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ravenxvamp · 28 days

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Chapter 1: Colter

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1899 Current Location: Somewhere In Grizzlies West, Ambarino

'A Dangerous Winter Wonder Land'

White was the colour that covered the vast misty mountaintop of the terrain that we travelled in. The wind howled and roared around us dangerously like a predator hunting its injured prey lurking viciously in the thick icy haze waiting to attack and feast on our soft, weak, and debilitated flesh. We held our clothes tight but each other tighter to protect our feeble bodies from the frosty weather hitting us in the faces like a shot to the head with a rusty bullet. I feel my fingers numb as I try to blow on them to stop the sharp knife-stabbing tingling coming from my frost-bitten nerve endings as my body transferred heat to my essential organs to try and survive this weather but it only made my lips dry and crack and the sensation in my now purple fingers worsen.

I painfully listened to the horses' cries out into the 'everlasting void' as the snow melted into their once-warm fur coats as they pushed forward carrying what seemed like the whole world on their backs as they pulled the ancient decaying wagons through the 6-inch snowy blanket that laid comfortably on top of the earthy floor, with another loud agitated sequel they pushed on with only the amber lighting from the lanterns to guide their innocent pure eyes. The void would be the only word to describe this area of abandoned mountain range although it was as white as a Christmas night, snow was all that covered this land along with a couple of twisted, withered, depressed trees that seemed to have disturbing soulless faces seemed to be carved into their bark like they were once wanderers that had once tried to escape the wrath of the storm like ourselves but that could just be a mirage created by the heartless blizzard on my restless eyes. Sleep was the one thing everyone needed right now if the blizzard didn't get us now then exhaustion or starvation will. Everyone had it rough right now if you could only see us now we'd probably all look like the Walking Dead as there wasn't one person in the gang whose face wasn't zombified with exhaustion.

The men had it the hardest being tasked with scouting and hunting in this lethal weather, I could not even move without being disturbed and rattled awake by the harsh weather conditions so I couldn't even begin to imagine being sent off alone into the unknown. It was almost like sending a man to his death, a death so slow and so painful that in your last moments, you'll be singing like a siren with a gleeful glow in your pitiful child-like eyes happy the artic torment is over looking up at the white overcast as you draw your final breath. Nonetheless, I trust that Dutch knew what he was doing despite the 'rumours' about that girl on the ferry and the Pinkertons in Blackwater and how he lost his mind and slipped into the everlasting depths of insanity that slowly rot your brain until you're trapped in your mind, I could it was still fresh in everyone's memories just by looking around you could tell they were starting to question Dutch's intentions.

My three thick layers of clothing seemed to do nothing against the war that swarmed and spiralled around us, I felt naked as if my 'womanhood' was on show for the whole mountain range to see. I was starting to lose hope as was everyone else of ever getting out of the winter wonderland hell hole,

"Still a got your head in that journal of yours I see"

I flinch at the sudden deep buttery southern accent and quickly slam my journal shut causing a small gust of wind to hit me in my painfully rosy cheeks, it seemed like I had gotten to lost in the moment again and started writing like a mad woman, embarrassed I look over at the hunky cowboy riding next to the wagon as we travel through the tundra. He had that stupid smirk painted on his face as he just seemed to love antagonising me in sickness and health he was there just to harass me and make me miserable,

"Arthur, what are you doing here?"

I say holding a firm tone but the excitement in my voice was undeniable as I had been quite lonely the past couple of days thirsting for a real conversation with somebody that wasn't about starvation or the chilling cold. Arthur knew just how to lighten up the mood of any room he stepped into and he knew just how to cheer me up as well as making my cheeks flush an erubescent colour with this sheepish look in his eyes like ima' big juicy stake ready to be eaten. There had always been some undeniable sexual tension since I had the pleasure of meeting such a man but it's yet to be discussed so for now it just lurks in the cosy aura I feel when I'm around him and I know he feels it too. I stick my head out of the wagon and look ahead to see if Dutch has noticed him slip away from his duty, "And says you," I say as I degrade him as he smugly rode beside me "I sometimes forget what you look like Mister Morgan" I say with a big smirk on my face, he let out a deep stomach chuckle and then shook his head in defeat, that rough rugged manly laugh always erupted something feral inside of me and filled my stomach with butterflies and made my head all dizzy like one of them damsels in Mary-Beth's silly story books and made certain parts of my body eager, "Fair Enough" he spoke with a sigh as he brought his hands up to his face and blew hot air from his chapped lips into his gloves and proceed to rub his upper arms.

"So, how are you holding up?" verbalizing his concern that had been eating him up from the inside, he didn't have to tell me this it was written all over his face "I heard that you got hurt in Blackwater and I just..." he trips over his own words like a newborn fawn struggling to stand for the first as he struggles to find the right way to make his true emotions and intimate thoughts known this was one of the great Arthur Morgans weakness, the gunslinger was so more complicated under the surface if only the Pinkerton's could see him now, "Wanted to see if you were okay," he says in a near whisper scratching the back of his neck I knew he felt guilty for not being there for me but also for Sean, Jenny, and Mac "I'm fine Arthur really I am" his gaze moved towards my injured leg which had been poorly banged with small dark red blood droplets seeping through the loose material and imperfectly covered by the fur on my boots his eyes glistening with regret as he quickly looks back up to me almost like he was looking into the sun "If only I was-" he goes to drown himself in sorrow and pity but I cut him off before he can utter out another miserable word "If nothing," I speak with a powerful tone in hopes he would show attentiveness to my words "You didn't know what was going to happen in Blackwater so there's no point in beating yourself up over something you had no control over" The wrinkles on his face only seemed to intensify as he tried to process the words that I had spoken with an honest tongue "All them' deaths ain't your fault there on Micah, that ferry job was a curse from the start" Arthur's face visible twisted with disgust at the mere mention of that snake's name.

"I know" his words spat venom towards the 'man' if you could need to call such a person a man but also his words had hits of exhaustion laced within two simple words as the last six months Micah had been riding with us have been hell, "I guess I just wished it would have gone down differently" he sighed once more still despite my words still beating himself up over it "Listen we don't even know if Mac and Sean are dead they could have got away, Sean is a slippery Irish bastard and Mac well... he's well Mac, he's gotten himself out of worse" Everyone knew Mac was definitely a peculiar character he was or is vicious, short-tempered most importantly wild probably the most out of control man I've ever met, well him and Davey.

