"Going to be windy tonight, Sheriff," Greedy said in his high-pitched, nasally voice as Killian rode past the General Store.
Killian pulled Rain to a stop and looked down at the old man who stood on the weathered planks in front of his store. Greedy was as close to a friend as Killian had west of Missouri. Hell. Maybe he was as close to a friend as he had period. The old man seemed simple and weak. He stood barely up to Killian's chest, and his wind-cracked skin and sun-bleached hair made him look even older than he was. When he spoke, it was more with an old woman's voice than an old man's. But Killian and the other people in Liar's Lake knew that appearances were deceiving. The old man had fought Mexicans, Indians, and Johnny Rebs. He could tell you stories that would curl your hair and make you draw your saddle up inside you. Greedy had that quiet kind of strength like the Joshua trees that get gnarled from the weather, but keep on standing.
"Yep," Killian replied to his comment.
"Reckon everybody better close the shutters and stay inside tonight."
"Yep."
"You're not talking much there, Sheriff," Greedy said as he looked the Sheriff in the eye. "Usually means you've got something on your mind there."
"Just got a feeling, Greedy. Just got a feeling."
"Well, then," the storekeeper said, "if you need something more than a feeling to occupy your thoughts, then how about stepping inside."
Killian patted Rain and looked to the stables at the blacksmiths down the street and the way the wind was already kicking up dust between there and here.
"Tie her around back in my shed. There ain't nothing much left in there anyhow, and I'll give her a bag of oats to boot."
Killian nodded, and dismounted. After he had led his mare around back and set her up with a feed bag full of oats, he joined the old man inside the store. Greedy already had the stove lit -- not so much for heat in the desert night, but for comfort from it -- and put on a pot of coffee. Killian sat down and rolled himself another cigarette.
"Pour yourself a cup, Sheriff -- this ain't no restaurant."
Killian made a sound that was almost like a laugh. It had the same timbre as a laugh, the same rhythm. Also, it had a sense of humor to it, but that was as far as it went. What it was lacking was mirth. Mirth was not something Killian did well, and although Greedy was one for telling humorous stories and jokes, he never seemed offended at Killian's lackluster attempts gratify him.
Killian poured himself a cup and asked, "What is it you want to tell me?"
"Not so much to tell you as to show you."
The General Store wasnt large, but Greedy kept it tidy and made good use of his available space. The bare wooden floors were rowed with shelves, most of which were mostly empty now. The storekeeper stepped around the store counter then bent down and disappeared behind it. When he re-emerged, he had in his hand a book; not large, not thick, not ancient, but bound in dark leather with its title impressed and delineated in blood red ink upon its spine. He carried the book to Killian and handed it to him.
Killian glanced down at it, then looked up at Greedy and said, "You opening up a library here, old man?"
If Greedy found humor in Killian's remark, he didn't show it. Instead, he began, "Listen here, Sheriff. You know I'm planning on moving back east when this town of ours finally gives up the ghost." He paused while Killian nodded in reply, then continued, "And you know I've been keeping a tight rein on my stock here, trying to make sure you all have the supplies you need, while making sure I ain't stuck here at the end with no money and inventory I can't move."
"So you want to sell me this book before you go?"
Greedy smiled, then shook his head. "Nosir. I just want to tell you that I ain't never had no books to sell. All them that would have need of such usually brought them with them."
"Old man, you're trying to skin this buck before you shoot it. Quit hemming and hawing. What are you trying to say?"
"This book wasn't here last week when I did my inventory."
"So? Somebody brought it in here and left it by accident."
"Nosir. It was in my gun cabinet, and I'm the only one that has a key to that."
Killian thought for a moment. He could see the old man's point. "... and who would break into it to leave a book and not take the guns and ammo?"
"And there you go."
Killian opened the book and riffled through the pages. Lines of verse were on most pages, with an illustration of a rose on three out of four corners of each page. The pages were almost too white, too fine, and the words seemed to near jump off of the page at him.
