By Megan
(Rated G so far)

    The night was humid and stuffy. The old house sat up on the hill, lurking like a monster waiting for its midnight meal. It was type of house that you pictured Frankenstein being created. It was the kind of house that gave you nightmares. The house paint was a dismal gray and peeling. The shutters creaked in the wind. The moon shown down on the house and behind it was a graveyard with crooked tombstones.
    “Are you sure about this?” Brad asked as all five members of Aerosmith crept up the walk.
    “Positive. Everyone says she’s the real deal,” Steven said optimistically. “Besides, you’re not scared, are you?”
    “Of course not,” Brad scoffed. Still, he wished he were in the warm brightly lit hotel room, instead of creeping up the walk of this old house that was a perfect haunted house.
    “Oh, come on Brad,” Joey said. “There is nothing to be scared of.” Then Joey shivered in spite of his words.
    Joe led the way up the porch steps. He seemed calm and cool to an outsider, but Brad could tell that Joe was just as nervous as he was. The only one who seemed to be enjoying himself was Steven. His eyes were lit with excitement. Tom was trying his hardest to be calm but he was terrified as well.
    Joe knocked on the door. It opened just like the movies.
    Steven walked into the house. It smelled like dust and mildew. Candles lit the way down a hallway. Something about the house intrigued Steven’s sense of history. There were cobwebs in every corner, and Steven sensed Joe shudder. They walked the length of the hallway, and slowly they entered the only room with an open door. Inside there was a table surrounded by five little chairs, and one large chair with the back of it facing the door. Brad’s breath caught in his lungs.
    “What took you so long?” a voice said from behind the chair. Slowly the chair wheeled around. A tiny old woman swallowed up by black velvet sat staring at them. Her eyes were hard as flint as she examined them.
    All five members of Aerosmith sat staring at the little old woman in sheer amazement.     “You may close your mouths, as well as the door. This is a private session,” the woman’s accent was hard to determine. She had a little Baltic, as well as Russian. She had a demanding way about her. Joe close the door, unsure of what made him do it.
    “Now, sit,” the woman commanded. “My granddaughter, Amelia, will be in after our session.”
    “You really live here?” Steven asked as he sat in a chair.
    “Yes,” the woman got up, and began consulting a shelf of potions.
    “I’m about two seconds from running of here, and never looking back,” Tom whispered to Brad.
    “I’m with you,” Brad whispered back.
    The woman turned back to face them. In her hand was a little blue glass bottle. She held it close to her.
    “Come now. We’ll find the answers that you seek,” she said, seating herself once again. “Lay your hands palm up.”
    All five of them squirmed in their seats.
    “Now!” she commanded. All five pairs of hands sprung on the table. She consulted them. “It is amazing! Your past lives are entwined. All five of you have crossed paths in one life or another. Never before has this happened,” she poured a drop of liquid from the bottle on the right hand of each man. Then studied it.
    “Whose idea was it to come here?”
    “Mine,” Steven said proudly.
    “What do you want to find?” she asked.
    “What do you mean?”
    “What do you want to find? Answers to questions, a life from your past? Fate obviously brought you here for me to allow you access to see such things.”
    “You can see that?” Steven asked studying the woman’s eyes.
    “Yes. I can see lots of things from the expression in your eyes. Like you are unsure of whether to believe me, or if you’ll survive this without a zombie appearing out of a closet to eat your brains. Believe me, no one has ever experienced a zombie in my home. First, I’ll prove my ability,” the old woman nodded to them.
    “There’s really no need in that,” Brad said hurriedly.
    “Ah, you, what is your name?” she looked at him.
    “B-Brad Whitford,” he stuttered.
    “Well, Brad, you are quiet, cautious, careful. You watch what you do, so that you do not make a mistake. You are the baby of the group.”
    “How do you know this?” Tom asked from beside Brad.
    “I know from what I can see. Do you not know that your soul floats above you? Few people can see the forms that souls take. I can. Who are you, young man?”