I watch as his tense shoulders relax a bit at my words, I think he knew this deep down but just wanted to hear someone else tell him that it was going to be okay and that we were safe. Arthur would never admit this but he needed validation, he needed security, and despite his cold and hard demeanour behind it all was a soft and gentle man but years of being surrounded by violence had made him sour and bitter, at least that's how he acts on the outside. There was a war going on in his mind that he couldn't escape from as he constantly battles his own nature but man is a part of nature, and his war against nature is inevitably a war against himself and he's losing, he has been for some time now.

We rode in comfortable silence as the frigid crystallised wind blew its harmonic tune around us causing our teeth to chatter in unison, I could feel him glancing at me now and again it was clear by his eyes burning into the back of my skull that he wanted to talk to me again but soon the building tension was sliced in half by a booming voice shouting over the artic storm,

"Arthur, get over here now!"

Dutch's sudden commanding voice almost made Arthur jump right off of his saddle he looked at me again his deep blue eyes twinkled like he had wanted to say something but he just tipped his gambler hat at me and gave me a cheeky wink making me blush before kicking his stirrups into the side of his horse and taking off ahead beyond which my eyes could longingly ponder fondly leaving me in an unpleasant silence and left an excruciating feeling in my chest that burned with admiration and blazing adoration for the simple cowboy.

After what felt like centuries of roaming this empty plane like the undead, Arthur under Dutch's request had gone out and found us an old abandoned mining town for us to camp out in just for a 'little while' to let Davey 'rest' Dutch had said but I think he knew just like the rest of us by looking at his red and pale sickly complexion that he might not make it another mile let alone another trot as his gasping for air got louder and louder and the cold temperature outside was not helping his lungs. Despite the rickety and decaying structure and the overall haunted aura the buildings had due to its emptiness, it brought me a feeling of warmth by just gazing upon its comforting wooden 'castle walls' As we slowly approached the deserted town more and more buildings became apparent to my vision I could already see the home we'd make out of this train wreck.

As the wagon came to a staggering halt as we approached one of the uninhabited cabins which surprised me that the wheels hadn't frozen over yet as the wood seemed to have been stained and chipped with a transparent glaciality blue, I eagerly but carefully jumped into the snow the fluffy blanket of ice trying to put to much pressure onto my injury as I did so, it reached halfway up to my knees my fur boots doing a good job a protecting my toes and legs from the snow that dared to melt through. I quickly grabbed the essentials like blankets, cans of food, and extra clothing as Ms Grimshaw and Dutch shouted at us like sheep and like

shepherds ushering us all into the run-down cabin so that everyone could get warm. It was no unsolvable mystery that hopes and the overall mood of the gang were low, lower than I'd ever seen, we had only just managed to slip out of Blackwater but it didn't come without the cost of Jenny, Mac, Sean and Davey who was currently being carried in by Arthur and Bill. His arms lifelessly dangling like a loose thread on an old cardigan but stiff like he was made from stone, if it wasn't clear to us before it was clear now that Davey had died in the storm it was clear now, with pale white and red skin with a blueish purple tingle and his eyeballs that seemed to drift away each other and his mouth seemed to be glued open like he had just broken his jaw.

Abigail approached the blue stone man who had been laid mummified on the table, she placed two gentle fingers to his neck checking and hoping for a pulse but when her blue eyes dulled to sombre inky grey everyone knew what she was about to say,

"Davey's dead."

Those were the two words people didn't want to hear right now, as of two seconds ago I didn't think that the gang could hint lower than this rock bottom but it seemed as of now doom and gloom was becoming the new norm. The gang desperately needed some inspiration to keep going so that we didn't have to dig any more graves than two and needed someone to give them hope, hope that they would die on some cursed frozen mountain in the Grizzlies. Bickering then erupted among everyone mostly about food, supplies and words of comfort towards Abigail as she fought so hard to help Davey make it out of this nightmare alive, I haven't known Abigail for long but she and Davey seemed close. I stood holding myself trying to stay warm, though we were inside my body still needed time to warm up from that whole mess outside.

My gaze then left the gang tired of listening to the same words getting repeated like a broken record player and I looked over at Arthur he looked like a mess but a beautiful mess, his hair seemed to want to escape from his scalp flowing in all different directions waving and spinning like royal swan ballet dancers but this was all hid underneath his hat. His gorgeous hazel eyes though glazed with sorrow as he looked over at Davey like everyone else he watched as they placed coins over his and shook his head. His focus shifted back to Dutch as he turned his head, I obsessively fixated on his sharp jaw and how his beard perfectly hugged his face tightly it made me secretly bite my lip.

"Listen... listen to me all of you, for a moment "

Dutch had cleared his throat before he had begun to speak in a grieving, but assertive tone to draw everyone's attention to him, he took a deep breath as he looked around at our famished, depressed, exhausted faces before he began speaking, "now, I know we've had a bad couple of days" he pause for a second to take a breath to stop himself from getting emotional at his ex-gunner recent demise "I loved Davey..." his tone changed to one laced with regret and grief you could tell the deaths had really gotten to him, "Jenny..." he continued and as he continued he began to speak more clearly and less emotional as he knew he needed to be strong to help the gang lift themselves back up and proceeded with his speech "Mac, Sean... they may be okay we don't know" though he wasn't sure if the two were alive he spoke of them like they could walk through the cabin door behind him at this very moment but still keep it serious tone as we didn't need to get our hopes up only for them to be brought down by the news that Mac and Sean had been killed. "But we lost some folks... now if I could, though myself in their stead..." he used hand gestures to exaggerate and emphasise what he was say into the truth "I'd do it... gladly" he looked around at us and his eyes meet with Arthur's for a second and he nodded at him in agreement, "but... we are going to ride out and find some food" he pointed towards outside "everybody, we're safe now. There ain't nobody following after us in that storm" slowly everyone's face began to light up, not that Dutch had singled handedly erased the sadness and gloom from our brains it just left nice to know that we'd be safe it was nice to have security for once "by the time they figure out we're here, we'll be long gone" his voice got high and more confident "now all of you get warm, and stay strong. Stay with me" if you were a wanderer and just so happened to walk passed this cabin you would of thought he was hyping up a mob "we ain't done yet!" he said as he proceeded to walk towards the door with Arthur disappearing into the snowy mist.