He closed the book and looked up at his friend. "You want me to ask around? Maybe see if I can figure out who might have left this here?"
Greedy shook his head. "I might have fought for the Union, but I grew up in them Appalachian Mountains of northern Virginia. I've heard tell of or seen with my own eyes critters you wouldn't believe were real. Flats. Behinders. Guardinels. There's things in this world that we ain't imagined yet. I think that book's one of those things."
Killian fought the urge to throw the book on the floor.
Greedy pulled up a chair beside the stove and poured himself a cup of coffee. "I can read passable. But I figure you might have a sight more education than me."
Killian looked down at the cover of the book and its title: The Song of Cassilda and Other Poems then in smaller letters under that, from the King in Yellow. Again, he fought the urge to get the thing out of his hands.
"Sheriff, I want you to read that for me."
((As always, feel free to comment. And thanks for reading! 
))
[Oh no! I had hoped somebody would have burned that thing by now...
When's the next bit so I can make sure to read it with the lights on?]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
((AH!!! Nice return of a favorite character, Heroid. ))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
((Excellent work, as always. I look forward to the next installment. ))
((I've been waiting months for this! Since Nick figures so prominently in this one, Roy gave me the opportunity to preview the whole thing earlier and I was just completely floored. Trust me when I say it only gets better from here.
I'll stop gushing now and let you guys get back to the story. 
))
The words were pretty, full of fancy and romance. There was something in the poems about lost kingdoms and vengeful kings that was unsettling. Many times he thought to put the book down and finish it in the light of day, but he felt like he could easily finish it and still catch a couple of hours sleep before the sun came creeping across the desert. Greedy had turned in hours ago and left Killian the lamp, the stove, and the coffee to get him through the night.
Outside, the wind howled up the street and the sand hissed steadily at the windows like an angry snake.
Just as he turned to the last page, Killian heard a sound. It was a mournful chorus, like he had heard once, back east, before he realized he wasn't a scholar and quit the university and looked westward for his fortunes. It was a Requiem. He couldn't remember which one of those European's it belonged to. Vivaldi? Mozart? He had heard it or something like it one time in Charleston. That was a long time ago and a continent away, and the remembrance filled him with sad remorse. Had the sound been in his imagination? Like a mirage of sound? It had to be, because if he had really heard it, then it had come from the book itself.
He closed the book and tossed it to the countertop. The last page remained unread.
"Wake, up, Sheriff!"
Someone kicked Killian on the bottoms of his boots. Instinctively, his hand went for his gun, but even though the morning sun was streaming through the window, blinding him, he still recognized the voice of his friend.
"Don't shoot me!" Greedy said with mock fear and more than a touch of excitement. "At least don't do it today!"
Killian rubbed his stiff neck and yawned. "What the hell are you going on about, Greedy?"
Greedy walked to the front door of his store and pointed across the street. "Something new, Sheriff. The wind last night blew in something new."
It was pretty clear the old man wasn't going to tell him what was going on, that he was going to have to get up and look out the door for himself, but that was no mean feat considering he had fallen asleep sitting in a straight-backed chair. His knees and back felt like they were knotted up like a noose. Still, he struggled up out of the chair, picked up the coffee pot and swished it around to see if the last of it had boiled away, and when it hadn't, he poured himself a cup and staggered to the door.
"Looks like Sam sold the Lost Lake when we wasn't looking," Greedy said.
"Funny. He didn't say nothing about it when I saw him yesterday."
"Well, sure does look like new owners are moving in."
And so it did. A large, wagon, something like a circus or carnival would use, but without any decorations and garish colors painted on it. It was pink, but anybody who had ever started west in a wagon painted red knew that it didn't start out that way. The six draft horses hitched to it remained perfectly still as two big men worked unloading canvas-covered objects -- furnishings probably -- out of the back.
