You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.Emily Dickinson
His mouth felt like it was made of cotton when he came to, and there was a pain in Vin's gut that knocked the wind out of him. He was strapped over his horse like a fifty-pound flour sack and his hands were tied to the stirrup. Loosely, but they were still tied. Trying to look around to see if Chris was there and if he was all right didn't accomplish anything -- he couldn't get his head up enough to see past the horse's withers or flank, and then each time he raised his head the swish of its tail would sting him in the face. Bottleflies and horseflies were biting his face, attracted to the blood that must be caked on his skin, and only serving to bother the horse even more.
He had no idea how long he'd been out, but it didn't take much to knock him back into unconsciousness, unable to breathe and being bounced around like a toy. When he was aware again his mind felt fuzzy and grey; he couldn't see much beyond shapes or hear anything but buzzing voices. At first he wasn't even sure what was happening or where he was, then a sound cut through the low-level din, a woman's voice saying Chris's name. Ella. That was who it was. Her handkerchief had lain on the ground just like in his dream, attracting his attention and leaving him unprepared for the assault.
Someone threw him to the ground and he felt rope, rough and smelling of creosote, wound around his chest and arms. Tying him to a post or something. It was hot out, really hot, and the sun beat down on his hatless and bleeding head. Vin's lips were cracked, his throat stuck together. He wanted water of course, but knew it was pointless to ask for it. Even begging wouldn't get a response from his captors.
She wouldn't kill Chris. Vin knew that much. But she would kill *him.* Possibly keep him around just long enough to use for leverage and then get rid of him. There was no other reason to tie him up here instead of killing him back at Chris's place. Even that much thinking tired him out, and he felt overwhelmed, so weary and so hurt. He let his head sag back against the post and fell under the grey haze.
Chris woke much later. His leg was numb and he could feel such searing pain in his shoulder and side that he nearly screamed upon awakening. Taking quick, panting breaths, he tried to figure out what was wrong and why he couldn't quite get the room to stop spinning and where this pain was coming from. He was nauseated but when he tried to move so he could vomit, it took him a moment to understand that he was tied to a bed, each hand and foot, spreadeagled on the mattress.
Not Ella's bedroom, though. A different room in the same house. He could smell that scent she wore, that French perfume she bought from some fancy shop back east; like attar of rose, only darker. His stomach roiled. The pain was... his shoulder. Broken, or dislocated? He couldn't tell, but being tied like this was deadly agony. A door closed. He couldn't see anyone though he tried to look, but the pain was too much and he passed out again, gladly.
This time when he woke up he felt shamed that he hadn't even wondered at Vin's whereabouts the first time. Chris could always be selfish; he hated it in himself, but he couldn't deny that it was there. Underneath the pain in his leg and left side, there was that familiar feeling of shame, worse than the physical hurts he felt now. He started when he realized that Ella was sitting in a chair next to the bed. She wore only a sleep chemise, her hair down across one shoulder.
Chris tried to lick his lips and open his mouth, but they seemed stuck closed. Ella leaned forward and offered him a small glass of water, putting it to his lips. "Here, take a little water. Only a little." He tried to drink it but coughed most of it out, and the spasms sent new pain shooting through his body.
"It's the ether," she said, as if she were talking about the weather. He was completely undone by how casual she seemed. "I didn't know how much to give you, and you insisted on struggling, so..." It was the same tone of voice she'd used on him months ago to lure him back to her place -- teasing and playful.
It took a while but finally he found his voice, croaking out, "My shoulder."
"And your ankle," Ella said in a sing-song voice. "You were a bad boy." She wagged a finger at him, but the look on her face was one of pure happiness. "My men got a little carried away, as well. You broke your ankle and then when you fought with them, your shoulder was hurt. It's probably just dislocated."
"Tying me up isn't helping." She gave him some more water and this time he was able to drink it better.
"I know. But until you promise to behave yourself, I don't feel I can be in the same room with you without a precaution. If you prove yourself, then everything will be fine."
"Prove myself?" He tested at the ropes on the good leg and arm, but they were tightly done.
"Not doing that, for one thing," she said, lightly slapping his shoulder. He gasped, instinctually pulling away, which only made it worse. She undid the rest of the buttons on his filthy shirt and slid her hand along his ribcage and stomach. "Oh, Chris, you ran away from me. I know you were just confused, it takes some time to understand such a thing. But we love each other, we belong together, and all you need is time to see that. We have the time now, you have to let go of your anger and believe me."
He turned his face away from her, toward the window. The bed faced the fireplace, and the window facing west was off to his left. He couldn't quite see out of it but knew it overlooked the wagon yard and corral. "What did you do to Vin?"
When he looked back at her, her face had changed, something dark crossing it. "What did I *do* to him?" She stood up and slammed the glass against the night table. "I didn't *do* anything that he didn't deserve!"
Obviously this was not the right tactic, Chris thought wryly. But he had no idea what the right tactic was and so could only ask, "Did you kill him?" He was filled with cold despair over the possibility of her answer. If she had killed him, he didn't even know if he could find it in himself to fight her and get free. It would be easier to just die.
"No!" she shouted at him. "No, I didn't, but I should have. Why are you even bothering with that... that hayseed? That moronic mule skinner?"
Again he turned his face away from her. If he said anything to defend Vin -- anything kind -- it would probably only provoke her further. But he couldn't stand listening to her contemptuous voice say such things about him.
Ella untied both his hands and put her shoulder under his, helping him sit up. Chris felt sick again, the room turning round and round. There was no way she would do this any other time, she knew he was still too messed up even to fight with her. She turned his chin violently toward the window and said, "There he is."
It felt like falling, as if he was lighter than air, watching the ground rush up at him as he dropped from someplace high to the hard earth beneath. *He'll die like that.* There was blood matted in Vin's hair, he could see that, but not much else. Vin's head dropped forward onto his chest. Chris shouted out, "Vin!" even though the window was open just a crack, but then from behind she hit him with something hard and heavy, and everything went blank again.