New camp meant a whole lot of work had to be done to get things up and running again, luckily for me due to my leg injury I had been excused from working and got to snuggle up to the fire enjoying its warm comforting embrace while I get to avoid Ms Grimshaw's wrath unlike the other poor souls who's cry's I just drink right up like a fine wine as I watch them run around like busy worker bees but despite everything going on around me there was no room in my brain to care about think about anyone other than Arthur. I was worried sick as I watched the blizzard outside grow stronger and stronger my stomach began to twist in a vile sickly way but other than that I was enjoying relaxing for once,

"Oh [NAME], get your head out of that silly journal for one-second girly I need to talk to you"

Or so I thought... "yes Ms Grimshaw? what is it that you need?" I tried my best not to sound annoyed as I was having such a good time like the little sadist I was listening to the other's complaints about their labour and now I thought god was punishing me for having such impure thoughts, "I wanted to talk to you about your living arrangements" I raised and slightly tilted my head at the older woman "what do you mean?" she scoffed and rolled her eyes like I was stupid before grabbing me with her aged hands hard enough to leave some minor bruising but I didn't think that was intentional and pulled me into a more secluded area of the cabin tucked away in a corner and away from the cosy fame I had just been sitting peacefully in.

"Will you and Mister Morgan be sharing sleeping arrangements?" This question caught me off guard causing my mouth to open slightly with shock and my cheeks flared up an embarrassing bright rosy red like I had just eaten something spicy so red in fact that there may as well be smoke coming out of my ears "What on earth do you mean Ms Grimshaw?" I said move defensively then I would of hopped, she again rolled her eyes but with a bit more flamboyancy and irritation this time and with a bitch smacked look on her face with injunction strained in her voice she proceeded to say "don't play coy with me, girl," pointing her wrinkled finger at my chest like a mother scolding her child "you know better then to rile me up, you know damn well what I'm talking about!" I of course one hundred per cent knew that she was referencing mine and Arthur's relationship status at the moment.

The question alone had left me feeling flustered that other people thought me and Arthur were something more than we actually were. Hidden sexual and romantic interactions like teenager star-crossed lovers who only just found out that relationships can consist of more than just sloppy kisses were not rare in fact, they were so common people started thinking we were sweet on each other. If I could explain our current relationship in two words it would be 'business transaction' we had become so needy and thirsty like animals in heat we found each other for the first time in a time of luscious sorrow both being without partners for so long and whisky is a horrific combination for two lost heartbroken souls, Mary didn't want him and my love had passed. Ever since then, we have had this strange relationship where feelings weren't supposed to be felt between the two it was supposed to be purely lustful but liquor is a sober man's poison and Arthur has never been able to hold his drink or maybe he was too much of a gentleman to use a woman in such ways I guess I'll never know.

"Are you just going to stare at me like I'm stupid or are you going to answer me woman?" when I realised I was all up in my own little world again I tuned back into the single more terrifying expression that Ms Grimshaw just the look of the tint of impatientness in her eye made me want to jump out of my skin and run away with my tail tucked in between my legs like some skittish little street dog "It's hard to say... well, begin to say what we are" Ms Grimshaw still not amused by my flustered reluctance on my current relationship status huffed with annoyance "listen, girl if you're not going to give me a straight answer I'm just going to go on assumptions" I was going to say something to defend my hesitance, but it was too late she had waddled away throwing the cabinet door open most likely going to go work on the others sleeping arrangements.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours of pure grotesque torture my mind flashed of the 'assumptions' that vile woman Ms Grimshaw had made to make my life hell, I saw her messy bun and her elderly face peak back through the wooded door in which she had disappeared out of not too long ago, "Miss [NAME], get over her girly" she shouts over the wind and waves me over sticking half of her body inside the warm cabin, not wanting to keep her waiting I get up quickly causing some strain on my leg as I forget about its injury's and almost trip like some drunken fool as I followed her through the snow like she was a mother duck and a was a little duckling.

Ms Grimshaw led me towards one of the cabins the cosy's looking and the one with the most structural integrity at least from what I could see. It almost felt like home but home was what we make it like a homeless man would call a cardboard box a mansion if he was surrounded by people who he loved dearly. We make do with what little we have and are grateful to have each other to hold up together, a flower can't bloom without a little rain but I'd describe our situation as more of a flood.

She opened the door and warmth hit my face once again, I was great by Molly's uptight expression, not the usual snotty glare. She was standing by the fire well she wasn't doing much standing as her fingers were practically down the back of her throat like she was trying to make herself throw up after she ate something rotten. Molly jumped not expecting our company and clearly enjoying her time isolating herself from the rest of the gang like she so often likes doing, her eyes sparkled for a moment painfully obvious that she thought we were Dutch before realising we weren't she scoffed not in an arrogant way as usual but more in a disappointed manner to which Ms Grimshaw rolls her eyes at the young woman and waves me over to a room on the right.

I was shocked, to say the least, that this was one of the 'good' rooms. Paper was scattered all over the floor along with rotten floorboards that had come loose and had just been pulled out from the ground and thrown to the side like some used whore, along with that there were chunks of glass that littered the floor accompanied by some dried up leaves that had been blown in by the cold draft in addition to that there were some cool halloween decorations of tiny animal bones that looked like they belonged to a rat, there was no way one of us was going to be sleeping on that floor. Talk about sleeping arrangements the bed didn't look cosy either the mattress was all ripped and torn like it had been attacked by a bear but it looked big enough for two people though it was hard to tell with Arthur's bulky figure, "So here we are, this is where you and Mister Morgan will be staying, if you change your mind there is always a space for you in the main building" I smiled and thanked her for her assistance before she rushed out to attend to other things. She was such an amazing woman Ms Grimshaw and everyone seemed to take advantage of that or undermined her contribution to the gang, it was sad really. I lay on the bed, the mattress not being as bad as it looks it just needs some blankets and it would be perfect. I stare at the ceiling not properly being able to stop and process everything that's happened so far I start to feel drowsy until a voice breaks the silence,

"Hey everybody Dutch is back!"

I faintly heard Lenny's excited shout as my eyelids started to fall heavy but they sprang back open again and my mind immediately flickered over to Arthur.

I make my way over to the gang most of them had come out of the comfort and warm to see Dutch in hope that he'd brought back some food or something to help us survive, so there was a big penguin huddle around him and Arthur and a strawberry blonde woman who looked terrified, traumatised even she couldn't stop violently shaking like a helpless animal that had just been shot and I just knew it wasn't from the cold. If feel as if Dutch made the right decision bring her here but that was just a gut feeling and I tend to be a person who thinks with my head and not a silly feeling in my stomach. I later learned her name was Sadie Adler, poor thing had become a widow. I looked at Arthur from a distance and I could tell that he was burnt out, he had dark circles around his eyes and looked seconds away from nodding off. I wasn't really listening to Dutch speak as I was too worried about Arthur and to be frank in this moment of time there was a vile depression swarming in my mind like a toxic black fog that made me cold and not care if we all reached the pearly gates or the fiery deeps of hell as much as I'd hate to admit it. he looked really bad like he was going to collapse any second now swaying back and forth like a drunken sailor and blinking slowly like a reptile in the desert, he was clearly in a world of his own. I waited impatiently for Dutch to stop speaking or in other words stop yapping out of respect for the old man I didn't want to ruin his amazing speech so that I could slither on over to Arthur.

