This story is totally original and is written for entertainment
purposes only.  I have tried not to infringe on the copyrights of Shaun
Cassidy, MCA Universal, or CBS.  The name American Gothic, as well as
the characters Lucas Buck, Caleb Temple, and Boone MacKenzie are used
without permission.  I am not making a profit from this story.
	This story takes place after American Gothic's final episode,
and is in no way connected to the Virtual Seasons.
*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*	*

			Too Many Questions
			by Leah
			(leahwarsha@aol.com)


	Clara Hall drove along the sleepy, suburban road and checked
her watch.  She would be a little early for babysitting, but that was
always better than being late.  Besides, the MacKenzies were pretty
easygoing when it came to things like punctuality.  They were always
coming back later than they said they would, but hell, that just meant
more money.
	She signaled a left-hand turn and skidded a little as the old
Cadillac rounded the bend.  Clara cursed under her breath.  Her parents
tooled around in a shiny new Nissan while she was stuck with the dented
boat her grandpa had left her.  It figured that the old man had died of
a heart attack while trying to push it out of a mud patch.  She looked
at the huge puddles that still filled the road after that afternoon's
storm and tried to put the image of her dead grandfather out of her
mind.  She had never really liked him anyway.
	When she pulled into the MacKenzie's driveway she was a
respectable ten minutes early.  They were her favorite customers.  The
boy, Boone, was an absolute sweetheart and they paid better than most
of the cheap bastards of Trinity.  They were also one of the few
families with cable.
	Clara cut the ignition and shoved open the heavy door, then
pulled her backpack onto her shoulder.  Being careful to jump over the
puddle in which she had managed to park, she slammed the car door and
began making her way up the driveway.  The house was small, but in nice
repair.  It had white shutters and a little picket fence that
surrounded a small flower garden, the almost overwhelming cuteness of
which being tempered by the dark red of the house's brick facade.  She
paused on their walkway to look up at the second floor window which
looked in on Boone's bedroom.  The light was on, so she guessed he was
up there playing or doing homework.  Clara continued onto the porch and
pushed the doorbell, which jangled in the distance.
	Pat MacKenzie swung the door open and smiled at Clara, then
motioned for her to come in.
	"Lily!" he yelled in the direction of a back hallway.  "Will
you hurry up?  We'll be late!"  He smiled at Clara, who was about to
tell him that she had arrived ten minutes early when he continued
talking.  "Look, I'm sorry for the short notice," he began, "but we let
Boone invite one of his friends over to stay the night.  We'll pay you
extra and everything."  Pat looked worried as he lowered his voice and
said, "you see, this kid hangs out with, um-"
	"What in god's name are you yelling at me for?" Lily asked as
she strode down the hallway with her hands on her hips.  Her lips were
covered with a god-awful shade of red lipstick that looked about ten
years out of date, and a scarf was dramatically tied around her
shoulders.  "We are not going to be late!"  Just then she caught sight
of Clara, who was standing dumbstruck in the front entry after Pat's
interrupted warning about Boone's friend.
	"Why honey, don't you just look lovely!" she cried and
immediately seized Clara's brown curls and started playing with them.  
"Why, you remind me of myself at your age, dear.  How old are you
again?"
	"Twenty," Clara replied, wishing she were anywhere but in the
path of this woman's midlife crisis.
	"Twenty!" Lily cried to her husband, still clutching the girl's
hair as if her life depended on it.  "All the boys must be crazy for
you!  Smart and pretty!  I'll bet you're the life of the party!"
	"Look, sweetheart," Pat said impatiently.  "We're really gonna
to be late for dinner if we don't hurry.  Why don't you go wait in the
car while I give Clara some last-minute instructions?"  Lily pouted,
but released the girl's hair and walked off in the direction of the
garage.  Pat turned to Clara and continued.  "Look, that kid hangs out
with some very influential people in this town, so I wouldn't go asking
him anything about his home-life, if you get my drift."  Clara nodded,
wondering what kid in a little town like Trinity could be so important.
Pat patted her on the shoulder and smiled, then called up a flight of
stairs near the front door, "Boone!  We're going!"
	"Alright, Pa!" the boy called back.
	"We'll be back by eleven-thirty," he told Clara, then walked in
the direction his wife had gone.  After a minute, she heard a car start
and then drive away.
	Clara stood in the hallway a moment, thinking about what to do
next.  The MacKenzies were a normal, blue-collar family, not the sort
to be creating wild rumors about ten-year-old boys.  Still, the fact
that Pat had taken the time to give her a warning told her that she
shouldn't dismiss it outright.  Finally, she told herself that a job
was a job, and started mounting the stairs to the second floor.
