He didn’t have to wait long for the girl to return; this time, she returned with company. Isaac had wished he’d taken the moment presented earlier to ask this girl some questions.

  Now it was too late, and he probably wouldn’t get the opportunity again.

  Clearly, she thought he was Mr. Grayson, and that man was supposed to be buried in the cemetery.

  What he found most bizarre was how everyone was handling his “return from the grave,” almost as if this were a natural and recurring event in this world.

  More and more, this was feeling like an entirely different world than anything Asher was previously familiar with.

  Interrupting his thoughts, two men walked through the door first, both spreading out to either side of the doorway and then standing perfectly still — eyes fixated on Jonah.

  ‘Expecting trouble?’ Isaac couldn’t help but let the thoughts collide in his mind. He had given them no indication he would be in trouble, but he also knew it wasn’t every day that a dead man arrived back in town.

  The two men were dressed the same as those in the town square. A taller woman, probably closer to Isaac’s own age, walked in next.

  The little girl continued to stand hesitantly outside the door, her nervous expression very apparent on her face.

  ‘She must have gotten in trouble for coming in here alone,’ Isaac thought to himself. It made sense to him, too. She had strolled into his room, or maybe holding cell — he wasn’t sure if he was a guest or a hostage yet.

  Right now, the only thing that Isaac had going for him was that he remained a mystery. He needed to be careful when speaking, not giving away too many details — he wasn’t sure what would scare people away in this town. He knew he was already way outside of the acceptable behavior for a visitor.

  The tall, slender woman stood only a few feet away from Isaac; if she had any fear within her, she didn’t display it.

  Her clothes mimicked what he had seen in the town square: simple, earthy colors. She had removed the outer layer of her clothes. The inner layer seemed a lot more comfortable. Her shirt seemed to be made of some sort of silk material, and her trousers a simple linen material.

  He noticed she didn’t seem to carry a weapon of any kind; both men at the door, however, had revolvers, strapped tightly to each of their hips. The leather seemed old and worn from the constant abuse this environment created.

  “Jonah… Mr. Grayson.” She paused for a moment, the slip-up unintentional — she hadn’t meant to call him by his first name, but he was grateful that she did. He dialed that name down, repeating it multiple times to himself.

  He couldn’t forget again.

  “Jonah. Jonah. Jonah.

  I am Jonah.

  Not Isaac.”

  His eyes floated up to meet the woman calling his name. Clearly, he was supposed to know her, supposed to remember her. The way she spoke his name, the gentleness, the concern, the pain — the two of them had history, and it bothered him deeply he was not able to remember any of it.

  He would have to do his best to uncover the details as they spoke, doing whatever he could to protect his secret identity as Isaac.

  “Mr. Grayson, my sincere apologies for the additional security — you must understand that this is not my idea of…” she hesitated for a moment before speaking the next word, “Hospitality.”

  He knew the words were for the two guards who stood at the door, waiting for any reason to teach Isaac a lesson. Isaac just nodded. His words weren’t needed right now; he seemed like the type of man that when he spoke… well, less was probably more.

  “Jo… Mr. Grayson… Do you remember anything before… your… uhhhh….”

  “Fuckin’ say it as it is… I was killed. Murdered, and the sons of bitches that took my family from me will pay.”

  For the first time since arriving here in this new world, in Ashfall, Isaac didn’t feel in control. The words that came from his mouth didn’t come from him. He didn’t think them, he didn’t speak them, and he certainly couldn’t stop them.

  What the fuck was happening to him?

  Her eyes met his with an unbreakable hardness.

  “What do you remember?” she spoke through pursed lips.

  Isaac struggled to read her emotions. Was she nervous? Was she hiding something?

  Perhaps she hadn’t expected Jonah Grayson to remember anything. Isaac certainly didn’t. That still didn’t explain how or why he spoke without any intention.

  “Plenty… Member plenty, but I ain’t tellin’ you. I ain’t tellin’ those goons and fuck all who tryna pry it outa me. Dunno who I can trust.”

  The words coming from Isaac were not his.

  They exploded from his mouth, faster than he could comprehend — no thoughts came, just words, entirely on their own, without any semblance of control.

  He couldn’t do anything to restrain them. It was almost as if he had lost total control of his own ability to speak, think, or react.

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  He was a passenger while something else took over his consciousness.

  You could have heard a pen drop in the room if it wasn’t for the audible gasps that came from the two men standing on either side of the door. Clearly, they had not expected what came out of his mouth.

  Were they involved?

  He hesitated for a moment, trying to understand what exactly he was expecting these two men to have done.

  His memories were blank. Yet each time his eyes met theirs, he could feel the blood boiling beneath his skin. They were hiding something.

  He knew it. Or Jonah knew it.

  The woman seemed satisfied with his answer; Isaac couldn’t be certain, but he thought he had seen a slight smirk curl at the edge of her lips — almost as if she were hoping he would remember.

  This changed things. Maybe the two men here had wronged Jonah. Isaac didn’t have the same feeling from the woman. He almost trusted her — he wasn’t sure why.

  Behind her in the hallway, he could still see the little girl peeking her way into the room, concern spreading across her face. Both arms were filled with linen to replace the dirty bandages around his feet.

  “I see.”

  The words cut across the room in an icy fury. Cold and without any sort of forgiveness.

  It wasn’t the woman speaking. The words came from the hallway, not from the girl, either, but from some unknown man.

  Isaac felt his heart rate intensifying. Something about the voice sent a shiver down his spine.

  Emotions spiraling out of control:

  Anger.

  Regret.

  Shame.

  Betrayal.

  Jealousy.

  He couldn’t fully understand the emotions as they crashed into him in rapid succession.