"You okay cowboy?" I say as I hobble over to him and gently stroke his arm with my gloved palm moving it up and down on his cotton blue coat, oh how badly I wanted to press my soft warm virgin lips to his rough and scarred face and to hold him like a child in my feminine embrace as I run my fingers through his unkempt hair and whisper dove-like songs to him as I tell him 'it's okay' but if you haven't gotten the hint by know that wasn't how our relationship worked. He looked surprised to see me and grabbed my palm with his larger hands and gently like he was holding a rich china set moved my hand back to my sides rejecting but appreciating my touch at the same time, "you should be resting" he spoke in a straggly strained tone I found this very ironic coming from someone who had trouble keeping his eyes open "so should you" a sigh erupts from his dry cracked lips knowing he didn't go back and forth all day or too exhausted to give me lip, he gave in to me, "come on big boy, let's get you to bed" I say as my gloved hand tenderly gripped his and guided him towards the cabin. He tailed behind me like a giant puppy afraid to walk astray from its mother, it made me all warm and fuzzy inside knowing that Arthur had the strength and build of a bulky grizzly bear and the personality and charm of a cougar and could very easily over power me at any second and pull away but right now he was letting drag him through the bone chilling snow his grip on my hand was lose and soft as if he was holding onto glass, his touch though small and insignificant to those who didn't know the man but Arthur's touch spoke volume he was gentle with those who needed and rough to those who needed it but he had never been sweet with his touch it felt like an angel had came down and blessed my pure feminine hand with that of a rugged man's, like an abused street dog I didn't need him to speak as the silent language of touch alone told me that our relationship was growing into something more then a casual fling.

I help him over to the bed when we get inside the cabin his legs wobbling a bit as he goes to sit down, he lets out a long frustrated hot grunt as he throws he head back slightly revealing his Adams apple as he takes of his old dirty hat and runs his now un-gloved fingers through his hair as if he was aggressively petting a dog before his fingers traveled up to the bridge of his nose and he pitches it. With a thump he sits down on the elderly and rather uncomfortable bed, "I'm exhausted" he spoke in a worn out strained sexy voice and he really was quite a sight as of now... but much as I'd like to drool about him all day like a yearning virgin with a rotten blood red devil heart with the thick black wings of fallen hopes and the maggots of love and desire eating away at the fleshy wall that is fear and impurity, he was a real person at the end of the day a person that filled me with thoughts of lechery and complexed feelings that felt the need to be sexualised every second by some desperate lonesome woman in my mind that is me. "Would you like some help?" He didn't even have the energy to look up at me or verbally respond to my question so he just nodded, so I knelt down in front of his perfectly sculpted face. Him despite being sat down he still towered over me like a great old oak tree as one by one I pulled his boots with two great tugs, not the usual activity I get up on when I'm on my knees for him so it felt unfamiliar with the domesticity of it all but oh well, "so how was your day?" I ask standing up to assist him in taking of his coat and slinging it of his shoulders "well despite almost freezing to death, I think that... I'm just fine" he spoke with a bit of hesitance it was clear that he thought something else in that hollow head of his but I thought nothing of it and shrugged it off.

"So will you joining me anytime today Miss?" I felt my whole body flush up a red crimson, my mouth started to fill with droll, my palms started to sweat and I felt my heartbeat in my chest and somewhere else he had never been this straight forward with me before so it surprised me and also aroused me, "I... well, you see..." I slurred over my own words my fluttered state becoming apparent to the man as he looked at me with the biggest smirk on his face laying with arms behind his head and his legs crossed with his hat back on his head again but pushed down so you couldn't see his irresistible ocean blue eyes "nah, I don't think I see why not" his smirk growing with every second my face invents a new shade of red and shuffle my feet uncomfortably like a penguin "come here' beautiful" his buttery voice was like a siren's sweet lullaby to my ears almost making me buckle and melt like ice cream under the sun. I try not to look to eager as I kick off my fluffy boots being careful not to accidentally touch or knock into my injury but I think he could tell that I was eager my the way his sleepy eyes seemed to follow me around the room and have a tint of amusement in them. I walk over to the bed and lay next to him it was awkward for awhile as we don't usually share a bed together, so I wasn't used to the beds dip to the side Arthur was laying and the way it sort of pulled me towards him like a black hole but I tried to the best of my feeble ability not to roll onto his husky chest, or the heavy breathing that he huffed like a dragon in and out of his lungs as he relaxes into the bed but still seemed uncomfortable somehow. That was until Arthur wrapped his arm around me and pulled me into his chest "I don't want you hang' off the edge to the bed there darling, hope this ain't to awkward" I guess me being uncomfortable made him uncomfortable in a weird romantic type of way it wasn't awkward at all his touch was like a beacon that light up my dark soul or the fan to fuel my fames, it actually felt nice to be held a feeling I had once long forgotten of being in the arms of someone you love and care for "not at all..." I whisper listening to his steady heartbeat like it was a song played by god himself and his angels, the warmth from his body was ecstatic and helped lull me to sleep. The last thing I remember was the faint whisper of something Arthur had said to me in my last seconds of consciousness I being think my fine moments in the 'Wild West' back in the good old' days when we weren't on the run from what seemed like the whole world and the relaxation of my muscles hit and then I started to fade away.

END NOTE

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Author's notes: I hope you enjoyed reading Until My Last Breath as much as I did writing it. Unfortunately, I am slow writer so there will be extremely slow updates but I promise you it will come out.

I'd love to know if you love the story so far and what your views on it are so don't be afraid to leave a comment.

I am planning on writing a Dutch Van Der Linde fanfic if any of you are interested please let me know.

Also, it is unedited at the moment so please if you see any mistakes point them out to me, thank you!

Thank you for reading.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption arthur #arthur morgan #rdr2 arthur #rd2 x reader #arthur morgan x reader #wild west #john morrison #dutch van der linde

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twola · 1 year

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Devil's Backbone : Diablo Ridge III

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x FemOC/Reader POV Tags: Longfic, Slow Burn, Smut (18+), Violence, Canon-Typical Injuries

Limpany’s burning was a lot more than meets the eye. Deception, greed, and murder follow everyone touched by Leviticus Cornwall. A story where the Van der Linde gang gets even more inescapably involved in Cornwall’s dealings, with the survivor of the massacre at the heart of it all. Slow burn. Pre-Blackwater and beyond.

Diablo Ridge III: Flattery and Other Crimes

Membership in an outlaw gang requires…being an outlaw.