	When she opened the door to Boone's room, the boy sprang up.
	"This is Caleb," he said, gesturing to a second boy who sat on
the floor and regarded her behind a hand of cards.  Boone was clutching
his cards to his chest, so he wouldn't accidentally reveal them to his
opponent.
	"Hello, Ma'am," Caleb said, giving her a wide grin.  Clara
laughed.
	"That's probably more respect than I deserve, Caleb.  You can
call me Clara, everyone else I baby-sit for does."
	"Can we watch the TV later?" Boone asked.  "There's a movie
on."
	"Well, what's it rated?" she asked.  The boys looked at each
other solemnly.  Clara sighed.  "Alright, you can watch it, but if
either of you breathe a word about it to your parents I'll make sure
the next babysitter who comes over here has blue hair and dentures."
	The boys grinned at each other and Boone sat down in front of
Caleb so they could resume their game.
	"You want us to deal you in?" Caleb asked.
	"Nah, I have work to do," Clara replied, hoisting up the
backpack on her shoulders.  She left the boys to their game and made
her way down the stairs to the dining room.
	She had no idea who he'd been hanging out with recently, but
Clara sure didn't need to ask any questions about Caleb Temple's home-
life, that was a matter of public record.  Ever since the boy's father
had killed his sister and then committed suicide, everyone knew about
the family.  Knowing it wasn't any of her business, though, Clara tried
to put the boy out of her mind and start working.  She had homework for
a secretary course she was taking in the hopes of making enough money
to move out on her own.  Of all the places she could have been stuck
living with her parents, it had to be Trinity.
	Clara had been working about an hour when all of a sudden she
thought she could hear the boys yelling upstairs.  The arguing became
clearer as she walked to the front of the house and then up to the
second floor.  She paused in the hallway outside Boone's door.
	"Don't call my Daddy dumb!" Boone was yelling.  "At least he's
not crazy!"
	"My Daddy ain't crazy, he runs this town!" Caleb replied
harshly.  "That's how I know.  I know all about stupid people like your
Ma and Pa who won't ever amount to nothin'.  They just sit around on
their butts and watch TV!"
	"That's not true!" Boone cried.  "When'd you get to be so mean,
Caleb?  You used to be nice, but now you're just crazy like your Pa
was!"
	Clara knocked on the door loudly enough for the boys to hear
her over their argument.  They became silent immediately, and she
slowly pushed open the door.  The two were standing in the middle of
the room, watching to see what she'd do and breathing hard from all
the yelling.
	"Boone, why don't you go downstairs and watch some TV."  The
boy started to object but Clara cut him off.  "Do you want to see that
movie later or not?"  He glared at Caleb a moment, and then ran out of
the room.  She could hear his angry footsteps all the way down the
stairs and onto the first floor.
	Caleb walked over to Boone's bed and sat down on it with his
arms crossed.  He stared angrily at the floor.  It struck Clara how
little he acted like a little boy.  Boone had been screaming any insult
that came into his head but Caleb had been artfully pushing his buttons
in return.  There was something else that bothered her about what he
had said.
	"Caleb?" Clara began softly as she walked further into the
room.  The boy looked up at her.  "You said your Daddy runs this town?"
	"Well, he does," he answered indignantly.
	"Caleb, your Daddy is dead."
	He looked down and to the side, trying to avoid her gaze as he
realized he had said something he shouldn't have.  After a while, he
let his arms drop to his side and looked up at her with uncertainty
that was more befitting his age.
	"You're not supposed to know about any of that," he admitted,
then was silent.  Clara decided to push him a little.  After all, if
someone was harming this boy or lying to him, it was her duty to report
it to the authorities.
	"You said your Daddy runs this town?" she asked, and Caleb
pursed his lips and looked up at her.  "Is he the mayor?"
	"The mayor?" Caleb asked with a laugh.  "I don't think so!"
	"Well, is he a judge?" she went on with a smile.  Caleb
continued to grin and shook his head no.
	"People say that the church runs things in Trinity, but your
Daddy can't be a priest."
	"No," Caleb answered, "I expect he can't be one of those."
	"Is he a policeman?"
	Caleb's smile faltered, and he stared at Clara intensely.  He
didn't like the fact that she had tricked him into telling her more,
when she shouldn't have even known what she did to begin with.
	"Is he a deputy, Caleb?"
