A wild crazy thought came to me, this is the product of it. Review or don't, I'm easy either way. Just enjoy! And have fun!

Chapter One

The first thing she noticed was the scent of wet grass drying in the warm sun of a late autumn afternoon. She knew it had to be autumn, because this down-home scent of grass mingled with the hearth and spice scent of the leaves.

Opening her eyes to the glaring sunlight, she squinted immediately and closed them against the burn, shielding her eyes once more with her hand, before cracking them open only a little and trying once more to get her bearings.

It was funny, she couldn't recall lying there in the grass and the sun, but she couldn't recall why she wouldn't be enjoying such a pleasant day.

Slowly, as though she had woken from a ten day slumber, she roused herself, sitting up, drawing her knees to her chest and peeking about cautiously, still mindful of the intensity of the sun.

The meadow around her was glorious, sun streamed golden through the fiery birch trees, while yellow leaves drifted down from their rushing branches. Before her spread a green field, with grass so lush and deep, it could easily be mistaken for green water rippling in the breeze.

It was strange to her, a niggling in the back of her mind that the trees were deep into fall, but the field before her was rich in the bosom of summer. But again, she couldn't recall when it wasn't like that. This was normal, she felt.

Enjoying the day for a moment, gathering herself, she put to memory every sensation of the day, from the sound of the leaves in the trees, whispering on the breeze, to the way the light glinted off the damp, shining yellow leaves as they fell.

From the depths of the stand of birch a deer strode forward, silent as a spectre, graceful as a queen, moving across her line of vision boldly, unafraid of her.

Shielding her eyes once more, she gazed after the creature, admiring how beautiful it was, how dainty it strode across the field.

An image, a flash of a darker, dirtier time came unbidden to her and she jerked back into the grass at how harsh the vision seemed. It was…gritty and felt like a view of hell.

Lying on the grass, brown hair tousled, white lace day-dress askew, she stared up at the blue sky above and focused on the image, but it was gone. All she could recall was a man standing at the end of a long, dark hall and a feeling of being utterly exhausted. Tired.

Tired?

She didn't think such a feeling was possible here. This meadow, that birch stand, they weren't the place for being tired.

A name came to her then.

Margaret.

She parted her berry red lips and tried the word on her tongue, tasting it, savouring it.

"Margaret," she murmured.

Margaret. The trees seemed to sigh back.

"Margaret."

She sat up and whipped her head around.

The voice had seemed to be coming from right behind her, but there was no one there. No other living creature.

That voice.

Was it her own?

No.

But she felt it was intimate to her. That it was a voice she knew well.

A thought came to her then. She didn't know herself.

Who was she? Was she Margaret?

Another scene danced around her, only it wasn't so dark as the first, this scene was illuminated in golden hues, soft light dancing in the shining eyes of another man. These eyes weren't the cold blue of the first man, but a gentle hazel, crinkled in the corners from years of mirth.

If hell were the first vision she had, then this vision was heaven. It was much warmer, less aggressive and full of a gentility that she found in the trees and the field around her.

"Margaret."

She sat up again and drew her knees to her chest, trying to place the voice. But she knew no one. As far as her memory served, no one else existed, but her.

High overhead a black dot emerged from the blue and the clouds, circling and swooping, a croaking squawk coming from the bird as it circled down and down, closer to her.

It stood black as India ink against the bright sky and seemed to be moving at a tremendous speed, closer and closer to her.

At the last minute, before it could crash into her it swooped back up and veered off sharply, flying behind a bush on a hill across the field from her and into the shadows.

It was only then that she noticed a figure on the hill, standing still and quiet. Was it the raven? It stood as black as the bird's sooty feathers.

Once more shielding her eyes from the sunlight, she peered at the figure. It didn't scare her, but somehow calmed her. She didn't worry much anymore about not knowing anyone.

From the sky, much like the raven, the faint tingle of a song trickled down, softly at first and then growing to a comfortable tone.

You're the cream in my coffee, you're the salt in my stew. You will always be my necessity. I'd be lost without you. You're the starch in my collar, you're the lace in my shoe. You will always be my necessity. I'd be lost without you.

She got to her feet slowly then, rising for the first time and standing in the breeze. The leaves fluttering down around her like rain, the trees whispering to her urgently, telling her to move.

It was time.