Vin started at the sound of Chris's voice, even though it was faintly heard. She must have him in the house, then. Not surprising, he supposed; she probably had a whole wedding bed made up for him. He scarcely had the strength to raise his head and look, but he somehow did. Must be the upstairs windows, one of the bedrooms. But not her room, that didn't front out on this yard. So that was why he was here -- so Chris could see him. He wondered how long he'd be left here as leverage before she killed him. Chris would never do what she asked; he might try to soothe her or fool her, but he would never really do what she asked of him and in the end, they'd both perish because of that. She would never let him go, Vin knew with chilling certainty.
The thing that hurt worst was his own failure. He'd told Chris that he would always find him. But now Vin had let Chris down. He'd lost him completely. What else was there to know but that he'd die here, miserable, having failed at the only thing he truly wanted to do. Disappointment was no stranger to him, he'd learned to live with it throughout his life and his strength in its face was what had gotten him through such a lonely existence. But disappointing another person, especially one you loved, that was too much to carry.
There was a sharp, knife-like pain in his right arm and he tried to move against the loosely tied ropes around his wrists to ease it a bit. But something was there. Ezra's contraption, he realized. When they'd tied him they hadn't noticed it. Foolish and inept. He turned his arm, crying out in pain, and pulled the sleeve of his jacket up as far as he could move it, then rubbed the slide against the rope. Even one moment of this much effort was too much, though, and his strength left him. He fell into that sleep that wasn't sleep again, wondering if he could hear Chris's voice if he called out, wondering if he could find Chris and save him.
This time the pain had settled into dull torment all over his body, as if what had happened to his shoulder had spread across him in a numbing wave, infecting bone and tissue and soul. Chris wasn't sure how long he could really take it. In the hall, or maybe it was from the landing or staircase, he could hear raised voices, Ella and one of those men who'd ambushed them.
Even in that wretched prison he hadn't felt quite this helpless. At best Vin would have maybe two more days if she left him like that without water or food. The sun would beat down on him all day without respite. Chris didn't understand why she had brought Vin along like this. To use against him, he supposed. So she had figured on how important Vin must be to him, but how much had she figured? "I should have," she'd said when asked if Vin had been killed. So maybe she knew more than Chris realized. If he went along with what she wanted of him, if he showed her the proper feelings, then she would have one of those men kill Vin and get him out of the way. But if he didn't behave as she wished, Vin would die anyway, slowly and in great pain. Or would she do something else, something he wasn't seeing because he couldn't quite think clearly?
The arguing stopped and as she came closer to his door, he heard her say, "Just do as I say, and everything will be all right." Then she opened the door and entered, pretty as a picture, smiling, like she was having a normal afternoon with her husband. He dully noted that the room was filled with an orange light of sunset. Was this all the same day? He didn't know anymore how long it had been.
"Where's the other fella who attacked us?" he asked as she sat next to him, arranging her petticoats and bustle.
She gave him some water, still smiling, like nothing had happened. "He did his job and now he's gone."
"How much are you paying them?"
Her eyes were glittering and hard, even though she smiled at him. It was an arrogant smile, he thought.
Chris was willfully trying to misunderstand her, she knew that. It was the way he was, though, what made her love him more than anyone else she'd ever known. His stubbornness, his pride, his sense of justice and good. He fought against it; always had. Even when he was wilder and full of youthful energy he'd had that good streak in him, wanting to do right by others. It made her heart swell with love to even think of it and how good they would be together in the future. The things they could accomplish together!
"After you left me," she said evenly, "the first time, I mean, I would meet men all the time, suitors of all kinds. They wanted me for my looks, then later they wanted my looks and my money. I was only trying to find the happiness I'd had with you. None of them measured up. It didn't matter if they were men of property from Europe, or surgeons from Philadelphia. They were dull and stupid and there was no excitement about their characters. No match was like ours, Chris, nothing ever could be. I was so disappointed."
It was clear to her that he'd made mistakes as well, that he'd stumbled through the rest of his life looking for something he'd found only with her. It mystified Ella that he couldn't see it, or didn't want to. She sighed. It was that need men had to exert control over everything, to never admit someone else could hold their heart and have power over their feelings.
"I began to realize that the only thing that mattered was that I get you back. But in the beginning, I knew I needed two things I didn't have: patience, and money. I could learn patience, and as for the money, it was easy enough to marry it. Twice. They were glad to have me. You see," she teased, "not everyone was willing to part with my charms so quickly."
"Ella, you know we agreed to go our separate ways. I didn't leave you."
"I know that's what you want to believe. It's just like a man, isn't it? To think of the woman as agreeable to his schemes, to know that we are forced to support him in anything. I thought I could live without you, and it took me only a short time to find I couldn't. I suppose it took you longer to understand that." She smiled benignly at him, hoping he would not try to misconstrue that. "By the time I had some money, you had married. So everything took just that little bit longer." She felt a silvery sense of triumph course through her body, ringing clear and bell-like inside her head.
"Everything," he repeated contemptuously. "You killed my family. You let me chase after the man who did it for years. You lied to me."
He would not ruin her triumph; no, she would not let him. "I did what I had to do. I told you, I will kill anyone who tries to come between us."
She got up and paced along the side of the room. "Who do you think Jack Averill was? Another suitor. Who do you think that man downstairs is? They will do anything for me, Chris. *Any*thing. I snap my fingers and they run. I say get me that, and they will walk to the ends of the earth to get it, if the promised reward is my affection. Fortunately, you disposed of Jack for me so I didn't have to worry over his desires. When you realize our hearts are one, I'll have what I need, and then we will be alone. Together, as we were meant to be."
Why hadn't he seen it before? She killed her husband, Chris now understood, the one in the photographs. So she'd probably killed the first one as well. All part of her plan. And had Fowler been part of her plan? He'd said a man hired him to kill Chris, not his family. Had he been lying to protect Ella? Or had it all been a mistake? Maybe she was trying to revenge herself upon him, but other things had transpired instead. Or maybe, he realized sickly, whoever had hired Fowler had given him the wrong information -- another suitor who had not wanted Ella to get her hands on Chris. He wished he had died that night; none of this would have happened. Sarah and Adam could have found a new life without him; so many other people would never have been hurt.
A crime of passion he could understand. Chris knew his own temper well enough to know how easy it was to make those mistakes. But this cold planning, this calculation and years of effort he could not begin to apprehend.