	"The deputy's here are too stupid to run nothin'," he muttered
and hopped off the bed.  Tensely, he strode over to the front window
and looked out at the street.
	"If the deputies can't run anything, then, is he the sheriff?"
	Caleb spun around and glared at Clara as if he was about to
ring her neck.  "Why are you asking me all these questions?!" he
screamed, and she gasped in response.  "Why can't you just stay stupid,
like everyone else!  It's for your own damn good!"  Without warning he
darted around her and out the door.
	Clara stood in the room, still reeling from the verbal assault
the boy had launched at her.  Even though he was only a little boy, for
a second she had actually been afraid that he would physically harm
her.
	"Jesus," she whispered, and walked out of the room.  As quietly
as she could, she walked down the stairs to the first floor where she
could hear the boys.  In the distance, she could hear Caleb apologizing
to Boone for calling his parents dumb.
	"That's okay," Boone replied after a moment's thought.  "I'm
sorry I called your Daddy crazy."
	With louder footsteps this time, Clara walked to the living
room where the two boys were now watching TV in a big, overstuffed
couch.  Boone turned to her uncertainly.
	"Can we still watch the movie?" he asked.
	"Well, I guess so," she replied shakily.  "Just as long as
you're extra good for the rest of the night."
	Caleb just smiled at her.

	The rest of the night had gone eerily well.  The boys watched
their movie while Clara studied, and they went to bed before Boone's
parents got home a few minutes after midnight.  She had helped them
make popcorn on the stove, and Caleb was right at her side, helping
where he could and always wearing a smile.  He continued to call her
ma'am, but this time Clara was too unnerved to object.  Despite the
perfect-looking scene something had still felt terribly wrong.
	Pat MacKenzie paid her extra, just like he'd promised, and
Clara drove away from the quiet neighborhood as fast as she could
without skidding off the road into the darkness.

	The following day at noon found Clara working a part-time shift
at Paul's Bookstore.  Like most things in Trinity, names could be
deceiving.  The store was owned by a crotchety old woman named Rudy,
and the only Paul in sight was a Peter, Paul and Mary album that had
been nailed to the wood-paneled wall like a crucifix.
	"Clara?!" Rudy called in a raspy voice from the cash register.
Clara had been rearranging the store's ample history section in the
back, but gladly abandoned the dusty job to see what Rudy wanted.  When
she got there, the woman stared at her through thick glasses and tucked
a piece of hair into her bandana.
	"Clara," the woman began and wheezed slightly.  "Why don't you
take the rest of the day off.  We haven't had a customer in hours,
and," she added, "you seem a bit distracted."
	"Thanks," Clara answered genuinely.  Between the baby-sitting
racket, her part-time job at the store and her secretary course, she
had been running herself ragged.  Not to mention the haze of
apprehension she'd been living under since her encounter with Caleb
Temple.
	She walked over to a coat-rack by the door and grabbed her
jean-jacket.
	"Man trouble?" Rudy asked almost hopefully as Clara pulled
open the door to leave.  She pretended not to hear her, and pulled her
arms through the coat-sleeves as she walked briskly down the sidewalk.
	Paul's Bookstore was on a busy street, if one could really
call any street in Trinity busy.  It was lined with different sorts of
shops and cafes, but it was a weekday and the area was almost
completely deserted.  Clara stopped in front of a small pet-store and
looked in the window at the assortment of puppies that hobbled around
in a cage filled with shredded newspaper.
	"Precious, ain't it?"
	Clara whirled around to see where the voice was coming from.
Although she could have sworn no one was there the last time she'd
looked, now a tall man with dark hair was occupying the sidewalk with
her.
	Without saying a word he walked over to the pet-store window
and lightly tapped on the glass.  All the puppies looked at him
instantly, including a small bulldog that ambled over to the window and
started licking where the man's finger still rested on the opposite
side of the glass.  He smiled almost imperceptibly, then stood to face
Clara.
	"I don't believe we've met," he began amiably.  "I'm Sheriff
Buck."
	Clara remained silent, suddenly realizing why the strange man
had seemed so familiar.  She had never actually met Lucas Buck, but she
read The Trinity Guardian, and that newspaper was practically obsessed
with the man.  She couldn't believe what was happening.  First that
strange little boy had accidentally admitted he was the sheriff's son,
and now he was _here_, talking to her on the street.
	"Um," Clara muttered and looked at the ground.  "Pleased to
meet you."  The sheriff laughed warmly.
	"Well, do you have a name or are you goin' to make me guess?"
