by Wiccachica » Fri Jun 10, 2005 7:36 pm
Nine West
The Wraith
Three Days Following: A Dust Devil Comes to Town
The railcar chuttered and swayed in a comforting tempo beneath her as she rested. She kept her hat low enough to easily avoid having to make conversation with anyone but the ticket taker. She kept one boot propped against the seat across from her and one of her hands settled on the small black satchel in the seat beside her. She hoped that it would be enough to suggest that she didn't want company during her journey. She pretended to sleep, but all the while she listened to the sounds of the train. She listened to the other riders in cabins surrounding her. The family in the cabin in front of her chattered on and on about one nonsense thing or another. They gossiped about people she didn't know or care about. She didn’t worry on them much.
The man seated in the car to her left had been snoring for five hours straight. The sound did not annoy her, but rather made her feel at ease. Sleeping folk were rarely a threat.
And then there was the man in the cabin behind her...
He had been rustling his newspaper and reading the whole way. He smelled of expensive scented water and a recent bath, which put him in the well-moneyed and dangerous category. Once during his ride he had smoked his way through a hand-rolled cigarette and asked the ticket taker how much longer it was to Juniper.
Flatbush was two stops before Juniper, so she she would know soon enough if he was a threat to her or if she was letting her mistrust of pretty much EVERYONE get the best of her these days.
Four years ago, she wouldn't have thought twice about the people around her. Law Men or not, she would have even been able to fall asleep to the soothing and rhythmic sounds of all six of them cleaning and loading their guns.
She had gone so long with that fancy black coloring in her hair (to throw the law dogs off the scent) that she was surprised these days when she looked in the mirror. She had let her true color grow out, and it made her a conspicuous target again.
Now she had several things to worry about. Or rather...several someones to worry about. Her thoughts, though partially occupied with the man behind her, never strayed too far from her quarry.
Sure the man was most likely just a wet-behind-the-ears deputy who couldn't take her in a pistol fight with one of her hands tied behind her back and both her eyes shut. He just wanted to be the one who brought in The Shepherd. How could she blame him? The reward on her was higher than just about anyone she’d ever heard of.
He would surely try to take her in, not understanding that she had other things on her mind, and that if she had to go through him to get on with her business, then he would be one unlucky son of a bitch for trying.
A favor had been called in, and she was only as good as her word.
Jas' men had let her live, broken, but alive... and now she was told he wanted recompense.
He wanted Treena Maclay and her new little "Hellfire" Sidekick dead.
Not only was Willie Shepherd honor bound to comply. The thought made her insides twist like a nest of snakes. That was as close as she ever came to happiness these days. There would be no double-crossing her again. Jas wouldn't get the better of her either...and this time.... This time, if she had to kill the blonde, she'd do it face to face...
That thought concerned her more than anything. Jas she could handle...his band of jackasses even more so. She’d even set aside a special hell for that dark-haired harpy, Sissy Spurstrap, when the time came.
She knew that only Treena Maclay could take her in a square gunfight. The only matter would be who was the better hand on that particular day. Perhaps even then it might come down to something as minute as a shift in the wind or just the will of the Fates.
But she knew she would win this time. She had to. Willie was faster now. She was faster and she had something that Treena didn't...
The element of surprise.
The blonde thought she was dead and that would be Willie Shepherd's greatest boon.
Treena Maclay had left her to die, and now she would return the favor... She would return it tenfold.
The Shepherd dozed lightly for an hour, still keeping an ear out for any shift in the moneyed man's weight or change in his breathing. The only thing of note is that he rolled and lit another cigarette.
[hr]
Flatbush came up not soon enough for her, and as the train slowed to a crawl, she lifted her hat up from over her eyes, and slid her boots off the seat ahead of her. Without waiting for the train to pull to a stop, she lifted her satchel onto her shoulder and walked to the door of her cabin. The man behind her had not gotten up. The family in front of her had, however, and one of the youngish boys from the brood bumped into her as he was trying to get out of his mother's way. He craned his head to look up at her and his jaw popped open and creaked there like it was on hinges.
The Shepherd was a sight to see, she was sure. She wore a brown duster over her lanky-tall form, with dark green eyes and a long titan-red hair that she usually kept in a braid, but now looked like a mane around her shoulders and face. She had an exotic beauty that was both alluring and dangerous in one.
Silver at the bottom of a bear trap.
But despite all that, what she felt the boy's eyes fall to was the scar.
It was always the scar.
It took up so much of her life that she was surprised it didn't actually begin higher and travel longer with the stretch of her years. But she knew the mark stayed the same. It traveled, half an inch wide, from her brow line down the otherwise pretty visage of the left side of her face, and terminated in a fork at her jaw line. She used to tell people she's been kissed by a dragon when she was younger. And the bullet, still lodged in her collarbone, was a reminder that her life had actually ended the same day that scar was made...the day her sister had moved in front of her...just as she herself had tried to duck out of the way. The horrible sound of the bullet passing through her sister's chest and then the blinding red pain that had struck her down.
The scar reminded her daily of nothing but cowardice and pain...and the dirty fact that someone dear to her had died that day because she had ducked her head and hid like a yellowbelly...
And now this boy was staring at it and making her thoughts turn to blacker times. Times she liked to shove deep deep down.
She frowned down at him and watched him blush back at her. She eased past the family as they tried to gather up their belongings and make their exit. She waiting until the train had nearly pulled to a stop before she hopped off onto the platform.