Wading out into the deep grass, she smiled at the cool feeling on her bare feet, crossing the field, heading for the figure.

The closer she got to the creature, the smaller it seemed, until finally she approached a raven once more. It hopped around to face her and fluttered its wings.

Dark feathers, black as coal dust, shone in the sunlight, glistened beautifully, seemed to distract her from her goal. The bird seemed bent on distracting her.

Reaching out, she touched the bird with trembling fingers and smiled as it turned its head and preened, before it straightened up and stood almost arrogantly, sly eye on her.

It was a handsome bird and she could tell it had secrets.

Margaret continued to stroke and pet the bird, wanting to learn his secrets. For surely, something inside her told her than it was a he and that he was just dying to share.

She had felt like she had seen that look before, like this bird with his sly eyes and his secrets was a friend, someone she had known.

And then it reached up and snagged one of her wayward curls with his beak and tugged almost playfully and it started a memory playing out before her eyes, encompassing her, putting her right in the middle of the scene.

A hand, reaching out to tuck her hair back into her gentle waves, a finger curling the strand around, twisting and wriggling, before a playful tug.

She remembered sly eyes and a roguish smile, teasing, playful.

The raven squawked at her, begging attention, bringing her back to that place. She stroked it again and it hopped away, before fluttering off.

Margaret watched it soar high into the sky, before it swooped back, it circled and circled and almost begged her to follow it.

She gathered her lacy white skirt about her knees and tread after it, heading back towards the birch stand.

Walking through the leafy forest floor, she was pleased to find nothing that hurt her bare feet, no branches or stones. It was actually a very pleasant walk. Every now and then the raven would land in a tree and shriek at her, coaxing her in the right direction.

Eventually she pushed through the trees and came upon a dirt road, rutted out and beaten smooth, with wild grass growing high in the middle between the ruts and brown eyed Susan's growing along the way.

The raven had landed on the road and hopped a ways from her, before stopping and peering back, before he took flight once more.

Margaret watched the skies through the arch of trees that covered the road for the raven to return, but he did not. She waited for a few moments, before sadly making her way on her own.

As she walked she noticed that there were no more other creatures to be seen, only her and the road and the rushing of the trees overhead.

Eventually as she walked, she came upon a crossroads, where a little boy sat huddled up at the base of a tree, his knees tucked to his chest, his face buried in them.

The closer she got, the more pitiful sobbing she could hear coming from deep within the boy's chest.

"What's wrong, little darling?" She cooed to the boy, kneeling before him.

The child looked up and she was hit instantly with another memory, she was older in this dim hell, seated in a wheelchair, clutching a bouquet of white lilies.

"Teddy?" She gasped.

Her son. Her boy, but…he had died. Heart attack.

This child before her was young still, just as…she remembered him best.

"Mama," he murmured and jabbed angrily at his eyes, standing up.

She smiled and held out her hand. "Why are you crying, my love?"

"I can't find him," he whispered apologetically, taking her hand and wandering off with her on the journey. "I put him down for only a little while and he's gone."

"Who, my darling?"

"He doesn't have a name."

"We'll find him," she assured the boy.

They walked as though they had never been separated, wandering down the road hand in hand.

"When were you happiest, mama?" Teddy asked as they strolled down the road.

"Happiest?"

"I was happiest at Christmas. Remember that one year? And I got a sled and skates," he said.

She remembered that. It wasn't a complete memory, she couldn't recall a date or a time, the faces there with her were vague and shadowed. But she remembered the moment. Teddy's excitement, the sparkle of the lights on the tree, the glitter of the snow at the window.

"I don't know, my darling," she replied after a moment. If she couldn't remember anything, then how could she answer that question?

When was she happiest?

Happiness, Miss Rohan, is an illusion. It's here and gone.

Her footsteps faltered. Was that voice in her head? Was it all around them? Was it a memory? One without a face and a scene laid out before her?

A cry, the wail of a small child stopped her again in her tracks and she frowned at the trees to her right.

Teddy tore off first, diving into the birches. "It's him!"

She followed slowly, unsure about who this 'him' was.

The crying tore at her heart and she began to walk faster, heading after Teddy, struggling to keep up with the small boy.

Finally she found them both, Teddy stooped over a wee bundle that cried at the sky above.

Margaret knelt and smiled down at the red faced babe, scooping him up and holding him instantly to her breast.