	Clara smiled a little.  She hoped she was just overreacting and
this really was a chance meeting.  After all, Sheriff Buck was known
for his approachability.
	"My name's Clara Hall," she answered.
	"Well, Clara," Buck said with a smile, "I was just finishing up
my lunch break before I headed back to the Sheriff's Department."  He
stuck his thumbs in his pants-pockets, pushing away the long, black
duster that hung on him like a cloak.  "Can I offer you a ride?"
	Clara looked past him and saw a large, Crown Victoria parked a
couple stores down.  It seemed odd that she hadn't heard the car pull
up, but that still made more sense then the Sheriff appearing out of
thin air.
	"Well, I guess I could stand to go to the library and get some
work done," Clara answered, and suddenly snapped her fingers as she
remembered something.  "Oh, but all my books are at home."  She glanced
up at the Sheriff, who was watching her patiently.  "I guess you could
take me there, if you don't mind."
	"No problem," he insisted and waved her over to his car.  He
unlocked the passenger side for her and walked around to the other
door.  Clara climbed in and buckled her seat belt.  She was surprised
when Buck didn't do the same, given it was a state law.  When he pulled
away from the curb the car came dangerously close to hitting a light-
post that stood near the edge of the sidewalk.  Clara grabbed her
armrest in alarm but Buck didn't seem to notice.
	"So, where're we going?" he asked calmly as he stared ahead at
the road.
	"5180 Oak Ridge," she answered.  "It's between-"
	"I know where it is," Buck interrupted.  He flashed Clara a
smile and said, "I know Trinity like the back of my hand."
	Clara smiled and turned to watch the stores flying past the
side-window of the car.
	"You work at Paul's Bookstore?" Buck asked.
	"Yeah, Rudy's a real pain in the-" Clara stopped herself before
swearing and looked over at the Sheriff, who seemed unconcerned.  "I
don't think she's ever even met anyone named Paul."
	"Actually," he began with a knowing glint in his eye, "Paul was
her Daddy.  He wasn't one for reading books though, probably couldn't
even spell his own name.  One day he had to go to the library to get
young Rudy a book for school, but you see," he went on, building the
anticipation like a good story-teller, "it was on the top shelf."
	Clara looked at him and waited for the big finish.
	"The whole bookcase fell on him."  Buck took his hands off the
wheel and clapped them for effect.  "Squashed flat as a pancake."  He
looked over at his passenger to gauge her response.
	"That's," Clara began and paused, "a horrible story," she
finished, but chuckled in spite of herself.  Buck smiled and looked out
at the road.
	"It can't pay all the bills, though.  Right?" he asked of the
job.
	"No, I baby-sit too," Clara said without thinking, then
immediately felt uneasy.  She looked out the side window again, hoping
that that would be the end of their conversation.
	"Caleb tells me you're a Grade A baby-sitter.  Maybe a tad
nosey...." he trailed off.
	Clara looked over at him, but Buck just looked back at her
innocently.  She wished he would laugh are yell, anything to break the
tension.
	"Really?" Clara asked weakly.  "Do you know Caleb?"  Buck
chuckled, never taking his eyes off the road.
	"Oh, I think you know just how close we are."
	This time, the Sheriff took a moment to look Clara over, and
she saw something in his eyes that unsettled her further, despite his
seeming lack of emotion over the situation.  There was something there
that reminded her of his son, something that just wasn't right.
	Clara looked straight ahead in an effort to get away from those
accusing eyes.  The street and trees whirred towards and then past her
in a blur, and she could hear blood pounding in her ears.  Buck was
sitting next to her in silence, never moving.  After a while she
thought she couldn't stand it any longer and looked over at him.  He
was staring out at the road again in silence.
	"I'm not a gossip," she offered weakly, and Buck chuckled.
	"No, you're not, but," he glanced over at her and suddenly
seemed as amiable and inviting as when he offered her the ride, "I
can't have people airing my dirty laundry, can I?."
	"I won't," Clara insisted, sitting forward in her seat.  "I
won't tell a soul."
	"Well," Buck sighed, but let the sentence hang in the air
unfinished as he stared out at the road.
	Clara sat back in her chair and looked at her feet, feeling
that if she stayed quiet and didn't move too much, the Sheriff might
actually forget she was there.
	"You know," he said suddenly with a calculated tone, breaking
the silence.  "I do run this town."  Buck looked at her with an
arrogant smile, seeming very much like a man who liked to be in charge.
There was no smooth politeness in his voice this time, only steady
control.
	"So I hear," Clara managed, squirming a little under his glare.
