Last Chapter. Alternate Ending 2.

Please let me know in the comments which ending you prefer, and any parting remarks. I enjoyed sharing this story with all of you!

Happy reading!

No Place Like Home

"Wait!" Matthew screamed just as I plunged.

From the corner of my eye I could see a red uniform move behind Crass. Tarleton leapt forward as my knife plunged into Matthew's finger.

Matthew pulled me against his chest, covering his squirting finger with my body, and threw us backwards off the bed. We landed with a crash, in a tangle of limbs. I had only two thoughts: Jyoti was dead, and Matthew's finger was bleeding all over my front.

I pushed him off me and scrambled towards the painting. I didn't touch it, in case I got any drop of blood on the canvas. With one look, my heart immediately slowed.

Tarleton crouched with Jyoti in his arms, kissing her face. She kissed him back.

Behind them, Crass lay dead, blood seeping into the earth. Next to him knelt one of the Dragoons, Peter, a man Jyoti had befriended. He was quiet, reserved, but had talked to Jyoti at length about his fiancé back in England.

"Tarleton knew Peter was sneaking up behind Mr. Crass," Matthew said. He stood next to the bed, watching me rather than the painting. His finger was wrapped in the edge of his shirt, a stain quickly spreading outwards. "I realized it just as you pounced on me. Thanks for that."

I was too relieved to even joke about it. He glanced down at his finger and grimaced.

"Peter stabbed Mr. Crass from behind, in the kidney. It paralyzed him for the half second Tarleton needed to get the knife, free Jyoti, and slice the man's throat. He landed the killing blow. He wouldn't have had it any other way."

I swallowed hard, realizing what I had been about to do. "I nearly brought her back. Thank—" I looked up at Matthew, who was still staring at me rather than the painting, where Tarleton and Jyoti were collecting themselves. "Thank you. You saved them both."

He shrugged, clearly embarrassed.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.

He shrugged again, but then nodded. "Like you can't believe."

"I'll help you clean it up," I said, and led him into the bathroom.

I'd sliced Matthew's finger pretty well. It took a while for the bleeding to stop. It probably needed stitches, but it took another fifteen minutes for Matthew to finally convince me to stop pushing the issue. With the emergency kit I always kept with me—both for Jyoti's health and for the sake of our combined clumsiness—I managed to seal up the gash pretty well with super glue, binding tape, a lot of gauze, and more tape. His finger was approximately the sign of a small balloon, but it at least wouldn't bleed through again.

We went back into the main room and glanced at the picture; Jyoti and Tarleton were ahead of the other Dragoons back to camp. I helped Matthew take his button-up shirt off, down to his undershirt that displayed his well toned muscles to a lovely advantage. My dress was ruined with his blood so I stepped back into the bathroom to change. Normally I would have done it right there in front of him, but the draining adrenaline had left me vulnerable and Matthew's displayed physique made my head swim. I understood why movie heroes and heroines always ended up together; the rush had only one possible outcome when two attractive people were involved.

We cleaned up the splayed blood drops in the room the best we could. By the time we finished, Tarleton was pulling Jyoti into his tent. He pushed her against his small traveling desk and kissed her. Hard.

"Pencil please," I said. Matthew placed it with precision, like a scalpel, in my outstretched hand. I grinned at him before putting pencil to canvas. "Time to pop a bubble."

It took Jyoti a good thirty seconds before she saw the tongue-sticky-outy-face on Tarleton's forehead. She pulled back with a gasp.

"You're a bitch," she called into the air.

I laughed, erased the marks from Tarleton's very confused face, and wrote on the wall.

Glad to see you're alive.

"Glad to see you're popping my bubble. I hate you, by the way." She leaned away from Tarleton, but didn't let him get far, keeping her legs wrapped around his middle.

Just wanted to let you know that I found a way to get you back.

Her face fell and slowly she turned to Tarleton. He stared at my writing a moment longer, then met her wide eyes.

"This is your friend?" he asked.

She nodded. "Freaked out yet?"

"If that means, "am I utterly at a loss"… then perhaps. But oddly, this all makes a little sense to me."

Jyoti's smile died like a twitch on her lips. "How are you going to get me back?" she asked me, though she never took her eyes from Tarleton.

I have a plan. But you have to trust me.