The big men wore rough denim overalls and short-billed caps that shaded their faces, exposing wide, fishlike mouths, but hiding their eyes from view; the caps did nothing to keep the sun off of their short necks and tiny ears and the backs of their bald heads. They wore no shirts under their overalls which left their pale, hairless shoulders and backs exposed to the Arizona clime. If they suffered from sun or wind burn, they showed no signs or ill effects.
A smaller, older man, dressed in a brown herring bone suit and an eastern-style derby hat seemed to be supervising. He stood on the walk beside the swinging doors of the saloon instructing the men to be careful. Beside him, completely concealed in a blue and gold silk wrap stood what appeared to be woman of damn near perfect shape. With that silk wrapped tightly around her, Killian could see almost every detail of her figure, and the seeing made his mind race to imagine the beauty of the face that was hidden from him.
Greedy sighed and said, "Lord, thanky for letting me wake up this morning."
"Ain't something you see here every day, is it?"
"No she ain't." The old man got a faraway look in his eyes that he usually reserved for his best old soldier stories. "Makes me wish I was your age, Nick."
Killian waited for the advice. Greedy never called him by his first name unless he was about to talk to him like a father to son. Such times as that made Killian uncomfortable, but the advice was always earnest, even if it sometimes shot wide of its mark.
"Nick, you should go right over there and introduce yourself to that little gal."
Killian pulled his papers and tobacco out of his shirt and said, "I don't think so."
Greedy stepped away from the doorway and poured himself the last cup of last night's coffee. "You're scared of a little lady?"
"I'm scared of the business end of a Colt when it's in the hands of a jealous husband."
Greedy appeared back at his side and they continued their gawking. Suddenly, the man in charge looked straight in their direction as if he noticed them for the first time, then he put his arm around the silk-shrouded woman and ushered her inside.
"Then again, as sheriff, I guess it's my business to see that a new proprietor in town is on the up and up."
YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!! *hugs Heroid*
Hooray for Heroid!!!
*re-reads the story while waiting for the next installment* ^_________^
((Oh my. I cannot wait to see the road that you lead us down this time around. ^_^ ))
"Come in, come in!"
Killian paused as the double doors flapped in his wake. Even though the morning light should be streaming in through the windows, the Lost Lake was dark inside. As his eyes adjusted, he looked around. Heavy velvet curtains were hanging over the windows now, crimson, and brushed to a smooth, even texture, with gold tasseled valances across the tops.
Gone were the tables and chairs that had not been filled to capacity in a score of years. The scuffed wooden floor boards were covered with a red patterned carpet that matched the velvet window dressings. Two settees and a half dozen wing-backed chairs took up the most of the floor. The bar was still there, but the old beat-up piano in the corner had been replaced by large, ornately decorated harp.
It didnt look at all like the same place.
Welcome to the Lost Lake Gentlemen's Club, friend.
The small man in the herring bone suit stood on the stairs with the same broad, welcoming smile that Killian had once seen on an alligator in Louisiana. When he spoke, it was with a trace of a strange accent.
Killian didn't smile back or make a move to go any further inside, but just introduced himself as the sheriff.
Oh! the man moved from the stairs to the bar and poured up a shot of whiskey and not the watered down rotgut the Lost Lake had been known for. He reached the glass toward the sheriff and said, Well, then you are especially welcome!
Killian hesitantly stepped up to the bar. Obliged, he said and took the glass.
The little man poured himself a glass and said, An establishment such as this needs the presence of strong law-enforcement.
And what sort of establishment is this, Mr
?
Bitner. Emil Bitner.
"... Mr. Bitner. And that woman I saw earlier was
?
My wife, sir.
Somehow that answer just didnt sound convincing.
Killian took a sip of his whiskey and asked, What do you do here at your 'gentlemen's club'?"
Bitner smiled. "What gentlemen do."
"That's no answer."
"Well, Sheriff, why don't we wait and see what kind of gentlemen show up and then we'll find out what they do?" When Killian didn't reply, Bitner killed his whiskey then refilled his glass and said, "Tell me, Sheriff, what -- short of murder, claim-jumping, and horse-stealing -- is illegal here in Arizona Territory?"