Chris pulled hard at the ropes around his good wrist, but they did not budge. She had to let him go at some point, for the outhouse or to sit up and eat. "Ella. Listen to me." He said it as softly as he could. "Let Vin go. I can't do anything in good conscience that would allow you to hurt him. He's no good to you for what you're trying to do. What will it take to make you let him go?"
He had miscalculated again, wildly. Ella turned on him with such a fury that he recoiled. "Let him go? Let him *go*? I hope he dies out there. I *saw* you! I saw you two, your tender little conversations, almost holding hands like lovers. The way he touched you and you allowed it. How sweet," she sneered at him. "And I know what you were doing all last night, both of you in that little house of yours. It's unnatural. It's sick! I won't have it." She leaned over him with her face close to his, and for a moment he thought about biting her hard, tearing off a chunk of her lovely face and spitting it out. See how she reacted to that. "I thought maybe that slattern from your pathetic town, but no, you chose to hurt me with something unnatural. With that... that mule skinner."
This time he said with frozen hatred, "What will it take to let him go?"
"Why do you care about him!" she cried, spinning around, her hands fluttering in the air. "What is he to you? *I* am something to you, he's nothing! It's despicable!"
Her back was turned to him, and he could not see her face, but she stood still like that for a long time. "What'll it take, Ella?" He couldn't bear the thought of her executing Vin because he'd done what she asked, or because he hadn't. She'd offered him no choice. Ella pulled her head high, straightened her shoulders, and stormed out of the room.
So she knew something about where he and Vin had gone in their friendship. At the beginning he had been oblivious that she didn't think much of Vin; it wasn't until later that he remembered she'd ignored him the whole time they were here, as if he didn't exist. The others she paid attention to, but now that he looked back on it he could see that she hadn't even acknowledged him when he'd spoken to her about Handsome Jack and going to Red Fork. And Vin had stayed away from her in Four Corners; he'd said that he mistrusted her intentions from the beginning, but Chris had been too blind to recognize how acute Vin's instincts were about others. Without even really knowing that he did it, Vin fixed on what was wrong with people.
With Ella's desires to elevate herself above her station in life, the way she bragged about her rich suitors, someone like Vin would be beneath her contempt even if he weren't the close friend of someone she wanted to control. Vin would represent everything that was unsophisticated and raw about this country, and he would be unimpressed by the airs she put on.
Even Chris himself had been impressed by her airs before he could see what she really was. How willfully blind had he been? He couldn't say he was ever really in love with her, but he'd loved being with her. It was rare to find a woman who delighted in such a wild life as theirs had been, a woman with some culture and education who was willing to let her hair down and snubbed her nose at propriety.
What he'd seen then as liveliness of spirit and intensity of manner -- pleasing in a woman because it was so rare -- he now knew as fierceness and cruelty and madness, and he wondered how he'd missed those signs, why he hadn't seen how easily changeable those things were. They were illusions, spun on a fine web of selfishness and deceit.
Had there been signs before, or during their time together here, that she was mad? Had he been just that arrogant and narrowly focused? Most probably. He needed people like Sarah and Vin in his life to keep him off himself, people who weren't like him in those respects. Whenever he kept company with people who were like him, that was when he got himself in the most trouble.
Only now someone else was in trouble for his blindness. He kept trying to sit up, as much as he could, to see Vin, but he wasn't able to raise himself up enough to see over the windowsill. If Vin died out there, would he know it? Ella had seemed angry enough to go right down there and kill him on her own. She had to recognize the futility of holding Vin here to make Chris behave. The only thing that would make him "prove himself" was if she let Vin go. If Vin would even consent to go, which Chris doubted, and all that would mean was that Vin would get himself killed. There was no way to win it, he realized. She had every angle covered.
The tender words Vin had spoken to him at his property, their night together, was all he had to hold on to. And he had to hold on, as hard as he could, because it all depended on him.
When Vin woke it was dark and there was a figure standing above him, kicking his thigh with a heavy boot toe. He jerked away and looked up, blind and dizzy with the effort. It was the big man, the one who'd hit him first.
"What?" he asked listlessly. He had no strength left; even if the man was here to kill him, he had no ability to fight him off. But he had to get some strength back if he was to help Chris.
"Seein' if you was alive."
"Why bother?"
"The lady wants you to be alive." The man turned away.
Vin called after him, "I gotta piss. And you give me some water I'll last longer, for whatever reasons she's got me here."
"Piss on yourself then. You ain't getting any help." He faded into the darkness. Vin breathed in as much as he could, but his ribs ached and his shoulders were stiffened into position by the pain and stress of being tied back. Vin remembered the gun slide and started moving it back and forth against the rope again. It would be a long, long job, and he wasn't sure he could keep up his strength to do it.
He'd heard shouting intermittently, occasionally a man, mostly Ella. It filtered through his mind like a drifting curtain, and he hadn't registered what the words really were. Once or twice he'd heard what he thought was Chris's voice, but since the one time he'd heard him shout his name, there had been little that let him know for certain if Chris was okay.
Vin had never thought of himself as having a wild imagination, he left that to folks like Ezra and JD, but his mind ran crazy with thoughts of what Ella could do to Chris in punishment for having rejected her. And if Chris continued to reject her now, there was little telling what she would do. Would she continue to use others against him, or would she turn her madness on him instead, and decide that no one could have him if she couldn't? Vin didn't know her well enough to know what she was capable of. Her madness had been a surprise to all of them, really.
The silence of the night echoed the sounds around him -- the heavy breathing of the horses in the corral behind, the crickets in the wood, wind through leaves in the trees nearby. Bats flapped from those trees, their shadows cutting across the night sky, silhouetted against a fingernail moon. He'd promised to always find Chris, told Chris that he could never be lost again, in spirit or in body. And he was now lost in both. Vin had let him get lost.
Chris never cared when people saw him show feelings. If he cried or despaired, it was meaningless to him that someone would see it. He bestowed his good opinion on few people and what most thought of him played no part in his life at all. Vin had rarely felt himself moved to the kind of feeling that would make him cry, but right now he could feel it edging at his throat and eyes. Chris had put so much faith and understanding in Vin's abilities, and all he had done was prove him wrong for having that faith.