The memory that surrounded her then was one of pain and loss and she felt tears immediately spring to her eyes.

There she was on a hospital cot, beaten and bruised, sobbing softly so as not to wake the other patients around her.

This one was lost to her, taken, ripped from her womb.

He was so small.

Clutching the boy tighter to her, the hospital melted away and she once more stood in the forest with Teddy at her side.

Glancing around, she was mildly panicked at losing the road, but it was only then that she spied the raven, hopping on the ground nearby, one sly eye on them.

"Come along, Teddy," she said, heading after the bird, her son at her heels.

They found the road once more with the ravens help and were again on their way. She didn't know their destination, didn't really feel like she had one. But with her lost son in her arms and Teddy nearby, she didn't care much.

They walked the road for a while. Time didn't seem to matter, it had no meaning to her here. Did it ever have meaning?

She couldn't remember.

As they walked, she began to notice that the trees turned from birch into a mix of pine and birch as though they were approaching a river or some water of sorts.

Suddenly the trees parted and she found they were at the beginning of a long, beautiful steel arch bridge, below was a calm river, but it wasn't the river that caught her attention, but a single figure that stood in the centre of the bridge, still as a statue.

She wasn't frightened, instead she was almost excited. Something told her she wanted to meet up with this figure.

Margaret stepped out onto the wooden planks of the bridge and began her journey across, Teddy clinging to her skirt, her unnamed son quiet and happy in her arms.

The closer she drew to the form, the more eager she seemed to get. The feeling of reuniting with an old friend came over her and she smiled a little.

Drawing nearer, she recognized the form as a man, who stood in a bright blue camel hair driving coat, hands clasped before him, his dark Homburg covering his face from her sight.

Margaret approached slowly, taking small neat steps until she stood before the man.

"Miss Rohan," the man said, finally looking up at her from under the brim of his hat.

A flood of memories came back to her, much too fast for her to catch any. They slipped past her like water through her fingers. Still she smiled almost happily because what she did catch from those memories was that he wasn't a threat. "Mr. Rothstein."

The man eyed her son at her side, then the child in her arms, before he offered her a small, tight smile. "What a random happenstance."

"Is it?" She asked. "Where are we?"

He glanced around them for a moment, and turned back to her with a more relaxed smile, holding out his hand to her.

Shifting her son to rest on one arm, she held out her free hand to him and he trapped it between both of his gently, still smiling.

"I've never been one to favour the excitement of being the bearer of bad news, Miss Rohan," he said, lightly tapping the top of her hand with his. "However, it is best to get the bad news over with firstly, yes?"

"Bad news?"

"The only reason you could be here," he said simply. "Is if you passed on."

"Passed on?" She repeated.

The raven landed on the railing of the bridge at Mr. Rothstein's right hand and screeched loudly. Below her the water rushed, the clouds drifted languidly above, her son wriggled in her arms and Teddy shifted at her heel.

"Deceased," he said gently.

Dead. Margaret thought about that.

She didn't fully understand the meaning of 'dead' so it didn't affect her. She knew the word, but she didn't fully comprehend. It was almost as though it had no meaning to her anymore. There was no death or loss.

"I'm dead?" She repeated, tugging her hand back from Mr. Rothstein.

Memories flooded into her brain. Dead. Death. Dying.

She could recall the newspaper print, the words 'Rothstein, Gambler, Mysteriously Shot; Refuses to Talk'.

"Critically wounded," she murmured, that feeling of heaviness settling in her stomach just as it had when she read that headline.

Dead. He was dead. He had died.

She frowned at the raven beside them and asked. "Is this heaven?"

"I'm sure myself and my associates are not the sort to get a free pass into such a place as heaven," Mr. Rothstein said. "Unless God is far more generous than we've all taken to assuming."

"Is there a God?" She demanded suddenly, memories of the bible and church and all things she learned as a child came to her.

Mr. Rothstein smiled. "I'm…not on his guestlist if there is."

"Then is this hell?"

"From what I gather from the Christian belief in Hell, there is a lot less fire than one would imagine," he replied. "It's quite pleasant here, actually."

"Then…where are we?"

"I'm not a theologian, Miss Rohan. In fact, I'm not even certain I'm the one who was supposed to break this sort of news to you."

Above them the sky turned just a shade more violet than it had been and she took note of the sun.

"It feels so real," she remarked.