Killian drank down his whiskey and looked at Bitner over the empty glass. "We got lines here, mister. Don't cross 'em."
"And where can I find those lines?"
Killian set his glass on the bar, and as he turned toward the door, said, "I'll let you know when you cross one."
Minutes later, Greedy greeted him inside the general store with eyes full of questions. Killian didn't answer them, he just said:
"Get everybody together. We're having a town meeting."
Everybody who lived in Liar's Lake lived within earshot of the church bell. The church had never actually been used -- at least not for a house of worship -- and after it was built by a group of well-meaning miners who soon thereafter lost their religion when Sam opened the Lost Lake and brought in some girls from back east, it was never consecrated. The girls left when the miners left, and now the church stood at its end of the street and stared accusingly at the rest of the town.
Some of the folk in town were afraid of the place, saying that an unconsecrated church was practically an open invitation for the devil to move in. This made for a bit of a problem when it came to town meetings. It did, however, have the bell. So when town meetings were called, one of the less superstitious men would go inside the church and ring it. Then the meeting would take place in the Lost Lake Saloon.
Today, the meeting would take place in Greedy's store.
By four o'clock every citizen Killian figured was left had assembled: George and Marjorie Holt (they ran the blacksmiths shop and stables); Vance Hillard and his squaw (he had found her wandering in the hills to the south, her tongue cut out and a U.S. Cavalry brand on her back); Gus and Homer, the McClean brothers; Manly Wellman; Tom Darling; J.D. Drew; Joseph Watson; Tucco Sanchez; Cheyenne Lane; Lester Cox, the tailor; Caul and Ginger Tildon (Ginger was one of two girls from back east who had come to work at the Lost Lake who didn't leave when the gold ran out, the other one being Mrs. Holt); Chuck Grant; old Luke Patterson and his son, Danny (they used to run the building supply until lack of demand put them out of business); Ma Hunkle and her grandson, John (John's mother and father died in the same savage wind storm that destroyed the family's house -- Ma and John lived with Caul and Ginger now); Joe Eagleclaw; Rusty, Lucky, and Ned (the only three active miners left, who claimed to still be pulling gold out of a hole beneath Satans Chimney, even though no one has seen a single nugget from them in years); Greedy; and himself.
Sam was gone. The town was down to twenty-six residents, excluding the newcomers.
When they had all crowded into the store, Killian began. "I don't know if any of you was as surprised as me to see it happen, but Sam finally must have sold the saloon."
A few people nodded indicating that they to were surprised and a general murmuring arose as they all speculated about when he had done it and when he had left town, then a lone voice spoke up:
"He came by our place last night -- don't know what time -- and said goodbye."
Everyone stopped speaking and turned to look at Vance Hillard.
He came by and told me that hed sold the Lost Lake to some dude back from back east for three-hundred dollars. Said the man showed up sometime after dark and told him he was buying the place. He gave Sam five-hundred dollars and a horse. Next thing Sam knew he was on his horse headed west out of town. Couldn't even remember putting a saddle on it. He looked kinda spooked when stopped by my place."
The room was silent for a moment until Greedy said, "Five-hunnerd dollars? Mary, Joseph, and baby Jesus! I know we ain't exactly Dodge or Cimmaron, but there was five-hunnerd dollars just in the tables and that old piano."
All eyes suddenly turned to the sheriff.
"Look everybody," Killian began, "we can't just jump to conclusions, but if you ask me if I trust this 'Bitner', I'd say, 'hell no'. But we also can't assume he's done anything wrong--"
"He's a devil!" Ma Hunkle shouted. Some of the others nodded in agreement with her while others rolled their eyes.
"Ma, he ain't no devil," Killian said. "He's just a business man -- maybe a little on the shady side -- but whatever else he might be, I think you're giving him way too much credit to label him a devil."
Ma snorted and crossed her arms over her expansive chest.