He'd been bitten over and over by ants during the day, not to mention the flies, and his body was aflame from it all. Somehow he felt worse inside, though. He continued to hack away at the rope for as long as he could, swallowing his pain, until he couldn't take it anymore.
Chris lay awake that night wondering where she had gone, listening to the sounds outside, hoping to hear something of Vin. He thought at one point he had heard two voices, one of them maybe Vin's, but it had been too brief and he was in such a dull state that he couldn't tell what was happening at this point.
He drifted in and out of sleep, the pain of his arms being tied up above him too great to allow him much rest. In the morning Ella came into the room with food and some water. She still seemed angry with him, though.
"I won't try to escape if you untie me. I have to piss, at least. And it would make feeding me an easier job."
Ella gazed calmly at him, sizing up his statement. "Arthur will help you," she said and turned on her heel to walk out.
The big man came in, the one who'd hit Vin. He undid the ropes and kept a gun on Chris while he got up with agonizing difficulty. All he would do was point at the chamberpot under the bed; that was as far as his help would go, clearly.
Playing nursemaid to these two was not what Arthur had planned. When he'd met Ella the first time and she'd bought those horses from him, he'd been utterly enchanted with her. The second time she came to him, in distress at having been chased off her land, he wanted to do whatever it would take to right the wrongs and get back at those men who'd hurt her so much. The promise of her favors, the lure of having a woman so successful was a strong motivation, of course, but he wanted to help her regardless. Assisting someone with their bodily functions hadn't entered into his picture of what this bargain was for.
Chris didn't feel the better for it when he was done. His ankle by now was hideously swollen and the entire upper half of his chest, shoulder, and arm were completely numb. When he was unceremoniously tossed back on the bed by Arthur, whoever he was, shock waves of pain rang through him. Maybe it was his collarbone. Or maybe it was the shoulder, he couldn't tell anymore. What did it matter, anyway? He'd probably die here. This time Arthur tied his feet and only the one good arm, leaving the lifeless arm alone. Ella must have told him to do that; Chris tried to muster a feeling of gratitude for it, but there was none to find. The arm was useless anyway, he couldn't bring it over far enough to untie himself or hurt anyone. But he was sitting up more, the feather pillows behind him. He still couldn't see anything out the window, the angle was wrong, but sitting up just this little bit was better.
When she returned Ella began feeding him the eggs and bacon on the plate, little bits at a time. "It will make you sick to eat much after all this." All this that she'd inflicted on him.
They neither of them talked while he ate and she gave him small sips of water. He watched her face carefully, though, for signs of something, anything, that would giver her intentions away. She showed nothing while focusing on her task. In a way, that was something, Chris thought. She was playing the dutiful lover, the kind and attentive woman. Not her normal state and certainly not something she had ever excelled at.
After he was finished she continued to sit with him, not saying anything. "If I promise to stay with you, if I marry you, will you let him go? *Really* let him go?" Chris asked in a rasping, weary voice.
Ella was affronted. "We're already married. You've always been mine." How much did she have to suffer for Chris's stubborn need to go his own way? It was a test of some kind, a way for him to get proof of her love and loyalty. Yes, it was a test. "I won't let him hurt our happiness, Chris. If I let him go, he'd try to do that. He's jealous and untrustworthy. I know you were close friends, but the time for friendships like that is over. We are each other's lives now." She smoothed her hand over his forehead, brushing back his hair.
So that was how he would have to play it. "But I owe him something, Ella. He's seen me through a lot of scrapes. It would make me more content to stay here with you if you let him go unharmed."
She erupted at that. "How foolish do you think I am? He's dangerous. Dangerous to you and to me, to everything that we have!" Ella knocked the tray across the bed and threw the glass against the wall. Chris had never seen her like this, ever. Even at the end when he'd found out what she'd done, she hadn't been this mad. "I told you. I'll kill anyone who comes between us."
"And what if it's me? What if I'm the one who comes between us?"
She had no answer for that. What was he asking her this for? Was he trying to trick her, to make her so angry she'd do something foolish? He'd been blinded by these people for so long -- first that cow of a wife, then these shiftless men he worked with, most of all that idiot out in her wagon yard.
She must calm herself or it would be easy to lose Chris. He never had responded to people challenging him, and he wouldn't be any more likely to respond well now just because she had him here like this. Ella took a deep breath, trying to focus on what he was talking about, what other shadings his words could have.
It was such a betrayal of her love if he wouldn't stop worrying about that idiot friend of his. As if he was trying to slap her in the face. But then, she thought, maybe that's why he did it. To provoke her and make her love stronger, not because he really felt anything for Vin.
From the moment she'd met Vin she hadn't liked him. There was something about the easy familiarity with Chris she disliked, the same thing she'd seen in Buck Wilmington, as well, though Buck was charming and fun. They both were too close to Chris, though Vin, she'd thought, acted like he owned Chris. The fact that he hardly spoke except to Chris only confirmed it for her.
Finally she stopped pacing the room and stood watching out the window. If she just killed the man, then he'd not be a threat to their happiness. But what if Chris misunderstood again? As long as Vin was alive, she *might* be able to make Chris see the reason in all this. He'd always cherished the notion of helping people in need, so she could see him being more willing to hear her entreaties if there was someone to be helped. On the other hand, at this rate, Vin wouldn't last much longer. Ah well, Ella reasoned, nothing to be done. Once you chose a path, you stayed on it.
She turned to Chris. "I know you just need to worry about others, and you're concerned. But I didn't bring you here to think about anyone else. I brought you here so you could think about us. So we could be together as we should."
"Brought me here?" Chris repeated with a bitter laugh. "You broke my leg and my shoulder, and knocked me out and tied me to a bed. I'd say that's a step beyond brought."
She looked hard at him. "I have things to do. I'll leave you to think about it. It's up to you, Chris. You know how much I love you and I know how much you love me. You're just blinded by your soft-heartedness. If you think about it, you'll come around to what needs to be done."
The only thing Chris could even think about was the pain he was in, and how much Vin would be suffering by now. Two days of being out there now. If he lived long enough to see a third, he would be destroyed. Vin must be so very disappointed in him for allowing it all to come to this. Chris's mind was so addled that everything ran together -- Vin's tender words to him; Ella's voice saying, "I'll kill anyone who comes between us;" Vin muttering, "You should have shot her when you had the chance;" the sound of pleasure Vin had made those few nights before. The muddled way they blurred made him more ill than the pain.