    “Tom Hamilton,” Tom said.     “You’ve made up your mind that I’m a phony. You think that my telling you Brad’s characteristics is a trick because Brad is transparent because of he is scared. You seek answers to many things, like will you find love. You are afraid to be anything but what people expect of you. You think that it’s easier playing a role than being yourself. You allow others to rule over you because you’re afraid to stand up for yourself.” At Tom’s shocked expression she laughed softly. “Correct me if I’m wrong.”
    “What’s so scary is that you’re dead on target,” Tom said slowly.
    She smiled and turned toward Joey. “Who might you be?”
    “Joey Kramer,” he said.
    “You’re the wild, fun loving one. You’re willing to try anything that he,” she gestured to Steven, “puts you up to. You think of everything as all fun and games, but you also know when to get serious. You’re in love with a girl, only you’re scared to tell her. I’ll assure you that she has been ready for your confession. You have a sense of responsibility as well a sense of importance.”
    She leaned back in her chair. Turning her face to Joe’s, she asked. “And you?”
    “Joe Perry.”
    “Ah, a leader. You are the one in charge. You prefer practice, for you that is fun. You have a sense of humor whenever you’re not occupied with something else. You’re concerned right now with making a tape or something like that before the due date. You’re terrified of less than imperfection.”
    “What about me?” Steven asked impatiently.
    “What about you?” the woman returned. “Who are you?”
    “Steven Tyler,” he said.
    “Be truthful, what is your real name,” the woman said shooting him a look.
    “Steven Tallarico,” he said, his eyes shown excitement.
    “Fine, Steven Tallarico, you are a perfectionist. You push for all that you can get. You want the best from everyone and everything. You’re also the wild one. Perhaps, even more wild than Joey. You have always known what you want, how to get it, and when you want it. You love to have fun, but you know when it is a time for fun and when it is a time for work. You’re demanding and ugly when you don’t get what you want. Few people would call you spoiled, but that is what I see you as, when you’re not pleased. People are often pushed aside in your life, because you are always pushing for the best. That is what destroys friendships and relationships.”
    All five members were amazed at her accuracy, while telling each of them what exactly she saw inside them.
    “Now, Steven Tallarico, what do you wish to know? Or do any of you still do not believe in me?”
    Five heads shook. Steven sat staring her.
    “You said our pasts intertwine. Tell us about a past life,” Steven said, confident.
    “Very well, you’ll be as children listening to a story,” the slowly, the old woman stared at each hand until she had them dying of suspense. “I’ll choose the past life to tell you about. It takes place back in the nineteenth century, that is, the eighteen hundreds. Now listen carefully, for I will tell you this story as if you are listening to me tell you a story, like Cinderella. Understand?”
    Five heads bobbed.
    “Very well,” the old woman took a breath. “Steven Tallarico met up with Joe Perry in a bar outside of a small town in Louisiana…

    Joe Perry was a mean looking man, who most people were scared of. No one messed with him, unless they were looking for trouble. On this certain evening, Joe was sitting in a small corner of a bar. He was nursing a shot of whiskey, not paying a lot of attention to the men wandering in and out.
    Steven Tallarico was a tough lawman. He was raised on marshal law, from the time that he could walk. He’d been shooting any kind of gun since he was four years old. He was on his way out west to take a position as a sheriff in a small town. He figured he’d stay there until he found out what was causing the town people so much stress, then move on to a new job.
    Steven walked into the bar, with every intention of finding a willing woman, before going on to the small town of Hickory, Nevada, but something about the man in the corner caught his eye. He was a loner, much like Steven himself. Steven wondered over.
    “Name’s Tallarico,” he said in an attempt to be friendly.
    “Don’t recall asking,” Joe returned.
    “Mind if I sit?” Steven ignored the rude return.
    “Yeah, I do.”
    Steven sat anyway. He studied the man with a keen eye. “You looking for work?”
    “Excuse me?” Joe asked, sizing Steven up.
    “Are you looking for work?” Steven repeated slowly, as if he was talking to a child.
    “What business is of yours?”
    “I’m taking a post as a sheriff of a small town. I hear that it’s really a bad place, and I intend to clean it up a little. I might need an extra pair of hands. Can you shoot?”     “Are you kidding? I’ve shot tin cans from over two hundred yards away. And where is this town, huh?”