"So," Danny Patterson said, "what do you want us to do, sheriff?"
Killian had already given it some thought. "Just stay away from the place. If he don't get no business from us, then he'll have to close up and move on."
In this the whole of the community was in agreement. They would boycott the Lost Lake Gentlemen's Club and the offending stranger would soon be gone.
After dusk the next night, the first of the strangers arrived. By midnight, all of the hitching posts in front of the gentlemen's club were full.
[Funny, he didn't look like a gentleman to me... MORE!]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
Dark_Respite's Video page
Fantastic story, Heroid -- just fantastic. Waiting with bated breath for the next installment.
((That last line...goosebumps in my cubicle. 
))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
.oO_Oo.
Moremoremoremoremoremoremore! ^_____^
It aint decent.
Greedy gave Killian a shushing look, then said to the man who had just bought the last of his flour and lard, Thank you sir, come again.
Killian stepped aside so the stranger could go out the door then waited for the lecture he knew was to come.
Sheriff, Ill ask you again not to make comments like that when customers are in the store.
Killian stood in the doorway and looked out at the bustling town. Just like the last week and the three weeks before, the street was full of men who Killian didnt know. They were peaceable enough so far but they were all strangers. Some of them had strange ways also; nothing he could put his finger on, but their bearing, the way they said things; there was something just
not right. But they had plenty of money and when things came down to it, Liars Lake was founded on the pursuit of filthy lucre. For the first time in years, the people who lived here were actually prospering; the blacksmith and livery; the tailor; the General Store; even people who didnt have a business were boarding visitors in their spare rooms.
When Greedy didnt add anything to his comment, Killian turned and asked, Is that all? You aint going to preach to me about how I should be happy that our little slice of heaven in the desert here is thriving again?
Greedy slammed the cash drawer shut. Nick, Im going to tell you this for your own good: Sometimes you need to just mind your own business. Youre here to uphold the law not to pass moral judgment on people just because you dont like the way they do business.
Theres just one girl there.
Well, if these strangers are as free with their money in the gentlemens club as they are everywhere else in town, then shes going to be a very rich young woman. And right soon too.
Killian stuck his fingers in his shirt pocket to take out his tobacco and rolling papers, but pulled out an empty pouch. He said, Well, I aint got no problem with a cathouse, but this many toms and only one kitty
I dont like it. He tossed his tobacco pouch onto the counter. Fill that up for me?
Greedy smirked and said, That feller just bought the last little bit of smoke I had. Ill have more when my supplies git here in a couple of weeks.
The news wasnt welcome Killian liked his smokes but it was even more disturbing that Greedy was ordering supplies like he expected the town to keep on like this, with these strangers constantly coming and going. What was going to happen when Bitner pulled up and left just as suddenly as he had shown up? Greedy and every other businessman in town would be stuck high and dry, waiting once again for their town to finish withering in the Arizona heat.
I do admit something, Greedy said as if to appease his friend, I have to say I sure do wonder what that little gal has that makes all these men come all the way out here for it.
Killian nodded. The question had occurred to him as well. Maybe it was time he tried to find out the answer.
I feel I must reiterate my previous sentiment. ^____^
((Nothing good can come of this, yet I still have to know what happens! More, please! ^_^ ))
(( To me, this story very much has a 'Dark Tower' vibe to it; maybe it's the western setting coupled wtih the hint of supernatural activity.
Either way, it's a great read so far. ))
It was late in the evening when he stepped through the swinging doors of the gentlemens club. Killians breath caught in his lungs. There was a smell in the place; sweet and pungent like rotting fruit. The room was full of men, sitting on the settee, smoking their cigars; standing in groups speaking quietly, and with grave faces that revealed that their conversation was of serious matters; sitting at the bar in solitudinous repose. One of them sat in the corner near the bar playing some odd type of music on the harp that was there.