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There’s something unsettling about gold plating. And gold paint. Its design, at its very essence, is to conceal, to lie. To appear far more grand than it actually is at its core, a mask to hide its deceit. An illusion of grandeur.

A crystalline, sparking glass half filled with an amber liquid is placed in front of him. He takes it, grunting in thanks, and raises it to his lips whilst leaning against the bar top, staring at the gold veneer on the wall behind the bartender.

“Why, Leviticus, in the flesh. I’m surprised that you’re showing your face around here. I thought Saint Denis was too far beneath you. Don’t you have some railroad to buy in Chicago?”

Leviticus Cornwall scowls, not responding to the obvious ribbing from the man behind him. He takes another sip of bourbon from the crystal tumbler.

“Get me what he’s having.”

The man, Cornwall’s undesired guest, saunters next to him at the bar, placing his elbows on the polished mahogany.

The bartender nods and goes to make another drink.

“You presume to forget how much of this city has my name on it as well.” Cornwall spits icily, glaring at the portly man, red-bearded with shocks of white on his jowls and the thinning hair on his head.

“Mm, that is true. But these simpletons here erected a goddamn statue of me like I’m some savior coming in after the war, building up this city from ruins.”

“Saint Denis’ favorite carpetbagger,” Leviticus mumbles under his breath.

“You’re just sour that it isn’t you, my dear Leviticus. I saw an opportunity and I took it. Not my fault that you were too slow.”

“As much as I love your company, McKnight, I must be going.” Cornwall sneers, downing his drink and setting the glassware on the bar forcefully.

“I heard you’re having issues with that land on the Dakota. On top of the issues you’re having with Wapiti.” McKnight cuts to the chase, reaching for the glass of bourbon that the bartender places on the bar’s surface.

“Maybe you should get your hearing checked.” The older man spits, aggravation rising.

McKnight guffaws, taking a sip of the caramel-colored drink. “I’m hearing you can’t get your hands on that silly little town because you lost the woman who can sign over the deed. Really, Leviticus, you should be more mindful where you’re placing things.”

Leviticus Cornwall narrows his eyes, glaring back at his fellow magnate. He’s about to raise his voice before an usher calls out over the hall.

“The show will start in five minutes - please, ladies and gentlemen, find your seats!”

JD McKnight laughs heartily, taking another sip of bourbon. “Had I known you would have amused me this much, I may not have bought the tickets for this show. Râleur is supposed to have quite the raucous show… but dear Leviticus, your plight seems to be much more entertaining.”

With that, the portly man steps past a seething Cornwall, down the hall toward the box seats.

“Mister Cornwall?” One of the industrialist’s valets approaches him warily, as Cornwall’s eyes follow McKnight’s path.

He doesn’t turn to speak to the valet, a young man dressed in a finely pressed suit. With his gaze still on the retreating businessman, his voice goes cold.

“Get me Milton. I want Blackwater flooded with Pinkertons. It shouldn’t be this goddamn difficult to find one woman.”

“And that’s how you survive fifty days at sea, madam. Determination. Hard work. Never giving up.”

Pearson sniffles and wipes his nose on his sleeve, groaning while he chops an onion roughly.

You look up from your place at the end of the makeshift butcher table where you are peeling potatoes with a small pocketknife. The lull in the admittedly one-sided conversation was obviously a prompt for you to shower praise upon the man for his exploits.

“Oh,” you pipe up, realizing what the cook was angling for, “That must have been quite the experience, Mister Pearson.”

Pearson huffs, tossing the chunks of onion into the worn pot in the middle of the table. Not pleased with your answer, he turns around and grabs the large butcher’s knife from a hanger on the wagon and starts cutting meat from the skinned whitetail doe hanging from the makeshift butcher’s rack.

Days turned into weeks, and you seemed to be settling into the day-to-day functions of the camp. Laundry, cooking, cleaning. Patching up small wounds. This group of two dozen people seemed to keep busy, but you did not know what the men did when they left the camp. It was likely purposeful to keep that information from you.

Over the weeks you learned the different personalities of the camp. Dutch, the magnanimous leader - you could understand how he banded this group together. Charismatic, altruistic, idealistic - he was well-read, which was strange for an outlaw, but was able to talk his way out of any argument. There was a dangerous glint in his dark eyes, and it didn’t take long for you to notice the looks he gave you and other women, the over-the-top chivalrous tone he takes in speaking to members of the fairer sex.

Oft that comes with the burning glare of the red-haired beauty that was his bedmate. Molly O’Shea, the proud woman, spends her days in the shade of Dutch’s large tent, primping and preening over her appearance and reading books in the late afternoon sun. Opposite her fiery red hair, her personality is icy - she seems to see threats to her position everywhere she looks. Jenny whispers that she came from money - back in Ireland, and like many, was seduced by Dutch’s words and ideals.

You’ve fallen in with Jenny Kirk - a straight-talking girl who had joined this group a couple of years ago - she was alone and abandoned when the gang was traveling through and joined in a heartbeat. She seemed to have a good heart - warning you about the quirks of life among the group. Stay away from Micah, she would say lowly. Don’t try drinking with the Callendar boys, it won’t end well, she laughs, claiming that she was hungover for days after that instance.

Mary Beth was sweet with a mischievous streak, Karen was sharp-tongued and wild, and Tilly hid a quick wit behind an innocent face. And as much as the girls whined and moaned, they would complete the chores for the day under Susan Grimshaw’s hawk eyes and stern manner.

Miss Grimshaw, as she was addressed, ran a tight ship, and even the men seemed to listen to her, which seemed a miracle amongst the rough and tumble hard-drinking bunch.

Assigned to help Simon Pearson, the bumbling camp cook - you’ve learned quickly that he likes to hear himself talk. So you let him, nodding and agreeing with his stories and anecdotes as you peel potatoes, trying not to let your mind stray to a kitchen in a saloon along a riverbank. That was gone. That life was gone.

Karen walks by and rolls her eyes at Pearson’s bellyaching behind his back, and you stifle a giggle while you dump the potatoes into the large cast-iron pot that the day’s stew was being cooked in. For a self-proclaimed cook - Pearson’s repertoire didn’t seem to include much beyond a fairly bland stew.

You hear your voice from across the camp, and your head shoots up to follow the voice.

“C’mere, Ruth.” Dutch beckons, waving you over, and you clean your hands off on the apron tied at your waist. As you approach, Dutch places his hand on your back, leading you to the edge of his tent.

“See here,” he motioned to a box laid atop a barrel right outside the corner of his tent, “These are the camp funds - they pay to keep us fed, clothed, warm. Everyone is expected to give their cut to the gang.”

He eyes you critically, tapping on the box with one of the large rings on his fingers.