What was she doing now? Removing Vin from the situation by killing him? He could only imagine her rage and it streamed a cold terror through his heart. The pain exhausted him so that these conversations with Ella, punctuated by her unpredictable rages and the anxiety of trying to figure out which way she'd react, only tired him that much more and he couldn't think. He found himself drifting off into that sleep again, filled with darkly rendered dreams that scratched at the back of his brain like a caged animal. Fire, and Vin, and death, all of which flowed in black and red.
In her back room Ella sat on the floor holding Chris's gun, looking at the other things of his that surrounded her. Some items were missing; she'd been able to tell right away when she'd come back to the house. It preyed on her mind that someone had violated this special place, had removed those mementos she held so dear for so long. She was sure it was Vin, and it made her more determined than ever to see him suffer.
In her mind this had all gone perfectly, just as she'd planned it out. Ella had known that it would only take Chris a short time to overcome his pride, to stop being angry and remember how much they meant to one another. Nothing could have prepared her for that unnatural friendship between Chris and Vin. Chris had never been like anyone else, he lived by his own rules, but this was far beyond anything she'd expected from him. Ella picked up one of the pictures she had of Chris, made when they were first together in those wild times, and ran her fingers across it lovingly.
Everything had been so perfect then, but she hadn't realized it at the time. All the other men were the same -- they wanted something from you, sexual favors or your submission and devotion. Chris had never expected any of that. The act of love had carried no strings with him, he took only what he wanted and what she'd been willing to give. They were perfectly matched in that respect, and they lived life so fully, so equally passionately. Why was it so that you only knew how much you had after it was taken from you? If she'd only discovered at the time how truly, perfectly matched they were, that their love was eternal, she could never have let him go. He'd thought he needed to go and she was so focused on her desire for money and position that she'd let him, only to find out what pale imitations all men were in the face of his memory.
Even after the sun had gone low in the sky, Ella sat there, lost in the memory of those times, until she heard a knock at the door. She was bored by Arthur now, his expectations were just like the rest of the men she'd known all her life. Once he'd done everything she asked of him, he would expect her to submit to his sexual desires, become the dutiful, pretty woman he could carry along on his arm. It was so banal and it wearied her, thinking of men like him, when the only true man she'd ever known was here, stubbornly refusing to prove himself to her.
Her looks had not faded yet, nor her powers of attraction. She could easily addle the minds of idiots like Jack Averill and Arthur Hunt with her promises and her suggestions, but in the end, her contempt for them only made Ella realize how much more she needed Chris, how suited for one another they were. He was never beguiled by her or some false idea of her, he was in love only with her true self. He *had* to remember that, to come back around to it again.
Ella ignored the knocking until she heard Arthur's footsteps fade away on the landing. Maybe he'd get angry enough to do something rash. She certainly wouldn't stop him if he did. As she put the items that had been scattered on the floor back on their shelves, she understood now why she'd failed. Chris simply needed to remember how they really were together, how suited. The power of physical enticement. That was all it took, really, for most men; why not for Chris as well?
Buck looked up at the big clock on the wall and then back at Ezra, who was dealing a new hand. JD and Josiah were eyeing their cards with caution.
"Am I the only one of us who's even got the slightest interest in the fact that Chris and Vin are still gone?" He sipped at his beer and wiped the foam off his moustache.
"Well, I think that answer would be no, Buck," Josiah said, taking a card out and dropping it on the table. "I'm a little suspicious, too."
"Well, then, why in blazes haven't you said anything?" Buck asked crossly.
"Don't rightly know," was all Josiah would answer, which just annoyed Buck. He waited. "I suppose I've been busy and all. Now that we're taking some time to ourselves for the first time in days, I'm starting to notice all the little things that have gone amiss."
"Two of our own seems like a bit more than amiss." Buck dropped his cards on the table. "If they're not back by nightfall then we're riding before dawn tomorrow and we're going to find them. Every time I turn around we're sitting here playing poker, and we're nothing but a bunch of useless--"
"Maybe they're just taking their time with whatever Chris needed to do," JD offered helpfully, but Buck only squinted at him, annoyed with both the thought and the interruption. "Or maybe they're just back at his place fixing all the stuff he wrecked."
"I wouldn't put it past Chris to just take off and lick his wounds, but it ain't like Vin at all to disappear for days and not tell anyone. No, sir."
"And don't forget the last time Chris disappeared with no word," Josiah said conversationally, which only served to make Buck more excited.
"Exactly!" He couldn't understand why they hadn't been more worried and acted as though they'd only just now grasped the fact that something might be odd in this situation. Given the state of things after such a fire with all the people looking for trouble out there, that alone was enough to make him worried. It wasn't that Buck didn't think of Chris and Vin as the most competent of men, but things were not even the least bit normal right now, and you threw a jealous lover into the balance, why then, things were more worrisome indeed.
Ezra looked at both of them, then back at his cards and made his bet. "Now, I'm not much for the superstitious mind, but I must admit that Mr. Tanner's nerves were starting to create a certain discomfiture even in myself. So I'm inclined to believe that maybe nerves are called for in this case."
They continued their poker game despite Buck's squirming and fussing, the first time they'd all had a chance to stop and talk and drink at the same time. Although there'd been little pleasure in it for anyone because of his constant grousing.
When almost everyone else had finally gone to bed, Ezra still sat in the saloon for another game with Nathan. But most folks were just too tired out to stay up all night gambling and drinking. Progress was being made, most definitely, but it would be a long time before Ezra found himself suitable companions much past sundown. Nathan quietly kept him company for a bit, the two of them only speaking to make bets or call for cards, but after midnight even he was ready to leave, and he'd never been one for cards, anyway.
"We best get on to bed if we're going out looking for Chris and Vin," he said to Ezra.
Ezra sighed theatrically. "Very true. And there is nothing happening here, anyway, so it won't be as if a short adventure isn't welcome."
"Why you acting all down at the mouth?" Nathan asked him. "Can't be that bad to not stay up all night cheating people out of their hard-earned money."
