with him easy. You go on ahead and bring Doctor Merar. As fast as you can manage."

 Victoria cringed when Nick was laid behind her, unconscious. The ranch hand used the same rope that'd hanged her son to secure him. Her heart hurt every time he took in a raspy breath, but she was relieved he was still alive to sound so bad. Her eyes filled with tears when she approached the house. He was going to live! She wasn't going to give him a choice!

***

Heath groaned as he lay down on Bobbie's sofa. He rubbed his eyes. "I'm sure grateful you got me outta that prison hospital. Boy howdy. They made an awful ruckus when we left."

Bobbie spread an afghan over Heath and tucked it around him. "You relax. Try and get some sleep. You're still recovering from those gunshot wounds."

Heath fixed his eyes on Luke. "How come I feel like I know you when we've never met before? And why were you scared when I mentioned that lady who visited me?"

Luke scoffed. "I'm not scared."

Heath's right eyebrow rose.

Luke grinned. "Well, maybe my senses are on high alert."

"Who's the lady?"

"Helena Cassadine ain't no lady!" Luke declared.  

Heath rose to a sitting position. "Quit messin' around and tell me!"

Luke sighed and sat down on a chair beside Heath. "Simmer down. You don't want those gunshot wounds to kill you." Then, I'd never be born, Luke thought. He rubbed his head and blurted out, "Okay. Okay. I'll tell you. It's...it's not going to sound...well, you might not believe it. But, I'm telling you the truth."

"You're not sayin' much of anything."

Luke waved his hand at Bobbie. "Give me that photo."

Bobbie looked uncertain. "Luke, are you sure?"

"Yes. Maybe he can help us figure a way out of this mess. I did inherit my brains from someone."

"And your good looks?" Bobbie teased. She handed him a large envelope.

Luke opened the envelope. He stared at the photo. "This is amazing, utterly amazing."

"What, daggnabit?!"

"Do you know what year it is?"

"Eighteen seventy-one!"

Luke shook his head. "No. Right here and right now it's nineteen ninety-eight."

Heath lay back down and moaned. "I shouldn'ta asked."

"Helena Cassadine...the lady who spoke to you. She's the wife of a man I killed. In self defense, of course. Mikkos Cassadine was a madman. He built a machine that could freeze the world. He wanted to control everyone. Now, she's my main enemy. She wants me dead, and my entire family as well. She's after revenge."

Heath sighed. "Well, I'da killed ya, too. Nobody hurts my family."

"See, I'm the same way. I'm trying to protect my family. Helena has an association with the foreign goon who held you captive. He has my son. I'm worried sick about Lucky. And, to be honest, I'm kind of worried about you, too."

"You're not my kin."

"I believe you are," Luke said. He handed Heath the photograph. "Heath Barkley, you're my great grandfather."

"You're cottonpickin' crazy!" Heath yelled. He glanced down at the photograph. His mouth opened. "What?" he breathed out. "This is me. And Juliette."

"It's your wedding photo," Luke said.

"Me? And Juliette? Married?" A smile crept across Heath's face, and his cheeks flushed "I mean, she's...she's real pretty. And nice, and smart, and funny, and..."

"You got your girl," Luke said.

Heath turned over the photograph. "Eighteen seventy-two. That's next year."

"Took you awhile to win her heart."

Heath shook his head. "No, it's August. This says we married in January."

Luke winked. "You're quick. I knew we were related."

"We've had this old photograph for years," Bobbie said. "It's real."

Heath scratched his head. "What's goin' on? I don't know what ta believe."

"If they built a weather machine, maybe they built a time machine, too," Luke said. "I know it sounds like a fairy tale, but some mighty strange things have happened in Port Charles."

"I...I feel strange."

"We need to move quickly before Helena does something to Lucky."

"He was in real bad shape," Heath said.

"I want to pick your brains. Maybe there's a detail that'll give us a clue. You said you were on the ranch, repairing a fence. What's your next memory?"

"I woke up in a prison cell. A kid was in it. Your son."

Luke's heart jumped at the mention of Lucky. "Go on."

"We talked a little. Me and the kid. And then, the troll man showed up. He was yellin' things at us. We decided to escape. It all happened so quick. Before we knew it, we were both shot."

"What next?"

Heath rubbed his forehead. "It gets real fuzzy after that."

"Try. Try hard to remember a detail. Anything."

"I was pulled up," Heath continued. "They carried me. My eyes were closed so I didn't see anything." He paused. "Oh, wait. There was this bright light. I opened my eyes to see what it was. It was a huge metal machine. I heard a strange buzzing sound, and they pushed me in. I felt like my bones were bein' ripped apart. And then...I fell into that strange place, that bar..."

Luke's nerves were on fire. "A time machine. I knew it. It spit you right into the twentieth century." He stroked his goatee. "Lucky must be back in time. In the eighteen seventies?"

Heath's voice sounded shaky. "We were both shot. People don't have all that fancy stuff you used to help me. Not in my time. A man gets shot that bad, well..." Heath shot upright. "We gotta save him!"