“O-of course, Mister Van der Linde. I’m no free-loader if that’s what you’re insinuating.” You stutter, trying to remain in the man’s good graces.

Dutch smiles, placing a hand on your shoulder, “Course not, Missus Shaw. Weren’t gonna impose on you right when you got here, but now that you’re settling in, it’s time you become a contributing member of this gang.”

You nod. What choice did you have?

“Good. I’m glad we came to an understanding, my dear. Go see Javier. He’s going to head out shortly.” Dutch squeezes your shoulder affectionately before removing his hand with a tap on your arm.

“Yes sir.” You take this as a dismissal, fighting the urge to draw your brown checked shawl tighter around yourself.

“Ruth-” the outlaw interjects, “You don’t need the formality. Just Dutch’ll do.”

“Yes, Dutch.” You parrot back, a blush staining your cheeks as you stand corrected.

You sheepishly approach Javier as he packs his bag outside of his small tent. You haven’t spoken to him much - frankly, you haven’t spoken to most of the men much.

"I, um, Dutch…” You stumble over your words as you wring your hands together nervously.

He looks up and gives a reassuring smile. “Ay, Güera. Dutch wants me to take you with us to Blackwater. Something about you earning your stripes.”

“Güera?” You repeat the unfamiliar word back to him.

“Ah,” Javier motions to his hair, jet black, and pulled back into a small ponytail, with a grin, “The color of your hair. I take it you don’t know any Spanish?"

"Oh… oh no. I spent a lot of time in Saint Denis, so I know more French than Spanish. I know a little bit after going to Arizona, but not enough to get by."

He places a worn bowler hat on his head and stands up. “Claro, claro. So we’re goin’ into Blackwater. Dutch wants me to follow up on a lead there. Karen’s coming with me and is gonna hit the saloon. They gonna know you in Blackwater?”

You shake your head in the negative, the only people who would know you in Blackwater are in Mexico right now. Javier nods, heaving a rifle over his shoulder. The rifle was on top of the revolver in the belt slung around his hips, and you have to wonder what you’re going to be doing that requires that much firepower.

“Let’s go."

You frown quickly at Javier, but try to shake the reaction off your face right away. You follow him toward where the horses are tied, where Karen is waiting next to her own mount.

“Yeah, yeah, time to go steal from some unsuspecting city slickers.” Karen chuckles, shrugging on a purple velvet coat, fitted that it accentuated her ample bosom.

You glance down at yourself, weathered black skirt and your off-white blouse underneath the black leather vest you’d been wearing as a de facto uniform since Blackwater. Certainly didn’t inspire confidence in your ability to charm money off a man. Karen notices your reservation.

“Javier, you get the horses ready. I’m gonna get Ruth here ready.” Karen gave you an evil smile while grabbing at your arm and pulling you toward the women’s tents. Javier chuckles lightly as he turns back toward his horse.

“Whoa, whoa, wait, slow down.”

“Jenny! Y’still got that pink dress?” Karen yells out as she drags you toward Jenny, who was sitting sewing a patch on a flannel shirt.

She cocks an eyebrow. “Yeah…why?”

“Sweet little Ruth here is gonna go charm some money off some unsuspecting suckers.” Karen laughs, coming to a stop in front of where Jenny has placed the shirt down and stood up.

You nearly stumble as Karen lets go of your arm. Jenny looks you up and down, her eyebrows arching even higher.

“Is she now?” The young woman puts her hands on her hips, a sly smile starting to cross her face.

“Dutch’s orders,” Karen adds, and she crosses her arms across her chest.

“Alright - now strip. Let’s get you so men’ll want to give you their money.”

“Jesus."

You gasp as Jenny pulls the ties of the corset tight, cinching in your waist. You haven’t worn a corset in years, certainly not since leaving Saint Denis.

“C’mon now, put this on.”

She pulls the fabric of the dress over your head and smoothes it over your chemise. It’s a pale pink color, with small flowers embroidered around the neckline, your décolletage on display. Jenny circles you, tucking bits of fabric, adjusting ties here and there, and before you can even sputter, she’s yanked down your chemise top and tucks it further down under the dress at your bosom, the low neckline of the dress now revealing the swell of the tops of your breasts.

“Ain’t nothin’ gets a man to talk like a little view.” She says with a grin and a wink. You must be blushing furiously as Karen does something with your hair, you’re not vaguely aware what, after the familiarity that these women just showed.

“ ‘Nd there we go, right as rain. You’ll be able to get a preacher man eatin' out of your hand, Miss Ruth.” Karen looks very impressed with herself. Jenny rolls her eyes, amused.

A frown crosses your features as you look in the reflection of the dirty mirror Karen holds up.

She has pulled your hair back from your face and pinned it so the curls cascade down your back. You certainly haven’t worn your hair like this in years, and it does make you look younger, almost maidenly. The dress, long-sleeved, does at least cover your shoulder and the scar there. You are relieved that the chemise you’re wearing has capped sleeves, and you didn’t have to recount the story of Limpany to these women as they more or less manhandled you.

“C’mon now, let’s get back to Javier.” Karen nods over toward the horses.

Jenny heads back to her seat and her sewing pile, looking back at you, “Don’t let her do the little lost girl routine, Karen’s much better at the drunken harlot.”

Karen rolls her eyes, making a disgruntled sound as she starts to walk away.

You look down at yourself for a moment before looking back to Jenny.

“You’ll be fine. Men are stupid, the more liquor they get in them, the dumber they get.”

You nod, unsure if that truly made you feel any better about the task you’ve been ordered to complete. Turning back away from the women’s tent, you follow Karen toward the horses.

“Ready, you two?” Javier leans against a tree, obviously ready to get on the road.

“Let’s get goin’, there’s men to rob.” Karen grins.

It’s not a terribly long ride to Blackwater. You sit behind Javier atop his horse, Boaz, while Karen rides on her own mount, Old Belle.

It’s late morning as the three of you leave the camp. Everything seems to look completely different along the way, from the logging camp and railroad tracks just down the ridge to the road to the pine forests. Perhaps it was the change in the hour, maybe it was how much you had on your mind the last time you were on the road.

Or maybe you understood why Arthur was so annoyed the day they brought you back. As you approached Blackwater, you realized that Hosea was doing quite a bit of dilly-dallying on the road north last time. It seemed to take half the time before you saw the white gabled church overlooking the town.

You’ve remained fairly quiet along the way, just listening to Javier and Karen recount times past. By the time Javier slows his horse to a walk as you reach the main thoroughfare in town, the two outlaws were fondly recalling time spent out west.

“God, that was the best job we worked, ain’t had quite as much fun as we did in Tucson.” Karen laughs, looking over at Javier.

