Prologue

The young man didn’t have much time.

He ran in an awkward shuffle, frequently glancing over his left shoulder as he scurried through the wooded glade. His heart raced, sweat covered his forehead and pinned his blond bangs to his forehead. The lad wasn’t quite sure how far behind they were, but he knew they were there. They were always there. This time, they were ready for him. Ready and waiting.

The sturdy oaks thinned and the small cottage slowly slipped into view. The cabin the young man remembered fondly helping his father build and plan, back when he was but eight years old. Now twenty-three, he feared this would be the last time he laid eyes on the small structure. Even so, the structure stirred fond memories of him and his older brother. The only sadness in his heart was for the loss of not being able to see his just born niece, only weeks old at this point. His older brother – nearly twenty-eight – had settled down with a proper young lady and both were very happy together. Enough to start a family.

A single tear slipped from his eye as he realized he’d never be able to give any cousins to that little girl. A sadness that almost stopped him in his tracks, of longing. He always wanted a son. A son he could call on like his father did with him. He’d raise the boy right, make sure he had a good head on his shoulders. Make sure to treat everyone – including the slaves if he ever would come across one – with the proper respect. Slave. That word burned his mind and tongue each time it came across his thoughts and uttered out of his mouth. He hated the way the visiting plantation owners regaled stories about how they enjoyed whipping their slaves for the smallest thing. The man knew, deep down, they were people just like him. He felt the others in the world knew it too, but didn’t care. No one seemed to care. Not enough to make a difference yet. He hoped one day, they’d no longer be bound by those chains and walk hand in hand with their white overlords as equals. The man laughed harshly. He knew that wouldn’t happen in his lifetime. Maybe not for several lifetimes if the slave owners had their say.

His bare feet, aching from all the running paused for just a second on the small wooden porch. At the edge of the glade, the man saw a few local folk – other men around his age – pour from the woods. He could barely see them, but he knew they had faces of fury and wrath. The man wasted no more time. He was almost out of it.

He almost tore the door off the hinges as he went inside, shutting it and pulling the reinforcing bar down to buy him some more time. The emptiness normally would’ve hit him. But he didn’t have the time for the distraction. He felt it that he needed to finish this crazy idea of his. One that came to him as he started to run. Something told him it had to be done. He didn’t argue with his notion – it sounded like as good idea as any.

He darted into his room and sat at his handmade desk. He remembered helping his father construct it when he turned twelve. How they cut the trees from the glade down themselves and managed to refine those sturdy trunks of wood into this ornately decorated piece. His thoughts of fancy faded quick as he produced a piece of parchment and a quill. He hurriedly dipped the pen into the inkwell and started writing. He knew it had to be short but he had a message to write. One he felt if he didn’t, his life would have no meaning once it ended. For he knew it would end.

Just like his lover’s.

It took him about a minute to write what he wanted and he mentally cursed as he saw a small error in his grammar. No time to dwell on that, as much as he wanted. He blew on the ink, willing it to dry faster as he reached under his straw mattress. In no time, from the straw he produced a couple of keepsakes of his and tossed them into a satchel hanging from a nail protruding from the wooden walls. He plunged his hand back into the straw and pulled out one last item. One that he swore would never leave his room. He tossed it into the bag as well, tucking the hastily written note into the back cover first, into a small pocket barely visible unless one searched very hard to find. Once secure there, it wasn’t apparent anything was there. He ran his hands over the pocket and, indeed, he felt the very small protrusion the parchment caused.

He heard the shouting outside along with the violent bangs to the door. He knew they were ramming it with their shoulders, trying to barge in on him. He wished he had more time… more time to somehow preserve his family home, gifted to him by his father before his father and his mother decided to try to head out to California. The rumors of adventure enticed his father too much to keep him still for too long. That thrill of adventure was still in his bones, and now with all his children able to fend for themselves, they had left months ago. Idly, the man wondered how long it would take the postal service to send a note out to them informing them of their son’s death. His death.

Quickly, he reached the fireplace, made of granite stones brought in from out of state – and very expensive – he searched for the small lever almost impossible to reach inside the flue. His now long arms reached the lever and pressed it, revealing a safe-like hollow within the fire pit made of limestone and shale. He tossed the satchel into the hole and made sure the strap wasn’t showing or would impede the mechanism. As he watched it seal back up, he remembered when he spied on his father pulling a very special Christmas present from there for his brother. A handcrafted ring, used by his father to propose to his mother. The man knew, looking back, that the ring was to be given as a gift from his brother to his betrothed. It took a great deal of effort to pull himself from the fireplace and he calmly walked to his room and started to change.

As he did, pulling off his dirty, soiled clothes, he made sure to toss his shirt into the water basin he kept nearby. Any soot remaining on the shirt sleeve when he reached into the flue washed away with a minimal effort on his part. The man tossed on his finest. If he was about to go out, he wanted to look his best.

His lover would have wanted it that way.

The front door finally splintered apart, allowing the four men into the house. A few head turns was all it took for them to spot their prey sitting calmly on his bed, hands clasped at his knees. “You don’t feel like runnin’ any longer?” the largest man said with a heavy breath. “Are you now prepared to face your crimes for what you and your filthy Sodomite were seen doing?!” The faces on the four men seemed angry, yet… very disturbed by the young man. “You will hang for this, if our revolvers and pitchforks don’t chase the Devil from you!”

The man looked into each of their eyes slowly, slightly unnerving each of them. They held to their resolve, tightening their grips on their preferred weapon. Calmly, he spoke. “Do with me what you will. You have already stripped me of the one person who matters most to me and there is no reason to continue on in this wretched life without… w-without him. No matter what you say, I know what we had together was beautiful and as glorious as your times with your wives have been. You can only understand if you experience the love we had for yourselves. My words will ne’er sway you; I know that.” He paused. “Know this – if my blood shall spill by your hands in this manner, this moment, then will it be said that I cannot rest until I am reunited with my beloved. And any disruption to that path will be met with swift retribution.” He swallowed. “As I said… do what you will with me.”

No one moved for a few seconds before the biggest man raised his revolver and took a few cautious steps towards the young man until the barrel was pressed into his chest. A small scowl escaped his lips. “As God as my Holy witness, I send you back to Hell from whence you came!”

The man pulled the trigger.