  His subconscious recognized the voice before his mind caught up.

  A large man emerged from the hallway, moving slowly — deliberately — as if the room already belonged to him.

  Immediately, Isaac noticed his nose. Oversized. Crooked. Bent slightly to the left. Broken too many times to be accidental.

  Isaac… or perhaps Jonah, felt a brief, shameful satisfaction at the sight.

  Had he done that?

  “You always did wake up loud, Jonah,” the man said.

  There was no surprise in his voice. No relief. Only contempt — settled and well-practiced.

  As he stepped closer, more of him came into focus. His clothes were baggy, cut in the familiar western style, all black. A wide-brimmed hat sat low on his brow, its edge casting his eyes in shadow. Two revolvers hung from his hips, not flashy — used. Balanced. Trusted.

  He didn’t rest his hands on them. He didn’t need to.

  Dirt and sweat caked his face; the grime worked deep into the lines of a man who spent more time outside than indoors. His expression wasn’t rage — rage burned hot and fast.

  This was something colder.

  Isaac met his stare.

  The man held it effortlessly. Not a challenge. A measurement.

  The hatred inside Isaac flared instinctively, sharp and sudden — but the words didn’t come this time. Whatever had seized control of him before remained silent now.

  The man tilted his head slightly, as if listening for something that never arrived.

  A faint, disappointed curl touched the corner of his mouth.

  “Still stubborn,” he muttered.

  And for the first time, Isaac understood something with absolute clarity —

  This man wasn’t here to see if Jonah Grayson had come back.

  He was here because he had hoped he would.

  Isaac refused to be the first to break the gaze. Seconds passed like minutes as the uncomfortable silence hung in the air like a foul odor.

  To his surprise, it was the girl who spoke up next.

  “Mum, scooze me…”

  She spoke just loud enough to break the silence.

  “His bandages need tending to,” spoke the mother.

  The men left the room shortly after the young girl came forward to tend to his wounds. Stepping forward, something shifted in the air for Isaac. The world around him seemed to dissipate into the background.

  He noted a respect given toward the healers of this town; whatever disagreement they had would have to wait for a future date. Zero doubt in his mind that they would meet again, and he assumed it would be much less pleasant than this awkward tension he felt.

  The cold rag hit his skin as she pulled apart the bandages covering his feet. Searing pain rushed over him as she pressed firmly against his wounds, attempting to clean away any lingering infection.

  A small pail of water turned a light shade of pink as she cleaned the bloody cloth in the water between passes.

  This being the first time Isaac saw his wounds since waking up, it made his world spin as the searing pain rushed over him.

  His poor feet. Torn to absolute shreds, it reminded him of the meat he had seen in the butcher shop going through the grinder.

  Surely this was going to become a permanent injury. No more than that. A disability?

  Interrupting his anxiety came a gentle voice from the young girl.

  “Know it looks bad, sir, but you’ll mend up just fine. Take a few days, it will!”

  Almost as if she could read his thoughts, he shook that aside. No, it wasn’t anything supernatural; this young healer just had amazing bedside manner and knew how to calm a scared patient.

  The way she spoke, the cadence and rhythm reminded him of mixed cultures — a bit European, a tad Little House on the Prairie. Isaac could still smell the burning pipe tobacco, like it was yesterday - back at his grandparents' house watching the show every evening together. Still, her tonality was unique enough for him to know he’d never heard a dialect quite like this.

  His head nodded in acknowledgment of her kind words.

  As the girl worked diligently tending to his wounds, Isaac couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. This confused him just as much as everything else that had happened since waking underground. His subconscious was remembering her. Perhaps he’d known her since she was born; that could explain the pride he felt seeing this young lady become an efficient healer.

  Watching her more closely, he realized his early estimate had been off. She was slightly older than the child he had first seen, perhaps nine or ten, but still small in stature. Her large, circular eyes — bright forest green — caught the light as she moved, framed by a jet-black pixie cut that peeked out from beneath stray strands. Sunlight seemed to cling to her baby-blue sundress, sprinkled with yellow sunflowers, a stark contrast to the neutral, earthy tones that dominated the town.

  She moved with delicate, graceful precision, her youth evident in the light, sing-song cadence of her voice as she spoke gently to him. Despite her size, there was a quiet competence to her movements, a respect for the task at hand that made Isaac’s chest tighten with something akin to admiration. She was vibrant, full of life, and utterly unlike the muted world around them.

  Her boots were a bit too big, made apparent from the scuff marks as she dragged the toes too often.

  Despite the tension still in the room, she didn’t seem phased. Her mother stood behind her, watching as the young healer made quick work of cleaning the wounds and reapplying fresh bandages.

  “All fresh for now.” The smile carried her voice into his ears. This was the first real friendliness shown him thus far.

  He opened his mouth, ready to utter words of thanks and encouragement, yet the words seemed stuck behind a heavy lump in his throat, a tad bit of moisture threatening to seep out from the corner of his eyes.

  Isaac nodded. Mouthed the words: thank you.

  As the young girl turned to leave the room, she bent down and whispered a final thing into his ear.

  “We’re happy you’re back, Mr. Grayson. Ashfall needs a man like you.”

  Just as quickly as the words registered, the young healer and her mother turned to leave the room.

  This time, her mother spoke before gently closing the door behind them.

  “You’ll mend soon enough. This town’s seen far worse. Get some rest; we’ll be back in a few hours with supper.”

  That was when the exhaustion finally hit him. The mental fatigue was just as painful as the physical damage done to his body.

  Still, he tried to collect his thoughts and create a timeline of events since he landed here, only to quietly drift away into the deepest sleep he could remember.

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