A big man arms like oak limbs stood behind the bar dispensing drinks; Killian was wary of him something about his face didnt seem right, as if it wasnt really his face, but a mask; the bartenders expression never changed, but remained neither a smile nor a frown, neither angry, nor sympathetic, sympathetic nor forgiving.
Sheriff! From nowhere came Bitner. He wore a grey suit with a starched white shirt under it. A large gold pendant an oakleaf hung from thick gold chain around his neck and rested heavily upon his chest. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?
Killians throat suddenly went dry, and when he tried to speak his lips felt parched.
He finally managed to get out, Id like a shot of whiskey, if you dont mind.
Bitner smiled and said, Then come join me at the bar.
The strangers sitting at the bar got up and moved elsewhere when Killian approached. Bitner sat on the stool beside him and held up two fingers to the giant bartender. The bartender soon sat two glasses of whiskey in front of them. Killian picked his up and sipped it slowly.
Bitner looked Killian steadily in the eye with an expression of amusement, as if he had some secret joke on the sheriff. He said, Ive seen you watching from the General Store. If I read your face rightly, then I must conclude that you disapprove of my presence in your town.
The whiskey was smooth richer than Killian was used to. He liked it.
Im just having trouble figuring out whats going on here.
Well, look around
Bitner swept his arm in an arc. You can see for yourself. These gentlemen are all learned men who enjoy coming together and sharing ideas and opinions.
Well, maybe you got yourself a roomful of geniuses here, but ideas aint the only thing I suspect theyre sharing.
What do you mean?
I mean
how does that girl figure into this?
Ah! You mean my lovely daughter!
Your d
? Yes, your daughter.
Shes a talented girl. Special.
Killian looked around the crowded room. The strangers were all men of different ages, sizes; some of them handsome enough, he reckoned, and others as ugly as pigs; all were well-dressed and held their posture the way that men who have never had to bend their backs to make a living hold themselves.
A lot of men here, Killian said.
Bitners look of amusement faded just a little as he said, Theyre not animals, sheriff. Rosalyn is quite happy with the arraignment. The smirk returned. A girl doesnt want to be entirely dependent on her guardian, does she?
The whiskey felt like it went bad in his stomach. Killian wanted to draw his gun and shoot this dude, then turn the gun on whichever of these strangers would dare to so much as open his mouth against him, but he had no way to know how many other firearms were in the room. And then there was the bartender.
Despite the urge to vomit, Killian drank down his whiskey and said, I reckon so. I guess you cant fault a girl for being ambitious.
Bitner finished his whiskey, and then held up two fingers again and both his and Killians glasses were refilled.
Tell, me sheriff, the strange man said with his odd accent, I have seen few women in this town and none of them what I would call
shall we say
a flower of beauty.
Killian picked up his glass and looked at the amber liquid in it. Id have to agree with you.
Rosalyn is an exceptional beauty. Would you like to meet her?
After he drank his shot down, Killian forced a smile and said, I aint never turned down meeting a pretty lady.
Bitner crooked a finger at his bartender, who leaned over the bar as his boss whispered something into his ear; then the bartender left his post and went up the stairs.
An awkward silence followed during which Bitner continued to smirk at him and Killian tried not to just get up and leave. The silence didnt last that long because a couple of minutes later, the bartender returned, behind him, the woman.
The claims of her beauty were no lie and as she descended the stairway all eyes in the place turned toward her. She wore a tight-fitting, pink, silk dress, with white irises and a slit up the side that revealed a long, shapely leg with each step. Her hair was like spun gold; her eyes were blue and wide-set; her cheeks were high with a natural blush to them; her nose straight and narrow; her lips full and slightly pouting. She looked regal, and Killian had to admit that, yes, she was special.
How much? Killian asked Bitner.
"Make yourself comfortable," she said. Her voice was as flat and dry as the lake bed under the town. She disappeared behind a silken dressing screen. "I um... I need to get ready."