    “Town’s name is Hickory, and it’s in Nevada.”
    Joe choked on his drink. “Hickory? Did you say Hickory?”
    “Yeah,” Steven nodded.
    “Oh my God!” Joe bounded from the table.
    “What?”
    “That’s where the Bandana Boys practice their raids,” Joe was pacing now.
    Steven looked baffled. “Who?”
    “The Bandana Boys. You know they make raid on the northwestern parts of the U.S. They’re the one that are causing those folks there all the grief. You really don’t know who they are do you?”
    Steven shook his head. “No one mentioned them back at headquarters."
    "Who called the Marshall's office?" Joe demanded.
    "Brad Whitford. He's some hot-shot banker from the east," Steven replied.
    Joe didn't say anything. He looked at the clock above the bar. "We leave at dawn."

    The day dawned clear and chilly. Steven shrugged into his heavy coat as he climbed into the saddle of his sturdy horse. Joe climbed on a black stallion and without looking back he rode away. Steven followed him.
    They rode for several hours in stony silence, not that either one of them needed a companion. Finally in the distance, they saw a small town. Joe slowed his horse and Steven stopped beside him.
    "You'll wait here. I have business to tend to," Joe said, quietly.
    "What? I know you're not ordering me around," Steven blustered.
    "I'm not. I was just going to see a friend." Joe said, glaring at Steven. "Anyway, you need to get supplies."
    Steven didn't reply. He instead turned and rode toward the town. The town was a small wide spot, surrounded by endless prairie grass. Steven wondered aimlessly if choosing Joe Perry had been the right thing to do. He also wondered if lying about not knowing the Bandana Boys was a wise thing to do as well. Of course he'd known about the Bandana Boys. They were the roughest robbers of the whole entire west. They never killed unless there was no way out of it. They usually just tortured their meal-ticket and then moved on. Still, Steven had to wonder.
    Steven also didn't feel well about purposely using Joe. Sure, he may have some tough areas about him, but it wasn't right to use him as a link to the Bandana Boys. The boys had accidentally killed his wife during a bank robbery, and since then, Joe had killed three of the five founding members, and collected the bounty on their heads. He had lost his heart along with his wife that day, which made him the right choice to help Steven hunt down the Bandana Boys.
    Steven still couldn't figure out why he had lied to Joe. He had nothing to hide. It was just instinct taking over. He was rough-edged as they came, but Steven had a few manners that his mama had drilled into him. Most of them were how to treat a lady, but some were how to defend yourself without a gun. The part about Brad Whitford being a hot-shot banker was a plus. A banker as a cover was perfect for this operation. No one would ever suspect Brad of being more than a banker.
    Steven couldn't resist the urge to take in the town. It seemed homely enough. The town was probably where most people with children would want to live. There were no whorehouses in plain view, no saloons, and the church was the largest most expensive looking building. He stared at all of this in amazed wonder. A town without a saloon looked almost naked.
    "Hey Mister!" a young voice called, stirring Steven from his musings.     A young boy stood on the deck on what seemed to be the general store. He was around twenty, still young compared to Steven. His dark brown hair and bright eyes complimented the boy.
    "Yeah?" Steven answered.     "My pa's got better deals on travel supplies, then this here old coon," the boy stated.
    "What's you name?"
    "Joey Kramer!" an outraged little portly fellow rushed through the door. "What are you doing scaring away my business?! I ought to tell your pa."
    "Jed, leave the boy be," came a southern voice from inside the store. A tall lean man said coming to stand on boardwalk.
    "He ain't no boy, he's a full grown man, and he's stealing my business away to his no good father," the portly fellow said sharply.
    "There ain't no call for that," Steven interjected. "You shouldn't say anything about the boy's father in front of the boy. You have a problem you take it up with the father, not the boy. You got that?"
    "And just who do you think you are?" the portly man demanded.
    "A U.S. Marshall." Steven flipped his badge out from the inside of his coat. "Now, apologize."
    "I really am sorry, sir. Had I known you were a marshal-" the man blubbered on.
    "Not to me, you fool. To the boy," Steven said woodenly.