I knew my plan would work. Like a light bulb, it had just come to me. I was left with no doubt whatsoever that it would work. But I still couldn't believe it did.

Jyoti stood in the middle of my room, wearing her 18th century time-period dress, with leaves in her hair. I only stared at her for two seconds—ten tops—before rushing her and wrapping her in a giant hug.

"Oh my god, I missed you!" I squealed. Actually squealed.

"It's not like you haven't been watching me, perv," was her reply, delivered with sarcasm, but I could hear the love in her tone as well.

"It's not the same! I thought I'd lost you again!"

Her arms squeezed me tighter than I'd ever felt before. We finally released each other and smiled dopily like it'd been years rather than a month since we'd stood face to face.

"That's it huh?" she asked, staring at the picture sitting on the easel. It was a peaceful scene now, exactly where Tarleton's tent had stood 250 years ago. It was still forest, the trees massive and mossy. The sun streaked through the foliage and highlighted the greenness of everything. It looked exactly as if I had painted it, complete with my style and brushstrokes and everything. "You're sure he's still there?" she asked.

"Waiting for you," I said. "I figure the reason you were taken to that year, on that day, in that place, was because that was the only time Tarleton visited that battlefield. You were transported to him, the time and day the same as here, strangely enough."

She nodded. I'd explained it all before, but I knew she liked hearing it again, to be reassured.

"So, where's…" She spotted him.

Matthew stood in the corner, waiting for our gigglefest to be over.

"Jyoti, this is Matthew."

Her eyes popped. "You look so much like him." She held out a tentative hand and he approached her, meeting her hand with his chest. She ran a hand up his neck, into his short hair, over his cheeks, hovered at his eyes. "His eyes… It's amazing."

He smiled, and I knew she was comparing the smiles. Matthew didn't look exactly like his ancestor, but there were those striking similarities that I'd seen immediately.

"Your blood really worked?"

"She's a genius," Matthew said, gesturing to me.

Embarrassed, Jyoti lowered her hands and stepped away from him.

"Do you want to get a shower or something to eat?" I asked. "There are great museums and whatnot around here. If you want to…"

She laughed, because we both knew I was joking. She wasn't sticking around long. "Where's the journal?" she asked.

"Show her," I told Matthew, and started collecting a few of Jyoti's things—her pills I handed to her with a glass of water. Barely glancing at the labels, she knew which ones to take and how many. She swallowed handfuls at a time like a pro. I packed a bottle of asprin and midol too.

"This was passed down throughout all of our generations," Matthew said, handing her the journal. "Most of it is about Tarleton's military campaigns. But then, right around the middle, he starts mentioning this girl. The pages become filled with her. Over and over, he talks about her." He flipped through the pages, and paused on one. I glanced at them as I packed. It was eerie seeing them sit so close to each other on the bed.

"I'd always wanted to meet this girl he was obsessed with. This particular passage always caught my eye." He handed her the journal. I knew which entry it was.

Jyoti read it out loud. "She continues to confuse me. Every word is a riddle. Everything she'd told me makes sense, and yet makes no sense at all. It's clear though, that I love her. She told me today that I wouldn't have a happy marriage, I'd never have children, but she'd always love me. I welcome the world to heap upon me what woes it will, as long as I can have her, the memories of her kisses, I'll be warm forevermore."

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she read.

"How's the story end?" she asked through a thick throat.

I twirled the pillowcase closed and knelt beside her.

"He doesn't finish it," I told her. Matthew took the journal back and flipped through a few more pages.

"The last few pages are about the military campaign," Matthew said. "This last battle you have, he mentions only that they are attacked by Indians, not if you live or die. He never makes another mention of you."

"Does that mean…"

"It means nothing." I held her face in my hands, making sure she heard me. "It means he stopped writing about you. He doesn't give the ending away. Because it's no one's business but yours."

"I've always wanted to know," Matthew said. "I've always been curious what happened to her. To you."

We were both looking at Jyoti, who was staring at the journal.

"I'm going back," she whispered.

I smiled. "I knew you would. I'm glad we're able to give you the option."

With a sigh, we all stood up. Matthew handed her the journal, but she pressed it back into his hands.