	Suddenly, Clara thought about the situation she was in.  She
was a young woman who had been kicked around a lot as a kid, but had
never let that stop her.  Here she was, juggling jobs and classes in
the effort to make her life more livable, and she'd be damned if she
let someone take that away from her.
	"Why do they say that, Sheriff?" she asked him outright,
matching his even stare.
	Buck shrugged simply and looked back at the road.
	"Made a deal with the devil," he answered matter-of-factly.
	"You ain't the devil himself?" Clara asked snidely, feeling the
anger well up inside her.  It wasn't as much that this man was trying
to threaten her, it was that up until that point she had let herself be
threatened.
	"No," Buck answered honestly with a little smile, "I ain't the
devil, though some people think I am."  Clara shifted in her seat
beside him, wondering if the direct approach had really been a good
idea.  "He's always there with a proposition," Buck continued, almost
to himself, though loudly enough for Clara to hear.  "A proposition
when there's nowhere else to turn."
	Sheriff Buck turned and looked at his passenger, who returned
the stare.  They remained like that, each sizing the other one up like
boxers before a match.
	"The devil," Clara stated.
	"The one and only," Buck answered lightly as he looked back at
the road.
	"How low do you have to be that making a deal with the devil is
your only choice?"
	"You land low when you start high," he answered.
	"That makes sense," Clara muttered sarcastically and quietly
began biting her nails.  Buck looked at her with an amused expression.
	"It makes sense if you want it to," he told her in a low, even
tone.  She looked over at him again.  "You take too many liberties
while doing your job past the pearly gates and it's a long way down."
	"But, the devil was right there to pick you up, right?" she
asked incredulously.
	"That's where I get my appreciation for deals," he answered,
and set a cold set of eyes upon her.  "Anyone's willing to deal if
they've got no where else to turn."
	"Is that what happened with Caleb's mother?" she asked coldly.
Buck laughed and curled his lips into a quiet smile.
	"Caleb's mother was more of a....  silent partner than
anything."
	Clara shuddered slightly and looked down at her feet, then out
the passenger-side window.  Suddenly, she realized that she had no idea
where they were, and that if Sheriff Buck were actually taking her home
they'd have gotten there by now.
	"Where are we!" she screamed, panicking.
	Buck just kept his eyes on the road and calmly steered the car
around a bend.  Clara could see a steal bridge coming up ahead.
	With more control this time, she turned to him and asked,
"where are you taking me?"
	"Nowhere," Buck answered ominously as the car pulled onto the
bridge, then he turned his eyes on Clara.  At that moment, he really
did look like he could be the devil.
	Clara reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, pulling it
towards her as hard as she could.  The car fishtailed as the two
passengers inside struggled for control.  The back end of the car spun
into the opposite lane and hit the steal guardrail with an ear-piercing
crash.
	Clara frantically freed herself from the seatbelt and ran out
of the car, slamming the door behind her.  She had run halfway across
the bridge when she realized that Sheriff Buck hadn't been wearing his
seatbelt when they crashed.
	Shaking with shock and fear, Clara turned and started to
cautiously walk back to the car, which was sitting diagonally across
the road with the windshield facing her.  It had been going almost
completely backwards when it hit the opposite guardrail.  As she walked
closer, the sun glinted off the front windshield and she couldn't tell
if anything was moving inside.
	Suddenly, the glint moved aside and Clara saw that the
windshield was cracked and splattered with blood from the inside.  She
broke into a sprint and ran around to the driver's side window to look
in.
	There was no blood, no cracked windshield, but more
importantly, no body.
	"Lost something?"
	Clara whirled around to see Sheriff Buck standing sentinel in
the middle of the road, looking very much alive and very intimidating.
His black duster swirled in the breeze and a lock of his hair fell into
his cold eyes.
	Clara turned to run but suddenly he was upon her, grabbing her
by the throat and dragging her over to the guardrail.  She struggled,
but couldn't budge the iron grip that had her about the neck.  She felt
the metal rail pressing against her back and looked up at the man who
was slowly choking the life from her.
	"Has anyone ever told you," he asked slowly, "that you ask too
many questions?"
	In one movement, he reached down with his left hand to grab her
ankles and flipped her backwards over the guard-rail and into the
darkness.
	Calmly, Sheriff Buck strode over to the driver's side of his
Crown Victoria, running a hand through his hair to make sure it wasn't
out of place.  He pulled open the car door and got in, and pulled it
closed again behind him.  The ignition started, and the car disengaged
from the metal rail with a screech and coasted away.

END