Javier smirks, “Ay, that nun outfit was quite the idea.”

“Well, here we are, you ready to turn on the charm there, Ruth?” Karen brings her horse to a stop and slides down from the saddle. Javier extends his hand to guide you down, which you take gratefully.

“I guess so.” You say meekly, dusting off your skirts from the ride.

Javier nods, “I’ll be checking up on something. I’ll come back to the saloon when I'm done and see how you two are faring.”

He dips his hat a bit and clicks his tongue to guide his horse down the street.

Karen grabs your arm, winding it around hers. “C’mon now, Missus Shaw. Let’s go robbin’.”

She drags you into the saloon. You bite your tongue as you remember the last time you were in here. Karen pulls you forward and you both tuck into a quiet corner of the loud bar room. She surveys the scene.

“Watch and learn, sweetheart.” Karen eyes a man from across the room.

It’s not lost on you that this is exactly where you ran into Hosea and Arthur, and here you are actively trying to get a man’s attention, compared to last time.

Karen pulls her jacket down, accentuating her cleavage, and makes her way over to the man, who leans over the bar in a way that shows he’s had several drinks.

You watch in awe as Karen slides next to her mark, placing her elbows on the bar, and framing her ample breasts while leaning toward the man. His eyes simply can’t leave her neckline, as she sidles closer to him.

Over the next several minutes, you watch her fawn over the man, sliding another drink over toward him. From your place against the wall, you have a clear vantage on the way Karen works her target, with giggles and whispers as she leans closer and closer. The man gets to the point that he pulls an arm around her waist, and that seems to be a signal to her. One of her hands strays into his coat pocket, as the other rubs his thigh enticingly as he sits on the barstool. She switches hands, rubbing his other thigh as she rifles through his other coat pocket.

She leans in and whispers something with a giggle and the man shoots up from his chair and stumbles to the barkeep, throwing a dollar on the bar and making his way up the stairs, swaying the entire way.

Karen watches him, smirks, and makes her way back to you.

She pulls a pocket watch, a wedding ring, and a money clip from her coat pocket, flashing them at you before tucking them away again. Your eyes widen.

“That’s how it’s done there, Missus Shaw. Give ‘em a little attention and they’ll be completely preoccupied.”

You look back up to the staircase where the man stumbled off to, “Where’d he go?”

“Told him to get a room upstairs and that I’d be up to meet him in a bit. If you weren’t here, I’d probably go and knock him out, take everythin’ on him, but I already got a good amount.”

She surveys the room, full of cigar smoke and men.

“Now it’s your turn.”

A cold sweat breaks out down your back as your stomach drops.

“I- I don’t know if I can do this…” You mumble.

“Sure y’can. A woman’s charm is one of the deadliest weapons there is. Don’t let no man try and tell you different.” Karen takes your shoulder and gives you a gentle push further into the saloon, “Now go on, you’ll be fine.”

You nearly stumble, but regain your footing as you weave between the saloon’s patrons toward the bar. You order yourself a drink, whiskey tamping your nerves as you sip. Maybe a bit more than a sip.

“You look lost there, little miss.”

A middle-aged man dressed in a neat suit and a fine hat sits at a bar top a few steps away. Clean-shaven, starched shirt. All the looks of a man from back east. You bite your tongue, steel your nerves, and step closer to his table, placing your glass on the table, you lean your forearm on the wooden top.

“Reckon I’m lookin’ for something.”

“Are you now?” He raises his eyebrow as a smile begins to cross his face.

“Mhm. You look like you’re lookin’ for something too.”

You can hardly believe the words coming from your mouth. It’s everything to not stumble over the words as you can feel a cold sweat breaking out on your lower back.

The man beckons you closer with a wave of his hand. You step closer, and he pulls you closer with an arm around your waist. You certainly smell the whiskey on his breath. As much as you’d like to smack him, especially as his hand inches down to your rear, you bat your eyelashes and smile. Your fingers move to the lapel of his suit jacket, where you adjust a shiny pin on his chest.

“C’n I show you a nice night?” You ask, raising your eyebrows to catch his gaze again.

“Pretty miss, you can show me anythin’.” The man squeezes your rear as his other hand lands on your waist, you can feel his fingers dig against your corset.

“I don’t know, mister, but I think it’s a bit too loud over here…” You grab his hand and pull gently toward the side of the saloon. He follows you like a puppy.

His hands regain your waist, and you think of the way Karen rifled through her mark’s pockets. You lean against the man, trailing your one hand from his chest down his side, and quickly duck into his jacket’s pocket, closing your fingers around what you recognize as a pocket watch. You slowly pull it out, but your hand brushes against his arm and he stiffens.

Shit. He wasn’t nearly as drunk as you thought he was. He tenses up immediately and you know you’re done for.

“Hey!”

You push back from him and duck out the back door of the saloon, but as you make it out the threshold of the door, you’re yanked back by the fabric of your skirt. Stumbling, you gasp as an arm pulls you backward, and the man you had just stolen from snarls, red-faced and furious.

“You goddamn harlot!”

He hits you across the face and you see stars as you yell out. His hand grasps your neckline, pulling you back as he moves to hit you again.

The man is ripped away from you before he could swing again. He shouts, his attacker slamming a gleaming metal object over his head.

“Ruth, are you alright?”

Javier appears in the alley, reholstering his revolver that he hit the man with, who was now sprawled out cold at your feet.

Javier grabs your shoulders to assess the damage. You shake your head, wincing as you bring a hand to your cheek.

He grimaces slightly as he reaches to pull your hand away from your face, drawing a finger underneath your jaw to ascertain the damage. Your cheekbone is starting to redden and swell slightly.

“ 'S it bad?” You slur slightly, your brow furrowing as Javier turns your chin to loom for any other marks.

“It’ll be a beauty of a bruise, Missus Shaw. Did you at least earn it?” He lets go of your jaw and glances down at the man crumbled on the ground a few feet away.

You pull the pocket watch out of your skirt pocket, dangling it between the two of you. The platinum glints in the sunlight.

Javier smirks, “Not bad, Güera. C’mon, let’s look what else he’s got before we head back to camp.”

He rolls the man over, rifling through the unconscious man’s pockets like it’s second nature. He tosses a few coins and a clip of money at your feet. You lean over and grab them, tucking them and the watch into your skirt.

Karen bursts through the door, looking at the man laying prone, then back up to Javier, and finally yourself. Her smile falls as she notices your face.

“Aw, hell. I’m sorry, Ruth. I shoulda been watching you closer.” Karen apologizes, putting her arm around your shoulder.