Ezra gave him a scowl. "A number of those people would have additional largesse to squander at the gaming tables if they would just *take* the money we've so graciously offered them."
"You still having trouble giving that money away?" Nathan laughed.
"I have never in all my days met so many obstreperously independent people. I must practically grovel to convince them to take so much as a few paltry dimes for a sack of flour, and even then, half of them won't take that. I've tried every tactic I can conceive of: enlisting Mary's aid, having you give it to the people you treat, and Buck's jovial, contrived visits. I am, so far, unencumbered of precisely one-third of that money. When we first stumbled on it in Stutz's room, we nearly lost our lives trying to protect it from the greedy citizenry of this entire territory. Now I couldn't throw it from the roof of the bank and have one person pick it up."
Nathan was laughing so hard that he held his sides.
"I fail to see the humor in this." Ezra glared at him. Nathan always found anything to do with money in Ezra's hands far too hilarious for his tastes.
"Naw, naw. You wouldn't." He wiped at his eyes. "I'm thinking maybe Chris knew just how stubborn and reluctant to have help these folks'd be, and that's why he put you in charge of it. Forcing you to do a good deed to folks who don't want no charity. Just to get under your skin."
But that clicked something in Ezra's mind. Charity. That was the problem. No one out here would ever want charity, and no matter how much they had presented it as a town rebuilding fund, as something due the citizens in order to keep things running, people out here would see it as charity. The same beliefs that led these poor benighted souls into something like dirt farming or cattle ranching in a desert, Ezra reasoned, would make them view any assistance as charity, or consider it as the seven being high and mighty -- implying that they were incapable of taking care of themselves. Of course.
"You may have inadvertently assisted me," Ezra said. "I think this may just be a job for Josiah and his God. After all, wouldn't charity best come from a man of the cloth? And doesn't it say in the Bible, 'And above all things have fervent charity among yourselves: for charity shall cover the multitude of sins,' hm?"
Nathan looked at him as if he'd grown three heads. "That's from the book of Peter," Nathan said, looking at him even more queerly.
No matter, Ezra now knew how to get rid of that money in time for Chris's arrival so he wouldn't have to listen to any hastily made accusations of malfeasance. That is, assuming they were able to find Chris, at all, something that still nagged at the back of his mind. Ezra kept thinking of Vin's worry, the way he'd acted when he'd left. What if there really had been something else going on?
In the morning Buck had roused Nathan and Ezra before dawn to ride out with him, asking JD and Josiah to stay with the judge and help out the town. They rode out, sleepy and hungry, under the lightening sky, toward Chris's place.
When they got there, still early, it was eerily silent. Buck dismounted, surveying the damage around them. It looked like someone had had a fight on the porch, because one of the areas Vin and Chris had repaired at the time of his last visit was messed up again. He peered inside the house, but nothing was amiss. The bedclothes were rumpled and he saw Vin's hat and Winchester on the floor near the table; Chris's hat was on the floor near a chair, but his rig was missing. Right there, Buck was afraid something was seriously wrong. They'd never have left without their hats and Vin's gun.
Nathan and Ezra had walked around to the other side of the little building and Ezra's attention was immediately caught by the sight of blood on the ground. He called the other two over, and just as he stood up, he noticed the white handkerchief, caught in the center of a bush. "I think we have trouble at hand," Ezra said quietly. "And I think I know where it is."
At least one part of the ropes around Vin's wrists was now thoroughly cut, and if he could fray the other side, he could free his hands. But the work was so difficult; he wasn't certain anymore if he could really do it. From time to time he simply blanked out, staring off into the distance, completely mindless. His brain felt on fire, the heat of the sun beating down on him and no water had left him so fevered and weak now that he didn't think he could last through another noon.
Unexpectedly he saw a blur of white in his side vision and looked up to see her standing above him in the twilight darkness. She stared at him, not saying a word, and then kicked at his leg, as if testing to see whether he was still alive or not. Then she pulled out a white handkerchief from a pocket within her skirt, set it afire, and dropped it on his lap. He looked down at it, then up at her, blinking, and suddenly she was gone. He shook his head, not even certain if it was an hallucination. A while ago he'd stopped sweating in the heat. It was the worst sign when you couldn't even sweat any more; he couldn't go on like this much longer. At this point he didn't even know if he was awake or asleep. When he looked up at the window above he could see the lamp had been turned up, and Vin leaned his head back against the post, not wanting to think too much of what was going on up there.
Chris had waited most of the afternoon and evening for Ella to come back. His anxiety worsened the longer she was away; he couldn't imagine her staying away from him this long when the anticipation of having him back would be too exciting. He could hear Arthur moving around; at one point it even seemed as if he was looking for her, but Chris wasn't totally certain what was going on. His stomach clenched in fear for Vin's life, overriding even the pain of his swollen ankle and wrecked shoulder.
It was long after midnight when she came into the room wearing only her sleep chemise again, her hair down. She turned up the lamp and sat on the edge of the bed, smiling at him, but the look in her eyes was horrible -- dead, cold. As if every hint of normalcy had finally left her. In her hand was one of his cheroots; he couldn't imagine when she had picked that up. Another of her "souvenirs" of special times, he assumed. "Would you like to smoke?" Ella asked him.
"Can't keep it for a memento if I do."
She laughed coldly. "No, I suppose not." Putting the cigar on the night table, she leaned forward to kiss Chris on the mouth, running her hand along his chest. He didn't respond to her, turning his face away from the kiss, but she persevered, moving her body alongside his. The bed's movement dragged his side down and pulled the rope tight along his bad ankle, and he pulled in a hard breath, but it was as if she didn't hear him. Maybe she couldn't anymore, he thought.
Everything Ella did was the same as before, she knew his body intimately and Chris had let her know what he liked, what he responded to. But nothing she could do now would evoke the response she wanted. Still, she persisted. When she unzipped his trousers, moving her hand inside and straddling him, she stopped. The gown was hiked up above her thighs, a view that before would have made him wild with passion.
Ella clambered off of him. She stood next to the bed, shaking with rage. "So now you prefer perversion over our love?" Her voice was as cold and rough as a February wind. Before he'd always liked her throaty voice.