Killian sat on the bed without pulling down the blue satin sheets. Behind the screen Rosalyn lit a lamp on a dressing table and when she moved she cast a shadow across the silken fabric. Her figure was lithe and full of promise and Killian couldn't help but watch as her garments were removed and he could see more of the pure outline of her. He watched her kneel on the floor. Praying? He couldn't tell at first, but then she turned the lamps flame up high and he could see her hold something over it. He had seen such things before, in San Francisco, and he had no stomach to watch her stab herself with a needle full of poison. He turned away and waited.
Moments later, she stepped out from behind the screen wearing a lacey gown that had little to do with covering her body, and everything to do with accentuating it. Her hair fell like a honey waterfall over her shoulders and down her back. When she walked, her hips gently swayed and her body moved so smooth that she near glided across the room like a swan across a pond.
For a moment the thought crossed his mind to forget getting involved and just take what he'd paid for.
She came across and sat down beside him on the bed without looking him in the eye the whole time. She seemed instead to be doing her best not to look at him. The realization made Killian feel like a weasel.
They sat in silence for a moment and then she began to touch him.
"Stop," he said.
For the first time, she met his gaze.
Her eyes were deep blue like the south Texas sky in wintertime, and with the same threat of storm at the edges. When she blinked, they glistened and he wanted more than anything at that moment to put his arms around her and kiss her the way a woman with eyes that blue should be kissed.
Then she looked away and said, "I'm sorry, mister. Please don't tell him you didn't like me. He'll kill me again."
The words almost knocked Killian out of his boots.
"Please, mister?"
He didn't know what to say. He'll kill me again? What the hell did that even mean?
He put an arm across her shoulders and said, "It's all right. I do like you. But tonight, I just want to talk. Is that all right?"
She looked up at him with a mixture of relief and puzzlement and said, "I-I can't give you your money back though..."
Killian reached in his pocket and got out the last five-dollar gold piece he had to his name, took her hand in his and laid the gold in it.
"See?" he said, "It's all right."
She smile that briefly flashed across her face was worth his last dollar. "You're nice. Not like any of the other ones."
"Miss Rosalyn, I want to talk to you about this man you're with... Bitner. When I first asked him about you, he told me you were his wife. Now, just tonight, he said you were his daughter. I know he's lying, but he's got some sort of a hold on you..."
The tiny red dots on her forearm told Killian what kind of hold the little man had on her.
Rosalyn's focus seemed to be on the floor now as he spoke, all hint of the smile gone, and probably her good opinion of him gone with it. The hand was dealt; there was no taking back his ante.
"Miss Rosalyn, I think I can help you if you just tell me what he's up to and why you stay with him."
She shook her head. "I've changed my mind. I don't want to talk. Let me give you what you paid for and you can go."
She untied the gown and let it fall to the floor.
He stood up and grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard.
"Why won't you let me help you?"
Her head rolled like a broken doll's when he shook her and he knew the opium had her now.
"Why won't you just love me?" she replied with glazed eyes.
He wrapped his arms around her and caught her just as she went limp against him.
"Damn, girl," he said to himself, "How much of that stuff did you give yourself."
"Not enough," she slurred.
With little effort he picked her up and laid her on the bed. After he covered her in satin, he stayed beside her for a while, until he was sure she was going to make it through the night, then quietly slid off of the bed and started for the door.
"Mister?" Her voice was soft and fragile now, more like a little girl's than a woman's, "I-I'm sorry."
Killian turned and looked at her. She hadn't moved and her eyes were still closed as she spoke.
"Please don't tell," she said.
"Don't worry, Rosalyn," he replied as he turned the doorknob to leave, "I won't tell."
((Just creepy.))
There are no words for what this community, and the friends I have made here mean to me. Please know that I care for all of you, yes, even you. If you Twitter, I'm MrThan. If you're Unleashed, I'm dumps. I'll try and get registered on the Titan Forums as well. Peace, and thanks for the best nine years anyone could ever ask for.
[Why do I read this stuff? Oh yeah, becasue I have to know what happens next. Well?!]