“ ‘s fine,” You mutter, placing your hand over your cheek again. You could feel the soreness blooming across your face. You’d probably have a black eye come the evening.

“Well, I got what I needed - you ladies want to head back to camp?” Javier asks, extending his arm to you. You take it, weaving hours through his as he walks the two of you behind the saloon, where Boaz is tied up. Karen nods, “I’ll meet y’all up on that hill in a couple of minutes.”

You approach the horse in silence with Javier. He unlaces his arm from yours as you reach Boaz and he lifts you up to seat you behind the saddle.

“You did good today, Güera,” he taps your knee affectionately, “We’ll make an outlaw you yet.”

You don’t respond, certainly, you don’t have the same faith he does.

The golden sunlight of the evening shines through the pine trees by the time that the three of you return to camp. You clutch Javier’s jacket behind him atop Boaz, as Karen leads Old Belle up the trail ahead of you.

She circles her horse as she comes upon the edge of the camp, and Javier slows Boaz as well.

“Ah! The flock returns. Were you successful in your ventures?” Dutch exclaims, arms outstretched as he walks toward the group, a smile on his face.

Karen jumps down from her saddle, “Yeah, pretty successful! Ruth over here was able to charm some nice things off some city slicker.”

You know she’s buttering you up to Dutch. You know she is bringing in more than you are, but you appreciate the sentiment.

Javier brings Boaz to a halt as you unwind your arm from his waist. He holds his hand up to you and helps lower you from off his horse. “You alright?”, he whispers.

“Yeah.” You mumble back, smoothing your skirts as you settle your feet on the ground.

“Why, Ruth, I didn’t figure….” Dutch trails off as he sees your face, “Oh, didn’t get out unscathed I see… are you doin’ alright?” He places his large hands on your shoulders, forcing you to look up at him.

You nod nervously, “I’m alright.”

“Good. Sometimes it’s the cost of doing business. But the camp, and I, am grateful for your giving back.” Dutch claps his hands on your shoulder before letting you go. You take your leave quietly, hoping to escape further human contact, and retreat to the women’s tent, where you can literally and figuratively lick your wounds.

As with most things in your life, it was not meant to be. You’re so close to the tent that you can almost dive in and hide until you nearly stumble into a force that almost bowls you over.

Arthur Morgan grunts as he grabs your shoulders to stop your fall after you’ve run into him. He steadies you, his face going from annoyed to surprised as you straighten up and he catches a look at your face.

“Tha’ hell happened to your face?”

You frown back at him, but can’t help the blurring of your eyesight as tears threaten.

“Don’t be rude.” Karen thankfully appears and smacks his shoulder and he jolts with a scowl. Karen rolls her eyes, “Least she brought some money in today.”

Arthur looks you up and down, the scowl on his face remaining. "Y’should learn how not to get hit in the face when you’re robbin’ folk. Gonna get real hard to charm men with a black eye."

“Arthur!” Karen grabs your arm and pulls you away, cursing under her breath as you nearly stumble trying to keep up with her, which is quickly becoming a common occurrence.

“Jesus, what is his problem today?" Karen huffs, finally letting you go as the two of you reach the women’s tent.

You decide to keep your mouth shut. Regardless of how rude he was being, and how he’s been short with you the entire time you’ve been here, you know that you shouldn’t go complaining about the enforcer - the second in command. You certainly do not have the standing in the group for that.

Karen leans over the wagon and pulls a handkerchief from a folded pile of laundry. She dips it in a bucket of cool river water that had been fetched earlier from the Dakota.

As you move to sit on your bedroll under the awning of the tent, Karen stoops down and hands you the river-cold rag. You wince slightly as you place it on your cheek.

“Don’t mind them mean ol’ bastards. Y’did good today. You brought back money for the camp. More than some of the men can say."

She gives you a pat on the shoulder before stepping away. You sigh, pressing the cool rag to your cheek again.

Someday, someday, life has to get easier for you, right?

“Chicago is not pleased right now, Carmody. Leviticus Cornwall has been making his displeasure with your generosity toward the widow Shaw known to the director.”

Angus Carmody stands at attention in front of the large desk. He stares straight ahead - his years in the military instilled in him this habit, he’s had dressing down before, and he’s sure he will have it again.

Wasn’t necessarily his fault that the instructions via telegram from New York weren’t the most explicit. But he would still take responsibility for the outcome.

He had reported back to the agency that Frederick Shaw was dead, confirmed by his widow. Upon his and the other agents return to Blackwater, however, instead of finding the next assignment, he found an impatient bespectacled oilman demanding a signed letter from the Shaws, shouting in some lawyerly language about how the deed reverted to the widow.

His supervisor came in from Saint Denis a few days later.

“Sir,” Carmody replies succinctly.

The man sitting at the desk breathes out heavily, placing his elbows on the pine surface, over a small stack of papers. He clasps his hands together in front of his chin in exasperation.

“Then what can you report since you so graciously dismissed Ruth Shaw before having her sign off on the land deed Cornwall needs?”

Carmody uncrosses his arms from behind his back, reaching into the vest pocket of his jacket, and pulling out a small field notebook.

“She was sighted here in Blackwater a few weeks ago. Staying with the doctor. She hasn’t been seen, however, since the Doctor and his wife left for Mexico.”

The man frowns. “Did she accompany them?”

“No - according to one of the ferry line workers, she was purchasing a ticket to Saint Denis, but pulled out of line at the last minute. That was about two weeks ago. She’s likely still in the area.” Carmody leafed through the notebook, its pages filled with scribbled notes.

“That’s fortunate for you, Angus.”

The man at the desk stands, his brow set in a hard line. His severe haircut, shaved close on the sides with dark, slicked-back hair on top, makes him look even more serious than the scars on his face do. He stands up from the desk, rolling his shoulders before leaning down on his fists.

“Mister Cornwall, the director, and most importantly, I, will not tolerate egregious failure. Find that woman. Bring her here so she can sign the damn paperwork. Cornwall doesn’t care what shape she’s in or what happens after the land is signed over.”

The man grabs a bowler hat from the corner of the desk and places it on his head. He whips open a drawer of the desk and pulls out a gleaming revolver which he holsters at his belt with more force than necessary.

“Thanks to your blunder, the director is sending a contingent of fifteen agents here from the Saint Denis office. They are to remain here in Blackwater until Ruth Shaw is found and Cornwall gets what he needs out of her.”

Carmody stiffens.

“And I am now in charge of this operation. Is that clear, Agent Carmody?”

The man behind the desk grabs the jacket hung on the chair, swinging it over his shoulder and shooting his arm through. The bright silver badge glints against the sunlight filtering through a window.

“Yes, Agent Milton.”

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