"It's got nothing to do with that, Ella," he said sadly, his face turned to the window. "How could you think I'd want you when you have me trussed up like this? I'm not some stallion meant to perform on command."
Picking up a Lucifer match from the table, Ella lit the cheroot and inhaled it a few times, trying to calm her shaking. She stared at the match in her fingers as it burned down. Didn't he understand this? Why was he refusing everything she offered him? Just because of that fool outside at her corral. No one understood her like Chris, ever, and here he was trying to upset her and confuse her by pretending he didn't know. He couldn't be like all the rest, couldn't only want the same things from her as they all had. No. She would not let him discompose her like this. Distress her. Disconcert. She laughed to herself. Dis-ease.
The match burned itself out against her fingertips, the pain lancing her skin. She stared at the smoke curling up from it and from the tip of the cigar. He would understand. She'd make him. Ella knew this: She was Joan of Arc, sainted and pure. She would be married to Chris in smoke and flame, consumed by the fire that flowed inside her. It had claimed her now, like God's voice had claimed Joan. Chris would walk inside the purging fire with her and they would burn together through this world, bride and groom. Consecrated at last.
Ella dropped the match onto Chris's chest and he bellowed in pain, trying to pick it off but he could not move his lifeless arm up to do it. The match slowly burned itself out, the smell of burnt skin overpowering even the smell of the oil lamp. She watched him quizzically, wondering if he understood now. Fire was her friend. It had helped her when Fowler had burned Chris's old place away, it had helped her when Jack Averill had burned out all those people to create her story for Chris, and it would help her now. She dropped another match on the soft skin inside his arm and he sucked in air through his gritted teeth, glaring hostilely at her.
People never wanted to believe you were doing these things for their own good. They always fought you, the way the church fought Joan all those centuries ago. They didn't want to understand.
"Stop it, Ella!" Chris yelled at her, but it was as if she couldn't hear him, she seemed to move like something mechanical, staring blankly at the damage she was inflicting. "This is me! If you love me, you can't do this!" She blinked at him and then took the cigar and ground it hard into the center of his stomach, letting it smolder on his skin. He didn't know which was worse, the pain or the smell of his own skin being burned.
And then she did it again, and again, and no entreaties or hollering or smooth-talking words would make her stop, until he completely passed out. When he came around, it was growing faintly lighter with dawn approaching. The pain all around his chest and neck and stomach was too much to bear, it hurt to breathe, to not breathe. He could hear her talking to Arthur again.
"Kill him. He's worthless to me now." She glared at Arthur, sick of his presence already. "Just go out there and get the job done."
Arthur watched her momentarily, staring at her with his dumb cow's eyes, and turned away, walking down the stairs.
Unholstering the gun that he still was unused to carrying, he went outside to the man -- he didn't even know the fellow's name -- and stood there, looking at him.
Arthur hesitated. Executing helpless people wasn't what he'd had in mind when Ella had asked him for his help. He wasn't a clever man, but he was beginning to understand that there was a lot more here than simple revenge. Oh sure, he could believe it about this fellow, the hunter or tracker or whatever he was, but the other one in the bedroom... No one would tie someone to a bed like that, torment him like that, because he'd taken their land. And Ella was dressed in only her sleep chemise. A gunfight was one thing, that he didn't have so many scruples about, but this execution -- well, murder was different. He turned and looked back at the window, as if she would signal to him to come back in, everything would be fine.
When she came back in to Chris's room she had his rig in her hands. Still undressed, her hair wild and uncombed, like she'd completely stopped trying to make any pretence of being normal.
She tossed the belt on the bed and pulled the gun out, spun the cylinder round and round; mesmerized by its motion, Chris thought. It was so tempting to just ask her to shoot him and put him out of all this misery. He still clung to the ridiculous belief that he could save Vin's life, but at this point, he just wanted out.
Her gaze was distracted. She looked off to the side, her head turned delicately away, looking for all the world like a woman posing for her portrait. "I told you I'd kill anyone who tried to stand between us. But if I can't have you, Chris, I'm not sure I want anyone to have you."
From below the report of two gunshots echoed, and Chris jolted, his eyes wide with fear. It seemed to knock Ella back into the present, though, and she reached over and untied his other hand, then his feet. The brush of her hair over his burns was excruciating. She pulled him up to sit, and pointed out the window. Vin was gone. There was a trail of blood, clearly visible against the pale brown dirt, that moved from where he'd been tied toward the direction of the barn.
Vin can hear movement in the house even though it isn't dawn yet. He's gotten the ropes around his wrists undone by using the slide, and is trying to work the ones around his body when he drops off to sleep again, exhausted by his efforts. He hears screaming then, he thinks, but isn't certain if he is having bad dreams or hallucinations or if this is all real. Nothing seems real anymore, even when he is certain he is awake and working on the ropes. Everything is heightened -- his pain sharper, the colors so intense but pushed to a brilliant, harsh light, the sounds louder and less distinct.
He knocks his arm hard against the post, not even sure if the slide will work, but the gun shoots forward into his hand, although awkwardly, more fitted for Ezra than for him. Or maybe it doesn't, maybe he is dreaming this. He isn't even sure he will get a chance to use it, but he has two shots, at least. He can feel something warm and sticky alongside the gun, which is cool and smooth. Blood, he thinks, it must be blood from the ropes. So along with everything else he will be picking rope fibers out of his wounds, hoping to stave off infection. If it's real, which it may not be, anyway.
Without any sound, in the darkness, the big man suddenly appears in front of him, a gun leveled at his head. Is it real? Vin wonders. Maybe when you reach this stage, you dream that someone kills you, because your mind and your body want that release so badly. Maybe this is the spirit guide in some farcical version of death who will take him to the Land of Souls. He used to think he didn't believe in heaven, but now he has to believe there's a hell, so there must be a heaven. Because there's got to be some kind of eternal punishment for someone like Ella, there simply must be. He used to think he was damned, too, but now he thinks that his sins are not unpardonable, not compared to this.
Vin sees the man hesitate and in that moment decides this is real enough to shoot. He draws his arm forward fast and fires directly into the man's gut, twice, and he goes down nearly in a heap on top of Vin, who leans sideways quickly to avoid it. A spray of blood and tissue covers his face even as he turns away, and it soaks into his already fouled clothing. Everything moves quickly and at once very slowly, which adds to the feeling of madness.