"Keep it. I'll have no need for it. After all, Tarleton has one, remember?" She kept her hands on his and smiled at him. "I'm not sure if you're mine," she said. "You might be mine, you might be Korina's. I don't care. I know his nature. He might whore around when he's away from me, but as long as he always comes back, I think I could be okay with it. It's produced you, and you've given such a gift to both of us." She kissed both his cheeks. I resolved to Google him the moment she left; new information would surely come up this time. I had no doubt in my mind that Matthew was a relation of both Jyoti and Tarleton, and Tarleton's whoring days were long, long behind him. I was glad Jyoti was going into this with eyes wide open. Tarleton was a good man, but he had his flaws just like any mortal man.

With tears spilling freely in both our eyes, she turned to me. I handed her the pillow case.

"Every Monday night at eight I'm looking in, so you better be decent. I expect to have a full conversation with you. You'd better keep writing; don't let that amazing writer's talent go to waste. And tell me all about your life. It'll be cheaper than a phone call. Though I suppose I'll start running low on pencil lead pretty quickly."

She laughed. "As long as you keep that picture under wraps the rest of the time. Perv." She hugged me tight. "You can visit any time you want."

"I know," I said. "And I'll probably take you up on that offer some time. Of course, I get to see you lots and lots. I'll let you know as soon as I'm back in Washington and you can come see your mother." That was going to be one interesting conversation. "You let me know whenever I need to make you a doctor's appointment, and we'll get you back here for it."

I could feel her nod next to my head. Finally, we stepped back. I swallowed but managed to smile. "Tell the bastard I love him for loving you."

She nodded again, unable to speak anymore.

"It's not goodbye," I said. "I'm not really losing you. It's easier than it was last time. You're alive, somewhere. And that makes me happy."

She nodded again. "I'm ready."

"Thank god," I said. "Leave before I cry much more."

Matthew wrapped me into his side as Jyoti looked at us both one last time. Then she raised the vial, new and shiny, uncorked it, and poured the fresh blood on the painting. She smiled at me as she touched the scene, and just like that, she was gone again.

Tarleton stood up from his desk where he'd been writing in his journal. He stared at her longer than I had—twenty seconds tops—then rushed to her and kissed her. She dropped the pillow case of her pills on the ground.

"I wasn't sure you'd come back."

"I'll always come back," she said between kisses.

"I thought you were a figment of my dreams."

"I'm real," she said. "I'm very real. We're real."

Matthew nudged me. I looked at him, unable to smile. "Do I have to?"

"Yes," he said. "You promised her."

"Fine." Gently, I grabbed a blanket and wrapped the painting in it. "You know this means I have to stock up on your blood right? So I can bring her back any time I want."

He sat on the bed, idly flipping through the journal. I sat next to him, with the wrapped painting on my lap. Distantly, I could hear them talking.

"You finally got your ending," I said. "You know how the story ends. What are you going to do now?"

He shrugged, flipping pages. "Maybe go to Seattle."

"What?" I stared at his profile.

"It'd be easier than sending you vials of my blood, wouldn't it?"

My voice box suddenly forgot how to produce sounds. He settled on one page and looked at me, those dark eyes sparkling, his full cupid lips curled into a smile.

"What are you going to do without Jyoti in your life?" he asked.

I thought about all the things we used to do, trying to fill her life with fun and games, trying to forget about the months she lost, we lost, in the hospital. Trying to forget that at any moment we could lose her again. I couldn't say she didn't have a life, nor could I say she was my life. But we were part of each other's lives for so long. Now, I would have a void without her to fill it. She had a new life, a good life.

A void wouldn't be too hard to fill. I gave him my best, cheekiest smile and shrugged one shoulder. "Keep living. I'll miss her though."

He set the open journal on top of the wrapped painting in my lap. He kissed my temple and whispered in a low, hoarse voice. His breath against my ear and the pure seductiveness of his tone made shivers travel up and down my spine, then back up it. "Read it."

I looked down. The last entry wasn't in Tarleton's hand. It was in a familiar cursive, rushed and nearly impossible to read. I knew the hand well.

My dearest friend,

The British lost the war. Ban didn't return to England. He never married. He had three children. And he was loved all the days of his life.

I didn't change history the way I had thought I could. But I changed the most important thing of all. My history.

I love you my friend. To a long and prosperous life, to the both of us. However odd we may be.

Love you always,

Jyoti Tarleton