Part of Sister Flame's Clickey-Clack Posse
The English language is an intricate high-speed precision tool.Stop using it to bang open coconuts. ~Tokamak
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(Santa Fe, New Mexico Territory, 1898)
The stranger walked into the saloon and slapped his gloves on his long tan coat, stirring up a cloud of fine southwestern sand.
Dust, the bartender said.
The stranger looked up as if someone had called his name.
Dust. Lotta dust ya got on yerself. Been ridin a long ways?
The stranger wore a tan wide-brimmed hat that shadowed his face, and later, when the bartender would try to describe him to the regular patrons of the saloon, he would find that he was unable to even remember the color of the strangers eyes.
The mysterious man walked over to the bar and said, "You could say that." Then he looked at the bottles that lined the shelf behind the bartender. "Give me whatever it is you keep hidden for yourself."
The bartender looked surprised, then smiled and reached for a bottle of dark amber Kentucky Bourbon. "I guess that's a pretty common practice, good whiskey being as hard to get as it is."
"It seems to be," the stranger replied and accepted his glass. He dropped a piece of Her Majesty's gold on the bar.
"Thought you was one of them English. Could tell by your accent."
"Astute of you," the stranger said, this time with a hint of a Central European accent.
The bartender looked confused. "What brings you to this part of the world?"
The stranger took a sip of his whiskey, then one corner of his mouth turned up as if to threaten a smile and he said, "Im here looking for a rose."
(Arizona territory, 1898)
Liars Lake looked like Hell. The sunset washed the sky crimson and the dying fires of day lit roofs and windows and made the town look like it was burning and that God had struck the match.
Whosever big idea it was to build a town in a dried-up lake bed in the middle of the desert, Killian figured they were the biggest fools hed ever heard of. The hot wind that blew across the flat surface had nothing in its way to slow it down. Everything that wind carried blew into the town. Usually that was only tumbleweed. Sometimes it was other kinds of riffraff.
Killian, on his paint, Rain, rolled another cigarette and wondered how much longer he would have a job. There were fewer than thirty people left in Liars Lake. Twenty-seven now, to be exact he himself included since the Bower brothers had taken off for some place called the Klondike where the gold was supposed to be laying like rocks on the ground and folks said the conditions were far fairer than here in Arizona.
Twenty-five miles to the north, and thirty miles to the east, hills that once were busy hives of gold-miners stood as silent witness to the transience of wealth. Eighteen years after the first poor soul had sunk his pickaxe into the face of Hallelujah Bluff, the harshness of the heat-baked rock had refused to yield further treasure to the weak bags of flesh that strove against it. Eighteen years: time enough to make a fortune and lose it; time enough to build a town and watch it die.
Killian hadnt been paid in weeks. That was all right with him. Greedy down at the General Store let him have whatever he needed. Killian figured when the store was emptied out, it would finally give old Greedy the excuse he needed to go back east and live with his brother in St. Lou. When the General Store and the Lost Lake Saloon were closed down, there wouldnt be much call for a town sheriff.
Killian lit his cigarette and took a long draw. Really, there wasnt much call for a sheriff now. He reckoned that the only reason he kept the title now was that it was the only office left in town. The mayor had passed away from the heat last August, and nobody saw any need to elect a new one. If a decision needed to be made, they would just get together as many as would come and make it. Any dissent didnt last long. When theres fewer than thirty people in your world, you dont really want to piss them all off.
From out here, on the lakes edge, Liars Lake looked dead already. A collection of buildings that had once housed businesses of which only the General Store, the saloon, and the the blacksmith still operated.
At the end of the towns only street stood a church that had never seen the salvation of a single soul; no hellfire and brimstone inside it. No need for it. There was plenty of hell for miles around.
Liars Lake was a dead town.
Dead.
The word scratched at the sheriffs thoughts like the sand on his throat. Nick Killian picked up the reins and gave Rain his head back to town. An ill wind was blowing, and there was no telling what would blow in with it.