Vin pulls at the ropes and quickly stands up, almost as if by instinct, but that doesn't last long as his legs wobble out from beneath him and he falls over, desperately grasping at the railings. He has to get himself together if he is to be of any use to Chris, but he's never felt like this, so utterly weak and exhausted. Sweat covers his head like a cap. Now he knows it's not a dream, he knows it's real because he cannot stand, can hardly feel his arms and legs, can scarcely swallow. His eyes are full of stinging tears as his own body tries to wash the blood out. Tears of blood, he thinks, and marvels that his body has enough water in it left to form tears.
Pulling himself up and grabbing at what little store of energy he has, Vin pulls the dead man away as quickly as he can, hoping she isn't watching this and that he can get inside the house all right. And that Chris is still alive. If he has not done what she wants, there is no telling what Ella will think of to do to Chris. It would be better if this were a nightmare, Vin believes. At least he could wake up at the end of it. He staggers toward the bunkhouse, carrying what little light of hope he has inside him.
Chris stared out the window, his shoulders sagging with the weight of this knowledge. Eventually he looked at Ella. "What else do you want, Ella? I won't be who you want me to be, and this..." He tried to take a deep breath, but he couldn't get his body to stop shuddering so he could take in any air.
She pointed the gun at his temple and drew back the hammer. "I won't let anyone else have what I can't," she said quietly. Chris didn't even bother to flinch or to move away in fear, which disappointed her and she drew the gun away. Then she pointed it at her own head and pulled the trigger, saying, "This is how much I love you," and it fired dry, the chamber empty. "Let's play a game," she whispered to him seductively, leaning up to kiss at his throat. "Show me how much you love me, show me how far you're willing to go for me."
"You think you can play this game with me?" he sneered at her. "You think I care enough to play this?" He grabbed at the gun and tore it out of her hand, spinning the cylinder around and around and pointing it at his head. Looking out the window, his face showing only despair, he pulled the trigger once, twice. Ella screamed and flung herself at him on the second pull, grabbing at the gun and getting the soft web of skin between thumb and forefinger pinched under the hammer, which made her shriek even louder.
Ella tried to tear the gun away from him, realizing how terribly she'd failed, when he yanked it back out of her hand. He was laughing at her, she could see it in his eyes.
"You think this would work on me now? That this is some kind of trick? I'll tell you what the trick is, Ella." He pointed the gun at her chest and her eyes went wide in terror. "It's not to give a damn. And you've seen to it that I don't."
He pulled the trigger, and this time it met the bullet. It fired, hitting her in the chest, knocking her backwards. Her eyes were so wide and round. For a moment he thought they seemed almost tender, as if she'd wanted him to do this to her. She fell to the floor, the deep red of her blood -- almost black -- spreading across her chemise. Chris stood above her watching the life go out of her eyes. Ella's lips moved and he leaned as close as he could to hear what she said. All it sounded like was, "You love me," but he couldn't be certain. Her left hand fell open, the palm empty, as if offering up something to him. Offering him her life. But he did not want it. Then she was truly gone.
The first thing Vin did was find water, then drink until he gagged and heaved it all back up. His face felt raw from the sun that had burned down on him, the dried blood stung and itched at his skin and the bites were so swollen and red. He stank so bad he might be able to kill someone just by walking past them. He splashed some water to wash off the blood, drank a little more, and took the man's gun, checking the chambers. Vin riffled his pockets for more bullets, but there was only the five in the chambers. That would have to be enough. His lungs stretched to take in air.
Keeping low to the ground, he made it to the house with a huge effort, his breath rattling in his lungs. He would end up with the fever from this, he knew, if he even got out of here. Just as he was opening the door carefully he heard one single gunshot from upstairs and his heart froze in his chest. What if she'd seen him escape and killed Chris? Both Chris and Ezra had told him they thought he never felt fear, and this was proof of how wrong they were. A cold steel fist gripped his heart, squeezing every bit of hope or courage out. Throwing caution to the wind, he ran inside as best he could, limping badly, cocking the forty-five.
When he was satisfied that Ella was dead, Chris turned away and tried his best to hobble out. He was so weak from the pain that he could scarcely stand, and the ankle refused to hold him. Nearly falling on the bed, he grabbed his gunbelt and threw it over his shoulder, flinching at the friction against the burns. Careening to the door, then lurching down the hall, he came to the landing, knowing he couldn't even try to walk down those stairs. He wasn't completely certain he wanted to leave; what was the point? He could just sit down here and blow his brains out. It wasn't like he had anything to live for anymore. There was a point a person could not go beyond, their heart simply wouldn't take it, and he'd passed that point a few moments ago. He had turned into a dry husk of something resembling a person, a wispy shell of skin that would crumble away under a breeze.
Everything that had led him here, all the mistakes, his sins coming back to haunt him, hung on him with such weight he could not breathe. Chris wanted to weep for his friend, but he couldn't even muster the strength to do that. From below the landing he heard movement and realized that Arthur would still be here, most likely drawn by the gunshot. She'd left only one bullet in the gun and obviously that had been fired, so he searched for the bullets in his belt, fumbling as he tried to hold everything in one hand.
Vin started toward the stairs when he saw Chris there, desperately trying to load his gun. He was filled with such a surge of relief and happiness that he almost cried out, but instead gulped in air and said, quietly, "Hey, cowboy. You don't want to be shooting me by accident, do you?"
Chris's head snapped up and he stared at Vin, so surprised and so happy that he nearly tumbled down the stairs. He grabbed the railing and righted himself. "I thought you were dead." Then he noticed the small Derringer of Ezra's jutting out of Vin's sleeve. "Only you look like you're not much more'n that," Chris said in a hoarse whisper, but he could not stop smiling like an idiot.
"Well, you ain't exactly a picture yourself," Vin replied in his shaking voice, amused at being able to say that to Chris this time. But he could see Chris start to fall as his leg gave out beneath him, and Vin ran up the stairs to help him, all thoughts of his own pain vanishing like fog after sun.
End Part 4
10/10/01