It was raining in Flatbush, and people bustled around to get out of the rain too quickly to pay mind to the stranger. Somewhere in this town, Treena and her new friend would be relaxing and enjoying their perceived freedom. She would have to find her. But before she did, she would have to shake the well-bathed man who almost discreetly stepped off onto the platform as well once the train had pulled to a stop. She watched him out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to stretch and look up the small strip of Main Street. He then feigned interest in his bag. She watched him kneel and fiddle with the latch. When the family she had listened to all the way from Conicker stepped out onto the platform, they obscured her view of him. This was enough for her to step around a corner and around the nearest building. With women and children present, it was no place for a gunfight, though he might not care about that as much as claiming the reward on her.
The Shepherd stood on the corner of Main Street looking west. Three hotels. Two Saloons. A bank. A gun shop and headstone making shop combined and a mercantile.
They could have been anywhere.
But knowing Treena like she did, Shepherd walked first to Truman's Gun shop and Headstone...the well-moneyed man, having located her again as she moved, fell in step not a hundred paces behind her.
As The Shepherd walked, a thin, utterly humorless smile pulled at her lips. She was a patient woman. Patient as the water on a river stone.
[hr]
She pushed open the door to the gun/headstone shop and let it swing shut behind her. The clerk behind the counter looked over his specs at her and then did a double take before her straitened up.
“H-help you?” He offered.
She did a quick scan of the guns he had in the glass case that also served as a counter. Four seconds ticked off. She popped a knuckle on the glass over the two silver colts with the mother of pearl handles. He was very proud of those pieces, and was about to tell her so, but she squinted at him, and her scar jilted like an angry serpent across the side of her face. She slapped enough gold on the counter to cover the cost of the guns twice over.
“Load them." She instructed, wasting no time with pleasantries. He pulled them out of the case and quickly did as he was told. He set them on the counter when he was through and she unhooked a gun belt from the wall and put it around her narrow hips. She lifted the guns and drove them home with subtle aim into their holsters.
“I’m going to use your back door... I'll be returning shortly. I have a question or two for you." She slid past the counter without waiting for permission. It was no matter; the man hadn't taken his eyes off the gold for a second.
Outside, the well-moneyed man stood waiting for her to emerge on the corner across the street. Rain pattered off the brim of his hat. He put a cigarette between his teeth and fished through his breast pockets for his matches.
“I can light that for you real nice..." Came a smooth woman's voice from just behind him and off to the left. He froze as the shiny muzzle of a gun slid around his waist and slowly upward, until it rested under his chin. “You just keep your hands right where they are." He felt her other hand relieving him of his own guns. In their search, he left her hand rattle the handcuffs at his waist, and then move on.
“I’ve come to take you in." He croaked in his least authoritative voice. In trying to remain out of sight and inconspicuous, he had hidden himself from the view of the street. Now...to any street passerby, upon closer investigation, he would look to be standing alone.
“You’re out of your element, deputy. Sorely so." She said in his ear from over his shoulder.
“You mean to kill me?" He asked...trying to put on a brave face.
“I’m not adverse to it, if that's what you're asking." She finished her search and came up with a box of matches. " Killing you won't bring me pleasure or money...but I've got other business here, I don't have much time to do it and I can't have you mucking it up...so..." With the butt of one of his own guns she rapped him on the back of the head, hard enough to make his vision blur and his thoughts swim.
The second blow was not as kind.
It sent the muddy ground up to meet him...hard. Then there was nothing for him but blackness...
The Deputy awoke with splitting head pains and his hands cuffed around a post in a shed. Oddly he wasn't angry, or worried, so much as relieved. He was hurting, alone, but alive...and that was something.
[hr]
The Shepherd stared down the gun shop owner once again. Now with the gold pocketed, his attention was on her again.
“I’m renting that shed behind your store...one night. Then I need you to go there and do what you have to." She dropped another coin on the counter.
"Sure." He agreed, ogling the coin.
“I’m also looking to find my...sister...I think she came to town today..." She lied...and watched his confused face brighten slightly.
“Of course!" He breathed, as though fitting a puzzle piece into its rightful place.
“Blonde...about yay high...wears a hat like mine" She said...only to watch his confusion return. “She’s traveling with a female friend."
“They came in here early on...bought some ammunition...Asked where the best lodgings were. I told them the Flatbush Hotel."
“Flatbush Hotel...got it." She dropped another gold piece on the counter. “You never saw me. You never heard of me."
“I understand." He said, watching her turn and walk out as mysterious and quiet as she had come in.
He plucked the coins off the counter and bit them each in turn, before conveniently forgetting that she ever existed.
TBC...
I guess my top three would be:
* We can't wait!
Aww Baby, you spoil us ROTTEN. That was so darn sweet...A gal hardly has the time to down a shot of cactus whiskey between updates! Just the way we like it...Go team you!
I don't think I've read a fic like this before, so it gets the prize for originality as well. 
When I first started reading it, which was...hmmm I think it was last week, and once I started it I couldn't stop. 
lol but the confusion quickly faded, and now I can't wait to read more of this!!! 
I'm hooked! 
And although to her co-workers she might seem a little stiff, she's all caring about her patients. 
One guy (Alec) thinking Willow still has a thing for him and the ghost and the peeping thing he did lmao, and another thinking he's god's gift to women! 
And for some odd reason I can't seem to feel sorry for Tara's boyfriend sitting at home watching everything going on with his girlfriend and Willow. 
I say, smooch away. 
I hope Rosey's father gets what he deserves soon. 
It's all deliciously dark. 
(Unless I'm remembering this wrong, but I could swear I've seen it. So I was just wondering since I'm all curious. 