    "You can't be serious. He's nothin' but a trouble-maker, round these parts," the man bellowed.
    "Where's your pa's store?" Steven asked, ignoring the man's protest.
    "Round the corner," Joey volunteered.
    "Lead on," Steven commanded. Eager to please, Joey hurried around to his position, on Steven's opposite side.
    Joe rode into the farm with ease. The chickens took no interest in him as he entered the yard. He could hear singing in the background, and it clenched his heart. The light female voice drifted out to meet him.
    "Deana!" he called. She came to the door. She was radiant, with corn silk colored hair. Her blue eyes widened in shock.
    "Joe," she said, tilting her chin up a notch. "What do you want?"     Her question was to be expected. Joe couldn't answer her for the life of him. He knew that if Tom Hamilton was to be told of the recent developments he have to encounter Deana Green. She was the greatest cowhand and knew everything about farming. Joe's father had moved from another no-name town out here, and Joe had met Deana. She had been six years younger, so for a while Joe had thought of her as a nuisance, but once they both hit that age, innocent things like swimming in the watering hole became not so innocent. Joe had fallen in love with her, and she with him. Only before Joe could claim his love, a local whore ruined his life. Callie Brewer, knew that Joe stood to inherit a lot when his father died, so she pronounced him father of her four month old son. Deana, hurt, banished him from her sight, and married John Edenington, a quiet, shy boy, who turned into a true farmer.
    "I do believe that I asked you a question," her tone was defiant, as she placed her hands on her hips.
    "Mama!" came a little voice from behind her skirt. She turned to reveal a little boy, with his hands and face filthy. "Davie! What are you doing in the house?" Deana exclaimed, her eyes lighting with motherhood.
    "Pa sent me to ask you for a fresh bandana," the boy called Davie insisted. "I'll be right there," Deana smiled.
    "Pa said that I was to bring it. He doesn't want you in the sun in your condition," the boy answered. Deana smiled, and it faded as she faced Joe. "I'll be right back."
    She disappeared inside the house. Joe's heart ached as he watched her interact with her son. It should be their son. He should be out in the field or in the cattle yard with the cows. He heard a baby's wail and realized that Deana must have just had a baby. Deana reappeared at the door, a small bundle in her arms. "What do you want?"
    "I have to speak with Tom. Is he around?" Joe said as politely as he could.
    "He's the foreman of the ranch, Joe. He's probably in the East pasture. I don't know where exactly he is, so feel free to look around. Just stay away from the fields."
    "Why?" Joe asked.     "Because my son and husband are there, and I don't think they'd take too kindly to you hanging around here," with that being said, Deana turned on her heel and left the porch. Joe followed her inside the house. "Deana, you can't keep hating me for what happened four years ago."
    "Oh, yes, I can. Four years isn't that long a time. Joe, I gave you my heart. It was the biggest mistake I ever made. Everyone said you were trouble. Callie just proved that. I should have listened to all those wise reminders, but luckily, John was there to catch me. I love him more everyday, Joe. You did me a favor the day you left. I will always hate what you've done, but what happened left me with John and two wonderful healthy children. I suppose I should thank you." She stood there, just as beautiful as ever, chin raised proudly. "Now, if you're done here, you can find Tom and leave. I have nothing more to say to you."
    "No, I guess you said what you had to say four years ago," Joe said, calmly.

    He reminded them both of the day he had left. He had came to her house to explain everything. Deana had been in town on business the day Callie had entered the center of town proclaiming to have given birth to Joe's son.
    Joe remember climbing the wooden porch steps. Tom shook his head. Deana had come out to the porch.
    "Is it true?" she asked softly.
    "I don't know." He replied honestly.
    "So you have been with her?" Deana said, staring into his eyes. Pain unshielded flooded her gaze.
    Joe hung his head. "Deana, I never meant-"
    "No, of course not. Look, Joe Perry, I'm going to tell you once. I never want to see or hear your name again, unless it's to announce your death. I can't stand the sight of you. To know you betrayed me, is too painful. John Edenington had asked me to marry him, and I have accepted. Good bye, Joe." She had turned and fled. He had called for her, but she was gone. Joe had never felt such an emptiness.